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"Just a minute," Becky said, putting aside her coffee mug and rising from the floor. I rolled my eyes and sighed.
"Mommy!" the young voice wailed from the other room.
"I'll be right there," Becky shouted, her voice erupting from the depths of her lungs, startling me with the sudden burst of sound.
"Mommy," the young boy repeated monotonously, seemingly oblivious to her mother's emphatic promise of attention. Becky left me to attend to the matter.
"Trevor?" she said, bending down toward the small boy. Becky's voice had shifted in a matter of seconds to the reassuring lilt of an adoring mother. Stretched out on our family room floor, I leaned back on my arms, watching my pretty wife kneel down to adjust the wooden railroad that vexed our son. Her pigmented blue jeans filled out roundly as Becky bent low to the wood floor. My appetite for her had been growing apace since my playful sleepmate awoke me with the brush of a bare breast on my slumbering lips, and I felt my hunger thicken by degrees as I stared at the blue moon of her well-lifted bottom.
"All right, now," the young mother said, rising again from the floor, her fingers gently brushing down the white rings of soft hair on the child's head. A grin crossed my face. How gladly I would tickle hers, those diminutive wisps of brown curled against her lap. Becky teasingly raised her brows as she caught my gaze, easily reading my lascivious thoughts. Her hips swayed playfully as she walked. Sunlight sparkled in golden streams through her hair when Becky strolled past our kitchen window.
"Everything back on track?" I asked, suddenly distracted by the bulge of her fluid breasts bouncing in andante my way.
"Behind schedule," Becky said, smiling, "but on line."
"That's no way to run a railroad," I insisted dogmatically as my wife sat down beside me. I turned to kiss her, bumping her coffee as she lifted it up. An amorphous drop of the tepid liquid splashed onto her cotton sleeve. "Sorry," I said, wiping her arm with a small grey sock that had been hiding partly under the sofa behind us. Becky smiled.
"It's all right," she said sweetly. "This blouse is already a mess."
Becky pointed out the smear of chocolate on her shoulder and the brush of red mud below her left breast. "I'll gladly trade a stain for a kiss," Becky said with a coy smirk that often accompanied her elegantly forward approach. I leaned forward again, more carefully and touched my lips to hers.
"Mommy!" Trevor hollered. Becky looked back toward the train station. I lifted myself off the floor, rapidly anticipating her next move.
"My turn," I said. Becky nodded and took another sip of lukewarm coffee.
"I need to heat this up," she said and followed me into the kitchen.
"Daddy," Trevor whined, seeing me approach.
"Trevor," I said as I knelt by the track. "You can't do that without one of these." I reached into a large cardboard box for a small piece of track. "You see?" I asked, pushing the grooved wooden flat into the gap, finishing the circle of track. "Better?"
"Play with me?" Trevor asked. I mussed his yellow-brown hair as I stood.
"Maybe later, buddy. I'm trying to play with your mother right now."
"Mmm," said Becky as I turned around and into her arms. She looked up into my eyes. "I'm so glad you stayed home today." Becky paused with an expression of concern. "You won't get in trouble for playing hooky will you?" she asked. I tickled her waist.
"You weren't much concerned about getting me in trouble when you teased me into staying home," I chided. Becky flashed a familiar, blue-eyed "who me?" gaze. "Don't give me that," I said, tickling her with greater ferocity.
"Stop," Becky laughed.
"You knew what you were doing. Don't deny it." I squeezed her bottom with a rogue's hand and brought her body close. Becky shut her eyes to kiss me.
"I don't want you to get into any trouble," she said softly, touching her lips to mine.
"I do," I said, lifting her slightly to meet my hungry mouth. "I love trouble." My hands quickly roamed, finding the softness of her stained left breast as I turned Becky against the kitchen counter and kissed her hungrily.
"Dad!" Trevor said from the other room. I selfishly ignored his plea.
"Dad!" he wailed again and walked in behind us.
"What do you want, Trevor?" I asked, a little exasperated by the intrusion.
"Popsicle?" he asked, smiling sweetly.
?You want a popsicle do you??
"Red one," said Trevor. "Red one, red one, red one, red one."
"OK Trevor," said Becky, pulling the thin box from the freezer. "I have red and purple."
"Red one!" said Trevor.
Becky stripped the white paper wrapping from the rocket-shaped shard of colored ice and handed one to our son.
Taking hold of the yellowish stick, Trevor touched the cherry-red treat to her cherry-red tongue.
"Mmmm," he said, taking another lick.
"Stay in the kitchen with that," said Becky in a serious voice. I wandered back toward the family room, hoping to lead my wife astray.
She quickly followed, leaving Trevor to his frozen pop. "It never ends," Becky said, folding her leg under as she sat down on the sofa. I took the place beside her and rubbed her denim thigh.
"It doesn't matter," I said.
"I just get so frustrated," said Becky, laying her head back as my fingers travelled her jean's stiff folds. "I can't even steal a moment for myself."
"Mmm," I said, still stroking her lean thigh. "I can help." Becky frowned for a second.
"You do help," she said. "I don't know what I want. Just a moment to indulge."
I squeezed the muscle of her leg. "So tense," I said.
"Oh," Becky murmured. I let my fingers drift down to tease the tight band of her calf. "That's sweet."
"What you need," I said, slipping off the sofa so that I rested just below my wife. "What you need," I repeated and I softly kissed the lap of her jeans.
"What I need," Becky said faintly.
"Mom!" screamed Megan from the her room down the hall. I wrapped my arms around Becky's waist and kissed her nipple through several layers of clothing. A stiffness developed below as my lips nibbled the gentle curve of flesh. "Mom!" our daughter yelled again.
"What?" called Becky in reply. I pushed myself away from my wife reluctantly. Megan appeared in the living room.
"Can I have . . . ," she began to ask, stopping before he reached the point.
"We're going to have lunch in a minute," Becky said.
"But why did Trevor get a Popsicle?"
"I know," said the boy's mother, standing and moving out of my reach. "But I'll fix some macaroni. How's that?"
"Yeah!" said Megan with sincere delight. At seven, she seemed a perfect reflection of her mother, transported through time. Long golden hair flowed past their shoulders like July sunlight, while a glance from either girl's limpid blue eyes took away any semblance of control I pretended to exert. Though perhaps master by title, I am only a pawn to my queens.
"Let me fix lunch," said Becky apologetically to me. I nodded in understanding and watched my wife move while the pans clattered and the water ran.
Lunch proceeded like the feeding at a circus, the kitchen echoing with childish growls, squeals, barks and howls. I ate my sandwich calmly, helping to oversee the small beasts while they fed, keeping them perched on their chairs with their food sloppily shifting from plate to fork to face. Becky walked and turned and walked again the circle of six steps from sink to stove to table to refrigerator and back again a thousand times while the cubs asked for one thing after another. I laughed aloud when they finally excused themselves and left me alone for an instant with my wife. We sighed relief in the short lull in our constant storm. The squall quickly returned.
"Mommy!" each called out in turn for no apparent reason other than to interrupt my story. I shooed them away. Finally bored with the game, Megan and Trevor went outside to play. I left the table as the first real moments of silence struck.
"Come here, pretty," I whispered lecherously, crooking my finger at Becky and I started up the stairs.
"Sure," said Becky, pushing in a chair and picking up the basket of clean clothes she had left on the landing. She put the laundry at the foot of our bed and leapt onto the comforter.
"Listen," I said, crawling beside Becky and nonchalantly fiddling with the button atop her jeans. She fell back onto the bed, readily exposing the brass nub to my awkward manipulations. I worked the metal piece through the thick denim crevice, unleashing the waist of Becky's jeans. "Do you hear that?" I said, cocking my head.
"What?" she asked, pushing her head up again, concerned.
"No kids," I said, pulling at her zipper. Becky giggled and wiggled as I kissed her soft belly, gently yanking down on her pants. She lifted her bottom as I peeled the denim skin past her hips and along her lean thighs. Black satin covered the valley between. I teased the slick fabric with a stretch of my tongue, kneading the furrows below with familiar blindness. "Time for dessert?" I asked, pulling at the waistband of her panties, kissing her golden floss.
"Lick the plate clean," Becky purred. My tongue tickled her lips as I nuzzled in close, pressing her legs wide apart. I indulgently drank in the musk of her damp cunt, teasing her pink swelling lips with a thick swipe, pausing to watch as the water seeped from within. Becky's clit pushed upward to beg my attention, lifted full against my mouth from below. I cupped the firm swells of her ass in my hands, pulling her hard against my warm tongue. Becky moaned and lifted her shirt to fondle her rigid brown nipples.
My prick ached as I stepped up the rhythm of licking, excited to taste her cunt's river bed, taking guidance in the force of her breath, the arch of her back, catching glimpses above as she squeezed her tits hard. I fingered her ass easily, the path drenched with her juice, and Becky twisted to provoke more excitations while I licked her clitoris wet after a long dip in her well.
"Mmm," she said, probably biting her lip. I heard a faint call from outside and below. I hurried; licked her cunt harder, drove deeper, pushed faster, digging my short nails in her fleshy ass cheeks, anxious to finish the act before the curtain came crashing down.
Becky squirmed and moaned lowly, bucking the beat. I licked fiercely, frightened by the sound of soft steps methodically mounting the stairs. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Becky shouted, grabbing my hair, pulling me nearly into her widened cunt. I licked desperately and with a sudden nervous howl, the shudders within Becky played over my buried fingers.
"Yes," Becky cried out, pouring slick lust over my jaw.
"Mommy," a small voice called.
"Yes," Becky squealed, letting my tongue take one more long slip along her deep gorge.
"Mommy," the young girl yelled. The door knob rattled.
"Yes," she said pleased, pulling me up to her smile for a sloppy kiss. Becky scooted off the bed and I watched as she quickly squeezed her ripe ass into the blue denim shell.
"Mommy," Megan groaned painfully. Becky opened our door to discover the distraught child. She gave the child a hug.
"It's all right," she said, in a soothing sweet voice.
"Juice," she whined mercilessly. "Orange juice."
"All right," the young mother said, taking her daughter by the hand.
She offered me a wry smile. My prick throbbed painfully as she vanished down the stairs.
"Someday," I said, picking myself up. "I'll go crazy."
"Mom, I?m hungry," Trevor?s voice called as the front door burst open.
I sat up, my heart still thumping. I licked my damp lips, savoring the lost moment's memory and then with a sigh of resignation, I tried to turn my thoughts toward other things; of ships and strings and work, things undone.