Three The Prologue

My original "Three" followed-on from the wonderful

"Outsourcing" by Paco Fear

, from more than ten years ago. Sadly, I have never been able to get in touch with him to seek his input, so please treat this as a further respectful but unofficial homage. The following will not make a great deal of sense unless you have read both those stories first. As before, some minor liberties have been taken with dates and ages.

Mark and I married when we were both 33. We planned and conceived Dylan after about a year or so. Mark's job, although very well paid, required a lot of travel both fairly locally and to bigger discussions and deals a few states away. When Dylan had just turned four we had to move a long way eastwards for his work after he was promoted; the same amount of travel, but an even better income and -- as it turned out -- a much bigger house thanks to the price imbalance between the old and new areas. It sort of worked well for Dylan, as she had not yet started full-time school and could now do so along with all her peer group. Since my early 20's I had made a good living as a non-fiction magazine journalist, which could be done from home, and as I was in much demand I could do as much or as little as I pleased to fit in with the daily duties.

The Marsh family -- just the three of them -- were wonderful neighbours. Although son Tom was about ten years older than Dylan, Una was only about two years older than me. Unlike the two of us, she and Nick had both lost their parents not long after they married, and so they were thrown together more than other families. They had made that work very well; not only were they really close and loving as a couple, and Tom a wonderful young man, but they did much good work at and for national and local charities, soup kitchens, and so on. Around town as soon as I introduced myself as the new resident at the old Turner house, the person I was talking to would almost always say something to the effect of "you have the best neighbours ever".

Dylan (then 4, remember) was quite fearless and talked to anyone; on our first full day there she found her way through the hedge between the houses without me being aware -- cue a rapidly-building major maternal panic; the only good (good?) thing was that as we were at the far end of a cul-de-sac there were no cars whizzing by. However, Una soon called across that Dylan was safe, and about ten minutes later brought her back in her arms with two cookies. Her eyes were damp "What a lovely girl she is. She is welcome to come over any time -- with your permission, of course". I learned later that Una had had problems when Tom was born and could not have any more children. Nick was equally kind to Dylan; Tom was very quiet and studious -- although clearly very fond of his parents - but he and Dylan quickly became best buddies

Every mother worries about the babysitter the first few times. I asked Una's advice about the most reliable local teenagers, and she just shot me down. "I will be really happy to look after her any time, at your place or ours. I will also vouch for Tom as a good boy; please feel free to assess him for yourself, of course, but if we are not about he is reliable and completely honest". She was right, of course; with her permission we always paid Tom for his time when he helped us out, but we could hardly pay his parents. I soon began to feel that we were taking advantage of them, seeing how often they kept an eye on Dylan, and so every few weeks we arranged to take them out for a nice meal; we sort of dressed it up a bit by telling them that it was on expenses for Mark's work, researching the best new places to take his clients. That way we hid who was actually paying -- they were so kind that I'm sure they would have refused if they had known it really was us footing the bill. They were excellent company, and had a stack of other interests beyond the charitable ones. It was nothing like adequate repayment, but we let them know we would be happy to keep an eye on Tom if they were away -- he was of an age to stay in their house on his own, but he always knew he could come over for a meal or some help with his homework. As you would expect, he was a model guest but also -- like his parents -- good company and easy to talk to.

Forward about four years, to a few weeks before Tom's 19

th

. His parents had gone on a 10 day motoring vacation to a National Park a couple of states over as a slightly late joint 40

th

birthday present. Tom was by now fully self-sufficient and well-organised; having just finished school he was about to start work for a landscaper before starting at the local two-year college while he decided what he really wanted to do next. The very least I could do for his parents, in return for the hours they had spent with Dylan, was to be, as ever, a fall-back for him and maybe this time feed him a few fancy meals. I got a list of his favourite dishes from his mother just before they left.

One evening, perhaps forty minutes after we had eaten and Tom had gone back to his home, he reappeared looking white as a sheet. Weirdly, my first thought was that I had somehow given him food poisoning, but he took a deep breath and just said "My parents are dead". There had been a phone message waiting, asking him to call the local police; an officer visited immediately to pass on the news from the far-away State police. His parents' car had been hit broadside by a large luxury coach that ran a red light at speed. I think poor Tom's only comfort was that it was very unlikely his parents even knew what hit them.

Although at that time things between us were rather tense (more on that later), I only have admiration for Mark at this point. We took a joint decision to step up for Tom 100%, so whilst I attended to the domestic arrangements, he sorted out the police reports, notifications to employers and social groups, inquest and funeral details, and later all the probate paperwork. He, like me, was amazed (even after four years of knowing them) at the number of people who were trying to get in touch with Tom to offer condolences, and we tried our hardest to shield the poor boy whilst living with our own grief. Tom coped with the funeral about OK, even though Mark had had to change the venue from the church so that all who wanted to could attend. It ended up at the High School assembly hall, which had about three times the capacity of any of the churches, and still there were over fifty who had to stand at the back. I guess the whole town pretty well shut down for it.

As you would have expected, his parents had taken out life insurance so Tom was safe and secure in his house, and did not need to work until he was fully OK. The trial over the accident took a time to be resolved, even with the guilty plea, but after that damages were a slam-dunk so Tom was now well set-up - materially, anyway.

We broke the news about Una and Nick to Dylan as best we could; she took it stoically as an 8-year old can, but was sad for a long time. We asked her not to bother Tom too much, but between our occasional bad moods and being absorbed in taking care of Tom I guess she felt that maybe they both needed each other's company. After I suggested it, she was also very keen to be of practical help in her own way -- sorting clothes, helping him on shopping trips or in the garden.

I have already hinted that at times my marriage was not as healthy as it could have been. I think two or three things came together. I had been in a couple of long but ultimately very bad relationships before we met, and had serious trust issues. I had slept around quite a bit, but never on one-night stands, and yes I had learned not only how to enjoy sex but to keep my partner happy too. I can honestly say that no guy ever told me I was a disappointment. Mark was -- is -- very positive and extrovert, and this was obviously a plus point when he was in long negotiations for a deal. Like me, he had some trust issues but unlike me he did not dwell on them. The ... problem if you will is that women were naturally (naturally?) attracted to him.

We had first got together almost by accident, but clicked as a unit quite quickly. He was good at sex, too, and we really tore up the sheets before settling down and feeling confident enough to start a family. The problem was though that maybe a year after Dylan came along, I got a very strong suspicion that he was playing around; nothing definite, just changes in his work patterns and some evasion. It turned out that he could prove it was my imagination, but by confronting him I had broken the spell and it all went a bit downhill -- and stayed there. So much so that the second kid was put off until ... whenever.

In spite of that, we did make a pact to do our darndest to keep Dylan from it all, and I would have said that by and large we had succeeded. Much, much later, in the course of a number of conversations when she was an adult, Dylan quietly made it clear that she had been aware of much more than we had ever realised. Dear sweet loving Dylan had decided early on that she did not want to make us even more unhappy, so she promised herself that she would always try to be upbeat for us, and not make waves for us.

It greatly helped that Mark was a good provider; he made good money, took great pains to plan his trips so he was away for as short a time as possible, never ever missed a birthday or anniversary, and adored our daughter. In turn, she loved him -- she was not a "Daddy's girl" - or a "Mommy's girl", come to that.

For whatever reason, all this tension seemed to come to a head about every couple of years, albeit with no pattern. As I've said, we tried so very hard to keep it away from Dylan, but even so it was sometimes evident even to her stupid parents that she had sensed that one or other of us was unhappy. If she ever asked us, we simply replied that one or other of us had problems with "our work". As excuses go it is not great, but she seemed to accept it and we would redouble efforts to keep our problems away from her.

As you would have expected, after the funeral Mark and I would pop in and out of next door regularly, with food or an invitation, and Tom did seem to appreciate it when we talked -- or, rather, to begin with, he talked/we listened - usually about his parents and the grieving process but after a time with a bit more animation about things generally. He never failed to ask how Dylan was if he had not seen her that day, and tried really hard to be sociable with us.

One day, maybe a month after the funeral, I went over and Tom -- always sympathetic even at that point -- asked what was on my mind. I had not had any new suggestion of Mark straying, but something or other had set me off brooding. I did rather unload on him, and in my tirade worked myself into -- for me - a very bitter mood. It says a lot about my level of anger that for the first time ever I used a bad word in front of him. "Please Tom, will you give me a revenge fuck? Now?". Tom was clearly a bit shocked at both the word and the suggestion, but I guess his permanent eagerness to help triumphed over any hesitation. He stood up.

I was then still mid-to-late 30's (c'mon, give a girl a break), and I knew that I looked pretty good. So with a measure of pride I stood up, peeled off my baggy top and sweat pants, and gave Tom an eyeful of me in my cheap white cotton undies. I never did ask him if he had fantasised about me beforehand, but the look on his face that day was most definitely one of appreciation. His lips sought for something to say, but only managed "Wow" ... which was flattering enough (I think at this point in time lust took over from his obliging nature). I turned and locked the outside door, then dragged him to his bedroom, which I knew (because our houses were to the same pattern) could not be seen into as it backed onto a piece of dense woodland.

And then I met Little Tommy for the first time. At first sight, just in repose, he looked pretty yummy (I did know my way around the male anatomy quite well), and my panties got a bit damp. I then moved Tom that I could take LT in my mouth, and boy did I get a surprise. Even to this day I don't understand how all that blood moved or .... whatever, but all the time he was in my mouth LT just grew and grew. Length and thickness. I had to disengage before I choked, and at that point he was far and away the biggest I had ever taken. A bit of spit and a rub added some more, then he stopped growing and I began to wonder what this would do to my insides. No idea, but I was totally determined to find out.

I always took care over my downstairs to keep her looking good, and when I whipped off my undies, lay back and spread my legs LT showed his appreciation by standing up absolutely rigid (mercifully he did not grow any more).

Tom now regained the power of speech and asked "What would you like me to do?" OMG that was typical of him, even in that position; so keen to help ME get the most satisfaction. How many men at that point would have just waded in to get themselves off? And what percentage of 18 year old males? I asked him to lick me, which he did with care and some skill. He had clearly done some reading-up about clits, and did not need any directions to find and work on mine very effectively.

I asked him a week or two later about his prior experiences, and he told me that he had only "gone all the way" with one girl a few times -- on his first two tries the girls (pretty inexperienced) "had hysterics" when they first met LT in all his glory, and ran for the hills. Somehow or other word got around and a more experienced female had taken him in hand (and her mouth !), and given him a few coaching sessions, not least in how not to cause serious injury when inside her. Well done girl !

He made me come with just his tongue before leaning back and asking if it would be OK now for him to "go inside".

"Sure. Go slowly"

The sheer thrill as he carefully filled me fuller than I had ever have imagined in all my wildest fantasies was overwhelming. To this day I cannot remember if I blacked out or just lost the full details in all the memories being made, but I know it was glorious. He had already got me quite wet -- hardly surprisingly -- and was careful to move slowly. That slowness actually heightened the sensations for me, and by the time he was fully inside my body I had stretched enough (only just enough !) to cope.

I have never quite decided whether it is more enjoyable to watch what is going on, or close my eyes and focus on the sensations. This time I flipped a coin, and firstly took a good stare at Tom. He was totally focused on where our bodies met, and initially I guessed he was checking he was doing it right and not hurting me. That turned out to be a wrong idea on my part; his gaze slowly moved up to my navel (where he -- and I -- could see LT clearly working away inside me) and on up to my chest. His expression changed a little -- now suddenly it was clear that he was captivated by my body -- almost worshipping it - and my ego took another huge boost.

After a time (don't ask me how long) I decided I was warmed-up and wet enough, and whispered "bit faster, bit deeper, mix it up". Tom -- wonderful man -- duly obeyed, but again with a lot of thought and care and from what I now began to feel LT seemed to have taken on a life of his own inside me. I was being totally taken over by ... whatever it was.

I then suggested he angle his body a little differently so LT would be rubbing my clit a bit more, and that set me off. Oh did that set me off. It suddenly now felt like my whole body was being swept into another plane of passion and I just felt a climax race upon me like an express train. You know those stock bits of film of real-life scary events, with the locomotive going at 80 mph ploughing into the car on the crossing and smashing it to pieces? Think that effect on whatever bits of me got involved -- clit, vag, nervous system, brain, whatever -- it just overwhelmed me, totally.

Tom seemed pleased at the effect, so he tried to repeat it. And succeeded. Four times. By this point I was a mental wreck, and asked him just to keep to plain non-angled in-and-out for the time being. Even that was something remarkable, and even though I did not come again there were enough sensations to keep me happy and LT fully interested.

And then, finally, was Tom's orgasm. While he was working his magic inside me I did dimly wonder to myself how much cum LT was going to generate; it did occur to me that if size indicated quantity and he came inside me it would be dripping out of me for hours (OK, I was a bit out of things by then), so as he got near I asked him to pull out and go for my tits. I am very proud of them -- not large, but a good shape and still firm, topped with chunky and sensitive nipples (reminder -- must get Tom to give them some TLC next time ...). So as he got near Tom pulled out of me, moved up to straddle my hips and went for my chest.

OMG. OMG. It was like being hosed down. I could not tell you what quantity in terms of ccs or cupfuls, but it was way more than any other ejaculation I had shared or even watched -- by the time he had finished, my middle (from tits to pelvis) was coated and at least as much again had spilled over and was soaking into the sheets. It was so fucking dirty and wonderful and flattering that I came again just from looking at it. I reasoned that this was Tom's accumulated store, so yes there would be a lot, but in all our later sessions he produced more stuff than I had ever encountered, even in a porn movie. Such a turn-on.

And, of course, Tom being Tom was apologetic and concerned, and raced into the bathroom to get a couple of towels and a washcloth (as much as any man could race with that only slightly deflated thing flapping in front of him). He spent a full ten minutes wiping me down and making sure I was not in the wet patch. He tried apologising for making such a mess, but I put a stop to that.

"Tom, that was wonderful. Please believe me. You have nothing -- nothing -- to apologise for, from start to finish. It was the best sex I have had for years, by miles, and you can be really proud of your performance. And just remember -- it is only going to get better from now on". He was still concerned that I might have been licked or stretched too much (as if !!!!), so I took the opportunity to explain how much my body could take provided it was properly warmed-up and lubricated, and he undertook to study the topic in depth. He even apologised for getting me sweaty and "all the mess", but I just pointed out to him that is what real sex and passion looks like and quoted what one of my teachers used to say, to the effect of the messier the better.

It was unlike Tom not to have asked in advance about birth control until after this first tryst, but bless him he did now, and was appropriately grateful when I explained that it was all under control. Sadly that time I had to leave quite quickly afterwards, but I made sure to thank him again, and give both him and LT one of my very very best kisses. In return he gave me a bone-crunching hug.

Let's see. The second time was the afternoon of the next day, when the curtains were already drawn -- which was just as well as I walked into Tom's kitchen, asked him if he was busy, lifted up my skirt and bent over the table. I had been thinking of nothing other than Tom (well, LT ... slut that I am) for about two hours, and had soaked two pairs of panties before I just gave them up for the rest of the day. LT got rubbed up and down my soaking slit a couple of times and then he was ready to go.

I also took the chance that day to properly introduce Tom to my tits, and he took the additional study of them very seriously. After about 3 weeks he could make me come just by licking my nipples in a special way. Don't ask me how exactly -- I was away on some other planet. He liked kissing too, and I enjoyed tasting my fluids between him warming me up and LT beginning his journey inside me.