11

I glanced over at Sandra. Almost used to being nude with my mother-in-law, by now. She was frowning at the big-screen TV on the wall while the DVD of 'our day'—a DVD we never dreamed was being made—spun on.

She caught my glance. For a few moments, we just looked at one other. She leaned toward me and murmured, sotto voce, "What can we do? We wing it."

In front of us, Susan turned her head. "Sh! Just listen, okay?"

I gazed at a spot where my wife's ass rounded down to her thighs. I saw individual curly hairs on her pale skin, and, below, although she is sandy blond, the darkening of clustered hairs between her legs.

So what? Well, you have a point. I had seen the same reality of womanhood-that there, where woman was most desired, was evolution's signature of our bestial origins. But, at this moment, I was seeing my wife's ample butt and furred pussy through the eyes of her mother and her sister. That, somehow, made the view different. I mean, Susan stood in front of us, intent on the screen, and we had a view of her private womanhood—and each thought our own thoughts.

I scarcely had attended to the screen. Just a few hours ago, I had lived through what it now showed. But Susan whirled around, only a half-smile on her face, and said, "Steph, we both reacted to Tommy's being strung up and helpless by slapping his nuts! What does that mean about us?"

My sister-in-law shrugged her slight, bare shoulders, and said: "Or about him? That's he's a pig?"

But she took a step or two forward, reaching for me, and put her arms around me, her body decidedly pressed against mine, so her assertive tits imprinted 'girl' on my chest and her trim bush tickled my leg. She said, "Not that I don't love the pig!" She added, poetically, "Cherish the pig."

Susan nodded slowly, watching us. "Big success, today," she said, not sounding like it. "I wondered when you and Tommy might bond, Steph."

She added, hastily, "Yeah, he needs to have his nuts clanged on Sundays. I'm am pleased at this independent confirmation of my judgment on that." Her grin became huge. For a moment, she scanned us all—her mom's Amazon physique, her little sister's slight loveliness, and my... mostly my dick, probably wondering what having made it family property meant for our future.

She had turned back to screen. Sandra had stalked onto the scene and was peeling off her bra. Without turning, Susan said: "Mom, I had no idea if you would do this!" And then, "Your boobs are even bigger than mine! Jeez! Why aren't they flopping?"

"Pecs," replied Sandra.

Susan nodded, not looking back. Sandra and I looked at each other, then Stephanie, who was watching us. We knew that as time ran forward, again, on the DVD, as it once unfolded for us, there would be... questions...

Sandra's gaze seldom left the screen, but apparently she would await Susan's reaction. I mused that I had one hell of a mother-in-law. Not leaping forward in frantic anticipation of her daughter's reaction, not rushing to explain and exculpate: she was waiting for Susan to see what happened. And expected that Susan, an individual, would have her own reactions. Sandra would not presume to shape that reaction in advance. She would deal with it when it occurred. I began to understand what had drawn me to my wife.

At this point, Susan had watched as Stephanie had slapped my nuts, ripped off my clothes, stripped herself as she lectured me on my behavior, beat hell out of my ass with my belt, and then knelt at my feet and greedily devoured my dick. And Susan had said nothing! Said nothing, although this made a farce of the story Sandra had told Susan about the day, and commanded us to corroborate.

Now, I saw Butch roll onto the screen, with Angelina in tow. Susan turned to us. For several seconds, she just stared, especially at Sandra. Then, she said quietly: "Quite a cover-up you guys attempted, Mom."

"Playing the game," said Sandra coldly.

"I can't get over your bod," said Susan, staring at her. And in her tone was no warmth.

Abruptly, Susan turned back to the screen. Butch was crushing my balls in her handshake. I was gasping in protest.

Susan said, and never turned to us, "I pegged Stephanie and her friends, didn't I? Count on them for action!"

Since she didn't turn, she didn't observe Stephanie step toward her, swing back her hand, her whole body coiled into the blow, and deliver an explosive slap to Susan's sedate fat butt.

"Yow!" Susan screamed, her hands flying to her ass, taking several hops forward. She whirled, her face red, furious. But Stephanie only said: "You don't 'peg' your sister, Susan. You don't play elaborate scenarios so your sister can act out your fantasies with your husband."

Susan stood wide-eyed, her hands rubbing her butt, her face bright red with indignation. But slowly she said, "Okay, Steph. Right on. I treated you like a pawn."

To her credit, Stephanie listened.

"But I watched you and Tommy holidays and I knew you both were playing out some sexual hang-up. Tommy wanted to ball you, and you wondered what it would be like to fuck Tommy. Right?"

"About right, yeah."

"So what happened?"

Stephanie gestured at the screen. "Don't miss a single exciting episode."

We watched, silent. Sandra on the sofa, Butch beside her, the wrenching exposure of Sandra's... the best word is 'twat.' I mean, it connotes 'spread flat'—like the word 'splat.'"

This time, Susan did not turn. But she said, evenly, "This was a whole cover-up, wasn't it, Mom?"

"You made the opening moves, dear. I merely responded to your knight's pawn to Knight's four."

Susan: "Yeah."

Stephanie: "Hey, you wrote the script, Sis."

Susan: "Yeah."

Me: "Are you angry with us?"

Susan: "Go fuck yourself, Tommy."

Me: "Hey, wait! Why only me?"

On the screen was Sandra's pitiless frontal exposure to the camera that we hadn't known was there.

Susan: "Jeez, Mom, I never saw your whole thing before, I mean..."

Sandra: "Stephanie's friends are demanding."

Susan: "So... Tommy and Stephanie have seen your cunt, but I never have..."

Sandra: "Well, you have now, dear."

Susan: "Just on the DVD, not in real life."

Sandra: (Subdued): "Same thing. A crotch shot is a crotch shot."

Susan: "Not really."

On the screen, Butch reaming my ass with the jumbo dildo, her huge fist whacking off my prick. And then, Angelina, lifted by her titties, scrabbling at Butch's heartless hands...

Susan: "I can't keep up! Tommy, did you like it in the ass? Should I have gotten a size 16 strap-on prick a long time ago?"

I said, "Coming like that... It blends the pain and the fear and then, you know, the ecstasy, all together. And you come, finally, and all is right with the world. Quite a sensation."

Susan: "I like that. You've learned a lot, Tom."

Sandra: "Are we going to stand here for three hours, now, and watch the three hours that we just lived through?"

Susan: (A bit wearily) "No, Mom. I guess I can enjoy this in the privacy of my own bedroom, as they say. You guys have been sucking and fucking and drinking. You must be beat."

Stephanie: "Sort of, yeah!"

Susan: "Just one thing... Or, I guess, a few things... Okay?"

Sandra: "It's all on the tape..."

Susan: "DVD, Mom!"

Sandra: "Right. DVD. Sure. Just ask."

Susan clicked off the TV, put down the remote, and turned to us. She said, "Okay, this is just for information—okay? This is not an inquisition. I just want to catch up on family history."

"First, how about we sit down," said Sandra, with a sigh. Susan and I took the sofa, though not, I must say, sitting very close. Across the coffee table was Sandra in one easy chair, Stephanie in the other. No one, of course, had bothered to put on any clothes.

Susan asked, as though administering a questionnaire, "Okay, Tommy, did you fuck Stephanie?"

"No," I said, "not fuck, but she sat on my face while Angelina sucked me off."

Susan nodded. "Tommy, did you fuck Mom?"

"Yes."

"What was that like?"

Stephanie jumped in with: "While Tommy did her, in the kitchen, I diddled her tits and came myself."

"Okay," said Susan. But she closed her eyes. "Okay. And how did all of you get rid of Butch? I can't believe that these are your friends, Steph..."

I spoke up, forestalling that argument. "They did play rough. I think that Stephanie said a very definite goodbye to them, today."

"How did that happen?"

I said, "Susan, I don't know how to say it. I still can't believe it. Butch was pushing around your Mom, when suddenly your Mom hammered her in the solar plexus! And again! And before I knew it, Butch's face was smashed into the floor and blood was running from her mouth. And then, your Mom got her hanging from a rope... I mean, I helped..."

Sandra cut in. "You have to see what happened. What she did to Angelina. What Angelina did to Butch. I had to protect us. You know, we just loaded Butch, still out, into their trailer home. And Angelina drove it off."

"Oh my God!" whispered my wife, softly as a prayer. "You guys did all this?"

"Well, Mom decked her," said Stephanie. "Smashed her to the ground and bloodied her and tied her up."

After a long moment, Susan said, dully: "I guess I've asked everything." But she went on shaking her head, struggling to grasp it all.

"Susan," said Sandra brightly, "you didn't ask your husband if he enjoyed his Big 30!"

Chapter 11: Stephanie Keeps Playing

Great South Beach, as some call it—the sandy shore of Long Island stretching some 50 miles to its far eastern tip at Montauk—is one of the world's treasures for lovers of the sun, ever-changing surf, and wide white sands sculpted by wind and tide.

We lay there enjoying the solitude that mid-September brings as the crowds of bathers—one wag called East Hampton's Main Beach "asparagus beach" because everyone was up and strutting around to be 'seen,'—head back to the city.

"Are we back to real life, yet?" asked Stephanie as we fried like hot dogs on a big blanket five yards from a surf hardly worthy of the name that unrolled low waves up the flat beach. They were waves that merely tickled your toes and retreated leaving a yard of foam almost blindingly white in the sun. The idyllic September day that Long Islander's crave after the summer crush.

Stephanie's conception of her weekend had not included the beach, so she wore khaki short-shorts and brief halter. The rest of us had reverted to what passes today for decency in our bathing suits. Sandra and Susan showed off their hard work at the Recreation Center with breathlessly brief two-piece suits. I mean, I couldn't see my wife's or my mother-in-law's actual crack, but the revelation of their ass was, like, "Hey? Are we in public? Isn't that your ass?"

Just the way we do things in America, today.

And so, Stephanie asked, "Are we back to real life?" And Sandra said, her peacefully resting face not moving from her crooked arm, "You're bored, Stephanie? Is this your clit talking?"

"Wow!" said Susan, lifting her face, "aren't we a different family, now!"

Sandra said, "You learn what you learn, Susan. And now I know that my daughter feels that her life is dominated by demands of her clitoris." She added, "I hope that I have not misrepresented you, Stephanie."

"I'm going nude!" said Stephanie, disgust in her voice.

My turn. The man comments on the practical-in this case, legal-ramifications of decisions. "You'll most likely get away with it, Steph. But you wouldn't in the summer. We have no nudity on Long Island beaches. But after Labor Day, the car parking situation no longer is profitable for our police force, so they don't show up to ticket. Someone could report you, I suppose..."

Stephanie already was on her feet. "And then?"

"Ticket, fine. You appear in the East Hampton Star."

"Nude?"

"No, sorry, just your name and your arrest for indecent exposure."

"I couldn't care less," said Stephanie contemptuously. Her halter landed on the blanket inches from my face.

"And you would be good for the fine, Tommy, since I'm your guest?" she asked.

"No," said Susan, promptly. "Keep your pants on, anyway. Probably nobody's going to about bare tits."

"In the spirit of the weekend," said Sandra lazily, "I will ensure you do not get sent to the lock-up in Riverhead."

Stephanie's shorts hit the blanket. I rolled over and looked up. Very lean, pale, with defiantly bushy belly and breasts that they stood up firm as rocks. "You going swimming?"

"I think I'll run. I love the tidal beach when it's hard as pavement and little waves keep brushing your feet." She asked, "Anyone want to come?"

"Steph?" asked Susan, rolling over now and looking up at her sister, "are you going to get a mile from here, stark naked, all alone?"

"What's the best that can happen? Gang bang in the surf by a few gorgeous surfer boys?"

"I've got to tell you, little sister," said Susan, squinting up, her hand shading her eyes, "running like that all alone, with your hot bod, is going to give every guy but the Pope fantasies of rape."

"I told you," came Sandra's two cents worth, "her clit is making her do it."

Stephanie looked down at Sandra's dry, warm, scantily covered backside. Her lips made an indescribable expression of annoyance. Suddenly, she stepped onto the blanket, one foot on either side of Sandra, and lowered her body until she sat with her bare crotch on Sandra's neck.

"Hey! What is this?" Sandra struggle to turn over, the weight of Stephanie's body on her neck pinning her to the blanket.

"It's my naked pussy on your neck, Mom," said Sandra. "I imagine that my clit is there, somewhere. Do you feel it?"

"No, not specifically," said Sandra, her voice smothered. "I love the sexuality of both of my adult daughters. I don't even mind feeling their intimate parts on my bare neck. Why don't you go for your run, now, Stephanie? I take back what I said about your clit, if that helps."

Stephanie stood up. "No you don't, but okay."

She stood above us, legs parted, fists on hips, looking down with fierce green eyes. She said, "Anyone else want an intimate visit?"

Actually, right at the moment, yes, I would have loved a visit, right on my face, which, in any case, was getting too much sun. I wasn't going to say so, though.

Susan still was matchmaking. She drawled as if utterly unconcerned, "I'm sure Tommy would love to have your pussy in his face, Sis. Lick you up a lightning storm."

"Tommy?" demanded Stephanie.

"I thought you were going for a run?"

"That isn't an answer!"

"Sorry, Steph, it's crazy. If you're sitting bare ass on my face and I'm licking you into coming-that goes way beyond a ticket for nude bathing. You know, there are other people on this beach."

"Okay, then. Bye!"

We all, one way or another, heaved ourselves up to watch her go. I imagined what the others were thinking about what I saw: a warm, almost cloudless day, a soft and mesmerizing surf dazzling in the sun, the shushing sounds of the waves—and a girl with a perfect body, and a face like a proud elfin princess, goes striding by in the surf, stark naked, breasts proud, legs stretching, all relevant parts on view... Personally, I wouldn't count on even the Pope's self-control.

"Pretty ballsy, my little sister," said Susan.

Sandra said, "Ask yourself what she looks like doing that—and that's your answer as to why. Don't complicate it."

"It looks like she wants to be attacked," said Susan.

"And it is exactly what it looks like."

"Mom, how can you say that?"

"She told me. Her clit is her boss. She told me and she wasn't kidding."

"Nobody's clit is the boss of anything," said Susan.

"No? But she thinks it is. That's how she experiences it. She doesn't ask herself who gives the orders to her clit." She paused. "Can I tell you this?"

"Yeah, sure Mom. I opened Pandora's Box with my scheme, didn't I? And you saw what was in the box."

"Sex makes people pay attention to her," said Sandra, still gazing at the disappearing shape of Stephanie. "It makes people listen to her. That's what she wants, and her clit just tells her how to get it." After a moment, Sandra said: "And it's never enough, is it? The attention is never enough."

"All this from yesterday, Mom?"

"I have known my daughter all her life. Yes, a lot happened yesterday."

"Mom, I had no idea that would happen! I swear!"

"Well, then I can't imagine what you did plan, Susan." All of this exchanged with neither Sandra nor Susan lifting her head from the beach blanket.

"You know, Mom," urged Susan. "I was thinking about Tommy's 'big 30' and his sex fantasies. I figured... well, you know, Stephanie and her friends—it would be a scene. And I knew none of them was going to run off with him or begin an affair."

"Oh, it was a scene!," said Sandra. "And me? My invitation to drop by for a glass of wine to say 'Happy Birthday' to Tommy?"

Susan suddenly pushed herself up on her elbows. She looked down at Sandra, who looked back with one eye open. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "it was nothing specific. But I've just felt for so long that something had to blast this 'no ask, no tell' we've been playing for 10 years about why you have no sex life. I knew that just bringing it up would get nowhere. I've tried that, you know!"

"Yes, you have," Sandra admitted. "Yes, and you're right, I never could bring myself to discuss it with you girls."

"But you joined the party yesterday, at least when it was just Stephanie and Tom."

"You know..." She hesitated so long, I wondered if she had fallen asleep or lost the thread. Then, she said, "I did like an alcoholic reaches for that next drink. I was telling myself, 'No, no,' not right, don't do it,' and at the same time I was taking off my top. In some ways, I have no more specific idea why I did than an addict. I wanted to do it, I had to do it."

"You've been craving it?"

"I never would have called it that. I've had fantasies. All the time. When I'm in the locker room at the Rec. Center, I daydream that a man walks in and sees me."

"Well, look at the way you work on your body, Mom!"

"When I look at my body, I always see it through men's eyes. Well, your husband is a man. Not my man, your man. But I guess when both he and Stephanie said, 'strip,' my craving took over."

I said-gallantly, I thought-"Both of us tried to put you on the spot, you know. That you would be pooping my party if you didn't."

"Tommy, many people have tried to talk my clothes off. Yesterday, something took over, and I just did it." She added: "I had no idea what was coming!"

"Who did?" I said. After a few moments, I added, "I'm thinking of a skinny dip, myself."

"If we all do it, as family, it will be just like real nudists. Very innocent."

I was standing up and just as Susan sat up, I dropped my bathing suit. Susan looked up from more or less beneath my package. "Wow!" she said. "Just like that, it's out! Things in this family have changed!"

Susan rolled onto her back, shaded her eyes with her hand, and looked up right at the overhang. "Thanks for sharing, Tommy," she said. "Sure, I'm in."

Then, we were walking toward the ocean. Sandra glanced aside, and said, "I guess that couple and those two girls can see us. And maybe that guy sitting alone. See we aren't wearing suits, but not much detail from over there."

"I kind of wish they were closer," said Susan.

"Me, too," said her Mom. And then, "Whoops! The guy just got up. Who knows? Yup, he's strolling along the beach this way, looking at his feet. For seashells, do you think?"

"Go!" yelled Susan, and took off, her strong legs churning, big sexy ass white in the sun. She seemed to have one arm crossed over her boobs—keep them from bouncing, I guess.

Sandra took off, too, without a word, and I watched two similar very gorgeous asses, long legs, and strong backs. Sure enough, Sandra, too, seemed to be keeping hers from jouncing and banging together.