Les Autres Ch. 03

And so it went. Everyone lost at one time or another. Sportingly, the Harts consistently chose divesting over imbibing. The Halsteads were less noble in their game strategy, but less lucky, too. After an hour of frolicsome florin flipping, the men were reduced to their shorts and socks, though Tom Sr. still had a garter around his left calf. Arlene retained only her white sateen camisole and sheer ivory rayon panties, while Cynthia was reduced to wearing just her white lace-trimmed rayon slip. The Whipple Creek bottle was half gone and the champagne was only a memory.

Cynthia flipped odds twice and finally matched heads. "Yay!" She exclaimed, not merely because she could not afford to lose. She had been conscientiously democratic and fair-minded throughout the game: Claiming kisses all around, in rotation, she had never re-donned a single item. Now, with this win, she slid across the couch and plopped herself on young Halstead's lap. Her knees sunk into the cushion on either side of his hips as she wrapped her arms around his neck and crowed, "I claim a KISS, Tommo!"

He happily obliged, not tiring of tasting her lips and smelling her sweet breath. Over time during the game, each participant, not surprisingly perhaps, had progressed from moderately playful pecks to lingering, and lately, long lusty passionate osculations. As Jr. scrubbed Cynthia's tonsils with his tongue, she shimmied her full breasts through her thin slip against his thatched marble chest. His cock poked through his boxers like a purple crocus and brushed against her bush.

On the other couch, Arlene and Sr. looked at each other knowingly as they witnessed their children's uninhibited play. Arlene dramatically swept the coins from the table and said, "That was a good game, Holly... now show me something ELSE." She beckoned him with open arms and wiggling fingers, receiving an immediate answer as the elder Halstead half-dove across the couch, pressing himself against her and her into the sofa.

Old Tom mashed his mouth on Arlene's and mumbled through her teeth, "I claim more than a KISS, Arly." She squirmed in his arms and wormed herself down the cushions, until he lay fully upon her. She drove her hands flat beneath his boxers' elastic waistband, arched her wrists, and forced the shorts to follow her palms as her nails scored his buttocks and her fingertips separated and pinched his glutes.

Arlene hissed through Halstead's lips, "Sssstake your claim, then. TAKE me!" She broke the kiss and violently spun her body on the divan, pulling a throw pillow under her chin and drawing up her knees. Her camisole draped from her pendant mature breasts and her thin panties stretched taut across her hiked bottom as, desperate for fulfillment, she presented herself.

Tom Sr., wasted no time. Like a racing thunderstorm in the Outback, he hovered over Arlene's raised ass. His skivvies stretched below his great hanging balls and proud raging prong. Balancing himself on his left knee and shin, wedged between the sofa's back and its cushions, he raked his left thumb across her panties' damp gusset, hooking it and pulling it aside.

As Arlene's glistening pearly divide appeared, within and above her brunette muff, behind the withdrawing sheer rayon panel, Tom drove forward, off his stockinged right foot dug into the railcar's Oriental carpet. Like a lightning strike, his burly bone sundered her waiting winking cunt and seared her gut. Arlene moaned, gratefully shoving her hips backward against his thrusting dick until he was fully lodged. He huffed and chuffed. She bit her pillow and clawed the brocade cushions, repeatedly gasping between shortened breaths, "Y-ess Holly, YES! There! Right THERE!"

For the past four years, since his wife's fatal pneumonia, Tom Sr.'s sex life had been fanciful and without expression. Unable to effectively translate his desires into action, he walked the world like a zombie; always hungry, but prevented from eating. Yet now here he was, as hard as any escarpment in the Hamersley range, and pounding away to beat the band. It was too much to expect self-control. Howling, Halstead pulled Arlene's twisting hips to his and held her tight. His surging seed blasted to the back wall of her womb.

Prehended and pithed, Arlene jerked in Sr.'s vise-like grip. Ecstatic spasms wracked her body. Her legs quivered and her stomach shivered. Collapsing her tunnel, she tugged his turgid tool with all her might; thirstily sucking his fount while her climax redoubled. But for the cushion stuffed between her clenched teeth, her joyful screams would have drowned out even the train's whistle.

Meanwhile, a yard away, Cynthia was bouncing. Tom Jr., having satisfied her winner's claim, broke their deep kiss. Feeling his hard prick's soft nose slide upward along her pussy's long dividing lips, he drug his hands from her crouching ass to her hunching shoulders. Her flimsy slip slipped over her silky smooth flesh, igniting her nerves from nape to coccyx. He lifted her by her armpits and fixed his face to her left tit's exposed swollen crown. As he latched onto the aching areola, she felt her heart being sucked through her chest into his soul.

Removing her right arm from behind Tom's neck, Cynthia searched for and found his standing stallion, breaching its paddock and champing to be ridden. She patted its nose as her hand glided along its hardness. With a firm grip, she guided the proud stud from her hole to her clit and teased herself with his viscous pre-cum. Tom growled around her breast and brought his hands to her waist, urging her to sit. Cynthia mewled as, with mounting pleasure, she mounted her steed and posted while Tom's erection squished deep within her track.

Proving Newton's Third Law, each time Cynthia dropped her bottom to his thighs Tom met her with an equally forceful upward thrust. When she rose, he settled. Their rhythm challenged other laws of physics as their energy seemed to approach virtual perpetual motion. She whimpered when he slid away from her and grunted when he slammed back to her deepest boundary. He gnarred, focusing his mind and sucking hard; fighting not to ejaculate too soon.

In the end, all laws prevailed. Cynthia's head fell back and she screeched with her arriving crisis. Inspired and relieved, Tom relaxed his concentration. Flexing his extended engorged cock, he expelled his essence. "T-TOMMO! TOMMY! TOM-TOM!" Cynthia blathered his name, in all its forms, at the top of her lungs as he pumped burst upon burst from his nuts to her nest.

While the Harts and Halsteads rested in recovery on their respective sofas, the Farragut Flyer announced the outskirts of Little Rock. Its long low horn blast, as the streamliner approached the first urban crossing, broke through the post-coital basks, reminding all that there was, still, another world outside their bodies. Arlene kissed her lover sweetly and breathed, "Let me up... Darling. I should call the steward." She smiled lazily into Sr.'s handsome rugged face. "You might be hungry AGAIN soon... I want to be sure you're... well FED."

The revived movement of their parents alerted Jr. and Cynthia to the stark reality of their still conjoined state. Initially embarrassed, they realized, for the first time, that their uncircumscribed passion was not unique in the room. They laughed together, then kissed sweetly as Cynthia pulled herself off Jr.'s shrunken penis and stood up. Jr. pointed at his diminished dick and chuckled, "You've done in my doodle, Cindy. NOW what am I supposed to do?"

Arlene, gathering her clothes in silence, moved from the couch to the lavatory. Old Tom, staring over the coffee table at Cynthia's perfect naked bottom, as she stood facing Jr. with her sheer slip banded under her arms and above her shoulder blades, advised, "Well, son... you could be a gentleman. Offer to help the girl back into her things."

Jr. scoffed and pulled Cynthia forward between his spread knees. "I think NOT, Da'," he said solemnly as he leaned forward and planted a wet probing kiss on her navel. Pulling back, he looked up at her and grinned. "It took too many coin flips to get THIS far!"

Cynthia laughed, hugged him again to her stomach and pulled her slip down, tenting his head while Jr. resumed drilling his tongue into her tummy button. With thrills shooting to her pussy, she protested weakly, even as her legs danced and her fingers kneaded his scalp through her slip. "But, Tommo, you heard Ma... she's calling for the steward. At least, I should put on my overcoat as a robe until he's come and gone."

"Alright, Cindy," young Tom Halstead allowed. "But fair warning: As soon as he's GONE, you'll come AGAIN!