She sucks magnificently !

“Beatrice Dalrymple, just what do you think you are you doing to that
poor young man?” Eleanor demanded from the doorway.

Corky’s prick was still pulsing inside Beatrice’s bottom, having just
deposited his tribute therein. Beatrice, for her part, was forestalled
from her imminent climax by her mother’s exquisitely ill-timed

Corky fought down the urge to scramble for cover, and remained in place
atop (and within) his paramour. Though the doorway was behind him, his
mental image of his landlady’s formidable anger did not lack for vividness.

“Wherein lies the ambiguity, Mother?” Beatrice asked with a reasonable
approximation of equanimity. Corky fancied he could feel the electrickal
prickle of the gathering storm behind his back.

“Young lady,” Eleanor growled between clenched teeth.

“If you can clarify the source of your uncertainty, I shall endeavor to
resolve it,” Beatrice continued, and wriggled her hips gingerly,
extricating Corky’s softening prick from her bottomhole. Then she rolled
Corky off of her, and rose to sit cross-legged, seemingly obvious to her
rampant nudity. “But at another time. Currently, my fiancée and I prefer
to be alone.”

At the third word of her last sentence, Corky let out a little
involuntary noise that went ignored by the participants in the familial
confrontation before him.

“Your what?” Mrs. Dalrymple demanded.

“My fiancée. William and I are to be married. I do apologize for not
telling you sooner, Mother. The decision was relatively recent.”

Mrs. Dalrymple appeared to be swelling to quite double her former
volume. “Young lady!” she thundered. “I did not give permission for any
such undertaking!”

Beatrice flinched a bit at this onslaught, and her lower lip trembled
minutely, but still she stood her ground. “No, you did not,” she said,
with just the faintest hint of sulkiness. “We did it ourselves. We’re in

“Pfaugh!” spat her mother. “In love! I didn’t give permission for *that*
either!” She seized Beatrice by the ear, and pulled her off the bed in a
flurry of slender bare limbs. “We’ll soon see about this ‘engagement’ of
yours, girl.”

“Let–” said Corky, and his throat constricted into silence as Eleanor
Dalrymple turned the full ferocity of her glare towards him for the
first time. At that moment, he would far sooner have faced a horde of
rampaging Hottentots than his infuriated landlady, but, as no Hottentots
appeared to be on offer, he soldiered on. “Let her go,” he said.

“Mr. Brandywine,” she said scornfully, “perhaps you would prefer to put
on some clothing before you endeavor to lecture me on my child-rearing

There was a shriek, and she flew forward. For a bare instant, Corky
believed her to be springing for him like some terrible jungle feline,
her teeth and claws ready to rend him in fury. Then he realized that she
was in fact toppling from a shove from Beatrice. In an instant, she had
collapsed upon him in a chaos of crinoline, russet hair and exquisitely
painted fingernails.

“Impudent girl!” the widow screamed, striving to right herself. “I’ll
soon beat this insolence out of you!”

She succeeded in coming to a sitting position on the bed, hair and
clothing still disordered, and made as if to spring for her daughter,
who remained, her pale bare limbs frozen in place by nervousness,
failing to flee from the doorway where her mother had dragged her.

With a burst of wild courage, Corky seized his landlady’s arms and held
her fast.

“Filthy boy!” cried Mrs. Dalrymple, “Unhand me at once.”

“I c-c-ca’n’t let you hurt Beatrice,” Corky said as he struggled to hold
the twisting, kicking woman.

“Jolly good, William!” Beatrice cheered from the doorway. “Flip her
over, or she’s sure to get away!”

Heeding his love’s advice, Corky endeavored to rotate the woman in his
arms despite her violent struggles, and soon succeeded in pressing her
to the bed face-down, her arms twisted behind her back. Her bucking and
kicking made his hold a precarious one. It also had the unfortunate
effect of flinging her skirts up about her waist so her stockings, pale
voluptuous thighs, and magnificent bottom was entirely exposed.

“Her legs,” Corky called to Beatrice, dodging a vicious kick, and she
rushed forward and seized her mother’s limbs, effectively subduing the
enraged matron’s struggles. Her howls of outrage and humiliation were
rendered largely unintelligible by the pillow against which her face was
pressed, though their general gist was all too guessable.

“First-rate, William, ” Beatrice said, flushed with effort and
excitement. “You were so brave!”

In circumstances other than wrestling in the nude with soon-to-be
mother-in-law as she screamed vile imprecations at him, Corky would no
doubt have blushed at such extravagant praise As it was, he merely
favored his fiancée with a small smile.

“You really do have a lovely bottom, Mother,” Beatrice mused, reaching
out to stroke and squeeze the resilient globes thereof.

“Do’n’t touch my posterior!” her mother cried, twisting about with
renewed passion.

And then:

“Do’n’t pull my legs apart!”

And then:

“You must’n’t touch me between my legs!”

But her daughter persisted, saying, ” What a lovely mass of crinkly
brown hair you have, Mother, and the lips within–so plump and soft!
Why, I do believe this situation is exciting you, you wicked strumpet!
Your lovely mouth is quite swollen, and the clitoris here–”

Here Beatrice’s hand, concealed from Corky’s sight by the ripe swell of
her mother’s buttocks, did something that elicited a wail of dismay from
her victim. “–is as fat and firm as a little cock.”

Beatrice pressed herself up between Eleanor’s splayed legs, her rigid
prick sliding into the groove between the elder woman’s ample buttocks,
her face now a few inches behind her mother’s ear. Delighting in the
friction this enclosure provided, she began to work her pert little
bottom up and down, so that the flushed head of her erection played
peek-a-boo with the crease of her mother’s posterior. “You know,” she
said, “you interrupted me and William before I could achieve my
satisfaction. And now I think you shall have to provide me with that
pleasure yourself.”

She shifted her attention then. “Kiss me, William,” she pleaded, and he
leaned down, only to be caught up in her ardent suction and the gentle,
thrilling nips of her teeth. She moaned into his mouth as her agitation
against her mother increased in vigor and speed, until she broke the
kiss with a gasp.

“You do’n’t mind if I bugger this wicked old strumpet, do you darling?”
she said pleadingly to Corky, “I’m so dying for a good spend, and I
think it shall teach her a valuable lesson.”

At the word “bugger,” the widow, whose struggles had heretofore begun to
subside into occasional twitches and grunts, twisted and bucked with
renewed vigor, though she remained far inadequate to the task of
throwing off the two young and vigorous individuals holding her.

Corky, for his part, was rather thrown to be consulted in this decision,
and, though he was loath to deny Beatrice any satisfaction, he hesitated
to assent to such debauchery as she proposed.

“Your prick seems rather to like the idea,” she prodded him gently. For
the first time, he noticed that he had acquired a fresh cock-stand
despite his prior satisfaction. “Would you like to take her mouth while
my cock is in her bottom? I imagine she’ll suck you quite divinely while
I fuck her.”

These lascivious words were not without effect on Corky’s
already-inflamed imagination, and he found his hands tightening on th
widow’s forearms as he remembered the myriad indignities to which she
had subjected him.

Without a word, he took both of Mrs. Dalrymple’s wrists in one of his
hands, and took the jar of pomade from the end table. Grinning, he
handed the jar to Beatrice, who smiled warmly back at him and began to
apply the thick paste to her mother’s hidden aperture. The widow
twisted her head to one side, and glared over her shoulder at her daughter.

“Do’n’t you dare touch my bottomhole!” she demanded rather
ineffectually, “Do’n’t press your finger into my bottom!”

“But it’s so hot and tight, mother!” Beatrice cooed into her ear. “How
can I resist this delicious little orifice? Does’n’t it feel lovely when
I wiggle [here the widow whooped as if she had been dropped into
icewater] my finger thus?

“Your dear little bottom-hole is so wonderfully resilient! I do believe
it’s already craving another finger.

“There! How do you like a second finger in your bottom, Mother? The way
you’re twitching your posterior, I do believe you’re dreaming of when I
jam my cock in there already.”

Mrs. Dalrymple, for her part, appeared to have decided not to give
Beatrice the satisfaction of a reply, and merely grunted and groaned in
response to all her taunting.

Corky had abandoned some portion of his previously habitual reserve, and
was stroking his cock lightly, quite delighting in the sight of the
incestuous violation before him.

“Feeling taciturn, eh?” Beatrice said, smearing pomade onto her rigid
little cock. “I believe I have just the medicine for this
uncommunicativeness that seems to have so uncharacteristically overtaken
you.” And she levered herself down until the head of her prick was
pressed up against her mother’s crinkled orifice, all glistening with

Beatrice’s eyes met Corky’s, her face glowing with excitement and
cruelty. Her expression softened as she gazed on him, but retained all
its ardor, all of its fierce hunger. The muscles in her forearms and her
slender thighs flexed as she slowly increased the pressure of her cock
against Eleanor’s sphincter. As her hips surged forward an inch and she
breached the defenses of her mother’s bottom, her eyes unfocused and a
queer certainty came over Corky that in her imagination it was not her
mother she was taking, but himself. The fancy caused his breath to
shorten. He was not certain at that moment what he should do should his
Beatrice ask such a thing of him.

Then more pressing matters seized his attention, for Mrs. Dalrymple’s
mouth had snapped open and she breached her silence with the demand:
“Beatrice Melinda Dalrymple! Remove your penis from my bottom this very

“Not–quite–yet—Mother,” Beatrice panted, inching her hips forward
minutely. “Your interior feels magnificent. So hot and slick! I may have
to make a habit of flipping your skirts up and stretching this lovely
bottom-hole now that I’ve had this taste of it.”

“You will do no such thing you–Ah!–disobedient wretch–Ah!–When I get
my hands–Ah!–on you, young–Ah!–lady, I’ll…”

“There!” Beatrice said, grinding her slim hips against her mother’s
ample behind. “Buried to the hilt! William, darling, there’s a wash
basin over on the dressing table there. Would you care to freshen up
before finding some more suitable use for Mother’s mouth than the one to
which she is currently putting it?”

“But her hands…?” Corky objected.

“I believe I have her well taken care of now,” Beatrice reassured him.

With some trepidation, Corky released Eleanor’s arms, then dashed to the
washbasin to hastily clean his genitals. Returning to the bed, he found
that Beatrice had brought her mother up onto her hands and knees, and
was unfastening the back of her gown.
Corky hopped back up onto the bed and manouvered himself to bring his
genitals in line with the widow’s mouth, but she obdurately pursed her
lips, glaring up at him in silence.

“Open for me, Eleanor,” Corky said hesitantly. “I want you to kiss my
prick,” but her lips tightened further still. Corky thought furiously:
even if he should manage to get her jaw open, he still feared the effect
of the reluctant widow’s teeth on his tender parts.

Having completed her unfastening, Beatrice put her hand on the back of
Eleanor’s head and pressed her face and bosom ungently to the mattress,
then rapidly tugged her out of her sleeves, leaving her clad in nothing
above the waist but her whalebone stays and the few hairpins remaining
in her disordered coif.

By the time Beatrice had gripped her mother’s hair and forced her back
up onto her hands, Corky had formulated a plan. He leaned down and took
his landlady’s breasts in his hands, enjoying their soft weight, before
fastening his fingertips on the fat nipples and beginning to tug.
Eleanor drew ragged breath through flared nostril and her eyes widened
at the sensation, but, as Corky expected, her mouth remained resolutely
shut. “Mrs. Dalrymple,” he said to her, ” you needn’t make so wry a
face. If you do’n’t wish to suck my cock, Beatrice and I can simply
trade places. I’m sure my cock will be a far more interesting challenge
for your bottom-hole than Beatrice’s dear little member, and I’m certain
her cock has acquired some novel flavors for you to sample in its
current resting place.”

The expression that crossed her face was complex, but Corky recognized
it at once. Incredulity, horror, and reluctant lascivious excitement
all commingled and intertwined had been such a staple of his own
eventful past week that it was remarkably simple for him to apprehend
the compound in another. With that recognition came a curious rush of
pleasure–the joy in power that was the companion piece to the pleasure
in powerlessness that he had so often recently experienced. He put his
hand in Eleanor’s hair and pulled her head back. “Now, open your mouth,
Mrs. Dalrymple,” he insisted, “for you’re to be fucked in your bottom
and your mouth at once now.

At these words, a tremor to run all through the widow’s body, eliciting
a gasp from Beatrice as the shudder deliciously agitated her mother’s
ample bottom. Her brows knit in an expression of abandonment, and her
jaw fell open as though she had been bereft of will.

Not without nervousness, Corky now pressed his prick downwards,
presenting its swollen tip to the widow’s slack mouth. Beatrice watched
with rapt delight as he fed his cock-head to her mother, who latched
upon it and suckled hungrily.

Satisfied that procedures in front were well underway, Beatrice
commenced her own movements, working her slender cock first in minuscule
increments, increasing to longer and more vigorous thrusts, eliciting
deep groans in Eleanor Dalrymple’s throat that tingled Corky’s cods
deliciously so that he gripped the widow’s head in his hands and bucked
his hips against it.

She took the base of his cock in one pale little fist, squeezing
exquisitely as she bobbed her head one his slick and swollen member, her
muffled cries rising in timbre as Beatrice’s thrusts became more
vigorous. Eleanor, far from persisting in her prior struggles, now
appeared to give herself over to her double juissance with rather more
than forbearance.

With out pausing in her thrusts, Beatrice reached out one slender hand
and trailed it up Corky’s belly, gently stroked one nipple , and finally
cupped his chin, gazing into his eyes with melting affection. They
leaned forward and kissed, linked in a circuit of voluptuous enjoyment,
connected by their hungry mouths above, and by warm, squirming flesh below.

“Oh, William, darling!” Beatrice murmured into his mouth, “mother’s
bottomhole feels–oh!–so exquisite! It’s contracting most deliciously!
I–I shall spend!”

“I, too,” Corky answered, “She sucks magnificently–it is coming!”

“Let me taste it,” Beatrice gasped. “Let me taste your lovely spend!”

Beyond speech now, Corky withdrew prick from the widow’s hot mouth.
Said passage now unobstructed, Eleanor’s moans escalated to shrieks as
Beatrice’s slender hips pounded against her rotund bottom with all the
vigor they could muster.

Beatrice’s cries, too, rose to meet her mother’s, equaling them in
volume as she shuddered and deposited a copious tribute in the elder
woman’s bowels. Then, with nary a moment to draw breath, she slumped
forward and drew Corky’s cock into her pretty little bow-shaped mouth,
exerting a fierce suction that had Corky groaning and shuddering very
shortly indeed, before convulsing and releasing his spend into
Beatrice’s mouth while she moaned ardently, swallowing in great noisy
gulps, her whole body shivering.

A moment later, Corky was collapsed in a sweaty heap with his lover,
arms flung about her supple waist, his spend and deflating cock lying
across her flushed cheek. From beneath came a muffled voice: “Heavy!”

Corky and Beatrice scrambled off their momentarily forgotten victim.
“Are you quite all right, Mother?” Beatrice asked of the severely
disheveled woman thus revealed.

Red faced, gleaming with perspiration, still clad in her now rumpled and
stained gown, Eleanor Dalrymple blinked and gulped air for some seconds
before she could utter a sound. “Ran..”she said.

“Mother?” Beatrice said in some consternation, leaning down to peer at
the older woman’s face. Part of Corky shared Beatrice’s concern, while
another part admired Beatrice’s pert little bottom thus elevated.

“Ran…dy…” Eleanor gasped, then drew breath again. “Need…to spend..”

“Oh, you poor dear!” said Beatrice contritely, “we’ve quite neglected
your satisfaction! Here, turn on your back, and spread your pretty
thighs. There! Oh, isn’t your poor cunny a sight! I do’n’t know that
I’ve ever seen it so swollen! Here, let me kiss the sweet thing…”

“YES!” Mrs. Dalrymple shrieked, her body springing to life as her bottom
left the mattress just as her hands gripped Beatrice’s head and held it

Beatrice’s attitude towards this turn of affairs was indiscernible by
Corky, but good will or no, she lapped diligently, as her mother bucked
and howled. Unexpectedly, the woman’s hand darted out, seized Corky’s
shoulder, and pulled him to her pillowy bosom. Though she was beyond
speech, her nonverbal communication was clear enough, and Corky set to
work sucking and biting at her broad, dark nipples.

In very little time, Eleanor hips rose off the bed once more and her
cries crescendoed into a single drawn-out wail as she reached her climax.

When Eleanor’s spasms had subsided, Beatrice wriggled up her length, and
mother and daughter twined together, kissing warmly. Blindly, Beatrice’s
free hand groped around behind her back until it located Corky, and
tugged him up behind her so that he curled against her
perspiration-slick back. She squirmed her bottom against his cock
happily and he let his arm fall over the pair of women, relaxing into a
postcoital haze.

“I must congratulate myself on my selection of your fiancée,” Eleanor
murmured sleepily. “I think he shows real potential.”

From the hallway came a high, merry sound, and Corky realized that on
the other side of the door, an eavesdropping Maggie was giggling.