Frank winked at Marge's tipsy son as he took her in his arms, cuddling her tenderly but offering no excuse for his actions. By the time she finished her cigarette, she was stoned out of her gourd, which was exactly the way Frank wanted her.
He began working her up, hugging her, Frenching her ear and stroking the nylon-sheathed columns of her long, lovely legs. At first Marge protested that she didn't want her little boy to see them carrying on this way, but Frank repeatedly silenced her with kisses. Marge pushed weakly at his chest, then finally whimpered submissively and started sucking his tongue as he fed it to her like a cautious, slippery snake.
Awareness of her son's presence faded gradually from Marge's alcohol-dulled mind. She couldn't remain angry with Frank, especially when she was in his masterful embrace, their tongues wrestling about in one another's mouths while his hand wedged insistently between her knees. She allowed him to pry her legs apart and, clinging to him, she uttered a purring noise as his work-callused hand caressed its way slowly but surely up the inside of her nearest thigh, his palm whistling faintly over the sheer nylon of her flesh-toned stocking.
The boy's curious eyes weren't missing a thing. He had a tight, nervous half-smile on his young face. The way Frank kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, giving him an occasional wink, made Kenny feel that he was somehow a part of these intimate goings on. He didn't know what to make of the way Frank and his mother were behaving, but he wasn't nearly so jealous this time. He and Frank were buddies now, so as long as his mother didn't mind the way Frank was kissing her and rubbing her leg, he guessed it was all right with him, too, although he couldn't understand why having her leg rubbed would make his mother squirm around so much and keep sighing all the time.
"Mmmm," Marge murmured, when Frank began kneading the exposed portion of creamy-textured thigh above the topband of her hose.
For a moment Frank dallied scant inches short of his primary objective, furtively watching the boy's mesmerized expression as he coaxed the mother's shapely legs farther apart. When he was convinced that Kenny's soulful brown eyes were riveted to the lust-inciting action of his hand, he cupped Marge's crotch and started stroking her clefted mound through the thin strip of secretion-moistened nylon of her lavender-colored panties.
"Ooooh," she sighed, smiling with her eyes closed as she spread her legs wider and savored the sensual pleasure of having her pussy petted.
She'd completely forgotten about her son by this time. She was drunk, hot and bothered, hardly knew where she was. Marge had no idea how long Frank teased her panty-covered box, but it was delicious, the kind of petting her husband used to give her in the early days of their marriage. She was thoroughly enjoying this unaccustomed treat. Far as she was concerned – she was feeling not thinking – she was perfectly content to have this exquisite moment go on forever.
But this wasn't Frank's intention. He had much bigger and – to him – better things on his vulgar mind. He was petting her puss for the same ulterior motive that'd made him force liquor down her. She was drunk enough for his purpose, all right, and now that he had her so worked up the crotchband of her panties was soaked with the slimy/slick proof of her passionate desire, it was time to move on.
He broke their tongue-entangled kiss and pecked along her cheek toward her ear, deliberately working his head in between her and the boy so as to shut off any possible view she might get to remind her Kenny was sitting on the couch with them. Knowing it would melt her, he covered her ear with his mouth and thrust in his hot tongue, swirling it around wetly in the delicate whorls.
"Ouuu, Daddy!" she whimpered, hugging him tight.
"Raise that sweet ass, baby," he whispered. "Let me get those damned panties off you."
The toes of her stockinged feet pressed down into the threadbare carpet as she used the floor for leverage to lift her rear end for him.
Swiftly he hiked her mini-dress up to her trim waist and hooked the fingers of both hands into the elastic waistband of her sheer step-ins. The edges of his front teeth captured her erogenous earlobe, making her shiver and moan with desire as he tugged her panties over the flare of her hips and whisked the protective undergarment down the alluring curves of her upraised, slightly parted legs. He pushed her lace-trimmed briefs past her knees and let the weight of their secretion-drenched crotchband pull them on down to her feet.
"That hot twat's good and juicy now, ain't it?" he breathed.
"Uh-huh!" she cooed, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she kicked away her lavender drawers.
"Got you good and hot, have I?"
"I'll say," she moaned, and fastened her mouth leechlike to his throat, biting him and sucking his flesh.
"That's it, baby," he encouraged, grinning at Marge's naive but excited young son as he pushed her legs wide apart and tugged her squirming rump out to the edge of the cushion. "Brand me with your love mark."
Motioning for Kenny – who'd already finished his wine and set the glass on the floor – to be quiet, Frank took the tipsy lad's hand and ran it up his mother's nylon-clad thigh. He drew it higher, working it in a circular motion over the warm, creamy skin of her perspiration-moistened inner thighs above the tops of her stockings.
Kenny's eyes were like saucers now, his body shaking with a mixture of strange, frighteningly powerful emotions which he'd never experienced before. The corners of his fearfully trembling lips were curled up in a tight, timid smile of uncertainty. With great difficulty he ripped his hypnotic gaze from the fascinating hairy crack between his mother's legs and glanced up questioningly at the big redheaded man.
"It's all right," Frank mouthed silently, his green eyes glinting devilishly from the charge he was getting out of this. "Do you want to feel her pussy?" his lips asked wordlessly.
"I don't know!" Kenny replied in kind, whispering just a tiny bit on the last word. He did want to, but he was scared. His mother had always been careful to keep that part of herself hidden from him, so he knew it was a secret, forbidden place. And by the sneaky way Frank was acting, he could tell they were doing something naughty to his mother, something she would never permit if she knew what Frank was up to.
But Frank didn't leave the decision up to the boy. This was one of his perverted fantasies and he was too close to seeing it come true to stop now. As a boy of twelve, Frank used to dream of playing with that hairy hole between his own mother's legs, and later, in his teens, of fucking it; he'd never gotten the chance to do either, but the thought of any kid diddling his own old lady made Frank wild to see it happening.
The fact that Kenny was scared shitless only made it all the more exciting for Frank as he forced the child's small, reluctant hand the rest of the way up between her legs and brushed it against the puffy, brownish folds of her vulnerable, secretion-moistened sex slot.
Kenny whimpered and sucked in his breath, but it went unheard because of Marge's nasal sigh of longing. Had she realized the vile trick that was being pulled on her, she would've been shocked to the core of her inhibited being. In her present state of lustful desire, however, Marge's alcohol-dulled mind failed to detect the difference between the disparately proportioned hands of her lover and son.
And Frank took full advantage of the lewd situation, too. Excitedly he guided the boy's hand over the mother's privates, combing the tiny, trembling fingers through the crisp, dark brown curls adorning the womanly mound above her distended vulval opening, forcing them to stroke up and down through the slippery folds of Marge's fatty labia before he finally sank two of Kenny's timid fingers into the velvety softness of her feverish, sticky-wet pussy.