Extending the Milf List

From the Author: Extending continues. There is no direct sister sex in this episode, but the series relies on taboos, just not in this episode, so be aware. Hope you enjoy it. As always, any feedback can be beneficial. Please vote and add comments as appropriate. Thanks for all your support. -C

*****

My phone woke me. I was dazed and confused, to coin a phrase. It was bright, barely light, perhaps even dark. I was unsure and that uncertainty gained relevance when I found the squalling little irritant and tried to see who was calling and my eyes gave only a blurry clue. Whoever it was, it was early. I answered.

"Hello, what!" I snarled, somewhat more vehemently than I intended.

"Mr. Duncan?"

I recognized Alissa's voice instantly and that reminded me of last night, of switching sisters, falling asleep in my own bed, waking when Georgia, nude, snuggled in beside me and waking again later when she un-snuggled to Dalia's prodding and urging her to rise and get showered so they could go to work.

"What?" I said, still more harshly than I intended.

"Sonny?" Alissa's voice stung my ear.

Despite her best efforts I could hear the distance, the discontent, the blooming disgust or despair all of which may well have been projections of my own guilty conscience at not having fucked her recently, for more than a month now. Hell hath no fury like a woman spurned, the words throbbed in my mind. There was reproof in her voice, but still, she had called. I could talk to her but I had little idea about what to say so I stalled. "What time is it?"

"Seven." Her answering voice was a gray shade of neutral.

"Seven? Why are you calling so early? Is someone dead?"

"No. No one's dead. You have paperwork for me." A statement, not a question I noticed.

"I do? Oh, right, I do. The cover letter said I had till uh, the end of next month, January."

"Well, technically, but...we need you to come into the office. Sid called and suggested we pay you a retainer, this year, before the end of the year so you could pin it on this years taxes. He said your earnings were negligible and this way, you would not lose so much next year, when you are paid for the uh, the work you will be doing for us." Alissa halted. "Can you come in, right away?"

I rolled over and sat up. I was in my own bed, my sister was gone. I am sure she slept with me. I'd gone to bed after drinking wine with Dalia while...I remembered Tawny's voice ringing through the house while she orgasmed and the silences between the epic throes she called out to us.

"Right away? I am still in bed."

"Soon, right away."

"Its the holidays." I objected.

"Soon." Alissa said again. Her voice was brittle. She waited, not hanging up. I could hear traffic in the background. She was outside, near a downtown street on December 29. Still the city clattered to life before seven.

"Alissa, listen, I owe you an explanation..."

She interrupted me. "No. You don't. You own me. Use me. Don't use me. Isn't that how it works?"

"You asking me? I never got an owner's manual." Boy. She sounded pissed. Then it occurred to me, she was hurt and the hurt came from neglect, so don't make it worse by neglecting her still. Remembering D. Debra Hamilton's taste made my mouth water and I sucked, slurping into the phone. I almost told Alissa she made my mouth water but declined that temptation. "Are you wearing panties, Mrs. Honeywell?" I asked.

Pause, a long pause, a long, long pause followed. "Yes."

"Why?" Dumb question. I had to recover. "Keep them on. When I get there, to your office, I am going to ask you to take them off. Do you know why, Mrs. Honeywell." I heard her inhale, almost a gasp but just a bit too controlled to be a real, gasp.

"Yes." She answered. "I do. I hope I do."

"I am going to bend you over your desk, Mrs. Honeywell and do you know what I'm going to do next?"

She did suck air past the phone then, like someone was touching her between the legs with cold fingers or licking a cold nipple with a hot tongue. "Tell me." She commanded.

"Is that an order?" I chided.

"I...no...no, Mr. Duncan, I just..." She exhaled, retreating from her brittle distance into the warm embrace of my attention. "What will you do with me, if I am bent over my desk?" She deflected.

"I'll lift your skirt, Mrs. Honeywell. What sort of skirt do you have on?" My cock remembered Mrs. Honeywell, her rich black skin, her large sensitive breasts, her deep, dark pussy. The image was transfigured with D. Debra. I got really hard.

"It, it is a black pinstriped skirt."

"Tight?"

She hesitated. "Yes." Her voice was low, almost rough but dusky.

"Short?"

"It..." she inhaled and exhaled with a long sigh. "It stops above the knees."

"So I have to take it off?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, you must take it off."

"Would you like me to remove your skirt, Mrs. Honeywell?" I breathed into the phone. "Don't answer. Think of that question. I'll be down there as soon as I can."

She breathed in, a vibrato sound that became a shaky voice. "Before noon or the notary will be gone." She said. "I'll see you then." I ended the call with her voice reverberating in my brain. I remembered her through the haze of D. Debra Hamilton and m recent capture of my wild sisters.

I went downstairs, my cock flagpoling through a gap in my robe. My blisters were just finishing up breakfast. They were all decked out in professional attire. I was so horny my chest hurt. I could barely breathe my cock was so hard, so insistent. I looked at Tawny. "I thought you were taking the week off?" My voice sounded tinny.

"Shopping. They are leaving at noon and we are all going to go shopping." Tawny said. "I have some things to do on my own."

"Unless...you will be home this afternoon?" Georgia made it a question. "Do you want me...to uh come home? After work?"

Her eyes fixed on mine but then, as if the effort was to much, they lowered till I could feel them lock onto the rise in the robe and tendrils of her imagination were wrapping around my cock.

"No." I said and her eyes died, like realizing your family forgot your birthday. I recovered quickly. "Stand up." I said. She did, slowly. "Do you have on panties?" I asked. She nodded. "Pantyhose?" She nodded again. "Turn around. Tawny, get me some scissors." For a moment no one moved but then all three of my sisters were in motion. Dalia migrated deeper into the kitchen to a vantage point, Tawny headed into the sewing room under the stairs and Georgia turned around, shaking. She wore a floral print, well, it looked like a church-lady dress with lavish greens, like an impressionist painting of an Amazon forest replete with orchids and filtered sunlight. The dress was tight but not too tight. It hugged Georgia's ass but had plenty off room around the thighs so that I could lift it. When I did, she shuddered.

"Bend over, onto the table." She did. The table was mostly cleared. Dalia moved the butter dish and the two cups still there. I glanced at her. Her face was flushed, rapt. I lifted the skirt, pulling it up Georgia's legs till it bound around the broad swell of her ass and hips. I reached up under the skirt and found panties and pantyhose and pulled them down. They rolled into a tight band that turned into a snug cord around the tops of her thighs. I took the scissors from Tawny and clipped into the bunched fabric. Georgia, now bent onto the table, squeaked. She got awkwardly to her elbows and that allowed her to lift her ass. Her pussy appeared between the arch of her ass. A bead of clear liquid appeared out of her pussy and tricked down the inner plane of her pale, flexed thigh. I touched her pussy and she groaned and hitched her hips higher. Her pussy kissed my finger.

I wanted to finger her but I did not want to keep Alissa waiting or Georgia for that matter. I opened my robe, pulled my briefs down and entered Georgia from behind.

Sliding into her electrified me. I had been here before and the circumstances washed over me and I had a twinge that I recognized that I missed my mother...that is, I missed fucking my mother. I shivered, rooted in my sister and wondered what mom would think, or feel, or say, or do if she were in the room now, at this moment, watching me fuck her daughter, my sister. I groaned, gripped Georgia by the hips and drilled into her, pumping her till my orgasm overflowed and poured cum into her. She was shaking, shivering and twitching. She squeaked in protest when I pulled my cock out of her. I patted her on the back.

"Dear sister, no more pantyhose. They are expensive, I expect. Garters or nothing. Nothing is best but thigh-highs if you need to keep your legs warm." I sauntered upstairs, through a shower and emerged into an empty and silent house. The ride downtown to Alissa's office building was easy, the traffic was holiday light. I took the elevator up to her floor and walked past the empty receptionist kiosk, back to where I thought her office was. That little cubbyhole was locked and a name plaque beside it that read, "Randy Reading" which I thought was a curious name. Reminded me of Medium McClusky and his excellent work on Amazon.

"Mr. Duncan?"

Alissa's voice seemed to echo in the dark corridors. Heavy clouds filled the sky, bringing it down so low it seemed to be just a ladder's height away. I could see it through the office windows. I turned around to find Mrs. Honeywell standing down the hall from me, dressed as she promised in a very tight, very stylish black pinstripe business suit that hugged her body. Were it not for the well-cut jacket, I would have been able to see her full form but it hid her narrow waist and disguised her bust and the flamboyant flare of her hips. "Mrs. Honeywell. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year."

"Happy Holidays." She returned dryly.

"Oh for heaven's sake, don't be stuffy. Merry Christmas." I said, mocking her political correctness.

She smiled thinly. "My office is this way." She gestured, opening her palm between us like a game show hostess showing of that new car!. I walked towards her, she turned and I followed, noting with satisfaction that her ass looked good in that skirt. It was short, well above the knees but tight, tight, tight. The switch of her hips made the plane of the skirt shift back and forth. In the dampened silence of the presumably empty office, I swore I could hear her thighs rasping together. Her ass rocked back and forth and then was gone as she turned. I had to lift my eyes to see she had opened a door and was letting me precede her into the room.

It was a big, plush corner office. "Nice." I breathed, smelling the "new" that emanated from carpet and walls.

"Bickerstaff's old office. Since I represent 40% of the firm's income with the Kingston Industries and other accounts, Mr. Peppers had me move into this office." She closed the door behind me and began to lower the blinds on the glass walls till we were well and truly alone. Only the desk lamp was on so she strode past me, her thighs hissing as she walked and opened the blinds on her two walls, exposing the milky day beyond, all roiling clouds just about even with us.

"Nice view." I said, staring intently at her legs.

Alissa allowed herself a little smile.

"I do you have panties on?" I asked.

She sobered. "Asked and answered. I have some business, other business first...that is, I have other business as well with you. Which would you care to deal with first?"

My cock voted that she needed to bend over her desk but my brain wanted to stagger out of the office right after penetrating her pussy and filling her with cum. I wanted to look like I just fucked a partner in the firm not like I just signed papers. But then I figured, despite all my internal voting, I should make use of her expertise. "You are my attorney, Mrs. Honeywell, why don't you decide how we proceed."

She smiled, almost warmly. She still had a veneer of "scorned woman" about her. Or, perhaps, it was her professional sheen. Either way she nodded. "A good choice for you, Mr. Duncan, I think. Do you have your papers?"

"Ah shit." I whacked my forehead. "I completely forgot them!"

She nodded. "No matter. We can back date them if we need to. We may not need to." She took a seat behind the big, landing-field sized desk. She gestured. "Sit, er, if you please, please sit, Mr. Duncan."

Our mixed relationship was showing and confusing her. I decided to make things easy for her and sat down. The chair sank low and my eyes were just barely above the plane of her desk, which put me about even with her breasts. I wondered if she realized. Power poses work differently for men and women. It was not imposing to look up at a woman's tits, particularly when they dominated her figure as Alissa's did.

She opened a drawer and took out several things. She looked over at me and for a moment her eyes were hard and impassive. Then they softened and that softening appeared in her voice when she spoke. "Sonny, here is a check for $10,000 made out to you. This is a private investigator's license, certified in your name back dated to October 12. This is the tax documents, 1099 and what not. There are tags where to sign." She dropped a leather folder, like a bill fold but flatter. "This is your PI license."

Needless to say I was unnerved. "Okay. Fascinating. What is all of this and what does it have to do with me?"

"We, listen Sonny, this is pretty simple. We have a private detective who works for us but does not want to be on the books. Nor do we want him on the books. We want you to work for us but not in the capacity that you uh, are going to work in. You need to appear in our records but not in the way you will function for us, or for Mr. Kingston."

I nodded. "Okay." I was still in the dark. "Why doesn't the PI want to be on your books?"

"Because he does things he does not want other people to know he is doing or doing for us. He is unsavory and wants to be known to be so and working for us would diminish his reputation. This way, he does the work and you get the credit. We have a separate arrangement for how he is paid. We'll use you to account for the work he does for us and pay you using that avenue. Sometimes we will ask you to be at a place at a specified time to establish a logical and verifiable presence, just in case we or someone else requires it. It is just a conceit."

"And if anyone checks, they'll know I don't do that sort of work."

Alissa nodded. She opened another drawer and pulled out a small black case and laid it carefully on the desk. "This is your gun. You have a permit to carry, this gun. I would suggest you book some time at a firing range so you are familiar with your gun."

I stood up. "Whoa, Alissa, I have no need for a gun. That is crazy. I am not taking that. Not today. Not ever. I am fucking married women. If a jealous husband shoots me, I suppose I deserve it. I will never defend my actions with a gun."

She regarded me for a time and then finally nodded. "Very well. We'll, uh, take care of that for you. But if anyone asks, you have one but it will be locked in a locker at the gun club. You need to go there a few times, just for the record. This is part of getting involved with people who care deeply about security and privacy. You'll have to get used to it." She put the case away. She stood up and went to the door. She looked down at me with a slight smile and opened the door. "Please tell Ellen to come in, would you please? I am ready for her. We are ready for her."

Alissa left the door ajar and resumed her seat, stacking the papers. "Sonny, Sid is ready for you to start making good on some of his promises to this firm, specifically to Mr. Kline and Mr. Bickerstaff who have pissed him off." She was going to say more I could tell but the door of her office swung open and into it walked a little woman. She was so small, so slight I thought "girl" was the right term till I looked her in the eyes. Then I knew I was looking at a full-fledged woman, wise to the ways of the world and eager to practice what she preached, talk the talk, walk the walk and lay in the bed she made for herself. She looked like a pixie, with the helmet cut, her short, violet reddish brown hair was trimmed off the collar and short to frame her round face. Little ears I expected to have elven points disturbed her hair.

"Ellen, please sit down."

"What is this about, Mrs. Honeywell."

"We have a problem. That is, you have a problem, Miss Collier."

"A problem?" The tiny woman stood beside me.

"Sit." Alissa said and I heard the sharp edge of her professional voice.

I had not had time to process her comment about Sid Kingston and what I was supposed to do for him. I was catching up. My mind rejected the idea that this woman in any way fit into any of the salacious projects he had outlined for me. She looked so innocent, so delicate and small, my mind rejected any suggestion that she was even mature enough to...I could not even finish the thought. Her eyes said she was. The contrast was intriguing.

"Sit." Alissa said again, her voice was glassy, cold and hard.

I scooted to the end of the uncomfortable couch and Miss Collier plunked down beside me, eying me like she would Aqualung if she had to share a bus seat with him. I confess I felt a little affronted. I had, after all, taken a good shower and put on deodorant. Shit, I forgot cologne.

Alissa was speaking. "Miss Collier, you have a problem. You are fucking Mr. Bickerstaff or more precisely, perhaps, he is fucking you. You should look at this." She flopped a picture on the desk. I just glimpsed it but when Ellen stood and picked it up, hiding it from Alissa, she showed it to me. It showed Raymond Bickerstaff bending over the elfin girl, kissing her. It was not a chaste kiss and his hands were unbuttoning her blouse. Her arms were looped around his thick, black neck.

Alissa dropped another picture, which Miss Collier obligingly picked up and showed to me around her slight body as well. This showed her on her knees, standing high on her knees, Bickerstaff's trousers were at his knobby knees and his hard cock protruded from voluminous boxers, his gut arching above it. One of her tiny hands wrapped around his cock and she was just in the process of kissing it. The picture was perfect, her lips were pursed, with bright space between them and the bent head of his cock. The cock was long, straight but with a crook in the end that made the head point down rather than straight ahead.

"And this." Alissa slapped another picture on the desk which showed dear, tiny little Ellen blowing Mr. Bickerstaff, her cheeks puffed out like she was Dizzy Gillespie playing the trumpet. I was impressed.

"And this." Alissa said relentlessly.

Ellen's hands shook but the picture was clear enough. Her nose was deep in Mr. Bickerstaff's pubic hair, which meant that impressive if odd-shaped cock was completely contained by her mouth and throat, quite an accomplishment for such a small woman. Where there's a will, there's a way.

"And this." The next picture showed Ellen Collier, nude, bending over the end of a bed, Mr. Bickerstaff's cock protruding well over her bare back. She was even looking at the camera. There was literally no doubt this woman was the subject in the picture. Her eyes were so big, they seemed to dwarf her head, like the eyes in Anime cartoons.

"And this." Bickerstaff was on his knees, standing tall behind her with a good portion of his cock buried inside her little body.

"And this." This was an impressive shot over the top of them. She could barely be seen, covered as she was by Bickerstaff's large, swollen body. All that could be seen of her was her little hands on his dark shoulders, the top of her head above his shoulder, and her heels dimpling his sides. The rest of her was completely obscured. In fact, if this picture had been the only one, she could have claimed it was not her because nothing about her heels, head, or hands appeared distinctive, at least not in the picture.