The Winning Ticet

36... 24... 34. Those figures, when I heard my children huddled together and giggling about them, brought back sweet memories of when the tape measure that wrapped the curvy features of my anatomy, matched those very numbers. My name is Marsha but for most of my 44 years on this planet, folks have called me Molly. I live here with my mother Adria, whom we always called Addie and my twenty-two-year-old son Bobby plus my 19-year-old daughter Trisha, nicknamed Tish.

I once had that classic hourglass figure that jiggled seductively and caused illicit sexual imagery to course through the minds of horny young men who caught my eye and were able to bring a sultry smile to my lips and a twinkling sparkle to my blue eyes. The numbers have changed by slight but noticeable fractions with each of them growing a bit and the supple sturdiness of my bountiful contour has felt the effects of gravity. Those carefree days of toying with men's affections and controlling most people's lines of sight by merely shifting my weight or taking a deep breath, have been lost in the breeze. I guess, that like every woman, I miss those seductive days.

My sensuous build and my devil-may-care attitude slowly eroded over time as I came to realize the consequences of making rash judgements and failing to think seriously about my future. In the decades afterwards, I was forced to accept the burden of raising two children from two different fathers; neither of which have been seen for years, the salary reduction commensurate from trading a position as a private secretary to serving coffee and eggs at a neighborhood diner, and basically supporting four people on that income with nominal help from babysitting and lawn maintenance money.

My first husband, the swindler, swept me off of my feet and lavished me with jewels, clothes and a big new house. I thought that I had struck gold and that the remainder of my lazy days would be champagne and roses. Everything was wonderful and I was overjoyed to be carrying his child, right up until the FBI took him to prison and the IRS confiscated everything that he had ever laid eyes on. His next parole hearing is four years from now.

I also became a pariah for unwittingly having enticed people to invest in my husband's schemes and being discovered as a social-climber, for courting the very people who could afford the luxury (and the lawyers,) for making bad business deals and snubbing the honest folks that I'd grown-up with. I was left with a newborn child and a stack of bills. You'd think that it would have taught me a lesson.

A few years later, while still sowing a few wild oats and not being able to see that a penny-less, single-mom with a history of bad decisions, would not have been such a great catch, despite her 36Ds, I married a guitar player in a house band, who immediately got me pregnant and just as quickly, disappeared. And for some reason, as bitterness and barely concealed rage became my waking disposition, I hate to admit that I began to take it all out on my son. My bad attitude festered for years and I hate to say that I treated him so unfairly.

We were never really a "loving" family and as our financial and living conditions became more condensed, with my mother moving in and the kids becoming adults and everybody needing more of everything, my nerves were more strained with alcohol adding fuel to the fire, my simmering, pointless anger was directed more and more towards Robbie. Maybe, (in my feeble defense,) he just reminded me of my first ex and the "good times" that were swept into the garbage. He has grown to become a fine young man, for what little I pay attention to him, and though he has a limited education he always wants to help out. It only makes me want to hurt him more.

One evening when he came home and handed me a few bucks to contribute to the house fund, I lost it. My poor son stood there helplessly as his semi-drunken, harpy of a mother lashed-out at him for apparently no reason. I told him that the bank accounts were overdrawn and that the landlord was threatening to call the sheriff. I said that we couldn't last much longer like this and that I felt that he should consider moving out and getting an actual job. And with his feelings obviously bruised and noticing the biting reproach of my tone, when he asked if I had made this same "suggestion" to Tish, I unfortunately phrased my reply that left no doubt, that she was my favorite and that he would have to go. I know that this makes me sound awful as a mother and as a human being and later, after I calmed down a little and sobered-up a lot, I regretted every single word and thought of it all. But there was no taking it back and an invisible wall had been forever constructed between us.

Robbie was basically a nice kid. He was well-built and had the same swarthy complexion of his father. His dark eyes were alluring and he had a habit of gently curling the lip on just one side of his mouth that gave the observer the impression that whatever he was talking about, would turn-out just fine. It was entirely my fault that I couldn't love him enough, but whenever I saw him and especially when he made that facial gesture, that he inherited from a man whom he didn't even remember, I felt a sickening sensation in my stomach.

Tish was another story. She took after me in most ways. At nineteen, she was put together in just the way that I was at her age. Her hair was long and blonde, she had firm rounded breasts and a shapely butt, and I believe that she knew her way around a man's body. Tish could be a conniver and I had noticed how she could manipulate others (especially men,) when she wanted something. She had a soft spot for Bobby and often followed his lead. There was in her, a quality or possibly a character-flaw, that I remembered from my youth and didn't want to inhibit her. I possibly thought that I could relive my life through her. Alcohol and desperation make for some crude self-reflection. And even though they were actually step-siblings, they most often got along well and lately had been whispering and plotting with each other. I know the expression of "not seeing the forest through the trees," but I always felt that if a dispute erupted, Tish and I would represent the majority.

This brings me to the evening when I walked in on them as they were watching the late news. And I heard them mention those three numbers, 36,24, 34. Not understanding that they were only the last three in a series of six, I merely assumed that they were discussing the measurements of either Tish or some woman that Robbie was interested in. They were both giddy with laughter over some "inside" joke and when they saw me, they hurried-off to one of the bedrooms where I faintly heard Robbie speaking on the phone to someone.

Through the years, Tish had also noticed that I was harsh with Robbie and it seemingly drew them closer together. And I came to realize, that she always knew where her interests lay. The following day, they came home late and were both drunk. Bobby had a big cigar and Tish was wearing a new, slinky little outfit. I was sitting at the kitchen table with my mother, going over the box of delinquent notices. We were also drinking, but I didn't count that. My anger and deep disappointment in my own situation, had me in a foul mood. When the kids said that they were celebrating, I cut them off firmly and harangued Robbie for wasting money and getting his underage sister drunk. Tish tried to protest but I chastised her for being obscenely dressed and I may have used the term "whore." Then I once again "suggested" that it might be better for everyone if Bobby packed his things and moved out.

Almost in unison, they called me a dumb bitch and both retired to his bedroom where the door was slammed and shouting and laughter was heard. I threw an empty glass at the wall and my mother slipped away to her room. A stillness hung over the house for a few hours. I was getting ready for bed, I had just showered and was wearing only a pair of robin's egg-colored panties and fuzzy slippers under a long terry-cloth robe. The warm water had calmed my nerves and I applied a thin layer of powder to my reddened flesh. My long blonde hair, still damp but finely brushed, fell to my shoulders and the cool night air was toying with my perky nipples.

I passed Tish's room and was surprised to find the light out, she doesn't normally knock-off so early but then I remembered that she had been drinking. When I approached Bobby's room, there was still a sliver of soft lamp-light under the door and I could hear the bed squeaking, then I heard muffled voices. I just assumed that he was sitting on the bed talking on the phone to some chippy. With the last bit of bitchiness in me, I opened the door and was going to make a remark about the phone bill when I noticed that he and Tish had seemingly fallen asleep together. Robbie's eyes were contentedly closed as he lounged above the covers and his step-sister was curled across his belly, her head facing away from me. They appeared to be sweetly dreaming and a low, snoring sound filtered from the room.

Then, the incongruity of what appeared before my eyes, suddenly came into focus. Neither one of them had a stitch of clothes on and I could see my daughter's bare ass. One second later, it came to me that neither of them were sleeping. What was happening, was that my daughter was sucking my son's cock. I stood frozen in place as the realization of this illicit rendezvous hit me between the eyes like a two-by-four. Only the rush of breath escaped my dry lips as I attempted to scream-out my agony. But this was enough to alert my son, as his eyes lazily opened and he watched me studying them both.

Tish remained at her task, either too drunk or too determined to be interrupted. Robbie only stared at me with that half-lip curl that could mean so many things, but his dark brown eyes seemed to suggest that he anticipated me walking in on them. He gave me that sinister smile and slightly parted his legs so that if I'd wished; I could have a full-frontal view between his thick thighs as his big balls perched full and slickened with saliva, while his sister's long hair formed a lascivious veil around his turgid organ and her pouty lips worked like a bellows alternately inhaling and stroking that potent pole into her full cheeks.

I was momentarily staggered and at a loss for words. I slumped against the doorframe while my shaking knees regained their balance. With Bobby lazily casting a malicious stare in my direction that seemed to catch me in a hypnotic embrace, I couldn't move and I couldn't look away. Some sort of carnal transference was taking place as I consumed this image of blatantly incestuous deceit. It wasn't merely the lewdly erotic sexual activity that raised my blood pressure. Or the moralistic morass of a brother and sister, (even step-siblings,) having crudely intimate behavior that ignited the fire in my loins. It was the pair of piercing brown eyes that held me in their grip while I shivered and tingled helplessly, with every nerve-ending in my frazzled frame, firing at once. It was if this sexual Svengali was sending subliminal signals to my starving pussy that I needed only to take three small steps towards the squeaking bedframe and that all of my sexual frustrations would be eliminated.

I can't tell you how long that I stood like a whimpering statue, as my son narrowed his blinding stare at my own watery blue orbs. And why didn't I indignantly scream at them both for their brazen tryst? I don't know if he even spoke a word out loud, but for what felt like hours, he continued to hold my shaking glance as his leering countenance exuded his new mastery over this perverted engagement. He had one young woman, horny with delight and eager to perform her role, literally skewered on his robust organ while an older morally-confused but severely tempted woman struggled with her conscience.

Knowing that he could exercise his control of this vulgar, yet highly erotic sexual scenario and that my willpower was draining away with each bead of nervous perspiration that seeped down the surface of my twitching anatomy, he only licked his serpentine tongue along his bright red lips and gave me a seductive wink. My mind was tormented with crude imagery of semi-naked partners writhing in the fiery depths of Hell as they flaunted their bodies and cast their lot with the Devil's disciples. And as these perverted thoughts and images danced through my brain, I also was looking through a strange fog, highlighted in sharp shades of black and red, where the lithe figure of my flirty nineteen-year-old daughter morphed into the sultry, undersexed but vital, form that I knew all too well.

In this obscenely sensual metamorphosis, I could almost taste the phallic pole as he thrust it passed her willing lips. I kept having to clear my throat as if the surging rod was driving toward my own tonsils. I could feel my bare tits swaying and the perky nipples grating against his coarse chest hairs as my chest hovered over his supine form and needed to look twice at my own hand, as my wrist in this brazen scenario was working his steely organ as if priming a pump for the anticipated discharge. My own body was on fire and my insides turned to jelly as I felt the rush of his cock in my mouth. I could have easily succumbed to his charms and committed the ultimate sin, without feeling any more emotions than the turbulent flow of my pussy juices. My fever-blinded eyes eventually drifted to match his erotic gaze.

I was stunned. First at his rudely illicit impudence, and then at my despicable lack of initiative. Robbie felt emboldened by his initial success and while his young sister vacuumed his potent pole, he casually patted her jiggly backside and while I stared transfixed with my slobbering mouth gaping wide open, he slipped two fingers into the wet folds of her outer pubic lips and stroked the pinkened flesh of her hot twat. I swallowed hard and felt my heart's-blood rushing to that over-heated furnace between my trembling thighs. I was seeing myself- naked and unashamed- possibly from another age and certainly from some distant fantasy, or portentously one step from joining this debauchery and giving-in to every dubious desire.

I watched with my heart in my throat while he fingered his sister's squirming ass and she ceaselessly sucked his swollen rod down her horny gullet. Meanwhile, the tiny room felt as if the thermometer had been shoved into triple digits. My robe hung open on my damp frame and my big tits swayed in the slight breeze. Subconsciously, my right hand inched towards the waistband of my blue panties and I felt the sticky wetness that oozed into the gusseted fabric. The palm of my hand rested on the mound of my hungry pussy and pressed firmly against my straining lips, trying desperately to hold-back the torrent that I knew was building in my aching cunt. My fingertips, thwarting my best intentions, were peeling back the elastic material and sweeping the matted, kinky curls, searching for the swollen nub of flesh that would send me into ecstasy.

That was when my daughter, using her right hand, started to stretch and pull at the turgid alabaster column that was inflating her cheeks and I saw my son thrust his hips from the mattress. With one final shove, he heaved his slick, reddened tool skyward and her cheeks sucked-in and her throat received its prize. I watched dumbstruck and with a perplexed sense of pride as he unloaded his staggering surplus of semen down my daughter's hungry, horny esophagus. Her left hand was playing with her cleanly-shaved cunt, working the pink flesh into a lather and sending shockwaves through her system. Bobby exploded into her startled mouth, filling her with his creamy seed. It went-on like that for minutes as I plied my sticky curls and rubbed my tender nub. His tool continued to pump its quotient into her mouth as her tongue tidied-up the droplets and applied a sleek shine to the sturdy contours of his thick erection. My digits were just bringing my pouty clit to its ultimate arousal as the two convulsing figures on the bed shook with sexual satisfaction and fell back on the dank sheets.

The roiling tumult in my pussy was on the brink of explosion, but with their activity coming to an abrupt and shocking conclusion, my voyeuristic fantasy ebbed. I was barely able to squeeze my quivering thighs together, blunting the onrush of fluids that pressed against my uterine walls. I saw Tish as she laid back in her brother's arms, the thin veneer of his sperm still coating her lips and cheeks. She said nothing but looked at me as if she could see the future. Bobby wore the satisfied grin of the magician who thrilled his audience by performing an outrageous illusion that brought down the house and left certain audience members dumbfounded in disbelief.

He too, didn't bother to speak, but simply looked at me in the way that a butcher sizes-up a side of beef. His gaze lingered over my worried frame from the top of my head, where the blonde hair was now tussled and slickened with sweat, to my bare legs with the polished pink nails that were undergoing a series of goosebumps, and in between he studied my heaving, exposed chest with the brutally-hard nipples and then the light-blue undies with the darkened, damp area that belied any claim to my innocence. My voice was lost to reason also. I barely recovered my ability to walk. Shamefacedly, I staggered from the room to a chorus of snickers and kissing.

The restless night's sleep was just a series of hypothetical dialogues that I held in my mind of how I would approach my son in the morning. They all centered on him apologizing for his reckless actions designed just to hurt me and me expressing repentance for how I have treated him unjustly for most of his young life. Nothing seemed even remotely adequate for either level of behavior and I woke-up feeling drained and anxious. I was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast when I felt his presence behind me. We both seemed to stop and were at a loss for words. As his mother, I believed that I should offer the first concession and was about to stumble through a teary speech, when I felt his hand roughly grip my butt and squeeze my ass like it were a fresh peach.

For a split second, every ounce of willpower in my body reacted to the touch of a man's firm grip on my fleshy bottom as if I'd never felt the warmth of someone's touch. His hand seemed perfectly sized for my rearend to seat itself comfortably and the tips of his fingers parted the cleft of my ass cheeks like a hot knife slicing through butter. My disobedient nipples immediately perked up and as he peered down over my shoulder, his other hand slithered beneath my full front porch and juggled my bouncing breasts and toyed with the engorged finger of flesh that capped it.

A few men have squeezed my boobs, but for just that fleeting moment, knowing that it was my son's hand weighing the free-swinging tits in his big palm, gave me an obscene thrill that my jittery body couldn't camouflage, and I could feel the pressure of his solid rod pushing against my butt. His other hand wasn't idle. Those roaming digits performed a quick and thorough massage of the moist cavern between my thighs. Robbie's fingers were gently and smoothly spreading my molten labia and his touch inflamed my swollen clitoris. His thumb was exploring a forbidden area that I had never even considered to be in play. I could have sworn, that just like the night before, time had suddenly stopped. There, and in that moment, I was luxuriating in his taboo, crude manipulations and was seconds-away from moaning-out my desperate reply. Only the thin cottony material stopped him from giving me a "wedgey," and he was millimeters away from possessing me entirely. But that instant was over. Everything turned red and I pivoted, slapping him across the face and swearing at him, "Just what in hell do you think you're doing?"