Julie's water broke at 3:00 a.m., and Luke's day went more or less downhill from there. Despite April's journey down the same canal a year and a half earlier and rigorous attendance at Lamaze classes, Julie's cervix remained stuck at three centimeters for most of the day. At 4:00 p.m., when the baby's heart began showing signs of stress, the exhausted mother-to-be was rushed to the OR for an emergency Caesarian, and Luke was left alone to prepare himself as best he could for the birth of his second child. At loose ends and in need of the assurance of something familiar, he fished in his pocket for a quarter and lifted the receiver off the pay phone on the wall just inside the waiting room. He dialed his home number and listened impatiently to the clicks as the connection was made.
She answered on the third ring. "Hello, Bosco residence," his mother-in-law purred like a contented panther preening on a limb. Her dark hair and gracefully fluid movements had inspired him to make similar comparisons in the past. Once, she enjoyed a brief flirtation with fame as a West Coast torch singer par excellence with an alluring routine that featured red evening gowns and an ebony grand piano, but that was before Earl and Julie came along. She devoted a couple of years to motherhood, and, when she attempted a comeback, she found that her star had faded and her fans had drifted elsewhere. She still looked great in those evening gowns, and, if anything, the years had mellowed her voice like a great wine in the cask, but she knew that the brass ring had passed her by. She kept few relics to remind her of those sparkling days, but on her mantle there was a fading photograph of a piano and a buxom girl in a long red dress sandwiched between Frankie and Deano, and if anyone asked her about it, she would just chuckle real deep and say in that warm throaty voice of hers, "If I ever get to do it my way, I'll let ya know."
"Jackie, it's Luke. They just took Julie to the OR."
"Calm down, Luke; you're huffing and puffing like you're the one with your feet in the stirrups."
"It's surgery, Jackie," he barked, stating the obvious.
"Oh, is it really?" she answered a little less warmly. "And here I've spent the last twenty years thinking it was a stork that brought Julie."
"Oh hell, I forgot; you had it too, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did, Luke, and there's nothing to it. She'll wake up with her tummy a little sore, but the baby will be beautiful; none of those awful red marks on her head like she was pulled out with barbecue tongs."
"But, I wanted to be there in the room with her."
"That's really sweet, Luke, but, believe me, after twelve hours in labor she won't care if you're there or not."
"I still don't think much of caesarians."
"Oh, come on," Jackie laughed. "You're just pouting cause they won't be doing an episiotomy."
"Never mind; I'll explain it when you get home."
"You'll still be there? It's gonna be late; probably ten or after. You know I've got to stay till she gets out of recovery and back to her room."
"Stay as long as you need. I'll be here. April does better in her own bed, so I decided to stay over here with her."
"You're a jewel, Jackie; I don't know what we would do without you."
"That's what mothers-in-law do, baby; help you get over the rough places." She was purring again, huskily, and for an instant Luke fantasized that she sounded, well, seductive. It was not an unfamiliar fantasy for she had come often to his dreams during his obstetrically imposed celibacy, and he found her enticing but far beyond his reach.
"You've been great," he croaked, and he worried that the catch in his throat might have unmasked his thoughts.
"Go take care of my baby," she chuckled, "and give her a big kiss for me."
"Right. See ya later."
Valentine Constance Bosco entered this world, out of her father's sight and presence, at precisely 5:39 p.m. on Valentine's Day. Both mother and daughter came through the procedure without complication, but some quirky blood pressure readings kept Julie in recovery longer than expected. It was a little past nine when they rolled her back to her room where Luke was waiting.
"You the father?" one of the starchy, white-clad authority figures snapped at him as she and an identical twin maneuvered Julie's bed through the doorway.
"Yes, ma'am," he yelped, leaping to his feet.
"Go home. Get some sleep. Come back tomorrow."
"But, my wife," he protested.
"Her?" the nurse laughed, pointing a finger at the lumpy form lying motionless under a pink hospital blanket. "We gave her a sedative that'll keep her under till morning. There's nothing you can do here tonight."
"Where's the baby?" he asked, peering over the bed-rails as though he expected to find the newborn on the pillow beside her mother.
"In the nursery, where she's supposed to be. We don't bring the Caesarians out till the day after surgery. If you want to see her, you'll have to come around to the nursery window."
"The drapes are closed; it's past visiting hours."
"I'll open 'em for you, so you can take a peek at her. She's a pretty one, that Miss Valentine, with her little head all round and pink like it's supposed to be. You'll be proud of her."
That prophesy proved to be right on the money, and, after getting his peek and a quick one at that, Luke drove home through empty streets, bedazzled by his new daughter and awed by the challenges he knew would come.
Luke let himself into his darkened house and found Jackie in the living room with April on her shoulder.
"You look tired," Jackie said, greeting him with a slightly concerned frown. April blinked and bubbled, "Da," as Jackie shifted the baby to her other shoulder.
"It's been quite a day."
"Mother and daughter still doing okay, I hope."
"Doing just fine; Julie's knocked out, but Valentine was wide awake and just gorgeous. She's almost as pretty as her grandmother."
"Better watch that, buster," Jackie laughed, playfully poking his chest with a finger. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
Luke grinned self-consciously, and asking, "Where's Earl?" He glanced around the room for signs of his father-in-law.
"Home. Most likely passed out in his recliner in front of the TV as usual."
"He didn't come with you?"
"Oh, he came, but you ran out of beer, so he went back home."
April began to squirm, attempting to crawl her way over Jackie's shoulder, and her churning little knees jostled her grandmother's full breasts.
"Oh, oh," Jackie snickered, catching the baby under the arms. "This little one's getting tired, and she's working me over pretty good."
"I'll take her, if you want," Luke offered, reaching to take his daughter.
"Not a chance, daddy-o, I'm having fun. You can come help me change her diaper though and get her ready for bed."
"Sure," he said, and he followed her up the stairs to the baby's room.
Not many guys are lucky enough to have a mother-in-law like Jackie, he thought, congratulating himself as her denim clad buttocks rolled sensuously in front of him on the way up the stairs. Her hips undulated provocatively as she climbed, and he found himself wondering how many grandmothers there were in the world who still looked thirty and who could make your mouth water by wearing a pair of skintight jeans.
Luke gulped, and his eyes shifted to Jackie's finger, then back to her eyes. His gut tightened as her meaning settled upon him. He struggled to fashion a clever response, but then, like the drawing of a drape, a forlorn look swept across his face, and he muttered, "I guess that gene skipped a generation."
Jackie shot him a look that was at once a curious mixture of surprise and uncanny knowledge, and her gaze lingered on him while he shuffled his feet uncomfortably. She lowered April onto the clean diaper, drew it up between the baby's legs and fastened it at the hips, and then she turned to him and, brushing a stray curl from her forehead, said, "That's too bad for Julie."
"Too bad for me, you mean," he mumbled, turning away, unable to return her look.
"Poor baby," she purred soothingly. "You look like you could use a bath and a drink. You go shower, while I give April here a bottle and put her down for the night, and then I'll fix you a drink in the den. How does that sound, big boy?"
"Like an offer I can't refuse, ma'am."
"Good boy," she breathed softly laying her hand on his arm and taking a step closer to him with April cradled in her arms. "Never turn down an offer from your mother-in-law."
"No ma'am, I won't." The touch of her fingers held his mind and seared his skin like a branding iron.
"I know you won't. Now scoot. I have things to do before you get that drink."
Luke turned and raced down the hall to his bedroom, propelled by a sense of urgency he could neither explain nor resist. He showered in five minutes and dried himself in less, pausing only to lay his fingers on his arm where Jackie had touched him in an effort to recall that moment and the wild sensations he had felt. He was about to leave the bath when he ran his palm across his cheek and felt a two-day growth of beard. He shaved with quick, hurried strokes, and then brushed his teeth. He raked his fingers through his hair, then reached for his aftershave. Two sprays for his face, two for his chest, and then, on a prescient whim, he pumped the atomizer twice and misted his groin. He threw on his robe and tying the belt as he went, dashed downstairs toward the den.
Jackie had arrived ahead of him, and she was waiting on a stool at the bar. The den was dark except for the soft light of a few candles that flickered here and there, casting weird, dancing shadows on the windowless, basement walls. In the corner opposite the bar, his stereo lights glowed, and he could hear the low beat of his favorite Marc Anthony CD. He blinked, acclimating his eyes to the darkness, and, when he opened them and focused, Jackie began materializing in the gloom.
Holy cow, he shrieked to himself as his vision adjusted and his heart bounced into his throat. She had slipped off her stool and was standing, facing him, arm outstretched, a drink in her hand. She smiled, dazzling him even without the light, and then he saw that she had changed her clothes. The jeans and loose top were gone, replaced by a nightgown so sheer that she might as well have been wearing nothing at all. Spaghetti-thin straps struggled against the weight of her breasts to keep her covered, and, when he squinted, he could just make out a dusting of little red hearts scattered across the gossamer material. Her bosoms, heavy, rounded, much larger than Julie's, pressed the fabric, and the darkened raspberries of her nipples were prominent against the milky whiteness of her globes. His eyes dropped, following the folds of the transparency to its ultimate conclusion at the tops of her thighs. Oh, God, it was short, too short by half, he groaned as his eyes flirted with the hem and the dense tangle of black hair exposed beneath it. She was moving toward him, speaking to him, but the noise of blood rushing in his ears drowned her words. She came closer, reaching for him; he was lost in a welter of confused thoughts.
"Here's your drink, Luke," she said softly, reaching for his hand with hers and placing the cold glass in his limp fingers. "Scotch and water, heavy on the scotch, right?"
Luke nodded, speechless, dumbstruck and motionless, and gaped as she turned her back to him and returned to her stool. Thoughts and observations, jumbled and incoherent, rattled in his brain: short dark hair, graceful arching nape of the neck, shoulders wide, yet delicately feminine, merging into the broad expanse of her back, waist tapering, narrowing, and then the dramatic flare of her hips and the hollow at the base of her spine and the backward, steeply jutting slope of her butt, enticing cheeks shimmering white, firm and muscular, flexing with the motion of her legs, half-covered by the faint film of her gown, then thighs and calves, muscles taut and solid, like a statue of a goddess hewn from living stone come to life in his den.
She reached her stool, and turned again to face him. Steadying herself with a hand on the bar, she lifted a leg and raised herself on tiptoe to put one cheek on the stool cushion. Her thighs separated, exposing her dark bush as she regained her perch.
"Oops," she twittered, tugging the hem of the transparency ineffectively in a gesture of feigned modesty. "I left my stuff at home in the rush to get here, and this is all I could find in Julie's drawer. You don't think she would mind it I borrowed it just for tonight, do you?"
"I, uh, ah, uh, guess not" he stammered, feeling like a total incompetent, but he also felt a warming throb of excitement between his legs. His hand was shaking so hard the ice in his drink was tinkling against the glass.
"You're shaking your scotch like it's a martini, Luke," she said with a wicked smile and a nod toward his trembling hand. "You want me to make you one of those instead, baby?"
"No, no, this is fine, great," he sputtered, and lifting the glass to his lips he quickly gulped half the contents.
"Oh my, thirsty boy," she laughed, and then she patted the stool beside her and said, "Come over here and sit beside me, Luke. I won't bite you; not hard anyway."
He drained his glass to fortify his nerve, and then stumbled clumsily toward the empty barstool. Jackie watched him closely as he clambered up, trying his best to maintain some dignity by managing the loose front of his robe with one hand and clinging to his glass with the other. As happens occasionally at times of intense distraction the inanimate betrays the animate, and so, suddenly and unexpectedly, his stool tottered awkwardly for a moment causing him to forsake modesty for the stability of the bar. He lunged for the bar rail, feet churning the air below like he was peddling a bicycle, and, of course, in the commotion, his robe fell open at the waist. Jackie observed his struggles with cool amusement, but when his robe parted, exposing him, her eyes dropped to his lap and lingered there until he regained his equilibrium. The motion of his hand drawing the tail of his robe across his groin broke her trance, and she felt the heat of the blush that had crept up her throat while she was watching him.
"Luke, be careful," she gasped in a warning that came well after all danger had passed, and then, when he looked at her sheepishly, she added with a coquettish smirk, "It would be a real shame to lose you, honey." "I'm okay," he muttered in a manly effort to conceal his embarrassment, because she had left him no doubt about the object of her concern.
"You need another scotch," she observed.
"Do I ever," he agreed, rattling the ice cubes in his empty glass.
Jackie made him another drink, stronger than the first, and they sat facing each other, knees nearly touching, and, while they sipped, he described for her with breathless detail the day's events. She listened carefully, as mothers are wont to do where their children are concerned, but, when the story passed beyond the dangers of delivery, her mind wandered. She reached her foot across the space between them and curled her toes around a rung of his stool as she listened, and from time to time, when he became excited describing something, his foot would brush hers and a tingling spasm would course up her leg to her belly. She heard him out, summoning all the patience she could muster because she knew that she could never hold his attention if she interrupted the telling of his story, and finally, near the bottom of his glass, his voice trailed off.
He sat silently staring into space, lost in his thoughts for a few moments, and then, her toes brushed his foot. It was not a casual, accidental touching, but a deliberate caress that was calculated to attract his attention. His head jerked just slightly, like he had been startled, and she caressed his foot again. He blinked and turned his head toward her.
"It's Valentine's Day, Luke," she said looking into his eyes, and something in the way she said it reminded him of the passion of Valentines past.
"Oh, damn," he groaned apologetically, "I guess you and Earl had plans to go out tonight, didn't you?"
"I don't think so, honey," she responded sarcastically. "Earl hasn't remembered Valentine's Day once in fifteen years."
"Julie's a chip off the old block, then," he grumbled in reply. "She said she was so fat she didn't even want to think about Valentine's Day."
"Poor baby," she purred solicitously, "no present this year?"
"You got that right," he sighed with a grimace of disappointment, and turned toward his glass to drown his sorrows with another gulp of scotch.
"I guess that explains why this little number was buried in the back of Julie's lingerie drawer." She plucked the gown between her breasts as she spoke, and the swollen discs of her nipples seemed to wink at him though the gauze. She moved her foot to cover his, and he could feel her toes on his instep. The sensuous pressure of her fingers on his arm earlier was nothing in comparison, and he felt a tightening in his gut.
He stared at her nipples, barely noticing the gown at first, then his eyebrows arched in recognition, and he muttered, "I gave that to her last Valentine's Day, but she's only worn it once."
"Babies have a way of pushing daddy out of the picture, Luke," she replied with genuine sympathy, because she knew that Julie's devotion to April had come at a price, and that more often than not Luke was finding himself on the periphery of the family circle.
"You noticed?" he sighed, sounding slightly despondent.
"Of course, I noticed; I don't miss much where you and Julie are concerned."
"It's okay. April requires a lot of attention."
"Mmmmm," she nodded understandingly. "So do daddies if memory serves."
Luke didn't respond, instead staring glumly into his glass as though the mysteries of the universe would be disclosed there in the arrangement of the ice cubes.
"I have a present for you, Luke," she said throatily, changing the subject to break the spell of melancholy that was beginning to threaten her plans, and she studied him as her tone intertwined itself with the scotch's smoky fumes in his brain.
"Wha?" he protested with a start. "What'd you do that for?"
"Because I wanted to. I knew Julie wouldn't, and I thought my good looking young son-in-law deserved a present on Valentine's Day," she said, straightening her back and rolling her shoulders back. Her breasts thrust toward him, flattening slightly against the restraint of the thin fabric. Her berries poked the cloth, raising it like a pair of tent poles.
"But, but, Jackie," he sputtered, embarrassed by his lack of foresight, "I don't have anything to give you."
"Are you sure?" she breathed heavily with her eyes fixed on his. Her voice was thick with the syrup of suggestion.
"Huh?" he croaked.
"Never mind," she smiled disarmingly as she pushed a small, gift-wrapped package down the bar toward him. "Open your present."
Bewildered, Luke, looked at her and then at the package. He felt a measure of relief because it was so small and so insignificant, only about the size and shape of a toothpaste box, and he consoled his discomfort with the hope that it was merely a token gift. He lifted the package, being careful not to damage the bow, and shook it beside his ear. It rattled with a dull, flat sound, and he looked at her quizzically.
"Oh, for Pete's sake, go on and open it." Impatience injected an edge to her voice. She had put both her feet on his and was bouncing her heels expectantly.
He rotated the package carefully, looking it over and planning his approach. He inspected it closely, holding it up to the faint light of the single candle on the bar, and then, just beside the bow, he discovered Jackie's note. He squinted and read aloud, "For Luke, To make all your dreams come true; Love, Jackie."
"That's really sweet of you, Jackie," he said, remembering his manners.
"Oh hell, just open it, will you? Just tear the end off and shake it out." She sounded agitated, and her toes were skittering all over his feet. Somehow, while he was concentrating on the package, she had found an end of his belt, and began tugging it to hurry him along.
"Okay, okay," he replied, and to placate her he quickly ripped the end, paper, ribbon and cardboard, off the gift.
He inverted the package and shook it. A small white tube fell from the opening and dropped with a plop into his palm. He leaned for a closer look and then straightened. He looked at her with a perplexed look that creased his forehead in a frown.
"KY jelly, Jackie? Just what I always wanted for Valentine's Day."
"You'll need it," she answered mysteriously.
"What on earth for?" he questioned, feeling like he had missed the joke somewhere.
"I learned some things about you today, Mr. Bosco, while you were at the hospital."
"What are you talking about? What things?" His eyes darted about the room seeking clues.
"I was poking around the house this morning, you know, trying to find Earl some more beer, and I happened upon your stash of dirty movies right here under the bar."
"Huh?" he groaned unresponsively. A heavy mantle of dread began settling over him.
"You know what I'm talking about."
"That cabinet's locked." He squirmed defensively, ignoring her wiggling toes.
"It wasn't this morning," she corrected with a gotcha smile.
"Shit," he groaned.
"You've got quite a collection down there, buster."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do, baby," she cooed, pulling herself closer to him with the tag end of his belt.
"All that stuff belongs to a friend of mine. I'm just keeping it for him so his wife won't find it."
"Aren't you the Good Samaritan," she chuckled disingenuously. "What's this friend's name? I want to meet him."
"Because I'd like him, that's why. We think alike. We're interested in the same things. You know, share fetishes."
"Fetishes?" he croaked. His face was beginning to show the stress fractures of a disintegrating composure.
"Yeah, Luke, fetishes. I'd say that thirty fuck films, all with the same theme, qualified as a fetish."
"I, I don't know anything about any fetish," he stammered, staggered by her shockingly casual use of the "f" word.
"Maybe you ought to get to know your friends better; you know, investigate, find out what they're into, before you go offering to hide their stuff for them."
While she was answering him, she reached across the bar and picked up the remote control to his VCR. Luke's eyes, bulging with apprehension, were riveted to the device as she toyed with the controls.
"Jackie?" he protested, nearly strangling on her name, when she pointed the controller toward the TV.
"No kidding, baby; you really need to check this out. That friend of yours has some awesome stuff."
Across the room the TV screen crackled and began to warm. Luke could almost hear the drums rolling and sense the hangman's hand moving toward the lever to spring the trap beneath his feet as the screen gradually brightened. Oh dear, oh dear, he berated himself with dread as the title swam into focus. "Buttman Reams the Wedding Reception," he read with a sinking feeling. Oh shit, he thought; he remembered this one better than the rest. Somebody spikes the punch, and the drunken bridesmaids take turns letting Buttman fuck their asses. He fucks them everywhere, behind bushes, in the bathroom, under the orchestra stand, and, finally, the bride, on the pretext of going to change out of her wedding dress, leads him into the bedroom, and, lifting her gown by the train, throws herself on the bed to let him do her asshole too.
Luke's eyes were glued to the screen, but he was acutely aware of Jackie's presence next to him. The film progressed, and the sound of her breathing became heavier as she watched. She was tense with anticipation, and her toes barely moved on his skin.
On screen, Buttman was talking to one of the bridesmaids; a beautiful girl with long blonde hair in a lime-green sheath dress that barely covered her ass. The girl was grinning and nodding her head, but the dialogue was inaudible because the sound was off. That was of no consequence, since Luke knew all the lines by heart anyway. He knew the girl was eagerly agreeing to meet Buttman in the bathroom in a few minutes, and, sure enough, that scene faded and was replaced immediately with an image of the girl leaning against a sink, making out with Buttman like he was the answer to her prayers. Pretty soon he had her breasts bared, and was pulling her dress up over her hips. It was a summer wedding, so she wasn't wearing hose, and it only took him a second or two to strip her thong down her shapely legs. They were kissing, and he was squeezing the girl's ass cheeks like he was milking her butt, and then she was rubbing her pussy all over him and trying to pull his cummerbund up so she could get to his zipper. Then, he turned that gorgeous girl around and told her to lean over the sink and spread her legs. Of course, she did like he told her, and Buttman crouched down behind her and started running his hands all over her cheeks and down between her legs, and he was rubbing her pussy then and she couldn't stand still for more than a second or two, so she looked over shoulder to say something, and Luke could read her lips saying "Please, baby, do me." Then, Buttman put his hands on her cheeks and spread them apart, and her crack opened up, and just then the camera panned in for a close-up of the sweetest, pinkest little asshole in the world. It was a tiny little thing, not hardly bigger than a dime, and it was smooth, real smooth, like it didn't have but one, maybe two, little wrinkles in it and there wasn't any hair at all anywhere near it, except down covering her pussy where Buttman's fingers were getting her worked up. Then the camera pulled back and Buttman leaned forward toward that gorgeous girl's wiggling ass, and he got closer and closer, but taking his time to let the suspense take hold, and then, all of a sudden, his face was between her cheeks and his tongue was out and he was licking her crack and trying to run the tip of his tongue up into that tiny little asshole. At that, the girl started going nuts, throwing her head back and shaking it, making all that blonde hair fly around, while she hunched her hips and begged him to stick his prick up her butt.
"Jesus Christ, that's hot," Jackie gasped aloud.
Luke turned to look at her, but she was oblivious; the action on the screen had captured her attention and, for the moment she was ignoring him.
Buttman stood up and fished under his cummerbund for the tab to his zipper. The girl shot him a glance of dismayed abandonment while he fumbled to free his prick, and he told her to play with herself till he was ready to fuck her. Of course, Jackie couldn't hear any of that, but she could get the idea pretty quick because the girl immediately reached down between her legs and spread her pussy lips open with a couple of fingers and started stroking her clit. Jackie could see the girl's reflection in the mirror over the sink, and the kid's eyes started getting a distant, sort of far away look in them, and she started flicking her finger back and forth across her clit, kind of strumming it. About then, Buttman got his zipper down and started fishing around in his pants. A couple of seconds later, his hand came out dragging a cock that looked like a cross between a python and a baseball bat.
"Ohmygod," Jackie gasped at the sight of Buttman's cock, and Luke watched her out of the corner of his eye as she chewed her lip and brushed perspiration off the underside of her chin with the back of her hand. Her butt was squirming on the stool cushion like she had sat on a tack or something, and he could feel the heat radiating off her nearly bare skin.
Luke was, himself, approaching the point of total meltdown. His cock had grown until it was hard as an iron porch post, and he had to cross his legs just to keep it from fighting free of its hiding place. Jesus, he panted silently, he had seen this flick a thousand times, jacked off to it hundreds, but always alone, in the dark late at night, or during the day when Julie was out shopping. She wouldn't approve, no way, not at all; she would just push him away, saying it was dirty and nasty, and have nothing to do with him after that for weeks at a time. Oh, Julie, he thought, but the scent of her mother pushed her image from his mind. Jackie was there; close enough to feel, to smell, to hear, and she wasn't repelled; she was enthralled. Her eyes followed every movement on the screen, wide with wonder and eager anticipation. Her tongue thrashed her lips restlessly, wetting them in one moment only for her to wipe them dry with her forearm the next. She panted and sighed and groaned with the girl on the screen, and when the girl's fingers started stroking her cunt, he detected Jackie's hand rising to pluck at her own distended nipples.
Buttman's lips were moving; you could see his face beside the girl's reflection in the mirror. The girl's eyes widened; she looked scared.
"He's telling her to make his cock wet," Luke explained, reading Buttman's lips aloud.
Jackie jerked her head around at the sound of his voice and looked at him like she had forgotten him. "Baby," she moaned almost painfully and put her hand on his bare thigh, up high near the edge of his robe, but the lure of the lurid screen had captivated her, and she turned away losing herself again in Buttman's adventure.
Buttman put his hands on the girl's shoulders and forced her to turn around, facing him. His cock stood out from the gap in his pants like the limb of a tree, and the girl stared at it with eyes filled with wonder and doubt. He took her hands and put them on his cock, and then he kissed her, while she rubbed her pussy with him. She closed her thighs, capturing the end of his dick between her legs, and jacked him off, while he sucked her tits and chewed her nipples. After a minute of that, he pulled away, freeing his dick, and he looked into the girl's eyes and then pointed to his prick.
"He wants her to suck him off," Luke whispered helpfully, and he felt Jackie's response in the tightening of her fingers on his thigh. His own cock was throbbing with an ache he had never felt before, and he shifted his hips in the hope of attracting the attention of Jackie's fingers, but she failed to notice.
The girl dropped to her knees in front of Buttman and put both her hands on his huge dick. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face with the swollen, purplish head, leaving a sticky web of precum strands staining her pretty lips and cheeks. She brushed the tip across her lips and licked the slit with the tip of her tongue. Buttman grunted and wove his fingers in the girl's blond curls pulling her mouth toward his cock. She opened wide, stretching her lips and jaw to accept him, and took what she could of him into her mouth.
Luke glanced at Jackie out of the corner of his eye. Her mouth was open; lips, wetted with spittle, gaped empathetically. Her breath was coming in quick little gasps, and she had slipped her hand under her gown and was feverishly massaging her nipple while she stared at the images on the screen.
The girl moved her mouth and began licking the length of Buttman's massive cock. Her saliva quickly coated the darkened, heavily veined surface, and her fingers skated eagerly over his skin to test his slipperiness. She wetted him all over once, and then again, then, taking no chances, she licked the swollen head a third time. Her spit dripped off him as he lifted the girl off her knees and stood her, once more, facing the mirror. He moved behind her and nudged her crease with the tip of his cock. He spoke and she nodded, smiling, and reached for her behind with both hands.
"He just told her to spread her ass-cheeks so he can fuck her," Luke volunteered. He was beginning to sound like a play-by-play announcer at a football game, he thought, feeling foolish, but the tightening of Jackie's grip on his thigh reassured him.
"Oh, God, baby, she's soooooooo hot," Jackie gushed, and her fingernails dug into his flesh.
The blonde pulled her cheeks apart with both hands, opening her deep crease and exposing her tiny asshole. Buttman inched closer and touched her ass with the tip of his cock. The agitated girl's feet danced on the bare linoleum floor, and she rubbed her tits on the edge of the sink, and it was easy to tell that feeling Buttman's cock touching her asshole was causing the pretty little thing no end of excitement. Buttman started pushing, trying to get the head of his cock inside her, but he wasn't making any progress, and his dick developed a kind of bow, and pretty soon he had the girl mashed up against the wall with her tits in the sink and her head turned sideways with her cheek against the mirror. Buttman backed off and let the girl slide down the wall some and reposition herself, only this time she braced with both hands on the faucet handles and left him to open her up if he really needed to. Now, Luke knew that old Buttman had made about fifty films in his career and had enough sense about butt-fucking that he could probably find an asshole to fill in a pitch dark room full of nuns, so having the girl's hands occupied didn't present any problem at all. Buttman wedged his thumbs between those lily-white cheeks, and, before you could blink, the dark bottom of her crease was filling the screen and her little hole, all wet and slippery lookin, was puckered up just waiting to be kissed. Then, here came the cock and the head of it just about filled the screen, and it looked to be three or four times the size of the hole he was fixin to fill with it, and it started boring down on that little hole and forcing her cheeks apart, and precum was leaking out of the tip and oozing all over her crack, and Luke knew that there was a lot of grunting and groaning and suggesting going on, but he kept his mouth shut cause he didn't want to sound like an idiot trying to explain all that.
Luke snuck a look in Jackie's direction. Her eyes were wide as saucers, and she was chewing her bottom lip. She had pushed up her gown to get to her breasts, so most of what little had been covered was uncovered, and there she was twisting one of her nipples between her thumb and forefinger and making funny little gurgling sounds deep in her throat. He could see her bare belly running flat and smooth right down to her hairy pussy and her skin was shiny with perspiration. If she was aware of him at all, she gave no sign of it, and it took all the will power he could muster to keep his hands off her. Her body gave a little jerk and she leaned forward, toward the TV, and he forced his attention back to the screen.
The girl was half lying across the sink. Her arms were straightened, locked at the elbows for leverage, and her fingers were curled around the faucet handles in a death grip. She had squeezed her eyes shut and her face was all squinched up and red like she was in the middle of Lamaze practice. Buttman bored his cock into her like a pile-driver busting rock and the top half of the head was wedged in her hole. Buttman had a hold of her hip bones with both hands, and was pulling her so hard you could tell his muscles were just about to tear the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket. The camera panned in for another close-up, and the screen filled with the image of that tiny asshole trying to swallow Buttman's enormous cock. Funny thing about assholes, Luke thought, recollecting lessons learned from hours spent studying films depicting such matters, once he gets a little in, it gets much easier. Then, as he watched, the girl's tight sphincter relaxed and a little of Buttman's cock disappeared. It was slow at first, almost too slow to detect, but after a minute more of pushing and stretching that poor girl's butt-ring, suddenly old Buttman was buried to the rim of his cock-head inside her ass. Buttman paused right there, with the head almost in, cause he was coming to the biggest part of his cock, and he liked to savor the moment when the first timers were figuring out what was about to happen to their assholes. He backed out, withdrawing nearly all his cock-head, and watched her hole close up behind him. He pushed it back in to where it was before, only this time it was a little easier, and they didn't have to strain so hard. Then he did it again, and it was easier still, and if you looked real close you could see that the girl's hole didn't close up all the way this time, so, when Buttman stuck her again, she was already opened up some and the head slid right back to where it was just easy as you please.
The scotch, the porn and a three-month stretch of celibacy were brewing in Luke's brain like newt eyes and frog toes in a witch's cauldron, and the poor fellow was beginning to unravel. He slipped his hand toward his crotch, desperate to find some means of quelling the raging fire in his dick. He was dangerously close to his favorite part in his favorite film, and the consequences of watching that with a half naked woman rubbing herself not a foot away were things he was not sure he wanted to learn. He groped himself and found his cock sticking up under his robe. It was rigid and jerking, doing that odd little pre-orgasmic thing it did with twitches and uncontrollable shudders, and he knew that somebody had better put a finger in the dike right then or else. He covered the head with the palm of his hand and dug his fingers into the tender throat on the underside, and then he squeezed down hard. He winced and nearly gasped, and then he did it again, only harder, and it hurt him so badly that he nearly jumped off the stool, but the jerking and twitching subsided and he felt the tension relax just a smidgen. He sighed in relief and closed his eyes because he still didn't trust himself to look at Jackie or the TV.
Buttman was fucking the girl's ass with tiny little thrusts that stopped just short of burying the head inside her. He was teasing her actually; tantalizing her with little tastes of cock, while he loosened her hole, so that, when he was ready for a real ass-fuck, not only would she be ready for his cock, she would be begging him for it. The camera work was amazing, filming from inches, remaining rock steady, it showed Buttman's cock withdrawing completely, hovering just outside the girl's open hole. Yes, that's right, open hole. He had stretched her so that now, when he withdrew, her asshole didn't close up at all but remained open, a hot circle of deeply reddened flesh gaping like a mouth as wide as his cock, and the camera closed in even closer and there, beyond the opening were pink, pulsating walls that gradually darkened and faded to black in the depths of her tunnel.
"Oh, baby, do it," a voice growled in the tormented tone of frustrated passion, and the words seemed to Luke to reverberate in the room.
His first thought was that the sound had returned to the TV, because the voice and the words were a close match for the girl on the screen, but he realized almost immediately that the sound was too close, too rich, and that it throbbed with a depth of desire that surpassed any scripted performance. He chanced a peek at Jackie. She was leaning toward the cock on the screen; her lips were working feverishly, forming nearly soundless words. She had uncrossed her legs and separated her knees. Her hand was plunged between her legs, her fingers digging into her bush, and she was panting like a runner on a steep hill.
"Give it too her," she huffed, offering encouragement to the frozen figures on the screen. (next Chap 2)