She sucks magnificently !

“Beatrice Dalrymple, just what do you think you are you doing to that poor young man?” Eleanor demanded from the doorway.

Corky’s prick was still pulsing inside Beatrice’s bottom, having just deposited his tribute therein. Beatrice, for her part, was forestalled from her imminent climax by her mother’s exquisitely ill-timed interruption.

Corky fought down the urge to scramble for cover, and remained in place atop (and within) his paramour. Though the doorway was behind him, his mental image of his landlady’s formidable anger did not lack for vividness.

“Wherein lies the ambiguity, Mother?” Beatrice asked with a reasonable approximation of equanimity. Corky fancied he could feel the electrickal prickle of the gathering storm behind his back.

“Young lady,” Eleanor growled between clenched teeth.

“If you can clarify the source of your uncertainty, I shall endeavor to resolve it,” Beatrice continued, and wriggled her hips gingerly, extricating Corky’s softening prick from her bottomhole. Then she rolled Corky off of her, and rose to sit cross-legged, seemingly obvious to her rampant nudity. “But at another time. Currently, my fiancée and I prefer to be alone.”

At the third word of her last sentence, Corky let out a little involuntary noise that went ignored by the participants in the familial confrontation before him.

“Your what?” Mrs. Dalrymple demanded.

“My fiancée. William and I are to be married. I do apologize for not telling you sooner, Mother. The decision was relatively recent.”

Mrs. Dalrymple appeared to be swelling to quite double her former volume. “Young lady!” she thundered. “I did not give permission for any such undertaking!”

Beatrice flinched a bit at this onslaught, and her lower lip trembled minutely, but still she stood her ground. “No, you did not,” she said, with just the faintest hint of sulkiness. “We did it ourselves. We’re in love.”

“Pfaugh!” spat her mother. “In love! I didn’t give permission for *that* either!” She seized Beatrice by the ear, and pulled her off the bed in a flurry of slender bare limbs. “We’ll soon see about this ‘engagement’ of yours, girl.”

“Let–” said Corky, and his throat constricted into silence as Eleanor Dalrymple turned the full ferocity of her glare towards him for the first time. At that moment, he would far sooner have faced a horde of rampaging Hottentots than his infuriated landlady, but, as no Hottentots appeared to be on offer, he soldiered on. “Let her go,” he said.

“Mr. Brandywine,” she said scornfully, “perhaps you would prefer to put on some clothing before you endeavor to lecture me on my child-rearing tech–”

There was a shriek, and she flew forward. For a bare instant, Corky believed her to be springing for him like some terrible jungle feline, her teeth and claws ready to rend him in fury. Then he realized that she was in fact toppling from a shove from Beatrice. In an instant, she had collapsed upon him in a chaos of crinoline, russet hair and exquisitely painted fingernails.

“Impudent girl!” the widow screamed, striving to right herself. “I’ll soon beat this insolence out of you!”

She succeeded in coming to a sitting position on the bed, hair and clothing still disordered, and made as if to spring for her daughter, who remained, her pale bare limbs frozen in place by nervousness, failing to flee from the doorway where her mother had dragged her.

With a burst of wild courage, Corky seized his landlady’s arms and held her fast.

“Filthy boy!” cried Mrs. Dalrymple, “Unhand me at once.”

“I c-c-ca’n’t let you hurt Beatrice,” Corky said as he struggled to hold the twisting, kicking woman.

“Jolly good, William!” Beatrice cheered from the doorway. “Flip her over, or she’s sure to get away!”

Heeding his love’s advice, Corky endeavored to rotate the woman in his arms despite her violent struggles, and soon succeeded in pressing her to the bed face-down, her arms twisted behind her back. Her bucking and kicking made his hold a precarious one. It also had the unfortunate effect of flinging her skirts up about her waist so her stockings, pale voluptuous thighs, and magnificent bottom was entirely exposed.

“Her legs,” Corky called to Beatrice, dodging a vicious kick, and she rushed forward and seized her mother’s limbs, effectively subduing the enraged matron’s struggles. Her howls of outrage and humiliation were rendered largely unintelligible by the pillow against which her face was pressed, though their general gist was all too guessable.

“First-rate, William, ” Beatrice said, flushed with effort and excitement. “You were so brave!”

In circumstances other than wrestling in the nude with soon-to-be mother-in-law as she screamed vile imprecations at him, Corky would no doubt have blushed at such extravagant praise As it was, he merely favored his fiancée with a small smile.

“You really do have a lovely bottom, Mother,” Beatrice mused, reaching out to stroke and squeeze the resilient globes thereof.

“Do’n’t touch my posterior!” her mother cried, twisting about with renewed passion.

And then:

“Do’n’t pull my legs apart!”

And then:

“You must’n’t touch me between my legs!”

But her daughter persisted, saying, ” What a lovely mass of crinkly brown hair you have, Mother, and the lips within–so plump and soft! Why, I do believe this situation is exciting you, you wicked strumpet! Your lovely mouth is quite swollen, and the clitoris here–”

Here Beatrice’s hand, concealed from Corky’s sight by the ripe swell of her mother’s buttocks, did something that elicited a wail of dismay from her victim. “–is as fat and firm as a little cock.”

Beatrice pressed herself up between Eleanor’s splayed legs, her rigid prick sliding into the groove between the elder woman’s ample buttocks, her face now a few inches behind her mother’s ear. Delighting in the friction this enclosure provided, she began to work her pert little bottom up and down, so that the flushed head of her erection played peek-a-boo with the crease of her mother’s posterior. “You know,” she said, “you interrupted me and William before I could achieve my satisfaction. And now I think you shall have to provide me with that pleasure yourself.”

She shifted her attention then. “Kiss me, William,” she pleaded, and he leaned down, only to be caught up in her ardent suction and the gentle, thrilling nips of her teeth. She moaned into his mouth as her agitation against her mother increased in vigor and speed, until she broke the kiss with a gasp.

“You do’n’t mind if I bugger this wicked old strumpet, do you darling?” she said pleadingly to Corky, “I’m so dying for a good spend, and I think it shall teach her a valuable lesson.”

At the word “bugger,” the widow, whose struggles had heretofore begun to subside into occasional twitches and grunts, twisted and bucked with renewed vigor, though she remained far inadequate to the task of throwing off the two young and vigorous individuals holding her.

Corky, for his part, was rather thrown to be consulted in this decision, and, though he was loath to deny Beatrice any satisfaction, he hesitated to assent to such debauchery as she proposed.

“Your prick seems rather to like the idea,” she prodded him gently. For the first time, he noticed that he had acquired a fresh cock-stand despite his prior satisfaction. “Would you like to take her mouth while my cock is in her bottom? I imagine she’ll suck you quite divinely while I fuck her.”

These lascivious words were not without effect on Corky’s already-inflamed imagination, and he found his hands tightening on th widow’s forearms as he remembered the myriad indignities to which she had subjected him.

Without a word, he took both of Mrs. Dalrymple’s wrists in one of his hands, and took the jar of pomade from the end table. Grinning, he handed the jar to Beatrice, who smiled warmly back at him and began to apply the thick paste to her mother’s hidden aperture. The widow twisted her head to one side, and glared over her shoulder at her daughter.

“Do’n’t you dare touch my bottomhole!” she demanded rather ineffectually, “Do’n’t press your finger into my bottom!”

“But it’s so hot and tight, mother!” Beatrice cooed into her ear. “How can I resist this delicious little orifice? Does’n’t it feel lovely when I wiggle [here the widow whooped as if she had been dropped into icewater] my finger thus?

“Your dear little bottom-hole is so wonderfully resilient! I do believe it’s already craving another finger.

“There! How do you like a second finger in your bottom, Mother? The way you’re twitching your posterior, I do believe you’re dreaming of when I jam my cock in there already.”

Mrs. Dalrymple, for her part, appeared to have decided not to give Beatrice the satisfaction of a reply, and merely grunted and groaned in response to all her taunting.

Corky had abandoned some portion of his previously habitual reserve, and was stroking his cock lightly, quite delighting in the sight of the incestuous violation before him.

“Feeling taciturn, eh?” Beatrice said, smearing pomade onto her rigid little cock. “I believe I have just the medicine for this uncommunicativeness that seems to have so uncharacteristically overtaken you.” And she levered herself down until the head of her prick was pressed up against her mother’s crinkled orifice, all glistening with pomade.

Beatrice’s eyes met Corky’s, her face glowing with excitement and cruelty. Her expression softened as she gazed on him, but retained all its ardor, all of its fierce hunger. The muscles in her forearms and her slender thighs flexed as she slowly increased the pressure of her cock against Eleanor’s sphincter. As her hips surged forward an inch and she breached the defenses of her mother’s bottom, her eyes unfocused and a queer certainty came over Corky that in her imagination it was not her mother she was taking, but himself. The fancy caused his breath to shorten. He was not certain at that moment what he should do should his Beatrice ask such a thing of him.

Then more pressing matters seized his attention, for Mrs. Dalrymple’s mouth had snapped open and she breached her silence with the demand: “Beatrice Melinda Dalrymple! Remove your penis from my bottom this very instant!”

“Not–quite–yet—Mother,” Beatrice panted, inching her hips forward minutely. “Your interior feels magnificent. So hot and slick! I may have to make a habit of flipping your skirts up and stretching this lovely bottom-hole now that I’ve had this taste of it.”

“You will do no such thing you–Ah!–disobedient wretch–Ah!–When I get my hands–Ah!–on you, young–Ah!–lady, I’ll…”

“There!” Beatrice said, grinding her slim hips against her mother’s ample behind. “Buried to the hilt! William, darling, there’s a wash basin over on the dressing table there. Would you care to freshen up before finding some more suitable use for Mother’s mouth than the one to which she is currently putting it?”

“But her hands…?” Corky objected.

“I believe I have her well taken care of now,” Beatrice reassured him.

With some trepidation, Corky released Eleanor’s arms, then dashed to the washbasin to hastily clean his genitals. Returning to the bed, he found that Beatrice had brought her mother up onto her hands and knees, and was unfastening the back of her gown. Corky hopped back up onto the bed and manouvered himself to bring his genitals in line with the widow’s mouth, but she obdurately pursed her lips, glaring up at him in silence.

“Open for me, Eleanor,” Corky said hesitantly. “I want you to kiss my prick,” but her lips tightened further still. Corky thought furiously: even if he should manage to get her jaw open, he still feared the effect of the reluctant widow’s teeth on his tender parts.

Having completed her unfastening, Beatrice put her hand on the back of Eleanor’s head and pressed her face and bosom ungently to the mattress, then rapidly tugged her out of her sleeves, leaving her clad in nothing above the waist but her whalebone stays and the few hairpins remaining in her disordered coif.

By the time Beatrice had gripped her mother’s hair and forced her back up onto her hands, Corky had formulated a plan. He leaned down and took his landlady’s breasts in his hands, enjoying their soft weight, before fastening his fingertips on the fat nipples and beginning to tug. Eleanor drew ragged breath through flared nostril and her eyes widened at the sensation, but, as Corky expected, her mouth remained resolutely shut. “Mrs. Dalrymple,” he said to her, ” you needn’t make so wry a face. If you do’n’t wish to suck my cock, Beatrice and I can simply trade places. I’m sure my cock will be a far more interesting challenge for your bottom-hole than Beatrice’s dear little member, and I’m certain her cock has acquired some novel flavors for you to sample in its current resting place.”

The expression that crossed her face was complex, but Corky recognized it at once. Incredulity, horror, and reluctant lascivious excitement all commingled and intertwined had been such a staple of his own eventful past week that it was remarkably simple for him to apprehend the compound in another. With that recognition came a curious rush of pleasure–the joy in power that was the companion piece to the pleasure in powerlessness that he had so often recently experienced. He put his hand in Eleanor’s hair and pulled her head back. “Now, open your mouth, Mrs. Dalrymple,” he insisted, “for you’re to be fucked in your bottom and your mouth at once now.

At these words, a tremor to run all through the widow’s body, eliciting a gasp from Beatrice as the shudder deliciously agitated her mother’s ample bottom. Her brows knit in an expression of abandonment, and her jaw fell open as though she had been bereft of will.

Not without nervousness, Corky now pressed his prick downwards, presenting its swollen tip to the widow’s slack mouth. Beatrice watched with rapt delight as he fed his cock-head to her mother, who latched upon it and suckled hungrily.

Satisfied that procedures in front were well underway, Beatrice commenced her own movements, working her slender cock first in minuscule increments, increasing to longer and more vigorous thrusts, eliciting deep groans in Eleanor Dalrymple’s throat that tingled Corky’s cods deliciously so that he gripped the widow’s head in his hands and bucked his hips against it.

She took the base of his cock in one pale little fist, squeezing exquisitely as she bobbed her head one his slick and swollen member, her muffled cries rising in timbre as Beatrice’s thrusts became more vigorous. Eleanor, far from persisting in her prior struggles, now appeared to give herself over to her double juissance with rather more than forbearance.

With out pausing in her thrusts, Beatrice reached out one slender hand and trailed it up Corky’s belly, gently stroked one nipple , and finally cupped his chin, gazing into his eyes with melting affection. They leaned forward and kissed, linked in a circuit of voluptuous enjoyment, connected by their hungry mouths above, and by warm, squirming flesh below.

“Oh, William, darling!” Beatrice murmured into his mouth, “mother’s bottomhole feels–oh!–so exquisite! It’s contracting most deliciously! I–I shall spend!”

“I, too,” Corky answered, “She sucks magnificently–it is coming!”

“Let me taste it,” Beatrice gasped. “Let me taste your lovely spend!”

Beyond speech now, Corky withdrew prick from the widow’s hot mouth. Said passage now unobstructed, Eleanor’s moans escalated to shrieks as Beatrice’s slender hips pounded against her rotund bottom with all the vigor they could muster.

Beatrice’s cries, too, rose to meet her mother’s, equaling them in volume as she shuddered and deposited a copious tribute in the elder woman’s bowels. Then, with nary a moment to draw breath, she slumped forward and drew Corky’s cock into her pretty little bow-shaped mouth, exerting a fierce suction that had Corky groaning and shuddering very shortly indeed, before convulsing and releasing his spend into Beatrice’s mouth while she moaned ardently, swallowing in great noisy gulps, her whole body shivering.

A moment later, Corky was collapsed in a sweaty heap with his lover, arms flung about her supple waist, his spend and deflating cock lying across her flushed cheek. From beneath came a muffled voice: “Heavy!”

Corky and Beatrice scrambled off their momentarily forgotten victim. “Are you quite all right, Mother?” Beatrice asked of the severely disheveled woman thus revealed.

Red faced, gleaming with perspiration, still clad in her now rumpled and stained gown, Eleanor Dalrymple blinked and gulped air for some seconds before she could utter a sound. “Ran..”she said.

“Mother?” Beatrice said in some consternation, leaning down to peer at the older woman’s face. Part of Corky shared Beatrice’s concern, while another part admired Beatrice’s pert little bottom thus elevated.

“Ran…dy…” Eleanor gasped, then drew breath again. “Need…to spend..”

“Oh, you poor dear!” said Beatrice contritely, “we’ve quite neglected your satisfaction! Here, turn on your back, and spread your pretty thighs. There! Oh, isn’t your poor cunny a sight! I do’n’t know that I’ve ever seen it so swollen! Here, let me kiss the sweet thing…”

“YES!” Mrs. Dalrymple shrieked, her body springing to life as her bottom left the mattress just as her hands gripped Beatrice’s head and held it fast “GAMAHUCHE ME! MORE!”

Beatrice’s attitude towards this turn of affairs was indiscernible by Corky, but good will or no, she lapped diligently, as her mother bucked and howled. Unexpectedly, the woman’s hand darted out, seized Corky’s shoulder, and pulled him to her pillowy bosom. Though she was beyond speech, her nonverbal communication was clear enough, and Corky set to work sucking and biting at her broad, dark nipples.

In very little time, Eleanor hips rose off the bed once more and her cries crescendoed into a single drawn-out wail as she reached her climax.

When Eleanor’s spasms had subsided, Beatrice wriggled up her length, and mother and daughter twined together, kissing warmly. Blindly, Beatrice’s free hand groped around behind her back until it located Corky, and tugged him up behind her so that he curled against her perspiration-slick back. She squirmed her bottom against his cock happily and he let his arm fall over the pair of women, relaxing into a postcoital haze.

“I must congratulate myself on my selection of your fiancée,” Eleanor murmured sleepily. “I think he shows real potential.”

From the hallway came a high, merry sound, and Corky realized that on the other side of the door, an eavesdropping Maggie was giggling.