Games Some People Play!

"Can I ask you something, Mom?"

"Why not?" Sandra sighed. "Don't want to invade my privacy?"

"I see what you mean," said Stephanie. "Too late for that."

"In this life, yes."

Whether out of exhaustion, or need to call time out on the mounting violence, or mere thirst, my birthday bash had mutated into a real cocktail party. We stood around the living room drinking wine (Butch said she was AA and took ice water). A semblance of normality!

Except, of course, Stephanie and her Mom, like all of us, were stark naked, standing a few feet apart in a tete a tete, or tit a tit, a wag might say, holding their wine glasses and for all the world having a nice mother-daughter chat.

"How did you and Susan get all the boob in the family, and I got this." She waved at her knock-out pretty titties. Then, reaching toward her Mom, she asked: "May I?"

"We don't ask permission at this party," replied Sandra. "You want a piece of my ass, you just get'em to held my legs apart and go for it." She hesitated. "By the way, can I ask you...?"

"Wait, I asked, first," said Stephanie. Her extended hand now cupped Sandra's D+ gourd in her right hand and hefted it thoughtfully. She said, examining it, "You've got more than three times what I've got!"

Sandra looked down, frowning. She nodded slowly and said, "Dad's Mom, Selena, was svelte, like you, as I recall. A real Vogue model. Gorgeous."

"But no boobs," said Stephanie drily. She added, "Hey what is this thing with "S" in our family? Selena, Sandra, Susan, Stephanie..."

"There is a certain Jewish thing," said Sandra, thoughtfully. "Using the first letter of a name. Bad luck to use the whole name when the older person is still living..."

"But that wasn't the reason," said Stephanie definitely.

"I guess not, no. Are you unhappy with your endowment? I guarantee, you're sensational. At my age, you'll be as bouncy as you are today." She reached over. "May I?"

"Oh, sure," said Stephanie shrugging. Sandra cupped Stephanie's whole left tit with her right hand. She said, "How buoyant your breasts are, at any age, has to do with the ratio between the size of the base that's attached to the body and the size of the boob. If you have balloons floating on your chest at 16, with a small base for their size, then by... who said this? Right, Marlon Brando. 'Last Tango in Paris'. By 45, you'll be playing soccer with your boobs."

"You aren't exactly mopping the floor with yours," said Stephanie.

"I've worked like a bitch on my pecs, for one thing. For another, these are the breasts of an 'older woman.'" She puffed her chest, sticking them out. "I have great tits for—qualification-an 'older woman.' At my age, you'll have great tits, period."

Stephanie was blinking hard. I spied the glint of a tear. She said, in a husky voice, "Thanks, Mom," and suddenly lowered her head and took Sandra's right nipple in her mouth." By then, tears were rolling down her face.

I saw Sandra's whole body contract, as though to pull back, but she did not. She only said, "Oh, my... That does feel nice." And she added, "You know that we return to our own dimension, on Earth, after this, and pretend we all had the same opium dream and now the visitor from Porlock has arrived."

"But why?" Stephanie's mouth had come off the job very quickly; her cheeks burned bright red.

Sandra took a huge breath, which had the unintended effect of glorifying her bosom, sighed, and said: "Little girl. You can have whatever sex life you want, as long as it's safe and you aren't hurting anyone. And I'll love you to death. But I am not debating the pros and cons of doing it with Mom. The answer is: 'No. Just because...'"

Almost unconsciously, Stephanie had raised her hands to cover her chest. She said, all business, "You had a question for me, too?"

Sandra frowned for a moment. "Yes! I did. You got a really good look at my vagina, right? Nothing left to imagine. And you watched me through three screaming orgasms, right?"

Stephanie's eyes were lowered. "I watched every second."

"Right," said Sandra. "My question: Were you shocked? I mean, are you traumatized? I'd like to know. It might add or subtract five percent from my life-long guilt about what happened, today?"

Stephanie looked at her, nodding slightly; she still covering herself with her small hands. Finally, she glanced down, and said, lowering her voice to a whisper, "I was totally turned on. You were too freaked to notice. I was jerking myself off, watching. I came twice."

"Riiight..." said Sandra very slowly, nodding, then nodding again. In fact, she kept nodding, as though postponing a reply. She said, again, "Riiight..." and the nodding went on. A very tenacious effort to get her mind around it all.

She looked up, suddenly. "But you didn't plan all this, I assume?" The CEO was back, her gaze boring into Stephanie, searching for dissimulation."

"Mom," said Stephanie, very deliberately, "I came here this afternoon expecting an empty house for a weekend at which I and my weird, perverted, sometimes dangerous fuck buddies—whom I love—could relax. When I found Tommy hanging there, I was blown away. But I do—can you tell?—get into weird situations, sexually, and I very quickly...well, you know, adjusted. So fucking obvious what Susan was doing. I mean, string up hubby, leave him, invite your little sister over with her bi-, lesbian, kinky, fun-loving buddies, and also schedule your mother to arrive? The women in our family are smart. This was 2 plus 2."

"And Tommy was up for it, for sure."

"Course!" He teased and goaded me into tearing off his pants. I was getting to play with my big sister's favorite toy. He's wanted to fuck me since I met him before he and Susan were even an item."

Sandra covered her face with her palms, and, through them, muttered, "Where is my eldest daughter, what is thinking, why did she do this, and what happens now?" And she suddenly blurted out, "Fuck!" And then, louder, "Fuck, fuck, fuck! What is this all about?"

"You know what Mom?" Stephanie's had lowered her hands. Her petite titties were stiff; maybe she didn't care anymore. "Right this minute, I could rip off all of Susan's clothes and tie her legs wide apart, and kiss her tits and suck her cunt and lick her asshole till she faints."

"How long have you felt this way?"

"Since I watched her getting married to Tommy."

"Susan's no dummy. She must know it. She must have some sense about it, at least?"

"I never said or did anything. Openly."

"I loathe this expression," said Sandra, "but 'a woman knows.'"

"I think so, too."

"So, she knew you were cast for this role..." said Sandra, her gaze far off. She hesitated, "You would go for Tommy. You would have no sense of 'How can I do this?'"

Stephanie shrugged. "She knows I'm bi."

"I wonder if our Miss Susan, after planning all this, expects to just resume happy, monogamous married life, with Tommy, now that he's sown his wild oats-again?"

"Pisses me off. Me, for one," said Stephanie. She added, "As much as I got off on watching your rape."

"Glad you enjoyed it, dear. So did I." But Sandra spoke as though absent-minded, on automatic pilot, frowning, and I knew her mind was far away.

I suppose I'd better get back to my narration. I'm at risk of screwing up the point of view. I had been catching up on chardonnay, standing by the fireplace with Sundance/Angelina. Then, I heard Sandra and Stephanie begin to talk, and I raised my finger to my lips. Angelina smiled and nodded. I curled my finger in a gesture and she cheerfully advanced. I reached out and drew her to me, pressing the whole length of her lanky body against mine. I whispered, "I've got to hear this! Family politics."

Her soulful smile was perfect; her eyes said: Anything, anything, you want.

After a minute or two of our pantomime clutch, her service orientation got the best of her, and her long, slender fingers crept down. She knew I wanted no distraction. With just the side of the fingernail of her forefinger, she exquisitely teased my little meatus at the entrance to the valley between the smooth red hillocks of my glans penis. Not enough to distract me from listening. Enough to convince me for the rest of my life that I could stand here, with a glass of chardonnay, and the edge of that finger would keep me rock hard, my stiff dick rubbing occasionally against the satin of Angelina's firm belly...

"Okay! Listen up! We have more to do!"

Butch raised her massive arms, walking slowly around the room. But she stopped precisely between Sandra and me. I felt my journey of bliss cut short. I turned and said, "This party is over, Butch!"

I wasn't wound up to resist.

"Party Pooper!" bellowed Butch, and she shoved my arm so hard that I dropped my glass, which exploded in musical tinkling in the fireplace, and I bashed into the brick wall of the same fireplace.

"Hey!" I barked, but I already felt put in my place.

Butch had seized Sandra's upper arm, now, trying to master her. I heard Butch say, "I can't go home without watching Mommy get dick! Only candidate is Tommy! Let's do it, shall we? And I want Stephanie right where she can watch Mommy get it!"

You already are half beaten when you're naked, have been fucked, have 'seen everything'. And, hey, shag Sandra? Angelina already had my prick throbbing. I glanced at her; but those soul-searching eyes would not meet mine. So I turned to look at Sandra.

And she was looking right back at me. Ignoring Butch. What could be more expressive? This was when we joined forces to say "No!"

But I didn't want to say 'No!' Shag Sandra? Oh yeah!

Never, ever, underestimate a mother when her family is at stake! It was the most shameful moment of my life. I had vowed, with Sandra, my mother-in-law, that we would stand up to Butch. Now, offered Sandra's pussy, I wanted it.

Butch had seized Sandra's bicep, the grip gouging into her upper arm. I saw Sandra turn to Butch, with that ultimate smile of courtesy and iron self-possession, and Sandra was saying, "Oh, Butch. Don't do this, dear! We've had a great time. Don't push it, love." I mean, how much more gracious can you be?

Was Sandra begging not to be fucked by her son in law?

"Tommy!" roared Butch. "Get your hard-on over here. You're going to service your mother-in law!" Butch was braying, again. Then, she shoved Sandra toward me and said, "Bend over, cunt! Give it up!"

At that moment, I was taught the lesson of my life. I tell you that, in my humiliation, because I am the one telling this story, and the truth is that I was no hero. No hero at all.

I saw Butch's pincer grip cut into the flesh of Sandra's upper arm, and Butch said, again, "Bend over and give it up!"

It was what I expected. Sandra's hand flew to her mouth, and she said, "Oh, no, please!" And Stephanie actually came forward and said, "Stop! Butch, stop!"

And then, in a fraction of a moment, I saw the hand that Sandra had raised to face stiffen in the time-honored karate move to prepare a strike. I saw her long, muscular forearm go rigid as an iron rod, and her bicep swell, and her jaw go rigid, her eyes flash flames, and that arm lashed back so the sharp bone of the elbow hammered deep into Butch's solar plexus.

The solar plexus is a strange spot; it is at the very top of the V of the ribs, centered below the chest, and it cannot be protected by muscle. It is a potential death blow in karate.

Sandra's elbow hammered the spot as though every ounce of her conviction, and training, focused into that strike, and spot, and she drove iron into it.

I saw Butch's broad, smiling face go scarlet, her eyes explode open, her mouth gape as though to vomit. She staggered. Her massive arms were spread, now. And then, almost before I registered the first blow, I saw—and heard—the second violent hammer blow strike exactly the same place. And Butch's huge body was falling forward. As quick as was Sandra's third strike, Butch was falling too fast. So, instead, the hammer caught her in the mouth, as her head fell, and I dimly perceived that blood spattered.

The massive body was bent double, far, far over. And I saw Sandra, with both hands, seize the hair of the bent head, and, with every ounce of her weight, slam Butch's face down. But, as Butch's head lashed down, mouth open to vomit, Sandra's knee, rising, met it, and there was an awful crunch.

Then, still gripping the hair, Sandra seemed to rise in the air, a little jump, and thrash head downward so Butch's face slammed into the floor.

In a moment, Sandra's lithe body, still naked, was astride the massive fallen torso, her arm was extended, her voice barking a command: "Tommy! Give me that fucking rope!"