A Tangled Web

*** AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story looks at the McGuinness-Trotter family 10 years after the events related in THE SUBSTITUTE, published in Literotica between February 8 and 23, 2018. Although the tale stands alone, readers, who have not already done so, may wish to read THE SUBSTITUTE first.

All Sexual Activity In This Story Occurs Between Characters Who Are 18+ Years Old.

***

Isabel McGuinness poked her head through the swinging kitchen door into the hall and hollered, "CECILIA! Get DOWN here... you're going to be LATE!" Edward Trotter and his young son, Arthur, sat at the scarred ash table and rolled their eyes at each other. They contained their laughter at the routine scene as Isabel huffed back into the room and sat in front of her cooling cup of coffee. Shaking her head, with her tawny-turning-to-gray hair still in curlers, she asked rhetorically, "What's a mother to DO?"

Moments later, amid noisy bumps and a loud thump of feet on the half-stair in the hallway, a boisterous pig-tailed dishwater blonde girl burst into the kitchen. "Morning, Uncle Ted! Hi, Artie! I'm ready, Mom!" Cecilia's exuberant greetings poured out in a single long breath.

"Good morning, to you, TOO," Trotter calmly inserted, as his young sister-in-law flew past and pecked her mother's cheek.

Arthur promptly stood, saying, "See you later, Pop," then turned and headed for the back door. Holding the screen open, as he stood out of the way on the porch, he called back into the house, "Don't worry, Gram, we won't dawdle and be late for school." The spring flung the wooden-framed screen door back with a crashing bang as the third graders fled the porch. Their joyous laughter faded fast into the mid-May morning air.

Only nine-days apart in age, the two nine-year-olds were inseparable best friends. At least twice a week Trotter drove Arthur to the McGuinness bungalow before continuing to his own job as a mathematics teacher at George Washington High School. The youths would then walk together to Clarence Darrow Elementary School, ten blocks away at Eighth Avenue and Inverness Street. Cecilia was always running late and Arthur always made sure she had her books and lunch.

Trotter pushed his cup and saucer to the middle of the table. At the same time, he scooted his chair back and turned himself 45 degrees to the table's edge. Looking at Isabel, seated off to his left, he asked, "So, did Jock use up the last of your sugar, Izzy?"

Isabel smiled and rose from her chair. Instead of turning to the cupboards, however, she side-stepped Trotter's knees and stood behind her son-in-law. Her ratty pink chenille housecoat hugged her unrestrained full breasts and flowed loosely over her wide hips as she moved past him. "You're incorrigible, Ted," she said with a soft lilt. "You KNOW that, DON'T you?" Putting her hands on his shoulder tops, she squeezed his hard trapezius muscles through his soft summer weight wool suit jacket and sighed.

Trotter grasped her wrists. Pulling, ducking, and twisting, he swiftly, smoothly, maneuvered her onto his lap, laughing, "I thought I was simply ENCOURAGEABLE." Aiming his lips at Isabel's, he breathed, huskily, "And YOU are oh...so... INVITING."

"Even in this old rag... with my hair in CURLERS?" Isabel asked, while draping her left arm around his shoulders and pulling her head away.

Trotter shoved his left hand through the flapping fold of her robe, closed his broad palm over her right boob and growled, "ESPECIALLY 'in this old rag'." Reaching behind her, he laid his right forearm on her spine and pulled her forward. As he completed his pass with a planted kiss, Isabel groaned and greeted his tongue with her open mobile mouth. Her fat nipple perked up in the lace pocket of her lilac charmeuse nightgown and begged for attention.

While Trotter plucked and released the proud pip playfully, he broke the kiss and asked in a confidential whisper, "Do you know what I really MISS, Izzy?" She groaned again and shimmied, pushing her neglected left tit against his flexing left wrist. Ted grinned, switched targets and answered his own question. "I REALLY miss stealing Cecie's MILK."

Isabel twisted on Trotter's lap. Holding his ribs high under his arms, she arched her back and threw her head back, moaning. He pushed her robe and nightie off her shoulders, bent his neck and kissed a fast zigzag pattern across her bared aching bosom. Impulsively, Izzy reached backward and searched the table with her hand.

Retrieving the small china creamer, she drizzled its remaining few ounces over her chest and Trotter's teasing lips. "This... is the... uhn, BEST... I can... nyaah, DO," she panted, as Ted lapped the spilled liquid and latched voraciously onto her left nipple and halo. Her cunny squished as she reflexively closed her thighs tight and squeezed herself. Jock and Ted were avid feeders and she had nursed, not only Cecie, but both men, until her daughter's forty-third month when Cecie herself lost interest.

Coincidentally, and not unhappily for Isabel, menopause must have begun for her sometime during Cecilia's first four years, because Isabel never had a period after her daughter's conception in May 1930. With two fierce lovers, however, her sex drive and desire never waned after Ted flipped her switch on the front porch that fateful Mother's Day evening ten years ago. Izzy mewled into the top of Ted's head as she clasped him to her tit. "Yyuhhnnn, TAKE me, Ted! NOW!"

Trotter let go of her wet shiny areola and smiled into his mother-in-law's frantic beseeching eyes. Standing from the chair, while keeping her scooped in his arms, he backed through the kitchen's swinging door into the hall. Pointing himself to the back of the house, he carried her to the master bedroom and dumped her, unceremoniously, in the rumpled sheets of the unmade brass four-poster. "Your wish is my command, Ma'am," he said through his constricted throat as he pulled off his jacket, dropped his suspenders and opened his trousers.

Ted's rampant cock pierced the vent of his boxers and waved madly while he scrambled, eager and half-clothed, onto the bed between Isabel's legs. She already had thrown open her housecoat and hiked her nightgown above her hips. Her breasts were flattening heavy mounds on top of her nightie's limp lace bodice. She held her arms out and kicked her heels high. "Hurry! HURRY, Ted! OH, pleeeeze, I NEEEED you!" His prick was in her pussy and his pelvis was pumping before her wail died away.

Isabel raked Ted's back through his starched dress shirt as she closed her legs around his humping ass and interlocked her ankles. He drove her bottom deep into the mattress with every thrust. She grunted, in time with his puffing breaths, each time she bounced back up. They were anything but elegant as their animal needs commandeered their bodies. With a howl Ted exploded on a dreadful powerful lunge. Isabel screamed as her delicious climax rolled and she rocked her contracting cunt around his shooting cock.

Spent and sated, the lovers collapsed into each others arms and lay wheezing in their recovery. Isabel slowly kneaded her fingers in Ted's middle back. He buried his face in her neck and nuzzled the hollow of her collarbone, basking in her warmth as she clung to him. Every time he fucked her, he thought how wonderfully different, and yet alike, she and Mary were in the clinches.

"You're a lucky duck, Pal," he said to himself, for the zillionth time in a decade, "to have these two women, whenever, and however, you want." Ted raised his head and kissed Isabel lovingly as his flaccid penis naturally fell free from her cum-filled cove. "I have to get going, Izzy," he whispered. "I have first period preparation, but obviously I can't be late for my own algebra class!"

Isabel smiled and stroked his cheek sweetly. "I know, Ted," she said, nearly inaudibly. "And I am SO grateful for you making time to make LOVE. Jock and I are pushing fifty, and he IS still a HORSE, but YOU... YOU keep me... YOUNG..." her voice trailed off as she kissed him and rolled from under his satisfying weight. "Now, get dressed and get going!" She spanked his bare butt smartly, got off the bed, and picked up a curler which had come loose and lay on her pillow.

Trotter laughed. Arranging himself in his underwear, he pulled up his trousers and shrugged into his jacket. As he straightened his tie and turned to leave, he said, "OK, Izzy. You're welcome, and thank YOU, too!" He stopped in the doorway, blew her a kiss and reminded her, "Mary and I will see you Sunday for bridge, as usual. Love to Jock!"

When Isabel heard Trotter's Ford pull away from the curb in front of 1024 Oak Avenue, she walked to the big bathroom. Turning on the taps in the huge porcelain claw-foot bathtub, she threw some perfumed salts into the roiling water. Stripping while the tub foamed, she swabbed her cunny and inner thighs with tissues, pensively gathering Ted's voluminous spunk as it turtled and oozed out of her. After tucking her hair under a protective cap, she slipped into the suds and lazily sponged herself, more for the pleasant rubbing sensation than anything else, while the steam rose and filled her with warmth.

Relaxing as the hot water gently sloshed with her slow movements, Isabel closed her eyes, soaked and reflected. As she often did, after fucking her daughter's, or her own, husband, Isabel thanked God that Cecilia had no particular physical features to empirically suggest which man was her true father. Ted assumed, unquestioningly, that Jock had sired Cecie, while Jock had no idea he was a continuing constant cuckold. Meanwhile, no one knew that Ted was among that unfortunate population of men who naturally fired blanks every time they discharged their weapon and therefore was not biologically responsible for either Cecilia or Arthur.

Twenty blocks away, at 46 1/2 Garvey Street, while her mother was lounging in bubble bath, Mary McGuinness Trotter prepared for her own Friday. She swished her Gillette safety razor and placed it on the edge of the sink. Still balanced with her left foot propped on the toilet lid, Mary swiped her leg with a damp cloth and smiled. "Smooth as glass," she complimented herself. After massaging a rill of Jergens lotion into her shin, and around her calf, she switched and shaved her right leg in the same careful efficient manner.

Strolling naked into the master bedroom, Mary stood briefly in front of her upright oval dressing mirror and grinned with self-satisfaction. She was certainly not the eighteen-year-old ingénue she was ten years ago, but she was proud she had retained her resplendent hourglass figure. She was prouder yet that she successfully managed, week in and week out, to divide herself between three active lovers.

"You told Papa you would never ever tell," Mary mused aloud to her reflection. "And you assured Teddy you could be very discreet." Turning away from the mirror, she walked to her bureau and picked up a framed photograph of her accidental son. She loved him dearly, and had long since gotten over not knowing whether Ted or her father impregnated her. She kissed Arthur's picture and said, "YOU are proof, if any is needed, that your mother can keep a secret."

Opening her jewelry box, she looked at a gold half-eagle coin glinting among her costume earrings and necklaces. Flashing back to her long-ago picnic quickie in the backseat of Mr. Farragut's brand new Cadillac, Mary muttered, "...and STILL no one's the wiser, Eli." She pulled out a small pair of rhinestone earrings and a cultured pearl choker he had given her, put them on and then snapped the lid shut.

From her lingerie drawer, she pulled a pair of naughtily skimpy snow-white sateen panties and a black Chantilly lace garter belt. Both items were also gifts from Farragut and came direct from Paris, France. As she wiggled into the garments, she hummed a nondescript tune, then laughed and said to herself, "He who pays the piper gets to call the tune." It pleased her to please the old gentleman, and his generosity to her, through the years, was also most pleasing.

Ten minutes later, Mary walked out of the Trotter cottage. A primrose-lined brick path meandered fifty yards, across the great fenced Garvey Street lot, to the back porch of Eli Farragut's tall green-and-ivory Victorian house. Passing beneath the bows of fragrant blossoming apple trees, she climbed the steps and entered. She did not knock.

Mary moved through large kitchen and set her purse on the tiled drain board next to a basket filled with fresh breadsticks. She idly picked one up, turned the oven on to 350 degrees, then continued through to the main house. The hall was dark, and crowded with odd ornate furniture, but she needed no light as she quietly walked toward the sound of a radio in Farragut's favorite haunt.

When Mary opened the double oak doors to the library, her patron was sitting at his massive mahogany desk. He looked up at the interruption and beamed at her more brilliantly than the sunrays which lit the room. With surprising speed for a seventy-two-year-old man, he stood, strode to the nearby Zenith console radio and snapped off the news crackling through its speaker.

Turning around, he exclaimed, "My dear, MARY! What a delightful, perfectly timed distraction you are to the dreary world news. The Nazis have taken the Lowland Countries and seem unstoppable. They're moving into FRANCE, now!" He shook his head sadly, then brightened again. "Do come to the couch... I have something for you."

Mary's high spirits rose even more, as they always did, with Farragut's greeting. Tall and gaunt, his dour craggy facial features belied his sweet nature which he unstintingly favored her with. Crossing the heavy Oriental carpet, she tried to ease his mind. "Don't fret so, Eli... Papa and Ted both say the Atlantic will keep Hitler in Europe..."

He interrupted her, flatly, "They're wrong. Isolationism is not the answer." Catching himself, he quickly changed gears. "But THIS is our FRIDAY... let's not waste a moment of our morning on politics and war." Eli scanned Mary from head to toe. Her long blonde hair was tucked up under a crisp cloche cap, but a few tantalizing strands wispily escaped their bonds.

Eli approached and touched her pearls, remembering how happy and grateful she had been when he presented them to her on her twenty-first birthday. "These are lovely, and made lovelier by your wearing them," he said softly, as his fingers fiddled with the single-button modesty closure of her starched black linen maid's dress. Twisting it open, he spread the white choir-boy collar. Her décolletage deepened, as did the color in her cheeks. Mary loved that his bold intimate attentions still disconcerted and thrilled her.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, with a slight curtsey as she eased into their weekly role-play. Her breasts swelled and elevated the starched white muslin bib of her ruffled pinafore apron. Eli's old cock stirred. "You said you had something for me... a new feather-duster, perhaps?"

Farragut guided his tenant's wife to a deep button-upholstered camel back couch. As she sat on the plush copper velvet seat, he lifted a heavy crystal bottle from a side table and handed it to her. "Eau de Joy... Jean Patou... Paris," Mary read the label aloud. Practicing her French, which Eli had been teaching her for the past several months, she asked, "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

Farragut took the bottle back and opened it while he answered, with a flawless Parisian accent, "Ce parfum est préféré par Joséphine Baker, le toast des Folies Bergère." Continuing, he said, "I think you should be as fragrantly endowed as the glittering stage stars." He dabbed a drop behind each of Mary's rhinestones and then traced a third application from the hollow of her throat to the top of her newly revealed cleavage.

"Mmmmmm, Merci, mon cher," Mary murmured as she inhaled the wonderful light scent. "You are too good to me."

"Nonsense," Eli demurred. "It is YOU who are GOOD. Both TO, and FOR, me. I'm sure I'd be pushing up daisies by now, if you weren't here keeping my blood flowing!"

Mary pushed her left hand through the front fold of Farragut's gold paisley silk robe. Curling her palm around his sinewy thigh, she slid over his left pajama leg down to his knee and then up to his crotch. Hefting his heavy loose balls beneath his growing cock, she cooed, "Shall I dust these old things for you M'sieur?"

Farragut groaned as his gut churned and his half-hard dick raised its head. "Ifff... you th-think they... n-neeeed it, m-ma chérie d'amour." By the time he stammered and panted his answer, Eli's boner had expanded to its full eight inches. His fat knob danced outside his robe in front of Mary's nose.

"Oh, OUI! I most certainly DO!" She exclaimed with a grin. Palping his nuts gently, she gripped the base of his root in her right fist and pulled him forward a half-step to the edge of the couch. "And this RAIL could use some spit and polish, as well, I think!" Without further ado, Mary split her lips around Eli's swollen velvet helmet and tucked its rim behind her teeth.

Farragut gnarred deep in his throat as his faux-maid drew him deep into hers. Her wet warmth and slow deliberate suction tormented him. He laced his fingers behind her bobbing head and rocked his hips. Mary's cap tumbled to the sofa and her hair fell about her face and shoulders. Eli massaged her scalp as she stroked and sucked him. Just as he was about to deliver the goods, she shook her head free and looked up at him.

"Non, non, M'sieur," she clucked, "it is too EARLY!"

Farragut grabbed her head, thrust his cock back into Mary's mouth and growled, "Early NOW means longer, LATER... finish me!"

Smiling around his throbbing joint, Mary settled back to her task. With Eli's tickling prick well lodged, she slipped her right hand around to his butt and squeezed his skinny flexing cheeks through his satin pajama trousers. His reheated eggs quickly rose to a boil. She felt them retract and relaxed her throat. Farragut clenched all his muscles and unloaded. His hopping pulsing hose deluged her as her Adam's apple worked double time to keep up with the volume.

With a great exhale, Eli relaxed and pulled himself from Mary's mouth. She dropped his nuts, seized his softening stalk in her left hand and cleaned the semen streamers from its head as he retreated. Licking her lips, she grinned up at him, held out the breadstick she had brought from the kitchen and whispered, "And I have something for YOU to use... while we wait... for 'LATER'."

"Merci, ma petite," Eli said huskily, once his chest quit heaving within his robe. He took the flourished ten-inch glazed wand, examined it and continued, "Although this is longer than you are accustomed to... I hope it's thinness will not disappoint."

"Je suis sûr," Mary replied, coyly, "that the Master will guarantee my satisfaction by his skill." Standing up, she reversed herself, then climbed on her knees to the center of the sofa and hugged her chest to the velvet as she spread her legs.

Farragut lifted the maid uniform dress to the middle of Mary's back. She had no petticoat and her heart-shaped bottom quivered with anticipation in its thin pearlescent sheath. Eli plucked the back right garter strap and released it sharply onto her creamy thigh. "I see you are wearing your special pretties for me, this morning." He rubbed his left palm across her cheeks while he snapped her strap once more.

Mary's leaking pussy darkened the snowy panties' gusset. Eli extended his right thumb from her garter and pressed the moist sateen into her defined camel-toe. She moaned and tipped her head back on her shoulders as her cunt oozed through the material around his pollex. Leaning forward, Farragut kissed the small of Mary's back and crooned, "Tu es tellement humide ma douce."