Layla Ch 01

She woke with a start! It was dark in the room except for the thin thread of light, cast by the moon, which painted its way across the foot of the bed. Her body was damp with sweat. Her hands were wedged between her legs, and her fingers twitched upon her oozing sex. She trembled as the orgasm caused by her unremembered dream subsided.

She willed herself, unsuccessfully, to recall the erotic nature of the dream. She knew she had suffered this dream in the past, because this was not the first time she’d been awakened from a dead sleep in the throws of a crushing orgasm. Her feelings confused her.

She unconsciously began to move her fingers on her leaking outer lips, gradually increasing the pressure until her finger slid between her moist folds and into the heat of her pussy. When she realized what was happening, she exploded again, sending another wave of her woman flow onto her plunging fingers and into the sheets.

Then she slept again.

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It was daylight when she heard her kids squabbling out in the living room. She forced her mind to clear and sat up on the edge of the bed. As per her custom, she had gone to bed wearing one of her husband’s white cotton shirts. She was still sticky between her legs. She heard a loud thump from elsewhere in the house and a wail went up from one of her offspring.

‘Damn,’ she thought. ‘Why does it always have to be me?’

Her husband was on the road again.

‘Where was he this time?’ she mused, ‘Florida?’

Seems like he spent a lot of time “Consulting” these days, and not much time here with her and the kids. He’d been gone a total of five months since the first of the year and she was getting a little edgy. If school didn’t start pretty soon, she was also going to murder a couple of kids.

The howling from the front part of the house wrenched her from the bedroom and into the midst of yet another sibling conflict between the 5 year old and the 9 year old.

“STOP THAT!” She shouted, stamping her foot. “You’re making me crazy!”

The clock on the sofa table chimed nine times as she turned and padded for the kitchen to find a Diet Coke. Her oldest, now twenty and as handsome as any son could ever be and home from college for the summer, stood just inside the kitchen with a can extended to her in his hand.

“You look like you might need this, Ma,” He said softly.

She reached and took the proffered soda from him, tasting of the chilled brew. She watched as the color rose up from the collar of his shirt and turned his face a deep shade. His eyes traveled from hers down her front to her feet and back up again. She followed his eyes with hers and realized the shirt she wore was unbuttoned all the way down and she stood completely exposed to him. Her nipples turned to stone and it was her turn to blush.

“Sorry,” She whispered. “The kids…….”

“You’re gorgeous,” He breathed, trembling like he had the first time he saw her naked coming from the shower many years earlier.

She placed the can on the counter, quickly pulled the front of the shirt together and retreated to her bedroom. By the time she closed the door and fell back against it, her sex was drenched again. Her hands came together between her legs and she pushed fingers from both hands into her flaming pussy and swiftly brought her self to a grinding orgasm.

‘Jesus Christ, Layla!’ She croaked to herself breathlessly, ‘What’s wrong with you? He’s your son!’

She nearly fainted when the phone on the bedside table jarred her back to reality. Collapsing on the bed she answered.

“Izzat, y’all, Layla?” The voice on the line drawled.

“Yes,” Layla gasped in response. Her chest still heaving from the effect of her recent orgasm.

“Y’all all right, Honey? You sound out of breath.” It was her best friend, Lisa.

“No, I’m not all right,” She answered. “I’m a complete basket case. The young ones are at it again, I had one of those dreams again last night, and Ronny just saw me naked in the kitchen. And you know who won’t be back in town for God knows how long. I don’t know what I’m doing any more.”

“I’m comin’ over there, Char,” Lisa declared. The line went dead.

Layla replaced the phone in its cradle and fell backward on the bed, covering her eyes with her arm as she lay back. Her feet remained on the floor. Her legs were spread, exposing her still fully lubricated pussy to anyone who might happen to open the door. Her brain blazed with the image of her son Ronny’s eyes as he took in every detail of her supple body earlier in the kitchen. She felt her fluids creeping from her slit again. She dozed.

“Layla, Honey,” She first heard Lisa speaking softly and then felt her cool fingers on her thighs. “Wake up, Baby.”

Layla lifted her arm from her face and then raised her head to stare into Lisa’s flashing Cajun eyes. Lisa knelt on the floor between Layla’s wide spread knees, her face only inches from her smoldering pussy.

“Damn, Girl,” Lisa’s soothing voice breathed into her center, “You got it real bad, don’t ya?”

“What?” Layla gasped as Lisa closed her brightly painted lips down firmly on her exposed petals and quickly drew in her breath sucking the flowing juices from within.

“Oh, fuck yessssssss!” Hissed Layla, savoring the sensation of Lisa’s mouth. She jerked sharply upward when her clit reacted to the roughness of the invading tongue.

Layla had never felt the pleasure of a woman’s mouth before. Although, she and Lisa had giggled and joked about it many times since they first met in high school. And Lisa had told her that she had been with several other women. This was the first encounter she had ever had with a member of the same sex, and it felt fantastic.

Lisa devoured Layla’s sex. Wantonly swirling her thin tongue in and out of her turgid hole, Lisa brought Layla to a thundering climax within moments. Layla’s thighs closed against Lisa’s head and she ground her cunt savagely upward, bucking and throwing her self into yet another sexual spasm, then collapsing to the bed exhausted.

Layla felt Lisa lurch forward against her, grunting from deep within. Opening her eyes, Layla looked up into the face of her son just as he plunged into Lisa from behind for the second time. Lisa gasped aloud and then pushed back against the youth who had violated her from behind. Ronny had silently crawled up behind her as she laved on Layla’s pussy, flipped her short skirt up over her hips, hooked a finger under the leg of her panties, pulled it aside and entered her in a single smooth motion, burying his cock balls deep in her pussy just as Layla violently erupted into Lisa’s sucking mouth.

Lisa dropped her face against Layla’s soft stomach, grunting each time Ronny thrust into her.

Layla watched in shear amazement as her son ravaged her best friend from behind. She wanted to scream for Ronny to stop what he was doing, but all she could do was to moan softly each time Lisa jerked against her.

“Oh, Char,” Lisa moaned into the soft flesh of Layla’s belly. “Make me your bitch.”

Ronny pounded into her with long steady strokes. His eight thick inches disappeared completely with each revolution, dragging its full length along Lisa’s hard clit sending jolting charges deep into her gut.

Then she ground her face hard into Layla, clutched two handfuls sheet and tumbled into a deep blinding chasm of sexual bliss as Ronny reached for her shoulders and wedged his spewing manhood deep into her womb, filling her with a torrent of thick love milk. He clenched his teeth and forced every ounce of his strength into the expulsion of his fertile young seed into the very soul of his mother’s best friend.

Then it was over. Lisa lay with her face on the soft breasts of Layla, drenched inside and out with the juices of a mother and her son. Ronny pulled his still semi erect cock from Lisa and stood up behind her. The fruit of their coupling glistened on him as he stood there barely three feet from his beautiful strawberry blond mother. A long thread of cum drooled from the tip of his prick and dropped to land on Lisa’s upturned hip. Layla slowly slid her hand down Lisa’s back and lifted the thick droplet with her long finger and brought it slowly to her lips. She savored the flavor of her son’s discharge. She swooned at the absolute insanity of what had just occurred.

A thin smile crossed Ronny’s lips as he stepped back away from Layla and Lisa. Turning, he left the room quietly closing the door on his way out. Layla was dumbfounded.

Lisa stirred, looking up into Layla’s sparkling blue eyes. Layla was smiling. Lisa’s bright red lipstick was smeared from her lips nearly up to her eye on the left side of her face. Lipstick was also visible on Layla’s thighs and in her naturally blond pubic patch.

“What was that all about?” Layla whispered, finally coming down from the erotic plateau she had been washed upon by her friend and her own son.

“Beats the hell out of jerking yourself off!” Lisa rasped.

“That was my son!” Layla almost shrieked.

“Oh, Honey,” Lisa soothed. “He’s got one hell of a cum cannon on him. I’m gonna have to take a tomorrow pill for sure after that load.”

“My God, Lisa!” Layla wailed. “I just watched my son, fucking you like a bitch in heat while I was cumming all over your face, and you don’t have a problem with that?”

Lisa slithered up farther on the bed and brought her face within inches of Layla’s. She was laying full body on top of Layla. Their pussies were pressed together.

“As I see it, Girlfriend,” Lisa cooed, “There could only be a couple of very minor problems here. One of them is you keep whining about Ronny, which is silly because he just fucked me and not you. Unless of course it was you that you wanted him to be fucking, then that could be a problem. Or if one of them hot little wiggly things swimmin’ around in my pussy gets in touch with something he shouldn’t, but I’ll take care of that as soon as I get home. Besides, you’re the one who says she’s so happily married, Right?”

Lisa looked straight into Layla’s eyes and kissed her full on the lips, sliding her darting tongue quickly inside. Layla’s arms went around Lisa and she ground herself against the smaller woman on top of her. Lisa broke the kiss and rolled off Layla.

“Yeah, I’m married all right.” Layla offered.

“So, all is not well in paradise?” Lisa probed.

“He’s on the job almost all the time now.” Layla bemoaned her absent husband. “I’m dying here!”

“You’re telling me you need to get laid?” Lisa queried.

“God, I wake up in the night with my fingers stuffed all the way inside my pussy,” Layla breathed. “I’m horny all the time. I’ve burned up a dozen vibrators. I read porn on the internet and masturbate while perfect strangers on line tell me what they would like to do to me if I’d ever meet them. Jesus, I get so hot I can’t stand it. But it doesn’t matter what I do, I’m still not satisfied.” I huge sob escaped Layla’s lips as she burst into tears.

Lisa gathered Layla into her arms and let the waterworks fly until she finally got it all out and settled back down.

“And old what’s his name comes home, climbs up on ya, drops his load and goes to sleep for a few nights and then he gets lost on the job again,” Lisa surmised out loud. “That about how it goes?”

“Pretty close, yeah,” Layla agreed. “I need a little intrigue in my life. Maybe a little romance now and then.”

“Why don’t you ditch him?” Lisa asked.

“I got four kids. He makes good money. And I really do love him,” Layla lamented.

“We gotta get you fucked, Honey,” Lisa whispered.

“Not Ronny,” Layla said.

“No,” Lisa reassured her. “At least not yet.”

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He slipped out of the safety of sleep. The pungent odor of cigarette smoke filled his nostrils as he adjusted his brain, attempting to determine exactly where he was at that moment. Soft light from the partially open bathroom door gave just enough illumination for him to make out the shape of a woman sitting on the edge of the bed. Her back was to him, silhouetted against the glow from the other side of the room.

As reality returned, he recalled the woman from the lounge where he and his merry band were playing the night before. The smoke from her cigarette spiraled toward the ceiling as she held it firmly between her fingers. He watched as she raised it to her lips and took a deep drag, held her breath for several seconds and then tilted her head back and let the smoke float up from her mouth almost without exhaling. Her hand lowered and rested again beside her leg on the bed.

His thoughts drifted back to the club and the dark haired women from the table to the left of the bandstand. She’d watched him like a lioness waiting to pounce on her prey. He recollected he was flattered when she sent the drink over to him when he went on break. Returning to the stage, he passed her table and thanked her.

“Whiskey and water, thanks.” He said, climbing back up on the platform and picking up the old Fender Jazzmaster guitar.

He noticed the immenseness the man she was with and hoped he had a sense of humor. A woman buying a drink for another guy, sometimes has a way of irritating those Neanderthal types and causing trouble for everybody in sight. This one didn’t have the Gentle Ben look in his eye as the guitar player thanked the lady for the drink.

The guitar man kept one eye on the couple as they exchanged a few rather heated words and the big dude stood, dropped a hand full of bills on the table and made his way to the door. The bills vanished into her tiny handbag in a flash of her hand. She motioned for the waitress to bring her another whiskey and fired a long thin cigarette.

The band played soft blues and some old rock and roll. The woman seemed lost in the music, but she kept the guitar player’s glass topped off whenever it was in danger of going dry.

She was a handsome woman. Not very tall, maybe 5’-5” and 125 lbs. She wore a tight silver dress with a plunging neckline that fit her like a second skin, smoky stockings and silver pumps. He could see she had nothing underneath, anywhere, except her dark olive toned skin. Her breasts seemed to flow out of the deep v of her dress.

The Gateway is a busy club, situated in the Vieux Carre on Bourbon Street, a couple of blocks off Canal. Usually lots of people, mostly tourists, but a few regulars frequented it. The band was from North Florida and was booked for a three week gig. This was the forth night of the first week so that made it Thursday, all things being equal. All the days and nights became the same on the road. The only difference was the layout of the stage, and the strength of the drinks, but the people all seemed to melt together into a soft blur as the booze took hold each night. Now and then a special face would float out of the crowd and catch his eye and make one night more special than the others.

He remembered now how she stood up when the music had stopped and walked over to him when he came off the stage.

“Grace,” She said, offering her manicured hand for shaking.

The guitar player shook her hand. He recalled how cool it felt as she let the handshake linger for a few seconds.

“Dave,” He said.

In the dim light, her eyes seemed bottomless. Her lips were full, painted a very dark shade of crimson, and pouting. She stood straight, her breasts thrust high and proud.

“Where you staying?” She asked, directly.

“Bourgoyne Guest House,” Dave answered. “Just a few blocks up.”

“I’m closer,” She said, softly. “The Maison de Ville, on Toulousse. We can walk.”

“Where’s the gorilla?” Dave asked.

“On his way back to Baton Rouge,” She replied, tucking her bag under her arm. “Shall we?”

“Uh,” The guitar player hesitated.

“What’s the matter, Honey?” Grace questioned. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“Mountain Man Jim might be a cause for some concern,” He said.

She handed him a room key. “Room 323, at the de Ville. You know where it is?”

“Yes,”

“I’ll wait an hour for you.” She spun on her heel and walked away.

“Looks like you’re gonna get lucky, Dave.” The bass player chuckled.

“I’m getting to old for this shit,” Dave said.

“Yeah, I hear ya. But you keep knocking ‘em down while the rest of us are sitting in the room playing with ourselves.” Drew chortled.

He waited a few minutes and walked out onto the street, the old tarnished key attached to the cracked plastic fob tucked safely in his shirt pocket. Looking both ways, he crossed Bourbon Street and walked west for a block and turned south. Glancing up on Toulousse, he saw the neon sign on the front of the de Ville mid way down the first block. It was just exactly 2 AM in New Orleans. He walked the fifty or so steps down the sidewalk and turned into the lobby of the ancient hotel.

The elevator was across the lobby. He mashed the button and the metal door rattled open. He turned and pushed number three and waited for the door to creak shut and he wondered as the cables above moaned in protest as they lifted the car up to the third floor. He stepped out and looked up and down the hall. It was dim and smelled of a hundred years of neglect. He walked to his left and found 323 at the far end of the corridor.

He fit the key in the lock and turned it. The door swung silently inward as the latch released. The room was bathed in the yellow glow of a single bed lamp. The silver dress draped the back of a chair next to the bed. A bottle of Maker’s Mark, two paper cups and a bucket of ice sat on the table. One cup sat partially empty, the dark print of her lipstick on the rim. He heard the toilet flush. Grace stepped into the room. Except for the smoky hose and the sliver pumps, all she wore was a smile.

She pointed to the bottle on the table and he poured the cups nearly full of the dark bourbon. She toasted him and he tossed his down in one shot. She sipped.

Her hands went to the buttons on his shirt. She dropped the shirt on the chair with her dress. She worked the end of his belt through the buckle, pulled the button open, and zipped his fly down. She lowered herself to her knees and pulled his jeans down to the floor. He didn’t wear shorts so he too was now naked.

His cock hung in a semi rigid state pointing directly at her face. Her dark lips parted and he watched her eagerly consume his full length into her mouth. She sucked him slowly, using her tongue to stimulate as she worked her lips on and off.

The guitar player was 59 years old. He had long graying hair, worn in a long pony tail most of the time. He stood 6’-3” and weighed 225 lbs. He had grown thick through the middle and had a hefty belly and big hands. His face reflected the many years of alcohol consumption and the thousands of nights of standing on stage playing music for the lonely married women who craved something they could not get at home. His cock was not monstrous, but it was large enough to bring a contented sigh from the many women who had chosen to lay down with him. Grace would be no different.

She released him and stood up. She took a sip from her cup and crawled up on the bed, on her hands and knees, she offered her lush body to the guitar man. He poured the paper cup full of bourbon again, tossed it down and knelt behind her on the bed. He spit on his hand and wiped it on his cock. She reached back between her legs and pulled him to her pussy they moved at the same time, she back, he forward. They came together with a thud. Then he simply fucked her until he filled her cunt with his load.

The bourbon seeped into his brain then, and they slept.

Now he lay there looking up at her back as she smoked. It was still dark outside.

“I’m not a slut,” Grace said in a quiet soft voice.

“I didn’t say you were.” Dave stated.

“It’s just…..” She began.

“Look, Honey,” Dave soothed. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been here more times than you could imagine.”