If you’ve seen Part 1 of this story, you know that my wife, Linda, and Janine, her closest friend, had drifted into a fairly regular pattern of lesbian romps, and that our son, Jason, discovered them and photographed many of them and passed pictures on to me. You also know that Linda discovered some of the pictures I kept in my possession and disclosed them to Janine, who then ascertained that Sammy had his own stash. Shortly afterward they located the camera that had taken them. Finally, you know that Linda and Janine, believing only that Sammy and I were aware of what was going on, had been playing to the camera for our pleasure and benefit, only to realize later that Jason was the real voyeur, which fact disturbed Linda immensely. Her story left off at dawn of the first day following this discovery, which had left her tormented and sleepless.
This is the story of my introduction to the saga.
Jason plopped down into the easy chair opposite mine in the living room. Absorbed as I was reading a book, I took no particular notice that he was unusually pensive and serious in his manner.
“Dad…?” he began.
“What is it, Jason?”
“What do you know about lesbians and bisexual women?” he asked.
This was a rather extraordinary subject to bring up out of the blue. My eyebrows raised.
“Not much, Son, never gave it much thought. Seems to me that women come by that sort of thing more easily than men do, but I can’t say I’m sure about that. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing,” he answered, with what seemed to be an effort to look casual and mildly inquisitive, overplayed just enough to spoil it. “Just wondering, I guess. Do you think it means they are unhappy with their husbands or boyfriends?”
I gave it a few seconds’ thought. “Oh, not necessarily. I suppose it’s possible that a woman who is bisexual might feel some kind of need that only another woman can satisfy, no matter how good sex with a man is for her. At least, that’s the best guess I can come up with. You can probably find a lot more answers to things like that on the Internet. I really know from nothin’ about it.”
I tried to study his expression without drawing his attention. With half an eye I could see there was more to it than mild curiosity. I just waited. Eventually, like someone steeling himself for a distasteful task, he took a deep breath and spoke again.
“Dad,” he said, “actually, I lied. I’m not just wondering. There’s more to it than that.”
“You mean Lori?” I asked. Lori is his girlfriend.
“Actually, no,” he replied.
Alarm bells suddenly sounded, many of them, and loudly, in my mind. If it’s not his girlfriend, then there are few other possibilities close enough to him to merit this kind of reserve and concern. My own breath froze for a moment.
“You mean…?” I asked.
“Yes, Dad. I mean Mom,” he replied, very softly and reluctantly.
A wave of shock passed through me and my eyes suddenly fixed themselves on the opposite wall, my mind suddenly a maelstrom of thoughts and demands clamoring for precedence.
“She and Janine have been going at it for some time now,” Jason said. “I really don’t know how long it’s been going on. I found out about four months ago. A little later I started taking these.”
He handed me a photograph, the first of the photographs which have figured so prominently in this story so far. There they were, naked, wrapped up in each other, feverish lust beaming brightly from their faces. My emotional reaction was numbness; I don’t think my disbelieving mind was willing to coming up with anything else, not just yet. At this point it was more like the evening news than a big personal revelation, or, at least, that’s all I dared allow myself to feel.
Numbly, I returned it to Jason. He passed several more to me. They were quite different, taken at different times and of different activities; the only constants were the identities of the two players and the game they were playing.
“Dad, what you just told me—I mean, about how it doesn’t have to mean there’s something wrong between you and Mom and your own sex life—I believe you can count on that.”
“Thanks, Jason,” I returned, managing a bit of a smile. “I’ll admit it’s a bit harder to accept when it’s this close to home, so to speak.” I stopped to relax a bit, then questioned him earnestly, “How can you be so sure about it?”
He reached beside him and placed a portable CD player on the end table.
“I don’t think I need a soundtrack to all this, Son,” I protested.
“Hang in there, Dad. I think this will be worth it.”
“OK, Son, I hope so,” I said with resignation, not sure how to prepare for what might follow.
“When I set up the camera I also bugged the room. It was actually kind of fun. You know, playing the big secret agent and all that. Anyway, I’ve saved an awful lot of what they’ve latina fuck tour porno been saying these four months. I have a little of that here, some things you should hear. ” He pressed the button to begin the play, and the two familiar feminine voices rose from the box. The first was Linda’s.
“This one is his second-favorite, Jannie. I’ll show you number one sometime soon. I’ll tell you, the first time I shimmied up to him with this on he gave me the big what-for that should have made the headlines! His seven-incher felt like seventeen.”
I heard Janine respond with a charmingly girlish giggle. I began to see the direction this road was leading and prayed my early conclusions would be right.
“Hey, stop getting all tingly like that, you!” Linda teased. “He’s all mine, you know. You can borrow this if you like, but you can’t borrow him!”
“Aww, gee, Lin,” Jannie replied in a voice of mock protest. “You mean you won’t rent him out now and then?”
“Ooh, kinky, kinky, girl! Depends on the price, I suppose.”
“Maybe we can do some trade-out,” I heard Jannie say. “I’m sure you’d get your price’s worth and more with that lovin’ lug of mine!”
“Well, don’t mention it to Freddy unless you really mean it,” Linda replied, still kidding—I think. “He’s not the jealous type. I think he’d be tickled pink to let your Sammy get wild with me—as long as he gets a little of the same from his own hot little wife.”
At another time that might have fired some extraordinarily pleasant imagery in my mind. Right then, though, the order of business was entirely different, and that subject was tabled indefinitely.
“Need to hear more, Dad?” Jason quietly intoned.
“I’m not sure, Son,” I replied. “You say you culled these bits from your audio library. Are you telling me that this is typical?”
“It’s more than that; it’s nearly constant. I think they spend as much time giggling over the thrills you and Sammy are giving them as they do getting into their own thing. Sometimes it’s almost like a friendly competition, as if they were both trying to convince each other that they have the hottest husband. You see why I insisted on you hearing that,” he concluded.
I smiled. “Yes, thank you, Son. Still, this is quite a shock. Let me simmer this over in my own mind for a while. At least it seems pretty sure that there’s nothing to worry about.”
Jason nodded, collected the pictures and the CD player and left.
It did seem unreal, surreal. When you share home and bed with someone for twenty-odd years, you get to think you know them inside and out. And then, right out of the blue, here comes the bolt that shakes all of that up and leaves you breathless and uncertain. In this case, I might have added troubled, but the voices of these two ladies on Jason’s recording had quelled that, thank God. Maybe, once the shock and amazement passed, I’d really sense the love and compliments contained in their banter and find relief in it.
It wasn’t very long before it happened just that way.
It was just a few nights later. I was resting in bed, stretching and yawning at the first suggestion of the night’s slumber when out of the corner of my eye I saw Linda entering the room. I then realized, with a start, that she wore the very negligée she had been telling Janine about when she made that sweet, and I hope, honest, comment about the reaction it had provoked in me. Once again it did its magic, as it would have even had I not been aware of the conversation with Janine that referred to it. Now, however, that recollection bolstered and amplified it. I saw her eyes glowing in anticipation, a sly smile gracing her face and her powerfully seductive grace as she traversed the small distance to our bed, suddenly dropping to it on all fours and nuzzling her face into my neck with some playfully aggressive twists and pushes augmented by little play-animal growls.
I’m not seventeen any longer and I won’t be so vain as to deny that it sometimes takes a little time and attention to get my “seven-incher,” as she had kindly referred to it, out and up to that dimension. This time, however, the combination of the angelic view she presented, the heated desire she expressed with her entire being and the recollection of her words from Jason’s CD combined to jolt the little soldier to attention faster than any drill sergeant had ever accomplished with his compliant recruits.
“My, oh my!” Linda murmured as she took the evidence in her tender but unabashed grasp. “Someone’s read the night’s agenda in advance, I see!”
“Yes, and I think it’s time to put it up to a vote, my dear,” I replied with a responding nudge.
“I think we need to ‘put it up’ to something else, don’t you think?” she whispered seductively.
In reply I buried my face into the side of her neck, letting my accelerating lezbiyen porno breathing brush the side of it. As that melted into a path of kisses along the side, I felt her own exhalations injecting their growing warmth into my system, and her hands seek the bottom of my nightshirt, quickly lifting it up an off.
We have long learned of and enjoyed the benefits of patient love play, but something had taken hold of her already that spelled out an exception to the rule. As my shirt disappeared, she pushed me back to the pillow aggressively and began caressing and kissing the top of my head, in the process pressing her exquisite breasts right into my face. My hands and lips sought them, sucking and teasing one nipple while tracing and caressing the other. Soon my hands insinuated themselves beneath the tantalizing gown and found the bare flesh of her breasts. Her hands reached behind my neck and she pulled my face forward strongly, driving my attention even further into her.
My hands had dropped from her breasts to that incredibly sexy narrow waist of hers and begun the exploration of her hips. At that, she suddenly rose to her knees and, with the kind of sweet-yet-sly smile that only genuine love and passion can produce, she lifted the diaphanous nightgown over her head and let it go, arching her back and opening her arms wide like a speaker or an actor proudly calling for the full attention of the audience. The driving heat of her body radiated the heat of her soul directly into me, inflaming me with desire.
The tracing of her hips with my fingertips evolved soon into wild kneading of the flesh of her wonderful ass. At this she rose again and planted her knees on either side of my face, inviting my eager tongue to seek and dance with her clit. I complied gratefully, my hands returning to her breasts as I flicked the sensitive nubbin. Her hips danced in little thrusts forward and back, growing bigger and bigger as she yielded control to her passions, sometimes making it difficult to stay on target, not that I had any objection to the task of locating it again. She supported herself with her hands on my hips, and found enough balance to free one of them to address the cries of my tumescent cock.
Her fingers on my penis and my tongue on her clit, we bucked and bounced, the fever rising as our surrounding reality faded from significance. The sound of her broken gasps as she drew in breath at each of her accelerating pelvic thrusts fired my bemused excitement further as my own breath matched hers.
Not interrupting my lingual attentions, I reached within her, seeking the sensitive G-spot inside, linking both touches in a way that the experience of our years together has taught me is particularly stimulating to her. In response her body stiffened for a moment and then resumed the wild gyration, even more intensely.
Then, suddenly, she lay back on the bed and seemed to lift me bodily to between her parted legs. Tonight this was her show, and I was pleased to follow her direction. It’s long been that way with us: one time I’m leading the action, another time, she does. Both ways are immensely satisfying, and we seem to automatically know how it’s going to play out, from one instance to another.
In a moment my eager cockhead had found the moist welcome of her vagina and I felt her legs behind mine, drawing me aggressively into her. She was moist and she was hot. I felt consumed by her lust, and reveled in it. Panting like an Olympic sprinter, she matched each powerful thrust of my body with her own, asking no time or persistence of me. This time she demanded it all, immediately, without regard to a more usual effort at restraint.
Her breathing and movements soon telegraphed a message I knew well. She was approaching orgasm. I matched her thrusts and held myself in check, drawing the electricity from her and giving it right back. I saw her face grow taut and red and I heard her breathing change to a tense moan as she coaxed the incendiary glow from within herself. A few breaks and thrusts later the lightning flashed; the thunder rolled, and I felt the warm flow of her moistness flow around the base of my turgid cock matching the relaxation of her body as it resumed the feverish dance of love.
Three more times did this repeat, and then it was the time that I must express the complement to her own. Struggling for breath I announced my imminent climax. The news triggered her next and final climb to orgasm. With automatic grace we matched our movements and drove each others’ passions until I felt the thunderous spasm within me, driving my seed into her, at the very moment her climax seemed to desperately try to pull it into herself. This fervid explosion seemed to last and last, uncommonly so, only very slowly melting into loving peace, as our bodies surrendered. I remained in her, with her, refusing to relinquish liseli porno the physical union we knew, seeking its quiet conclusion in embraces, nuzzling of our faces against each others’ necks one moment, tenderly kissing at another, one expression flowing naturally and unhurried into another. Only much later did I lift myself from her sweat-coated body and collapse onto the bed, onto my back, still not completely recovering my breath.
“Just what the hell got into you tonight?” I asked, gently tweaking her dainty nose with my fingers.
“I have no idea,” she replied, still breathless.
“Well, please find out as soon as you can. If we find it, maybe we can bottle it and put Pfizer to shame!”
“Believe me, if I can, I will,” she murmured, and turned to nuzzle her face into my shoulder, her body nestling against mine. In moments she was silent; in but a few more, she slept, soon followed by her grateful husband.
If there had been any residue of worry over her satisfaction with me, that dismissed it. There was no longer any question: her trysts with Janine were entirely separate, a thing apart from our marital love.
Not long afterward I cautiously approached Sammy, Janine’s husband and my very close friend, with the news. I was mildly surprised when he seemed to be almost expecting it.
“I’ve had my suspicions that Jannie was a switch-hitter for quite a while, Freddy, though I didn’t think she was actually doing anything about it,” he told me. “I made my mind up a long time ago that if I was right about that, it wasn’t a problem for me. She’s one fine wife in and out of bed, and as long as it’s just on the side and nobody else has a problem with it, I don’t either.”
“That’s pretty much the way I see it now,” I said. “I’m just glad that it’s the same all around. It would be a lot harder to take if I were taking it in stride but you weren’t, or worse, if you in the dark about it.”
I then proceeded to play the comforting banter Jason had recorded and played for me. Sammy and I had not a trace of worry left about the situation.
With that reassuring conclusion, though, came the same troubling consideration that was to be so painful for Linda at a later time. That consideration was, of course, Jason’s role in all of this, and what his young mind was making of it.
Like many other boys, when puberty struck me I had a brief period of sexual attraction to my own mother. That comes from the sudden realization of that mysterious, newly-discovered quality about the female of the species, which we then see evident in our mothers as much as in the rest of womankind. Normally that passes quickly as our sexuality acquires focus and direction. If my son had somehow failed to make that transition I’d certainly have noticed long ago, now that he was in his twenty-first year.
The contrary opinion came from the question: why four months? That was far and away longer than necessary to simply gather evidence of these proceedings between my wife and her friend. Jason had shown me his optical apparatus and I was quite impressed, but also clearly aware that he was using it for more than investigative photography, and the lengthy study of their enterprise left no doubt that he was getting some serious jollies from it. You’ve read of Linda’s agony as she processed this same information. I was less tormented, but no less confused and concerned, than she would later become.
My decision was to raise no issue with Jason, but to let him continue for the time being while I sought the best course of action. A little longer would do no harm, and I could take time to study and think over the situation. I kept an eye on Jason, looking for any indication of disturbing trends in his perception of his mother. The results were somewhat equivocal.
On the one side, his relationship with his girlfriend, Lori, and his apparent regard for women in general, as best I could observe them, seemed healthy enough. I did not see any overt obsession with his mother, no sense of her sexuality acquiring an ascendancy in his own. I looked for things like trying to spy on his mother when she might be bathing or otherwise undressed, interest in intimate items belonging to her, or any other kind of unhealthy behavior for a young man of twenty, and saw none.
On the other, though, was a milder but not invisible tinge of more than mere passive recognition of her womanhood. The signs were subtle and fleeting, sometimes leaving me to question if they had been there at all, or if they were merely imaginary, the fulfillment of fearful expectation. The end result was enough uncertainty to keep me watching but not enough to lead me to do any more than that.
So passed the weeks and months. Jason continued to observe and photograph and provide Sammy and me with the digital files. I continued to observe Jason while cautiously and provisionally accepting the fact that he had the pictures as well, and in addition, was watching Janine and his mother in real time and becoming aroused by the sight. From what I could see, it seemed harmless enough, at least, so I convinced myself. If it got out of hand, I’d deal with it then.
(to be continued)