I had planned to stay home after supper, but Pegâs warning about her daughter Carol left me with an itch between my legs that I couldnât reach to scratch. It seemed all too incredible for belief. Would the little blond bitch who wouldnât even go to the movies with me actually play bed hockey with my stick just to ruin her motherâs relationship with me? Could I believe that Peg really didnât care if I fucked her daughter, much less that she even hoped I would? Would Peg really continue to make love to me even if my cock was visiting from time to time in her daughterâs pussy as well? With questions like that bouncing around in my head looking for answers, there was no way I could sit still through the Ed Sullivan Show on TV.
I rang the doorbell at the Stockton home about 7:45. Carol answered the door wearing a rather worn terry cloth bath robe. I suspected the robe was all she had on. She did look lovely though. Although a little damp, her hair was carefully swept up into an attractive bun, and neatly pinned. She was either not long out of the pool, or had just finished bathing. If my guess about no swim suit inside her robe was correct, the likely choice was that she had only recently come from her shower. Yet, something didnât fit here. Her hair was too perfectly done, her face too carefully made up, the paint on her nails too fresh, and I could smell perfume. Strange! Why would a girl alone and on her way to bed doll herself up to the nines?
âHi Carol,â I greeted her, âI know youâre here by yourself tonight. Would you like some company?â
âHi Ricky,â she answered me, I certainly would. This place is like a tomb. I was hoping youâd drop by. Come with me out to the pool. The moonâs out and its a pretty night, Iâll get you a drink... bourbon on the rocks isnât it?
âYeah thatâll be fineâ I told her taking a seat on the a small patio couch that was capable of a modest swinging motion within the limits of its supporting base. I donât know what they call that kind of couch today, but in the â50âs and before it was called a âglider.â There was a similar âgliderâ chair suitable for one person only strategically located facing the couch. When I sat down it was with the assumption that Carol would take that chair.
I was wrong. Just as Peg had warned me, Carol had something else in mind.
On the way over with my drink... surprise, surprise... the sash on Carolâs robe came loose and although she made a fumbling try at closing it with her free hand, my earlier suspicions were confirmed. The only thing under that robe was a bare assed Carol Stockton.
Mother and daughter may have been at odds over me, but when I was around, they had at least one thing in common. Neither one seemed to be able to keep her sash tied or her robe closed. We didnât know much about genes in the 50âs. Those kind of familial coincidences were usually blamed on âsomething in the water,â but when it came to these two, I doubt their water supply had anything to do with it.
Neither did Carol take a seat in the chair in front of me as I had expected. Instead, as she handed me my drink she dropped down beside me on the glider couch. Nor did she sit in the usual way with her feet on the floor. Rather she landed sitting sideways, with her legs up on the couch between us, and her calves and feet folded back under her thighs. This abrupt sprawl onto the couch popped her robe even wider open both top and bottom. Exposed was an expanse of tempting teenage female flesh that included a lot of thigh and one pretty little tit and nipple. Carol pretended not to notice, and went on chatting with me. I played along, trying not to stare (with only limited success), and chatted back at her as if I was discussing the new choir robes with Mother Superior.
After about ten minutes of sparring aimlessly, the conversation got down to business.
âYou are fucking my mother arenât you Ricky?â was her point blank question.
I gave a non committal answer. âWhy? If I was, is that some business of yours?â
âYou can bet it is my business,â she said in a rush. âShe ought to go back to my father, and I mean to do everything I can to see that she does some day. That isnât going to happen though if she is all mushy and satisfied from riding on some other guyâs prick... and I could tell from her face today, that is exactly where sheâs at... all mushy and satisfied. I want it stopped right now, no more, ever, not with you or anybody else.â
There was no doubt about it, this officious little bitch took her role as the self appointed guardian of her motherâs pussy quite seriously. Her tone was quiet, even reasonable, as if she was talking about a spring sale at Sears. I could tell, however, that her calm was a false front. There was that hint of agitation under her words, and her vascular system was betraying her with a flushed face, and a pretty little tit that was turning an even sexier shade of pink than before.
I wondered just how far she would go with this business, and I thought I would push her a little to find out.
âYou canât give orders to me Carol, and I canât think of a single reason why I should kick a good looking piece of ass like your mother out of my bed. What would be in it for me?â I stopped there, and left the bait out of the boat to see if the fish were biting.
They certainly were!
âThis is what is in it for you!â Carol announced as she stood and stripped off her robe. âI promise I will take just as good a care of your cock, and make it just as happy, as she does,â and with that the little sexpot dropped to her knees between my legs and began to unzip my fly. I didnât interfere. I certainly didnât intend to cooperate with this catty and juvenile attempt to deny Peg Stockton her own life, but I didnât see any reason why I shouldnât at least enjoy some of the fringe benefits for my trouble.