Misbehaving

My morning wood slid unconsciously between her thighs and near the confines of her moist pussy. It was a pleasurable sensation that brought me out of my half sleep and into full awakening.

"That's nice," murmured a gentle voice from the female figure lying beside me.

Her naked body had curled up against mine at some point during the night, spooning me, and my arm was now placed protectively over her. The hand of that arm reached down to gently stroke the soft flesh of one of her breasts, fingers pleasantly surprised to find an ample amount to caress. My middle finger circled around the hardening flesh of her nipple. The work on this sensitive area provoked several long throaty moans.

Meanwhile my dick was by now firmly wedged in the crack of her cunt and her warmth was radiating pleasantly around me. The stale smell of our sex from the night before was heightened as her juices began to flow again in anticipation of my cock filling her. Her musty scent coupled with the crusty remains of last night's efforts brought me to a higher level of excitement and my dick went from being merely hard to rigid steel. As it grew to its full length, engorged, it stood straight up and out from my body running parallel to the damp lips of her twat, but the tip of my johnson lost the entrance to her hole in the process.

I pulled back my hand, which had thus far been feeling her up, and gently lifted her thigh, exposing her treasure to me explicitly. Soon she was lifting her leg on her own and I was able to reach down and feed the first few inches of my cock inside her hole.

"Ummm," she purred next to me, "It feels so big and thick."

My hand traveled up her side and slipped under her arm. I squeezed and rubbed her tits, and moans escaped her mouth as I played them like an instrument.

"Oh," she cooed, "That feels great."

She was velvety smooth and I was so worked up I just started pumping into her like a madman. Soon she had both hands on the headboard, steadying herself, her legs opened for me, and I was fucking her like crazy.

"Oh, yeah," she cried, "Oh, yeah...that's it...fuck me...fuck me!"

I kept on ramming her, and she spooned next to me, her tits hanging down in front of her jiggling.

"Jesus you are so big," she continued, "Jesus fucking Christ."

I could feel the insides of her cunt tighten, and then a rush of wetness overcame my cock.

"Oh, shit," she cried, "I'm cumming...oh...yes...oh...yes...that's it...that's it!"

That was enough for me. I shot my wad into her pussy as I continued to thrust. She inclined her head back and I leaned forward, kissing her slowly, sucking her tongue into my mouth. We lay on the bed quietly for a few moments, enjoying each other's company. I cradled her small body in my strong arms.

I was on leave that weekend and it had been a while since I'd been with a woman. Or, judging from what might have happened the night before, since I remembered having been with a woman. Bits and pieces of last evening's drunken revelry came floating back to me as I lay there and I was still feeling randy as all get out from several weeks of not having had any tail. My dick kept responding to this girl, and to my delight, she took it in her hand, and gave me a few gentle strokes. In fact I had never fully softened. She proceeded to pull away from my embrace and moved down to the end of the bed so that she could suck my pride and joy into her mouth.

From my vantage point I could feel the wetness of her mouth on my jock and I could see her head bobbing up and down over my shaft. Her warm mouth encased me, taking me in long deep strokes, sucking strongly. She started running her tongue up and down the shaft, stopping to suck my balls into her mouth. My cock was getting very hard in a hurry, swelling up to its full size, as she worked. She looked up at me for a second and I closed my eyes. Then she went back to work, reaching her hand down and fingering her cunt. Opening my eyes, I could see her hand rub her pussy through her legs, and then she started moaning. As she increased the pace on my cock, she increased the movement on her clit with her hand. She stuck two fingers up her cunt, while grabbing hold of my meat and pumping me with her hand and occasionally sucking me with her mouth. A loud moan escaped her, and she suddenly stopped and looked back at me.

The girl was very aggressive, and she knew what she wanted. She moved forward to straddle me, positioning my mast underneath her so that she could sink down on my dick. She was so wet that I could hear a sloshing sound when she impaled herself. Then she was fucking me in no time, up and down she went, her moans started again and so did her pace.

She was a fine bitch and she was doing all the work, so I just laid back and enjoyed the feeling of her hot cunt smothering me. She leaned forward and those gorgeous tits looked so good I had to reach up and pull on her long dark nipples. Her tits floated in my face and I licked the end of her tits lightly at first and then started sucking them harder, alternating breasts. By this time, one of my hands was steadying her waist, and I was thrusting up her cunt at a frantic speed. I could feel the cum building up in my balls at the same time. I reached behind her with my other hand to spread her ass cheeks wide open and finger her asshole.

"Oh, yes...oh, yes," she cried, in respect of the mounds of flesh pressed into my face, "That's it...suck my tits...suck harder."

I could feel another rush of wetness spilling down my balls a second later like warm milk. She was like a fountain this one.

"Jesus!" she panted, "I'm cumming! Oh, God...that's it.... Oh, God! Oh, God!"

Her whole body tensed up and she sat straight up grinding her cunt against the base of my cock and triggering my own eruption.

I shot my load furiously up her cunt all the while she was grinding out the last of her orgasm against me.

She collapsed into my arms as we finished and I glanced out the window to see the pale early morning sun rise further in the pink and orange sky. My cock was still buried inside her and I wasn't even going soft, so I began to massage around her waist, trying to encourage her to start moving up and down on me again. Unfortunately the sudden, insistent ringing of my cell phone interrupted our increasing passion.

Being a newly commissioned Second Lieutenant in the Marines did not make answering my phone an option.

"Hello?" I said gruffly into the phone, "Mom?" I responded, hearing her voice on the other end.

I sat bolt upright.

"Hey...it's early...what's going on?" I asked.

The girl, who I was still inside of, disentangled herself from me at the mention of my mother and got up to go to the bathroom. I followed her naked body with my eyes, regretting this lost opportunity as she walked into the other room. Meanwhile, I listened to my mother as she explained to me what I was going to do, how I was going to do it and when.

It was made clear that I didn't have a choice in the matter.

"Okay, bye," I said, hanging up when she was finished.

The girl came back in, grabbed a sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself in a sudden fit of modestly, leaving me exposed.

"Sorry for the interruption," I said, lying naked and by now at half mast.

I realized for the first time that I had no clue where I was or who I was with.

"Ummm," I said, looking around me, "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm gonna need to take off soon."

She looked a little crestfallen.

"I thought you had leave for the whole weekend?" she asked, pouting.

"I do, but I have an emergency," I said, "Though I do have a little time before I need to get back to base."

"Good," she said, "Let's not waste it."

As she climbed back into bed next to me, I figured I should probably wait until I was ready to leave before I asked this girl for her number...and her name.

* * *

Later that same day...

My mother could always be counted on to think of everything and I had a car waiting for me at noon to take me from the base to the plane that would carry me to my duty assignment for the next couple days. I was to serve as an escort for the daughter of one of my mother's oldest and closest friends for her debut at the annual cotillion.

Being born and raised a Southern man myself, I had a wholesome acceptance, or at least understanding, of the very traditional rituals surrounding a debutant. Ancient in origin and imported to the United States during colonial times, the cotillion is still the customary way in the South and in many other parts to present well to do young women to society. The Yankees among you can laugh if you want, but my mother had her own cotillion in New Orleans in the sixties and every other female member of my mother's family had been similarly introduced to society.

Even so, it still kept me wondering why, on the occasion of one of these peculiar little rituals, I now found myself standing on the front porch of one Mr. Gregory Campbell and his wife, Mrs. Gregory Campbell (née Christina Blair). I don't know what she and my mother had shared in the perfumed and often mystifying cloisters of upper crust New Orleans to make them so close, but they were very close indeed. In fact they were such good friends that my mother had been the maid of honor at her wedding many long years ago. She'd married Gregory Campbell who was born and bred of only the finest Southern stock and they had raised four children: three daughters and one son.

Despite this closeness between our two families, I hadn't seen any of the Campbells since I was thirteen, in other words about nine years ago. I recalled one time they had descended upon our house like a plague of locusts devouring everything that stood in their way. The oldest girl, Elizabeth, had been fifteen at the time. She might have been the most beautiful girl I'd every seen, but she didn't have any time for those of use she viewed as mere children. The second oldest was a girl called Melanie, and she was a year younger than me. As I recall, she was as pure as the driven snow. It had been no use getting into any trouble with her. The other two were twins: Jeremy and Jenna, having been nine years old at the time, and little more than pests underfoot.

Considering all that, I was especially surprised when my mother called me up to tell me that I was to be one of the escorts for young Jenna, who was now having her eighteenth birthday. A little old for a cotillion, I figured. But as I was going, a fully commissioned officer, I guess it wouldn't be too weird. You see, a debutant is often escorted to a cotillion by two men, one a civilian and the other a cadet at one of the various military academies. Thus an escort is expected to present a color guard for the girl, be in proper form the entire evening, polite, observe the rules of etiquette at all times and dance on command. How my mother had managed to get me leave for this assignment was something I'd never know. This wasn't exactly something I considered a great use of my time, plus I'd never hear the end of it from the other guys in my unit.

I was the only man of my generation in my family carrying on a long and distinguished association with the armed forces. Apparently Jenna Campbell had asked for me specifically. I imagined she either didn't know or was too shy to seek out a cadet her own age from one of the various military schools who might have been a more suitable companion. With Mr. Campbell's well-placed defense contracts and connections with some very powerful people in Washington, DC, including one or two members of the Senate Armed Forces Committee, I found I had my leave approved. I may be many things, but in my short time in the service I'd learned to appreciate leave for what it was.

So I kept my mouth shut and got my ass on the next available transport.

After my flight and cab ride, there I was standing on the Campbells' porch, having changed with permission out of my usual uniform and into more comfortable civilian clothes. My duffle was at my feet and a hanging bag carrying my Dress Blues was slung over my left shoulder. I took a deep breath, rang the doorbell of this ornate Southern mansion and stood back, almost at attention, waiting for something to happen.

I was not required to wait long.

The door opened slowly and a tall (which is to say he and I could look one another in the eye) middle-aged man looked back at me. He had the look of a man who had once been a lion, but was now starting to show his age, if not still fit enough to have more than a hint of the old firmness he had had in his youth.

"You must be Marc," he said smiling, extending a hand for me to shake, "It's been a long time."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Campbell, almost ten years," I said grinning, "I suppose the haircut gives me away?"

"Standard issue?" he asked, still shaking my hand, as I nodded yes.

Finally he let go of it, and held open the door for me to enter, "Please come in, can I help with your bags?"

"No, sir, thanks, I'm fine," I grabbed my duffel and entered into what could only be described as the foyer of the house.

This room led into a large receiving room with a massive staircase curving up the middle going to the second floor. One side seemed to lead into a parlor and the other into a dining room.

This place was huge.

"Marc, you know my wife Chrissy of course," he said, referring to the woman who was coming into the hall through a side door to meet us.

Ain't it funny how the mind plays tricks on us? I remembered this woman from her last trip to visit us and of course from pictures, but those didn't do her justice. And for a minute I really envied Mr. Campbell. Chrissy...Mrs. Campbell, I corrected myself...was a stunning woman for her age. By which I mean a woman in her mid to late forties. She was tall, though not as tall as her husband or me, and she had what appeared to be a gorgeous head of honey brown hair, twisted up on her head just the way I liked it. But what really got me going was her figure. Her body had filled out from the more willowy, as I remembered it, into a more voluptuous frame. Motherhood had been kind to her, giving her ample and generous curves. Yet she remained sleek, firm and tight enough to give a woman half her age a run for the money.

"Marc," she said, in a throaty deep voice, smiling.

Her body wasn't the only thing that had improved with age. She was originally from New Orleans, but her accent had changed over time in her new surrounding and had become softer and richer as it took on more of a drawl. My name came out sounding like "Maaaahk."

"It was so good of you to come all the way down here, for our lil' old ball," she continued, giving me a hug, "How's your father? And Peter?" she continued, asking about my father and brother.

I barely had time to set down my stuff before she swept me up in her arms. Not for the second time having to remember that she was a married woman twice my age, and my mother's closest and best friend. I got a whiff of her perfume, and I thought I might get hard if she didn't let me go.

Thankfully she did.

"They're both fine, ma'am," I said, a little embarrassed by how I was getting turned on by her, "They send their regards of course."

"Oh, how sweet," she said, now putting her hand behind my back and ushering me forward, "Listen Marc, now that you're a man, you're really going to have to call me Chris. Have you eaten, yet?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, not quite able to call this woman by her Christian name yet, "I had some food on the plane."

"Well if you want me to fix you something you just let me know. We'll be having dinner at seven o'clock."

Suddenly Mr. Campbell interrupted, "Goodness, Chrissy, give the boy some breathing room, we've got him for three whole days, let him rest for a minute."

"Marc," he said, turning his attention on me, "Why don't I show you your room?"

Mrs. Campbell called to me behind us as I took my things and followed her husband up the stairs, "Marc, did you bring a swimsuit? Lizzy and Mel are swimming in the back, you might like to join them and relax this afternoon before dinner. Of course Jeremy is working and Jenna is in town getting her dress fitted, but I'm sure the girls would like to see you."

"No, ma'am," I stopped looking back at her over the banister, "I didn't think I'd be near a pool."

"No problem, dahlin," she said indulgently, then a little more sharply to her husband, "Greg, why don't you let Marc use one of yours?"

"Sure, honey," he said waving her away.

As soon as we were upstairs he turned to me and said, "I have too many damned women in this house boy, if you know what I mean. Never give a man any peace and quite."

I grinned back at him to indicate that I was a man of the world and knew full well what he was talking about.

"Well here's your room," he said indicating one of the first rooms off the hall, a very large room with a four-poster bed. It was obviously a guest room with all the frilly accompaniments that sort of thing usually entails.

"Hope it's all right," he said.

"Much better than I'm used to," I replied.

"Chrissy and I are over there," he informed me, in his cursory fashion, and pointed out the others as well, "That's Jeremy's room. Lizzy there. Jenna there. And Mel at the end."

"Okay, then," he continued going into his own room, after a second he came out with a pair of bathing trunks, which he tossed to me, "There you go. The girls will be by the pool. C'mon down once you've settled yourself in. Then after dinner you and I can have some time to talk mano-a-mano."

"Yes, sir," I said and went in shutting the door as Mr. Campbell turned to go downstairs.

Once I was out of sight, I sat on the bed and let out a sigh. Jesus, I thought, what the fuck had I gotten myself in for? I'd already encountered a mother I'd like to fuck, what the hell else was waiting for me? Fortunately I didn't have a lot to unpack, but I put my clothes in the wardrobe and put on Mr. Campbell's swim trunks. I was momentarily a little chilled sitting around in nothing but the trunks in the cool air-conditioning, but I knew it would feel good once I got out into the afternoon air by the pool.

I found my way down to pool fairly easily, making my way through the dining room and kitchen. In the kitchen I passed the Campbell's cook, who happened to be black. She reminded me a little of Esther Rolle and she gave me a very disapproving frown as I tried to introduce myself and gestured to the French doors to indicate my way to the pool. I don't think she liked having me walk through her kitchen with nothing on but a pair of swim trunks, especially considering the bulge my junk made in the front.

And I also got the feeling this woman could see right through me.

The air outside was hot even for the late afternoon and sticky with humidity, but being bare-chested provided a measure of relief. I already felt drops of sweat forming on my back and forehead.

I rounded the side of the house on the patio and came upon a large Olympic size swimming pool. A bikini clad girl lounged in a cabana chair next to the pool, apparently relaxing in the sun, and another was making laps. Both were sticky fingers good looking and I took a deep breath before I walked up to them.

"Hey," I said.

The girl doing laps caught sight of me and a look of pure pleasure beamed across her face.

"Marc!" she hollered.

This was Melanie of course. I remembered her.

"Damn, girl," I said, as she flounced out of the pool to give me a big wet hug, "You've really grown up since I saw you last."

I was referring to the fact that this girl was all tits and ass, scantily covered in a bikini top and bottom. She had a phenomenal body. Her tits bounced and shook back and forth as she ran up to me. And they were soft, plush and squeezed between us.