Labor Day

The tears welling in my eyes blurred my vision, and I suddenly realized I didn't know how long I'd been beating the lemon curd. Where was our marriage going? Was it over between me and Mark? I'd do anything, if only...

Over the grinding roar of the antiquated mixer, I heard the front door slam.

"Lisa?" I hollered, expecting to hear her typical, Philly-bred, 'Hi-ya, Peg'.

There was no response. A frisson tingled at my nape. I turned off the mixer and pulled my terry robe tight around me. It was the only thing I'd thrown on after my shower. The family mountain cabin had no neighbors for a half mile, and nobody else was supposed to arrive for Thanksgiving dinner for another few hours yet.

"Lisa?" I said again, weakly. "Who - who's there?"

The intruder's heavy footsteps echoed from the living room. I fingered the handle of a carving knife.

All of my tension melted at the sight of my father-in-law's grin turning the corner. I exhaled thankfully, allowing myself to breathe again.

"Good morning, Bill," I said, hugging his neck.

His manly arms wrapped me in a bear hug, and I squealed as he lifted me off the floor, as he often did. He kissed my cheek. "I'm guessin' pretty Peg got turkey duty this year."

I nodded. "Yeah, it was about time. I went eight years without drawing the long straw." Tradition among his four sons' wives was long straw does the turkey, short does the cleanup.

He put a lingering kiss on my forehead. "I'm so glad it's you this year. I've been waitin' a long time for this." Then he gave me a concerned look. "Are you okay, Peg?" he asked, his thumb wiping a tear from my cheek.

"Yeah, Bill," I replied, wiping my face with the terry sleeve. "I - I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed at the moment. Lisa suggested I should come up last night so I could get started early this morning. She told me she would be here to help, but then she called and said she was running late. That's who I thought you were."

"I'm afraid not. She's a helluva' lot prettier than me," he chuckled. Raising a brow, he asked, "My youngest son isn't here, is he?"

"No," I sighed. "Mark had some proposal he had to get done for one of his customers. He said he'd be here this afternoon."

"That boy works too damn much," Bill grumbled under his breath. Was that a flicker of a grin?

"Yeah," I replied wistfully. After eight years, Mark and I had been struggling desperately with our marriage. With no children to hold us together - my husband's sperm count was extraordinarily low - we seemed to be drifting apart. Mark's job was consuming more and more of his time. I even had suspicions there might be someone else. I wasn't about to discuss any of that with his family, though. "Why are you here so early?" I asked Bill, putting on a more sociable face. "Did you hear Mr. Jameson calling you?" I quipped.

Bill smiled broadly. Irish whiskey on Thanksgiving was only one of their many family traditions. "''Tis ne'er too airly in th' mairnin' fer a bit o'that, lassie," he quipped. "Ye'll join me, won'cha'? Eh, Peg?"

I was more of a wine-drinker, but it would have been impolite, and a few sips wouldn't hurt.

"Sure'n begorrah. Make it lassie-sized." I replied.

Bill shook with a hearty laugh. "There's the spirit, Peg!"

He poured each of us a shot and raised a toast to dear, old Tom Turkey. We tossed back the entire shot together, and he poured himself another one. The burn was short-lived, and the smoky, mellow flavor seemed to soften the edges of my anxiety almost immediately. I held up my glass for another, and Bill gave me an odd smile as he filled it, not quite as much as before. He told me I was cut off - he didn't want anything sauced in the kitchen but the cranberries.

"I usually come up the night before, too," he told me. He took another long sip, but all the while he was looking at me intently. Then he went on casually, "An old friend surprised me late yesterday when he blew into town. After we emptied half a bottle catching up on old times, I was in no condition to drive. I really wanted to be here to spend some quality time with my youngest daughter-in-law." I smiled and he gave me a flirty wink. That was just Bill. I winked back. "Also, I wanted I better check the heater. Yeah, the blower was whining when I came up in October. That old motor may be on its last leg. Hell, it's been here since before..." Abruptly, his face fell.

I understood. It was Thanksgiving day twenty years ago that Maggie had died, leaving Bill to raise their four sons alone. This holiday had been special for their family ever since.

After a few moments of respectful silence, I cheerfully changed the subject. "Thought I'd whip up a lemon pie for dessert."

"Yum," he said, licking his lips.

His surreptitious glance at the generous view of pale cleavage offered by my loose robe made me wonder if he was talking about the lemon pie. Bill's misbehavior didn't bother me, however. He was a really sweet man, though a little old-fashioned, and I didn't mind giving my father-in-law a cheap thrill now and then. The other wives said that he had dated a few times, but he had never found anyone he was serious about. I'd often wondered why. He was a fine catch for some lucky woman: a rugged, manly man, but thoughtful and tender. I could only hope that Mark would look so good when he got that age - assuming we stayed together.

Dipping my finger in the thick lemon sauce, I offered him a dollop. "You want a taste?"

He startled me by grasping my wrist firmly and taking my whole finger into his mouth. He held it between his lips long after the curd was gone, nursing gently at my finger, his tongue lapping at the soft pads, his face a mask of pure satisfaction.

It had been so long since I'd felt something quite so sensual. I still wonder how things might have been different if I had not chosen that moment to close my eyes and utter a small whimper.

I caught myself immediately and opened my eyes wide, shocked at my own lasciviousness. Staring up at Bill, I found him gazing down into my eyes intensely. I was stunned. He slowly withdrew my finger through his wet, clinging lips. Then, without losing eye contact, and still firmly holding my wrist, he gathered some of the tart, yellow batter on his finger and held it to my lips.

My mouth opened of its own volition, and he laid his thick finger on my tongue. Still staring helplessly into his hypnotic blue eyes, I closed my lips around him, tasting both the sour concoction and the saltiness of his skin. A disconcerting realization swept over me that the gooey texture and odd combination of flavors were vaguely reminiscent of semen. Without thinking, I sucked at his finger, stroking the underside with my tongue, decadently fellating it. Bill pushed and pulled, twisting it slowly and seductively, as though fucking my mouth. I was disturbed to feel my nipples grow erect and sensitive, rubbing against the rough terry fabric, yet I felt unable - or unwilling - to stop the increasingly salacious flirting with my father-in-law. A tingle of moisture trickled between my legs.

He withdrew his finger, then reached behind my head and pulled the ribbon from my small ponytail. My hair fell loose around my shoulders.

"What are you doing, Bill?" I asked, suddenly aware of how close to the edge we were playing.

"You're a fine woman, Peggy," he said, pushing a stray lock out of my eyes. "Mark was lucky to find someone as special as you."

A look of lustful intent was on his face. I felt his other hand at my belly, working at the knot of my sash.

"Bill," I whispered, pleading, "We can't..."

The knot gave way and my robe fell open, exposing my nakedness.

"Bill..."

My father-in-law placed a finger against my lips to shush me. "You want this, Peggy," he whispered, clenching my nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger, caressing it.

I sucked in my breath and rubbed my legs together, vainly attempting to quell the insistent itch that kept growing stronger. This couldn't be happening.

He said, "You need this. Both of you do."

He knew?

"We shouldn't," I lamented breathlessly, but unconvincing, since I was palming the hard bulge in his jeans. As terribly wrong as this was, I also knew he was also right. I had already done the math. Today was a prime day in my cycle. Bill had a proven track record with four boys. Genetically, no one would ever know. I looked up at him. Except for a little graying at the temples of his jet black hair and the weathered, wrinkled skin, I saw the features that had attracted me to Mark: the same chiseled nose and chin, the full, beautiful lips, the low dark brow and those penetrating blue eyes. I quickly counted forward; with any luck, somewhere around Labor Day my husband would think we had made a miracle.

My fingers fumbled with my father-in-law's belt and zipper, distracted by his adept fondling of my swollen lips and the delicate, knowing attentions to my swollen clit and my breasts. I finally worked his jeans open and tugged them down, surprised to find no underwear. His erection sprang forward and bobbed in the open air. It was so similar to Mark's, yet different. The low-hanging, uneven ball sac and plum-colored, bulbous head were the same, but thick blue veins meandered up each side of Bill's. Was it really bigger? I stroked it a few times before Bill pushed the robe off my shoulders and lifted me under my armpits effortlessly, setting me on the edge of the counter.

The alignment was perfect. I leaned back, lifted my knees, and his crown prodded at my slit. I took in a sharp breath as it popped through, and I saw it disappear inside. I couldn't believe how sopping wet I was. Even still, both of us pushed and shoved several times before I felt his full length. He seemed so much more - more filling than Mark. He looked on me lovingly as he began to move, slowly rocking to and fro, spreading me with a gentle side-to-side motion. His massive hands held my breasts, massaging them tenderly, his thumbs teasing the nipples.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him in toward me more forcefully. We didn't have much time - someone could burst through the door at any moment. He responded, thrusting more vigorously and tweaking my nipples. He grasped one hip firmly, like a handle, guiding my motions. With a hand behind my back, he sat me up, bringing our faces only inches apart. I was entranced by his eyes, and fell into them. Our lips were nearly touching. Tilting my head, I shut my eyes and closed the space between us, and we kissed for the first time, deeply and soulfully, our tongues entwining sensually while his marvelous penis steadily raked the walls of my puss.

Bill's hands slid under my butt and lifted me off the counter. Still attached at our sexes and our mouths, he carried me to the massive oak dining room table and sat me on the edge. It was lower than the counter, and he laid me back on the cold hardwood and bent over me, pinning my arms to the table. The positioning at this angle was fantastic! His shaft stroked along my clit with each energetic thrust, and I felt myself approaching a climax. I rarely came when Mark and I fucked. The rough fabric of his shirt rubbed my nipples steadily, and moments later I loudly gave in to the thrill that raced from my ass straight up my spine.

In the middle of my orgasm, Bill suddenly withdrew.

"No! Don't stop!" I begged, but my disappointment was short lived. He fell to his knees and thrust his face between my legs, slurping noisily at my juices, gnawing on my swollen labia and ramming his tongue surprisingly deep into my vagina. He began long, slow licks up the cleft that soon quickened, and I found myself clutching the sides of the table, my back arched, groaning deliriously as another climax took me. He didn't stop, but focused the tip of his tongue on the hood, rapidly flicking, while two of his thick fingers reamed my hyper-excited, gushing puss. Then I felt his pinky poking at my rear entrance - a place Mark never ventured - and when he wormed his finger in, a third wave washed over me.

Rare and enthusiastic expletives burst from my screaming mouth. "Fuck! Bill, stop! Please, stop! Oh, fuck! I can't take it. Please...fuck me!"

Obediently, he stood, grinning from ear to ear, and slammed his prick back into me, forcing the air from my lungs with a grunt. He propped my ankles on his shoulders, wrapped his might arms around my thighs, and ravished me in earnest, lunging ferociously. I responded with equal fervor. Our pelvises crashed together with wet slaps. His huge, calloused hands grasped my breasts roughly, employing them as handles, leverage for his increasingly savage assault.

With steadily rising whimpers of "Oh, Peg! Oh - oh, ohmigod, Peg..." my father-in-law closed his eyes, impaled me once more, then threw his head back and froze, delivering his precious family seed deep against my cervix where it belonged.

Bill collapsed on the table next to me, and we looked into each other's eyes, silently, with labored breaths and lips touching tenderly as our bodies recovered. Somehow, with that mysterious sense that women have, I knew that I was well on my way to motherhood.

It had all happened so quickly. This was the sticky part, dealing with the consequences. Where did we go from here? My eyes must have shown my concerns, because when I opened my mouth to ask, Bill placed his finger against my lips again and smiled.

"I just want you and Mark to be happy, Peg. This stays between you and me. No one else needs to know." he said.

I nodded and mouthed the words, "Thank you." Just as I curled my hand behind his neck to pull him to a deep kiss, the sharp click of high heels resounded from the wooden porch.

We jumped off of the table. Bill snatched his clothes from the floor and rushed to the bathroom to dress, while I quickly tied my robe, grabbed the mixer and began working on the lemon pie. I heard the front door open, followed by Lisa's bright "Hi-ya, Peg."

She came straight to the kitchen, her arms filled with grocery bags and her three-month old. She took one look at me, and her grinning face turned serious. "Are you alright, Peg?"

"I'm fine, Lisa," I said, then forced a smile. "Wh-why do you ask?"

"Your face. It's so flushed. Are you sure you're not coming down with something?"

"I'm positive," I said. "I feel great. Never felt better, in fact."

I looked as innocent as I could, but cool semen trickled down my inner thigh, and I shivered involuntarily just as the toilet flushed and Bill came out, grinning sheepishly. Lisa turned a sideways look toward him, then back at me, and gave both of us a quirky smile. Had she guessed something?

"Hi-ya, Bill," she said, and gave him a hug around the neck, kissed his cheek, and then handed him her baby. I prayed that my father-in-law had thought to wash his face, or she was certain to have tasted me on him. She showed no sign that she picked up on anything. "Been here long?" she asked him. Was it just my conscience, or did her tone seem heavy with meaning?

"No, I made it here just about a half hour ago. Didn't come up last night like I usually do, and got a late start this morning," he said.

"Oh..." she said, with a raised brow. "Everything okay?" she asked him, with a quick side glance toward me. I was shaking. Oh, my God. She could ruin everything, for both of us.

"We're all fine, Lisa," he said, and kissed her forehead. "Everything's perfect."

"Super," she said happily, apparently satisfied.

Bill took his newest grandchild to the living room to play, and I turned around and began mixing the curd again, anything to distract me from the cognitive dissonance, and to keep me from looking my sister-in-law in the eye.

Lisa picked up the red ribbon from the counter and tied my hair back again. I was trembling. Oh, God. She had to know.

"Alright Peg, you're the boss today," she said. "That's the family tradition. What do you need me to do?"

"I - I don't know, Lisa. I - I'm..." I was coming unhinged. Tears clouded my eyes again.

She held my shoulders and turned me around, raising my chin to face her. My guilt had to be evident in my eyes.

"Listen, Peg," she said firmly. "Everything's going to be just fine. Don't worry about a thing. We are all behind you, one hundred percent. Trust me - we've all been through this, just like you."

I seriously doubted that.

"It's going to be a busy day," she continued blithely. Taking the blender from my hand, she said, "I'll finish this. You go upstairs and take a few minutes to get yourself composed. Lie down if you need to. Maybe a shower would help," she suggested with a raised brow.

I'd already had one, but now I needed another. Could she smell the scent of sex that wafted around me?

I took Lisa's recommendations. I lay down for a few minutes, propping my butt up to maximize my chance of conception, then took another quick shower. I tried to focus on the dinner menu and timetable to take my mind off of what we'd done, and what would happen if Lisa even hinted to someone about any suspicions. I needed to talk with her privately, to carefully draw out what she was thinking, and what she might do.

I never got the chance. She had been right; the rest of the day was a blur. It was a challenge to juggle all of the responsibilities, but the other wives were ultra-helpful, especially Lisa. Each of them had organized the mad scramble of preparing the family Thanksgiving several times, and they worked seamlessly to keep everything flowing smoothly.

Overwhelming guilt set in when Mark finally showed. I had to be careful that I didn't say or do something that might suggest anything had happened. If I hadn't been so worried about what it would do to the relationship between Mark and his father, I might have simply confessed my infidelity. Except it didn't feel like infidelity. Somehow, it felt right. I had a baby growing inside me, and I could even tell myself it was Mark's.

It helped that Bill was his usual gregarious self, playing with all the grand-kids, hugging the women while he was sneaking little snacks from the kitchen, and keeping everyone's glasses full of alcohol - except mine. He made sure I got ginger ale, straight. Also, I noticed that the heater seemed to be fine all day - never heard the slightest bit of noise, and I never saw Bill working on it. Then there was the bizarre coincidence of his special offer and my cycle. Could he have somehow known...?

Such questions were forgotten and the flutters gradually went away as I got caught up in the dinner activities. We put the meal on the table right on time; the turkey was tender and moist, and the pie was lovely, as well as the rest of a meal fit to feed a small army. Fortunately, that's what we had - the nine of us adults were seated around the big table, along with Lisa's newest in his high-chair, and the ten other grand-kids scattered around the living room and breakfast nook.

The family was strong on tradition. One was the giving of thanks by each person before the meal. Bill always went last. Sitting there at the head of the table - where not so long before my ass had been dancing happily while he fucked me silly - my father-in-law told everyone, "I'm thankful that God guided the four most exquisitely beautiful, the most sweet and loving women in all the world to my lucky sons." He looked at each of us wives in turn as he said that, and when his eyes caught mine, I felt the heat rise in my face, and a fresh dampness in my panties.

"And a special thanks for Peg," he added. "For her strong heart and giving attitude, and for all of the wonderful things she did for everyone here today." He raised his glass, and everybody clapped and cheered for me. I don't think anyone else saw his wink.

Mark leaned over and whispered, "I'm so proud of you, Peg," then kissed my cheek.