Gwendolyn pulled him forward again and wrapped her arms around his waist, so that his cock was completely buried in her mouth. She wet every inch of it with sticky saliva and then pulled it out to smile up at Oliver, pumping his cock with her hand as she did. "You ready for some real work?" she asked. Oliver nodded laboriously. "Good boy," said Gwendolyn. She tucked Oliver's cock back inside his pants, rose to her feet and took his hand to lead him inside. "Why don't we do it in the shower this time?" she suggested.
* * *
Joey Maple rarely masturbated. He was never comfortable doing so, when his family were so set in their values and morals. What they would say if they knew! But whenever he caught even the smallest glimpse of Lisa Prewett from across the road, he couldn't help himself. She was a babe – everyone at school agreed. The only problem, for some of the boys (Joey would never even contemplate doing anything with her), was that she was never interested in any kind of relationship, physical or otherwise. Of course, that was a lie, and although Joey didn't know it, nor Lisa's father, she had sucked quite a few of the boys' cocks at her school and even let a few of them finger her. But sex was always out of the question, and the only way one could ever have Lisa Prewett was in one's mind.
Oliver's infatuation with Lisa was based on a different emotion – affection rather than lust. He never felt right thinking of her in a sexual scenario, and he had Mrs. Dunn to satisfy that need. But he did like her, a lot. It was on the same day that he had had sex with Mrs. Dunn in the shower that he saw her, walking past the Dunn house with her usual beatific smile in place and her blonde hair reflecting the sun.
"Hi, Oliver," she said musically.
"H– hi," Oliver stammered. To his immense astonishment, she stopped and leaned against the fence where he was trimming hedges. "I hope they pay you a lot for this," she said. "You work awful hard. And it's so hot too." She wiped a hand across her chest, which glistened with sweat and sunlight. Oliver shook involuntarily. "So how come you've never asked me out?" Lisa inquired.
Oliver gaped at her. Surely he'd heard wrong. "Asked– asked you out?"
"Mmm," said Lisa. "I thought you liked me."
"I– I do," spluttered Oliver. "I just...I didn't think...."
"That I'd say yes?" Oliver nodded. "Well, I can't," said Lisa. "My father doesn't like me dating. But you could still have asked. And I might have made it worth your while." There was a glint in her eye that told Oliver he had been quite wrong in his belief in Lisa Prewett's innocence. She came closer to him and laid a hand on his chest. "You know...working here with that gorgeous Mrs. Dunn all day must get you pretty worked up." She looked up at his eyes. "Right?"
"K– kind of," Oliver replied.
"And I bet you're just
aching
for some relief." Lisa wet her lips and put them close to Oliver's ear. "Do you know somewhere private we could go?"
Oliver's entire body shook. He had never been this nervous before, not even with Mrs. Dunn. He wasn't sure if he wanted to do this with Lisa, but his body seemed to have already decided for him. "There's...some space down the back of the property," he said, pointing behind him in the general direction. "No one ever goes down there."
"Perfect," said Lisa, taking his hand. "Let's go."
* * *
Luke was highly intrigued by his sister's obvious lust for him. In truth, he wanted her more than any other girl in the town. Only Mrs. Dunn across the road came close. But he didn't want Lisa to know that – if they had sex he wanted it to be on either his or equal terms. She had left him excited, however, and needed relief.
It was the weekend, so Carol wasn't working, but Luke had other paramours he could turn to. He left the house and walked down the road to the de Laine place, which was usually empty on Sundays. He knocked on the white wooden door and waited until it opened. Mrs. de Laine was standing there, her raven-coloured hair hanging past her shoulders with a kick at the end. She had dark, black eyes to match and the fullest lips Luke had ever seen. "Hi, Mrs. de Laine," he said. "I was wondering if I could borrow Tim's science book – I left mine at school."
"Oh, Tim's out, dear," Mrs. de Laine replied. "So is Donald. It's just me." She smiled. "But come in, I'll see if I can find the book for you."
"Thanks," said Luke, wiping his leather soles on the welcome mat and stepping inside.
The de Laine's house was much like any other in the neighbourhood, only it seemed more cluttered with decorative ornaments and abstract paintings. It was also the only house on Lagoona Lane, that Luke had been in, to have carpet. There were also a myriad of photographs of Mrs. de Laine's son Timothy – several dozens actually.
Compensation
, Luke thought idly.
"So..." Mrs. de Laine said, turning around to face Luke, "can I get you anything?"
Mrs. de Laine was usually the first stop on every Pennington boy's quest for pussy, at least those who knew about her. She was notorious for her appetites, although she usually preferred the younger demographic. It was well known, by some, that on Sundays her husband and son went fishing by the Gladstone River, where the de Laine's owned a cabin. If you were lucky enough to find her at home during the day, then you were guaranteed some sexual relief. And she didn't believe in queues either, Mrs. de Laine – if you showed up with three other boys in the house, she'd tell you to hop up on the bed and find a hole. Luke didn't like to share with other boys though, so he usually turned to Mrs. de Laine only as a last resort. Also because she had one of the loosest pussies in town. It was often said that the only boy in Pennington she wouldn't fuck was her own son. How Tim couldn't know of his mother's reputation as the town slut, Luke had no idea.
In the end, it was Mrs. de Laine who spoke first. "Why don't you come upstairs," she suggested, and led the way.
She was a beautiful woman, Luke had to admit as he watched her ass all the way up the stairs. She had a magnificent set of breasts, great legs and an alluring face. If it weren't for her proclivity to sleep with anything that moves, she might have made her husband a happy man. He knew nothing, however, so he likely was happy.
"I haven't seen you in a while," Mrs. de Laine commented as she held the bedroom door open for him.
"Yeah, I've been busy," Luke replied, pretending to admire the room. She didn't have the taste that some of the women on the block had, but at least it wasn't a disaster. And you couldn't blame her for a lapse in the décor, when she spent most of her time being slammed against it. Tasteful paintings just wouldn't withstand that kind of treatment.
"Always busy you are, Luke Prewett," she said after shutting the door. "I sometimes wonder how many little lovers you have across this town."
"Too many," Luke replied.
"You have a way with women," said Mrs. de Laine, and wrapped a hand around Luke's neck to kiss him. He always liked kissing – it was one of the most important parts of sex to him, maybe even more so than the sex itself. But there were plenty of women he would rather kiss than Mrs. de Laine. His sister, for one. He simply came here for the kind of physical relief that was only marginally better than using his own hand. At least hear he had a face to come on, which Mrs. de Laine always insisted upon.
"What'll it be, hotshot?" she asked, unbuttoning Luke's shirt.
In response Luke unfastened her skirt and let it fall to the ground. "I can't stay long," he said, moving her over to the wall.
"Just the way I like it," said Mrs. de Laine, placing her hands flat on the wall and bending over slightly. "Make sure you get nice and deep. I want to scream."
* * *
Mrs. Stacey Prewett, as we have said, considers herself to be the most normal woman on Lagoona Lane. It isn't that the other women let her know about their personal lives (no one on Lagoona Lane ever does), but that she catches the faint hint of a secret every now and then, and realises that these women aren't as proper as they claim to be. Mrs. Dunn, certainly, alludes to the occasional extra-marital romance, and some, like Mrs. Montgomery, can't help but vocalise their opinions of this construction worker or that plumber. And when Mrs. Montgomery complains of a pipe clog or asks her husband for some renovations, Mrs. Prewett knows what's going on.
Yes, she considers herself the most respectable lady on the block. But, as we have also said, that is about to change.
Whenever a bachelor moves into a street like Lagoona Lane, the news of his arrival spreads like wildfire through the neighbourhood, and single and divorced women from all over come out in droves. They trickle out of their houses and pop up behind fences; they bring welcoming gifts and claim their son lost his football over the new neighbours fence, and if they could just pop round and get it for him, that would be great.
If Mrs. Prewett had been one of these women, which she wasn't, she would have been quite thrilled to meet Mr. Andrew Bateman at the local supermarket, especially since he hadn't yet met any of his neighbours. It was always a lucky thing to get a leg up on the competition in situations such as these.
It was in the checkout aisle that Mrs. Prewett met Mr. Bateman. She had stopped at the supermarket only for a few items, such as milk and bread and things the family would need before Monday. She had hoped, foolishly, to pass through the 'twelve items or less' lane with an extra, unlucky thirteenth item. The girl at the checkout had been most insistent. "Twelve items or less, ma'am," she said in a bored tone, whilst chewing gum.
