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At 9:00 a.m. the telephone rang at 639 Locust Avenue. Cynthia Hart, on the front porch of the duplex, considered going back inside and answering it, then changed her mind. “No, Cyn,” she said to herself, “You better get downtown and match that red button.”
Her mind quickly replaced that thought with the marvelous memory of her back sliding up and down the schoolroom wall. She reprised the fantastic full feeling she had had, as her bottom bounced, while Mr. Trotter powerfully pounded her then virgin vagina. Cynthia closed her eyes and smiled. A stream of warmth flowed through her tummy to her chest from her delta as she squeezed her thighs together.
Spinning about-face, the eighteen-year-old new woman ignored the phone and headed for F. W. Woolworth’s, as she had promised her mother she would do. “Maybe I’ll even get some perfume… or a pair of earrings,” Cynthia said to a robin she saw pulling a worm from the lawn beside the path to the sidewalk. With a laugh, she exclaimed, “Or BOTH!”
In the duplex’s small kitchen, Arlene Hart stacked the last of the breakfast dishes in the sink and turned around. Looking at the big Sherwin-Williams wall calendar, beside the plain-faced maple Ashford Regulator, she questioned herself, “Isn’t it Saturday, the 18th?” The date squares beneath May’s illustration of Niagara Falls indicated it might be. The wall-clock struck the hour.
Moving grumpily across the short hall to the front room, Arlene picked up the instrument on its tenth ring. “Arbor one-two-two-one,” she answered. “Who’s calling?”
Ted Trotter’s voice replied through the receiver, “Good morning, Mrs. Hart. I’m sorry if I disturbed you… I thought you said I should telephone this morning. If I called too early, I can ring back later.”
Trotter’s cues kicked Arlene’s still lethargic brain cells into action. “Oh, yes, Mr. Trotter, THANK you!” Her tone warmed instantly and she added, “But do, please, call me ‘Arlene.’ Unless I’m mistaken, we’re nearly the same age. Titles, however polite they may be, are so… well, so FORMAL!” Self-consciously, she raised her free hand and lightly bounced her wavy brunette hair at the nape of her neck as she spoke into the receiver.
“Well, alright, ‘ARLENE’,” Trotter agreed amiably. “I didn’t want to presume. Please feel free to call me ‘Ted,’ then. But, what is it that you want to talk about? Last night you made reference to Cindy?”
“Umm, yes, that’s right, Ted,” Mrs. Hart confirmed. “But, really, I wondered if we could MEET… you know, for a little tête-à-tête?”
Trotter hesitated. He was still unsure what the vague invitation meant. He probed, “You have concerns about Cindy’s progress, then? But they’re private?”
“And, CONFIDENTIAL, I hope,” Arlene stressed. “I don’t want my daughter to think I’m butting in… I just need certain assurances.” She quit fiddling with her hair and idly brushed some invisible lint from the front of her housecoat. Even through its thick quilted rayon acetate fabric, and her ancient soft flannel nightgown, her small nipples rose with excitement from their broad platforms as her palm coasted over her bust. “As a matter of fact, Cynthia is downtown shopping and I don’t expect her back for a while. It would be PERFECT if you were available to come over right NOW. It’s 639 Locust Avenue, in Arbor Heights. We’re in the front duplex.”
Ted coughed. “I might be able to do that. Hold the phone a moment, please.” He put down the phone and stepped into the kitchen where Mary was tidying up after breakfast. “Mary,” he said, “Do you mind if I don’t go to Lakeside Park with you and the kids, today? Cynthia Hart’s mother is on the telephone. She’s concerned about something, I don’t know what, and wants to consult with me.”
“Well, Teddy,” Mary said, while she dried her hands on a tea towel, “we were just going to rent a rowboat and walk around the nature trails. It probably wouldn’t be heartbreaking for Arthur or Cecie if you missed it.” She smiled sweetly to show she was not upset, either. “If you LIKE, I can drop you off on our way over to Mama’s house.”
Ted grinned at his wife. “You’re aces, Mary. I’ll let Mrs. Hart know and be ready to go when YOU are.”
Mary stepped across the kitchen, kissed Trotter lightly and said, “That’ll be in five minutes, Teddy. Arthur is just getting his knapsack in order. The sandwiches are already packed.”
“OK, Baby, I won’t slow you down,” Ted said as he returned to the phone and asked, “Hello, Mrs. Hart? You still there?” She interrupted to remind him her name was ‘Arlene’. Trotter looked warily over his shoulder and said, “Right. Well, anyway, my wife is going to drop me off, on her way to another activity, so I imagine I’ll see you in… oh, about fifteen minutes, or so?”
When Arlene hung up she scowled and muttered, “Wife? Oh, yeah, he’s not just Cynthia’s teacher, he’s Jock’s son-in-law.” Walking down the hall to her bedroom she continued pendik escort her self-talk. “What the hay, I’ll just have to be more careful when I turn on the old charm!” She daubed some Shalimar perfume behind her ears and at the base of her throat.
In the bathroom Arlene inserted a fresh tampon and remarked, as she discarded the old one, “Hooray, it’s already lightening up.” She guffawed loudly and mused, “I wonder if he’d believe me if I told him I was a VIRGIN and Cynthia is REALLY my baby SISTER!” She shook her head doubtfully and decided she would simply not mention her period. “If he finds out for himself,” she thought cannily, “he’ll be hooked and in the boat!”
On Oak Avenue, Isabel tied her housekeeping apron and set about gathering the supplies she needed to erase her son-in-law’s incriminating cum-stains from her lilac charmeuse nightdress. Turning to her husband, who was still at the breakfast table dunking his last bit of toast in his coffee, she asked, “What are your plans for the day, Jock?”
McGuinness drained his cup and looked at Isabel. “Damn,” he thought, as he appraised her in the favorable morning light shining through the window over the sink, “there’s plenty of woman right there!” His dick wiggled in his jeans and he imagined bending her over the counter and taking her.
Before Jock could process his lascivious thought into lustful action, his nine-year-old daughter, Cecilia entered the kitchen. “Good morning, Papa. Good morning, Mama,” she greeted, as she sat opposite her father and poured milk on her Wheaties.
Isabel carried a glass of orange juice to her daughter, kissed the top of her head and said, “Good morning, sweetheart. All set to go out with your sister and Artie?”
Jock returned Cecilia’s ‘good morning’ and answered his wife’s earlier question. “Nothing special, really, Isabel. I thought I’d make a surprise visit to the warehouse and toss a few boxes. If the Saturday barge isn’t too late, the boys can have a half-day, which they always appreciate.” Standing from the table and heading for the back porch, he added, “I’ll grab lunch at Doherty’s and play some pinochle or shoot pool. Be back home, three-ish, I guess.” He touched Cecilia’s shoulder lightly as he passed by and said, “Have a good day at the lake, Potato Bug.”
Isabel smiled and sent him an air-kiss. “Alright, dear. Have fun, but don’t forget, while you’re showing off, that you ARE fifty years old.” Jock grinned and waved off the admonition as he stepped through the screen and walked to the garage.
In the family Ford, in front of the Hart duplex, Trotter leaned over and kissed Mary’s cheek. Reaching across the front seatback he scuffed Arthur’s beanie across the boy’s brush-cut and exited the car. “Have a good time, you two,” he said cheerfully as he closed the passenger door. After watching the sedan pull away from the curb and disappear down Locust Avenue, he walked up the path to the front porch of Number 639 and knocked.
“Hello, Ted, come on in,” Arlene said, drawing back the door and ushering him inside. “Coffee’s still hot… if you want some.”
Trotter crossed the threshold and was unable to hide his dismay at seeing Arlene in a champagne quilted robe and open-toed cloth scuff slippers. In the closeness of the shadowed hall, the oriental floral bouquet of her perfume was unmistakable. “Am I too early?” He asked with sincere concern, although he hardly objected to the casual comfortable attire and the charms it subtly implied.
“Hmmmm?” Arlene looked quizzically at her daughter’s teacher. “OH! You mean my robe!” She innocently plucked its right lapel. It lifted from its overlapped opposite and flashed a glimpse at the soft pale yellow scoop-necked flannel nightgown beneath. “I’m sorry. I COULD have gotten more presentable, I suppose.” She flashed a broad smile with lots of teeth as she guided Trotter down the short hall to the kitchen.
Parking him at the kitchen table, Arlene continued to the stove while she spoke. “But, it IS Saturday, after all, and I like to be lazy, at least until TEN!” Returning with the coffee pot and two clean stoneware mugs, she poured and grinned disarmingly. “Would you prefer me to change into something else?”
Trotter preferred the opposite. His imagination was already working overtime as he extrapolated, from the daughter’s known nubile nude body, what the mother must look like with all her layers peeled away. With a bland face, he answered, “Not at all. It’s your home and I’m a guest. Dress any way you please.” He picked up his coffee and sipped. The tipped cup was a shield behind which he stared at the gapped housecoat, below its loosely tied sash, and furthered his fantasy.
“Oh, well that’s just fine, then,” Arlene said, returning the pot to the stove. Her ass moved in slow circles behind the quilted pattern as she slowly stepped across the kitchen. Ted patted his crotch and gave his fattening prick room to grow in his boxers. When she returned, her unbound breasts bobbed kağıthane escort provocatively, making him glad he had availed himself of the chance to arrange himself comfortably.
Moving her chair around the table corner, Arlene sat close beside Trotter and lowered her voice, heightening both the confidentiality of the conversation and the sexual tension in the atmosphere. “I know Cynthia is no ‘math whiz,’ Ted. But she’s a sweet girl and I don’t want her to be handicapped in these modern times. She simply HAS to pass your class.”
Ted interrupted. “Arlene, I MET with Cindy, yesterday. I gave her a special test and was pleased with her responses. I TOLD her I would not fail her.” He looked searchingly at Mrs. Hart. “Didn’t she say anything to you? I thought this was the ‘good news’ you spoke of at the movie last night.”
Arlene pushed her mug to the table center and covered Trotter’s left hand with her right. Curling her fingers, she lightly drug her ruby fingernails across his skin. “Yes, Ted, she DID say that. But, I was unsure if it was true.” Turning her head, she peered at the teacher’s face. “And, I wondered… is there anything I can do to insure that there’s… no MISTAKE.” Her warm breath, and the Shalimar, emphasized her unspoken offer.
Ted had had enough. “In for a penny, in for a pound, Pal,” he said to himself. Swiveling in his chair, he extracted his left hand and wrapped his arm around Arlene’s upper back. His curved palm gripped her left biceps through its cloth armor. “I’m a man of my word, Arlene,” he said huskily, “but I am happy to help you help Cindy.”
Applying outside pressure he turned Arlene’s shoulder inward. Her body naturally followed as she slipped her right arm around Trotter’s waist. Their heads moved forward and they met in a surprisingly natural and easy kiss, as if they were practiced lovers. Arlene moaned when Ted’s right hand divided her robe and found her left breast. He lifted and squeezed it while he laid his left forearm along her spine and scratched his fingers into her hairdo.
Arlene dropped her left hand beneath the table and swiftly opened Trotter’s trousers. Her fevered successful search brought groans while Ted, without breaking any contact, scooted his chair back and spun on the seat. Spreading his knees, he surrounded Arlene in a full seated embrace. She lifted her bottom and exchanged the hardwood chair for Ted’s firm quadriceps as she sat down again, mashing her right breast to his chest.
Arlene was easily four inches shorter and perhaps five, or even ten, pounds heavier than Mary Trotter, but her compactness was easily managed. Ted took his hand from her tit, slipped his right arm under her overhanging knees and stood in a single fluid movement. Arlene looped her left arm over his shoulder and clasped her right hand.
Ted’s choice that morning, to wear a belt rather than suspenders, meant that his unfettered cream flannel slacks fell to the floor in an avalanche. He toed the heels of his oxfords and stepped out of them and his trousers while Arlene mewled around his tongue and wiggled all possible moving parts in his basket carry. Kicking her chair away, Trotter broke the long kiss and growled, “Where’s your bed, Arly?”
Arlene panted into his neck as he cradled her and began walking. “Down… the hall. F-first d-door. Onnn th’ LEFT!” Ted strode through the first turn and eyed the bedroom, but Arlene let go of him and dropped to the floor. “Wait!” She gasped. “Go on in, but wait… I’ll be right there.” She fled into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Ted was stunned by the abrupt departure, but entered Arlene’s bedroom as directed. While he waited, he hung his shirt on the bed’s headboard’s end-post and pulled off his ribbed cotton undershirt. Tossing it, with his shorts, to the floor on the other side of the bed, he said to himself, “She didn’t say how or where to wait, Pal.” With a smirk, he threw back the covers and crawled between the sheets. His solid staff tented them as he drew them back over his gut and up to his chest.
Arlene walked through the door, continued straight past the foot of the bed and pulled down the window shade on the far wall. Her quilted housecoat swished and whisked provocatively as she paraded. Even in the darkened room, when she untied her belt and pushed the shiny champagne robe from her shoulders to the floor, Ted immediately saw the reason for the delay. He appreciated the shadowed nudity of her voluptuous curves.
Proportionately smaller than his wife, but bigger breasted than her daughter, with hips which begged to bear children, Arlene’s silhouette made Ted’s hard cock harder. His balls ached and his heart raced. Carefully, she slid into bed beside him from the opposite side and hugged up close. “Hello there, handsome,” she whispered while she rubbed her bareness against his in sensuous swirls. “Liked it when you called me, ‘Arly.” She grinned and kissed Ted’s throat. “My husband maltepe escort called me that when we made love.”
Trotter was suddenly struck by the realization that, in ten years, Mary had never once called him ‘handsome’, or even hinted she found him pleasing to look at. Maybe she did, but she had never said so. In fact, as the notion sank in, neither had her mother. He wondered, “Is their whole connection to me mere animal physicality?”
The question spawned self-doubt. “What about YOU, Pal,” he asked himself, while Arlene snuffled into his neck and slid her hands over his ribs. “Do YOU only think of Mary and Izzy as convenient cunts?” Ted did not like the answer which sprang to mind. Pulling Arlene’s face to his, Trotter kissed her sweetly and asked, “What was your husband’s name and what did you call him when you made love?”
Arlene laughed an embarrassed little laugh. “His name was Harley. I think he picked MY nickname because it was a rhyme.” Running her index finger over Ted’s nose and lips to the end of his chin, she continued. “I called him ‘Tickler’ because when he came it tickled.”
Ted laughed with her. “That’s great,” he said sincerely, with a pang of jealousy. She was obviously still very much in love with her deceased husband. “Now why are you feeling like THAT?” He asked himself with exasperation. Pushing the emotion away, he rolled on top of Arlene and breathed, hoarsely, “I hope I tickle you too… Arly.”
Raising her spread legs, Arlene pulled Ted to her bosom. Her small hard nipples were as hot as pop rivets against his pectorals. With amazing ease and speed, his seven inch bone slipped its full length into her slick sleeve as she hissed, “Shut up and FUCK me!” He answered with more energy and less effort than he used when he was in the saddle with either his wife or his mother-in-law.
Trotter’s hips swung freely as he plunged, powerfully with deep strokes, into Arlene Hart’s bleeding heart. She squeezed her knees about his waist and raked her fingernails in an abstract pattern across his broad bent back. He grunted. She gasped. At length, he unloaded. Arlene clutched him, screeched and burst out with uncontrolled laughter. “Yes! Yes, Tickler! Oh, FUCK! YESSSS!”
Her infectious enthusiasm spurred Ted to continue pounding away even after his nuts went on coffee break. He growled loudly, “Yeah, Arly… Take it! TAKE IT!”
In the bedroom doorway, Cynthia stood transfixed. Her shopping errand ended when she saw two button cards, each with a half-dozen bright lacquered red strawberry-shaped buttons. They were so cute she forgot about matching the missing red disc on her sundress and decided to replace all nine. Having three extra, in case of future losses, was a bonus. The horrific upshot, however, was that she returned home early, only to hear very loud and very strange noises at the back of the duplex when she opened the front door.
Curious concern compelled Cynthia to creep carefully toward her mother’s open bedroom door. Before she reached the portal, her own limited, but enlightening, experience, gained on Friday after Algebra, told her what to expect. Yet, she scarcely believed her ears. Her mother virtually never brought a man home. On the occasions when she did, activity was confined to dinner and polite parlor talk. But, now Cynthia heard her clearly making the same identifiable sounds that Cynthia had made when Mr. Trotter fucked her against the wall. Fascinated by the novelty, Cynthia strained to hear more.
Bed springs creaked; something banged rhythmically; an unidentified male voiced guttural punctuations to Arlene’s panting moans. Cynthia inched forward with her back flat to the hall wall. Inspired by the charged atmosphere, her cunny leaked its lubricants through her white cotton panty briefs. Without realizing it, she unbuttoned the bodice of her pink-and-gray plaid cotton smock.
Feeling unbearably hot, Cynthia fanned her face while she gulped short ragged breaths. Her right hand, of its own accord, dropped from in front of her nose and clutched her left breast within her soft rayon brassiere. She squeezed and pinched her attentive puffy crown. Her nipples burned.
Cynthia’s throat closed. Opening her airway, she bumped her head on the wall just as she had done in the math room. Her spreading internal fire torched her senses. Spreading her legs, she pushed her left hand up under her dress hem. Her fingers clawed her panties’ elastic waistband down and wormed into her recently opened playground. Her own increasing mewls provided harmony, and then descant, for Arlene’s overheard chorus.
With a lip-biting snort, Cynthia’s orgasm broke while the bedroom concert continued. She slid along the wall to the doorway, with her hands still captured inside her underclothes, and stared into the half-dark room. The headboard slammed the wall and the mattress bounced madly on the squeaky bed springs while the man rose and fell, like a turbulent ocean, under the covers.
“Yes! Yes, Tickler! Oh, FUCK! YESSSS!” Her mother screamed.
“Yeah, Arly… Take it! TAKE IT!” The man howled.
Cynthia’s jaw fell open as she recognized Trotter’s underlying baritone voice. “Ma! Mis-ter TROTTER! MA!” Cynthia was unaware she was yelling as her thumb agitated her excited little man and she came again around her bunched fingers.
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