Peter Balfour tied his horse to the hitching rail outside of his family's small farmhouse and slapped his Stetson against his thigh to remove the dust. He watered the horse, took off the tack and led the animal to the barn. He was dirty, dry and tired; it had been a long day. He stretched and then smiled as he smelt the delicious aroma of dinner wafting from the open kitchen window. A strapping lad of nineteen he could just about eat his weight in groceries his mother often said.
As he opened the back door the smell of something appetising increased and mingled with the scent of his mother's perfume. She had her back to him fussing with something on the kitchen bench. She was wearing a red, knee-length, A-line, pleated, round-neck, dress. It had white polka dots and was sleeveless to show off her tanned arms. She wore red four-inch high heels and seamed flesh-toned stockings. Peter admired the seams running up the back of her long legs.
His mother spun around and smiled at him through red-lipsticked lips and his heart melted. She was wearing full makeup, earrings and a necklace and her black hair was worn in a bob with bangs just above her big blue eyes.
Peter's father insisted that his wife dress to please him for dinner and greet him like a devoted, loving wife should and even now that he was gone Meg Balfour thought there was no reason for her not continue doing so. Her son deserved it after all.
"Hi Petey did you have a good day?" his mother's smile widened.
"Yes mom, I managed to get that last acre sown. I figure we should get one hundred and twenty bushels out of it," Peter smiled back.
He was lying, he'd done the sowing the day before and he'd had another matter to attend to today.
"Come give your mother a kiss," she opened her arms wide.
Peter strode across the kitchen and leaned into his mother and kissed her cheek. She smelled wonderful and her full breasts pressed against his chest. She closed her arms around his neck and her lips found his, she opened her mouth so that Peter could probe her with his tongue.
"My god you're so hard Petey," she gasped in his ear and squeezed him through his jeans.
"Step back and show me what I want to see mom," Peter sighed and nipped her earlobe.
She reluctantly disengaged from her son and leaned back against the kitchen bench and smiled coyly at him.
"What is it you want to see Petey?" she licked her lips and smiled seductively.
"You damn well know what I want to see mother," Peter said gruffly.
Meg took the hem of her dress in her hands and ever so slowly lifted it up her legs. Peter gasped when the coffee-coloured bands at the top of her stockings came into view, the silver clasps of her garters pulled the welts tight against his mother's legs. Then her creamy thighs came into view and finally the Vee of her white nylon panties. The panties were translucent and not particularly tight, he could see his mother's trimmed bush through them. Dewy pearls of vaginal secretions glistened on her pubis.
She was aroused, as she always seemed to be in his presence.
Peter stepped forward and lightly stroked her panties.
"You're wet," he stated the obvious.
"For you son," his mother whispered.
He could sense the heat from her mound and the aroma of her cunt drifted up to his nostrils.
"You know I love those stockings," he murmured.
"For you son," she repeated as she reached for his flies.
The sound of Meg unzipping her son's fly was almost ominous in the quiet of the kitchen. There was no one else around for miles, the only sounds came from the farm animals and the afternoon breeze.
"Oh gee you are so big," his mother gasped as she unleashed his manhood and took it in a firm grip.
"Bigger than dad?" Peter pushed his fingers against his mother's pubis.
"Much bigger," she gasped as her son's fingers pushed her panties into her vulva, they soaked up some of her juices.
Peter extricated his fingers from her panties and stroked her labia and then inserted two fingers inside his mother, his thumb found her clitoris and pressed against it just the way she liked it. She had taught him how to do so. She pulled her son to her by his shaft. Peter liked to see her red nailpolished fingers against his taut flesh.
His mother wrapped Peter's cock in her panties and stroked him, she knew he loved the feel of the gossamer nylon panties on his sensitive cock but she was careful not take him over the edge, he came quickly when they fucked for the first time each day. He leaned into his mother and kissed her passionately and then backed away a little.
"Let me get cleaned up mom, then we can do this in bed," he said.
"Don't be so obtuse Peter Balfour! You do your duty by your mother right now!" she snapped back, ripping open his shirt.
It was a little game they played, Peter had no intention of not finishing what he had started.
He lifted his mother up by her thighs and rested her buttocks on the edge of the bench and pulled the gusset of her panties out of the way and thrust himself inside her.
"Oh God!" his mother cried as she locked her legs around him.
She wrapped her arms around her son and raked his back with her fingernails then she lifted her nylon-sheathed legs and rubbed his flanks with her calves knowing it would drive him wild.
Which is exactly what it did. Peter gripped his mother by the hips and vigorously fucked her, his long thick cock coming nearly all the way out of his mother's vagina and then slamming all the back inside her. They rubbed their pubic mounds together to stimulate Meg's clitoris.
"Oh Jesus!" Meg bit her son's neck and shuddered, locking him against her with her long legs.
Her orgasm washed over her as she felt her son's huge penis throb and judder as he ejaculated inside her. Peter groaned and then his lips found hers and they kissed and lapped at each other. Meg could feel Peter's juices running from her quivering cunt, pooling in her panties and then running run down her thighs. Peter could smell his mother's cunt, the scent mingled with her perfume, he loved that smell.
When they were both spent, Peter eased his mother's legs from around him and stepped back a little. He took a handful of Kleenex from the dispenser and dabbed at his mother's sodden thatch and then at the juices running down her legs. The top of her stockings were stained with his semen and her secretions. She took a handful of tissues and wiped at her son's slowly deflating erection. Meg pulled her panties back into place and dropped to her heels and then smoothed out her dress.
Peter put himself away and zipped up, then buttoned his shirt. They never spoke after their afternoon ritual, Peter always felt guilty and he was sure his mother did too.
Meg took out her compact and fixed her makeup and lipstick while Peter collected his things and walked over to the stairs.
"I'll be down when I've had a bath," he called to his mother.
"Don't be long sweetie, dinner's not far away," she smiled at him lovingly in that sing-song voice he adored.
Peter soaked in the hot tub and improved a growing erection as he recalled how this had all come to be.
Then
In nineteen forty seven William Balfour inherited five hundred acres of farmland in the Midwest corn-belt and at twenty nine years old he was keen to marry. His farm was located thirty miles from the nearest town and he was lonely, he was an only child and his mother had passed one year before his father.
He saw Margaret Ryan in the general store in Hastings and was immediately taken with her. She was wearing her 'visiting clothes', a tight blue dress, nylons and heels. Her long black hair was unpinned and brushed out and she was wearing makeup. Her mother was gone and her father was keen for her to marry and deliberately made her dress her in alluring apparel in order to attract a suitable beaux.
William made small talk with her in the store until her father arrived and then William took him to the saloon and made him a proposition. William was blunt. He knew that Ben Ryan was struggling to make ends meet. William offered Ben one hundred acres of prime farm land for his daughter's hand in marriage. Ben accepted and they set a wedding date for the end of the month.
William was allowed to court Margaret before the marriage but they were chaperoned at all times. William figured he'd made a good deal, the girl had some 'book learning' but she also knew enough about farming to make a good farmer's wife. Neither Ben nor William asked Margaret if she wanted to marry and in particular did she want to marry William Balfour. Margaret, or Meg as she preferred to called, never questioned William's right to marry her. Her father told her it would be so and so it would be.
She was actually quite excited about becoming a woman and a wife and she knew that William earned a comfortable living off his land and he seemed to be a nice man from what she had gleaned on the four chaperoned dates they had before she married.
"So did you love daddy?" Peter asked his mother as she told him the story about how she had met her husband for the umpteenth time.
"I came to love your daddy Petey. Things were different back then, a girl did what her father told her to do without question and your father is a good man," she stroked her son's sandy hair.
"But he has his appetites," she said wistfully.
"He does like to eat," Peter smiled at his mother.
"Not those sort of appetites Petey, the sort of appetites that a man has for a woman," she turned the page of text book.
William kept his wife secluded away from the outside world. The farm was a long way from the small town and he restricted her visits to once a month and he always accompanied her. He wasn't mean and he gave her a generous allowance out of which she was expected to purchase the necessities to keep herself pretty and desirable. He showed her pictures of his favourite actresses and lingerie catalogues models had her dress just like them.
Meg was directed to keep her figure, keep her legs and her pubic hair shaved and to always dress nicely. When she fell pregnant with Peter he was disappointed that she put on weight and lost her interest in sex during the last trimester. He told her that he wanted no more children after Peter was born. Margaret agreed on condition that she be allowed to keep Peter in school until he had a decent education and William agreed.
William never asked his wife what she had done to prevent herself getting pregnant again and she never told him. She just told him he could now take her whenever it suited him without fear of her conceiving.
During the day when Meg was busy with housework she was allowed to practical wear skirts, Capri pants, or shorts in summer, with a comfortable blouse and a little makeup. But by six o'clock when William came in from the fields she was to be dressed to please him.
Bold makeup, elegantly coiffured hair, skirts or dresses which showed her long legs to advantage were the order of the day. Nylons and high heels were mandatory.
Meg would start dinner and then go upstairs to her bedroom to get ready for her husband around five o'clock and come down just before six o'clock sprayed liberally with perfume.
Petey would be sent outside to do chores with orders not to come back inside the house until called in for dinner around six-thirty. When Peter was old enough to work beside his father he was given extra chores to keep him busy until the appointed time. Needless to say as Peter grew into maturity he was curious as to why his mother and father were to be left alone during that half hour between six and six-thirty and one day he decided to find out.
But as he got older curiosity overcame fear and one day not long after his eighteenth birthday Peter snuck up onto the porch in his stocking feet carrying his boots and crept up to the kitchen window.
He was shocked by what he witnessed.
His mother was on her knees sucking on her father's penis. William was holding her head as he shoved his erect penis in and out of her mouth. His mother was lapping, sucking and stroking the immense organ and seemed to be enjoying it well enough.
Then his father lifted his mother to her feet and roughly spun her around and bent her over one of the kitchen chairs. She reached behind and lifted her dress up and out of the way while his father unbuckled his pants and dropped them around his ankles. His mother dutifully presented herself, her ample buttocks clad in frilly red silk panties.
His father came in behind his mother and yanked the gusset of her panties out of the way and thrust himself inside her. His mother gasped but she didn't seem to be in pain, in fact she pushed herself back, impaling herself on her husband's phallus. Then his father gripped his mother's hips and began to service her.
Peter couldn't help himself, he quietly put down his boots, took out his penis and began to stroke it. He stroked it in time with his father's thrusts and when his father pulled his mother back hard against him as came deep inside her Peter came too, ejaculating a runnel of semen that splashed against the weathered siding and pooled on the boards of the porch. He stroked himself harder as his mother's wanton moans escaped through the glazing.
When his father had finished he pulled out of Peter's mother and wiped his still erect penis with the cloth that he kept in the back pocket of his pants. His mother walked over to the bench with her panties around her knees and tore off some kitchen paper to pat herself dry, then she pulled up her underwear and smoothed out her skirt. She kissed her husband on the cheek and went to the stove to check on dinner.
Peter buttoned his pants and tiptoed off the porch and sat down on the old bench next his mother's small vegetable garden and began to pull on his boots.
When dinner ready Meg powdered her nose, freshened her lipstick and straightened her seams ready for her husband to sit down for dinner. It was time for her son to join them.
"Peter! What are you doing you silly boy, come and get supper," his mother called from the porch.
Meg was shaking her head in exasperation when she turned around to go back inside the house.
Then she saw the splatter of semen on the wall and the pool of creamy spend on the boards. At first she was alarmed, then she smiled to herself. Her son was now a man and he had developed a man's appetites.
Peter was naive in many ways. His mother and father's bedroom was the only room off limits so of course he was curious as to what was in there. Looking out of his upstairs bedroom he could see his mother tending her garden so he snuck into his parent's bedroom to go exploring. Rummaging around in her dresser he found a cache of corsets, bustiers, black fully-fashioned silk and nylon stockings and lacy French knickers.
He lay the garments on the bed fascinated by them. They smelled of his mother's perfume and they felt so soft and sheer against his skin. He began to become erect and he panicked. Peter began to stuff the lingerie back into her dresser but in doing so he snagged one of her stockings, he stuffed the accusary garment into the front pocket of his pants. He took a deep breath and unpacked the lingerie and took his time folding each item carefully and tried to put them back exactly as he had found them.
"What are you doing in here Peter?" his mother was leaning against the bedroom door.
Peter thought she would be angry but she had a bemused look on her face, watching her son panic and try to put her lingerie back in the dresser.
"You've found mommy's night clothes haven't you? Like most young men you find them fascinating, yes?" she stepped into the room, closer to him.
She was wearing a denim skirt, a white cotton blouse unbuttoned down to the rise of her bosom and flat comfortable shoes. She wore sheer nylons as always and although she wore full makeup her face and décolletage were flushed by the sun. Peter could smell her perspiration though the miasma of her perfume.
"I'm sorry mom, I know I shouldn't be in here and I won't come in here again. But yes, those clothes are so lovely and delicate and that they did draw my attention. They look nice but I don't think they're particularly suitable for farm life," Peter countered.
His mother encouraged Peter to ask questions, 'that's how you learn' she had told him. 'Never be afraid to ask me anything,' she had impressed on him.
Meg turned his question around in her head and told him a half-truth.
"They're my bed clothes, daddy likes me to wear them to bed," she replied.
She had noticed that her son was trying to conceal an erection and saw the toe of one of her nylons hanging from the pocket of his pants.
Peter knew nothing about what women wore to bed and didn't question why his mother would go to bed dressed in sexy lingerie and full makeup but he did wonder about the banging headboard, creaking bedsprings, and muffled moans coming from his parent's bedroom at night. At school the girls had teased him when he tried to talk to them so he had become reclusive and even though he was now legally a man he was naïve when it came to sex.
His mother diffused the awkward situation by telling Peter to wash up and come down for lunch. When he came down, having secreted the stolen stocking under his pillow, his mother had freshened up and fixed her makeup. She had put his chair beside her where she sat at the kitchen table with a large textbook open in front of her.
"Sit here Petey, I want to show you something," his mother patted the chair.
Peter was sitting uncomfortably close to his mother. He could smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her body, his bare leg brushed against her silken-sheathed calf and he started to become erect again. He was glad that his erection would be camouflaged by the tabletop.
"I thought your father would have had the birds and bees conversation with you by now Petey but obviously not," she patted his knee and he jumped a little.
She left her hand there and he could feel her long fingernails gently scratching his skin.
"Birds and the bees?" Peter was bemused.
"Sex Peter, sex," his mother looked at him with some concern.
Peter blushed.
"Dad just pointed out various farm animals while they were... were... were doing it," Peter's face was flushed.
"Copulating?" his mother was absentmindedly drawing circles on his thigh with her fingernail and it was driving him wild.
"Yes mother, copulating. Dad said that's how they make babies," Peter thought his voice sounded thick.
"Yes that's right. But men and women also copulate for pleasure. Because they like the way it feels, do you understand?" she looked her son in the eyes.
Peter nodded but she could see he was confused.
"Look Peter, you're eighteen years old so I'm sure that you get erections. You know, when your penis gets hard. And I'm sure sometimes you notice that when you rub the erection it feels very nice," Meg's throat was dry having this conversation.
Peter was so aware of his bare leg rubbing on his mother's stockinged calf, her fingernails scratching his thigh, her perfume, her closeness, his erection, that his head was spinning.
"Look," his mother pointed to a page on an encyclopaedia she had taken from a shelf.
It was a lithograph of a male penis in both flaccid and erect states.
"So this what you and daddy look like when you are aroused," she tapped her finger on the erect penis.
"And this is what mommy and other ladies look like," she turned the page.
A lithograph of vagina, showing all of its intricacies including an expanded internal diagram. Peter thought he was going to faint.
"As you can see the vagina is basically a sheath for a man to put his erect penis into. He parts these outer lips, the labia majora and these inner lips, the labia minor, and thrusts forward. His penis fills the woman's vagina and they thrust against each other until the man ejaculates, just like you have seen horses and dogs do, although women are often on their back," Meg explained very matter-of-factly.To Peter the room seemed to be suffocating him, he was sweating and his cock was throbbing inside his shorts.
"Does it hurt you?" Peter whispered.
"The man does various things to the woman, he kisses and caresses her in her erogenous zones. I won't explain those, you will have fun finding out when you get a girlfriend. This makes the woman's vagina secrete fluids which make her receptive to the man's penis. When they are having intercourse the man will ensure that the woman's clitoris is stimulated so that she enjoys it too," she pointed the clitoris on the expanded diagram in the book.
"Look Peter, I'm telling you this to improve your education but it's really your father's job to explain the intricacies of love making to you. I know your father is very gruff and removed from you; he's distant to me too mostly, except to appease his appetites. I would appreciate it if you didn't tell your father we had this conversation and stay out of our bedroom."
"Also you should heed your father's wishes about staying out of the house or even coming near the house between six and half-past," she looked at him very seriously.
"But I..." Peter began, his face was flushed and there were tears forming in his eyes.
She withdrew her hand from under that table and put it over his.
"Please don't lie to the mother that loves you. I know what young men like to do and what they like to look at while they do it but looking at your mom and dad doing that is wrong. Let's just not speak of it any more ok?" she smiled at Peter sweetly and his heart melted.
He nodded, pleased that his mother had let him off without further embarrassment.
"It's nearly five and I have to start dinner and get ready for daddy. You go help daddy with the chores and I'll see you for dinner," she leaned in and kissed his cheek.
William came through the door exactly at six o'clock and Meg was waiting for him. She wore an A-line skirt cut short above her knees, a white Angora sweater, sheer flesh-toned stockings and white high heels. William dropped his dungarees on the floor and beckoned her to do her duty. She fell to her knees before him and began to suckle his cock whilst stroking his scrotum.
William was unable to maintain a full erection. His impotence was becoming a regular occurrence, he could get semi-erect but he couldn't get any harder no matter what tricks Meg tried. He roughly dragged her onto the couch, lifted her skirt, tore off her panties and tried to penetrate her. He could get his cock inside her but he couldn't keep it inside her vagina, it kept falling out of her because it was so flaccid.
William was getting frustrated and the harder he tried to get his cock hard the less success he had.
"It's your fault you fucking whore! I can't do my duty by you or pleasure myself with you because of something you've done!" William pushed her away from him.
Meg was sobbing.
"William Balfour don't you dare call your wife a whore! I'm devoted to you! I'm trapped on this farm all day cooking, cleaning and schooling your son, where do I get time to be unfaithful!" she cried.
"Well there is something wrong. I used to fuck you at least three times day, more on weekends, and now I can hardly get it up. Why do you think that is?" he growled.
Margaret knew why but would not say. William had been drinking more and more lately, even while he was at work. He never used to drink while working on the farm, it was too dangerous, but she could smell the booze on him now. Every time he had failed to gain a full erection he had been drinking.
"It's probably just a passing phase honey, the malady will go away and you will be performing like our prize bull every time darling," she said to appease him.
It made matters worse.
"Don't you compare me to a stud animal you bitch!" William raised his hand and Meg cowered but he didn't hit her.
"I'd smack you one but the boy would see the shiner," William was panting with rage.
"And that's another thing. You and that boy are too close. He's a grown man now and you're treating him like a milksop!" William stepped into his dungarees and began to pull them up.
Dinner that night was a stoical affair. Everyone remained silent at the dinner table and Peter could sense there was something wrong between his mother and his father. He excused himself early from the table.
"Can I be excused? Tonight's bath night and I have chores to do early so I'm heading on up," he said.
His father just grunted and Peter left the table.
William was drinking at the dinner table, something he would never have done a year ago, and he took the bottle over to the couch and drank more, soon falling asleep.
Meg cleaned off the table and did the dishes. She sat next to William and tried to rouse him, to talk to him, to reason with him, but he was too far in the bag.
She made her way upstairs, intent on having an early night. She heard Peter in the bathroom, the door was ajar. She crept up to it and peeked inside.
Her son was in the bath and had an erection which he was slowly stroking, his eyes were closed and he had a blissful smile on his face.
Peter's cock was even bigger than his father's, who was very well hung. It was engorged, almost throbbing, the bulbous head purple and ripe. Meg remembered when William's cock was like that all the time. She watched her son masturbate and she couldn't help putting her hand under her skirt, she found her clitoris nestled in the folds of her labia. Meg was frustrated because William had not satisfied her, she was wet down there and when she began to circle her clitoris she became wetter.
She fantasised that her husband was deep inside her, his cock as engorged as her son's was now. He was fucking her with long slow strokes, his pubis pressing on her clitty, he kissed her and caressed her while he fucked her. He told her she was gorgeous, beautiful and sexy and that he loved her. And when he lifted his face from hers it wasn't William's at all, it was Peter's.
She gasped at the vulgarity of this obscenity but she pressed her clitoris harder and put two fingers inside herself. The image wouldn't go away, her son was fucking her and telling her that he loved her, and she was about to orgasm.
She put her back to the doorjamb and worked her fingers inside herself and bit down on her lip to silence a scream.
She moaned as her orgasm coursed through her body, she arched her back and drove her fingers deep inside her cunt and thrummed her clitoris, waves of pleasure washed over her.
"Mom? Mom? Is that you?" Peter called out from the bath.
"Yes honey, I just wanted to say goodnight, are you decent?" she said breathlessly.
"Wait a minute. Yes you can come in now," Peter had poured more bath soap into the water and frothed it up so that the foam covered his erection.
The sight of his mother and the scent of her perfume caused his cock to quiver when she came through the door. She closed it behind her. She seemed to be glowing, to be happy; it was good to see after the tense dinner.
"Daddy's asleep on the couch so I'm having an early night. I just came to kiss my darling boy goodnight," she smiled lovingly at her son.
When she spoke like that it usually made Peter feel embarrassed but tonight it excited him. He examined her. Her pretty face with those dark mascaraed eyes, blood-red lipstick and rouged cheeks, her bosom pushing out the Angora sweater, those long-long-long legs. You could see so much of them tonight, clad in shimmering nylons, and those white spiked high heels were just so sexy.
She approached the bath and knelt down to kiss her boy goodnight. His body was skinny but his muscles were developing from the farm work, his hair was a little long and needed cutting, he had his father's eyes. She noticed all these things as she leaned in to kiss his cheek.
Peter couldn't breathe. His mother's dress had ridden up when she got down on her knees and he could see the tops of her stockings and her luscious thighs.
Then Margaret saw her son's engorged manhood poking through the sea of foam. It was slowly pulsating, a bead of pre-ejaculate oozed from the eye.
Fascinated she couldn't take her eyes off it. Then she became entranced, enchanted, she instinctively reached out for it, it was a spontaneous gesture.
Peter gasped when his mother wrapped her long fingers softly around his cock. A pearl of semen oozed from the eye of his penis. Meg was fascinated, she leaned in closer to look at it.
"Oh dear! Gracious me! Oh my goodness!" she squealed as her son's cock spasmed and a geyser of scalding semen splattered in her face.
The next spurt sprayed into her hair, the following one doused her bosom. Impulsively and unconsciously she gripped her son's cock tighter as an innate reaction to his ejaculation. She was inadvertently milking her son.
The remaining few spurts of Peter's issue fell on her sweater and skirt, the last one in the bath.
Peter was breathless and joyful, he had never felt such delectation, such release.
Meg burst out laughing.
"Well that wasn't supposed to happen," she giggled.
She was obviously in shock. The laughing and giggling were a manifestation of her temporary delirium.
Peter was speechless, he just didn't know what to say to his mother.
"We will definitely will not be telling daddy about this," Margaret said as she cleaned herself as best she could with a face cloth.
She turned away and left the bathroom without saying anything further.
Peter heard the click-clack of her high heels receding down the hallway.
The next day was awkward to say the least. Breakfast was a stoic affair with William hungover and still angry at Meg and Peter and his mother still embarrassed by what had occurred in the bathroom.
In a way Peter was glad. He was too close to his mother and what had happened in the bath last night was wrong and they both knew it.
Time passed and William still came home at six o'clock in the evening but had given up trying to perform his husbandly duties to Meg, he reached for the bottle instead of his wife. She still dressed pretty for him and showed him affection but on the rare occasions that he did reach for her he was unable to consummate their desires.
Margaret had never really realised how much she liked sex until it was denied her. She would masturbate in the house while her men were at work and increasingly it was her son who was fucking her in her fantasies. She was also behaving very eccentrically. She started to leave her discarded nylons under Peter's pillow along with copies of her husband's lingerie catalogues.
She knew that her son was using her lingerie to masturbate so she left him these little treasures to keep him out of her underwear drawers. Every now and then she would find one of her old nylons in the trash, crusty with her son's dried sperm. One day she even took one out and put it to her nose while she slipped her hand inside her panties and pleasured herself.
The sexual tension between mother and son was becoming palpable. William Balfour was totally unaware, he was too busy working on the farm during the day and too drunk at night.
Three months after the incident in the bathroom Peter was lying in bed with the bedclothes pulled down. He had slipped one of his mother's stockings over his cock and was sniffing at the crotch of a pair of her nylon panties that he had pilfered from the laundry basket. He was ever so slowly stroking himself whilst looking at pictures of the mature women dressed in lingerie in one of the catalogues that his mother had left for him.
The door opened a crack and his mother's perfume wafted through the opening. His mother poked her head through the gap and immediately put a finger to her lips.
"Shh," she stepped into the room on stocking feet.
She softly closed the door behind her and tiptoed over to the bed.
Peter dropped the magazine on the floor and just lay there slackjawed unable to speak or move.
Meg was wearing full makeup, a black satin and lace bustier with four garters each side attached to the welts of her black silk fully-fashioned stockings. She was sans high-heels so as not make a noise on the wooden floorboards.
She lay down beside her son and put her lips his ear.
"This is always to be our secret. We never speak of this outside this room, if your father finds out we are both dead," she whispered.
The closeness of his mother's body, the smell of her perfume, the feel of her lips fluttering on his ear nearly drove Peter to extremis.
Then his mother did.
She took his stocking-sheathed cock in her hand and stroked it softly and put her mouth on his, slipping her tongue inside him.
Peter moaned and ejaculated into the stocking as his mother milked him with the translucent hose, her fingers featherlight on his pulsating hard rod.
She put her lips back to his ear.
"Now you will last a little longer when I mount you," she whispered and then started kissing him again.
She wiped up the mess with the stocking and discarded it, it fluttered to the floor.
Meg lifted her leg over Peter's prone body and straddled him. She pressed her body against his warm muscled flesh, the feel of his mother's soft body clad in the satin bustier against his bare skin was titillating. Her soft lips pressed on his and her tongue explored his mouth. Peter wrapped his arms around his mother and pulled her close. His hard cock pressed against her sleek black nylon panties.
He reached for her breasts but she moved his hand away. She leaned down to his face and put her lips against his ear again.
"Remember the lesson on reproduction?" she whispered and Peter nodded.
"The picture of a vagina?" she said softly and Peter nodded again.
"I'm going to teach you have to properly manipulate mommy's vagina so we can both enjoy it. I'll also teach you how to kiss properly and how to play with mommy's breasts," she went on.
"But not tonight. Tonight is just to give you a taste of things to come. Tonight is all for you son," she bit the lobe of his ear.
Meg rose up and put her knees either side of her son's flanks so that her panty-clad cunt was pressing on his hard cock. She put a finger to his lips again.
"Shh. Don't make too much noise when I do this," she whispered as she pulled the gusset of her panties aside and positioned the head of her sons cock at the entrance to her vagina.
Her panties were sodden and her vagina was dripping with juices, it had been ever since she had set her resolve to go ahead and consummate this sinful act.
Peter and Meg both bit down on their lips to silence their moans as Peter's huge cock slid slowly inside his mother. Meg knew her son's cock was big but she didn't realise just how massive it was until it filled her cunt.
Peter was in heaven. The feel of his mother's tight, warm, wet flesh clasping his manhood as he slid deep inside her was unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. He wanted to fuck his mother with fast strokes but he knew he shouldn't. If he did he would come too soon, the bedsprings would squeak and rattle, but most of all he somehow knew that he needed to make sure that his mother enjoyed it too.
He put his hands on his mother's waist to steady her while she rode up and down on Peter's enormous appendage. Meg wanted it all the way inside her so that the base of his cock pressed on her clitoris and the glans pressed her g-spot. She pushed down to meet his thrusts and they both had to concentrate so as not to make too much noise. They whimpered and sighed as they fucked each other.
Peter stroked his mother's legs, he loved the feel of her slinky nylons encasing her toned flesh and then he explored her breasts through the satin bustier, he could feel her nipples were hard and he wanted to take them out but his mother shook her head. To compensate her son Meg lowered her face to his and kissed him passionately, she wormed her tongue into his mouth.
He had never been kissed like this before and it felt so erotic, he could hardly wait for when his mother would teach him how to French-kiss and to properly fondle her breasts but he was so happy to be fucking her and that was reward enough.
Despite having orgasmed so recently Peter felt his climax approaching and his mother could sense it. She ground down on his cock and twisted her torso so that his cock pressed on her clitoris and g-spot. This triggered her orgasm and she gasped into Peter's mouth and writhed and bucked against him. Her cunt began to convulse and squeeze Peter's cock which initiated his orgasm, he pulled his mother hard against him and emptied himself inside her.
Meg bit pressed her lips hard against his to silence the scream as she felt her son fill her with his hot seed, she writhed and bucked against him, impaling herself on his huge cock extracting every ounce of pleasure from her climax. She reared, throwing back her head in exhilaration as her orgasm roared through her every nerve and fibre.
She finally fell down and lay on top of her son, sated and exhausted. Peter wrapped his arms around her.
"I love you mom," he whispered.
"I love you too son," Meg smiled down at her darling boy then kissed his nose playfully.
"We still need to still keep quiet. Your dad is out dead drunk but I don't want to take any chances," she murmured.
Peter was disappointed when his mother disentangled herself from him and carefully dismounted. A flood of his come gushed from her vagina, Meg slipped the gusset of her panties back into place to help soak up some of her son's issue.
She kissed Peter one last time and carefully opened the door and padded down the hall to the bathroom to clean up before going back to bed.
Peter and his mother's illicit liaisons became a regular event. They would watch William drink himself into a stupor after dinner and, ensuring that her husband was comatose, Meg would sneak into her son's bedroom.
Peter fitted a lock to his bedroom door and repaired and modified his old bed so that it didn't rattle and squeak. Margaret coached her son, teaching him to kiss her, how to caress her breasts to provide maximum stimulation and how to manipulate the parts of her vagina to ensure she was fully aroused and sated during their lovemaking.
Peter requested that she continue to wear exotic lingerie, stockings and heels for their encounters. Meg would pad down the corridor carrying her high heels and slip them on when she sat on Peter's bed.
As William's drinking became worse, mother and son became emboldened. If William was working on the far reaches of the farm Peter would find work to do in the barn and he and his mother would roll around in the hay.
Peter eventually took over running the farm, his father was drunk just about all the time by now. William and Meg had even moved into separate bedrooms, William moved into Peter's old room adjacent to the master bedroom. Most nights he never made it to bed anyway but it meant that Meg could now come and go as she pleased and Peter could even sneak into her room for their trysts.
Peter entered his Mother's room for the first time to make love to her. He was immediately met by the miasma of her perfume. He locked the door behind him and stood there admiring her posed on the bed. She was wearing a see-through black negligee, red nylon panties and matching satin bra, black high heels and nude, fully-fashioned stockings held up by a black lace garter belt. She wore full makeup and her short black mane shone in the lamplight.
Meg waggled a finger at him, inviting him to join her on the bed and he shucked out of his pyjamas so that he was naked when he arrived, his huge cock hard and dripping pre-ejaculate. They had fucked already that day in the barn, she leaning over a hitching rail with her skirt rucked up and him behind her with his pants around his ankles. But Peter was insatiable and his mother's libido matched his since they had begun their torrid, illicit affair.Meg opened her arms and her boy mounted her. His cock pressed on her mound as his lips found hers. He kissed her, using his tongue the way his mother had taught him. Meg wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, lifting her body to meet his as he rutted at her panty-clad cunt.
His hands slid inside Meg's negligee and unclasped her bra, he dropped it on the floor and hiked up the negligee past his mother's breasts to that he could suckle her nipples.
Meg moaned as her son used his lips, tongue, and teeth on her sensitive teats. She had taught him well and he took his time to ensure both breasts received equal attention. She reached down and found him rigid and throbbing. Meg knew that her son was capable of fucking her at least twice tonight; she loved that he was so virile and now that she had trained him, attentive to her needs.
She stroked his phallus and he groaned, lowering his face to hers so they could kiss. Meg guided his cock to her panty-clad mound, he pressed forward so that his cock was sheathed in the gossamer fabric of her panties and rubbed against her vulva. This had become a ritual. She knew her son loved the feel of her sheer panties and stockings on his cock and she always allowed him to exercise his fetish before they fucked. Sometimes he went too far, only yesterday he was rubbing his cock on her stocking-sheathed thighs and he uncontrollably ejaculated against her leg. She didn't mind, it didn't take long for him to recover.
He pushed his glans inside her labia and rubbed against her clitoris, Meg began to writhe beneath him, arching her body to encourage him. Peter extracted his cock from the gusset of her panties and slid it inside his mother, she wrapped her legs around him and held him tight while he began to fuck her.
They kissed and caressed and moaned and sighed as Peter bought her to the edge and then backed off, it was trick he had learned himself and she both loved him and hated him when he did it.
She loved that his technique was so good that he could bring her to the brink of orgasm at will and hated that he often kept her there for so long that she had to beg him to finish her off.
"Fuck me Peter! Fuck me son!" she bit his earlobe quite savagely.
Peter quickened his pace and pushed himself all the way inside his mother. Meg could feel his cock expand as it was about to erupt. Then it did.
Peter and his mother clung to each other as Peter jackhammered his cock in and out of her cunt. Her silken-sheathed legs grazed his flanks, her nails raked his back and her teeth bit his lip as she savagely extracted every scintilla of pleasure from her huge-cocked son. He filled his mother with his scalding issue, semen dripped from her cunt and soaked into her panties and even the sheet. The musky smell of his spend mingled with her perfume.
Now
The next day William Balfour went missing. He was last seen driving his old pickup down one of the dirt roads that bordered the cornfields. Peter spent two days searching the farm and surrounds and the sheriff and his deputies swept a wider area around town. People reported seeing William's pickup here and there but there was never any confirmed sighting of William or the car and there were hundreds of old pickups in the surrounding counties. William had vanished.
By now everyone in town knew that William was a lush and prone to extreme mood swings and it didn't surprise them that he had walked out of his marriage and the responsibilities to his family.
Peter made one last trip into town to see the sheriff who told him the sheriff's department would be spending no further resources looking for William Balfour, they had more important things to do than look for a drunk who had deserted his family.
Margaret saw the plume of dust rising from her son's battered old pickup as he turned into the farmhouse yard.
She powdered her nose, freshened her lipstick and straightened her seams ready for her son.
"Nothing mom. I think he's gone for good," Peter shook his head.
"Well that's settled then. Now that daddy's gone you are the man of the house. You can permanently move into my bedroom tomorrow," she said pragmatically.
Peter nodded solemnly.
"Anyway, it's six o'clock Petey, come over here and tend to your mother's needs," she smiled at him and held out her hand.
Peter left home early the next day and took a packed lunch. He rode old Blackie, a gentle gelding coming to the end of his days, for a few miles, taking it easy on the old horse. He came to a copse of unworkable land located roughly in the middle of the farm and guided the horse down a poorly marked trail until he came to his father's pickup, now almost unrecognisable, camouflaged with branches and leaves.
He tethered the animal to the lower branches of an old oak and gave Blackie a drink.
Then he went over to the mound of dirt under which his father lay buried and said a small prayer.
Peter threw more branches over the rusty old pickup and rode his horse around the copse of trees to ensure the car was invisible, then he started the long ride home. He needed to be there by six o'clock to carry out husbandly duties to his mother now that he was the man of the house.
Peter Balfour finished work early and decided to head to the creek and take a swim. He stripped naked and dove into the cool, clear water. His twenty-year-old body was well muscled and developed from working hard on the farm; he was fit, tanned, healthy and very well endowed. His eight-inch penis swayed from side to side between his legs when he climbed out of the creek and onto the bank, it had a good girth and swelled to ten inches of solid meat when tumescent.
Peter pulled his watch from his shirt pocket, it was five-thirty and he had an appointment at six in the afternoon that he always kept. He had plenty of time today because he was out and about in his brand new 1967 Chevrolet pickup. It was painted a practical light olive green for working the farm but the new chrome glistened in the afternoon sun. It was his pride and joy, he and his mother had looked at the farm's books and figured they could afford to buy it to replace the rusty old pickup in which his father had run away.
William Balfour, Peter's father, had been missing for over a year now. A hardworking farmer who had descended into drunkenness and become a degenerate alcoholic, William was last seen driving away from the farm in his old pickup. He was listed as a missing person but no one was looking for him. It was assumed that by now he was probably an itinerant bum in a nearby city or more likely a John Doe buried in a pauper's grave somewhere.
Peter let the sun dry his body and then he dressed and climbed into the cab of his truck and drove the five miles home at a steady twenty miles per hour. This gave him time to park the truck in the barn and pick some flowers for his mother from her garden out front of the farmhouse.
At thirty-six-years-old Margaret Balfour, nee Ryan, was a stunning woman. She was wearing full makeup, earrings and a necklace and her black hair was worn in a bob with bangs cut just above her big blue eyes. Meg preferred the conservative fashions of the fifties rather than the modern bright-coloured shifts and skirts, patterned tights and low-block heels that were now popular. She was big-breasted and long-legged and liked to dress to show off her attributes. She was wearing a navy-blue, knee-length pencil-skirt, a white fitted satin blouse, black four-inch high heels and seamed flesh-toned stockings. Not farm attire at all.
On the few occasions that she went into town she would dress in modern garb but Meg liked the nostalgic look of her early womanhood in the nineteen-fifties. Besides, her son like his mother dressed this way too, it reminded him of the hours they had spent together each day when he was home-schooled by her. But Peter was now the man of the house.
Meg had spent the day working in her garden and doing housework. At five o'clock she started dinner and then went upstairs to her bedroom to get changed, fix her makeup, and came had down just before six o'clock sprayed liberally with perfume.
Meg heard the door slam and immediately became excited. There was one chore that she and Peter always took care of at six o'clock, a chore they both fully enjoyed. Meg leaned over the kitchen bench pretending to fiddle with some condiments, she kicked up a heel, opening up the kick-pleat in the back of her skirt to expose the seams on her stockings running up the back of her long legs.
Peter inhaled the appetising smell of dinner mingled with his mother's perfume and strode across the dining room, smiling. He pressed himself against his mother, pushing his hard cock against her buttocks and cupping her breasts, he could feel that her nipples were hard. He nuzzled her neck and shoulders.
"Hard day in the fields Petey?" Meg asked bearing back against him with her buttocks.
"Yes mom, it was a hard day," Peter, nipped her earlobe playfully.
"As hard as you feel against your mother right now?" her bright-red lipsticked-lips parted in a grin.
"Maybe not that hard," Peter chuckled and smelled her hair.
"Shall I help you with that?" Meg turned around in her son's embrace and stared at him with her pretty blue eyes.
Peter pressed his lips to hers and kissed her hungrily and held her tight against him. Meg opened her mouth so that he could put his tongue inside her. Peter squeezed her buttocks and moaned with lust.
"Yes mom, you can help me," Peter moaned.
"Like this son?" Meg took a half-step back and reached for the bulge in his pants.
Meg traced the outline of her son's hard cock through his jeans and was not surprised when a wet-patch appeared. Her nylon panties were wet from her own juices afterall.
She unzipped him and extracted his engorged phallus with some difficulty. She was always amazed at the heftiness of her son's penis in her small hands. She used her red-nailpolished fingertip to dab at the globule of pre-ejaculate that exuded from the eye of his cock. She bought the finger to her lips and put out the tip of tongue and lapped at it.
"Mmm Petey, you taste good," Meg grinned.
"Perhaps you had better get a larger sample," Peter smiled back at her.
"But first let see how good you taste mom," Peter slipped his hand under his mother's skirt.
Meg shuddered as Peter slipped his fingertip across the front of his mother's translucent white nylon panties. Her knees began to buckle when he pressed the silky material into her vulva and caressed her labia with it. He deliberately kept his fingers away from his mother's clitoris, he would make her beg for him to touch it but she had duties to perform first.
He extracted his finger and sniffed his mother's pungent bouquet and then tasted her vaginal secretions.
"You taste pretty good too mom," Peter smirked.
Meg was halfway to her knees and Peter pressed down on her shoulders and Meg knelt on the floor before him. She took his cock in her hand and lightly caressed it. Peter was likely to prematurely ejaculate if she stimulated him too much too soon. Not that it mattered too much, he soon recovered, sometimes not even becoming fully flaccid before he was ready to go again. But she wanted his semen in her mouth or her vagina; it would be wasted splattered on her fingers, although she had licked his cum off them plenty of times in the past.
Peter thrust his hips out, he was impatient for his mother to take him in her mouth. She acquiesced and guided his throbbing cock to her lips. She licked the tip of his penis with the tip of her tongue, lapping at the precum. Then she fluttered her tongue on her son's fraenulum and listened to him groan. Finally she took him in her mouth and began to suck him.
"Oh yes please mom, that is so good!" Peter moaned, putting his hands on her head to guide her.
His cock was too big to take it all in her mouth, but she took as much as she could, working her lips along the shaft, using her tongue on the bottom of it, drinking the efflux of precum that issued from his cock. She cupped his scrotum and gently massaged his testes making him groan louder. She knew he wouldn't last much longer.
Meg had a hand under her skirt, she had been thrumming her clitoris all the while she was sucking her son's cock and she was holding off an orgasm. Sensing that Peter was about to cum she spat out his cock.
"Aw mom!" Peter whined.
But not for long.
Meg stood up, hiked up her skirt, turned around, bent over the counter-top and reached behind her for her son's cock. She guided it inside her panties and positioned it at the sopping entrance of her cunt. It slid past her vulva and into her vagina like a hot knife through butter.
Peter was always amazed at how tight his mother's cunt was. It gripped his cock like a velvet glove, he could smell her juices and he was ready to orgasm himself.
"Come on son; fuck your mother," Meg whispered.
"Come inside your mom, fill me with your sperm," she hissed.
Peter gripped his mother's hips and plunged his cock all the way inside her making her gasp as he filled his mother with his flesh. He vigorously humped her, making his mother moan with lust. She lewdly pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts and urging him on.
"Ready mom?" Peter gasped.
Meg just nodded, she was too overcome with wantonness to answer him.
Peter pulled his mother hard against him and drove his cock inside her as far as it would go and ejaculated. Meg climaxed at the same time, her cunt quivered and palpitated draining her son of his spend. Peter nibbled his mother's neck and sucked her flesh, his hands had gone to her breasts, squeezing them, tweaking her nipples through her blouse to increase his mother's pleasure.
Meg actually collapsed because the force of her orgasm was so strong, she was impaled on Peter's cock, his strong grip keeping her from falling to the floor while he continued to thrust in and out of her quivering quim.
Finally, after they had both peaked and started to come down from their climax, Meg was able to reach out and hold onto the counter top. Peter pulled his cock out of his mother's cunt; her vagina clung to his flesh, reluctant to let it go. His glans slipped out of her labia and a torrent of semen and vaginal juices gushed from his mother cunt. Some soaked into her already sodden panties but most of it ran down her legs and soaked into the welts of her stockings.
Peter dropped to his knees and lapped at the salty, sticky secretions and followed the stream up his mother's milky thighs to her sodden maw where he lapped at her bloated vulva, working his tongue along her labia and finally finding her clitoris.
"No! No! No!" Meg entangled her fingers in her son's hair trying to pull him away.
Her cunt was too tender from her orgasm to take any further stimulation.
But Peter persisted and his mother couldn't help but climax again.
She screamed; opening her legs wide and pushing Peter's face into her quim. He licked her clitoris as his mother shook and moaned; her whole body became a temple of pleasure. She collapsed on the floor shaking and Peter followed her, his mouth glued to her cunt, lapping at her clitoris. Then he mounted his mother and began to fuck her again.
"No! No! No! I can't!" she cried, but she wrapped her stocking-sheathed legs around his body and held him to her.
Peter came again almost immediately, he smothered his mother's cries with his lips and drove his tongue into her mouth and he fucked her hard and fast.
This time they were finished. Meg had orgasmed three times already and her cunt was sore. Peter would want to fuck her again at least once tonight, twice more likely. It was no wonder she stayed thin despite her appetite, her son had a ravenous craving for sex and kept her busy satisfying it.
Meg adjusted her clothing and washed her hands at the kitchen sink, her panties were sodden and her thighs sticky. Her husband had insisted that she clean herself down there before she joined him for dinner but Peter liked the aroma of his mother's cunt at the dinner table. It incensed his appetite for both food and sex.
Peter washed up and sat at the table and his mother served dinner. Conversation at dinner usually revolved around farm business, crop prices, the weather, the cost of labour, crop yield and so on. Meg had been forbidden to have anything to do with farm management when her husband was still at home. Peter had emancipated his mother and employed her to keep the books and records which she did both energetically and effectively. The farm was making a good profit.
William had also denied Margaret an income, allocating her a small stipend for household expenses and to buy clothing, lingerie and nylons, over which he had oversight. The farm was still in William's name, Peter was the sole benefactor in his father's will but as there was no body and William's whereabouts remained unknown they would have to wait seven years to have William declared legally dead.
Not that it really mattered. The bank was pragmatic and as the farm had substantial holdings and always paid out the loans on time, with interest, it was to their advantage to allow Margaret and Peter access to the farm's accounts. So it was business as usual except that Meg now had equal standing in the house.
Peter and his mother enjoyed the isolation of living on a farm far from the nearest town. They enjoyed each other's company as well as enjoying each other's bodies. They could carry on their incestuous affair unrestrained. Peter slept in the master bedroom with his mother and they had sex whenever the hankering came on them, both in the house and around the farm. The only time they needed to be cautious was when they hired farmhands to assist with reaping the corn.
The farmhand barracks was located well away from the house and was self-contained with its own kitchen and domestic facilities. William Balfour had moved it to its current location when he married his young pretty wife. He didn't want coarse and licentious farmhands roughhousing and carousing near his bride in case they got any ideas.
During the corn harvest Margaret stayed close to home and she and Peter confined their lascivious activities to the house.
That was all about to change.
Peter arrived home for his six o'clock assignation and was looking forward to it with relish. His mother had dressed provocatively in a basque, fully-fashioned stockings, high heels and full makeup at breakfast, covered only by a flimsy negligee. She had purposely teased her son, brushing against him and allowing the robe to open and reveal her body. Peter had reached for her on numerous occasions during breakfast but she had skilfully eluded him whilst continuing to tantalise him and incite his lust.
"Imagine how wonderful it will be when you get home from work this afternoon Petey," she had whispered in his ear seductively.
Her perfume was driving him wild when she had nibbled his earlobe. Meg sent him to work unsatisfied having squeezed his hard cock through his jeans when he kissed her farewell.
Peter noticed the Chevrolet Impala parked in the driveway as soon as he crested the ridge above the farmhouse on his horse.
He frowned. He knew that there was only person that the flashy car with its burgundy body and white roof, twin headlights and chrome trim and wheels could belong to.
Millicent Ryan was three years older than her sister and had run away from home to the city as soon as she could. She'd married an advertising executive and had lived the high life, looking down her nose at her family as if they were country hicks and conveniently forgetting where she came from.
Peter had seen her only once, at a family funeral. She was as striking as her sister but with blonde hair which his mother told him she dyed. She was haughty and aloof and had probably said three words to Peter the whole time he was there. It was obvious that she hated being back in the Midwest so Peter wondered why his aunt had returned to the corn-belt.
"This does not bode well," Peter spat in the dust as he dismounted his horse.
With his aunt ensconced inside the farmhouse there was no need for him to hurry. For the first time in a year he would not be able to meet his six o'clock obligation, and he was not happy.
Peter unbridled his horse and gave it food and water while he groomed it. He led it over to the barn and stabled it for the night. He tended to a few chores in the barn that really didn't need attending to, anything to delay having to go inside. He was angry and horny.
Peter bit the bullet and strode across the yard, stepped onto the stoop and opened the door. Normally his mother would be there dressed invitingly ready to fuck but today she sat on a stool at the breakfast bar sipping coffee wearing a short-sleeved knee-length, A-line pleated dress. It was red with white polka dots. She wore red four-inch high heels and seamed flesh-toned stockings. Peter admired the seams running up the back of her long legs but was disappointed he would not get to explore them any time soon.
Sitting beside his mother was his aunt, she too was sipping coffee. Her dress style was totally different to his mother's; more modern and very trendy. Millicent, or Milli as she preferred, was wearing a sleeveless solid teal shift micro-mini dress with round neck, sheer taupe hosiery and wedge-heeled Mary-Janes with ankle straps. Her makeup consisted of flicked upper eyeliner, matte green eyeshadow, false eyelashes with heavy mascara, coral-blushed cheeks, and pink lipstick. Her blonde hair was piled in a beehive and a pillbox hat to match her shift sat on the breakfast bar.
Both women were stunning but in different ways. Meg was a model for fifties style and Millie was a model for sixties chic.
"Oh my god! Is this my nephew?" Millie bought her hands to her face, over-exaggerating as usual.
"Yes this is Peter. Come say hello to your aunt Millicent honey," Meg gave him a cautionary glare.
Peter nodded and walked over to Millicent who was now standing. Peter had caught a flash of pink panty when she alighted from the stool because her dress was so short.
"Don't you dare call me aunty or even Millicent, I'm Millie," she leaned into Peter and kissed his cheek.
She smelled like flowers and bubblegum.
Millie held Peter at arms-length and studied him.
"He's his father's son that's for sure. Handsome, strapping, and stoic. What about Willie's other attribute Meg? Has he got that too?" Millie raised a brow knowingly.
Meg blushed and slapped her sister gently on the arm. Peter just looked confused.
"Has a cat got your tongue Petey? You haven't said a word," Millie was very loud.
"Hello aunt... err Millie," Peter said dispassionately.
Peter did not like this at all. His mother looked obviously distraught and he figured it was not just because they hadn't had their six o'clock liaison. His aunt was loud and boisterous and he hoped that she would not be staying for long.
"Go and get washed-up and change for dinner Petey," his mother gave him another knowing look and directed her eyes towards the stairs.
Peter climbed the stairs and was about to use the bathroom when he noticed the door to his old bedroom was ajar. He opened it and saw that his mother had put all his possessions back in his old room. Of greater concern was the four matching Venetian-red Samsonite Silhouette suitcases in the spare bedroom next the master bedroom. It looked liked aunt Millicent was going to be here a while.
"Shithouse mouse!" Peter growled as he went back to the bathroom to clean up.
"So you want to tell me again why you were dressed like some nineteen-fifties floozy when I arrived?" Millicent fitted a cigarette into her cigarette-holder.
Millicent had arrived mid-afternoon and found her sister dressed in the basque, fully-fashioned stockings, high heels and flimsy negligee wearing full makeup and jewellery.
Meg had lied of course and said that she was simply dressed in her underwear, doing some housework and didn't want to get her dress dirty. She would dress properly before her son came home for the fields.
"Look Meg, I know you like all that fifties jitterbug and Lindy shit and that your husband had a thing for you being dressed in a hooker's lingerie but really? You expect me to believe you were dressed like that for a husband who has been missing for over a year?" Millie lit her cigarette with a gold lighter.
Meg was so nervous. She had been able to throw all of her son's accoutrements out of her bedroom and into his old room. She had been able to accomplish this by taking advantage of Millie needing a long bathroom break as soon as she arrived, but she still wondered if her sister was suspicious of her and Peter.
She was so nervous that she snatched up her sister's cigarettes and lit one herself. She seldom smoked, sometimes with Peter if they'd had a particularly torrid session or were having a drink.
"You know what I think?" Millie said.
Meg began to shake with worry.
"I think you have a boyfriend. And I think your boyfriend visits the house while your son is out working the farm and that way you keep it secret from him," Millie smirked.
"Yes! Of course! I can never hide anything from you Millie," Meg sighed with relief.
Millie had provided Meg with the perfect alibi. A fictitious lover that she could blame for any discretions that Millie may uncover.
Dinner that night was a chore for Peter, his aunt talked incessantly about boring subjects that interested Peter not one bit. He found her big-city adventures a chore to listen to. The only compensation was that her micro-mini dress had ridden up right to the top of her thighs. Peter had never seen pantyhose before and was fascinated by them, the way she sheer nylon continued all the way to the top of her thighs under her panties which was very captivating. It was obviously the only sort of hosiery that could be worn with a dress that short but he still preferred the look of his mother's fully-fashioned stockings.
Millie saw her nephew peeking at her legs. It's not like she wasn't used to men ogling her legs, as well as her tits and ass, that's what men did. But Peter was a lot younger than the old farts that her husband called friends and colleagues. Friends indeed, nearly every one of them had felt her up or propositioned her. Not that she could sling mud.
The day of the family funeral William Balfour had taken his wife Margaret and young son Peter back to the farm and made an excuse to drive all the way back into town. He'd knocked on the door to her room at the town's only crummy motel.
"What do you want Billy?" Millie stood leaning on the door smoking a cigarette.
She was still wearing her funeral attire, a black long-sleeved dress with a hem that rode ridiculously high on her thighs, fully-fashioned black stockings, black pumps and full makeup.
"You know you show contempt for your family coming to your uncle's funeral dressed like that," he growled.
"Oh I think he would have liked it Billy. The old coot used to chase me around the room and when he caught me he'd sit me in his lap and panty-pop me Billy, he'd have likely loved to have done it to me dressed like this," she said disparagingly.
"That's no way to talk about your deceased uncle," William was red-faced.
"You mean the man who liked to rub his cock on me until he ejaculated on my panty-clad ass while I sat in his lap pretending to watch TV?" she replied.
"You were probably asking for it you slut," William balled his fists.
"Oh come in Billy. I know the real reason you came to see me. You haven't taken your eyes off me all day. Whatever would my sister think?" Millie turned her back on him and walked over to the bed and crushed out her cigarette in an ashtray on the nightstand.
William came in behind her and pushed her onto the bed. Millie rolled over and looked at William who was shaking with rage and lust. His cock was tenting the front of his suit pants. Millie lay sprawled on the bed her legs open, her dress had ridden up, her stocking tops and black lace panties were wantonly on display.
Millie looked up at William and smiled seductively, running her tongue along her bright red lipsticked lips. She put a red-nailpolished fingertip between her legs and stroked the front of her panties and gave him a questioning look.
William fell on top of her, crushing his lips against hers. Millie opened her legs wider and kissed him back, fumbling with his zipper and belt. William pushed his pants down to his knees and freed his erection. He poked at her with it, rubbing it on the gossamer material of her panties. He was getting impatient trying to get his cock inside her and finally he tore out the crotch of her panties.
"Oh god it's so big," Millie gasped as she took him in hand.
She eased him inside the torn-out crotch of her panties and guided him to her sex. William thrust forward and Millie moaned as his long thick phallus entered her hot wet vagina. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he began to fuck her. She bit his ear and raked his flesh with her nails.
"Fuck me! Fuck me you animal! Fuck me you farm boy!" she goaded him.
Williams cock was the biggest she had ever had inside her and she'd had plenty. She loved the feel of its girth, it filled her, and the bulbous glans pressed on her G-spot. William thought that Margaret's cunt was tighter than her sister's but he was enjoying fucking this haughty bitch. She smelled and tasted wonderful and her cunt was wet and inviting.
It was over quickly.
William drove himself deep inside his sister-in-law and ejaculated. She came with him, riding the peak of his orgasm, drumming her heels on his back. He was holding her so tight that she was suffocating but that only added to the thrill. Her sister was miss prim-and-proper and her husband was fucking her whore sister.
Peter disentangled himself from Millie and pulled up his pants, he wanted to leave so bad that he was still buckling them when he walked out the door without saying a word. Millie lay on the bed with her legs still spread wide, her panties tattered and torn, a rivulet of semen dripped from her cunt, William had laddered her stockings during the frenzied fucking.
Millie just chuckled to herself and lit a cigarette, leaving her legs wide open so she could get some cool air on her battered vulva.
She never saw William again and she had never told her sister what had happened. She wore the secret like a badge of honour and whenever her father rang Millie, which wasn't often, and complained that she should be more demure like her farmer's-wife sister, she recalled being ravaged by William Balfour. Meg might be the better sister, but she couldn't keep her husband satisfied apparently.
When Millie heard that William had turned into a vicious drunk who had run away from his wife and son, she couldn't help but feel a little schadenfreude. But a year later when her own husband found out about her affair with a younger man and had thrown her out of the house penniless, Millie had no one else to turn to but Meg.
The tension grew in the farmhouse as Peter and Meg were denied sex due to Millie's presence. What made things worse is that there seemed to be no end state. Millicent rang her husband at least once a day but he refused to forgive her but more importantly, he refused her access to their bank accounts so she was effectively destitute. Peter feared she may never leave.
Peter compensated for his lack of sexual gratification by working harder and longer, his six o'clock assignation with his mother was no longer a longed-for pleasure, he had to endure the torture of listening to his aunt's inane conversation; tales of her living the high life and mingling with the well to do lording over the hoi polloi held no interest for him.
It was worse for Meg because Millie confessed her discretions to her about the numerous men she had been with, often going into the minutiae of what she was wearing, how big the man's cock was, what they did, in what positions, and how often she orgasmed. It not only drove Meg wild with jealousy, it made her lustful and made her more aware of what she was missing out on with Peter.
Adding to Peter's frustration was his aunt's insistence on getting around dressed only in her underwear under a pink negligee until mid-morning when she would dress for the day. She also made a habit of leaving her bedroom door ajar, holding conversations with her sister across the hallway through the open door. Millie liked to sleep in so Peter was usually gone for the day well before she got out of bed, but on weekends Peter didn't mind catching a few extra hours sleep himself.
His mother tried to make up for their lack of sex by leaving Peter little gifts under his pillow: a pair of her soiled panties for him to sniff or a pair of her nylons for him to masturbate with. She'd spray them with her perfume so that he could imagine fucking his mother whilst sniffing her panties and slipping his cock inside the stocking and stroking himself until he climaxed. He would then reciprocate the gesture and leave the cum-filled stockings and panties in his mother's room so she could use them as masturbatory aids.
Peter left his room one morning and was about to make his way downstairs when he heard his aunt shuffling about in her room. Peter sidled up to the open door and looked inside. Millie was bent over the bed fussing with the bedclothes. She hadn't finished dressing and was wearing only her pantyhose and her negligee. Peter was fascinated by pantyhose, this new fashion garment that fully encased a woman's legs in diaphanous nylon. But what he was witnessing intrigued him further. His aunt's ample buttocks were also encased in the coffee-coloured transparent fabric.
He could see the firm globes of her buttocks and the cleft between her legs where tufts of pubic hair were smoothed flat against her pubis. Her long and shapely legs glistened in the lamplight and Peter couldn't help but take out his cock and stroke it whilst watching his aunt's ass dance and wobble as she struggled to make the bed. The scent of her perfume permeated the hallway adding to the delusion in his head of throwing Millie down on the bed and fucking her while she struggled to break free.
Peter was mature enough to know that the fantasy served the dual purpose of releasing his sexual frustration whilst punishing his aunt for being in their house. He had no intention of acting it out but it fuelled his imagination as he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the nylon stocking he intended to put under his mother's pillow and slipped it over his engorged penis. It was still wet from this morning's emission but it felt so smooth and soft as he pressed the gauzy garment to his manhood and began to stroke.
His eyes were locked on his aunt's soft buttocks, the sheen of her pantyhose giving them an ethereal ambiance; he imagined nestling his cock in that silk-lined cleft whilst stroking those long gossamer-clad limbs, holding Millie down on the bed while he humped away at her ass. The more Millie struggled to smooth out the bed clothes, the more invitingly her buttocks waggled and swayed.
Peter stifled a groan as he ejaculated into the stocking, his semen darkening the tan nylons and then bursting through in a puddle of viscous warm cream. He fell back against the wall at the pinnacle of his orgasm and tried to control his breathing. Realising the precarious position he was in Peter quickly stuffed his cock back into his pants and jammed the nylon into his front pocket.
"Hello? Is someone there?" Millie called out from her bedroom.
"Just me Millie; on my way downstairs for lunch. Will you be joining us?" Peter called back, pretending he was just leaving his room.
He sidled back to his door then walked confidently down the corridor as if nothing had happened.
Millie came to her bedroom door and leaned against it. She had closed her robe but she was still clad only in her pantyhose beneath it. Peter could discern her ample bosom through the tiffany negligee, the dark circles of her areola, the engorged pink berries of her nipples and the dark triangle of her pubic thatch.
She had completed her makeup; the flicked upper eyeliner, matte green eyeshadow, false eyelashes with heavy mascara, coral-blushed cheeks, and pink lipstick but her blonde hair fell about her face in disarray. She looked sexy leaning back against the door, one leg bent with the sole flat against the wooden panel which caused her gown to open slightly so he could he see all the way to the top of her thighs. Her perfume was cloying but simultaneously exciting.
"What are you doing sneaking around your own home Peter?" she smiled bewitchingly.
"Nothing! I'm not sneaking anywhere! This is my house and I'll come and go as I please," Peter overreacted and Millie smiled innocently back at him, knowing she had caused the rise in his temper.
"Ok Peter; settle down. Tell Margaret I'll join you both as soon as I'm dressed," Millie dropped her foot and turned away.
Peter exhaled sharply and continued his journey down the corridor to the head of the stairs.
"Peter!" Millie called from her bedroom door.
"Just one thing," she smiled sweetly but Peter saw the menace.
"This is your father's house; not yours," she closed the door and Peter made his way downstairs.
Millie's grin turned to a grimace of lust as she leaned back against the door and thrust her hand inside the waistband of her pantyhose and inserted two fingers into her quim. She worked her thumb on her clitoris, quickly invoking a raging orgasm that caused her to slide down the door and collapse on the floor.
Millie had heard Peter wheeze and moan while he tended to his needs outside her door and had she had deliberately waggled her ass for him. She had seen Peter's semen spattered on the polished wooden floor outside her door. She had seen the toe of her sister's stocking poking out of his pocket and the huge bulge in his pants and knew that what she thought he was doing was exactly what he was doing.
It excited her. The bulge in Peter's pants was huge and she wondered if her nephew's cock was as big as his father's. And that nylon stocking in Peter's pocket... did her sister know that Peter was using her intimates as a masturbatory aid?
She slipped into panties and bra and put on the miniskirt and blouse she had selected for the day and sat at her dresser and fixed her hair, all the time wondering what exactly was going on this house. One thing was for sure... she was going to find out.
Millie slipped into her high heels and made her way down to join her sister and her nephew at the dining table as if nothing had happened. She saw that Peter was blushing and when he looked up at her she winked at him furtively and then began to eat.
Peter couldn't sleep, every time he closed his eyes he thought about his mother. Mother bent over the counter top in the kitchen with her skirt hiked up; Mother lying on the bed dressed in her bustier, satin panties, silk stockings and high heels, legs open, beckoning her son; Mother stroking his hard cock as he wallowed in the bath crying out with surprise when his cock convulsed and spattered her face and hair with his scalding spend.
He rolled over but then all he could think about was Aunt Millicent, her ass sheathed in those silky pantyhose lifted high on the bed, she was looking at him and inviting him to mount her, red fingernail waggling at him. Millicent sitting at the dining table with her skirt around her waist, her long legs clad in the sheer pantyhose, red nylon panties worn over, through which he could see her dark thatch.
Peter had already masturbated, once and his mother's stocking soaked in his semen lay cooling on the bedside table. But he was frustrated. Two women in the house, one of whom he used to fuck two or three times a day and the other one teasing him he was sure.
He just couldn't sleep so he decided to get up and take a nice hot bath; maybe that would put him to sleep. He tiptoed down to the bathroom carrying a candle so as not to wake the others sleeping in the house. He closed the door and ran the bath, throwing in some bath salts and some of his mother's bubble bath. He eased himself into the near scalding water and lay flat, letting the water ease his tense muscles and envelope him with a feeling of wellbeing.
Peter closed his eyes and drifted away, feeling serene and secure.
The candle flickered and Peter heard the door creak, a miasma of perfume drifted to his nose, followed by the padding of feet on bare boards. The door clicked shut and Peter sensed his mother's presence in the quiet room.
"Mom?" he whispered.
"Shh!" she didn't want anyone waking.
Peter smiled and then her lips were on his mouth and her hand was searching the suds to find his manhood. She stifled a moan as he became fully erect when she touched him. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and began to stroke him, using the bath lotion to lubricate the swollen shaft as she worked her fingers along it and then curled them around his bulbous glans and squeezed.
He smothered a scream by pressing his lips hard against hers and driving his tongue into her. She pulled her face away from his; she wanted to see him come.
The first rope of milky spend spattered across her face, the second splattered on her breasts, the third spurted over the rim of the bathtub and fell on her thighs, soaking into her nylons and scalding her flesh.
"Oh my god it is as big as your father's!" Millie squealed.
"It's even bigger!" she sighed.
Peter opened his eyes and was shocked to see his aunt dressed in her usual bedroom attire of negligee and pantyhose kneeling beside the bath, stroking his manhood. He wanted her to stop but he also wanted her to continue; it felt so good and she looked so sexy with her blonde hair, now streaked with his issue, down on her bare shoulders, her heavy makeup; and for him tonight, red lipstick like his mother wore.
He reached inside the negligee and hefted her breasts, they were heavy and saggy but beautiful and he tweaked her nipples making her bite down to stifle a moan.
Peter got out of the bath, naked, covered in suds, his huge erection waggling in front him like a truncheon.
"Shh! Peter. Be quiet! We can talk about this tomorrow!" his aunt hissed, scared they would wake up Meg.
Peter said nothing; he had a determined look on his face that scared Millie.
He pressed her against the wall, his cock sliding across her thighs in the mess of his own making, his hands raking at her breasts, his mouth on hers, hot and hungry. She shuddered with fright and lust as her nephew pinned her against the wooden planks and pushed his cock between her plump thighs and up into her cunt, protected by a flimsy layer of nylon. He pushed harder and his cock burst through the sheer gusset and deep into his aunt's cunt.
"Ung!" she gasped, the air knocked out of her.
Peter put his hands on his aunt's shoulders and pushed downward, impaling her on his rampant tool, driving his cock as far into her as it would go, their pubises' scraping together, the base of his cock grinding on her clitoris.
"You tell me if it's as big as my daddy's," he hissed in her ear and then crushed her mouth with his again.
Millie put her arms around Peter's neck and wrapped her legs around his waist; he put his hands under her buttocks to support her as he fucked her with her back pressed to the wall.
His warm wet skin on hers and his tongue in her mouth excited Millicent, but not as much as the thick hard poker he was driving in and out of her sodden cleft which clung to the flesh of his penis when he pulled out, then yielded to the weapon as he drove it back inside her.
His aunt's cunt was as tight as mother's, maybe tighter, she hadn't had kids. Peter loved the way her cunt clutched at his cock as he fucked her, the tight sheath of her vagina enveloped his penis, squeezing it; caressing the tender flesh. Her tongue was like a dervish in his mouth, her breath sweet, her saliva delicious, even her lipstick tasted good. Her breasts pressed against his bare flesh, her nipples hard, digging into him like small hard berries. And those soft, sleek nylons against his flesh was heavenly... her silken-clad thighs and calves rubbed and caressed his skin, sending rockets of delight to his pleasure centres.
Peter filled Millie's spongy tunnel with rock-hard pulsing flesh, driving it deep into her and grinding his pubis against her clitoris causing her to whimper obscenities into his mouth as her mauled her, his fingers dug into her buttocks, pulling her down hard onto his shaft as he fucked her viciously.Aunt and nephew pawed, scratched and ground against each other attempting to illicit every scintilla of pleasure from their bodies.
Millie felt Peter's cock swell up inside her and then begin to convulse and quiver as he shot a load of hot semen deep inside her cunt. She ground against writhing in pleasure as her orgasm wracked her body. Peter crushed her lips with his to muffle her cries as he jackhammered his cock in and out of her cunt, rivulets of his semen ran down her thighs and soaked into her nylons.
When Millie had finished writhing and howling like a banshee Peter held onto her and she clung to him, her hair dripping with sweat, her cunt sopping with her vaginal juices and her nephew's ejaculate. Their kisses became less demanding, softer, almost sweet and tender. Peter kept her cradled in his arms and carried her to her bedroom and lay her on her bed.
He kissed her softly on the mouth.
She looked up at her nephew with new found respect and endearment. He was no boy; he was a better man than his father and she wanted to tell him so.
"We'll talk tomorrow," he whispered.
He closed the door to Millicent's room and saw that the bed lamp was on his mother's room.
Peter sighed and went into her room and closed the door. He smelled his mother's perfume before he saw her bundled under the covers shaking with rage and crying.
He strode over to the bed and ripped off the bedclothes.
"Stop that blathering, put on your stockings and heels and service your son. Do your duty as a devoted mother should," he ordered.
Meg stopped crying and looked up at her son standing naked in the moonlight, his muscles taut, his handsome face, his mighty cock still hard even after two orgasms.
She opened her arms and Peter dropped onto the bed and kissed his mother deeply.
"Put on your stockings and heels like I said. I need to feel myself inside you. I need to show you that I love you more than anything," he whispered, stroking her cheek.
The next morning things were tense at breakfast and little was said. Peter made Millicent get out of bed early and get dressed and join them.
"You're coming with me today Aunt Millicent," Peter said authoritatively.
Before his mother could whine Peter cut her off.
"This has nothing to with last night mother; I need to talk to my aunt alone," Peter said firmly.
Both women knew who was in control; who was the man of the house. Deep down both of them liked it; they wanted a man who behaved like a man, taking what he wanted but treating them with love and respect; protecting them.
Peter drove Millicent across the fields of corn and down the dusty track to the copse of trees where his father's beat up pickup lay rusting and slowly disintegrating. He pulled away the branches that covered the cabin of the pickup and Millicent shivered when Peter pointed to the mound of dirt beside the rusting wreck.
"This is what happens to a man who can't control his drinking and loses the love of his wife and the respect of his son," Peter said gravely.
"Now that daddy's gone I am the man of the house the farmhouse is my house and no one else's; do you believe me Aunt Millicent?" Peter growled.
Millie nodded.
Peter took her by the shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes.
"There is room on this farm for another, if she is willing to behave appropriately and in the manner necessitated by me understand?"
Millie nodded again.
"I'm no yokel Millie. My mother educated me well, I'm hard working and I'm a good businessman. You can live comfortably here with mother and me. There would need to be some arrangement of course, but nothing that you two sister's couldn't sort out between you," Peter stroked her cheek.
"Or you can leave but you can never tell anyone what you saw here today. I showed it to you so that you know how much I trust you," Peter kissed her softly.
"Come on. Let's get out of here. I'll drop you back at the farmhouse and I'll get back to work," he began to throw the branches back over the mouldering truck.
As they drove past the creek Millie, who had been sitting demurely contemplating, sidled up to Peter and lifted his hand and put it on her leg. She put her hand down into his crotch and whispered in his ear.
"What kind of arrangement where you thinking of," she playfully nipped his earlobe.
Peter pulled over and helped Millie out of the truck and tossed a throw rug on the grass under the shade of a big tree right beside the creek bank.
Millie tried to undress but Peter pulled her down on the blanket and hiked up her skirt.
"No time for shenanigans; I've got work to do. This will have to be quick," he grunted as he nudged her legs apart and opened his flies.
Peter fell on his aunt and she wrapped her arms and legs around his as he poked at her crotch, easing aside her panties and ripping open her nylons.
He thrust himself in and out of his aunt as she hung onto her nephew, enjoying the rough, vigorous fuck. He came quickly and she came with him, kissing him passionately and holding him tight as she quivered with passion.
When they got back to the farmhouse he escorted Millicent to the door and pushed her inside where Meg was standing, arms folded.
"You women need to come sort of arrangement. I'll be home when I've finished work at six and I expect to get what's coming to me as usual," Peter turned on the heels of his cowboy boots and walked out the door, closing it softly behind him, a smile began to grow on his face.Ramon Ruiz and Daniel Clutterbuck sat on the porch of the bunkhouse smoking and passing a jug of moonshine between them.
The farmhand bunkhouse was located well away from the house and was self-contained with its own kitchen and domestic facilities. William Balfour had moved it to its current location when he married his young pretty wife Margaret Ryan. He didn't want coarse and licentious farmhands roughhousing and carousing near his bride in case they got any ideas.
William Belfour had gone missing several years ago and was not missed by anyone. He was an angry cantankerous drunk who had walked out on his wife and son leaving them to run a five hundred acre farm on their own. Well that's what most people thought. At the time there was conjecture that foul play might have been involved but neither the sheriff nor anybody else was interested in following up that rumour.
Peter Belfour did an excellent job of running the farm; far better than his father had. He took care of his mother and his aunt and they had a pleasant comfortable lifestyle for Midwestern farm folk. In 1975 grain prices were peaking and another bumper crop was ready to be harvested so Peter had taken on extra seasonal workers to assist with harvest.
"How old you think that whippersnapper is who runs this farm?" Daniel Clutterbuck inspected the cigarette he had just rolled.
"Can't be any more than his twenties," Ramon took the proffered cigarette and put it in his mouth.
"Something strange about this place. That young buck and those two fine women, all alone way out here on the prairie. You'd think those women would be bored to death. He keeps them cooped up in that farmhouse like prize fillies," Daniel began to roll another cigarette for himself.
"He don't talk about them and he sure don't want us talking about them neither. I overheard some of the regular hands say they are his momma and his aunty. Sure didn't really appreciate the lecture he gave us about staying away from the house and the women," Ramon lit his cigarette and then took another pull on the liquor bottle.
The barracks was supposed to be dry. Farmhands were forbidden to drink liquor, forbidden from approaching the farmhouse and strictly forbidden from engaging with the women.
Ramon and Daniel were used to such rules and restrictions. They were common on farms where seasonal workers were employed. The farmhands were often drifters, moving from job to job, following the harvests and the roundups and their only credentials was their word.
Which was just as well for Ramon and Daniel as they had both met in prison and were only recently released.
Ramon had broken into a house down in a well to do suburb of Oklahoma City intending to rob the place. When he had found a husband and wife and their eighteen year old daughter asleep in their bedrooms he had tied up the husband and raped the women. When the police came they only reported the burglary and not the rapes because of the shame. Rather than savagely ravishing the women Ramon had taken his time with them, and both women had eventually succumbed to Ramon's gentle foreplay and coital expertise. The husband had been forced to watch his wife and daughter being willingly defiled right in front of him.
Daniel Clutterbuck had been imprisoned for robbing a liquor store. He had also committed a string burglaries and robberies across the Midwest for which he was yet to be incriminated.
"Yeah that young buck sure has an attitude," Daniel lit his cigarette, took a drag, and blew on the glowing tip.