Playmates

Author's Note:

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Disclaimer:

This story is a work fiction. None of the characters or events herein are based on real people, either living or dead. It was produced for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or if reading stories of a sexual nature upsets you, do not read any further! By reading further, you certify that you have accessed/requested access to this material willfully, and that you are an adult 21 years of age or older. You also certify that you are NOT a city, county, state, or federal law enforcement officer, official of the United States Postal Service, acting in the capacity of a representative of a telecommunications firm, and that, to your knowledge, this material does not offend the standards in your area, nor is it in violation of any of local, state, or federal law. No animals were harmed in the manufacture of this product.

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Vicky had seen the woman and her children at the playground off and on for about six months. Physically, the children were unremarkable; olive skinned, possibly Italian or Greek, with jet-black curls, soft features, and slightly skinny. At first glance, Vicky thought the girls might be twins, but over time it was apparent that one of them was definitely older than the other.

The noteworthy thing about them was their demeanor; they were truly, genuinely happy. Every time Vicky saw them, they were laughing and running with abandon, the sound of their merriment serving as both a guide and a basis for the other children. Inevitably, Vicky's son Terry befriended the bubbly sprites. After that, whenever the he saw the girls at the playground, he made a beeline for them. Vicky soon learned that the girls were named Tanya and Angela, and thus in the lexicon of the playground, the other woman was dubbed "Tanya and Angela's Mommy".

One morning near lunchtime Vicky looked up from her book to check on her son and was greeted by the waif-like eyes of Terry, Tanya, and Angela.

"Mom, can Tanya and Angela come back to our house for lunch?" he asked hopefully, as only a child with none of the social restrictions imposed on grownups can ask.

He was at that age where he didn't understand what was and was not appropriate to talk about in front of other people. This required Vicky to finesse her way out of more uncomfortable situations than she would ever have imagined.

"Well, sweetheart, I don't know," Vicky answered thoughtfully. "Is it alright with Tanya and Angela's Mommy?"

The children all nodded enthusiastically.

"Have you asked her?" she asked suspiciously.

Suddenly the ants at their feet required the careful examination of all three children. They cast their eyes downward and studied the ground while Vicky let a small smile spill across her lips.

Her victory was short lived. "Mommy, why don't you ask her," Terry insisted, grabbing Vicky's hand and pulling her to her feet.

She allowed herself to be led over to the girls' mother. The woman smiled sympathetically.

"Go ahead Mommy, ask her," Terry demanded, pushing Vicky forward.

Vicky pulled her hand free and extended it toward the woman.

"Hi, I'm Vicky Montgomery," she said pleasantly.

"Nice to meet you, Vicky. I'm Claire Rossa," the woman said, taking the proffered hand.

"Mommy, ask her!" Terry pleaded.

Vicky scowled. "Claire, apparently, the children have decided that it would be an absolutely 'marvelous' idea to lunch at our house today."

Claire laughed; it was as infectious as her daughters', and Vicky found herself joining in despite her discomfort. She guessed that Claire was in her mid to late thirties, well preserved but with the normal lines and wrinkles that come with parenthood. Vicky looked at the three children. Their faces were alight with anticipation; this wasn't going to be a bloodless battle.

"I'm thinking that if we veto it, we'll both probably have a long day ahead of us," she offered.

"Well then, it looks like lunch is at your house today," Claire winked.

Despite the impetus, Vicky really enjoyed the lunch. She learned that Tanya was the same age as Terry (four), and that Angela was just over two. Claire's husband Alan owned a gas station, and the Roccas had moved into the neighborhood just after Angela was born. At one time, Claire had been a bookkeeper for a local furniture chain, but she'd stopped working after the birth of her second child.

"I never got used to the thought of being one of those pampered little suburban women that you always saw on television. It's taken some getting used to."

Vicky laughed a little self-consciously. Her father was a suit, the Executive Vice President and Chief Operating Officer for a large regional bank. Vicky had grown up thinking that all women stayed home, spending their days at the club, or lunch, or something else light and noncommittal. Despite having a college degree, she'd never really expected to work for the rest of her life, and her parents SURELY did not intend for her to do so. As soon as she'd shown real interest in her husband Lance her father hired him, making him a manager and personally shepherding him up the corporate ladder until he'd joined the ranks of Assistant Vice President at the bank, an event that suspiciously coincided almost exactly to the announcement that Vicky was pregnant.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Claire said. "I have a habit of speaking sometimes before I think."

"Please, don't worry about it," Vicky said graciously.

At the end of the meal the two women exchanged telephone numbers and addresses, promising to keep in touch. Over the next two months they spent several days a week together, taking the children on outings, making play dates, running errands. As the weather got nicer, they began alternating packing a picnic lunch so that the kids could play together as long as they liked before naptime.

"Hey Vicky," Claire said one day as they were packing up and getting ready to leave the playground. "Why don't we get together at my house tomorrow? Alan brought home a little wading pool for the kids this weekend, and it might be a nice alternative to sweating our buns off out here."

"That sounds like fun. What time should we come over?"

"Whenever you get up and get yourself together. We'll make a morning out of it"

The next day, the Montgomerys pulled into the Roccas' driveway at 9:30am. Terry was so excited that Vicky was sure he would have jumped out of the van while it was still moving if the child locks hadn't been engaged. He loved the bathtub, and had a ball whenever they went down to the shore, so the combination of swimming and going to his best friends' house had him in an absolute frenzy. He hadn't even let her put a shirt on him, insisting that it would just waste time.

The Roccas lived in the newest section of the community, where the houses were about ten years younger but they were also quite a bit smaller. For instance, this house was a split-level model with a one-car garage, where the Montgomerys' house was a colonial model with four bedrooms and a two-car garage.

Claire met them at the door wrapped in a big fluffy robe. "Hey there," she greeted them, bending over to tousle Terry's white blonde hair. "Are you ready to get all nice and wet?" she asked playfully.

This was actually the first time they'd been to the house, so of course Vicky gave it a quick once over as they made their way through. As they passed the kitchen and went down into the family room, she noticed that the carpet was a little threadbare and the furniture was well worn. It wasn't decrepit, but the Rossas weren't living the high life either.

"Your home is lovely," she felt compelled to say as they walked through the sliding glass doors out into the backyard.

A path about fifteen feet long led to a detached raised wooden platform. Off on the far side was a large inflatable pool, eight feet long, four feet wide, and two feet high with a hose draped over the side slowly dribbling water into it. At the opposite end were two comfortable looking nylon strung lounge chairs with a small table between them and a frosted picture of something that looked like lemonade.

"Take a seat and make yourself comfortable while I get the girls," Claire said, gesturing toward the chairs.

Vicky dropped her bag next to one and plopped down, motioning Terry over to her. Amidst his strident protests she covered him with an appropriate amount of waterproof sunscreen to keep him from frying. As she was finishing up the girls came bounding out of the house.

"Let's go Terry!" they called and rushed the pool.

In a matter of minutes, they were a collection of flailing arms and splashes. Claire chuckled.

"So much for restraint. Make yourself comfortable."

Vicky stood up and removed her top and shorts. She'd unconsciously put on a green one piece that accented her eyes perfectly.

To say that she was striking was an understatement, even in the guise of a frumpy housewife. Tall with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, Vicky had been blessed with a chest that made most men drool and most women envious. A "D" cup since she was fourteen, the older she got, the fuller her tits grew, until they looked like oversized softballs screwed onto her slim frame. Her stomach was flat but not muscled, more the result of genetics than hard work, and her legs were long and supple. As she sat down and stretched out she looked more like a pin-up girl from the 50's then a suburban mom.

Claire smiled approvingly and opened her robe, and Vicky stared at her, shocked. Claire's two-piece (piece being seriously open to interpretation) was a shimmering blue that set off her tan wonderfully. The bottom part was a thong, composed of a pouch that strained to cover only the briefest portion of her crotch, with straps no thicker than a shoelace. Clearly she'd had to shave her pubic area, because otherwise pubic hair would have overpowered the tiny little piece of fabric. The top looked a lot like the bottom, the two small pouches covering her nipples approximately the same size as the one between her legs, and just as tightly stretched. Claire was a small woman, both in height as well as girth, with an ass that would neatly fit in the palms of an average sized man, a waist that tapered severely above her hips, and small, plum sized breasts. However, if the police picked her up at this very moment, there would be no reason to frisk her, because there was nowhere that she could possibly hide anything.

"I figured since we were out back, I might as well be comfortable," she said, meeting Vicky's gaze. "I didn't think Terry was old enough for the suit to be a problem; I hope that's alright."

In truth, Vicky doubted that Terry was even aware. She still took a bath with him, and she wasn't yet at the point where she covered up around him. Her reaction stemmed more from the raw sexuality that Claire exuded. Where Vicky looked like a poster model, Claire looked like a porn star.

Vicky filled the glasses on the table from the pitcher and handed one to Claire.

"Mmmmm, that feels great," Claire sighed, rubbing the glass down her neck and over her breastbone. Vicky's mouth dropped open.

Claire blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that I'm so hot."

Vicky snickered at the double entendre, sitting back and closing her eyes.

To Be Continued...