Chapter 3

Regina cowered in the bathroom while her lover snatched at discarded clothing and got the hell out of the house. She waited for what seemed an eternity, clutching her robe about a body that had suddenly turned shameful.

Someone in Chuck’s family had seen them eating each other; somebody in the other house had stared at them while they made oral love, as they writhed naked and panting upon her son’s bed. Someone had watched them, but who?

Had it been Stella Baker? Regina drew her robe closer, feeling chilled. Chuck’s wife could have been the one staring through that screen, sickened and upset. And damn it—Regina really liked Stella; they’d been close friends for years, sharing confidences and gossip. But not sharing the news that Regina was screwing Stella’s husband.

Maybe it hadn’t been Chuck’s wife. It could have been his son Carey, just turned sixteen but already quite an attractive young man.

Or possibly the watching face belonged to Judy Baker, who improved upon her father’s reddish hair and had copied his green eyes. Judy was fifteen, and a doll-like beauty in her own right.

Three other Bakers; three possibilities, and Regina didn’t really want to think about any of them. How could she face Stella? What would the kids think of her—and of their father?

She slunk from the bathroom and hurried to her own bedroom, doubly thankful that her husband and kids were out of the house. Mind in a whirl, she flung herself across the bed and bit into her pillow to keep from crying. It was all so awful now, so mixed up and terrible. She wanted to fuck her lover, needed badly to be fucked by him, eaten by him. And now she had known a new experience, that of going down on a man’s prick and swallowing his semen. She simply couldn’t turn herself back into the sexually bored kind of drab housewife she had been steadily turning into.

But neither did she want her new sex life exposed, held up to scorn and ridicule. Maybe Stella and the Baker kids would hate her, sever all relations with her; maybe Stella would even go so far as to ask for a divorce.

No, she thought, oh no! For the same thing could happen to her, if the witness in the other house told the story to her own husband. Facing Bill would be very difficult, especially when she would have to admit that she had sucked another man’s cock, an act that Bill had never approved of.

Clenching her fingers into the pillow, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and tried to make all the unpleasantness go away. But of course it didn’t, and she had finally nerved herself to sitting up when she heard the footsteps in the hall.

Was it Chuck, come swiftly back to tell her who had seen them? Not so soon, she thought, and rubbed the back of her fingers across her lashes to hide any wayward tears.

The boy came quickly through the door and kicked it shut behind him. He stood there, every muscle in his body tensed, breathing hard as he stared at her.

Carey Baker—and she couldn’t hold his eyes; her own eyes slid away and she made fists in her lap. So it had been Chuck’s son at the window, and here he was to hurl the accusation in her face, here to call her bitch and home wrecker and all the vile things his young mind could conceive.

He said, “I saw you and my father. I saw what you were doing with him.”

Regina’s voice sounded thin and squeaky: “Yes, but Carey—please listen and don’t blame me, don’t blame us too much—”

Moving toward the bed, toward her, he said, “You were riding his face, but only after you gave him a head job.”

“Carey,” she said, “that sounds so—so raw. It wasn’t—it isn’t like that at all.”

He was beside her, standing too near, towering over her although he was slim and very, very young. But Regina’s eyes widened as she saw the telltale bulge in his tight jeans, the swelling that announced his passion as his cock bulged against the material. She could only stare puzzled at the boy’s rod, unable to comprehend the meaning of it all.

Until Carey made it clear by saying, “Mrs. Abbott, my father didn’t see who it was. I ducked out of the house and around back before he could find me. But you know and I know, and if you don’t want anybody else to know—my mother, your husband—then you’ll have to do exactly as I say.”

Her mouth worked, but strange sounds came out, nothing that was words, and Carey repeated his threat. “I’ll fink on you, if you don’t take me on, too. I—Mrs. Abbott, I’ve been horny for you for years, watching the way that crazy ass moves under your skirts, seeing the way your fine tits bob up and down, and when we all go swimming together, I go out of my head seeing all that bare skin.”

She said at last, “C-Carey—I don’t—look, you’re just a boy, younger than my own son, and I—”

“You have to,” he said, that hard bulge in his jeans only inches from her face now. “You have to fuck me, or I’ll tell on you and my father. You don’t want that, Mrs. Abbott.”

“No,” she agreed, “no, I don’t want that.”

He pushed forward on her, eager beyond control, and lost balance so that they rolled together on the bed. Regina felt her robe fly open, felt the brush of her bare thigh against the boy’s leg.

Carey ripped at his clothes, kicked and wiggled and tried to hold onto her at the same time. She wasn’t really resisting, though; she was far too stunned for putting up a fight. And the boy had the power over her; he could tear up two marriages by reporting what he’d witnessed. But Carey—Chuck’s son?

Squirming, panting, he was naked then, and his skin was smoothly warm; he had his mother’s coloring, an olive skin and dark eyes, and she felt the anxious prodding of his slim prick.

It was hot against her bare skin, against the tenseness of her skin, and Regina flinched at the touch. He was just a boy, and so young—so very young.

“You have to screw me,” he said. “Don’t forget, you have to; it doesn’t make any difference that I never fucked before. You can’t laugh at me because I’m a cherry, because you have to screw me.”

A virgin, she thought; a boy virgin desperate for his first sexual experience, needing a woman in the particularly intense way novel to those upon the threshold of discovery. Carey was a cherry, and he wanted to have her for his first piece of ass, needed her so feverishly that he’d resort to blackmail to have her. That was sweet, she thought, and felt wiser, far more experienced.

“Here, Carey,” she said, softly. “You like my tits—here, kiss them.”

He was laying half atop her, and his head darted eagerly down at the breasts she exposed for him, dipped hungrily to press his lips against the tender flesh. Once he found the erectile nipple, Carey pulled it avidly into his mouth and worked it over with his hot, wet tongue. Then he settled down to sucking on it, while kneading both her sensitive mounds with his hands.

So sweet and innocent, she thought, so young and anxious to taste everything sensuous, to know and to be all. She stroked his hair and found that her hips were making movements. Running one hand down the smoothness of his back and around to his flank, Regina slid her fingers to find the stiff and throbbing length of his prick. It was very hard, not nearly so thick or long as his father’s cock, but a lovely prick, too.

For one startled moment, Regina thought how terrible it was for her to be comparing cocks, especially those of father and son. But she had compared Chuck Baker’s rod with that of her husband, and now she was about to totally feel the difference, if there was any, in Carey’s vibrant prick.

She was taking another lover, just about to fuck a boy who was younger than her own son, and instead of being repelled, instead of being horrified by the event, Regina was excited. She squeezed the boy’s cock and he responded with a moan around the nipple of her tit. Better not play with him too much, she decided; he would probably go off in her hand, and she didn’t want all that thrilling stuff wasted.