Magnus and His Family

Magnus and His Family (Chaper 9)

Kathryn M. Burke

Only three days later, the atmosphere in the household went from euphoria to dread.

As Kristen came home from a late afternoon class on Tuesday, she found Adele sitting in a kind of nervous panic on the living-room couch, wringing her hands and staring straight ahead at nothing. She knew her friend well enough by this time to know that something was seriously wrong.

"My God, Adele," she said, "you look awful! What's the matter?"

"We're in deep shit," Adele said heavily.

By now Kristen definitely knew something was amiss: Adele almost never swore except on state occasions.

"What is it?" Kristen asked intensely.

Has someone in the school administration found out about our situation? Even if they have, Adele's not really affected; only I am. But maybe the school might not make such fine distinctions as that.

"My mom's coming!" Adele almost wailed.

"Is that all?" Kristen said. "What's the big deal about that?"

"The big deal," Adele said patiently, as if speaking to an idiot, "is that I had to tell her about my moving into this house."

"What!"

Kristen exclaimed. "Why the hell did you do that?"

"Oh, Kristen, don't you get it? She was going to come to my dorm room, but she wouldn't find anyone there!"

"Couldn't you have gone back there just to meet her?"

"No, silly! All my stuff's here, and that room is empty—at least, empty of

my

stuff. My ex-roommate Anne has taken over the whole place. What would my mother have said if she saw none of my things there? So I had to tell her."

"Fine, you told her. I still don't see why you're all discombobulated. Why should she freak out about your living with a friend and her dad? You surely didn't blab about what we actually

do

here!"

"No, of course not—but she has the kind of mind that can figure things out. I think she already knows—or at least suspects."

"Why should she do that? What could possibly have led her to believe that you, a pure innocent virgin as far as she knows, would suddenly leap into bed with her friend's father?"

"Look," Adele said wearily, "I've never really told you about her, have I?"

"No, not much. All you've said is that your parents are divorced."

"Yeah, they are. But there's more to it than that." Urging Kristen to sit down next to her, she went on. "You see, my mom—her name's Jenna—is kind of strange. I think she led a wild life when she was younger, especially in college. She—"

"You mean," Kristen said with a smirk, "she had a lot of guys?"

"Yeah, maybe. She'll never admit it now, but I think she did some crazy stuff at frat houses and things like that. But then when she married my dad, she changed around completely—almost. She got it into her head that a properly married woman didn't behave like that; that she

couldn't

have behaved like that. So she tried to pretend that it never really happened."

"So she became a real prude?"

"Sort of. She was always warning me against 'predatory males' and things like that. That was at least part of the reason why I—you know, never went out much with boys. Aside from the fact that they didn't seem to want to go out with me."

"Yeah, yeah, you've said that. So then what happened? With your mom and dad, I mean?"

"Well, they broke up—and I have this feeling that, even though Mom claimed to be kind of a matron who didn't even think about sex anymore, she did so at least because"—and her voice fell to a whisper—"my dad wasn't quite doing it for her."

"Oh, get out of here!" Kristen exploded. "You're telling me your mom send your dad packing because he didn't perform up to snuff in bed? That's ridiculous!"

"Is it?" Adele said pointedly. "I'm beginning to wonder. When I was a teenager, there were any number of times when I heard them in their bedroom at night—or at other times—and Mom was kind of barking at Dad for some reason. I'm pretty sure I once heard her say, 'For God's sake, David, will you get

on

with it?' I don't know what he was doing—or wasn't doing—but it didn't sound good."

Kristen was so amused that she had to hold a hand over her mouth. "Poor guy! And poor Jenna! But there has to be more to it than that."

"Well, of course. I think Mom got fed up with Dad because he really wasn't helping around the house, and especially because he would always take my side and try to get Mom to go easy on me when I did something bad—or when she

thought

I'd done something bad. I mean, she's just so suspicious! She thought I was 'flaunting my body,' as she called it, even when I was dressed in pretty ordinary, unrevealing clothes. She kept staring at my boobs, as if resentful that mine were bigger than hers. I'm sure she thinks that I was just waiting to get away from her so I could sleep with every Tom, Dick, and Harry who walked by.

"And that's why," Adele concluded with a sigh, "I have a feeling she thinks your dad has wasted no time in getting into my pants."

"Well," Kristen said, "she's actually right about that! And I guess I had a lot to do with that. But the point is: what are we going to do now?"

"I don't know!" Adele said. "She was going to come by on Thursday to take me out to dinner. She lives in Somerville, not very far from here. She could show up anytime!"

"You actually told her you live in this house? You gave her our address?"

"I had to! She's already furious that I ditched the dorm room that she and Dad had both shelled out a lot of money for. So she just demanded to know 'where you're putting your butt down at night,' as she said."

"Well, look," Kristen said, "all we have to do is deny it! Okay? How can she prove anything? Dad has this way of both soothing and intimidating people, especially women. He just has to say, 'Your suspicions are groundless, madam,' or something like that. He'll have her eating out of the palm of his hand."

"I don't know about that," Adele said ruefully. "Mom's a pretty tough customer."

"We'll just explain the situation to Daddy and let him deal with it."

When they did so, Magnus agreed that a policy of flat denial was probably the best policy. None of them knew when, or if, Jenna was actually going to beard them in their den; the Thursday dinner was off, but Jenna had given no timetable as to when a meeting would occur. She was probably trying to make everyone in the household stew a bit.

So Adele, Kristen, and Magnus did the only thing they could do: they went about their business as if nothing had happened.

The encounter ended up being on a Sunday afternoon. And by chance it was just then that the girls decided they needed to spend all afternoon in the library studying.

When the doorbell rang—three times, and quite insistently—Magnus had a sinking feeling that the confrontation they had all been dreading had come. Sighing, he strode downstairs calmly and opened the door.

The woman facing him was probably close to his age—mid-forties—but otherwise was about as different from him as two people could possibly be. She was about five foot eight, a few inches shorter than her daughter, and was of medium build, so far as Magnus could tell (Jenna was wearing a winter coat against the chill November weather). An appealingly untidy mass of auburn hair framed a face that, if the habitual scowl could have been removed from it, would have been highly attractive: piercing green eyes, slender nose, full lips, and high cheekbones that were prettily blushing in the cold.

"Are you Magnus?" she said, her voice thick with hostility.

"Yes, ma'am," he said quietly.

Without so much as a reply, she bulled her way into the house, rushing into the living room and peering around intently.

"Where's my daughter?" she spat.

"I take it you are Jenna Whitman," Magnus said in his resonant bass voice.

"You bet I am!" Jenna cried. "What have you done with Adele—beyond the obvious?"

Magnus ignored the implications of that remark. "She and my daughter have gone to the library, I believe."

"Well, we'll just wait for them, then." And with that, she unbuttoned her coat and tossed it on an easy chair.

The figure now revealed was indeed one that would make any man's heart beat a little faster. Even though Jenna was wearing a casual business suit—wool blouse and pleated skirt—Magnus could see the generous curve of her breasts and the robust flare of her hips and bottom. Her face, flushed in anger as it was, amusingly reminded Magnus of any number of women (including his wife, daughter, and Adele) during or after a particularly energetic bout of sexual congress.

"Madam," Magnus said, "I think you are harboring a misconception. Your daughter—"

"Look," she interrupted, "I wasn't born yesterday! It's pretty obvious what goes on in this house.

Your

daughter brought

my

daughter here so that you could enjoy her at will. She's just your size, isn't she?"

Jenna was clearly referring to Adele. At this point she couldn't have even begun to conceive that Kristen also shared Magnus's bed.

"Mrs. Whitman, you have no call to make such an accusation. Surely Adele has said nothing of that sort."

"She didn't have do!" Jenna exclaimed. "That girl has had her eyes on guys ever since she started getting those big breasts of hers! She was just too scared to do anything about it while she was under my roof. But now that she's under

your

roof, all bets are off, aren't they?"

"Madam, you're—"

"She was a virgin when she came here, wasn't she?" Jenna said. "Did you deflower her? Did you make her bleed? Did you hurt her? Did you make her cry?"

Something about the uncanny accuracy of the rapid series of accusations affected Magnus deeply. In some ways Jenna was exactly right about what had happened—but in the most fundamental way, she was quite wrong. Adele had testified that the experience, while superficially painful and even traumatic, was a transcendent one that had changed her life. And Magnus was deeply wounded that anyone could think differently. So without thinking he said:

"It wasn't like that."

At the same moment, both of them realized the import of what he had just said.

Jenna looked Magnus up and down, then said in a whisper, "Omigod, you

did

do it!" Then, in something close to a shriek,

"I'll have you arrested! So help me God, I will!"

"Madam," Magnus said, "your daughter's of age. I have committed no offense. Our—involvement—was consensual. She can tell you that herself."

Magnus thought Jenna might double over in pain, as she seemed to be grabbing her stomach. Then, without warning, she rushed at him and started pounding her fists against his barrel chest, shouting, "You son of a bitch! You've ruined my daughter!"

The curiously old-fashioned expression (

What are we, in the nineteenth century?

) struck Magnus as almost comical. But the woman's continued pummeling of his chest wasn't so funny. The idea of laying a hand on a woman was, of course, anathema to him. But this behavior—both physical and verbal—had to stop.

He tried to restrain her by grabbing her arms, but that proved useless. Then he tried to avoid her by circling away from her, but she just followed him. By some mischance they wound up against a blank part of the wall in the living room, Jenna with her back to the wall, still pounding away at Magnus and apparently contemplating taking further action with her knees or feet, perhaps in the direction of his groin.

So Magnus did the only thing he felt he could do under the circumstances: he pinned her to the wall with his hands and kissed her.

That at least had the effect of silencing her, as Jenna had up to that point been wailing like a banshee, a few tears oozing out of her eyes. As his lips pressed against hers, her wails turned into a kind of girlish squeal, and she no longer had the leverage to pummel him.

It was then that Magnus once again pondered that age-old truth to get a woman to become more malleable, although he had to admit that he had never put it into practice in a situation like this:

Make her come first.

Almost without thinking, Magnus pulled down Jenna's heavy skirt so that it fell softly to the floor. The underwear had slipped down to her knees; and Magnus, finally breaking the kiss so that both of them could take a gasping breath, extended a hand between her legs and, not entirely to his surprise, found her a little wet.

"No, don't . . . please," Jenna moaned, trying to restrain Magnus's hand as it probed her cleft.

But her actions didn't match her words. Almost without thinking, she spread her legs a little farther to allow him greater access to her pussy; and the hand that had latched on to his wrist was actually holding it in place so that he could stroke her now moist labia and clitoris more effectively.

Encouraged, Magnus lavished kisses on her cheek, nose, forehead, and mouth. When his hot tongue licked her ear, she cried out and immediately poured out more of her juices onto his fingers. Now she had thrown her arms around him, mostly because she was getting wobbly on her feet and needed his big bulk to prevent herself from falling to the floor. As he continued his caresses, she actively thrust her hips toward him in a mute plea to bring on the culmination she now so obviously desired.

There were a couple of reasons why Jenna had so readily let a man whom she had only met five minutes ago have access to her private parts. First, she had not felt a man's touch—either his fingers or his mouth or his cock—in that spot in nearly a year. Almost as soon as she had left her husband, she had plunged into the dating world—but found the experience so dispiriting that after a while she just gave up. The guys were just hopeless! Sometimes she would bed down with a man just to get rid of the urge, but the result was pretty unsatisfying.

But the true reason for her acquiescence was that Magnus was exactly the sort of man—huge, barrel-chested, thoroughly masculine but also gentle and kind—she had wanted. She had truly loved her husband, David, but he had had certain . . . deficiencies that irked her more and more, until she couldn't take it anymore.

But now, being pleasured by this bear of a man, she was putty in his hands. And she soon showed it by clinging to him and letting out a strangled cry as an overwhelming orgasm washed over her. And Magnus, as was his way, prolonged that orgasm with gentle strokes for minute after minute, until Jenna truly thought she would just faint away.

"Please, no more," she begged, now thrusting that hand away from her. She realized there really was such a thing as too much pleasure.

She also pried herself out of his grasp, backing away against the wall in a feeble effort to establish some distance—physical and emotional—between them. Both were speechless in this awkward moment, although Magnus's soft brown eyes gazed down with ineffable kindliness upon his new friend.

Jenna, gazing with a mixture of alarm and excitement at the big man, tried to assert herself. But she did so in a strange way: she began furiously unbuttoning Magnus's pants.

The fact of the matter is that Jenna had a kind of fearful reverence for the male organ; and part of her dissatisfaction with David was that she felt his wasn't quite up to her standards. She had already sensed Magnus's erect member as it pressed up against her belly, and now she was consumed with the desire to see it, touch it, and . . .

Magnus watched her with preternatural calm as she frantically unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers, and pulled them violently down to the floor, slipping to her knees as she did so. His underwear came along with the trousers, and his hard cock almost hit her in the face as she released it from its confinement.

She had expected it to be of impressive dimensions, but she still gasped at the actual sight of its eight full inches.

She made the mistake of thrusting as much of it into her mouth as possible—more than half. That ended up causing her to gag, and she had to pull it out again.

"Careful, dear," Magnus said in the baritone voice that sent shivers deep into Jenna's body and heart. And the little endearment, conventional as it was, still affected her.

She started again, working more prudently: licking the shaft, sucking the tip, tickling the balls, and at one point craning her head downward to put those balls into her mouth and roll them around. This was something she found inexpressibly fascinating, and she felt herself getting wet all over again in the process.

She didn't know how much longer she could wait for what she knew would follow.

But as she fantasized about having it out with Magnus right here on the living-room floor, he had other things in mind. With a deft move he swept her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs. She was not a small woman, but she felt like a little girl, even a baby, as he placed one arm under her back and the other under her knees and effortlessly conveyed her to the master bedroom.

He dumped her a bit unceremoniously on the bed, and she bounced a few times before coming to a rest on her back, her legs splayed to reveal her sex. Was he going to plunge into her right then? He had other things in mind.

First, he undressed himself placidly, pulling his T-shirt over his head and tossing it carelessly aside. Then, surveying her carefully, he felt that, while she was quite attractive in her bottomless state, full nudity would be preferable.

And so he seized the collars of her blouse in his hands and pulled, popping the buttons off and rending some of the fabric.

He didn't do this with any intention of violence. It was merely the simplest way to remove this encumbering garment. As it fell off of Jenna, she now looked up at him with only a bra on. This he didn't tear off—that might have caused her discomfort—but he gently rolled her onto her back and undid the clasps, then pulled it off and threw it away into the corner to join his T-shirt.

Then he climbed into bed.

His proximity to her, naked and with that rampant cock ready for action, suddenly caused Jenna to become alarmed, even frightened.

My God, is this really happening? What has come over me?

Magnus detected her sentiments and placed a gentle hand on her face, stroking it as a father does to calm a agitated daughter.

"It's all right, dear," he said. And that was enough.

Lying on her back, opening her legs, and extending her arms in an anticipatory embrace, she said, "Please go into me."

Magnus complied—and the feel of that large cock entering her inch by inch created such an overwhelming sensation of

fulfillment

that Jenna's eyes widened and her tongue was forced out of her mouth. Magnus seized on that tongue with his lips; and as he now fully mounted her, his shaft deeply embedded in her pussy, he used his hands to stroke her face, shoulders, breasts, thighs, and bottom as he pumped her—first gently, then harder and harder as she wrapped her legs around him and encouraged him with moans and gasps and sighs of utter contentment.

And when he came—as he did with heavy groans, squeezing her even tighter than before—she regarded the outpouring of his most precious fluid into her as a true sign of her femininity, and she came close to another climax herself.

He remained in her, as he liked to do, but slid off once she let it be known that his bulk was proving a bit uncomfortable. But in doing so, he swung her around so that she landed on top of him.

Here was another awkward moment, however. The ecstasy of this first session was over, but the overriding issues that had brought Jenna here were unresolved. In a desperate attempt to maintain some control over the situation, she peered down at Magnus and said, in her best imitation of an old-time schoolmarm: