The Stories Your Mother Never Told You. Part 6.

In a tattered journal given to me by one of my clients, I came across the following account which you may find of special interest. It was clearly written describing a time when my visitor was little more than an infant. You will see that we’ve named him Billy junior, to help keep things straight. I would guess that the diary entries are from the late 1950’s, judging by the content and condition of the journal.

July 26th.

I drove across town this evening to Vince Miller’s place. Funny being there after all these years. I remember his 6th birthday party. The swing on the lawn. But tonight was something different. He asked me to do a little favor a few weeks ago. I’ll tell you about it.

I knew that Vince liked it when I slipped out of the dress and just wore the suspenders and bra, and Vicki. Well, Vicki was something else.

I sipped the wine Vince had placed in my hand as I’d stepped in off the porch. It was a warm night and the cicadas were rattling from down by the riverbank.  It seemed as natural as sipping homemade lemonade to let the dress fall away. It was cooler, and it wasn’t as though Vince hadn’t seen it all before. I wouldn’t let him touch, but if his wife and he wanted to look, then I was happy to oblige.

When I had arrived at the Miller’s place Vicki was already laid out on the rattan chair in the living room. Face down and ready for me.  Her husband had been very specific. Of course, I knew Vicki by sight. The whole town did. She was so pretty and little and prim. In fact, at church on Sunday’s you’d think she’d been born in one of the pews. Little miss innocence, in her pale cream dress, and barely a touch of make up. But I couldn’t say I knew what went on behind those furtive eyes of hers. You’d not think she had the imagination to be as sensually exciting as she was.

If I didn’t know better, I’d have said she was sexually cold and indifferent. And yet, here I was in their sitting room, a bowl of hot water warming the coconut oil I’d brought.

Vince Miller, who had been an occasional lover before he became manager of the plant and had married the company founder’s daughter, had some very clear ideas about what he wanted in life. And what he wanted me to do with his wife.

“I’m grateful, Alice,” said Vince awkwardly.  “I figured you’d be best at well… at helping her.”

“I’m not sure how to take that,” I said. “Jack is tucked up in bed and Magdelena is minding him. Now, let’s see if that pretty little wife of yours is feeling flexible.”

Vince blushed, finding my direct way of speaking more than mildly uncomfortable. I suppose there was not much he could say. The last time I’d come over to do this his wife had found it a little too challenging. We’d had to stop after a while. She was just too tense. But what Vince wanted, Vince was going to get.

I didn’t mind. I liked to play with Vicki. She was unattainable alone, but on Vince’s direction I could do more or less as I pleased. And his direction was quite straight forward.

I remembered his words that night two weeks ago, outside the gas station where we’d chanced to meet. After dancing around the subject like a schoolboy he’d eventually got the courage up to first talk about it and then ask me to help.

“It’s my hands,” he said in frustration.  “I know she’d like to, but they’re just too big.”

I looked at them, and like so many engineers they were like spades on the ends of his arms. My fingers were slender, and supple. It was from the years of piano playing, and of course the organ in church.

“I can do it for you,” I said. “I’d like to.”

The hundred bucks each night didn’t go amis either. Jacks college fund, right?

The first night we’d almost got there, but in the end it was just too much. Not that Vicki didn’t enjoy it. No, she loved it. I was not shy about giving her the satisfaction she was looking for. After all, a hundred bucks is a hundred bucks.

I placed my wine on the coffee table and stepped over to where Vicki was already waiting.

Vicki smiled nervously at me as I sat on my knees behind her. I could tell she was a little drunk.  Very relaxed, actually. I had washed my hands, and stripped out of my clothes. Just the bra and suspenders. I watched Vicki’s eyes linger on my body, yet she was nervous. It wasn’t the stare of lust, more of a stolen glance at my breasts, and down to my waist.

“Don’t worry, Vicki,” I said. “I’m sure that tonight will be when you do it.”

She smiled awkwardly, and then looked at her husband and gave that Sunday morning smile I’d seen her give the pastor at the church every weekend for the last three years.

I heard her gasp as my fingers slipped over the wetness of her lips and then deeper within her. As I slowly worked deeper I felt her body shudder and then she ground her hips against my hand wanting more. She gasped delicately.

“Hold still,” I said, and slowly removed my hand. I heard her sigh of disappointment, which pleased me.

I dipped my hand in the coconut oil, and across the room her husband watched, while drawing on his cigarette. I leaned forward and kissed his wife on her lips strongly. She yielded to my hard kiss, and then as I sunk down between her legs once more I saw her look nervously toward her husband.

“Lie back again, and this time relax. You don’t need to move.  Just let yourself go limp,” I said.

She lay back in the broad armchair, her hips angled forward. Beside her foot her black panties lay discarded. She still wore the bra, and the heels and nylons she so often liked to sport.

I began easing my fingers into her once more.

Yes, tonight she was much more relaxed. As I slid deeper into her I placed my left hand in the small of her back. I could feel her arching against it, want more, and sliding deeper onto me.

Yes, tonight was the night.

Other episodes of The Stories Your Mother Never Told You are available on Patreon HERE.

Become a Patron!

Leave a Reply