Virtual Reality Ch. 02

"That tickles," she said. "Be careful, Mike. Please."

"Fear not, lovely lady," he said. "You know, I'm wondering. Will your husband even notice that you're bush-free tonight, or any night?"

"Probably not," she said. "We . . . we almost never make love anymore."

He took the razor, again told her to relax, and then pressed down firmly and, in one fluid motion, removed a strip of her pubic hair. "Did that hurt at all?" he wanted to know.

"No," she said. "You're very gentle."

He repositioned himself a little, so that his dick was no more than an inch above her mouth. "Suck me," he said. "Blow me while I clean up your pussy."

She didn't say anything, but a second later, he felt her lips wrap themselves around his shaft. He let out a moan, and so did she. Instinctively he began to gyrate his hips, slowly making love to her mouth.

Meanwhile, he concentrated on the task at hand. He rinsed the razor under the bathwater, then, with her lips still sucking him, he shaved off more of her bush. He repeated the process, over and over, until her mound was smooth and free of any hair. She was sucking him with gusto now, moving up and down his shaft like a pro. She was so into what she was doing, she probably hadn't even realized she was completely shaven now. He toweled her off, then massaged some of the grapeseed oil onto her freshly shaven mound. She moaned at his touch, and sucked his dick harder. Her pussy looked lovely—so smooth and just asking to be kissed. So he did the honors. He leaned over, licked her vaginal lips, kissed her clitoris, and she started to thrash and wiggle her legs. He was through messing around. Now he inserted his tongue deep into her vagina, licking in her juices, her wetness. She tasted like nectar. And she was soaked. He shifted his tongue around, until he located the rough grooves of her G-spot. He gave this some attention before pulling his tongue out and then nibbling and chewing on her clit.

"Ohhhh!" she erupted, her mouth full of cock, bucked at the hips, and squeezed his head with her inner thighs. Rivers of her juices flowed freely out of her, and he licked up what he could.

He was close to cumming too. She was feverishly sucking him, and she was a damn good cocksucker, especially for a woman with so little experience—allegedly. He wondered what dirty secrets June Cleaver was keeping locked inside. Was he really her only affair?

But such questions proved irrelevant a moment later. He felt an explosion erupt inside of him, and then that feeling, that wonderful feeling of inevitability, washed over him, and he shot his load into her mouth. She moaned and sucked, and swallowed. Her lips didn't lose contact with his dick until she drank in every drop, until she cleaned and licked his softening tip.

He rolled off of her, grunted. That was the best blow job he'd ever had.

"Ohhhhhh," she said, and propped herself up on her elbows. "That was thrilling, Mike."

Thrilling. Well, that was one way to describe it.

"Oh!"

He looked at her. She was staring at her freshly shaven mound. "How do you like it?"

"I . . ." She reached down, felt herself. "I like it, Mike. It's so smooth. It's strange. I mean, my, um, my . . ."

"Your pussy?"

She giggled shyly, nodded. "It hasn't looked like that since I, well, you know . . . . But I do like it."

"Will you keep it up now, that I've got the process started for you? Now that it's been shaved, it'll be a lot easier for you to maintain."

She blushed. "I'm not sure. Ward . . ."

"Ward schmoard! When will he ever see it? Though, come to think of it, what a surprise it would be for him tonight, if you . . ."

"Oh no, I couldn't!" she said. "After what I did yesterday, this would be liable to give him a heart attack!"

Mike laughed. "Yeah, he's an older gent, isn't he? Well, let me show you what a younger guy can do, and how fast he can recover."

He hopped to his feet, then reached down for her hand to help her up. He took her in his arms, pressed his naked body against hers, and kissed her deeply. She moaned into his mouth as they kissed.

"Now, baby, do you want me, or do you want me?"

"Oh, Mike."

"I take that as a yes."

He went over to the tub, turned on the shower. "Step in," he said. "Ever make love in the shower before with old Ward?"

"Heavens no," she said.

They went in, and he closed the curtains behind them. He figured he would take the lead, but as soon as the curtains were closed, June was all over him, hugging him, her perky little B-cups pressed firmly against his chest, her lips frantically kissing his, her tongue probing deep into his mouth like an amorous snake.

They kissed for several minutes, and he reached back, massaged her ass, caressed her smooth back. The water struck them, wetting their bodies, straightening and darkening her hair. He thought of soaping her up, but then decided against it. He wanted to fuck, and he wanted it now.

He pressed her against the wall, got himself into position, and entered her, his dick fully erect again, and she squealed, wrapped her arms around him tightly. He told her to wrap her legs around his waist, he'd hold her in place. She was so thin and light, he could easily support her. And there he was, in June Cleaver's shower, her limbs draped around him, moaning, shrieking with each thrust.

"What do you want me to do?" he shouted, above the din of the shower.

"Ohhh!" was all she could say as he thrust into her, all the way to the hilt.

"Do you want me to fuck you, baby?"

"Ohh!"

"Say it!"

"Ohhh!"

He squatted, lowered her legs to the bathtub floor, pulled his cock out of her. She gave him a pleading look, but he wasn't relenting. She needed to tell him what she wanted.

"Oh, Mike . . ."

"Don't you 'oh, Mike' me, June. You tell me what you want."

"Make love to me." She hugged him again, her long, slender arms surprisingly strong as they wrapped themselves around him. She kissed him.

He broke the kiss. "I'm not going to make love to you." She pouted, almost looked like she was ready to cry. "But I am going to fuck you!" She perked up, kissed him again. "But only if you ask me what you want."

"Mike, you know . . ."

"Say it. And don't play games with me. I've long since found out that you're not the pure, wholesome housewife you like to pretend to be in front of everyone else. I know you're really a naughty, sexy, kinky hottie. So tell me what you want, baby, or I'm out of here."

"I . . ."

He took a step, ready to exit the tub.

"I want you to fuck me!" she said. "Okay? Please! Please fuck me! My God, I want you so bad, Mike!"

He smiled. Now that was more like it.

He went to her, kissed her, and they resumed their dance of lust.

But just then, a knock on the bathroom door!

"Hey, Mom! Mom!" It was a child's voice—squeaky, high-pitched.

"Oh shit!" June Cleaver said. "That's my son. That's the Beaver. He's home."

Mike couldn't believe it. He was fucking June Cleaver in her bathroom, and Beaver Cleaver himself was just outside the door! Virtual reality, indeed.

She turned the shower off, then quickly raised her index finger to her lips, giving Mike a stern look. "I'm in the shower, Beaver! I'll be out in a minute! You're home early."

"Gee, Mom," the voice from beyond the door said. "It's two o'clock. When I left this morning, I said, 'I'll be home at two o'clock.' I wasn't sure if I really would be, but here I am!"

"That's fine, Beaver!" She was a whirlwind, toweling off like a cyclone, dressing herself so fast, you'd think she was training for an Olympic competition—the Cheating Wives' Pentathlon.

"Don't wear the bra, or the panties," Mike whispered to her.

"Mike, you have to leave!"

From beyond the door. "Who ya talkin' to, Mom? I hear ya talkin'!"

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit shit shit," she said under her breath. Then: "No one, Beaver! Just talking to myself." However, Mike couldn't help but notice that she had indeed left the bra and panties on the floor.

"I'll just stay in here a while," Mike whispered to her. "I'm sure he'll go to his room or something. When he does . . ."

"Mike, no . . ."

"Hey, Mom?" Beaver called through the door. "Larry Mondello's here, too. I told him he could stay for lunch. Okay?"

"Okay, Beaver!" She was fully dressed now, sans bra and panties. Even with all her clothes on, damn, she looked good.

"Hey, Mom? Whatcha doin', takin' a shower in the middle of the day, anyways?" young Beaver Cleaver wondered aloud from the hallway. "Why would you wanna take an extra shower? I don't even like takin' the showers I hafta take!"

"Mike, please go," she said, ignoring her son.

"How?" he asked. "You want me to walk right out in front of Beaver and Larry? Kind of hard to explain, wouldn't it be? You and me walking our of here together?"

She started to bite her nails, then stopped. "I haven't bitten my nails in thirty years," she said. He could tell. Her nails were long, perfectly kept up, just like the rest of her. "Listen, you go out there, and I'll stay in here for a while," he said. "Then, a few minutes later, when you're having lunch with the rugrats, I'll come downstairs. I'll just say I was looking for a place to put the AC unit. Then, after lunch, the kids'll do their thing, and you and I can go find someplace where we can screw each other like rabbits. Deal?"

"Mike . . ."

"Hey, Mom, how long does it take you to get dressed? Larry's really hungry!"

"Coming, Beaver! Coming, Larry!"

"Thanks, Mrs. Cleaver," a new voice said from the hallway. Larry Mondello, all right. Mike would recognize that voice anywhere.

"It'll work out just fine," Mike whispered.

June threw him a "I cannot believe this is happening to me" look, took a deep, calming breath, and then left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Hi, Beaver, hi, Larry!" he heard her say through the door. "Now, let's see what we can do about lunch, hmm?"

Footsteps leading away, downstairs. . .

Mike waited, waited. He had no watch on, so he couldn't know how much time had passed. But after a while, he left the bathroom, and ventured downstairs. . . .

♣

"Okay, ma'am, I believe I found the ideal location for the AC unit," he said as he entered the kitchen. June was seated at the table, flanked by the Beaver and Larry. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of him.

"Oh, uh, thank you, Mr. Cooper," she said, and took a bite out of a half-eaten sandwich. It looked like tuna fish.

Beaver and Larry were almost through eating, their plates nearly clean. Larry had a handful of chips left, and Beaver just another bite or two of his sandwich.

"Hey, Mom, I didn't know we had comp'ny," Beaver said.

"We don't, Beaver. Mr. Cooper was just leaving. Isn't that right, Mr. Cooper?" She tried to give him an icy glare, but all it did was send a jolt of electricity through his dick.

"Hey, mister, what's an AC unit?" Beaver asked in that wonderfully innocent voice of his, before it deepened and ruined his television show. "What's an AC unit?" It was Larry, speaking through a mouthful of his last chips. "You dummy. Everyone knows what AC is. My uncle has one, but he lives way down in Florida. He says it's so hot where he lives, you can fry an egg without even turnin' the stove on. That's how come he bought his AC."

"Oh," Beaver said, and took a healthy gulp of 1950s-style whole milk.

"AC is the wave of the future, boys," Mike said. He couldn't resist. "Trust me." He gave a sideways smile to June as he said this, and she looked down at her tuna sandwich.

"Hey, Beaver, I know all about AC," Larry said. "It's real comfy and all when it gets hot. That's what my uncle says. But who cares if it's the wave of the future. I wanna do somethin' fun right now. Wanna go outside and mess around?"

"Can we, Mom, can we?" Beaver said, smiling.

"Oh. Well . . . sure, Beaver. Just be careful."

"Okay, Mom!" And like a rocket he was up, darting to the door, Larry in tow. But then he turned around and said, "Hey, mister? If AC is the wave of the future, are you gonna be going to all the houses on the block, and sellin' ACs to everybody?"

"I'll do my best to visit all the housewives in the neighborhood," he said, throwing June a lecherous grin. She glared back at him, and his dick grew harder.

"Okay, mister," Beaver said. Then, to Larry, "You ready, Larry?"

"Yeeeaah," he said. Larry Mondello had a way of saying that word. Mike had always found it kind of cute. "'Course I'm ready."

Beaver said a quick "See ya, Mom, see ya, mister," and that was that. The boys were gone. A moment later, Mike heard the front door slam shut.

"Oh, I wish they wouldn't slam that door!" June said, getting up, taking the dirty plates to the sink. She looked out the window. So did Mike. All he saw was the empty front yard. Hmm. The kids must either be in the garage or out back. Perfect. So considerate of them.

He went up behind her as she stood, leaning over the sink, and cupped her breasts, through the thin fabric of her blouse.

She turned around, and if looks could kill . . .

"Mike! That's my son and his friend that were just in here! It's bad enough that you came down while they were still here, but if you think I—"

He shut her mouth with a kiss. She struggled at first, but then she started kissing back, her words of protest morphing into pleasure-acknowledging moans. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

They kissed for a long time, their fully-clothed bodies pressing tightly together. Then he pulled loose.

"There, is that so hard?" he asked her.

"What's come over me?" she said. "Mike . . . I can't. We can't. Not with the boys so close."

"Turn around, lean over the sink like you were," he ordered.

"What?"

"Do it!"

She did it. And, from behind, he pulled her blouse free of her long yellow skirt, reached underneath, and raised his hands so he could cup her braless breasts. He squeezed, kneaded, pinched, and she threw her head back and moaned. Next, he raised her skirt up to her waist, revealing her bare ass, panty-less. Before she could say anything, he positioned himself just so, and inserted his rock-hard dick deep into her vagina. She arched her back, shrieked, but did not protest.

He pushed in to the hilt, then nearly pulled out. In, out. In, out. She moved her hips in rhythm with his thrusting. She was panting now, frantically pushing back into him as he thrust into her.

"What do you want me to do, June?"

"I want you to fuck me, Mike! Fuck me!"

He smiled. There was no hesitation this time. He gave it all he had, and she moaned louder, louder, as her body tensed, ready to explode. He reached under her blouse again, and played with her bare tits as he had his way with her. He pinched her nipples, and she yelled, "Oh dear, oh dear, yes!"

Suddenly the front door slammed again, and a voice called out from the living room, "Mom!"

"Heavens!" she said, and he pulled out of her in a split second. "There," she said, pointing to a door near the refrigerator. "The basement. Hurry!"

He escaped just in the nick of time. He didn't go all the way down, though. He lingered at the top of the stairs, listening.

"Mom, what were those noises you were makin'?" young Beaver Cleaver asked. Mike nearly burst out laughing, but managed to hold it in.

"Oh, I, uh . . . I was exercising, Beaver! I was doing calisthenics." You could say that again.

"Gee. Why would you do that? Who wants to exercise, unless someone makes ya?"

"Where's Larry?" he heard June ask her son.

"Oh, he's still outside. I just came in 'cause I was thirsty. I asked Larry if he wanted a drink, too, but he said he didn't on account'a he doesn't wanna hafta go to the bathroom till he gets home."

"Oh." The sound of tap water, streaming into a glass. Followed by the slurping noises of Beaver as he gulped it down.

"Thanks, Mom!" Beaver said. "But gee, where did the AC man go?"

"Oh, him. He left right after you and Larry went outside, Beaver."

"Oh. Guess we didn't hear 'im leave, so we kinda figured he was still here. See ya later, Mom!"

Mike was glad that neither Beaver or Larry had realized that he didn't have a truck parked out front. That might have been a tough one for June to explain away. Or maybe they figured he parked up the road and was just walking along the street, knocking, door to door, like the salesman he was pretending to be.

The basement door opened.

"Now you must leave!" June said. "That's twice now we were almost caught."

"Exercising?" he said with a smile. "Calisthenics? I'll show you calisthenics, baby. Lean over the sink again."

"Mike . . ." But she wanted it. He could see it in her eyes. The effect he had on her—he seemed to make her lose her sense of good judgment. A wonderful effect to have on an attractive woman!

He led her to the sink, turned her around, taking note that her blouse was still untucked, hanging lose. Evidently, the Beaver hadn't noticed that either, or if he had, he just attributed it to the cals she was supposedly doing.

"This won't take long, sexy," he said, and he lifted her skirt again, rammed his dick home, and reached under her blouse once more, massaging her tits.

"Ohhhh," she moaned. "Mike, that feels so good, so good."

"It's not too bad on this end, either," he said. Her vaginal walls gripped onto his cock as it moved inside of her—in and out, in and out. In no time at all, her hips were again dancing in rhythm with his thrusting.

He went at it as hard as he ever had. There was no telling when those rugrats would come barging in again. He wanted to cum, inside of her, and cum hard.

"Let yourself go, completely, baby," he told her as he pinched her nipples. Her moans were so loud now, he wondered if the boys might hear her, even in the backyard. "Remember, I can't knock you up."

"Oh, Mike, fuck me, fuck me!" June Cleaver begged, and he obliged her. Did he ever! He thrust in and out like a jackhammer, sweat forming on his forehead. Her moans coalesced with his grunts—an earthy, sex ballet, a melody of lust and animal passion, of need and hunger.

He came, squirting deep into her, and she came, her body going limp. He held her up, guarding against her falling to the floor. She was spent. So was he.

"Oh dear," was all she could say. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead; her blouse, in spots, had dark perspiration circles soiling it. She looked great. She smelled like sex, like carnal desires—an elixir to the senses.

He turned her around, kissed her. "You are awesome, June," he said. "A fantastic lover."

"Thank you," she said, blushing.

"But I have to go. My time's almost up, I think."

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing," he said. "It's just, I better go."

She tucked her blouse in, wiped her face and forehead with a kitchen towel. "Yes," she said, glancing out the window. "You better. Wally's due home soon, too." He gave her a look, feigning ignorance of who Wally was supposed to be. "My other son," she said.

They walked into the living room. At the door, he kissed her again, and told her to leave her bra and panties off for the rest of the day and think of him, and masturbate every chance she got, daydreaming about him, about the two of them, and the sex they had shared.

"Mmmmm, sounds nice," she said. "But . . . will you come back? I mean, the AC unit and all . . ." She gave him a come-hither smile.

"We'll see," he said. "I'm sorry I can't say for sure. It's hard to explain." It sure was. If she only knew the truth—that she wasn't even a real person (though she felt as real to him as anyone ever had, perhaps even more so . . .), that he didn't truly belong in this world of hers, that, as sexy an encounter as he'd shared with her, he would be tempted to visit other fictional ladies, from other places, other times.