My Loving Family Ch. 11

Nonnie's indirect reference to her mother's sexual appetite caused Sarah to blush. "You go set the table, young lady! When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it!"

I followed Sarah into the tiny kitchen. Sarah then turned to me. "She's 18 but she thinks she's 26! She may have trouble adjusting to you, Pete, because she discovered sex about a year ago, and I've had her on the Pill ever since." Sarah sighed. "I'm afraid she takes after me in that respect."

I watched Sarah fill three bowls with steaming hot vegetable soup and I helped carry them to the table. Nonnie was out of sight. "Lunchtime, Nonnie," Sarah called.

A sullen Nonnie emerged from her room. "Soup again?" she muttered. Sarah ignored her. "You sit there, Pete, at the head of the table. This way, Nonnie and I can kick at each other under the table and you'll never know."

Nonnie smiled. "How come it's always me with the bruised shins?" Peace was restored.

After lunch, Sarah and I sat on the sofa catching up on everything that had happened at the mine. Nonnie was carelessly sprawled in an overstuffed chair looking at a magazine, and openly displaying her slender thighs under her short skirt. I could see the potential for serious problems with her. As I said earlier, she was as tall as her mother, but she lacked her mother's heavy bosom or womanly hips. Nevertheless, she had the potential to be as lovely as her mother, and already was displaying a well filled sweater.

Tiring of her magazine, she soon left the room. In a few minutes she returned, putting on her jacket. "I'm going over to Sandy's place for a while," she announced, loudly closing the front door behind her as she left the apartment.

"Now you're at me mercy, me little turtle-dove," Sarah said as she unzipped my fly and slid her hand through the opening. "You've been teasing me with this thing ever since you got off the train. Now it's my turn to do a little teasing of my own."

I almost came the instant I felt her cool fingers close around my rigid cock. She slowly extracted it through my underwear and allowed it to stand tall and proud above my opened trousers.

"You have such a beautiful cock," she said quietly as she slowly slid my elastic foreskin back. "I wonder if I like it better this way," as my glistening purple head was completely exposed, ". . .or this way?" as she pulled my foreskin up so it completely covered the end of my cock. She smiled. "Now you look like a little boy -- a very big little boy.

"I think I like it this way, best," she said, again sliding my foreskin back, completely exposing my ultra sensitive glans. "Now it looks like a strawberry icecream cone. I wonder if it tastes like one?" She leaned over. Her hair formed an auburn halo in my lap and I felt the wet warmth of her mouth as her lips closed over my cock and she began tickling the extraordinarily sensitive underside of my glans with the tip of her tongue.

"You're going to make me come," I whispered desperately.

"Ummm phum," was the only reply I got as I felt the familiar glorious thrill throughout my body as my seed began its exquisite journey down my urethra, through my spasming cock and into her mouth. I had attempted, in a half-hearted way, to lift her head when I felt that journey begin, but she had resisted me, and instead had begun to pump my cock more vigorously until I literally exploded in her mouth.

"God, I'm sorry. . .," I began.

"Ummm Phum," she said, as she continued to wash my shrinking (and now hyper sensitive) cock with her tongue and lips.

She raised her head from my limp noodle, her eyes shining to match the broad smile on her face. "That was gooood!" she said, licking her lips.

I began to apologize again, and again she cut me off. "Shhhh. When you're going down on a girl, don't you try to make her come with just your lips and tongue?"

I nodded, "Yes but . . ."

"No buts about it," Sarah said firmly. "Girls -- or at least some of us -- get a big charge out of it when we can stimulate a man with our mouths and tongues to where he shoots off. You enjoy tasting a woman's juices, don't you?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "Why do you think we're any different? Woman juice is intended merely to oil the wheels as it were, but man juice contains the essence of life and therefore is very, very precious."

"I guess this was the first time you've come in a girl's mouth. Right? Well, get used to it. Hell, in time you might even come to enjoy it!"

I was tempted to tell her about my bizarre experience with her boss, but decided against it. I didn't want to upset her relationship with him -- and of course, at the time, I was quite unaware of the real relationship she had with Roscoe Bose and their firm, Bose, Rothchild and Gibbons.

Willa and Ruth returned to the apartment burdened with packages in mid afternoon. Willa greeted me pleasantly enough, but without any of the passion of our earlier encounter. I was surprised by how grown-up Ruth appeared. At 16, like Nonnie, she seemed far more mature than her years indicated.

I suppose I was influenced in part by her precocious appearance because even though I knew three years separated the girls, Ruth seemed much more "developed" physically than Nonnie. Already, her hips had broadened with a womanly flare, and her bust line seemed fully developed. I'll bet she was exceedingly popular with the boys at school, especially if she treated them to the same flirtatious smile with which she greeted me. Nonnie returned shortly before dinner time. To celebrate my return to Winnipeg, and to suitably mark the beginning of an entirely new chapter in my life, I prevailed upon the ladies to allow me the privilege of escorting them to dinner at Brown's.

At first, much to Ruthie's obvious disappointment, Willa attempted to demur, arguing that this should be a special night for just Sarah and me, but I insisted that since we were all in this together, we should share dinner together. Sarah agreed with me and insisted that the others accompany us.

Both Sarah and Willa gave their daughters sips of wine during dinner, which relaxed any inhibitions the girls may have felt as a result of my presence. Indeed, as we were having dessert, Nonnie, slightly flushed with the wine, looked appraisingly at me and then asked, "Pete, would it be OK if I called you Dad?" Eyes downcast, she continued, "I've never had a dad before, and I think it'd be neat."

I felt immensely flattered. "Of course, Nonnie," I said. "That's a real honor. I'm flattered to be your dad."

Ruthie, not to be left out, piped up, "If you're going to be Nonnie's dad, how about if I call you Uncle Pete?"

"Thank you Ruth," I said. "It makes me very proud to become Nonnie's dad and your uncle. You're both making me feel very welcome. Thank you both!" An important bridge had been crossed.

Later that evening, after a prolonged and sensuous honeymoon fuck during which we thoroughly explored one another's bodies and levels of sexual endurance, and finally lay exhausted, tightly wrapped together, Sarah whispered into my mouth, "Do you really love me, Pete?"

"What kind of a question is that? Of course I do!" I searched her face for clues in the dim glow of the night light and gave her slender body an extra squeeze to emphasize my declaration.

"No, I mean really, really, 'I'd walk over live coals for you' kind of love?"

With a sudden chill of foreboding, I realized Sarah was being utterly, completely sincere. I knew she was on the verge of telling me something -- probably a deep dark secret out of her past -- and I wasn't sure I really wanted to hear it. Nevertheless, this was something that was obviously of great importance to her, and the least I could do was encourage her to unburden herself. "I sense you want to tell me something, but are afraid of my reaction."

She silently nodded.

"Well, darling, I have no idea what your terrible secret could be, but the only thing you could say that would make me leave you is 'get out of here!'" I gave her an extra squeeze for emphasis.

"OK, then, here goes." She took a deep breath, and rapidly said, "I won't be home tomorrow night. I've arranged with Willa to keep you company if you like."

What the hell?? "What do you mean, you won't be home?" I demanded.

"I sometimes do extra work for the company," she said. "Often times, it means I won't be finished until sometime well after midnight."

"I don't understand."

"Of course not, darling. But look around. Even though I'm now director of personnel, do you think I could afford to keep a three bedroom apartment in this building on my salary?"

The significance of that remark went straight over my head. Instead, I said, "There are two of you . . ."

"Yes, but Willa works only once in a while. She does have a steady income, but it's like your mine -- she's potentially a very rich woman, but at the moment, she receives only a modest stipend from her late husband's investments."

"What sort of extra work do you do?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, darling," she said, kissing the tip of my nose. "Mr. Bose made me sign a paper years ago that literally sealed my lips. I couldn't tell you, not even if you were my mother!" She kissed my nose again. "I'm not even supposed to let you stay here -- but," her mouth tightened, "he'd have to fire me before I'd ask you to leave! But please, no more questions."

Of course, I didn't like it, but I was only too keenly aware of my status as a guest in Sarah's home, and that meant we played by her rules. I liked it even less the following evening when I watched her preparing for her night-time duties.

I had been out for a walk to familiarize myself with the neighborhood. The bathroom was still steamy when I returned. Sarah was standing in profile, leaning forward in front of the mirror over the dressing table, applying her make-up. I paused, absorbing the sensual profile she unconsciously presented. She wore only thigh high patterned dark hose, which accentuated the beautiful sweep down her back, around her tight little bottom, and down the backs of her slender thighs. I admired the shape of her bottom almost as much as I did the incredibly sweet curve of her upswept breasts.

I could almost see the moist mat of auburn hair covering the mysterious delta between her thighs. Despite myself, I felt my manhood twitch. She saw my reflection in the mirror, and swung around. I felt a sudden wave of desire, and I stepped toward her, but she shook her head.

"I don't have time to play right now," she said. "I'll be late as it is. Willa's in the kitchen fixing your supper. Why don't you go in there and tell her how horny you are?"

Reluctantly, I turned and walked to the door. Then I turned so I could watch her dress. First, she powdered and daubed a musky scent between her breasts, on her softly rounded belly, behind her ears, inside her elbows, and inside her thighs. Then she carefully pulled on a loose, gauzy black blouse that ordinarily would have been worn over a conservative black bra. Her pink nipples looked like stop signs under that thin, almost transparent material.

The last garment she selected was a leather miniskirt. The skirt was about 14 inches long and reached just above mid thigh. Watching herself in the mirror, she leaned forward, backward, turned, raised her leg. Only when she bent deeply forward did the skirt pull above her stocking tops.

I couldn't help myself. "It looks to me like you're getting ready for a date instead going to work," I said, much more harshly than I intended. Sarah flushed a deep red.

"Pete, I'm going to say this to you only once again! No more questions! Do you understand?" There was no mistaking the angry tone of her voice, or the unspoken menace in her words.

I was thunderstruck. I had three options, none of them happy ones. I could go into the bedroom, pack my bag and leave. Or I could go into the living room and sulk. Or I could turn to Willa for comfort and sympathy. The last option was the only one that made any sense at all. I went into the kitchen. At least that spared me the anguish of watching my beloved Sarah walk out the door, and undoubtedly into the arms of another man.

(To be continued)