Im Mels Dad 30 The Revisit

THIRTY

'Revisit'

"Hey, Dad."

"Sweet."

"I'm a little later, but I'm on my way."

"Sure. OK. I wasn't worried."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

"Yeah."

"Well, I stopped in at Kraters' on the way home - pick up somma that Harrar."

"Cool. That'll be good."

"Well, yeah... "

"What's up, Sweet?"

"OK, so I ran into Howard... the Howards... you know, Mom's boss."

"Yes?"

"Yeah, so we started talkin' - you know, the barbeque."

"Yes. That was a good time."

"It was. And... so, anyway... so, they're giving me a ride home."

"OK."

"Yeah. And... we got to talkin' and... well, I'm kinda turned on."

My cock jerked stiff a little.

"Always a good thing."

You laugh. "Yeah. So, I kinda invited them over."

I smile. I wonder if you can hear that over the phone.

"OK. Good. You sound nervous."

"Well. Yeah. You know she... sorta..."

I laugh. "Yes, she does. How long you think you'll be."

"Oh, quick, we're already turnin' onto Nelda."

"Yeah, OK, so - basically - you're here."

You laugh. "Just about."

"OK - I'll close this out and meet ya at the door."

"Yeah, bye."

"Enjoy your self."

I hang up and quickly save and close out the story I'm working on.

Do a quick run through the living room, picking up stray bits of clothes and such and tossing them up to the landing.

As I reach the door, I hear the car purr into the drive.

I open the door and watch you pop out the back and start up the walk.

You hurry along, nearly skipping with excitement. A huge smile.

Your braless tits bounce and sway under your loose white top, bloused into your wide black belt.

Your knee-length black skirt, does little to impair movement and your silver mesh choker sparkles over your throat.

Mr. Howard is, of course, wearing one of his richly tailored suits, sculpted to enhance his body, revealing what should be revealed, hiding what should be hidden.

He knows how to invest in his costume.

And in hers.

She comes up the walk in a dress that somehow is exactly loose enough at the knees to allow her imperious stride and, at the same time,each step kicks the skirt out - emphasizing the length and power of her long, scissoring legs.

The seamstress has laid the rich black cloth on the bias so it sits comfortably, hugging each curve and tight enough to display her powerful thighs and swaying hips, as she moves as freely as if naked.

Her long, flawless torso is equally on display, as are her perfectly sized-breasts, a shallow vale between them demands that one see their firm, upholding shape.

She glides, a well-practiced, well-oiled machine.

She is, as always, surrounded by an aura of power.

She is the model on which all trophy wives are based.

Except in this case, MISTER Howard is the arm candy.

Sure, he's the money, but still...

She is firmly in control.

I invite their entry with an arm sweep, her height is startling as she passes.

She is wearing heels, high enough that we are nearly the same height, yet somehow those are still sensible shoes.

That is rare.

She is the sort of beautiful that defines itself.

Above comparison.

Without peer.

"Come with me."

They have never been in the house before - except for cutting through the kitchen to the office last week.

And I notice that she is appraising every aspect of our home, size, lay-out, furnishings... without affectation or judgement, she just notes every detail.

I, therefore, become more conscious.

Deeper into the physical space.

Interesting effect.

As I lead them into our living room, I hear you shed your clothes and go to kitchen, putting the coffee in the pantry, running water and clinking glasses as you prepare drinks and a tidbits tray.

He stands at the couch and helps her lower herself to settle elegantly onto the seat, taking ownership simply by her presence. He sits down beside her with the grace of a large and powerful animal.

"Thank you for last week-end," Her voice has a quiet, brahman lilt. "It was most... entertaining."

"I am glad you enjoyed yourself. Yourselves."

She gives an almost imperceptible nod of inclusive recognition to the man sitting beside her.

"Yes. Most entertaining."

We sit silent for a beat.

"It has been a while since we have seen... Deidre."

"Yes, she's been gone several years."

"Indeed."

Another beat.

These are not awkward pauses. We are simply not compelled to chatter.

"She did seem to remember her place."

This would have seemed an odd turn of phrase from almost anyone else, but with her it was a simple statement of fact, no need for explanation.

"Yes. That is why she came back - she left because she had forgotten."

She looks at me, reading me. Allowing me space to explain. And to choose not to.

We both knew what the other meant - no need for details.

"It was most satisfying to renew our acquaintance."

"That is why we had the do."

Her head cocks slightly. Reading my meaning through my silence.

"Of course."

"However, she was not completely unknown to me."

"As I understand."

"Is she available? For me now."

Again, an odd tern of phrase, but absolutely appropriate between us.

"No, not at the moment. She is otherwise occupied."

I do not mention that she is huddled naked on the concrete floor of her cell in our basement.

You come in, carrying a tray with four mugs of fresh coffee, preceded by the dark and fruity aroma of the Harrar.

You are, of course, casually naked, but for the wide silver collar sparkling around your throat.

Mrs. Howard appraises your unclothed beauty as she had our home on her entry - without judgement, noting every detail.

Though I do notice the widening pupils, the slightly flared nostils.

You are as uniquely gorgeous as she is.

And she sees that.

Your hair sweeps as you move to a chair.

With a casual movement of your arm, you lift your hair and drape it behind you, cascading over the back of the chair and tumbling to the floor.

I realize that I am still standing and move to sit in the other chair.

Mrs. Howard asks about your school and you respond.

She is genuinely interested.

The two of you sit. Her, exquisitely attired; You equally exquisite in your nakedness.

You both study the other. Occasionally one or the other of you will glance in my direction.

Mr. Howard sits, a piece of furniture.

All is normal.

My erotic sensibility rises, blood heating, breath deepening.

The same is true of you three, but nothing overt or clumsy arises.

Mrs. Howard, her voice laden with solicitous acknowledgment that she might be broaching too private a subject, asks about your casual, comfortable nakedness.

"Oh, yes. It's the way we are. Dad likes to watch me." You give the hair over your ear a quick flick and smile. "And I like him to watch."

Mrs. Howard smiles, a small, dipping nod of accepting recognition.

"And I like being available all the time."

Her smile broadens.

"You are his daughter?"

"Oh, yes."

"You do so look like your mother. No cause to doubt. Still, one does not wish to presume."

You lean back in the chair and, both hands behind your neck, lift your hair and let it fall, rippling to rest again behind the chair.

This, of course, lifts your tits, obviously and deliberately offering them on display to her.

"You are quite brazen."

You laugh, "Habit, I guess."

"I suppose."

"Come, stand before me." She indicates a spot beside the coffee table.

Thin tendrils of steam rise from the mugs of coffee, still untouched on the tray.

You rise and walk across the floor.

God, girl, you are so fucking gorgeous.

Breathtaking still.

Unfaded by familiarity.

I have to readjust my pants.

You stand for inspection.

Calm.

"Turn. Slowly."

You obey as if you were fulfilling your desire to display yourself.

Which, obviously, you are.

She strokes your hair, tracing the forms of your back down to your ass through your silken honey.

When your turn is complete, her hands rest on your pudenda.

You shiver, smile, as she traces up over your abs, her fingertips floating.

"Yours is a lovely choker. Well set, snug. Does the apparent meaning hold?"

"It does... Well, it might have initially."

"No longer?"

"I am not owned. I just like the way it looks. And feels."

"A reminder."

"No, a fitting expression."

She rises effortlessly.

She stands, your head shoulder high to her.

Without warning she spanks both your tits from the outside.

Your flinch is one of accommodation, not avoidance.

She notes that.

She cups your right breast with her left hand, thumbing the simple ring you wear today.

Her right hand slams down on your tit, driving it into the cupping, now clutching hand beneath.

She gazes into your face, appraising, analyzing.

Without warning, she repeats her action, clapping your tit between her fierce hands.

She does it again.

Tears well up in your smiling eyes.

Mrs. Howard looks to me, questioning wordlessly.

I tilt my head slightly to the side and shrug.

She knows I mean that it is up to you.

She pinches the ring between her fingers and lifts, stretching your throbbing breast high.

She lets it fall back into her cupping hand.

She curls those fingers into a fist, your tit crushed in it.

Mrs. Howard turns to look at me.

She lifts her fist, watching my face as she lifts my daughter off her heels by her captured breast.

A smile curls the edges of her luscious mouth as she slowly nods her head a couple times.

She lowers you to stand on your own and releases her grip.

You look to me, lids half-closed.

And smile.

I nod and return your smile.

I take a quick glance at Mr. Howard where he stands, arms at his sides, his fly tented.

He is rapt at his wife's treatment of you.

He is a powerful man, completely controlled by another's will.

His wife glances over her shoulder at him.

She returns her attentions to you.

She combs her fingers into your hair over your ears and draws your face up to hers.

You respond by pressing your body against hers, throwing your arms around her ribs and squeezing hard. Your flattened tits lift hers.

You grind your cunts together, her's slightly higher than yours.

The kiss lasts very long.

I get longer and loosen my fly. I reach in to cradle my throbbing cock.

My breathing deepens and slows.

She lowers her hands to your shoulders and pushes you gently away.

You are confused, but accede.

She turns her back and looks over her shoulder at you.

Without a word she orders you to unzip her dress.

Wordlessly, you obey.

You slip your hands into the top of the opening of the dress and smooth it off her shoulders.

Her body is astonishing, a Galetea worthy of Plato.

Her statuesque form is revealed, soft and warm ivory.

Lust could be her name.

The promise of the form beneath the black dress is more than fulfilled by her milk-white form.

Gentle, divine, mesmerizing.

Her breasts, though large, seem to float, their globes outstanding in roundness.

Rising and falling with her slow, deep breaths.

Her thick nipples burst from areola to thrust between a ring of tiny bumps, like small crowns the color of peach blossoms.

Your hands glide down her well-sculpted arms. Her muscles are studies in perfection, lying in perfect symmetry, flowing smoothly one to the other.

You help the cloth pass over her hands and the dress rests on her alabaster hips, hugging her waist.

Her back, smooth and serene as a snake, erect, rises from the half-moons of her high, taut bum.

Her dress falls to pool around her feet as soon as you draw it down over the swellings of her glutes and thighs.

Her legs are long, elegant pillars supporting this astonishing perfection.

I knew her body was an inducement to desire, but I had not anticipated this mesmerizing siren.

Resting your hands gently on the forward crowns of her hips, you pull yourself forward to kiss her ass.

I slowly stroke my rigidity, as you press your ringed tits against the back of her knees and writhe against her.

She moves her hands to her own breasts and massages them deeply, lovingly.

She has practiced this often before.

She knows what she likes.

And she does that.

I like that.

You use her hips to turn her to you.

Your tongue stretches to trace her slit, your nose nestled in her close-cropped pubes.

She rests her hands gently on your head and accepts your laving worship - so richly deserved.

I undo my pants and drop them to the floor. I step out, standing with my right foot on the left pants leg to pull that one out; I repeat the process with the left.

She spreads her legs and leans back, arching with her hands on her ass, thrusting herself to your mouth, opening herself to you.

You eagerly pursue her offer.

I unbutton my shirt and leave it hanging open from my shoulders.

I walk over to stand behind you, straddling your beautiful body.

I fondle her perfection, smoothing over torso and tits with my open hands.

I curl my arms under hers, hooking her underarms and rest my hands on top of her shoulders.

I pull her to me and we kiss - at first tentatively, not timid, then robustly.

My balls roll along the top of your head.

You nuzzle up against me and you reach back to grab and caress my calves.

I sway over you, guided by your hands.

My cock stabs up to lay gently on Mrs. Howard's wondrously sculpted abs.

She folds her smooth, soft hands over my shaft and rolls me across them, torqueing me.

Her tongue darts over mine, my lips are moistened by her succulence.

I ignore the knock on the door the first time I hear it.

No one else responds either.

Again, the knocking, more insistent.

Reluctantly, I break from our triad and retrieve my pants.

I struggle; The way I took them off turned them inside out.

Just as I get them sorted, the door opens and Saisha pops in, followed by Charles.

"Hey, we know you'r..."

She stops, mid-step.

Charles bumps into her from behind.

"God - she is beaut-," Saisha breathes.

I turn my head to see Mrs. Howard standing imperious, hands resting on your head which is now turned in profile, the lower half covered in her moisture.

THIS is a sculpture of museum quality.

I'd put it in my museum.

I'm delighted to have it in my living room.

You pivot a bit to flash a broad smile at Saisha, then turn back to servicing Mrs. Howard.

She looks down on you approvingly and tilts her pelvis slightly to improve your access.

Mr. Howard wordlessly moves his hands to cover his bulge.

"Indeed... she is," I husk, nodding.

Charles sputters a bit, overwhelmed.

"Oh, yeah, well... sorry for interrupting," Saisha husks, "but... we saw the Phantom in the drive and..."

She turns to Charles, then back to me.

"Hope it's OK - we did knock."

"Oh, sure. It's great. Glad to see you."

I reach to take her hand, feeling stupid as I am still holding my pants up by the waistband with one leg halfway up my thigh and the other hanging limp between my legs.

She notices and laughs.

I look down and step out of the leg, tossing the pants towards the chair.

"Come on in. Come in."

They move to stand beside me.

"Mrs. Howard - Mr. Howard - Saisha and Charles, neighbors."

"Yes, we saw you at the barbeque, right?"

Mrs. Howard nods.

And presses your head tighter into herself.

"Do you intend to join us... or leave now?" Her quiet commanding voice requires a response.

Saisha, perhaps a bit intimidated, but yielding nothing, answers. "We stay."

"Excellent." She has taken full control of our home, over no objection.

"Strip your man."

Saisha takes to this task quickly, enthusiastically, making quick work of his golf shirt, slacks and canvas slip-ons.

His huge frame sheens with a slight sweat, which displays his sculpted muscles brightly.

Mrs. Howard watches, amused, idly returning to combing your hair and fondling one of her own magnificent breasts.

Charles' massive cock is about three-quarters up; Mrs. Howard observes, seeming to approve.

I'm back to idly stroking myself as well.

Saisha stands beside her husband and cradles his manhood.

Mrs. Howard lifts your hair encouraging you to stand.

She turns you to face me and gives you a slight push.

You come to me with a broad, damp smile and hug me.

I taste Mrs. Howard in your kiss and I lick around your lips and chin.

Better than I would have dreamed.

I clean your face with my tongue while you laugh at my attention.

"Mr. Howard, stand."

He does.

"Come."

He does.

He stands, suited, beside his naked wife.

"You." She commands. "'Saisha' is it?"

"Yes, M'am."

Not like her to be so deferential, yet perfectly natural. Such is Mrs. Howard's power.

"Stand here." She points to a spot about a meter in front of her.

Saisha complies quickly, smiling at this statuesque beauty.

She is enjoying the game.

"Mr. Howard. Undress the woman."

He moves quickly to obey.

You and I watch, standing.

You lay your right shoulder against my chest, your hand hangs loose to drape over my half-raised cock.

My left hand snuggles in to nest between your cheeks.

You clinch my fingers playfully.

Saisha's filmy white top consists of two rectangular panels slung 'round her neck, joined between her small breasts with three buttons.

When he has undone them, the panels swing to hang draped to the sides, displaying her tits framing them between them.

Mr. Howard pulls one panel off to the side and drops the top to the floor.

Saisha stands topless, an amused smile dancing on her lips.

He slowly, deliberately undoes the three button fly of her tight red mid-thigh shorts, which cling to her slender thighs.

'Peel' is the perfect word to describe the necessary action he performs.

She twists and sways, her hands snaking up over her tea cups, all the while smiling at Mrs. Howard.

She's enjoying this game.

And so is she.

Mr. Howard is on his knees as Saisha steps delicately, gracefully, out of her shorts.

As he reaches for Saisha's feet, he is halted by his imperious wife.

"You may leave the sandals."

He withdraws his hands.

"Return to your seat."

He does - his gait made awkward by his raging hard-on.

"Saisha... and Mel, go stand before him.

Saisha moves instantly. You look up to me, asking, wondering. I nod and you go.

"Stand close. Closer. Nearly touching his knees. But DO NOT make contact."

"Face him."

You both stand, hands at sides. Your honeyed veil sheets down over your delicious form; Her lustrous black cloak ripples over her back, her small, tight ass displayed.

"Turn to the right."

You stand behind Saisha, towering over her sweet, tender frame.

"Mel, carress her exquisite jewel-breasts."

You reach around our Indian neighbor and stroke and pet her small tits.

"Turn to show him your backs."

You turn now to face us.

Damn, girl, you are beautiful.

Perfection.

A softer, less severe beauty than the empress, Mrs. Howard.

And Saisha's temple-worthy beauty is also a wonder.

Mr. Howard seems to start to reach to brush your hair aside for a view of your back.

"NO!" Mrs. Howard barks, even before his thought is fully formed.

His hands return to his lap. Meek.

"Mel, turn to face Saisha."

You do.

"Spread your feet and bend your knees to brush nipples together."

You do.

Your thighs brace the smaller woman.

And the two of you laugh as you sway back and forth, swiping erect nipples together. Occasionally one of hers is snagged in your ring. A delightful tugging and release.