A Tangled Web Ch. 08

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All Sexual Activity In This Story Is Between Characters 18+ Years Old

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Arlene Hart glanced up at the big maple clock on the wall behind her daughter, Cynthia. Ted Trotter, seated at the kitchen table between the two women, followed her eyes. Arlene dropped her left hand lightly onto his right thigh and said, wistfully, “You’d better be getting going, Ted… It’s five blocks to the trolley stop. If you miss the 3:50 car, you’ll have to wait another hour, if you don’t want to walk home.” She squeezed his leg hoping he would stay, but knowing he would not.

Cynthia was more forthright. The eighteen-year-old rose from the table and stood behind Ted’s chair, pulling his head back to rest against her firm medium bust. The towel knot in her cleavage untied itself when his pate made contact and she shimmied until her tits pillowed his ears. “Can’t you stay, Mr. Trotter? Please?” Her high plaintive voice and her soft fingers, sliding from his temples across his cheeks, were very persuasive.

Trotter steeled his will, even as his willful dick turned to steel under his own towel. “NO, Cindy,” he answered, proud of his self-discipline. “I have to leave.” He smiled up at her precious young face. “But, I’ll come again… I PROMISE.”

Arlene fished her hand through his towel’s separating fold and felt Ted’s erection. Sliding its length, she grinned evilly and warned, “Sooner than you THINK, if you don’t get dressed and get out of here, RIGHT NOW!” With a strong departing squeeze, she laughed, stood up and pointed to the breakfront sideboard. “The clothes you shucked this morning are all right there… except for your underwear which is still in my bedroom, in case you’ve forgotten. Cynthia, go fetch Mr. Trotter’s shorts and undershirt.”

While Ted hiked purposefully along Locust Avenue to Flint Street, five blocks north, he wondered, “Why am I reluctant to go home? Mary’s a good woman and a fine fuck… and I NEVER feel this way when I’m leaving Izzy.” He was so intently pondering his conundrum that he boarded the streetcar, and debarked at Central Avenue, like an automaton, virtually unaware of the world until he reached the corner of Garvey Street.

Meanwhile, in southeast Arbor Heights, Mary Trotter backed the family Ford out of the driveway at her parents’ Oak Avenue bungalow. As she straightened the car in the street and pointed for home, Arthur complained he was hungry. Mary looked at her watch and said, “It’s still an hour to supper time, Arthur. When we get home you may have either an apple or two oatmeal cookies to tide you over… OK?” Pointing through the windshield, she exclaimed, “Oh, LOOK! There’s Grandma, Arthur… WAVE!”

Mary and her nine-year-old son waved from their stopped car while Isabel McGuinness pulled her thirteen-year-old maroon-and-red Flying Cloud sedan into her driveway. She smiled and waved back as she walked up to the house and watched her daughter drive off. Closing the front door, she called, “Yoo hoo! Jock! Cecie! I’m HOME!”

Jock stepped from the parlor into the hall and hugged his wife closely, sliding his hands over her back and bottom as he pulled her to his chest and groin. “Cecie’s still upstairs, playing with her dolls or reading or something. I SHOWERED, like you asked… Do you…”

Isabel smelled the fresh Old Spice and felt his smooth jowls on her face as they embraced. Her lungs filled and her breasts swelled against Jock’s hard pectorals. Her cunny, anticipating attention, built a low fire in her tummy as it lubed itself. Pushing him away, with a full, but brief, kiss, she hissed, “Not NOW, Jock… LATER! I’ve got a roast to tend to and Cecie isn’t LOCKED UP, you know! What if she… saw or heard?” Clucking her tongue, Isabel patted her husband’s freshly shaved cheek. “You’re SWEET… but wait until bedtime… she’ll be upstairs and we’ll be ALONE.”

Jock sighed as he watched his wife brush past him and enter the kitchen. He followed and spoke to her back while she tied her apron. “Well, you don’t mind if I sit here, sip coffee, and undress you in my head, do you?” He chuckled low in his throat while he poured a mug of old burned coffee from the aluminum percolator on the stove.

“Not as long as that’s ALL you do, you old goat,” Isabel answered flippantly over her shoulder, with a wink. Silently she thought, “THANK you Father Logan… THIS week I’ll be FAITHFUL. I really WILL!” Aloud, as she busied herself, she added, “Now HUSH! I’ve got to get these potatoes and carrots in or they’ll be raw when the meat’s done.”

Unusual activity to his left snapped Ted out of his reverie. He looked a hundred feet up Garvey Street and saw a police cruiser, an ambulance and a strange black Plymouth coupe standing at the curb in front of Farragut’s Victorian house. Deciding not to continue to the alley, as he typically would do, Trotter turned and headed for his landlord’s front lawn.

As he arrived, he saw two white-suited medics removing a body from the house on a stretcher. güvenilir bahis On the porch, a dark-suited man was speaking with two police officers. Ted’s curiosity morphed to concern and sunk, like a cinder block, into his gut as he wondered, “Is that Old Man Farragut?”

Mary, chatting as she drove, missed her turn on Holmes Street and continued the extra block to Garvey Street before turning off Oak Avenue. Five minutes later, approaching Central Avenue, she pulled over and parked as another arriving police sedan replaced the ambulance moving away from Number 46. Whereas, she did not see Eli’s body being loaded, she assumed an accident had befallen her seventy-two-year-old part-time employer and secret lover.

When a tall detective, in a brown suit and fedora, got out of the second cruiser, Mary worried it was more than a mere stumble. She said to Arthur, with a no-nonsense tone, “You sit right here, Arthur, I’ll be back in a moment.” Arthur thought better about arguing as his mother exited the car, although he very much wanted to go look more closely at the black-and-white Chevrolets with their shiny sirens and big red spotlights.

Crossing the street, Mary saw her husband walking up the other side from Central Avenue. She diverted and hurried to meet him. “What do you think the rumpus is about, Ted?” She asked breathlessly, hooking her arm behind his back and leaning in for support.

Ted kissed Mary’s anxious furrowed brow and answered, “I don’t know, Sugar Beet. Maybe Farragut had a heart attack, or something.”

“Oh, TED!” Mary blurted, “Don’t even THINK that! He’s so sweet and kind!” Tears formed and flowed freely while the two of them walked to the house.

When they climbed the porch stairs, Officer Steve Janssen demanded, “Who might YOU be? Do you LIVE here?”

The Trotters identified themselves and Janssen was on the verge of telling them to shove off and mind their own business, when Officer Sean O’Rourke appraised Mary’s demeanor and dress. His practiced eye noted her flimsy frock hung revealingly. None of her loosely contained, and unrestrained, naturally contoured hourglass figure’s details were in doubt. Recalling the soiled sateen panties he found in Farragut’s robe pocket, he waved off his partners dismissal before it was delivered.

“So, you live behind the place here,” O’Rourke stated. Without further explanation, he continued, “Mr. Farragut missed his chess game this afternoon. Do you happen to recall the last time you saw him? Either of you?”

Ted spoke first. “Must have been Thursday. He was sitting under an apple tree in back when I came home from school about… oh, four-thirty, or so?”

Mary gasped and leaned closer to her husband. Through her worried tears, she said, “I do… cleaning and… er, such, for Eli. I was here Friday morning.” Bringing herself under more control, but still shaking, she asked through quivering lips, “Why? What’s the matter? I made him a BIRTHDAY cake… he was in FINE spirits when I left, at NOON.”

An unidentified man, standing to the policemen’s left in a blue serge suit and pearl fedora, answered before anyone could prevent it. “I’m Dr. Sparks, Mrs. Trotter. Your landlord and employer passed in his sleep last night, it seems.”

Mary collapsed with the news. Ted saved her fall, holding her as she buried her face in his shirt and bawled, “NO! NO! It can’t BE!”

Detective Preston Howard, taking charge of the emotional scene, lightly touched Mary’s quaking back. “I’m afraid it is true, Mrs. Trotter. He WAS seventy-two and these things DO happen at times not of our own choosing.” Howard’s mind registered and filed away his first-hand knowledge that Mary wore no bra beneath her cotton dress. “It’s possible you were the last person to see Mr. Farragut alive. I may need information from you for my report. Will that be alright?”

“Now, just hold on a moment, Detective,” Dr. Sparks intervened as only an experienced physician and surgeon could. “This woman’s very distraught. I’d SUGGEST, if I may, that your questions could wait until Monday. I haven’t seen anything to suggest an unnatural passing. Give me a chance to verify or rule out that perception, won’t you?”

Turning to the Trotters and addressing Ted, Dr. Sparks said, “Take your wife home. Fix her a nice cup of warm, not HOT, cambric tea.” He reached into his black bag and shook out three capsules from two bottles. Handing them to Ted, he instructed, “Have her take these with the tea and put her to bed. She’ll sleep undisturbed through the night.”

Sparks gave Howard and Trotter his card and directed, “Call me Monday morning. I’ll have a report for you then.” Stepping forward, he patted Mary’s shoulder and soothed, “Rest, my dear. Things will look better tomorrow… I’m SURE of it.”

Detective Howard acquiesced. “OK, Doc. You’re right, no doubt.” Turning toward the officers, he slid his hand across Mary’s shoulders and verified she wore no camisole or slip, either. Silently türkçe bahis he mused, “She’s pretty broke up for a simple domestic worker. Must have really cared for the old fellow.” Aloud he said to Janssen and O’Rourke, “Come inside with me while I look around.”

The Trotters followed Dr. Sparks to his 1940 P-10 coupe and then crossed the street to their own black Ford sedan. Ted helped Mary into the back seat and slid behind the wheel. Before he started the car he looked at Arthur and said, “Your mom’s in shock, Champ. Old Mr. Farragut died in his sleep last night. After we get her to bed, I’ll heat us up some Van Camp pork and beans.” He scrubbed the boy’s head with his knuckles and said, “It’ll be like camping… but, in the house. Will THAT be OK with you?”

Arthur shook his head and grimaced as his stomach rumbled. “Grandma’s made a roast,” he offered helpfully.

“OK, I get it,” Ted said. He fired up the flathead V-8 and started rolling. “Let’s see if she’ll set an extra plate. You can spend the night and I’ll babysit your mother.”

Back on Oak Avenue, Ted explained the situation and Isabel gladly agreed to keep Arthur overnight. Trotter trotted Mary home, unaware of the exact level of her grief. In their cottage, he guided his wife to their bedroom, kissed her cheek and said, “Get in a your cozy flannel nightgown, Sugar Beet, then crawl under the covers. I’ll bring you something warm to drink, like Dr. Sparks, said.” She nodded numbly and fumbled her buttons while Ted hustled into the kitchen and put a kettle on.

With the water heating up, Ted stepped into the parlor and telephoned Arlene Hart. She answered on the third ring, “Arbor one-two-two-one, Hello?”

Speaking in a hushed voice, Trotter quickly clued Arlene in on the recent events and finished with a question. “So, can I swing by, after I eat a bite of supper?”

“Absolutely NOT!” Arlene answered with a laugh behind the exclamation. “You get over here as soon as Mary’s lights go out. Cynthia and I will make sure you’re fed, don’t worry about THAT!”

Ted grinned into the receiver. “The kettle’s calling… got to go. See you as soon as can be!” He hung up, then lifted the receiver off the hook and left it laying on the table.

Whistling louder than the steaming water vapor, Ted prepared Mary’s cambric tea and threw an ice cube in to cool it. In the bedroom, he supervised while Mary took the doctor’s sedatives and drank her warm beverage. Twenty minutes later, she was fast asleep and he was back in the Ford headed for Locust Avenue.

Meanwhile, on Oak Avenue, Jock was in a declining sour mood. He had been horny, and on edge, ever since his wife’s ass beckoned to him from her house dress that morning at breakfast. The only good thing that had happened all day, by his reckoning, was a fun, but too quick, team fuck of Brian Doherty’s Dutch niece.

His libido re-asserted itself when he came home and saw Isabel bent over at the oven but, again, he was interrupted untimely. Jock smiled to himself, remembering the blow-job his daughter gave him in the shower after his wife went to St. Luke’s, but that was hardly anything more than an appetizer and there was no following meal.

He chewed his roast beef and looked around the table at Cecie, Art and Isabel. “NOW,” Jock thought, “I’ve got TWO kids to worry about. Isabel probably won’t let me fuck her sweet ass tonight, EITHER, what with Artie staying over.” He scowled.

“Penny for your thoughts, dear,” Isabel said, with a quizzical look.

“Hmmm? Oh!” Jostled, Jock answered, “I was thinking this roast was extra tasty, tonight. And then I bit my cheek!” He laughed and rubbed his right jowl ruefully.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” his wife replied sympathetically. “Do you want to dab some baking soda on it?”

“No,” Jock answered, “It’s nothing. Gone now. Thanks.” Clapping his hands, he asked, “So, who’s up for a game of canasta?”

Both children enthusiastically raised their hands. Isabel grinned, happy for the family activity. She stood and said, “Get the cards, Jock, with helpful elves, I think we’ll have the kitchen squared away in no time!” Arthur and Cecilia promptly began clearing the dishes while Isabel ran hot water in the sink and put leftovers in the refrigerator.

The menu at 639 Locust was considerably different than at the McGuinness bungalow. When he walked in and saw Cynthia and Arlene, Trotter was glad he had hedged his bet and wolfed down two cold fried chicken drumsticks while he drove back to the Hart duplex. His mouth watered for desert.

The women stood waiting in the hall, naked beneath diaphanous rayon peignoirs. Arlene’s was pale mint green with emerald ribbons while Cynthia’s was pastel saffron with ruffled white lace cuffs. When Trotter closed the door they converged and embraced him, forming a three-sided pillar. Between Ted’s legs another pillar formed. Wrapping his arms about their bodies as they squirmed, he kissed them back and forth. Quick güvenilir bahis siteleri light small osculations soon slowed, lengthened and deepened. As the women wound up, they moaned, mewled and pushed Trotter back against the front door.

Their hands were everywhere. Their perfumes filled his nostrils and clouded his mind. In moments, Trotter was stripped. Arlene, on his left, and Cynthia, on his right, each took a hand and led him down the hall. A sudden thought shredded his fog and he exclaimed, on the move, “Wait! Rubbers! Pants pocket!”

Arlene laughed as she and her daughter turned the corner into her room and pushed their prey backward across the turned-down double bed. The mattress sank as the women pounced. The sturdy ash frame easily withstood the incoming four-hundred-plus pounds of bouncing bodies, although the high headboard warped and recovered, striking the wall with a great bang.

“Don’t worry, Tickler,” Arlene buzzed in his ear. “I have nearly a dozen rubbers… hope you use them ALL!”

“Yes, Mr. Trotter,” Cynthia purred in his other ear. “USE ALL of them!” She slid down Ted’s chest, over his legs and knelt on the floor with her torso folded on the mattress, as if she were praying to his naked knees. “Ma,” she asked sweetly, “what was it you said I should do next?”

Arlene pulled down on Trotter’s shoulders, urging him to scoot closer to the bed’s edge. He inched his way until his feet were flat on the floor with his calves flush to the mattress and surrounding Cynthia’s shoulders. “Put your hands on his hips, drop your chin and take one of his testicles into your mouth,” Arlene answered. “Just like the ping-pong ball, Sweetie. ROLL and SUCK gently… its fragile, don’t hurt him!”

Cynthia’s splayed fingers and spread thumbs gripped Trotter while she followed her mother’s instructions to the letter. Ted’s left nut filled her mouth. It’s weight and oval shape was different and much more exciting than the light celluloid sphere Arlene gave her for training purposes that afternoon, after Ted left them, following lunch.

Trotter groaned and flexed his erect dick. It bumped Cynthia’s forehead when it relaxed and she laughed. He flexed again and sighed. Arlene praised her daughter, “Good girl, switch off now and then.” Pivoting a hundred and eighty degrees on her knees, she swung her left leg over Ted’s face, draped her sheer green canopy over his upper body and settled her pussy onto his mouth. “I told you not to fret about food, Tickler,” she chuckled. “Now, EAT me UP!”

Ted drove his tongue and nose deep into Arlene’s redolent wet cunt. Raising his right arm, he closed his hand around her pendant breast and plucked her plump nipple from its swollen platform. He dropped his left hand to the top of Cynthia’s head and tugged her hair ribbons while she gobbled his eggs.

“Nyaah,” moaned Arlene as her little man came out of hiding and danced with Trotter’s tongue tip. “Honey, remember… the H-HOT dog… it’s time to TAYYYST… the REAL thing.” She panted while she gave Cynthia additional direction and Ted gave her additional thrills.

Cynthia popped Trotter’s wet hairy balls from her mouth and lifted her head under his moving hand. Squeezing his outer thighs as she pushed up from his nutsack, she found his waving cock and caught it with her teeth. “RRhhaaaah!” Ted growled as her lips closed behind his plum’s rim and she applied the same perfect suction she had used on his gonads. She moaned around his meat and slid halfway down his shaft.

Arlene was rocking. Reaching forward and down, she seized her daughter’s breasts as they rose from Trotter’s thighs when Cynthia bobbed up. The electricity of her mother’s touch snapped through the girl’s cunny and she blew up like a transformer hit by lightning. Ted’s fat prick stifled her scream but nothing stopped her body. She squeezed and sucked and cried as she came a sudden tumult.

Trotter hunched his hips in her hands and lunged his seven-inches until his pubic curls were caught in Cynthia’s gnashing teeth and mimping lips. Rigidly arched, he pulled Arlene down with both hands, one on her back the other on her tit. He fibrillated her pussy’s lips as he howled and exploded into her daughter’s throat.

Arlene, the only one of the three lovers with a free voice, raised the rafters with her scream as she climaxed. “TICKLER! KILLLLL ME!” Her hands clawed into Cynthia’s pert aching breasts. Her knees and thighs crushed Trotter’s pounding temples. Trotter and Cynthia defended their lives lapping, sucking and swallowing as fast as the fluids flowed.

The trio burned out, collapsed and held motionless for an interminable fifteen seconds. Ted’s hands slipped to Arlene’s hips and twisted her right, off his head. Cynthia pulled up, drooling, from his semi-soft penis and clambered back on the bed to his left. They lay like jackstraws waiting to be picked up.

Arlene moved first. Climbing off the bed, she retrieved several Trojan packets from her bureau and returned. She put them on her bedside table top, reserving one and opening it while she studied Ted’s limp, but thick, cock. “This will NEVER do, Tickler,” she said, clucking her tongue. “We KNOW you’re stronger than THAT!”

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