Magnus and His Family

Magnus and His Family (Chapter 7)

Kathryn M. Burke

Curt moved into Imogen and Paul's apartment in mid-October, about two weeks after his first encounter with Paul's mom. In the interim he had met with Imogen twice more, and both of them were so taken with each other that Imogen had made the offer of cohabitation eagerly and enthusiastically. Curt agreed with humility and excitement.

There wasn't another bedroom for him, but there was no need of it. By mutual and unspoken consent, it was agreed that each man would occupy Imogen's bedroom on alternate nights, and the arrangement quickly became thoroughly satisfactory for everyone. And it didn't take long for Imogen to learn a lot more about her new friend and bedmate.

After some vigorous copulation (both vaginal and anal) that had resulted in a pair of orgasms for both of them, Imogen lay on her back, and Curt rested his head on her breasts—something that Imogen sensed was deeply important to the young man, as he kissed and licked and kneaded those large, firm globes in an act that came close to worship. As she stroked the back of his head, she said casually:

"So your family's down in Virginia?"

She felt a stiffening in Curt's whole body. That reaction dismayed her, but she felt she needed to get to the bottom of what was tormenting this otherwise healthy specimen of young masculinity.

"My dad is," he mumbled as he sucked on a nipple.

Are his parents divorced? That would be a shame.

"And—and your mom?" she said in a trembling voice.

Curt's right hand, which was gripping her left breast, tightened on it almost painfully. It took him a long time to reply: "She's . . . not around."

"Your parents split up?" Imogen whispered.

Curt turned his face up to his newfound love. "She—she died three years ago." And he buried his face in Imogen's breasts and began to cry softly.

"Omigod, I'm so sorry!" Imogen said—and shed a tear or two of her own.

She let Curt express his grief for quite a while, doing nothing but making herself available to him as a haven of sympathy and security. He did seem to find some comfort in her bosom, even if it saddened her to feel the wetness of his tears bedewing them.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Imogen said at last.

"There's not much to say," Curt mumbled, his lips still full of breast.

"What was she like?" she pursued.

"She was real pretty," Curt said. "But so much more than that—kind, sweet, super-smart, just an all-around good person."

"I'm sure she must have been. What—what happened exactly?"

"Brain tumor," Curt said bluntly. "It was all over so fast—she was dead just a few months after the diagnosis."

"Oh, how awful!" Imogen said, holding Curt even more tightly. "How did your dad take it?"

Curt sighed wearily. "He's never been the same since. It's like—like he's living with her ghost. He has this spooked expression on his face all the time."

"Oh, poor man! So . . . he hasn't made any effort to—?"

"To what?" Curt said, although he had a suspicion of what Imogen was going to say.

"You know . . . find someone else?"

"No way, man! She was the love of his life."

"Oh, but Curt, I don't think your mom would have wanted him to be alone the rest of his life! He must have a lot of years left."

"I keep trying to tell him that. But he won't listen."

Curt lapsed into a sort of mulish silence, and Imogen got the impression that he didn't want to talk about this subject anymore. And why would he? He gave out a hint that he wanted to do sixty-nine—something that Imogen really hadn't liked before with Magnus, but which she became more and more fond of with both Paul and Curt. For Curt, it provided a welcome distraction from his family troubles: the focus on Imogen's delicious sex, while she was orally stimulating his own, put everything else out of his mind.

As the weeks passed, Imogen's feelings toward Curt really began to deepen. Of course, Paul would always be first in her book (putting all thought of her ex-husband aside), but Curt showed himself to be a warm, kind, sensitive young man, very different from the seemingly rugged athlete he was on the field. In fact, there were times when he seemed a little too gentle, and she once brought this up during a pause in their lovemaking.

"Curt," she said, after he'd filled her pussy with his come, "you could be a little more . . . forceful."

He gave her a look that bordered on alarm. "I don't want to hurt you, ma'am."

"I'm pretty sure I can take whatever you dish out, my dear."

That little endearment made him flush. "Well, you know how it is. Not knowing my own strength and all. I'm a pretty big guy."

"Curt, women aren't quite as fragile as you seem to think."

That made Curt admit something he hadn't even told Paul—that the fact of his own size and strength had been a large part of the reason why he hadn't had any girlfriends before. He was in terror of causing physical harm or injury to a girl, in spite of his own good intentions.

"Oh, Curt, you dear, dear boy, that's so sweet of you!" Imogen exclaimed. "But really, you're worrying about nothing. I'm a pretty tough gal when it comes to that sort of thing."

"Maybe," he said broodingly, almost to himself, "I was also worried about . . . being hurt myself."

Imogen immediately knew what he was talking about. "You mean—emotionally?"

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Oh, Curt, that's just a part of life!" She let him resume his now standard position—his head on her bosom—and held him tight. "Sometimes you like someone and they don't like you back; sometimes they like you and you don't like them back. You just gotta go through things like that, until you find your match."

"Maybe I have," he mumbled between her breasts.

Imogen pretended not to hear that. The remark troubled her. She had no sense that she was anything like Curt's mom, but she continued to encourage both of her lovers to find suitable girls of their own age.

*

Alternating between Curt and Paul seemed to work pretty well for Imogen, and for the boys. But there was a time, one Saturday night, when the guys consulted with each other and then marched quietly into Imogen's bedroom—naked.

She had expected only Paul to show up, and she wasn't even sure that any intimacy was going to be involved. After all, they had just participated in a rugged game (the team had won, but just barely), and both of them must have been tired.

As she gazed upon these two splendid specimens of young manhood, their members rapidly swelling, she said, "What's the deal, boys?"

Paul had the good grace to look a little sheepish. "We just wondered, um, if you'd like to—you know . . ."

"No, I don't know," she snapped. She really did, and she sensed that this moment would come; but she was determined to have the guys lay it out explicitly.

"Oh, Mom, you know what I'm trying to say. We were hoping you'd like—both of us."

She looked sharply at her men. "It would have been nice if you'd have consulted me ahead of time."

"We're consulting you now!" Curt added in a kind of whine.

"Oh, is that what you call it? It looks more like you're putting me on the spot."

"I

told

you this would be a bad idea, man!" Curt chided his friend.

He seemed to be on the point of turning around and bolting from the room when Imogen said mildly: "It's okay. I don't mind admitting that, um, it was something that had crossed my mind too."

"Really?" Paul enthused.

"Yes, really."

Paul gave out a low chuckle. "I guess you've never done this before."

"Of course not!" Imogen said, outraged. "Who would I have done it with?"

Magnus and—who?

"I was just asking."

"Well, I haven't. But if you guys want to, well, go ahead. Just don't, you know, manhandle me."

They gave their promise, but their eagerness got the better of them. They all but leaped upon the bed, on either side of her, as she was resting with her back against the headboard. They came close to tearing off her nightgown as they struggled to pull it over her head, until she upbraided them and said sharply, "Will you let me do it?" As she did so and slipped down onto her back, they each seized a breast and began sucking on it for dear life. She wrapped an arm around each of them, relishing the sensation of two men attending to her.

Then, as Curt remained fixated on her breasts, Paul slid down and began to focus on her sex. He had gained a real taste for his mother's cleft and the juices that would pour out of it; and his licking and sucking, combined with his grabbing of her bottom with both hands, made her get wet as quickly as she ever had in her life.

Curt then moved his body until he was squatting just above her breasts, his cock poking her in the face. She obediently opened her mouth and swallowed about half of it, and he gently thrust a little more of it back and forth into her mouth. This unusual type of double stimulation, as her son continued to lick her and even insert a finger in her anus, was so striking that, to her own amazement, she was overcome by a sudden climax.

The guys seemed surprised too, and they gave big grins to each other. As Curt continued to urge Imogen to suck his cock, Paul squatted behind him and mounted her. In the midst of her dazed confusion she recognized that this was another kind of double penetration—the first she had ever experienced. Paul wasn't exactly gentle in his thrusts, and she became dimly aware that he was on the verge of his own culmination. Somehow Curt managed to synchronize his own sensations with those of his friend, and both of them flooded her with their emissions almost simultaneously.

This was only the first stage of the enterprise, and everyone needed a little rest before the next stage began. After some mild cuddling, the guys had Imogen lie on her side as they lay on either side of her. She had a sense of what was to come—especially when Paul, who was behind her, reached for the little blue jar in the top drawer of the nightstand. She knew that the most intense form of double penetration was upon her.

Curt took the first step, inserting his cock into her moist pussy up to the hilt. He just rested there motionless, waiting for his friend to position himself. Paul, after suitably lubricating his mother's anus, plugged it up with his cock. For a time all three remained frozen in a kind of obscene

tableau vivant,

as they all got used to the unusual sensations they were feeling.

For Imogen, the experience was almost indescribable. Two big members filling her, front and back, was intense enough; but when both of them started thrusting, back and forth, in and out, she thought she might faint right away. Each man grabbed a breast as they rained kisses on her—Curt on her mouth, cheeks, and forehead, Paul on her hair, neck, and shoulders. Their pumping wasn't quite uniform, and Curt seemed to be a little more vigorous than Paul. But it somehow seemed that Imogen had absorbed both of these gorgeous young men entirely into her body, and she just lay there helplessly as they pounded her for what seemed like an eternity.

She now dimly noticed that they were exchanging glances, and she could sense what was going to happen. As their pummeling became more and more intense, they gave little nods to each other, then cried out as they flooded both of her orifices with their seed at nearly the same time. She, for her part, added to the ecstasy with a climax that was so bone-shaking that she almost made both men slip out of her.

But they remained firmly in her, even after their orgasms had long subsided. And that was okay by her: she didn't think she had ever felt anything so transcendent as two cocks in her at the same time, and she wished the fusion of their three bodies could go on forever.

At last they pulled out, and Imogen felt such a sense of emptiness that she was a little dazed by it all. Paul impishly slapped his mother's butt as he trotted off to the bathroom to wash up; but Curt remained on his side, gazing at Imogen with shining eyes as he kept a firm grasp of her breasts.

Imogen took the occasion to take Curt's face in her hands and give him a long and heartfelt kiss.

"I love you both so much," she said fervently. "I mean, of course I love my son—but I love you too, Curt. You're such a sweetheart."

Curt swallowed almost painfully. He was clearly choked up with emotion.

"I love you too, ma'am," he whispered.

She kissed him again. She wished Curt would call her by her name, but he had made it clear that he had a great respect for his elders and felt the need to speak to her appropriately. And in the end she rather liked being called "ma'am" by this ardent but polite young man.

*

About a week later, as she was balancing her checkbook while seated at the dining table, Paul plopped down next to Imogen.

"Hey, Mom," he said.

"Hi, dear," she replied without looking up.

He sat silent for a time, until Imogen finally glanced up at him. "Something on your mind?"

"Well," he said, clearly uncomfortable, "I was wondering . . . if I could have some of the guys over. The guys on the team, I mean."

"Sure, why not?" she said indifferently.

"No, I meant—" he blundered. He reached over and placed a hand on her arm. "With you."

She gave her son a long, piercing stare. "And do what, exactly?"—although she knew exactly what Paul had in mind.

"You know," he said, grinning sheepishly.

"And why should I do that?" she said, not knowing whether to be offended or flattered.

"Mom," Paul said in a rush, "these guys are kind of clueless about girls! They just don't know what to do. I think you can help them."

"You're telling me they're all virgins?" she said incredulously.

"Oh, probably not. But they're just a little slow on the uptake, and they don't really understand what a guy has to do to be with a girl and keep her happy."

"And I'm expected to be their teacher."

"Something like that," Paul said with a sheepish grin.

"I don't know . . ." she said slowly.

"Oh, come on, Mom! It'll be fun!"

"For whom, may I ask?"

"For everyone!"

"How many guys are we talking about here?"

"Oh, I don't know—seven or eight, maybe."

"That seems kind of a lot. I can't handle so many men at once."

"It wouldn't be all at once. It'd be one at a time." After a pause: "Maybe two at a time. You like that, don't you?"

"I like it with you and Curt. I'm not sure I'd like it with guys I don't even know."

"Please, Mom!" he cried, sounding like a little boy denied the privilege of going trick-or-treating on Halloween.

Then a sudden bolt of alarm came over her. "You haven't told them about us, have you?"

"No, no, of course not!"

"You do realize that what we're doing is against the law. We could go to jail." She wasn't absolutely sure about that, but she wanted to put the fear of God into her son.

"I'm telling you I haven't said anything. Anyway, these guys won't tell."

"Well, I haven't agreed to this."

"Oh, Mom, you're so fabulous! You'll have these guys eating out of your hand."

"Thank you very much. But I think they'll be doing certain other things than that."

"Then you'll do it?"

She sighed wearily. "Oh, all right. But no more than eight. And I don't think you can be involved: it's too risky. As it is, some of them will probably suspect what goes on here."

"Curt can be involved, can't he?"

"I suppose."

"Fine. How about Sunday afternoon?"

"This Sunday?" she said agitatedly.

"Sure, why not? We have that day off—no practice or anything, since we'll have played a game the day before."

"All right."

"Great, Mom!" He gave her a curiously chaste kiss on the cheek. "You won't regret it!"

She had grave doubts about that.

The days passed quickly, and Sunday morning came before everyone knew it. Curt and Paul were on tenterhooks, and Imogen didn't exactly know what to expect. Nor could she have imagined how Paul could have explained the situation to his teammates without letting the cat out of the bag.

I'm making my mom available to you guys, but I'm just a kind of master of ceremonies.

Yeah, right!

They had all made a big breakfast that morning—eggs, bacon, toast, hash browns, and fruit—so none of them felt much like eating a heavy lunch. As they snacked on coffee and muffins, Imogen said:

"So when is this onslaught of my body going to begin?"

"Oh, Mom," Paul cried, "it's not going to be like that! They're all super-nice guys. Some of them, I think, are a bit afraid of women, so they'll probably be a bit tentative, if anything. But I made it clear to them there mustn't be any rough stuff."

"Thank you for that," she said dryly.

"Anyway, they'll be here around one o'clock."

That was about fifteen minutes from now.

Curt extended a hand to her arm. "Ma'am, if you want to call it off, that'll be okay with everyone."

"No, it's all right," Imogen said, stroking his face. "I'm sure you'll be there to protect me." She got up from the dining table. "I'd better get myself ready."

Paul and Curt didn't need to be told what that meant:

I'll have to strip, and I'll have to make sure I'm lubed up.

The guys started showing up right on time—five of them at exactly 1 p.m., and two others about five minutes later. Some of them were highly skeptical that anything was actually going to happen, since Paul had a reputation of being something of a practical joker; the others were naively eager for the longed-for touch of female flesh.

The nine young men were lounging in the living room, some sitting and some standing, when Imogen emerged from her bedroom. She was wearing nothing but a thin kimono.

They all gasped when they saw her.

So this was for real!

As Paul had predicted, several of them were so overwhelmed by the sight of this proud, beautiful, self-assured older woman that they seemed to retreat into themselves, becoming gawky boys again instead of males who were theoretically adults. There was a mix of freshmen, sophomores, and juniors (no seniors), all over the age of eighteen and some as old as twenty.

"Hi, guys," she said placidly, giving the room a survey.

"Hi, ma'am," some of them muttered. Others remained silent.

"So . . . shall we get this show on the road?" she said matter-of-factly.

The guys stood motionless, awestruck.

"Oh, come on, guys!" she snapped. "Let's hop to it!" She directed her gaze at one imposing physical specimen—a guy of at least six foot two and probably 250 pounds. He was the team's starting middle linebacker. "What's your name?"

"Brandon, ma'am," he choked out.

"Okay, you're first," she ordered, turning around and heading in the direction of her bedroom. When she saw that Brandon remained glued to his spot on the living-room floor, she raised her eyebrows and said, "Are you coming?"

He almost leaped in her direction.

As they both entered her bedroom, she closed the door discreetly. She wanted at least a little privacy for this whole session, even if it was likely that certain noises from the room would filter out into the rest of the apartment.

She directed her attention to her guest.

"So let's see what you got," she said as she came right up to him and began unbuttoning his shirt. She was amused to note that he was dressed rather formally, in a crisp cotton shirt and Dockers. Not exactly like being at a prom, but close enough!

Brandon watched in amazement as Imogen took his shirt off. Giving him a sly look, she stepped back a little and doffed the kimono. Brandon clapped a hand over his face at the gorgeous nudity exposed to his gaze.

"Omigod, ma'am," he breathed, "you're so pretty!"

"Thank you," she said shortly.

Then she dropped to her knees and worked his pants and underwear off. What was revealed was an immense erection of at least nine inches—a little bigger than Paul's and Curt's. She smiled her approval.