Blitzed

Author's note:-

This tale begins in World War Two England, and spans several years. It starts inside a cupboard under the stairs, and ends on top of a cupboard in the kitchen. It contains certain expressions which have different meanings on each side of the Atlantic Ocean, or which some readers may not be familiar with, so an explanation may be in order.

Many houses in the Great Britain of that era, at least in the north west of England where this author was born and raised, had an almost sacred room known almost reverently as the 'front parlour', which was customarily reserved for 'special' occasions, such as entertaining visitors, and for the occasional chastisement of wayward offspring. At all other times the parlour was strictly out of bounds to children, except under the supervision of an adult.

Then there was the 'living room' which was where we relaxed, and which to all practical purposes doubled as a dining room. Just to add to the confusion, our midday meal was called 'dinner', the main evening meal was 'tea', whilst about an hour before retiring we sometimes had a light snack called 'supper'.

Now to the 'naughty' bits, which of course must be included, or you wouldn't be reading this in a section allocated to taboo sex and incest. Although there are many such events, to keep them in context it must be pointed out that they occurred over a period from the beginning of the war to several years after.

To the British an ass is a stubborn long eared quadruped, or an idiot, and sometimes both. If you will excuse a friendly dig, I would point out that this story is written in the English of the time, before our allied American soldiers and airmen influenced our youth to adopt some of their expressions, and since the English invented the language, the correct word for the buttocks is arse, (not fanny, because in England fanny refers to the vagina, twat, cunt etc.)

Similarly spunk was not pluck or courage. It was what came out of a man's dick at the end of a good fuck. Which of course was called a shag.

Now that I have light heartedly enlightened our transatlantic cousins I further hope you, and they, will read on, and enjoy :----

Blitzed

"Wid ye like tae dance lassie?"

I looked up at the stocky figure in air force blue into even bluer eyes. His accent was so thick that it took a moment for my mind to process what he had said, then with a rueful glance at my best friend Doris, I accepted the extended hand.

It was early spring in 1941, and at first I hadn't been keen on coming to the servicemen's club. Then six weeks ago Doris had pointed out that our brave boys were in France and other places, laying their lives on the line fighting the jerries for King and Country, so it was only right that when they could get home they should see friendly faces for a few hours.

As it turned out she was perfectly right. After hearing some of the horrific stories from those lucky enough to get home alive, although often irreparably scarred both outside and in, I realised just how fortunate we were back home. True, we had to queue for hours - often fruitlessly - for whatever meagre rations were available in the shops, but at least we were reasonably safe. Admittedly there were frequent air raids, but terrifying though they were, realistically the risk of a bomb striking one particular house among thousands was minimal compared with the greater risks our boys in the front lines took.

Even though the servicemen attending the club were on home soil, most were still a long way from their homes and families, so the girls and women like Doris and myself, who paid our ninepence admittance were more than willing to do whatever necessary to make them feel appreciated. Within the bounds of decency of course, although some of the women, mostly the older ones, undoubtedly had a somewhat flexible interpretation of decent. Especially in early 1942, when it came to the more affluent American troops who had lately begun filtering into the club since the attack on Pearl Harbour.

Understandably this led to friction between the Americans and 'our' boys, who accused the free spending 'Yanks' of stealing 'their' girls. Men being men, it was inevitable that this resentment occasionally erupted into violence, but this was quickly jumped on, both figuratively and sometimes literally, by the ever vigilant Military Police of both nations. An uneasy truce developed between the opposing factions, with each keeping to their chosen end of the club, whilst the metaphoric 'meat in the sandwich' -- the unattached ladies -- formed a reluctant buffer zone. For the most part, we took the view that both sides were defending us against a common foe, so we girls were happy to share our time with either.

"You made me love you...."

The small band on the stage, made up of service personnel, launched into a rather off key rendition of the popular Harry James song, and the young airman guided me onto the dance floor in a rather awkward waltz. Neither of us was a particularly proficient dancer, so to save bruised toes we settled for a slow shuffle. I was impressed that he held me at a reasonably respectable distance, rather than trying to mash his body against mine the way so many of the yanks did. Not all of them of course, but enough to make me wary. His arm remained at my waist the whole time, and I relaxed when I realised that I was not going to have to contend with the usual clumsy attempts to 'accidentally' stroke or squeeze my bottom.

I studied him as we moved around the floor. He was about the same height as my own five foot six, maybe a little taller, and above his Royal Air Force short back and sides, his hair was an unruly tangle of tight crinkly curls. Too rugged to be called handsome, yet his clear blue eyes gave his face a sort of beauty, which really handsome men could never match. Somehow it seemed appropriate that an airman should have eyes the colour of the sky.

"You know you made meee loooove youuuu!"

We clapped politely as the song ended, then made our way back to where Doris was sitting at the table sipping a drink. "I hope I didna hurrt yer toes lass?" The impish grin and the odd accent belied the stated concern. "I'm Hamish. Hamish Browning." At least I guessed he said 'Browning' but it sounded more like 'Brooning.' He looked offended when I was unable to stifle a giggle, but he laughed heartily when I explained between giggles that my name was Thelma Greening. After I introduced Doris he pulled up a chair. "Thelma? A bonnie name fer a bonnie lass."

I pulled a face. One word that definitely did not describe my name was 'bonnie' but I was stuck with it. He seemed sincere enough though, so I grudgingly accepted it as a compliment. Just because I disliked my name it didn't mean he had to. We danced again to two songs in succession, and returned to the table to find Doris deep in conversation with an American lieutenant she had danced with a few times in recent weeks. He invited her to take a turn around the floor, and when they returned she picked up her purse.

"Wilbur's walking me home Thel. I'll see you at work on Monday."

I wasn't particularly concerned at her abrupt departure, because we had an unspoken agreement that if either of us met someone we liked we could split up. Besides, I had the blue eyed airman to keep me company. As we chatted and danced I learned that he was four years older than me, and had been raised in a succession of foster homes in Glasgow. By his own admission he had been a troublesome child, often unwise in his choice of friends, and then at age fifteen he had been taken on as an apprentice mechanic with a bus company who had steered him in the right direction. When war broke out he had joined the RAF and progressed from road transport to aircraft.

For my part, I told him about how Doris and I worked in a factory office helping the war effort, although mindful of the posters proclaiming that "Loose lips sink ships" I was careful not to tell this comparative stranger what the factory produced. Not that I could have anyway, because all I knew was that it was some sort of components maker. I did tell him that Mum and Dad worked there too, Mum as a nurse, mostly on afternoon and early evening shift, whilst my Dad, who had been gassed during the so called "War to end all wars" was a foreman in a different section. There didn't seem to be any real point in mentioning that he had lied about his age, and was only sixteen when he was gassed, but to me that made my Dad an even bigger hero, so I added it anyway with more than a little touch of pride.

Hamish was a perfect gentleman all evening, so when he asked to walk me home I didn't hesitate. It was the first time I had ever been alone with a member of the opposite sex, and I wasn't sure what to do or what to expect. My over protective parents never let me have boyfriends at school, and when war broke out my school had been bombed during one of the first air raids. I wasn't exactly upset because I wasn't all that keen on school anyway, and had only stayed on until my eighteenth birthday to please Dad, who had more faith in my academic ability than I would ever have. Instead of travelling the extra distance to another school, after more than a little pleading on my part, Dad found me a job in the factory office where I met Doris, who was three years older than me and we became firm friends.

Originally from Leeds in Yorkshire, she lived with her cousin not far from the factory, and although she was reluctant to go into detail, I eventually wormed it out of her that she had left home at age eighteen after a huge row with her puritanical parents. Her father had seen a boy kiss her, and even though it had been perfectly innocent, he had flown into a pious rage, calling her a Jezebel and threatening to turn her out on the street.

Stung by the injustice she had written to her cousin Hannah who was married to a seaman, and lived on the other side of England from her home town. Days later she left home, Leeds and Yorkshire for ever, vowing never to return. Within a week she found work in the factory, and on her second day she accepted an invitation to go out with a boy who worked on the shop floor. That evening, in the dark of a cinema she had completed her rebellion by letting him be the first of a small number of men to feel her tits and fanny. For her part she willingly used her hands to return the favours, telling herself that she was not being promiscuous, provided she didn't allow any of them to actually shag her.

On the way home from the club Hamish maintained a respectful distance between us as he walked beside me through the unlit streets, and when we were arrived I was pleasantly surprised, and I must admit a little disappointed that, instead of trying to kiss me he shook my hand solemnly, and thanked me for a nice evening. Dad chose that moment to open the front door, and he immediately pulled Hamish into the front parlour, for what I suspected would be the usual "You hurt my daughter and you'll wish you were dead" talk that doting fathers everywhere deliver. He must have been impressed, because after Hamish had left, looking a little intimidated, Dad nodded, maybe not with approval, but at least with understanding as I described my evening -- careful to say nothing about Doris being 'picked up' by a 'Yank' - and admitted that I wouldn't mind seeing the well mannered Scotsman again.

On the next three Saturdays Hamish's eyes lit up when Doris and I turned up at the club. As usual it wasn't long before Wilbur joined us, and although they weren't exactly best of friends, the two men from opposite sides of the Atlantic tolerated each other for the sake of harmony.

When I arrived at work on Monday morning my friend was wearing a strange look on her face. She kept giving me secretive looks throughout the morning, and by lunch time I had all I could take.

"OK Doris," I demanded, "What's got into you?"

She looked away for a moment, then met my eyes again. "Promise me you won't tell anyone?"

I snorted in exasperation. "OK, OK - I promise. Tell anyone what?"

"Wilbur shagged me!"

"Omigod! You're kidding? How did that happen?"

"Well I didn't exactly do it on purpose. I just couldn't stop him."

I went cold all over. "You mean he forced himself on you?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No! Wilbur would never do anything like that! I couldn't stop him because I didn't want to. I mean I've always liked boys feeling my titties and fanny when we kissed, but I always stopped before it went too far. Somehow Saturday was different. After we left the club he was rubbing my clitoris and I got carried away and let him put his dick in and shag me."

In a way I could understand what she was saying. Wilbur was one of those rare men who made even the most mundane topic sound fascinating. Even in a crowded room, when he spoke to a woman he had an unconscious ability to make her feel that she was the only person in the world that mattered to him.

I tried to feel outraged, but curiosity took over. "What was it like?"

"It was a bit painful going in the first time, but then it was lovely."

"What do you mean 'the first time'? How many times did you do it?"

"Only twice. Saturday and last night. Last night was the best."

"Oh. I hope he didn't give you a baby."

Doris shook her head again. "No, he put a rubber thingamabob on his dick."

The bell sounded for the end of lunch, so we left it there and returned to work. Although I really had no wish to emulate my friend, I could not shake what she had told me from my mind, nor could I help feeling a little envious that she knew how it felt to have a hard dick inside her fanny.

That night, and another four nights after that was spent cowering in the cramped cupboard under the stairs with Mum and Dad, as wave after wave of German bombers dropped their deadly cargo on the city and surrounding countryside. On Saturday evening my parents went out to visit friends, but I was too afraid the bombers would come again, so I stayed home to listen to the wireless. As darkness approached I answered a knock at the door, and gasped with shock to see Hamish standing there with a large Elastoplast dressing covering most of his forehead.

Seizing his hand, I dragged him into the parlour. "Oh god Hamish. What on earth happened?"

"Dinna worry Lassie," he said, far too nonchalantly for my liking. "It's only a wee scratch. I stood too close to a wee piece of shrapnel the other night and forgot to duck."

This brought it home to me that it wasn't only our front line boys that were placing themselves in peril. Those like Hamish, who worked ceaselessly to keep our planes flying were placed in equal danger, because they were targets for the enemy, whilst being helpless to fight back. Overcome with relief that he wasn't more seriously hurt, I placed my hands on each side of his face and kissed him spontaneously.

He grinned bashfully as he took a seat beside me on the couch and held my hand. "Och, If I get that for a wee nick, what would I get for worse?"

I punched his arm in exasperation. "Oh you... you... " I tailed off, then looked at him. "Weren't you scared?"

"I suppose I should have been, but it all happened too fast." He was silent for a few seconds, and then he slipped an arm around my shoulders. "You know, I'm no afraid to die for my country," - he pronounced 'die' as 'dee' - "but what I am afraid of is dying wi'out ever knowing what it's like to lay wi' a lassie."

It was a line Doris and I had heard countless times from men in the club who only had one thing in mind, but there was something in Hamish's tone that made me wonder if it was a genuine concern for him. When he kissed me ever so gently, I didn't have the heart to protest when he cupped my breast. Nor could I find it in me to object when his hand found its way under my blouse and inside my brassiere. Nothing in the world could have prepared me for the instant stiffening of my nipples, or the the warmth that spread from his hand throughout my whole body as I returned his kiss. The sudden wetness between my legs came as a shock, and the intense tingling in my fanny seemed almost physical.

I was beginning to understand what Doris had meant when she said she couldn't stop Wilbur, because neither could I stop Hamish when he pushed his hand under my skirt and inside the leg of my knickers. "Please Lassie," he whispered, urgently stroking my overheated slit. "Dinna stop me noo. I have tae." As his fingertips discovered that little oh so sensitive spot, I asked myself was this really too much for him to ask, given that every day he laid his life on the line to protect me and millions of others. I responded the way my heart told me, and parted my legs.

He moved hastily between my open thighs, as though he was afraid I would change my mind, and I felt the hard-soft tip of his dick nudge the lips of my fanny. Praying that it wouldn't hurt too much, I took a nervous breath in anticipation of the fateful thrust, and we were startled by the slamming of the front door.

I pushed him away in a panic. "Oh god, they're back!"

We barely had time to straighten our disarrayed clothing before Dad glanced in. "What have you been up to?" I was sure that guilt was written all over our faces, and I tried to think of an explanation, although I knew that nothing I said would be believed, then I realised that he was staring at Hamish's bandaged head. As Hamish explained his injury, I thought of how close I had come to being shagged, and struggled to make up my mind whether to be glad or sorry that it hadn't happened. Remembering how good his fingers and then his dick had felt on my wet fanny, I settled for sorry, and told myself that I, that we would put matters right next Saturday.

The bombers came again during the following week, and I spent every night sandwiched between Mum and Dad under the stairs. The cramped space was hot and uncomfortable, but it was the safest place in the house, because the staircase was sturdy enough to protect us from anything other than a direct hit. I managed to relieve the boredom by thinking of Hamish, picturing his strong hands roaming over my breasts and delving between my thighs, readying me for the consummation that had been denied us. I wasn't sure whether or not I loved him, because I had never been in love, so I didn't know how it felt, but he definitely excited and aroused me. For now that was enough for me to want him put his dick in my fanny and shag me. Maybe love would grow from that.

By the time Saturday arrived I was well and truly in the mood, and when I hurried into the club with Doris my soaked knickers were clinging to me. Wilbur was sitting at a table waiting, but there was no sign of Hamish, so I sat with my eyes glued to the door. My spirits sank as the minutes ticked past, and even though I had several requests to dance, I had no interest. After about ninety minutes I had just about given up hope, so when Doris whispered that she and Wilbur were going for a shag I went home and cried myself to sleep.

When he didn't show up the following Saturday, I spent a week torturing myself with visions of his broken body lying bloodied and lifeless after an air raid, sure that only death could have kept him from me. I went to the club again, more from habit than anything, but sitting at our usual table I could still feel his strong hand on my waist as we had danced. As kindly as he could, Wilbur tried to ease my pain by suggesting that sometimes a boy simply lost interest, and the easy way out was to stay away. I glared at him angrily, but deep down I knew he was right. Such things could happen, even if I didn't want to believe it could happen to me. Almost imperceptibly my anger turned against Hamish, I think perhaps because anger was transient and easier to deal with than the searing agony of rejection.

Without my really noticing, we were joined at the table by one of Wilbur's friends, an American sergeant who looked to be on the wrong side of thirty. He sat studying me with compassion as Wilbur explained, then he seized my hand. "Come on Miss. Let's get you away from the memories."

I tried to pull free because the memories were all I had. Memories of a shy grin, of the bluest eyes I had ever seen. Memories of strong arms as we danced. Memories of a warm kiss leading to a gentle hand on my breast, and more urgently on my fanny. And yes, memories of the shag we had almost had, and would now never get.

The sergeant's grip was too strong, and I was too numb too resist, so I allowed him to walk me home, where he rapped firmly on the door. Mum answered, and he pushed me forward. " Thelma's upset ma'am, and I figured she needed her Mom."

Mum nodded and moved aside. "I see, well you'd better bring her inside and tell me what it's all about." Bypassing the parlour, she ushered us into the living room, where Dad was sitting at the table forking mashed potato into his mouth. He looked up to say something, but Mum shook her head warningly and pushed me into a chair. "Right, who are you, and what happened?"

"I'm Sergeant Charles Vickery ma'am, but everyone calls me Chuck. I'm supply sergeant at the base. It seems the little lady here has a boy problem, and I figured her Mom was the best person to deal with it."

Without waiting to be invited he pulled out a chair and sat down. Producing a pack of 'Lucky Strike' cigarettes he lit one and offered one to Dad, which was accepted eagerly. As I sat steeped in misery, he began to tell Mum and Dad what Wilbur and Doris had told him. Dad listened in silence, puffing contentedly at his smoke until it was two thirds finished. Pinching it out, he dug his old pipe from the bottom drawer of the dresser, and breaking open the cigarette end he packed the loose tobacco into the bowl.

"Can't afford to waste tobacco," he said bluntly when he saw Chuck watching him. "Get another few drags out of that before bed."

Shaking his head in astonishment, Chuck extracted two smokes from the pack, tucking them into his shirt pocket, and tossed the three quarters full packet to Dad. "Here, keep the pack. I have more at the base." he said, before picking up where he left off.

When he concluded, Mum nodded and put her arm around me, pillowing my cheek against her warm soft breasts. "Thank you sergeant -- um, Chuck. It was kind of you to look after her." She gestured with her head towards the table. "I'd ask you to stay for supper, but we only have potatoes. Rationing you know." she added apologetically.

His jaw dropped. "Oh Christ!"

Dad looked at him sharply and spoke for the first time. "We don't swear in this house, lad. Not in front of the women."

"I'm sorry Sir, I just never realised how tough you guys have it here."

Squaring his shoulders, Dad stared at him defiantly. "We're English lad. We got through the last war, we'll get through this one."

There was an awkward silence for a while, then Chuck looked at his expensive wristwatch. "Well I'd better be going, or I'll miss the truck back to the base."

As the soldier left, Dad stuck out a hand. "Thanks for bringing the girl home." He watched Chuck walk down the street, then for the first time in ages he put his arms around me. "Poor kid."

I was a bit surprised because he had never been very demonstrative. It wasn't because he didn't love me, because I knew he did. It was just his way. Then the tears really came, and he held me awkwardly until I quieted enough to go to bed and sleep.

There was something different about Dad next day. Nothing I could put my finger on, just -- well -- sort of different. We were sitting listening to the wireless that night, when there was a knock in the door. Mum went to answer, and returned with the sergeant. Dumping a haversack on the table, he looked at Mum and Dad. "Look folks, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I felt real bad last night seeing how little you have compared with us in the States, so I threw together a couple of things for you."

He fished in the bag and handed Mum a lump of bacon. "Oh my god," she whispered in disbelief. "Look Fred, I can boil this and make soup. We'll get four meals out of it."

"Heck no ma'am!" There was outrage in Chuck's voice. "You can't ruin good bacon by boiling it! If you want to make soup I'll bring you a ham bone." Digging into the bag again he pulled out a mess tin and showed her three eggs, carefully packed in screwed up newspaper. "To go with the bacon." By now Mum was on the verge of tears, but it didn't stop there. Next out of the bag was a packet of coffee -- real coffee, not the bottled substitute which was all we could usually get hold of, followed by a tin of evaporated milk and a pound of sugar.

This was the last straw for Mum. Tears streaming down her face, she threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Oh god Chuck, how can we ever thank you?"

He gave her an embarrassed grin and glanced at Dad, who seemed to have discovered a fascination for his shoes. "I think you just did." Slinging the now empty haversack over his shoulder, he turned towards the door and paused. "Oh, I almost forgot. A man can't enjoy a good coffee without a smoke." Delving into his pocket, he handed a couple of packs of 'Luck Strikes' to Dad, who tried to stammer his thanks, but was too choked up to do more than nod. "That's all I could scrape up for now. I'll try to see what I can find when I open the supply store tomorrow." Seeing the uncertain expressions on Mum and Dad's faces he shrugged. "Hey, don't worry about it. Uncle Sam can afford it. Anyway I have to go or I'll miss the truck." Before any of us could say anything, the door closed behind him, leaving us staring in amazement at the unexpected bounty on the table.

Nobody spoke for many minutes, then Mum filled a small saucepan with water and set it on the stove. Digging out an old stocking, she cut out a square and dropped it into the boiling water. When it was thoroughly sterilised, she piled two heaped spoonfuls of coffee in the centre and tied it with a thread, before dropping it into a fresh pan of water. As she waited for it to boil, Dad made a hole on the top of the tin of milk, and ten minutes later we were inhaling the aroma and savouring the taste of our first fresh coffee in over three years, whilst dad sucked blissfully on his third cigarette.

The following night Mum sliced three thin rashers from the the bacon and fried them with the eggs, then used the melted fat to fry a slice each of not quite stale bread. We sat at the table, mouths watering as we gazed spellbound at the sumptuous feast, almost as if we were afraid to desecrate it with knives and forks. Finally Dad cut the crust from one edge of the bread and dipped it into the golden yolk, sighing as he lifted it to his mouth. The spell broken, Mum and I copied his actions precisely. We ate slowly, not wanting to lose the taste of each precious mouthful by swallowing, but inevitably the meal came to an end, with every trace carefully wiped from the plates with what remained of the bread. We laughed with glee when Dad pushed his plate away with a loud satisfied burp, then putting the water filled pan on the stove to finish the meal with freshly brewed coffee, Mum cleared away the plates.

Dad took control of the coffee making, whilst Mum prepared for her work shift, and was pouring it into the cups when there was a muffled banging on the door. I went to answer, and was greeted by the sight of a grinning American army sergeant, struggling with a large wooden box as he thumped the door with his boot. Pushing his way past me, he dumped his burden on the table just as Mum came down the stairs, and he stood laughing at three pairs of bulging disbelieving eyes.

Slowly the box disgorged a positive cornucopia of treasure. First there came not one, but two massive ham bones almost two feet in length, plump hocks untouched by knife, and with generous slivers of redly glistening meat clinging to the gleaming white bone. Dad could not tear his eyes away for many long seconds, then prompted by Mum he went out to the shed and returned with a small saw. Trying not to pry into the box, he went into the kitchen with the bones, and we watched as he carefully cleaned the saw at the sink. I could see tears in the eyes of this normally unemotional man, as with meticulous care he cut through the bone, laying aside the meaty hocks before sawing the rest of the bones into pan sized pieces, placing them side by side on the draining board.

Task finished, he finally allowed his gaze to wander over the rest of the box contents, now spread out on the table. Chuck watched with an amused smile as Dad picked up and examined each package, carefully replacing it before moving to the next. There was more than we could ever have dreamed of seeing in a month of Sundays. A huge bag of flour, more eggs, dried split peas, three tins of cooked meat, more sugar, more tinned milk, tinned processed cheese, a square lump of real butter wrapped in greaseproof paper! The list seemed endless.

By now, Chuck was holding his sides, trying to control his laughter. We knew that what we considered untold wealth was normal fare to him, just as deep down we knew that he had almost certainly stolen most of it from army supplies, but in times of need some questions were better left unasked. Dad offered to pay him, but the offer was met with blunt refusal, and the reminder that as Chuck had said, Uncle Sam could afford it. He wandered into the kitchen and returned chewing a sliver of ham. "Ham will keep longer if you put it somewhere cool in a pillow case rinsed in vinegar and water."

Mum nodded. "OK, Thelma can do that later." She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek again. "Thank you so much Chuck. I have to go to work."

He took the liberty of hugging her briefly. "OK, but before you go there's one more thing. I won these in a poker game, and I don't think they would look too good on me." Digging into his haversack, he handed a flat packet to Mum, and a similar packet to me. "For the ladies."

We tore at the paper eagerly, gasping with delight to reveal perhaps the most priceless treasure a woman could have in those war torn days. Beautiful, sheer, shiny stockings! We neither knew nor cared where he got them. We only knew we had them. That they were ours!

I threw my arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder, unable to speak. After a few moments he eased out of my embrace and passed his bag to Dad. "This is for the man of the house."

Dad lifted the flap. "Oh Christ! Oh Holy Jesus! Oh f..." he checked himself before he could finish the expletive, and pulled out a bottle of whisky and five packets of cigarettes held together by an elastic band. Placing them alongside the other stuff on the table, he pumped Chuck's hand for what seemed like forever. "Thanks lad," he muttered gruffly.

When he finally managed to free his hand, Chuck made a show of pretending to count his fingers, then shrugged. "Think nothing of it. Cost me nothing. One of the advantages of being a supply sergeant."

Dad chose to ignore this virtual admission that everything on the table was probably stolen. "Maybe, but still..." He looked longingly at the bottle. "I'm not much of a drinking man, but why not?" Fetching two glasses, he poured a half inch of golden liquid into each, and handed one to our generous benefactor. "Here's to a quick end to this damned war."

Mum left for work, and I set about soaking a pillow case in vinegar and water to wrap the ham bones. I washed my hands after I finished and went back into the living room, where the men were still sitting and nursing their drinks.

Five minutes later Chuck glanced at his watch. "I guess I'd better go catch the truck." Draining his glass he stood up, waving away Dad's thanks as his hand was shaken again, and turned to open the door. He had barely left when I noticed he had left his haversack behind, so I chased after him and caught up just as he turned the corner into the next street.

"Thank you for the stockings, they're beautiful." I murmured as I handed him his bag.

"You're very welcome. I would have liked to put them on you, but your Pa would have shot me" he added teasingly.

I felt my face redden at the thought of his hands on my legs and looked down at the ground, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Is it alright if I walk with you for a bit?" I realised instantly that I may have sounded a bit forward, but it was all I could think of to say on the spur of the moment to cover my embarrassment.

He smiled with what I took for genuine pleasure. "Sure, glad of the company."

We didn't say much as we walked, and at the next corner we turned on to the main road. Half way along the block he stopped. "This is as far as I go. The truck will be along soon." After a couple of minutes he drew me into a shop doorway and kissed me gently. Without thinking I kissed him back just as gently, trying to ignore the hand on my breast, and seconds later the knee rubbing between my legs. Things were going too fast for me, but I couldn't be angry because he had been so kind. Besides, I thought I had pretty much brought it on myself by being so forward.

Before too long I was glad I was wearing slacks because his hand had replaced his knee, rubbing, stroking, pressing the fabric up into the crack of my fanny. I wanted to stop him but it felt so good, nearly as good as when Hamish (damn him for deserting me) had his hand inside my knickers. A sudden irrational need for revenge made me part my legs a fraction so Chuck could rub a little harder. I came to my senses when he tried to push his hand down the front of my slacks, and I pushed him away.

"No Chuck, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea but I'm not that kind of girl."

To my surprise, instead of being upset he smiled. "I know you're not, but you can't blame a man for trying." He was quiet for a few moments, then he looked at me seriously. "When the time is right for you, you will be that kind of girl. Maybe not with me, but when the right guy comes along you'll know it. It's against nature for a pretty girl to let her tits and pussy go unappreciated for too long." I was spared having to answer by the roar of an engine, and we stepped from the doorway. As he climbed into the back of the American army lorry he smiled again. "Still friends?"

I nodded and smiled back. "Of course. Still friends." Watching the lorry drive away I thought about what he said. He was perfectly right. If my parents hadn't come home too soon, I would have been 'that kind of girl' weeks ago. What was more, if I had been wearing a skirt instead of slacks I might well have become 'that kind of girl' a few minutes ago. I was glad he hadn't apologised for trying it on though, because he was right about that too. How could I blame him for trying when I was as much at fault as he was?

Making my way home I thought about something else he said. Not about me being pretty, although that was not something I would ever get tired of hearing. About tits and pussy. I knew about tits of course, what teenager doesn't, although I had never thought of my own breasts as being tits. Pussy was a new one on me though. Common sense told me that used in conjunction with tits it could only mean fanny. I had heard some of the ruder boys talking about twats and even cunts, which meant the same as fanny, so I guessed pussy was the Yankee name for what was between a girl's legs.

Growing up, I had only ever though of it as 'It', or 'down there'. That had changed when I became interested in boys, and I realised suddenly that I had a 'fanny', and that boys actually wanted to feel it, although all attempts were firmly rejected. Just as suddenly, boy's 'willies' miraculously became 'dicks'.

As I walked along the dark street I whispered my new words to myself, testing them. 'Tits -- tits -- tits'. I was beginning to like the 'feel' of it, although I was still undecided about 'pussy'. Still, I expected it would grow on me. I giggled at the unintentional pun. Pussy growing on me. My pussy was certainly growing!

Getting closer to home I began to experience mild cramps, reminding me that my 'monthly' was due in the next day or two, so when I got into the house I said goodnight to Dad, who was still nursing the same drink, and went straight to bed.

Some time later I was awakened by the air raid sirens. I had no idea of the time, but it must have been reasonably late because Mum was home from work, and like myself she and Dad were in their night clothes. As usual, Mum squeezed into the cupboard under the stairs, followed by me, and then Dad, who wrapped his arms protectively around both of us. The bombs seemed to be coming closer tonight, and we tried to cling tighter together, as though the closer contact meant greater safety.

After a few minutes I became aware of something hard pressing against my bum. I knew what it was, and tried to ignore it, but after the way Chuck had touched me I was beginning to understand what Hamish had said about dying without knowing.

Moments later I froze with fear when Dad pushed his hand under my nightie, and for the first time a man touched my bare fanny. I knew fathers weren't supposed to touch their daughters in such a manner, but the way he was stroking my clitoris was making me so wet and excited that although I told myself I should stop him, I was even more afraid that he really would stop if I told him to.

Very slowly he inched the back of my night dress up, and with a shock I realised that his dick was out of his pyjamas, because I could feel it against my bare bottom. I knew what he wanted to do, and I knew it was wrong, but right at that moment I needed to know. I was terrified of dying and never knowing how it felt. A bomb fell a couple of streets away, shaking the house just as Dad pushed into me, and I let out a loud groan. I had expected it to hurt, and it did, but the pain was cancelled out by the almost unbearable excitement of knowing that even though our breasts were pressed tightly together, Mum had not the faintest inkling that Dad was shagging me. That I was trembling not from fear of the bombing, but from the forbidden thrill of Dad's hard dick driving in and out of my fanny.

It didn't take long, certainly not long enough for me, because I was just beginning to enjoy the slide of hard flesh into wet flesh when he pulled out, and I felt the hot splatter of his stuff, what the boys at school had called spunk, against the back of my leg. Suddenly the bombs didn't matter. I felt invincible. I was floating on a cloud of euphoria, because even though it had been too brief I finally knew what it was like to be shagged, and it was glorious. So glorious that even though Dad's dick was no longer in me, I was still feeling little explosions, more powerful than any bombs, deep inside my no longer virginal fanny.

When the all clear sounded, we dragged ourselves out of our hidey hole under the stairs and went back to bed. I woke in the morning bleeding heavily, and feeling a little sorry that Dad had pulled out instead of letting go inside me, since it wouldn't have mattered anyway. I took a pee and cleaned up as well as I could, then fished my sanitary belt and pads from my drawer. Dad was already at the table looking guilty when I went downstairs, but his face cleared when I smiled to let him know that it was OK. Mum came from the kitchen with breakfast, the last of the nearly stale bread, fried in real butter. Oh so extravagant, but what a treat! And washed down with real coffee! When we had finished eating, Dad and me got up to cycle to work, whilst Mum took the cups into the kitchen.

As we wheeled our bicycles along the side of the house to the street, he put his hand between my legs, disappointment clear on his face when he felt the thick pad, and I knew exactly how he felt. I could still 'feel' his dick inside me from last night, and now that he had allayed my fear of dying without ever having been shagged I wanted more.

Because I worked in the factory office I always finished earlier than Dad, and that night when I arrived home I was surprised to find Chuck was there, chatting with Mum as she made coffee. There was a delicious aroma in the air, which told me she hadn't wasted any time making soup from some pieces of the ham bone he had brought, and there was fresh bread on the table.

I was a still little bit embarrassed about letting Chuck rub my fanny the night before, but at the same time I was glad it had happened, because later on under the stairs, thinking about how it had made me feel had helped get me in the right frame of mind to let Dad shag me. Not that I would have tried to stop him anyway, but it had made it easier.

I gave Chuck an awkward smile. "I didn't expect to see you so soon."

He returned my smile as though last night hadn't happened. "I just came a few minutes before you got here."

Mum nodded in affirmation. "Yes, he just came."

It wasn't until after I said what I said next that I realised that it could be taken a number of ways. "Thank you for last night Chuck. You have no idea how happy you made me."

After the words were out I realised how right I was. I was happy for the food and stockings, I was happy that he had rubbed my fanny, and most of all I was happy that he had accepted my refusal and not persisted in trying to shag me. That didn't necessarily mean I wanted him to stop trying. Even if I continued to deny him, it would still make me feel good to know he wanted to.

He gave me a look of understanding, but fortunately for me he didn't say anything, which was good because I wasn't sure I would be able to respond without putting my foot in it. We sat around chatting about the war, with Mum getting up every few minutes to check on the soup, and then Dad came home.

He sniffed the air appreciatively. "That smells good. Put another bowl out for Chuck here." Putting on one of his 'intimidating' looks, which never worked on me and Mum so was extremely unlikely to work on Chuck, he said "You haven't tasted good grub until you've tasted Cora's pea and ham soup."

"Thank you Sir, I'd be honoured."

Surprised that he got his own way so easily, Dad grinned sheepishly. "Yes, well, OK. And stop calling me Sir. My name is Fred."

"OK Si.. uh.. Fred."

The soup was even better than I remembered from last time -- a lifetime ago now - with small pieces of ham and little pearls of barley, mixed in with the split peas which had boiled into a thick mush just the way I liked it. After we had wiped our bowls clean with the soft fresh bread, we left the dishes on the table, and shifted across into the living part of the room. Dad took his usual place in his big old armchair and lit a ciggie before offering one to Chuck. Although he had provided the smokes in the first place, Chuck seemed to sense that it was important to Dad to act the role of host and benefactor, so he accepted with a solemn nod, and took a seat at the end of the couch whilst Mum busied herself in the kitchen brewing more coffee. I dropped into the remaining armchair, and after she had served the drinks, Mum took the other end of the couch.

As the men smoked, Chuck started to open up. He remembered nothing of his parents, and had been raised by an Aunt and Uncle on a small horse ranch in Texas. It hadn't been much of a childhood, and he had never really felt that he belonged, that he had been taken in simply because there was nowhere else for him to go. Mostly he was treated as an unpaid ranch hand, and the only times he had really been content were when he was out on his own, galloping across the prairie with the hot sun on his face, and the wind in his hair. Eventually he had tired of being made to feel like an intruder, and during the Great Depression had opted for the security offered by becoming a professional soldier.

As he concluded, Mum reached across and patted his hand. "Well you'll never be an intruder here, will he Fred?" Dad shook his head, and Mum rose from the couch. "I'd better get moving or I'll be late for work."

After she left, Chuck asked Dad about his own war service, horror plain on his face as he heard about kids barely out of school, running around the muddy trenches in panic as they tried to escape the rolling clouds of choking, burning gas. This was all new to me too, because Dad never talked about the Great War, but I guessed that he felt more comfortable talking as one soldier to another.

As darkness began to close in, Chuck looked at his watch. "That time again."

I stood up quickly. "I'll walk with you if you want. If it's OK with Dad?"

Dad hesitated for a moment, and when he shrugged I knew that the pad between my legs had made his mind up. "OK, but come straight back." Almost as an afterthought, he called Chuck back and whispered in his ear.

I thought that maybe he had been warning Chuck to keep his hands to himself, but if he had it apparently had no effect, because when we got to the pick up spot, he led me straight to the relative privacy of the shop doorway and cupped my breast. I raised my face for a kiss, unconcerned when his hand moved down over my tummy. His whispered "Oh" told me he had found the barrier, and I pressed closer when he pushed inside my blouse. Although I wasn't ready to let him shag me even if I could, I saw no harm in other things, so I let him console himself with kissing me and feeling my tits until the lorry turned up.

It wasn't all one way of course, because I didn't exactly discourage him. His kisses were nice, and the way he stroked my tits was better, especially when he twiddled my stiff nipples. When he heaved himself up over the tailgate, I found myself wishing that we could have had a few minutes longer.

Lying in bed later I heard a sound I had heard countless times, but had never paid any heed to. Now, however, I listened intently through the wall to the rhythmic squeaking of the springs of Mum and Dad's old iron bed, and knew that Mum was reaping the benefits of my incapacity.

Chuck was sitting talking to Mum again when I got home from work next day. When Dad came home Mum went into the kitchen to start the meal, and shaking Chuck's hand Dad asked quietly "Did you get them?"

Digging into his ever present haversack Chuck handed him some boxes of matches, fastened together with elastic, much as the cigarettes had been, and Dad slipped them quickly into his jacket pocket. It struck me as a bit too penny pinching that Dad would ask for matches, when they were cheap enough and readily available from the local shops, and stranger still that he should be so secretive about it. Then again, there was no knowing when the war would end, and rationing was getting tighter and tighter, so maybe Dad was simply thinking ahead.

When I walked with Chuck to catch his lift I headed for our usual shop doorway, but he surprised me by making no attempt to feel me. Instead he just chatted until the lorry came. The next few nights were the same, but I didn't mind too much because he was good company, and there were things I could talk to him about that I couldn't discuss with Mum and Dad. He seemed to have taken Mum at her word when she told him he would never be an intruder, because he became a frequent visitor. Some times he was there when I got home, sometimes he came later, and some days I didn't see him at all. I suppose on average he showed up at least every second day, and invariably with something for the larder. Tinned meat mostly, although he made sure we never ran out of coffee milk or sugar, and, of course, smokes for Dad.

On a Monday night about eight or nine days after the incident under the stairs, Mum had gone to work, and I had just returned from seeing Chuck catch his ride back to the base. I was sitting with Dad listening to the wireless, and after about fifteen minutes he looked at me and took a deep breath. "Um, has your woman thing finished yet?"

I knew what he meant, because I had been thinking along the same lines since my monthly stopped. "Yes, a few days ago, why?"

He came and sat beside me on the couch. "I've been thinking about, well, you know.... under the stairs last week."

"Oh, that."

"Yes. Was it OK?"

"Yes Dad, it was fine."

"Um, that's good. I was a bit worried."

I shrugged, wishing he would hurry up and get to the point. "What's done is done. No sense worrying about it."

He hesitated for a long moment then laid a hand on my knee. "Um, I was, um, wondering. Would you like to try it again?"

At last! "If you want. I don't mind." Mind? I couldn't wait to feel him inside me again! I'd thought of little else for days, especially since Chuck had stopped trying to feel me.

With a huge sigh of relief, Dad slid his hand up the inside of my leg and stroked me through my knickers for a few seconds. "Can we take these off?"

"OK, but you too." I lifted my bum off the couch so he could pull my knickers off, then he crumpled my dress around my waist and stood staring at my fanny as he took his trousers off. I could feel myself getting wetter by the second as I looked at his hard dick. It looked bigger than it had felt when it was in me, but common sense told me that it had gone in once so it would go in again.

I suddenly remembered how his stuff had splattered on my leg the first time, and I closed my legs quickly. What if he couldn't pull out in time? "I'm scared Dad, what if I get a baby?"

He shook his head. "It'll be OK, don't worry. I've got something."

He stooped and took a box of matches from his trouser pocket, and I looked at him dubiously. How could matches stop me from getting pregnant? He slid open the box and took out a small packet, and then I understood the secrecy when Chuck had given him what I thought were matches. He ripped open the packet, and extracted what appeared to be a thin rubber ring with a sort of blister in the centre. I watched in fascination as he put the blister against the end of his dick, and unrolled the ring until his entire stalk was sheathed in thin rubber.

I opened my legs again as he came towards me, then he was between my knees, pushing slowly. It seemed to take forever to go in, and it dawned on me that it hadn't felt so big the first time, because he mustn't have put it all in. Maybe because if he did it too hard I might make a fuss, and Mum would be alerted to what he was doing. Or maybe he thought that if he didn't go all the way in I might think it was accidental because we were pressed so close together. Whatever the reason, he put it in just enough to break my maidenhead and poke me until he squirted. Now that it was all the way in, it felt every bit as big as it looked, and it felt... heavenly. He paused for a moment to unbutton my dress all the way, and push my brassiere up under my chin, then put his mouth on my nipple. He sucked one tit and stroked the other, then changed sides, and as the warmth spread through me he started to push his dick in and out of my wet fanny.

He started slowly at first as if he was trying to be careful not to hurt me, and then my Dad was shagging me... and shagging me... and shagging me, and the more he shagged me the more I wanted him to. It wasn't as quick as the first time, because he didn't have to worry about pulling out, and gradually the warmth moving down from my tits met the burning between my legs.

With each exciting push of his stiff dick I discovered that my thoughts were evolving. There were certain words that men and boys used for what was happening that 'nice' girls would never dream of saying, but then again 'nice' girls would never dream of doing 'it' with their fathers. At least not willingly, and since I was certainly willing, I could hardly be 'nice'. Although I lacked the courage to voice it out loud, with every forbidden thrust of my Dad's hips, in the silence of my mind I begged him to "Shag me Dad.. shag me... Oh yes! Shag me!"

The wetness oozing out of my fanny turned slippery and creamy, and I was beyond feeling shame or guilt. Pressing his mouth harder against my heaving tits, I wrapped my legs around him, trying to draw him deeper as Dad's driving dick set fire to every nerve and fibre in my body. Suddenly he stopped, and I could tell from the way he was groaning that he was shooting his stuff out of his dick. I was glad he was wearing something because he stayed inside me, and after resting for a little while he started again. This time he took even longer, and by the time he finished I was shaking like a puppet with broken strings.

The following night Chuck started feeling my tits again, and by the time the lorry came I was so wet I practically sprinted home, desperate to feel Dad's dick in me again. For the rest of the week it was the same. Chuck's hands on my tits would get me wet, and then I would rush home and open my legs for Dad.

On Saturday night Chuck suggested we go to the club, so I went to wash and change. Unwrapping my treasured stockings, I sat on my bed and drew them carefully up my legs, luxuriating in the silky glide against my skin. Standing up I examined the effect in the mirror. I felt quite alluring as I looked at the clinging hose, contrasting with the paleness of the tops of my thighs, and the light fringe almost but not quite concealing the neat dividing line of my fanny. Pulling on my knickers, I stepped into my shoes and slipped my best dress over my head, before going downstairs, where Chuck and I said goodbye to my parents and headed for the club.

It was the first time we had been since we met, and it was good catching up with Doris outside of work, even though most of the time she couldn't take her eyes off Wilbur. Towards the end of a wonderful evening of dancing and gossiping, she and I were powdering our noses in the ladies' room, whilst she took a delight in going into lurid details of how, when and where Wilbur had shagged her. After a lot of prompting and cajoling, I finally confessed that Chuck had felt my tits, but of course I didn't dare tell her about Dad.

By the time we rejoined the men I was in quite a state, so I was relieved when Doris gave me a saucy wink and said they were going. Chuck and I left minutes later, but instead of going to meet the lorry, he led me behind the club and kissed me as he slipped his hand into the top of my dress. For several minutes he kissed me and felt my tits, then I gasped when for the first time since Dad had taken my virginity, he started rubbing his knee against my fanny. What Doris had told me must have affected me more than I knew, because I didn't try to stop him until he put his hand down there.

"No Chuck," I protested, although I didn't sound convincing even to myself.

"Why not, honey?" he whispered. I knew Chuck well enough to be sure that if I pushed his hand away, he would give up trying, but before I could his fingers pressed against my clitoris through my clothes, and he added. "We both know you want to."

After what Dad and I had done I could no longer say with honesty that I wasn't that kind of girl, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "You'll miss your lift."

He responded with a soft laugh. "It's Saturday night. There'll be another truck along later to pick up the stragglers."

With each stroke of his fingers he was becoming harder to resist, but I had to try. "I'm scared."

"There's no need to be scared. You know I'd never hurt you."

"It's not that. I'm scared I might get... well, you know."

"You don't have to worry about that. I'll put a rubber on my cock first so you can't get any come in your pussy."

Aside from the usual school yard banter which was mostly fuelled by bravado, nobody had ever said 'cock' or 'come' to me before, and I found hearing it for the first time in 'earnest' wickedly exciting, so I filed it away in my mind along with my other 'new' naughty words like 'pussy' and 'fuck'.

By now my fanny was too wet for me to even try to make more excuses, and linking my hands behind his neck, I pulled his face down to mine and opened my legs in total surrender.

His hands were sure and confident as he lifted the hem of my dress and his palm began a slow sensuous glide up the inside of my stockinged thighs. The night air was cool on the wet heat of my fanny when he pulled aside my knickers and pushed a finger into me, and I shuddered with need when he caressed my clitoris. This was something Dad had never bothered to do for more than a second or so to make sure I was wet, and I waited impatiently as he fumbled with the rubber sheath, feeling instinctively that what was about to happen would be something more than special.

Then I was clinging to him as he bent his knees momentarily then straightened, driving his rigid Yankee cock up into my pussy. In next to no time I knew why boys referred to a stand up shag as a 'knee trembler'. My legs were shaking so uncontrollably that I was sure I would have fallen to my knees if I hadn't been impaled on his thrusting cock. I lost all sense of time and place as he fucked me. Where we were and even who we were meant nothing. The only meaning was in the strong hands on my tits and arse, and the inexorable and relentless thrusting of his cock as he skilfully coaxed out the creamy fluids that soaked my knickers, and were now oozing unchecked down the insides of my thighs.

Some inner sense told me that I wasn't the first woman he had seduced and fucked like this, and I would almost certainly not be the last, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the him and the me. The here and and the now. The hard driving cock and the dripping pussy. The shuddering climax as we reached our peak and tumbled down into total gasping satiation. My legs were decidedly shaky as we hurried to meet the lorry, and there was barely time for Chuck to have one more quick feel of my sticky pussy before we heard the deep rumble of the engine.

Making my way home I was glad that it was the weekend, and Mum didn't have to work, because after the tumultuous fucking I had just received, letting Dad shag me so soon would be something of an anti climax. As it turned out, Mum and Dad were already in bed, and after carefully rinsing the drying stiffness out of my stockings and knickers and hanging them on the end of my bed to dry, I stood before the mirror, studying my swollen pussy by the light of a candle. My clitoris was red and inflamed, but thankfully not sore, and with a happy smile I pulled my nightdress on and lay in bed, reliving every glorious thrust of Chuck's rampant cock, before dozing off to the faint rhythmic squeaking coming through the wall.

Chuck had an even greater surprise for us when he arrived next day. Settling himself in his usual place on the couch beside Mum, he lit a smoke and looked at us all with a teasing smile. I sensed that he was hiding something, but it was clear that we wouldn't find out what until he was good and ready. After an eternity he finished his smoke, then with a theatrical flourish he took a small white box from his bag and handed it to Mum. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she weighed it in her hand, then held it out so Dad and I could see.

It took several seconds for my brain to catch up with my eyes, then I gasped as I read the print.

"Prepared by Cook Chocolate Company, Chicago, Ill. 4 Ounces Net."

Chocolate! A whole quarter pound of real honest to God chocolate!

This was something we hardly dared dream about, because nearly three years into the war chocolate was mostly available only on the black market, and was so expensive that only the privileged few could afford it. My mouth watered as I watched her open one end and extract the cellophane wrapped treat, neatly sectioned into squares. It was much darker than the last chocolate I had seen a lifetime ago, and my hand shook as I accepted a piece. I looked at it, almost afraid to taste it in case it turned out to be a joke, but when Mum and Dad each pushed a square into their mouths I eagerly followed suit.

It was harder and much more bitter than I remembered, but it tasted like a slice of heaven as it slowly melted on my tongue. I didn't want to swallow it because I wanted the taste to last for ever, but eventually it slid stickily down my throat. "Oh god Chuck, that was so good."

He shrugged dismissively. "Heck, it's only field rations." Mum carefully folded the remainder of the bar into its cellophane wrapper, and slid it back into the box, but Chuck shook his head. "I can get plenty more if you want so you may as well enjoy it."

It was too tempting to resist, but it was also too good to simply wolf it down. Besides, the waiting and anticipation were almost as good as the eating, so Mum Dad and myself made it last the whole evening. When it was all gone, he waved away any more thanks, and I smiled to myself. I was already planning a way of showing my appreciation that he would definitely be only too willing to accept.

When the time came for him to leave I went upstairs briefly and returned with a cardigan fastened over my thin summer dress, and linking my arm through his we set off on the short walk. My excitement grew as we neared 'our' shop doorway, and under the concealment of the unlit streets I began to unfasten my cardigan, eager for him to discover the surprise I had prepared. With my heart thudding at my daring, I moved into the doorway and slipped off my cardigan. His sharp intake of breath told me that he had discovered that the only reason I had worn it was so Mum and Dad wouldn't suspect that my dress was unbuttoned to the waist, and there was no brassiere between his hands and my breasts.

For the first time he lowered his lips to my nipples, and I pushed my chest out to make it easier for him to suck my tits. Some delightfully exciting minutes later he put his hand under my dress, and gave a muffled gasp when he found that my brassiere was not the only undergarment I had removed before leaving home. His fingers were firm and insistent as they explored my naked pussy, and then -- and to this day I am not quite sure how it happened -- I was leaning forward, grasping the shop door handle for support, and he was driving his rubber clad cock into me from behind.

The only other time I had been entered like this was under the stairs, when Dad had taken my virtue, but that paled in comparison to what I was experiencing now. Chuck's hard cock thrust far deeper than I could have believed possible, and I had the added thrill of his gentle hands grasping my tits. It was quicker than last time, but no less satisfying, with the excitement of the unfamiliar position combining with the deeper thrusts to bring me quickly to my climax.

My life could not have been more superb over the following days. This new position suited us both to perfection, and each evening saw me leaning against the shop door, writhing in ecstasy as Chuck plunged his delightful cock in and out of my insatiable pussy. As soon as he boarded the lorry back to the base, I hurried home so Dad could shag me before Mum finished work.

Unfortunately my pleasure was interrupted once again when nature paid her monthly visit, and for almost a week both men had to be content with fondling and sucking my breasts.

On the day my fanny became available again I suffered two unpleasant shocks. After lunch I was returning to work, daydreaming about being fucked when my foot slipped on a patch of grease on the factory floor. I fell heavily, jarring my wrist, and although I was shaken I pretended it was worse than it was, in the hope I would be allowed to leave early. My ploy worked better than I hoped, and thirty minutes later, steering with one hand for effect I pedalled through the factory gates.

When I reached home, I wheeled my bicycle to the rear of the house where I leaned it against the wall. Moments later I opened the back door and received the second shock. Mum was in the kitchen leaning over the sink and groaning.

My first thought was that she was being sick, and then my eyes told the whole story. Her knickers were around her knees, stretched tight by her stockinged legs, and Chuck's splayed fingers looked like pale brown spiders against the rounded whiteness of her arse cheeks as he shagged her. Afraid of being discovered, I stepped outside and pulled the door almost closed, watching through the gap in horrified fascination. Although I had felt it inside me many times I had never actually seen his cock, and I was mesmerised as it pushed in and out of Mum's fanny, wondering if it looked the same when he fucked me. There was something different that I couldn't quite place until he finished, and I saw he wasn't using a rubber. After he withdrew she remained motionless, panting as his white seed seeped out and dripped unheeded onto her tightly stretched knickers.

Too shaken to speak, I pulled the door shut behind me and fled in confusion. For a full half hour I wandered the streets, trying to sort out my thoughts and feelings. I couldn't bring myself to be angry with Mum for going behind Dad's back, because after all Dad and I had been going behind her back, and to make matters worse what we were doing was forbidden in every way imaginable. Besides, I knew only too well how persuasive Chuck could be, so I couldn't really blame her for succumbing to temptation. In the cold light of day, the only thing I could be upset about was that Chuck was going behind my back. That he was giving Mum the benefit of what I had come to regard as my cock.

I was also a little envious that unlike me, she had not been afraid to let him come inside her. Our circumstances were different of course. If Mum fell pregnant, Dad would unquestioningly accept the child as his own, just as no doubt many wartime husbands accepted the results of their wives' unsuspected infidelity. On the other hand, I had nobody but myself to carry the responsibility and shame of being an unmarried mother. I was under no illusions that Sergeant Charles Vickery would accept paternity of an illegitimate child, even if he was still around nine months later. After all, he hadn't exactly forced himself on me or Mum, and if he shagged us, how many others were there that we knew nothing about?

He was gone when I returned home, and she was carrying another box of tinned and packaged food up the stairs. She was no longer wearing her stockings, so I guessed that she had worn them to excite him, and maybe herself. I followed her upstairs and into the spare bedroom, where she set the box on the floor and turned the key in the door of the single wardrobe.

"Why Mum?"

Without turning she shrugged. "There's a war on in case you hadn't noticed. You do what you must to feed your family." I wanted to believe there was more to it than that, but I knew the hardships of war could easily make people act out of character. She spoke again as she opened the wardrobe. "Besides, I had nothing else I could give him to repay his kindness."

I gaped as I looked past her at the shelves loaded with foodstuffs. Tin after tin of cooked meats and evaporated milk, neatly stacked alongside packets of dried vegetables, sugar and flour. Every kind of staple I could imagine, in addition to more small boxes of chocolate bars than I could count. A cardboard carton on the floor of the wardrobe was filled with familiar packets of Lucky Strike and the less familiar packs of Camel cigarettes. Beside the carton were two ten pound bags, one each of flour and sugar, stencilled with the American stamp of a star with three horizontal stripes on each side, just like on the army lorries, and another bottle of whiskey. Hanging from the rail above were three large muslin wrapped slabs of bacon.

It was clear to me that Chuck must have been a consummate thief, because he couldn't possibly have obtained so much by honest means. It was equally clear that since I could not recall seeing him bring such quantities into the house when I was home, Mum had been 'doing what she must' for some time, whilst Dad and I were at work. Almost certainly since before I had given in and let Chuck fuck me for the first time. This realisation reminded me of something they had said the day after he had rubbed my fanny through my clothes. Not so much what they said as the words.

I hadn't really paid attention, but from memory, when I had expressed surprise to find him already there when I arrived home, Chuck had said he came minutes before I got home, rather than saying he got there just before me, and Mum had agreed, saying he just came. I suppose in hindsight I should have attached more significance to the word 'came', but in fairness to myself I was still a virgin, and fairly innocent of such matters.

Chuck returned after Dad got home from work, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to pay him much attention. I knew deep down that I had no objection to Mum being shagged, I just didn't like the thought of her being shagged by 'my' cock. When the time came for Chuck to leave he looked at me hopefully, but I was still upset at what I saw as my betrayal, so I told him I had a splitting headache, a decision I was later to regret.

As soon as he left I gave myself to Dad, brazenly and fiercely, relishing every squeeze of my tits, every suck of my nipples, crying out and rejoicing in every firm and forbidden thrust of Dad's hard incestuous dick. It was almost as though I was trying desperately to avenge myself against Chuck, but as Dad fucked me my resentment slowly seeped out of me, just like the juices of my imminent climax were seeping out of my fanny. Just for the briefest instant, as Dad reached his peak I wished he would take the rubber off so I could know how it felt to have a man come inside me. I knew it was irrational, but in some strange way I wanted to believe that no matter how often I was shagged, I would always be a virgin until that happened.

We didn't see Chuck the next day, or the next, or the day after that. I was beginning to wonder if he suspected that I had seen him shagging Mum, and was too embarrassed to return, then almost a week after I caught them in the act, I got home from work and found Mum in tears. Too upset to speak, she handed me a folded letter, and my heart fell as I read.

Dear Fred, Cora, and Thelma,

This is not the way I wanted to say goodbye. In fact I never wanted to say goodbye.

Although it has been only a few short weeks, you three have taken me into your home, and, I like to believe, into your hearts, and made me feel more welcome than I have ever felt. Your warmth and kindness in allowing me to share your lives have made me feel that for the first time in my life I had a real family. A family who cared for and accepted me without reservation, and without expectation.

Now, however, my country and yours have decreed that I must go to war. I cannot of course divulge where I am being sent, even if I knew for certain. I confess that although I am a soldier, I am deathly afraid, but having known you, I hope to take courage, and I promise that I will try to make you all proud of me.

It is also my fervent hope that, should I survive, I will one day return to you.

Yours with affection and gratitude,

Charles (Chuck) Vickery.

My eyes filled as the letter fell from my nerveless fingers, and Mum and I clung to each other, sobbing uncontrollably. How I wished now that I had not been too stubborn to go with Chuck for that one last fuck, even though there was no way of knowing it was to be the last. At least I could have seen him leave without resentment.

Eventually we could find no more tears to shed, and Mum sat back with a sad smile. "I loved him you know. Not like I love your father, but I still loved him. I could never have let him shag me otherwise."

I squeezed her hand gently. "I know Mum."

It was good to know that she felt no shame, that she had not done it just for the food. She may have used the food as an excuse to let him take her knickers off, but the truth was she needed him to shag her, just as I had needed him to shag me. Although we both knew that most, if not all that he brought was almost certainly stolen, after reading his letter it was hard to think of him as a common thief. He had simply done what he thought necessary, not so we would let him shag us, but to feed us. Like Robin Hood, he had robbed the rich -- Uncle Sam - to feed the poor. Us. His 'family'. As Mum had implied, desperate times called for desperate measures, and in times of war normally accepted standards did not always apply. The sentiments expressed in the letter also told me that what had occurred to me, albeit briefly, could not have been more wrong. It told me that Mum and I had meant more to him than an easy shag, to be fucked and forgotten.

Chuck's unexpected departure left an unimaginable gap in all of our lives, but fortunately for me I had the forbidden thrill of Dad's always willing dick to console me in the hours Mum was out at work.

On a Sunday morning, a week or so after Chuck's letter, I answered the door to the last person I expected or wanted to see. "What do you want?" I demanded, as coldly as I could, trying not to stare at the ugly wide scar across his forehead. Somehow, although the scar itself was ugly, it didn't seem to make his face ugly.

The broad grin faded. "I came to see ma bonnie wee lassie."

"Did you now? Do you really think you could just leave without a word, and then just turn up again as if nothing had happened?"

His shoulders slumped as Hamish turned away. "I'm sorry, I'll no bother ye again."

Even though I wanted nothing to do with him, I was disappointed that he had given up so easily, so I called after him. "You could have at least written. I thought you got killed in the bombing."

With a shake of his head he turned back to face me. "No lassie, but if you dinna want tae see me I wish I had been."

"Why didn't you write?"

"I couldna. I knew the hoose but no the name o' the street. I had tae go away."

His downcast expression and intriguing accent were starting to soften me. "Well you've come this far, so I suppose you'd better come in and tell us about it."

Mum and Dad looked up from the table in surprise when Hamish followed me in, then without speaking Mum brought another cup and poured him a coffee. I studied his face as he told his story. Apparently the morning after I had seen him last, he had been ordered to pack his kit and issued with a travel warrant, and report to the Rolls Royce factory on the south coast. At the factory he had been extensively trained in all aspects of looking after the huge Merlin engines used in the Spitfire fighter planes. He had completed the course two days ago, then received a promotion, and ordered back to his original station to instruct the other mechanics. It had taken another day to get organised, and he had spent an uncomfortable night, trying to catch some sleep in the back of a jolting Air Force lorry loaded with spare parts.

It wasn't until he mentioned promotion that I noticed the two stripes rather inexpertly sewn on to his sleeves. Mum noticed the poor needlework at the same time, and in the no nonsense way she had, she held out her hand. "Give it here. I'll sew them properly before they fall off."

As she unpicked and restitched the stripes, Hamish started to talk enthusiastically about the ins and outs of aeroplane engines. Dad listened with interest, but most of it was beyond my comprehension, so I sat watching his animated face. One eyebrow was permanently raised from where he had the wound stitched, and after a while I decided I sort of liked him better with the scar.

When Mum finished sewing, he looked admiringly at the neat stitching, and as he pulled his jacket back on he looked at me uncertainly. "Wid ye like tae go for a wee walk lassie?"

Before I could reply, Mum looked out of the window, and with a warning glance at Dad not to interfere, she said, rather casually I thought, "It's a nice day for a picnic, so why don't I make some sandwiches? You can take the bikes. I'm sure you two have a lot of catching up to do."

We waited patiently whilst she opened a tin of Spam and sliced some bread, still warm and fragrant from the oven. Hamish's puckered eyebrow lifted further when he saw the tin, but he made no comment. I sensed that opening the precious meat was Mum's way of telling me that she had accepted him, and that it was only fair that I give him a chance. She put the sandwiches in a shopping bag with a bottle of water, and hanging it on the handlebars we set off.

We rode for what seemed like miles, not saying much, just enjoying the sun on our backs and the wind in our hair. My legs were starting to ache from pedalling, but we were passing a poultry farm, so I kept going until we could no longer smell the chicken poo. Finally I could go no further, and we stopped beside a field. Hamish looked at me, and then at a haystack in the middle of the field, and I knew he was thinking about the last time we had been together. I didn't say anything when he opened the gate. I just followed as he wheeled the bikes across the grass and behind the haystack out of view of the road.

Leaning the bikes against the bales of hay, he looked at me again. "Ye know I love ye lassie?"

It was more a statement than a question, and I nodded. I wasn't sure if I felt the same, but then he was kissing me and I did know. He had grown a neat moustache when he was away, giving his face a cavalier look, and drawing the attention away from his scarred forehead, and it tickled when he kissed me. I kissed all over his face, and his beautiful ugly scar and then his lips, and then his hands were on my breasts. My already aching legs turned rubbery, and I was almost relieved when he lowered me on to the sweet smelling hay. The sun was warm on my tits when he opened my blouse and unfastened my brassiere, but not as warm as his eyes as he gazed at me. Nor as warm as his lips as he gently sucked my hard puckered nipples in exactly the way they needed to be sucked. In exactly the way his soft lips were meant to suck them.

When his hand moved down I froze for a moment, scared of what he would do or say when he discovered I wasn't a virgin, and then I thought that if I was his first, maybe he wouldn't know the difference. I didn't try to stop him when he took my knickers off and lifted my skirt to look at my fanny. His fingers were gentle as he parted my lower lips and stroked my clitoris, and then he was between my legs. This time there was no slamming door to interrupt us, only the slamming of my heart as he pushed his hard virgin dick into me. Too late I realised that he wasn't wearing anything, but then I told myself that if I couldn't give him my physical virginity, at least I could give him my imaginary virginity by letting him be the first man to come inside me.

It was the most glorious fuck I had ever had -- no, it wasn't a fuck -- we were making love. Pure beautiful love. I thrust my hips up to meet him, trying to force him deeper, straining to draw his love through his wonderful cock, to join with the love that was already threatening to burst my heart. When my climax started it wasn't frenzied or urgent the way it was with Dad, or demanding and overpowering like with Chuck. It was as gentle and flowing as Hamish's kisses. As gentle and flowing as my come, as it met and mingled with the hot flood of his come.

When he took his cock out he looked down at me in amazement, and I had never thought I would ever see so much love in someone's eyes as I saw in his. "Och lassie, that was grand" he whispered. "You are grand."

Unaccountably I was a little embarrassed by the compliment, and I tried to hide it by gesturing towards the shopping bag. With an apologetic smile, he unhooked the bag from the handlebars, and took out the sandwiches. As we ate I leaned against the haystack with my blouse still open and my brassiere hanging loose. My skirt was still bunched around my waist, and I parted my legs, simply because I wanted him to look at my tits and fanny, so he would know that they were his whenever he wanted, forever and a day. I of course studied him with equal interest, both pleased and impressed with how much bigger and firmer his divine dick was than Dad's. At a guess I estimated his cock to be something over eight inches, which made it a good inch and a half bigger. That is not to say that Dad had ever failed to satisfy me though. The difference was that whilst I loved Dad, and would always love him shagging me, I was not in love with him the way I was with my gentle Scotsman.

When the sandwiches were finished, Hamish came to me again, and came into me again, and finally came inside me again. His hands and mouth on my tits and nipples, and the slow steady strokes of his beloved cock carried me to peak after heavenly peak of almost unbearable ecstasy, and when we both came, after what seemed like hours later, as it softened inside me that same cock brought me gently down, until we lay entwined in indescribable bliss.

As the sun began its descent, I fastened my brassiere and blouse, and pulled my knickers on over my satisfyingly sticky fanny, and we set off towards home. The poultry farmer waved to us over the fence as we passed, so out of politeness we stopped to chat. He stared openly at Hamish's scar, and in a broad northern accent asked bluntly how it happened. In the same offhanded manner he had had used when I first saw his bandaged head, Hamish explained about getting too close to a bomb. With an understanding nod, the farmer told us to wait, and disappeared into the shed. A few minutes later he returned and handed a sack to Hamish.

"It's not much," he said gruffly, "but we 'ave to look after our boys. I aint 'ad time ter dress 'em yet, but I've took the heads an' feet off. The white un is only a boiler, but she'll be good enough fer soup." We tried to thank him, but he shrugged dismissively. "No need for that. I only wish I could do more. I'm too old to fight. If yer ever this way again, drop in an' I'll see what I can find." I kissed his cheek impulsively, trying to ignore the smell of chicken poo - and I dreaded to think what else - on his ragged and frequently patched overalls, and after Hamish tied the sack to the seat of Dad's bike, we mounted up and rode home.

As soon as we walked into the house Mum knew. I wasn't sure if she was most pleased about the chickens or Hamish shagging me, but as we sat in the kitchen tugging the feathers out, she took my hand and looked into my eyes. "Now you understand how it was with Chuck."

I smiled. "I always understood Mum. When you love someone there's nothing you won't do for them." Even as I said it I knew I was including Dad. I didn't love him the way Mum loved him, but I did love him, or I could have found a way to stop him shagging me that first time. With Chuck it had been different. I liked him but I didn't really feel any love for him. It had simply been that hearing from Doris how Wilbur shagged her made me too aroused to resist, and Chuck had been so skilled and experienced that after the first time I had absolutely no wish to resist. I suppose I grew to love him a little more with each shag, but I didn't love him that first time, and I never really gave him my heart.

Little more than an hour after Mum and I finished plucking the fowl, the four of us were sitting down to a sumptuous meal of roast chicken, with both mashed and roast potatoes smothered with rich gravy. After we wiped our plates clean with bread, Mum made coffee, and then Hamish and I sat on the couch holding hands, whilst Mum and Dad took the armchairs. When the coffee was finished, Hamish stood up, declaring he had to catch a bus to the station, and then a train back to the aerodrome. Needless to say I offered to walk with him to the bus, and as we approached the stop I kept a lookout for a convenient shop doorway.

When we found one I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. This time we didn't make love. We fucked. Urgently and eagerly. The fact that we loved each other made it even better, but the plain truth was at that moment we were driven by raw unbridled lust. Relentlessly his hard cock rammed up into my wet fanny, and I responded by jamming down to meet every wonderful thrust. We managed to finish just as the bus arrived, and with no time to pull up my knickers, I kissed him goodbye and practically skipped home with yet another fanny full of his come.

We went to the club again the following Saturday night, and I was more than a little smug at the end of the evening, when I shocked Doris by telling her that Hamish and I were leaving so we could have a shag before he caught the bus. On Monday morning at work, she badgered me continually for what she called 'the juicy details' but other than teasing her by holding my hands about a foot apart and swearing he had a dick 'this long', I remained tight lipped. By the time I got home my thoughts had me so hot and bothered, that I could hardly wait for Mum to leave so I could take my knickers off for Dad.

A week later I was a little anxious but I said nothing. Another week passed and I became really worried. We were shagging against the wall outside the club, and not wanting to spoil it for him I waited until Hamish came in me, then I straightened my knickers and told him my monthly was overdue.

It took a moment or two to sink in, then he stepped back. "Well that's it then." My heart shattered as I told myself that his reaction meant he was going to finish with me, but he grabbed my hand. "Come on then."

He started pulling me towards home, and rather stupidly I tried to turn the other way "What about your bus?"

"To hell with the bus. This is more important."

When we got home, he took a deep breath, then pushed inside. Mum and Dad were sitting on the couch, and looked up in surprise to see him. Taking my hand he looked Dad in the eye and said bluntly. "We're 'avin' a bairn."

Dad's face darkened and he clenched his fists as he started to rise, but Mum grabbed his arm. "Don't start Fred. They only did what we used to do. And I was at least a year younger than Thelma is, or don't you remember that?"

Dad sat back down. "Maybe, but that was different" he said stubbornly. "She's my daughter."

Mum laughed. "So what? I was somebody's daughter too, but that didn't stop you."

He knew he couldn't win against Mum, so he gave up arguing. "Well at least you were man enough to face me" he told Hamish grudgingly. "What now?"

Hamish squared his shoulders. "I dinna want any bairn o' mine growin' up wi'out a father like I did, so if she'll 'ave me we'll wed. We'd like yer blessin', but she's old enough to wed wi'out it so it's up to you."

I think Dad surprised us all then by sticking out his hand for Hamish to shake, then pointed at the scar. "OK lad, but if you ever make her cry I'll make you cry. You'll wish that bloody bomb had hit you."

My new husband to be shook his head. "Dinna worry aboot that, I won't." He thought for a moment, then said "I'll 'ave tae get permission from my C.O. It might 'elp if ye can give me a note saying ye both agree."

At Mum's insistence Dad quickly scribbled a letter of consent, which my parents each signed, then I signed for good measure. Tucking it carefully into his pocket, Hamish looked at the clock. "If I run I might catch a lift to the railway station on the Yankee truck. I 'ave to report in by six in the mornin'." He shook hands with Dad again, kissed Mum on the cheek and me on the lips, and ran as fast as he could to where Chuck had always caught his lift.

I was too excited to sleep that night, and I lay staring into the darkness, picturing the moment that Hamish and I would finally lie together skin to skin as man and wife. My mind went back to the haystack, when I had sat with my legs apart as he gazed lovingly at my come filled fanny, and my hand crept between my thighs. "Hamish, oh Hamish," I sighed happily, as my fingers probed into the results of our most recent shag, and the familiar sweet burning began again. I abandoned myself to the feeling, furiously rubbing my clitoris until my come poured out on to the sheets. It was almost six in the morning before exhaustion caught up with me, and my last thoughts as I dozed off were, of course, of Hamish, and the hope that he had made it back to the aerodrome in time.

Mum and Dad let me sleep until noon on Sunday, and after lunch I went to the church to post the wedding banns, only to be told that my future husband needed to go with me, so the vicar could talk to us both together and explain about the sanctity of marriage, and to set a wedding date. I was a bit dispirited when I returned home, but Mum soon cheered me up by giving me a small velvet bag.

"This was my Grandma's" she smiled. "I've been saving it for you."

I opened the bag and tipped a gold ring into my palm, and burst into tears. It looked as old as it must have been, and showed signs of wear, but to me nothing could have been more perfect or more precious.

That wasn't the only exciting thing that happened to me that day, although the other was more outrageous. Mum was cooking tea when the lights went out, which wasn't at all unusual. I fetched a candle and set it on the bench beside the stove, and rather than waste another candle Dad and I stood in the kitchen watching. After a few minutes he moved in front of me, and I felt him slyly inch up the front of my skirt. I froze for a moment, unable to believe he could be so daring, then his finger was inside the leg of my knickers, and daring became exciting. I parted my legs a little, pushing my hips forward so he could stroke my clitoris, and he took my hand and pushed it into the pocket of his trousers. With a firm grasp on his stiff dick, I stood wanking him in the gloom while he made me come with his fingers. Despite the number of times I had been shagged, this was the first time I had actually held a dick in my hand, and I shivered with excitement, rubbing faster until the stickiness seeped through the fabric of his pocket.

The whole office was buzzing with excitement next day when I broke the news of my betrothal, and during the breaks I was besieged with questions and congratulations. Between breaks though, I found it difficult to concentrate on my work, because all I could think about was how Dad's dick had felt in my hand. When I got home I had to force myself to eat as I watched the clock hands move with agonising slowness, until what seemed like years later Mum left for work. As soon as she was gone I tugged my knickers off and put his hand on my fanny, then I took his dick out and watched my hand slide up and down until a thick white stream of come shot up and over my curled fingers. A little later he wanted to shag me without a rubber, but I told him that despite what Hamish had said, I wasn't entirely certain that I was pregnant, so with a reluctant shrug he took the more prudent course.

We shagged again the following night, although I wanked him another couple of times that week, just to see his come spurt out.

Hamish turned up on Saturday, triumphantly waving the letter of consent, and we went directly to the church to post the banns. The vicar gave us a boring lecture about the responsibilities as well as the blessings of holy matrimony, and a whole lot of other stuff that I didn't listen to -- which we certainly didn't need to know, since we were fully aware of the path we were embarking on, we booked the church for four thirty in the afternoon three weeks' later. We went back home and told Mum and Dad the wedding date, and after tea we went to the club.

Doris and Wilbur were there as usual, and as soon as she saw us she went up to the stage and spoke to the singer. A minute later I was blushing like mad when our engagement was announced to the whole crowd. Hamish on the other hand was strutting like a peacock, with an idiotic grin on his face. For the next half hour or more, in addition to sincere congratulations he was subjected to a good natured succession of lewd suggestions from some of the men, delivered in stage whispers loud enough for me to hear, whilst to my shocked embarrassment I received some even more explicit predictions from the women of what my future held. Fortunately these were more discreetly whispered, as I felt certain that such unladylike language would make even a lady of the night hang her head in shame.

The suggestions were not without effect however, and at the end of the evening I don't know how long we stood against the wall, in the even darker shadows behind the club, as my wonderful Hamish made slow gentle love to me. I only know it was nowhere near long enough for me, and later, in the doorway near the bus stop he took off my knickers, and we fucked with a fierce passion until the bus arrived.

The next two weeks are a little indistinct in my memory as I prepared for the big day. The weekend before the wedding I was unpicking the lace from the hem of an old petticoat, thinking to sew it onto my best dress to get married in, when Mum stopped me and asked Dad to lift a battered suitcase down from the top of her wardrobe. It had been there so long, and I was so used to it being up there that any curiosity I may have had about what it may contain had disappeared with my childhood. After brushing off years of accumulated dust, he placed it on the dining table and took out a large brown paper bag.

"This is something else I've been saving for you," she said quietly. "My Mum was married in it, and so was I. It's a bit old fashioned, but I hope... well you know."

I looked at the framed photo on the wall of Mum and Dad on their wedding day. In the past I had giggled so often at the stern faces and quaint clothing in the photograph, but when Mum unwrapped her antique wedding dress nothing I had ever seen looked more beautiful. It was a little yellowed in places, but after washing it gently in the bath with just the tiniest drop of bleach, it looked as good as new.

I had already asked Doris to be my bridesmaid, and that Saturday night at the club Hamish put aside the silly resentment that existed between our boys and the 'Yankee invaders', and grudgingly invited Wilbur to be his best man. My best friend's beau was so delighted that he flatly refused to allow Hamish to put his hand in his pocket to buy a single drink all evening. As a result, both men drank a little more than was wise, and although not exactly drunk my man was so tiddly that later on behind the club, it took a little coaxing on my part to make his dick stiff enough for my much anticipated shag. Thankfully he needed no such prompting as we waited for his bus.

On the Sunday it occurred to me that the dress raised a totally unexpected problem. I had intended to walk the short distance to the church, but to drag the hem of such a magnificent gown through the streets was not only unthinkable, it would be unforgivable. I said as much to Mum, but Dad shrugged it off with his usual "We'll think of something." It worried me all day at work on Monday, but when he arrived home he calmly announced that the problem was solved. No matter how much I nagged him, he refused to tell me what he had planned, but I was so relieved that when Mum left for work I was happier than usual to shed my knickers for him. There was no doubt in my mind now that I was truly pregnant, so when he pulled his trousers down I was almost tempted to let him put his uncovered dick in me and come inside my fanny. The only thing that stopped me was until I was married I really wanted nobody but Hamish to do that.

In the days leading up to the wedding I was quite surprised that except for that Monday night, Dad didn't try to shag me again, although the familiar sounds came through the wall every night, adding to my discomfort. Before the week was out I was in an almost constant state of arousal. We were thinking of getting ready for bed on the Friday night when Hamish turned up unexpectedly, carrying his dress uniform, and announced that he had been granted a three day pass. My hopes rose when Dad enlisted his aid, and between them they moved the single bed from the spare room, and pushed it alongside mine to make a double.

Any ideas I had were quickly dashed though, when Dad looked Hamish in the eye. "I don't care what you two have been up to, but you're not doing it under my roof until the girl has a ring on her finger. You're on the couch in the parlour." It seemed a little hypocritical considering what he had been doing to me 'under his roof ', but what could I do?

"I love a lassie, a bonnie bonnie lassie." Hamish's frightfully off key voice woke me much too early on Saturday morning, and I rushed downstairs, hoping to hush him before he woke the neighbourhood. It wasn't until I barged indignantly into the parlour, that I remembered it was supposed to bring bad luck to the marriage if the bride and groom saw each other on the morning of the wedding. It certainly didn't seem to bother him though, because with a hearty "Good morning bonnie lassie," he kissed me soundly, and with one eye on the door he boldly stroked my fanny through my nightdress.

"Don't," I pushed him away hastily. "Someone might come."

He gave a dirty chuckle. "If we keep this up we both will." I punched his arm in exasperation, and he became more serious. "Get yersel' dressed. I need tae take a wee ride an' return a favour, an' maybe do a bit o' scroungin'. We'll be no more than an hour or so, so ye'll have plenty o' time tae get into yer finery."

With him leading the way on Dad's bicycle we set off, and before long I realised he was heading for the poultry farm. We were greeted cordially when we arrived, and after a brief handshake Hanish pulled a paper wrapped bundle from inside his uniform jacket. "We're bein' wed t'day an' I was thinkin' that maybe ye will take this in return fer a wee chicken. It has a bit o' a tear in the leg but a stitch'll fix it."

The farmer unwrapped an Air Force issue boiler suit, hardly worn but with one seam open from knee to ankle, and shook his head. "One thing tha needs to understand son. When Sam Harper gives his word he means it. I promised a couple o' birds so tha shall 'ave 'em." He held the overalls against him for size. "I'll take these as a gift freely given and thanks for 'em. Bit long in the leg, but they'll be right 'andy after the missus sews 'em. Come inside an' I'll fetch the fowl."

He showed us into a neat sitting room, where a rather nondescript woman of middle years sat unpicking an old jumper and rolling the wool into a ball. She smiled briefly as we entered, and continued her task as he left the room. After a moment she laid her work aside. "Yer'll be the couple as stopped by a while back." Her accent was as strange as his, and she pronounce 'couple' as cowple'. "Sam must 'ave took a shine to yer, 'cause we don't 'ave many visitors. At least not that 'e brings inside."

Hamish nodded and gestured to the overalls which had been draped on a chair. "Aye, we brought that for 'im. It needs sewing though. The lassie and me are being wed this afternoon, and I thought tae swap it for a chicken for after the weddin'. I mean it's no a real weddin' wi'out a feast."

She nodded agreement and rose from her chair. "No it ent. Not wi'out flowers either. Wait here."

I looked anxiously at the clock over the fireplace as she left the room. Our visit was taking longer than I expected, but I felt it would be impolite to try to hurry things along. After what seemed an eternity Mrs. Harper returned with a huge armful of freshly cut blooms, followed minutes later by Sam, struggling with a large wooden box.

"Picked a few veg'bles while I was at it. May as well give yer a proper dinner, this bein' a special day an' all. There be some eggs too. They never go astray."

We looked dubiously at the box and the flowers. "It's good o' ye Sir," Hamish muttered, "but we canna accept. I mean it's no that we wouldna like 'em," he added hastily, "but we canna carry that lot on our bikes."

Sam shrugged. "Well I'll just 'ave t' drive the pair o' yer."

Hamish and I both tried to protest, but it was like banging our heads against a wall, so we gave up, and Hamish helped lift the box and the bikes on to a dilapidated old lorry. We all squeezed into the cramped cabin with me on Hamish's knee buried beneath the flowers, and we set off. It would have been almost as quick to ride our bikes home, and probably more comfortable.

"Sounds like the old girl needs some work," Hamish shouted over the noise, as the lorry lurched and spluttered along.

"I know," Sam yelled back, "but I'm na good wi' engines an' stuff. Him as usually fixes it is awa' fightin' so it's not bin looked at fer more'n three year now."

I should have thought before I opened my mouth, but instead I blurted out "I bet Hamish can fix it for you. He fixes Spitfires." Too late I realised that I had just told someone I had only met once before, something that could be very damaging if the wrong ears heard it. Maybe I could even be hanged for treason!

"Yer should be careful who yer tells about that." Sam's tone was reproachful, and rightly so. "Just as well we're on the same side, so I'll ferget I heard it." He was silent for a moment, then he glanced sideways at my fiance. "It would be good if yer could though. Dun like ter think 'ow much longer it's gunna last."

We stopped outside the house, and as Hamish helped Sam carry the box inside, he said "Look, if you really want I'd be glad tae tak a look at the old girl if ye can wait a couple o' weeks. Canna promise tae fix her but it'll no hurt tae tak a look."

As they deposited the box on the floor in the kitchen, I handed the flowers to Mum and introduced Sam to her and Dad, whilst my soon to be husband fetched the bikes. Dad and Sam took to each other at once, and soon they were chatting over a glass of whiskey, and sharing experiences about the Great War. It seemed that Sam had escaped being gassed by the skin of his teeth, and after the war he had left his native Northumberland, wandering aimlessly from job to job, until he had been taken on by the owner of a small poultry farm. During a brief visit to his home town he had caught up with and married his childhood sweetheart, and together they had returned to the farm, which he had later bought.

As he prepared to leave, Sam beckoned to Hamish. "If yer can fix it I'd be right pleased. Can't pay with anythin' but fowl an' eggs, but yer welcome t' all yer can take."

After some friendly banter the two came to an agreement. If he succeeded in fixing the lorry, Hamish would stop by every month or so to keep an eye on it, and in return Sam would keep us supplied with chickens and eggs. When he left he took with him our thanks for what he had just given us, in the form of a decent sized piece of bacon and two blocks of chocolate.

Doris and Wilbur arrived just after lunch, and whilst Mum prepared a plump chicken for the oven, my friend showed an unsuspected talent by making up a stunning bridal bouquet, using some of the flowers and the lace I had unpicked from the old petticoat. When it was finished, she put Hamish and Wilbur to work, helping her decorate the house with the remaining blooms, saving some for buttonholes.

Mum used some eggs, sugar, flour, and a half block of the chocolate to bake a sponge cake, and although there was no way to ice it, at least it would serve as a wedding cake of sorts.

Slowly the clock ticked around, and I started to get nervous about how I would get to the church in my wedding dress, but Dad kept reassuring me, which of course did nothing to reassure me. At a quarter to four, the bridegroom and his best man changed into their dress uniforms, and set off on the short walk to the church, giving me time to get ready.

At four fifteen on the dot, I heard a clatter of hooves outside. Dad let off telling me how beautiful I looked, and smiled with relief. There was a small two wheeled cart at the kerb, harnessed to a rather tired looking horse. It took me second and third glances to recognise the elderly driver as our local greengrocer. It was the first time I had seen him without his leather apron, and now he looked so different in a rather tight three piece suit, and a bowler hat. Seating was provided by four upturned wooden boxes arranged in the bed of the cart, covered with a threadbare sheet, and although it didn't look too neat, at least it would keep my dress clean. The driver took his familiar pipe from his mouth and apologised for not being able to find anything better, but Mum quickly provided a solution.

Fetching pillows from the beds, she set them on the boxes, and told Dad to take down the pleated draw curtains from the parlour window. Arranged over the cushioned boxes they made adequately comfortable seating, and after Mum put the chicken into the oven to roast while we were out, we set off for the church. It was only a makeshift arrangement, but perched beside Dad where everyone could see me, with Mum and Doris behind us, I felt that even the King and Queen could not have had a grander carriage.

On the stroke of four thirty Dad walked me proudly down the aisle, and soon Miss Thelma Patricia Greening, became Mrs. Thelma Patricia Browning, adoring wife of Hamish McGregor Browning.

Somehow Dad had managed to arrange for a photographer, and after posing for several pictures outside the church, we all climbed on to the cart for the return trip.

As Dad paid the greengrocer his agreed 'fee' of a packet of strong American pipe tobacco, which Mum had found amongst the cigarettes, with a small drink of whiskey for good measure, Mum put the vegetables on the stove, whilst Hamish and Wilbur replaced the curtains. Thirty minutes later we sat down to a meal fit for a king. Doris and I cleared away the dirty plates, and Mum melted the remainder of the chocolate block with some evaporated milk, sugar and water. After thickening the mixture into a sauce with flour, she finally added a dash of Dad's whiskey, and poured it over the cake.

There was just enough left in the bottle for the wedding toast, then Mum surprised Dad by producing the second bottle from the wardrobe upstairs. Thanks to the whiskey, and a bottle of sparkling wine Wilbur had brought 'for the ladies', we were all a little tipsy by the time Doris and her beau left, but certainly not enough to impair our senses. After a short time, Dad yawned ostentatiously and went upstairs with Mum. My new husband and I waited until we heard their door close then we took the stairs two at a time.

By the time he carried me over the threshold into our room and started to undress me, I could already hear the rhythmic squeaking from next door. Happy and excited that Mum and Dad were doing what I was eager to do, I lay on the bed and parted my legs as I watched Hamish undress. He had seen my tits and fanny that time behind the haystack, but this was the first time he had seen me totally naked, and he sighed as he joined me on the bed.

"Och, ye're the bonniest lassie that ever drew breath," he whispered as he kissed my lips and face. He seemed almost afraid to touch me now that I was truly his, and I took his hand and pressed it firmly to my breast. The spell broken, he lowered his mouth to my hardened nipples, a sudden urgency in his sucking. Very slowly, much too slowly, he kissed his way down my trembling body, until he was gazing adoringly between my legs.

"Och lassie, what a perrfect wee twat." I was a little shocked when he said that word. Of all the names I knew for 'it', twat was the one I liked least, even worse than the c- word, which I knew but couldn't say even to myself, but hearing my darling husband say it, somehow it wasn't nearly as distasteful as I had previously considered it. From puberty until I met Chuck I had had a fanny, then for him it had been a pussy, so if my true love wanted it to be a twat, then a twat it would be, and another word was added to my list. I was shocked again when he parted my lower lips, and his mouth descended. Then it was all excitement as he began to lick me.

As his tongue plunged deeper, his moustache brushed my burning clitoris, hastening my climax, and I made a silent vow that he would suffer dire consequences should he ever dare shave it off. With my peak rapidly approaching its zenith, my wonderful lover moved up over me, then his glorious baby maker was inside me, gliding, sliding, thrusting, lifting me closer to heaven. Except that heaven could never be as good as this. And then he was coming. And I was coming, and our essences were mingling in the dark wet depths of my slippery twat. Our slippery twat, because that night we were totally one, body and soul.

For the first of many times we fell asleep in each other's arms, with his softening cock still inside me. I must have turned over in my sleep, because I awoke in the darkness with him pressed tightly against my back, and his hard cock pushing into me. His work calloused hand was bringing indescribable sensations to my tits, and I pushed back, matching him thrust for thrust until that wonderful moment when once again he poured his come into my welcoming twat.

The morning sun was streaming in between the curtains when I awoke again, and I turned to look down on his adorable face with his puckered eyebrow, relaxed in sleep. Trying not to wake him I kissed him gently, tasting myself on his moustache and bringing back delicious memories. My kiss wasn't gentle enough, or perhaps he was already awake, because his startlingly blue eyes opened, reflecting the sunshine.

"Good morning bonnie lassie," he smiled, drawing me closer. Our lips and bodies joined again, and we made love over and over until neither had any more to give.

About two hours after breakfast on Sunday I had quite a pleasant shock when I went downstairs to make a drink. I glanced into the living room on the way to the kitchen, and Mum was sitting beside Dad on the couch. Her dress was open to the waist, and he was lovingly stroking her bare breasts as her hand slid up and down his hard dick. I watched in spellbound silence until his come spilled over her fingers, and then I crept back upstairs, drinks completely forgotten in my need to feel Hamish drive his cock into me again.

The next two days were pure bliss. Except for meals and calls of nature, we rarely ventured from our room, not because we were constantly shagging, but simply because I liked to see the love in his blue eyes as he gazed at my naked body. Just as he saw the love in mine as I stared at his.

All too soon it was Monday night, and I was standing at the bus stop waving farewell as my beloved returned to duty. I had tried to make our parting memories as pleasant for him as I could by leaving my knickers and brassiere at home, and I could still feel his mouth on my nipples as his warm come trickled down my thighs.

I was terribly despondent next day, and my mood wasn't helped by thoughts of the previous two days. Mum tried to cheer me up by talking saying how beautiful I had looked in my wedding dress, but that only made things worse by reminding me of how eager Hamish had been to take it off. And how eager I had been for him to press his naked body against mine. I had been too upset at work to eat, and when I got home she practically forced some food down me, which did make me feel a little better.

Later, after she had gone to work, Dad sat beside me on the couch and put an arm around me. "Never mind love, he'll be back before you know it, you'll see. Until then I'm here for you." He patted my tummy. "It's hard to think that my little girl is going to be a Mum, even though it happened sooner than anyone expected." He started to pull the hem of my skirt up. "At least now it doesn't matter any more if I come in you."

I tried to tell myself that now that I was a married woman it would be wrong to let another man touch me, but that only made the thrill of the forbidden even more tempting. Besides, being married hadn't stopped Mum spreading her legs for Chuck, and the one thing I really needed right then was a good shagging, so I let him take my knickers off. He supported himself on his hands so he could watch his bare dick sliding in and out, and before long we were both panting contentedly as for the first time Dad shot his come into my fanny.

In the past weeks there had been a merciful lull in the bombing, but the next night they came again with greater intensity. For more than a fortnight there was little respite, and every night we spent hours cowering under the stairs. There were of course benefits to the situation, and my greatest fear was not of the bombs, but that Mum would finally cotton on to what was happening as Dad shagged me. Nonetheless, the risk seemed worth it, because as well as the added excitement, whilst his dick was inside me I could forget about the war and the bombs. Most times after he came in me he didn't bother to take it out, and if the raid went on longer than usual I would feel him becoming hard enough to shag me again.

Needless to say, when I wasn't being distracted by Dad's dick I was terribly worried about my husband, and even more so when he didn't come home on the next weekend. Mum and Dad kept reassuring me that if the worst happened to him the Air Force would let us know, but that just made things worse, because then I started dreading an awful knock on the door. When he did turn up on the following Saturday on a thirty six hour pass, I threw myself into his arms, sobbing with relief, and later we fucked as though there would be no tomorrow, which of course was a definite possibility.

Next morning we made love until almost midday, and after we had a meal we cycled to the Harper farm, so Hamish could have a look at the lorry as promised. Sam was looking gloomy when we arrived, and said it had died three days earlier. Within twenty minutes Hamish gave him the bad news. The carburettor had given up the ghost, and due to the age of the engine it was doubtful they would find a replacement any time soon. The best bet was for Hamish to take it with him, and see if he could repair it in the camp machine shop during his off duty time.

On the Friday night much to Dad's frustration, just as he was preparing push his dick into my wet fanny Hamish arrived, and after snatching a quick sandwich he led me upstairs. Minutes later I was writhing in ecstasy as his hard cock plundered my already thoroughly aroused twat. After that first frantic fuck we rested a while, then made love, slowly and tenderly far into the night. He woke me in the morning by pushing inside me again from behind, and after we both came we had breakfast and rode over to Sam's farm.

Hamish explained that, as feared, the carburettor was beyond repair, but he had managed to scrounge a similar one and make an adaptor plate, so hopefully it would fit the engine and keep it running for at least a few months. Half an hour later he had the engine running smoothly, albeit noisily. We chatted for a while then with the usual chicken tied to the seat of the bike, we hurried home to make love again.

It has often been said that one man's misfortune is another man's fortune, and the truth of this was shown one morning on the way to work. Dad and I were riding along the main road, and we saw that next door to Simmond's Motor Garage, what had yesterday been Turnbull's Furniture Store was now rubble. The proprietor, Wilfred Turnbull was wandering through the wreckage like a lost sheep, as he surveyed what had once been the largest store in the area.

Dad got off his bike and walked over to him. "Bloody lousy luck Wilf," he said gently.

"All gone Fred. All those years of work, and for what?" Wilf swept a despairing arm around him, taking in the destruction. "This blasted war! Where is it going to end?" He accepted a cigarette Dad offered, and sat hopelessly on the corner of an ornately carved, debris covered double bed that had been the centrepiece of his display, his shoulders shaking as he fought back the tears.

Dad took a seat beside him. "Sad thing you know Wilf, I've had an eye on this bed since my Thelma here got married, and now look at it. Buggered."

The stricken store owner looked at me, taking in the slight swell of my stomach, then shrugged as he bounced up and down on the mattress. "It's a good strong bed. Solid oak, so it might be ok. If you want to dig it out you can take it. Sure as buggery I can't sell it." He took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders as he stood up. "Ah, damn it Fred, take anything you want. I'm finished. Done. I'm walking away from it all."

I could see Dad was as tempted as I was, but I felt uncomfortable at the thought of taking advantage of someone so obviously shocked, so I told him so, adding "Besides, if the police came we would be locked up for stealing."

He nodded slowly. "I suppose you're right. I'm not so shocked that I don't know what's what though, so you can help yourself anyway." He thought for a moment then looked at me. "Do you have any money?"

I shook my head. "Only a few shillings, why?"

"How much?" he insisted, so I looked in my purse.

"Six and elevenpence ha'penny."

He nodded again. "OK." He climbed over the rubbish to the overturned counter and returned with a battered sales book. "What's your married name?"

"Thelma Browning. My husband is Scottish. He's in the Air Force."

He scribbled for a moment, then tore out a page and handed it to me. "That will cover you for the police. Give me five bob." I handed him two florins and a shilling, and looked at the slip of paper.

'W. Turnbull and Co. Ltd.

Received from -- Mrs Thelma Browning.

The sum of Five Shillings, being payment in full for salvaged goods.

Signed, Wilfred Turnbull, Proprietor.'

Before I could find my tongue, he turned and walked away without a backward glance.

I started to clear the rubble from around the bed, but Dad stopped me. "You go and find the greengrocer. Ask him if he'll use his cart to take the bed home. Tell him I'll make it worth his while."

When I returned forty minutes later the bed was cleared, and piled high with what seemed to be the entire stock of pillows and other bedding. I stared in disbelief, and Dad shrugged. "Well he did say to take what we want. The bed's not so bad. A wardrobe fell on it and took most of the impact, and I found a cot for the baby too. It's broken but I think I can fix it up." He called over a couple of youths who were watching on with interest, and offered them two shillings each and between them they loaded the unexpected bounty onto the cart.

Mum was flabbergasted when we arrived home, and I could tell she didn't really believe us when we told her where everything came from until I showed her the sales slip. Because of my condition I was only allowed to carry the bedding, but between them the other three managed to carry and half drag everything into the parlour. Dad had intended to pay the greengrocer with a couple of tins of meat, but changed his mind when he saw the man examining the bedding. Since there was far more than we could ever need, we were even happier when he settled for a couple of pillows and a heavy blanket.

After a quick snack, Dad and I reported for work, and by the time we arrived home again Mum had sorted the bedding, and reported that apart from a couple of blankets which needed washing, everything else seemed perfectly serviceable. I wanted to start moving the furniture upstairs, but the idea was vetoed, so it remained in the parlour until Hamish came home. Instead I had to content myself with wiping the grime from the polished wood of the bed and the only slightly damaged pair of mismatched bedside drawers.

When Hamish came home the two men dismantled the massive bed and carried it up the stairs. That night I sighed with pleasure at the luxury of Hamish fucking me on a big soft mattress, that wasn't likely to divide down the middle from our exertions at the most inopportune moment.

As time passed I found I quite liked being pregnant. Until I was forced to stop working, I was the centre of attention with the girls and women at the factory, and at home I was mollycoddled. In addition to the excitement of knowing that a part of my beloved was growing inside me, there were other benefits of an equally pleasing nature. As my waistline expanded my fanny became more prominent, and my increasingly protruding clitoris became so sensitive that it needed only the merest touch to arouse me. Dad and Hamish became solicitous to the point where I was finding it slightly annoying, although I did find it rather touching the way they kissed my swollen belly, and caressed it gently when they shagged me.

At long last my time came, and at three in the morning Dad ran to the public phone to call an ambulance. The next thirty six hours were horrendous, as my labour pains racked my agonised body unceasingly. Eventually I was so exhausted that I barely noticed when my new son was laid on my breast. My tribulations were not over yet though, because I continued to bleed heavily, and the decision was taken to operate. It was more than a week before I was cognisant enough to take note of my surroundings, and the first thing I saw was my husband's strained face.

His stiff self control broke as I put out a weak hand to grasp his, and he laid his head on my breast, sobbing unashamedly. "Och lassie, I thought I was losin' ye. Dinna ye ever do that tae me again, ye hear? I couldna bear it if ye left me."

I ruffled his hair. "Daft bugger. Why ever would I do that? You couldn't survive without me to nag you." I looked around me in a sudden panic. "Where is my baby? How is he?"

His face lit up, and he seemed to swell with pride. "Dinna worry lassie. Wee Angus is fine. He's bein' fed the noo, but ye'll see him in a wee while. Och, he's the bonniest bairn ye ever did see. Not nearly as bonnie as his Ma though." I was a little put out that my baby had been named without consulting me, but not too much. Angus was a good choice. A strong name, just like his Daddy's.

A passing nurse saw that I was awake, and left the ward, returning moments later with a doctor. He checked my pulse and heart, then looked at Hamish and I seriously, and when he spoke my heart shattered. I don't remember his exact words, because to me it was a whole pile of unintelligible medical terms, but the real bombshell was that the operation that had saved my life had destroyed any chance of ever becoming a mother again. I wept inconsolably for what seemed like hours, telling myself that if I was unable to provide my son with siblings, or my husband with more children, I was a failure as a woman.

In my distress, I voiced this thought without realising, and Hamish exploded. "Dinna ever say that!" he snapped. "D'ye no have a bairn?" I nodded, shocked and intimidated by his rage. "And can ye no feed the bairn?" I nodded again, and in a calmer voice he asked, "Then how can ye say ye're a failure? A grander wife nae man can wish for, and a grander mother nae bairn can wish for, so let's have no such nonsense."

A short time later as I watched little Angus sucking hungrily at my nipple, I knew that Hamish had been right. There was far more happiness to be gained by cherishing what I could have, than by wishing in vain for things that I could never have. I remained in hospital for another week, and after cautioning Hamish and me against intimacy for a further eight weeks, the doctor signed my discharge.

Mum and Dad spoiled me rotten until Hamish had his next weekend pass, and although I thoroughly enjoyed the attention, I was relieved to have some private time with my husband and baby. On my second weekend home, we were lying in bed as Angus slept peacefully in the now repaired cot. I had my head on Hamish's chest, listening to his heartbeat with my arm across his waist, when I felt his erection stirring against my breast. With a pang of guilt at having neglected him for so long, I grasped his shaft and began to stroke gently, rubbing the smooth rounded tip across my sensitive nipple. His breathing grew laboured, and tightening my grip I moved my hand faster and faster, until a sticky stream of his thick white come coated my nipple and the greater part of my tit.

He appeared a little embarrassed but just then the baby stirred, and I lightened the mood by looking down at my glistening breast and saying flippantly "I can hardly feed that to our son can I?" He hastened to pull on his trousers and fetch a wash cloth from the bathroom. After I had cleaned myself, it took more than an hour to feed and change Angus, by which time Hamish was clearly aroused again. He looked hungrily at my dangling breasts as I leaned over to settle the contentedly sleeping child in the cot.

"Will ye mind if I put it between them lassie?"

I smiled, understanding his need, and lay back on the bed.. "Of course not, if it will please the man I love."

Careful not to rest his weight on me, he knelt astride my torso, and pressed my milk laden breasts together, imprisoning his rigid shaft. I placed my hands on his and guided his fingers to my nipples, as his cock slid up and down the warm soft valley. Any lingering fear that being unable to conceive made me less of a woman, vanished when I found that I was becoming aroused by his fluttering fingertips, for the first time since the birth. The gentlest of climaxes wafted through me as my wonderful man fucked my tits, and then his warm come bathed my upper chest.

The next weekend was the fifth since my discharge from hospital, but although I was no longer in any discomfort and more than willing to shag, Hamish did not want to take any risks, so instead I crouched over him and offered my breasts again. Pushing them together around his cock, he teased my nipples as he thrust, and I bent my head to watch the smoothly rounded tip emerge and disappear with each push. In the next instant I surprised both myself and him, by impulsively dipping my head further and taking him into my mouth. He gasped with pleasure as my lips and tongue commenced a sensuous dance up and down the length of his tool, and after a few minutes he squeezed my shoulder.

"Careful lassie." he warned. I knew what he meant, but I was too excited to care, so I carried on until he erupted in my mouth, and not knowing what else to do, I swallowed his come. "Ye didna have tae do that." His whisper was so quiet I almost didn't hear it.

I let his spent cock slip from between my lips and smiled. "I know, that's why I did it. Doris told me how much Wilbur likes her to suck him, and I wanted to please you just as much. Besides, I rather enjoyed it. I like how you taste." This wasn't quite true, because I hadn't made my mind up about that, but at least it hadn't been unpleasant, so I was more than willing to give it another try, which I did as soon as we woke up in the morning. And again at the bus stop later in the evening, just to satisfy myself that I did like it.

I was getting frustrated at being a 'weekend wife', and on his next weekend home I pointed out that it had been eight weeks since my operation. Hopefully he would take the hint and shag me, but he was adamant that that the doctor had said eight weeks from my discharge. I knew dad was ready to stick his dick in me the first chance he got, and I was just as keen, but I wanted Hamish first. No amount of cajoling would sway him though, but he finally compromised by spreading my legs and licking my love starved twat, until my creamy come was oozing down between the cheeks of my bottom. I couldn't count how many times I peaked, because they came so close together that it was like one continuous climax.

Eventually he raised his head, and whispered "Would ye mind sucking me again lassie?"

"Of course I wouldn't mind." I responded quickly. "You know I'll do anything if it will make you happy. I only wish I could do more."

He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Maybe ye can." His hand slipped between my legs, but instead of stroking my fanny, he pushed further down and touched a fingertip against my back passage. "Will ye let me shag ye here?"

It was so unexpected that I was too stunned to speak. Just the thought of what he was asking made me cringe, but there was also something else. Curiosity. Perhaps if I hadn't already been aroused I may never have considered it, but I had told him I would do anything to please him. I just hadn't thought it would be that. Besides I wanted to feel him inside me again, so maybe this would be better than nothing.

Not trusting myself to speak I turned on to my tummy and drew my knees up under me, lifting my bum in the air. Moving behind me he rubbed his cock up and down my dripping twat, coating his shaft with my slippery come, and for a brief moment I thought -- no, I hoped -- he had changed his mind and decided to shag me the way I wanted. Instead he repositioned his cock and pushed. I buried my face in the pillow, not wanting to spoil it for him by letting him see my face twist with pain as he thrust through the tight ring of muscle, then he was inside me, gliding, sliding, and I reached underneath, stroking my clitoris to help ease the discomfort of my stuffed arsehole.

Moments later he was pouring his seed into me, and withdrew with a satisfied sigh. "I didna hurt ye did I lassie?"

I shook my head. "Not at all," I lied, "It was fine. Just different." Actually it was only half a lie, because after the initial pain it hadn't been exactly unpleasant. I had doubts that I would ever really grow to like it, but I resolved that if it was what he wanted I would let him fuck my arse when my fanny was unavailable each month, and take my pleasure from knowing how much I was pleasing him.

We reached a compromise the following weekend, over whether the doctor had meant eight weeks from my operation, or from my discharge from hospital, and I lay with my legs around him, crying out in ecstasy as he finally pumped his long awaited come into my satisfied twat. Three evenings later I allowed Dad to fuck me again, and we fell back into our familiar routine, with Dad shagging me on weekdays, and my newly promoted husband keeping me more than satisfied at weekends.

When Angus was four months old we went to the church to arrange his christening, and before evening service a week later, we stood around the font with Doris, Wilbur, and Sam and May Harper as godparents, smiling as with tongue in cheek the vicar announced that in theory he had now chased out any evil spirits from our son. Returning home to celebrate the occasion, Sam produced a bottle of home made wine, which the four of us women shared whilst the men finished off the last of Dad's whiskey.

The weeks passed into months, and just after Angus had his first birthday Hamish came home with a badge sewn above the three stripes on his sleeve. It looked to me like a steering wheel until he told me it was a four bladed propeller inside a circle, and it signified that he had been promoted to chief technician. Living with Mum and Dad had the added benefit of being able to save most of Hamish's service pay, so by the time Germany finally surrendered we had a modest nest egg.

Immediately after the surrender Hamish applied for his discharge, and within weeks he was a civilian. A couple of weekends later we went to the newly reopened cinema to see an old Boris Karloff film with Doris and Wilbur, who was by now a major and second in command at the base. I didn't find the film particularly scary, but Doris kept gasping and squealing the whole time. It took me a while to realise that the sounds she was making didn't always coincide with the action on the screen, and in a moment I understood why. From the way she was slumped in her seat with her eyes closed, it was clear she wasn't watching the film. It was hard to see much in the dark cinema, but from the way he was sitting I could tell that Wilbur had his hand under her skirt, and she gave a little squeal each time he pushed his finger into her fanny.

I was a little shocked at first that she would let him feel her with me sitting next to her, but I also found it arousing, and by the time they played 'God Save The King' I couldn't wait to get Hamish home and inside me. We were hurrying along the main road past where Turnbull's had been, and I glanced towards Simmond's garage. Despite the late hour the main door to the workshop was half open, and somebody was leaning over tinkering with a car engine by the light of a hand held lamp. Hamish immediately became suspicious and challenged the figure, who mumbled something and straightened, pointing a screwdriver defensively.

As the light fell on his face I recognised him instantly, and placed a restraining hand on Hamish's arm. "It's OK. It's Mr. Simmond." I assured him, and raising my voice, "Sorry Mr. Simmond, we thought it was someone trying to steal something. You know, with not having any lights on or anything."

He lowered the screwdriver and held up the lamp. "I've seen you around haven't I? You're Fred Greening's girl."

"Yes, but I'm married now. We have a baby. Hamish just got out of the Air Force. He was a senior technician fixing Spitfires." I added proudly. As we moved closer I could see he was swaying on his feet, and there was a stale smell of alcohol. I tried to pull Hamish away, so we could get home and shag, but he started talking about engines with the garage owner. Seething with frustration I stood ignored for almost twenty minutes, then I seized his arm to drag my husband to one side and whisper menacingly. "Listen mister, if you want a shag tonight - or any other night in the foreseeable future - you'd better get moving!"

"Och, I'm sorry lassie. I was a wee bit tied up."

He turned to say goodbye, and as we left, Mr. Simmon called out. "Thanks for checking up Jock." He gestured to the car he had been working on. "If you want to come back on Monday you can have a job if you can get this going."

It sounded strange to hear Hamish addressed as 'Jock', although Dad had explained long before that it was a common name in the armed forces for all Scotsmen. Just as anyone from Northumberland or Durham was a 'Geordie'.

Hamish worked on the car all day Monday, before finally admitting that the engine would cost more to repair than the whole car was worth. Nonetheless, Percy Simmond was sufficiently impressed with his efforts to take him on anyway. That night we celebrated, little suspecting that the day was approaching when we would once again benefit from the misfortune of someone else.

Each day at midday when I took Hamish some sandwiches, I was annoyed to see his boss slumped in a chair staring numbly into a glass, and when I voiced my disgust to Hamish he took me outside.

"Ye cannae judge a man when ye dinna have a' the facts lassie." he said gently. "The poor wee man lost his wife and bairns in the blitz, and drinkin's the only way he can forget."

My cheeks burned with shame as I made my way home. I had unfairly poured scorn on a man who deserved only compassion. When I had everything, I had shown nothing but contempt for someone who had lost everything. Material possessions meant nothing without that special somebody to share them with.

Arriving home, I took Angus on to my knee and hugged him, as I wept for a man who was going through such anguish as I could not even begin to imagine. How selfish I had been in taking for granted the very pleasures he had lost.

When Dad came home, I didn't wait for Mum to leave for work at the factory which was now engaged in more peaceful pursuits. Knowing Hamish would not return before eight o'clock, I took Dad upstairs on the pretext of rearranging Angus' room, and taking off my knickers I begged him to shag me, treasuring every thrust of his hard dick, every caress of his hands on my tits, every drop of precious come he pumped into my fanny. I was even more demonstrative with Hamish that night, performing every act as though I would never have another opportunity, and joyously accepting his seed in all available openings, before falling into an exhausted slumber.

The days passed into weeks, and Hamish shouldered more and more of the responsibility for running the garage, whilst his employer continued to seek solace from a bottle. Our boys began to return from the war to be reunited with their friends and loved ones, which only made Percy more despondent.

In August 1945, five days after the Japanese surrender, Hamish left for work as usual, and returned half an hour later, ashen faced and trembling. Unable to speak he showed me a sealed envelope addressed to a firm of solicitors, and handed me a folded sheet of oil stained paper with 'JOCK' scrawled across. I opened it and an icy hand gripped my innards as I read the brief note in horror.

'Jock, I have endured three long years because I needed to see that murdering swine Hitler get what he deserved.

Now that I know he is burning in a Hell of his own making, I no longer have to bear the pain, so I am going to be with my Mary and my boys.

Thank you most sincerely for your help and understanding.

Percy Simmond.

PS Please deliver this letter to the address shown, and you will learn something to your advantage'.

After we recovered from our shock, Hamish took the note to the police station, and around mid morning a cemetery worker discovered Percy lying atop his wife's grave. He was wearing a neat blue suit, with a wildflower pinned to his lapel, as though he was prepared for a wedding. His stiffened fingers were clutching a photograph of himself with a pleasant looking woman in her mid thirties, and two boys of around eight and ten. On the ground beside the grave were an empty rum bottle, and two small jars that had contained sleeping pills.

I don't know if it was my conscience at first having judged him so harshly, but I insisted that we use part of our savings, and four days later we stood at the graveside as Percy was reunited with his family. Although it was a solemn occasion I could not in all honesty mourn, because I knew that he had chosen to seek the peace that had eluded him for more than three years.

It may seem inappropriate to some people, coming within hours of laying someone to rest, but that night Hamish and I fucked frantically in a desperate affirmation that despite its tribulations, life went on. After he had emptied his seed into my clutching twat, I clung to him and wept again for all who had needlessly perished as a result of a war that few had really understood.

At nine fifteen on the morning after the funeral, we presented the letter to the solicitor. In the oak panelled office lined with law books and files, we listened incredulously as Mr. Maurice Stein read the last will and testament of the late Percival Henry Simmond. Without going into the long winded legal terms, it transpired that in short, Percy had died with no known family, and had chosen to bequeath his entire estate to his 'valued friend and employee' Hamish "Jock" Browning. It was strange hearing my husband described as a valued friend by someone he had known for no more than three months, but given the impression he had made on me the first time we met, perhaps that was understandable. Few people were inclined to socialise with such a heavy drinker.

The extent of Percy's estate shocked us to the core. In addition to the garage, Mr. Stein declared, Mr. Hamish Browning was now the legal owner of the house situated on the street parallel to the main road, directly adjacent to the rear of the garage. Furthermore, the double site which had been the location of the now destroyed Turnbull's furniture store, also passed to Hamish. There were, of course, legal formalities involved in the official transfers of titles, which would incur further fees and charges, which Mr. Stein would endeavour to minimise, although if Hamish chose to do so, he was free to seek alternative legal representation. In the matter of accessing any monetary funds, Hamish need only present a copy of the will to the bank, along with adequate identification, and all available funds would be transferred to an account of his choosing.

Since there was apparently no escaping the claws of the legal world, it was decided to leave the transfers in Mr. Stein's hands, trusting that he wouldn't take too large a slice of the pie, and collecting the keys to the house and a copy of the will, we headed to the bank. Considering the value of the properties there was far less cash than we would have thought, but at a little under fourteen thousand pounds it was certainly nothing to be sneezed at. Hamish had the funds transferred into a joint account in both of our names, and remembering that the solicitor intended to transfer the properties into Hamish's name only, we hurried back to correct the oversight. Not surprisingly, it being the nature of the legal fraternity, since this was our second visit we were blithely informed that there would be a second consultation fee.

In the afternoon we took Mum with us to have a look at our 'new' house. From the outside it looked large and impressive, and the inside would have been even more so but for one thing. Despite the luxurious décor and furnishings, it had a desolate, almost bleak, unlived in feel. Spiderwebs hung everywhere, and there was a heavy coating of dust on all of the furniture. Upstairs was no different, with the unmade beds looking as though they had not been slept in for years, and toys left as they were last played with.

Hamish shook his head sadly. "It's nae wonder he hardly ever left the garage" he said insightfully. "The poor man couldnae bear tae be in a place wi' sae many ghosts."

The next day he arranged for some returned sevicemen to sort out the overgrown gardens, which in places had weeds as tall as the fence, then got stuck into restoring some semblance of order to the neglected garage. Meanwhile Mum and I busied ourselves cleaning up the inside of the house to make it fit to live in.

It took more than three weeks of tedious and often back breaking work to restore some semblance of order, but finally the house was ready to be lived in again. Mum had taken Angus for a walk to get some fish and chips for tea, and Hamish was busy giving the garage a much needed coat of eye catching red and white paint, when Dad came home from work. What with Hamish being around and all the fuss and bother and everything, it had been more than a month since we had been alone together for more than a couple of minutes. I looked up from packing clothes as he put a hand on my breast, and then I was fumbling with the buttons of his trousers as he tugged my knickers down. I hadn't realised how much I had missed our regular shags until he pushed his hard dick into my ravenous fanny, and then we were lying on the floor, making up for lost time as his hot come poured into me.

Hamish, Angus and I moved into our new home the next day, and on the following Monday we stood in front of the refurbished garage, watching a signwriter add the finishing touches to a sign proudly proclaiming 'H. BROWNING and SON' and below that in slightly smaller letters, 'QUALITY MOTOR CAR REPAIRS AND SERVICE.' A portable sign close to the kerb said ' Browning's Garage -- Opening Soon Under New Ownership.'

Business was understandably slow at first, but as more soldiers returned from duty, more cars appeared on the roads, and things began to pick up.

As the American presence scaled down, Wilbur's base became a storage depot for no longer used equipment and vehicles. We had been living in the house for three weeks when he and Doris were over for what had become a regular Saturday night get together. We were well into our usual card game, and as the evening progressed and the drinks flowed, Wilbur mentioned to Hamish that Uncle Sam was planning to sell surplus equipment by tender. He also said that as second in command, he might just happen to find himself in a position to 'influence' which bids would be accepted. Not only that, the decision was his which actual equipment went to each successful bidder.

"Speaking hypothetically, of course," he suggested with a conspiratorial wink, "if someone like, say, an enterprising garage owner, were to submit an early tender for some army surplus Jeeps, it's not beyond the bounds of possibility that a foul up in paperwork could result in competing bids for those particular vehicles being 'misfiled', and not discovered until the successful tender had been accepted."

Hamish stared at him dubiously. "Why would I want tae buy Jeeps? And if ye fixed the bids could it no bounce back at ye?"

Wilbur shook his head. "Heck no. Paperwork foul ups happen all the time, and the more paperwork the bigger the foul up. Especially when those handling the paperwork are more interested in getting back to civilian life Stateside than doing their jobs. After all, what's the worst thing that could happen to some clerk who would be a civilian before his carelessness was discovered? Besides, the colonel has too much on his plate to worry about these sort of things, so they never get past my desk. And you buy them to sell them. Just think how many are coming back from the war with uncollected pay. You'll see, anything with wheels will be in demand, and they won't argue about the price. There will be too many people needing too few cars until your auto industry is up and running again."

The way Wilbur explained it, it sounded so simple -- perhaps even foolproof, and I could see that Hamish was strongly tempted. "Sounds a wee bit risky. How much money are ye talking aboot?"

"Nothing you can't afford. The top brass are only interested in the figure at the bottom of the page, and nobody but me would see the details, so it doesn't really matter how much unless it's ridiculously low. If you decide you're interested, as far as Uncle Sam is concerned you would be submitting a legitimate tender, so you're not risking anything."

His explanation was so glib I was beginning to suspect that like Chuck, he was no stranger to such skulduggery, and I confess that the thought of pulling the wool over the eyes of those in authority held a certain appeal. After all, authority had been pulling the wool over the eyes of ordinary people throughout history, so there would be a sort of justice.

"OK, how does someone go about putting in a tender?"

Wilbur had obviously anticipated our interest, because he grinned and pulled some folded papers from inside his jacket. "I had a feeling you might be interested so I filled out the tender forms. All you need to do is sign them. Don't worry about the figures yet, I'll fill those in when I find out how much other people are offering."

I hesitated as a thought struck me. "Why would you do this? I mean what will you get out of it?"

He shrugged. "For me? Nothing, but if you have a few extra pounds to spare I can add some extras. After Hamish sells them he can give the money to Doris. That way nothing can be traced back to me. If you don't want to do it we can tear up the forms."

This sounded more plausible, so after I talked it over with Hamish, we signed the papers.

After they had left we were lying in bed discussing what we may have let ourselves in for. No matter how much we talked about it, neither of us could see any way we could get into trouble. If there was any risk involved it would all fall on Wilbur, and he hadn't seemed in the least concerned about that possibility.

"I suppose it's only fair that Doris get something out of it." I mused. "When you think of how much we could make if it works, a couple of hundred pounds won't break the bank."

Hamish thought for a moment before replying. "Aye, but I dinna think that's the only reason Wilbur is doing it. I think the main reason is he wants tae shag ye."

I looked at him in shock, and gave an embarrassed laugh. "That's the daftest thing I ever heard!"

He shook his head seriously. "It's no sae daft. Have ye no seen the way he looks at ye?"

I knew exactly what he meant, but over the last three years I had become so used to Wilbur that I no longer noticed. "That's just Wilbur. He looks at all women like that. It means nothing."

He shook his head again. "Much as I like him I think ye're wrong. I know how men think. He has that 'I'd love to shag her' look in his eye every time he sees ye, an' I canna say I blame him. Maybe he's hoping that if we make enough from this tender business, ye'll think ye owe him enough tae let him shag ye."

I was rapidly losing patience with him, and finally I snapped. "Shut up! Is that what you really think of me? That I'd take my knickers off if there's enough money in it? If I was inclined to let Wilbur to shag me -- which I'm not - he wouldn't have to pay. He'd only have to ask." I stopped and took a deep breath. "You know what I think? I think you want to shag Doris, and saying Wilbur wants to shag me is just your way of justifying it." I was so angry that I got out of bed and started to dress. "If you wanted a prostitute for a wife, you should have married one. I'm taking Angus and going back to Mum and Dad's, and tomorrow I'm going to see Mr. Stein."

There was panic in his eyes and voice when I said that. "Och no, lassie. I dinna mean it the way it came oot. I'm sorry. I couldnae bear to lose either of ye."

I paused with my knickers halfway up my thighs and glared at him. "Listen Hamish Browning, if you want to shag Doris, go ahead and shag her -- that's if she'll let you. And if you really want me to let Wilbur shag me I will, because I love you enough to want to make you happy. Just be honest about it. Don't dirty it by bringing money into it. And don't insult Wilbur by pretending he has other motives for wanting to help your business."

"Ye're right lassie. I'm sorry. Come back tae bed. Please."

Putting on a show of reluctance, I took my knickers off again and slid between the sheets beside him. He was silent for a few minutes, then he hesitantly put a hand on my fanny, and for the first time ever I pushed him away and turned my back on him. "Don't even think about it. I only came back to bed because it wouldn't be fair to wake Angus at this time of night."

The last thing I remembered before I fell asleep was Hamish kissing gently between my shoulder blades and whispering."I wouldna want ye to do it for me lassie. Only for yersel' "

I woke in the morning with these words running through my head, and feeling a little guilty. What I had said last night had been said in anger, but in the cold light of day I knew that there was more than a grain of truth. Hamish didn't mention our first ever argument, but as the week progressed, no matter how hard I tried not to think of it, I couldn't stop wondering how it might feel to have Wilbur's dick buried in my fanny. Or how it might look to see Hamish push his dick into Doris. After all, friends as close as Doris and I, and now Wilbur and Hamish, often shared all manner of things, so why not this?

The next Saturday night card game started as normally as usual, except that this time I really started to notice the way Wilbur looked at me, and more to the point, how Hamish looked at Doris. Around seven thirty Angus started to fall asleep on my lap, and laying my cards aside I carried him upstairs and settled him down.

When I came back down the matches we had been playing for had been cleared away, and Wilbur was shuffling the cards. A little too casually it seemed to me, he glanced around. "How about we change the game and up the stakes to make it more interesting?"

Suddenly on my guard I looked at him as I took a seat on the couch beside my friend. "What do you have in mind? How interesting?"

He shrugged and flashed a cheesy grin. "Oh I dunno. Anyone up for strip poker?"

Now I knew he was definitely undressing me with his eyes, and I wasn't sure how to respond. In a way I liked the thought of him seeing me naked, and when the others nodded I agreed to his suggestion.

Doris was the first to fold, and gave a gleeful giggle. "Oops, looks like I lost." With a quick movement she stripped off her blouse and sat up straight as Hamish dealt the next hand. As the last card dropped she leaned forward impatiently and swept them all into a pile. "Look, we all know what everyone else is thinking, so why waste time with silly card games?" Turning her back to Hamish, she looked over her shoulder. "Unhook me."

With an uncertain glance in my direction, he reached to unfasten her brassiere, and slipping the straps from her shoulders she pushed her chest out and sat back. I was so intent on watching the expression on my husband's face as he studied the small pointed breasts, with hard pink nipples surrounded by areolae the size of florins, that I scarcely noticed Wilbur's hands unfastening my own blouse and brassiere, until I felt the cool air on my skin. My lips formed a silent 'O' as I glanced down, almost surprised to see my brown tipped globes really were naked.

Both men sat unmoving for long seconds, staring at our bare chests until Doris broke the tension by moving closer to Hamish. "It's OK to touch them. They won't break."

She shivered as he stroked her tight little buds, then Wilbur's hands were on my tits, stroking, squeezing, teasing. I leaned forward pressing my stiffening nipples against his palms. I was glad Doris had taken the initiative, because otherwise I'm not sure I would have had the courage to allow another man to undress me in front of my husband, but as it was I came easily to my feet, and let Wilbur unfasten my skirt and slip my damp knickers down my legs. Now that I was naked I felt surprisingly at ease as he gazed at my fanny, then I sighed with pleasure as he parted the pouting lips and blew gently on my clitoris. I could smell the heady scent of my arousal as I watched him undress, then I reached impatiently for his stiff dick. From the corner of my eye I could see Hamish undressing Doris as she in turn relieved him of his clothing, and slouched beside me with her legs wide and inviting, and I watched in fascination as my husband knelt between my best friend's parted legs with his dick in his hand.

I suppose it was some sort of double standard, but after willingly giving myself to three other men, first to Dad, then to Chuck, and finally to Hamish, I had no reservations about spreading my legs for Wilbur, yet I was far from sure I liked the idea of my husband shagging another woman, even if she was my best friend. The thought lasted no more than a few seconds though, as I compared the sizes of the two rigid organs. I felt a smug satisfaction in seeing that although Wilbur's cock was larger than Dad's Hamish's was even more impressive, and decided it would be churlish to deny my best friend the pleasure I had enjoyed so often.

It still came as a bit of a shock though to discover that watching him bury his dick in Doris' fanny excited me almost as much as when he buried it in mine. I could almost feel her inner folds being caressed by his hard shaft as Hamish drove in and out, and I raised my fanny to Wilbur's probing fingers, eager to feel how Doris felt when he shagged her.

His touch was so assured and confident I knew in an instant why she had willingly surrendered her virginity so soon after they first met. Suddenly I felt as though I was the only girl in the world, as he fastened his mouth on my nipple and speared his hard Yankee cock into my more than willing pussy. I had told my husband that I would do this for him, but now that it was happening I knew it was for me, although having him beside me, watching his wife being fucked by another man raised my excitement to a different level. Almost but not quite as exciting as incest, and my come poured out around Wilbur's driving cock as he fucked me to climax after climax.

I looked to one side in time to see Hamish and Doris approach their goal, and I smiled at the familiar shudder as he pumped his cream into her twat. And then my concentration was focused again on what was happening between my legs, as Wilbur flooded my pussy with thick Yankee come.

The months that followed were the most exciting period of my life. Two, sometimes three times a week, Dad dropped in on his way home from work to shag me whilst Hamish was busy in the garage, and on Saturday nights I enjoyed Wilbur's cock as Hamish fucked Doris. It goes without saying of course that in the evenings my husband took pains to ensure I was far from neglected.

A week and a half after we first swapped partners, things took a totally unexpected twist. I had just settled Angus for his afternoon nap when Doris turned up. "I got fed up with work for today, so I thought I'd drop in for a cuppa and a chat. I hope you don't mind."

I shook my head as I put the kettle on. "Of course not. Why should I mind? I'm glad of the company."

She seemed nervous, perched beside me on the edge of the couch nursing her cup and saucer, and I looked at her questioningly. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Maybe. Oh I don't know. I hope not." There was a long pause as I waited for her to go on, then she sighed. "I've been thinking about what we've been doing. You know, the boys and us."

"What about it?" I was beginning to have an uncomfortable feeling about where this was going.

"Haven't you wondered about how it started? Why I was so willing?" she set her cup on the coffee table and turned to face me.

"I thought it was because you wanted Hamish to shag you."

"I did. And I wanted to see Wilbur shag you too."

"I see, and now you want to stop?"

"God no! Or at least not unless you want to. It wasn't that at all."

"Then what was it?"

Very hesitantly she touched her breasts, and then mine. "I thought if you saw these, you would let me see these. And this." She touched between my legs, and then the words came tumbling out. "Ever since we first met I've wanted to feel your fanny, wanted you to feel mine."

The shock must have shown on my face, because she pulled away and burst into tears. "Damn, now I've ruined everything."

"Don't be silly." I dabbed at her eyes with a hankie. "You just surprised me, that's all. We''ll always be friends and I'll always love you."

"Just not in that way though." Doris sniffled.

"I really don't know." I replied truthfully. "That sort of thing just never occurred to me." I was silent for a few minutes, trying to sort out my thoughts, then I took her hand. "Have you touched any other girls?"

She shook her head violently. "God no! I'm not like that. Really. I don't know how to explain it. It's just that you are, well, special. I could never say anything in front of the boys because I'd have died of embarrassment if you were offended."

Hearing her say that really did make me feel sort of special, in a strange sort of way. "I'm not offended. I'm flattered -- I think." I lifted our clasped hands then withdrew mine, leaving hers hovering inches from, but not quite touching my breasts. "Look, if it means so much to you I don't mind if you feel me."

She looked at me with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "Are you sure you're not just trying to make me feel better?"

"Of course I'm not. Will make it easier if I take off my things? Or do you want to do it?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe if you take your dress off -- and mine. I think I'd like to take your other stuff off."

Rising to my feet I held out my hands to help her up, before shrugging out of my dress and removing hers. I realised then that she had prepared herself for this moment, because she wasn't wearing underwear. For the first time I looked at my friend in the way a man might look at her, appreciating her small firm breasts and trim waist above flared hips. She had trimmed away most of the hairs on her mound, and the tip of her clitoris poked invitingly from between the pouting lips of her sex. I was vaguely aware that she had unfastened my brassiere, and then her nipples were pressed hard against mine as her fevered hands pushed down my knickers.

"Touch me Thelma," she whispered. Feeling a little embarrassed, I cupped her breast gently as my own body responded, and she shook her head. "I mean down there."

She was softer and warmer than I had imagined, and infinitely wetter, and she squirmed against my fingers as her own fingers probed my fanny. It was so different from either Wilbur or Hamish. No frantic probing as a prelude to a shag. Each gentle touch was an end in itself, a need to please and be pleased. When the men were feeling me I had to trust to luck that they would find the 'right' spot at just the right time, but there was no such uncertainty with Doris. Her touches were exactly right, exactly where and how and when, and as I came to understand that she was touching me the way she liked to be touched, I began to copy her.

With the scent of arousal heavy in the air, we sank slowly to the thick carpet, stroking, kissing, teasing. "Let me look at you." Her voice was barely audible as I lay with my legs parted, feeling her eyes devour me. "Oh god Thel, you're perfect." Hamish had said the same thing seconds before he licked me for the first time, and I knew that Doris, and suddenly I too, had the same thing in mind. "Will you let me taste you?"

"I think you'd better, I want to taste you too." I panted, urging her over me, and then we were joined together, fanny to mouth, tongue to clitoris, hands to breasts, each wanting only to please the other. Following her lead, I ran my tongue between the soft lips, pressing against her clitoris as she pressed against mine, lapping her exotic essences as they flowed over my face. There was no desperate seeking of the final release as there was in a shag, instead each lick, each caress lifted us on a gentle wave of pleasure that carried us higher and ever higher, as each eagerly consumed the freely flowing nectar until neither had any more come to give.

Doris had feared that by declaring her attraction to me our friendship would be strained, but we both realised that the intimacy we had shared had further strengthened our bond, and we remained contentedly entwined until it was time for her to leave.

Being second in command at the base brought side benefits for Wilbur, in that he was allowed unlimited use of a Jeep, which meant that although he only shagged me at weekends, he was able to visit Doris on most evenings.

Acting on Wilbur's suggestion, Hamish engaged a contractor to clear the Turnbull site, and over the period of a little over a week, starting some seven weeks after Wilbur first fucked me, Hamish took delivery of ten ex army Jeeps. We were both staggered, because Wilbur had given no hint of how many we had tendered for, but we were yet to learn the true extent of the American major's machinations. One of Hamish's concerns had been the scarcity of petrol, but he discovered that Wilbur had anticipated this by ensuring that each Jeep had not only a full tank, but also two full five gallon jerry cans in the back. Hamish decided it would be prudent to store the cans in the shed behind the house, away from the temptation of thieves. If it became necessary he could offer some as an extra incentive if buyers were too hesitant.

Three days later we found out what the 'extras' were that Wilbur had hinted at, when a two ton van arrived whilst Hamish was checking over the Jeeps. The faint outlines of large red crosses on the sides beneath a coat of fresh olive drab paint, indicated that the van had once served as an army ambulance. Moments later it was followed by Wilbur driving his regular Jeep, and he shook his head in warning when we went to greet him.

"Mr. Browning?" He snapped off a smart salute, more, I suspect, for the benefit of the van driver. "Good afternoon Sir, Ma'am, I'm Major Wilbur Jennings, United States Army. Now that you have the final delivery, I trust you have a certified cheque as specified in the conditions of sale?"

"No Major," Hamish replied, trying hard to keep a straight face as the van driver climbed from the cabin. "I've no had the bill yet, but if ye have a copy it will no tak the wife long to fetch a check frae the bank."

Again for the benefit of the driver, Wilbur shook his head sternly. "That is most irregular Sir. It was made quite clear on the tender documents that payment was required upon delivery."

Clearly enjoying the byplay, Hamish retorted, "Have a bit o' common sense man. Did I no just finish tellin' ye I canna pay a bill I have nae received? If ye show us the bill, yon laddie can drive the wife to the bank, and ye can have the money any way ye want it."

With a feigned show of impatience, Wilbur produced an invoice listing the numbered tenders, listing the Jeeps only as "Surplus General Purpose vehicles, Non Operational", and the total amount owing. Hamish looked at it with genuine astonishment, struggling to maintain his composure. "Och, are ye sure this is right?" he whispered. He showed it to me, and it was my turn to gasp. I knew nothing about the value of motor cars, but even I knew that the Jeeps were worth infinitely more than the figures I was looking at.

"Quite sure Mr. Browning." Wilbur assured him. "The United States Army does not make mistakes." Then raising his voice, "Corporal, take my Jeep and drive Mrs. Browning to the bank."

"Yessir!" the soldier saluted, and helped me into the passenger seat. As we drove off I looked back and saw the pair slapping each other on the back and laughing uproariously. It was forty five minutes before I returned with the cheque, by which time the pair had apparently resolved their differences, and were chatting amicably. As I alighted from the Jeep, Wilbur approached.

"Corporal, I have further business to discuss with Mr. Browning. You can take the Jeep and return for me in two hours."

Scarcely believing his good fortune, the soldier grinned broadly and threw off a salute. "Yes Sir! Thank you Sir!"

As soon as he left, Wilbur unlocked the rear doors of the ambulance to reveal four olive green Harley Davidson motor cycles. "These are the 'extras' I mentioned. Let's get them out of sight before the corporal gets back. The less he knows the less he can tell. Behind the workshop where nobody can see them from the road would be safest, then they can't be stolen."

It took less than fifteen minutes for the two men to back the van up to the workshop door and unload the motorcycles, as I studied the inside with interest. I had thought from the beginning that it seemed too large to be an ordinary ambulance, and the vertical steel reinforcing fastened to both sides suggested supports for tiers of stretcher racks, so I concluded that it had most likely been used to transport multiple sick and wounded to various hospitals around the country.

Closing the workshop doors, they climbed past me into the rear of the van, and Hamish held out his hand with a mischievous grin. "Now then lassie, what do ye suppose we can do for the next couple of hours?"

I had seen that grin too often to mistake his meaning, and although until that moment nothing had been further from my mind, the thought of having the undivided attention of two virile men had me suddenly wet. Taking the proffered hand, I smiled coquettishly. "I have no idea, but I'm sure the pair of you will think of something." They must have broken some sort of record in undressing me, and in next to no time I was crouched naked over Hamish, licking and sucking happily, with Wilbur fondling my tits as his hard cock plundered my eager pussy.

Perhaps if I had suspected how stimulating it could be to have dicks in my mouth and fanny at the same time, I may have tried it before now, but as it was I greedily swallowed my husband's come, seconds before Wilbur's cock erupted and flooded my pussy. Now that they were both spent, Hamish suggested I make some sandwiches, and slipping my dress over my nudity we passed through the gate he had installed in the fence between the garage and the back garden of the house.

As we sat on the couch eating, Wilbur explained that he had personally selected the vehicles, and that except for the four year old former ambulance none were older than eighteen months, and all were in perfect running order, so they should sell quickly.

When Hamish asked why the sales forms described the Jeeps as 'non operational', Wilbur winked. "None of them will start, but I'm sure a good mechanic could find a loose wire somewhere." Then he changed the subject to the motor cycles. Being American, and the best motorcycle ever made -- according to him - the Harley Davidsons should bring a much better price than any of the Jeeps. Of course, Hamish couldn't resist showing British pride by disputing the claim, and after a little good natured banter he slipped a hand under my dress.

"Well lassie, would ye care for some more?"

I needed no further prompting, and responded by removing my dress and kneeling in front of Wilbur, wanting his to be only the second cock I had ever sucked. As he fondled my tits I undid his pants, and with my eyes fixed firmly on his I took him slowly into my mouth, watching his changing expressions as my tongue traced the unfamiliar contours. It felt different to that of my husband, neither better nor worse, just different, although in a way it was better because I could sense Hamish's excitement as he watched me suck our friend's stiff cock. Moments later I discovered just how excited he was, when he moved behind me and parted the cheeks of my bottom, and with a single push he buried his dick in my back passage. In the past I had tolerated him him fucking my arse because I knew how much it pleased him, so I was totally unprepared for the sudden wave of pleasure as I felt him stretch and fill me.

My excitement grew with each thrust, and I strained back to meet him as I resumed sucking Wilbur's cock, except that I was no longer merely sucking him, I was fucking him with my mouth, slowly and sensuously working him with my lips and tongue, until I received a delicious creamy mouthful. I held his softening organ in my mouth and rocked back and forth on Hamish's driving pole, finally giving a muffled sigh of pleasure when he jetted a warm fountain of come into my stretched arse hole. By the time we had cleaned ourselves up, we made it back to the garage barely seconds before the Jeep returned, and after shaking hands with Hamish, Wilbur saluted and climbed into the back seat, instructing the corporal to drive back to the base.

On Saturday night Hamish and Wilbur sat drinking brown ale as they watched Doris and I undress as seductively as we were able, given that we had each had a glass of white wine, before divesting themselves of their own clothing. When we were all naked, Hamish made the first move by leaning back on the couch and easing Doris down onto his rigid dick as she fed a hard nipple between his lips. I watched her rise and fall for a few moments, then smiled with pleasure as Wilbur parted my thighs and pushed into me.

The silence that followed was broken only by soft moans and laboured breathing as we shagged, and then my husband grunted and spurted his come up into my best friend's descending twat. With satisfied sighs the pair separated, and watched as Wilbur continued to shag me until he climaxed deep inside my pussy.

Fetching fresh beers for himself and Wilbur, and pouring more wine for Doris and me Hamish sat back. "What price should I put on the Jeeps and bikes?" he asked Wilbur. "I never sold anything before and I don't know where to start."

Surprisingly it was Doris that provided a possible answer. "Why not look in the newspapers and see how much other places sell stuff like that for? Then you'll know how much to ask for."

That started a discussion between the men as they explored their options, and after a little while I became bored with business talk and stopped listening. I glanced at Doris over the rim of my glass, and giggled as she raised her eyes to the heavens, mirroring my own thoughts. We finished our drinks, and after pouring what remained in the bottle into our glasses, she gave a tipsy leer and moved closer rubbing her thigh suggestively against mine.

"Let's give the boys something else to talk about." she whispered, taking my hand and placing it on her breast, then cupping mine. I shot a startled glance at Hamish, but when he appeared not to have noticed, I cautiously rotated my palm across her hard nipple. There was still no reaction from either man, so I squeezed the small firm tit, drawing a 'hmm' of pleasure from my friend.

Wilbur looked up at the barely audible sound, and I drew back in flustered embarrassment. "What did you stop for?" he grinned, "It was just getting interesting, wasn't it Hamish?"

Hamish turned his head and looked at Doris' hand still on my breast. "Och aye. That it is. Dinna mind us lassie."

Ordinarily I would not have felt at all comfortable about feeling another woman with the men watching, but although I was far from drunk, the effects of the wine were just enough to lower my inhibitions, and I turned to face her, raising one leg up onto the cushion. Following my cue she copied me, and we leaned towards each other, hands squeezing tits and fingers probing fannies.

Immediately the boys moved in to watch more closely, and after a few moments Wilbur picked up the discarded wine bottle and held it out to me.

"Try it with this," he said thickly.

I looked at him in shock, and then at Doris, but she merely grinned. Pulling her finger out of me, she pushed my hand from between her legs, and spread her fanny wide. "Ready when you are," she leered. I could scarcely believe what I was being asked to do, but the fact that Doris was so willing made the temptation too exciting to resist, and I placed the neck of the bottle between the parted lips. "It's OK Thelma, I'll tell you when to stop," she urged, grasping my hand and guiding the bottle inside her.

Like a rabbit mesmerised by a snake, I watched in fascination as I pushed in and out, deeper and deeper each time, marvelling that her fanny was able to accommodate the increasing girth with no apparent damage. With the creamy sheen of her come glistening on the shiny green glass, she threw back her head with a gasp. "Oh god Thelma! you've got to try this! Somebody get me another bottle! Quickly!"

Without hesitation Hamish handed her a beer bottle. I didn't really want to do this, but since I was doing it to her I could hardly refuse, and I watched with trepidation as she brought it closer, then it was inside me. My first thought was that it wasn't as good as the real thing, because the neck was shorter than a cock, but in another way I liked the way the smooth shoulders pressed against my clitoris and I relaxed, giving myself over to the sensations coursing through me. It was fortunate for me the beer bottle was slimmer than the wine bottle, because Doris gave an extra push, and all but a couple of inches was forced inside me, stretching my fanny uncomfortably, although incongruously my come began to flow more profusely than usual, and as my body adjusted to the unaccustomed fullness I began to enjoy it.

I lost all sense of time as we shagged each other with the glass containers, then I felt a touch on my shoulder. Turning my head, I saw that Hamish was holding his quivering dick scant inches from my face, and without missing a stroke I opened my mouth and engulfed his hard shaft.

Not to be outdone, Doris took Wilbur's cock between her lips, and we sucked happily until I gulped down Hamish's come moments before Doris' throat convulsed, and we withdrew the bottles from our by now swollen fannies. Like all things that seem to be good ideas at the time, I had very real regrets next morning when I woke with an extremely sore fanny. Not wanting Hamish to feel in any way responsible for my discomfort I said nothing, but that night I was still so tender that he had to content himself with shagging my arse.

Doris dropped in again during the week, and fortunately the soreness was gone because she wasted no time in fastening her mouth over my fanny. After we had licked each other to a mutually satisfying conclusion I mentioned the recent episode, and she surprised me by admitting that although it had been her first, and probably only time with anything as large as a bottle, Wilbur had a taste for shagging her with a variety of objects of suitable size and shape, a practice she had taken readily to, especially before he was able to visit her during the week, when she whiled away lonely evenings experimenting with anything from a hairbrush handle to various vegetables such as carrots and occasionally cucumbers. I couldn't bring myself to be too critical of my best friend, because unlike her I had dad to shag me when Hamish was otherwise occupied, and incest was a far greater sin -- and thrill -- than any inanimate object.

Since the garage had reopened business had been slowly picking up, and although it was barely meeting costs things were looking rosy as more and more motor cars were 'dusted off', so to speak, after six long years of sitting idle whilst their owners were away at the war. Hamish became busier and busier as his reputation spread, which was good for me because it gave me more opportunities to enjoy dad's dick, which in turn was a perfect way to warm up for when Hamish shagged me in the evening.

Wilbur turned up with a bundle of newspapers on Saturday evening, and after our first shag Doris and I amused ourselves with each other's tits, whilst he and Hamish scanned the pages fruitlessly for advertisements offering Harley Davidson motorcycles. Finally admitting defeat, they decided to base the asking price on those for similar machines made in Great Britain. Hamish dug out an unused exercise book left behind by the Simmond boys, and over the next thirty minutes or so they drew up an advertisement for the newspapers, describing the Harley Davidson as the American 'Rolls Royce of motor cycles', and offering a 'once in a lifetime golden opportunity' to 'selected' purchasers. The proposed advertisement concluded with the offer of a 'Limited number of Fabled US Army Jeeps' -- all in in 'pristine condition' for discerning enthusiasts.

Finally setting the exercise book and newspapers aside Wilbur glanced across at Doris and I, who by now, helped by frequent sips of wine, had progressed to mutual fanny feeling. He picked up the empty wine bottle and looked at us hopefully, but we shook our heads as one.

"Definitely not!" I declared fervently. "Once was more than enough for me thank you."

Doris gave a soft mocking laugh at the disappointment in his face. "Oh dear Thelma, the poor boy seems upset." She took her fingers from between my legs and licked them noisily. "What do you suppose we can do to cheer him up?"

"So long as there are no bottles...." I said quietly, suspecting what she had in mind but uncertain how the men would react, especially Hamish. I hoped he wouldn't object, but even if he did I could always argue that it hadn't been my idea. Giggling, Doris rose from the couch, and grasping my ankles she pulled me until I was sprawled on the carpet. Beckoning the boys closer, she bent my knees until my feet were flat on the floor, then knelt alongside me and began to suck my nipples as Hamish and Wilbur took turns feeling my fanny. For several delightful minutes I was the uncomplaining centre of attention as three pairs of hands and lips explored my body.

Excitement mounting with each caress and kiss I began to undulate my hips, and moving between my legs Doris lifted my knees against my chest, and encouraged by the men she fastened her mouth over my upraised fanny. They watched intently for a while, then Hamish shifted position and pressed the tip of his dick against my lips. The mood I was in by this time I would have willingly sucked anything that would fit, and I opened my mouth without hesitation. As soon as I started sliding my lips up and down, Wilbur knelt behind Doris, and lifting her arse high he drove his cock deep into her pussy, starting a chain reaction. The faster he fucked her, the harder she licked my clitoris, and the deeper Hamish thrust into my mouth.

Endeavouring to prolong his pleasure and mine, I sucked slowly and sensuously, sliding my lips and tongue along the length of his wonderful organ, and as Doris licked me to my third climax, Wilbur gave a strangled groan and poured his come into her pussy, to mingle with the load Hamish had given her earlier. Raising her face, she flashed me a grin, licking her sticky lips and blowing me a kiss as she eased the pressure on my aching thighs. It was all but impossible to return her smile with a mouthful of throbbing dick, but I tried as I straightened my cramped legs with a groan of relief.

Any thoughts I may have had that she had had enough vanished when she pushed Hamish away with the comment "I think your wife would like to be shagged now." Positioning herself above my face she lowered her just fucked pussy, and as I put out my tongue to gather the dripping come I felt Hamish drive his hard dick into me.

I couldn't remember Hamish ever shagging me so furiously, and I wasn't sure if he was upset with me for tonguing Doris so eagerly, or excited at seeing me lick the come from her wet and swollen twat. Then Wilbur was sucking and squeezing my tits, and I was beyond caring about anything but the fires that were searing every cell of my body. I locked my legs around him to urge him deeper and pulled Doris' fanny tight against my face, licking frantically as my wonderful randy husband spilled his hot come into my thoroughly shagged fanny.

Early on Sunday morning Hamish contacted the newspaper and learned that there was still time to lodge an advertisement for inclusion in Monday's paper, so he rode one of the motor cycles to the office and paid for a two week run in the dailies, plus two Sunday editions beginning the following Sunday. The sun was shining brightly when he returned, so I reminded him that we were overdue for a visit to Sam and May Harper, and suggested that now that we had the Jeeps, we should use one to take Angus for a ride. Freed of the restraints of the child seat that his Daddy had fitted to the bicycle Mum and I shared when he was a year old, Angus was in his element, bouncing excitedly on my knee and waving to just about anything that moved.

When we reached the poultry farm there was no sign if Sam's lorry, so we kept going until we came to the field where Hamish had first shagged me. Lifting Angus from my lap, Hamish carried him to the gate and pointed to a new haystack. "See that, son? That's where Mummy and Daddy made ye." he whispered with certainty. Although he didn't understand, our son beamed happily and stared round eyed at some cows chewing at the hay.

We stood reminiscing at the fence for about thirty minutes, before we saw Sam turning into his driveway half a mile back down the road. Sam looked wistfully at the Jeep as we drove up, then Hamish set about helping him unload empty crates, whilst May laughed indulgently at little Angus' vain attempts to catch chickens. When the lorry was unloaded, May invited us to stay for a bite to eat, and afterwards Hamish went outside to check the engine, and came back shaking his head.

"Radiator hose burst." he reported. A smile lit his face as he noticed Angus sleeping peacefully on his godmother's lap, head cushioned on her ample bosom. "If ye can watch the bairn I'll fetch one frae the garage."

Of course the Harpers were only too happy to agree, and we set off to pick up the hose, then retraced our route. I raised my brows when Hamish drove right past the farm, and my heart thumped as I began to suspect what he had in mind. Sure enough we stopped beside the field, and climbing the gate we ran hand in hand, as excited as first time lovers to the haystack, where I quickly undressed and lay on my spread out dress. With the warm sun beating down on my nude form I kissed his scar as he moved over me, and with the same sense of eager 'newness' as the first time, I welcomed his dick and then his come into my fanny.

I felt a little sad as we returned to Sam's place. As Hamish had told our son, he had been made last time we shagged behind the haystack, and now I had a twinge of regret that we hadn't been able to make a baby brother or sister for him in the same place. However, when I saw Angus still sleeping peacefully on May's lap I realised once more how truly blessed I already was. It only took Hamish twenty minutes to change both radiator hoses on the lorry, by which time our son had woken from his nap, and with the customary pair of chickens on the back seat of the Jeep, we said our farewells and returned home.

Next day we were quite astonished at the response to the notice in the newspaper. When I took his mid day meal, Hamish announced that the telephone had been ringing almost constantly, with many people interested in purchasing a Jeep or a motorcycle. A prospective customer arrived before Hamish had a chance to start his meal, and within minutes the first of the Harley Davidsons was sold. Whilst the transaction was being completed, I answered the telephone to a man who assured me that he would stop by to look at a Jeep on his way home from work, at around six thirty that evening.

This nearly proved to be my undoing, because at five fifteen Dad arrived. Confident that Hamish would not be home for at least an hour, I promptly removed my knickers and lifted my skirt for Dad to shag me in the front living room. It was purely good fortune that he was as eager as I, and rather than taking down his trousers as he usually did, he took out his dick and thrust into me. Half an hour later he had no sooner filled my fanny with come, when the back door banged open and Hamish called out to me. Pushing Dad away in a panic, I barely had time to straighten my clothing before my husband entered the room. I regarded him fearfully, sure that he would detect the heavy odour of arousal and consummation, but his eyes sparkled with excitement as he announced jubilantly that he had not only sold another motorcycle, but the expected customer had arrived early and paid a substantial deposit on a Jeep, promising to return the following day with the rest of the purchase price.

My guardian angel must have been watching over me, because as I rose from the couch to hug Hamish I looked over his shoulder to see Dad struggling frantically to fasten his pants over his still rigid dick. Even though his back was turned it was impossible not to know what he was doing, and I clung tightly to Hamish until respectability had been restored, and then I went to make a pot of tea, leaving the men discussing cars and such. I was nervous the whole time we sat drinking our tea, because I was convinced Hamish would notice the come stain gradually seeping through the front of Dad's trousers, so it was a relief when he set his empty cup aside and left.

Angus had not long been settled down for the night, when we received an unexpected visit from Doris and Wilbur, with the news that his military service was coming to an end, and that he would be returning to his homeland in a little over a week. Although Wilbur was understandably elated Doris was subdued, and taking her into the kitchen I asked the reason for her apparent despondency.

"I knew the day would come," she admitted tearfully, "and now it has I don't know what will happen to me."

The solution seemed obvious to me, and I took her in my arms and told her so. "You must go with him of course. After all you have been together for over three years, so it's high time he made an honest woman of you."

"Oh Thelma, there's nothing I want more, but he's never mentioned marriage, and I wouldn't want him to feel trapped just because he shags me."

"I'm sure you're worrying needlessly." I soothed. "Everyone can see how much he loves you, and how much you love him. More than likely he has been waiting for the right time, and suddenly learning he was going home so soon took him by surprise."

"I'm not so sure" she sniffed. "Maybe he thinks I don't love him enough because I let Hamish shag me."

"Now you're being silly," I retorted. "I let Wilbur shag me, but it's all in fun. Hamish knows it doesn't alter how much I love him, just as I know that him shagging you doesn't change his love for me. We'll sort it out, you'll see." Wiping her tears away with a tea towel, I grasped her hand and marched her into the living room, where the men were in earnest conversation. Hamish relinquished his seat beside Wilbur to Doris, and I beckoned to him and spoke quietly in his ear.

To my surprise he began to laugh. "Wilbur was just saying exactly the same thing to me." Shaking with mirth, he forced himself to assume a straight face. "Right ye daft pair o' buggers," he said bluntly. "Tomorrow ye can get along to the registry office for a special licence. Ye have a weddin' t' go to. An' no' before time."

They looked at each other in amazement and nodded eagerly, if a little bashfully. Their lips met in a seemingly endless kiss, becoming more passionate with each passing second. When they finally broke their embrace, Doris stroked the growing bulges in Hamish and Wilbur's pants, "How can we ever thank you both?" she whispered, as Wilbur pulled off my dress and brassiere, and started to work my knickers down to my knees.

Hamish gave an embarrassed, almost girlish giggle, as he raised the hem of her skirt to discover that she was naked from the waist down. "I think ye already are. All we did was give ye the wee push ye needed." Her eyes went wide when he sank to his knees between her parted thighs, and locked his lips on her fanny. I watched her changing expressions with a smile, knowing exactly what she was experiencing. This was one thing that my husband had become extremely good at since he found out how much it pleased me the first time he licked me on our wedding night. Her eyes rolled back in her head when he nibbled her love bud, and she fumbled frantically to release Wilbur's cock from his pants and take it deep into her mouth.

When Wilbur had pulled my knickers down it had been my intention to move astride him and impale my fanny on his stiff dick, but now she was having too much fun for me to spoil it. Besides, I knew I would have my turn later, so I stood with my knickers around my trembling knees as Wilbur thrust his fingers in and out of me in time with Doris' sucking.

Pausing to take a breath, Hamish looked up at me with a sticky grin. My voice was an urgent whisper as I returned his smile. "Shag her."

She withdrew her lips from Wilbur's cock just long enough to echo my words. "Oh yes Hamish. Shag me," then she grunted with pleasure and resumed sucking as he thrust into her.

I found the sight of my best friend, with dicks in mouth and fanny, both exciting and intriguing, and I smiled when she swallowed her fiance's come, before turning her full attention to my husband's plunging tool.

As we watched them shag I asked Wilbur why he had never proposed to Doris, since it was obvious how much they loved each other.

"To be honest," he replied, "I wanted to marry her the first moment I met her, but I couldn't ask because I didn't want her to think I was only saying it to get into her pussy. After we started fucking she seemed content with the way things were, and as time passed it just got harder. When the war ended I was trying to find the nerve to propose, but then you and Hamish sort of complicated things. I started thinking that maybe she wouldn't consider marrying any man who was fucking her best friend. I never minded Hamish fucking her because I knew he would never leave you, and I love her too much for it to matter. If the pair of you hadn't butted in just now I don't know what I would have done because the thought of spending my life without her terrifies me."

"That's what happens when you keep putting things off." I said gently. "At least it's all straightened out now." As he was speaking his gaze never wavered from Hamish and Doris, and slowly his dick began to stir again. "Talking about straightening out" I giggled, wrapping my fingers around his shaft. "I think I'd better do something about this." I pushed my knickers the rest of the way off, and crouched between his knees, sucking him until his tool stood up like a flagpole. Regaining my feet I stood astride him and impaled my fanny on his hard rod. My much anticipated climax began almost immediately, and I rode him steadily, rising and falling on his throbbing cock, and rubbing my tits against his chest.

I glanced aside just in time to see Hamish spurt his come inside Doris, then they sat holding hands and watched Wilbur and I. Having been forced to wait to feel him inside me, I rode him slowly and purposefully, determined to make it last as long as I could. With my full attention focused on the sensations being generated in my fanny, I was only vaguely aware of hands softly caressing my bum, although I was unsure whose hands they were until I felt the cheeks of my bottom being parted, and before I could even think of resisting, my husband pushed his hard dick deep into my unsuspecting arse.

My howl of outrage was cut short by the most unbelievably intense climax, and my body provided its own response by thrashing wildly to accommodate the two rigid poles. Indignation turned into purest bliss, and a delicious warmth spread outwards from my twat to my tits. With Doris watching on spellbound the pair fucked me front and back, their punishing cocks plundering my overstuffed holes until I thought I would die from sheer ecstasy. I was almost disappointed when they finally pumped their come into me, because I hadn't wanted the pleasure to end, but when they inevitably withdrew their drained pricks, I sighed with a total satisfaction I had never imagined possible to achieve.

A major part of my enjoyment, I knew, was due to the novelty of what had occurred, so no matter how often it might be repeated it was unlikely that I would ever again experience such intense excitement and pleasure. Not that it would be repeated of course, because soon our friends would be leaving, and doing it with anyone else was inconceivable. It was only the close bond between the four of us that had allowed us to be so free and uninhibited. Nonetheless I was thankful for the experience, and I knew that the memory of having both holes simultaneously filled almost to bursting would stay with me for many years to come.

As I climbed off Wilbur, Doris looked at me almost reverently. "Oh my god, Thelma," she said in an awed whisper. "That was amazing. What was it like? Did it hurt?"

I shook my head. "No, I think I was too surprised to notice if it hurt." This was only partly true. It had felt a little uncomfortable at first, although not exactly painful, but I had no intention of admitting it, so I tried to change the subject. "I need a cuppa."

She followed me into the kitchen. "Tell me." she persisted. "How did it feel? Was it good? Did you like it?"

I sighed in exasperation. Clearly she wouldn't let it rest until she had all the details. "If you must know, I loved it. I never felt so -- so full. I can't begin to describe how wonderful it felt, once I got over the surprise. Definitely better than a beer bottle. Having those two big dicks shagging me at the same time was unbelievable." I poured the tea and picked up two cups, indicating for her to bring the others. "Happy now?"

We returned to the living room to find Hamish telling Wilbur about his unexpected success in selling two motorcycles and a Jeep so soon after the advertisement appeared.

Doris seemed to be in another place, as for the next hour we sat drinking tea whilst the men talked shop. Eventually she stood up impatiently and looked at them. "It's no good. I've got to know what it's like. Will you do me like you did her?" Without waiting for a reply, she grasped a dick in each hand and rubbed furiously until they were hard again. "Well? Will you?"

Hamish laid a hand on her bottom. "Have ye done it in here before, lassie?"

She shook her head. "No, but if Thelma can do it, so can I."

"Maybe, maybe not. It could hurt ye a wee bit at first."

Despite the inescapable evidence that his hard quivering dick said otherwise, it almost seemed to me that he was attempting to discourage her, which was odd because I knew how much he enjoyed shagging me in the arse, but she dug her heels in stubbornly. "I don't care. I have to try it at least once or die wondering, and you and Wilbur are the only ones I know I can trust."

"OK," he capitulated. "Why don't ye get started with Wilbur, an' I'll be right back?" He watched until she sank down and settled herself on Wilbur's rigid organ, then with his own stiff rod bobbing comically he took the stairs to our bedroom three at a time, and came back moments later with my jar of Nivea face cream. Smearing a generous dollop on the head of his tool, he positioned it at her tight virgin opening and pushed.

"OWWW! OH GOD!" With the first inch and a half inside her, he hesitated at her wail of pain, but as he prepared to pull out she hissed through clenched teeth. "No! Don't take it out. Just give me a moment." After a few seconds she took a deep breath. "OK... Now." He pushed in a little more, then when she groaned stopped again until she gave him the go ahead. All in all it took Hamish four attempts before he succeeded in getting his full length inside her stretched arse hole, and he was able to begin stroking in and out with a smooth steady rhythm.

Cushioning my tender bottom with a pile of discarded clothing, I sat on the floor so I could have a perfect view of the two cocks driving in and out of my friend's arse and pussy. Her groans had turned to moans and gasps of passion, which in turn accelerated my own growing arousal. My hand crept between my thighs, and fuelled by the sight, sound and scent of Doris being double shagged, my fingers worked on and in my fanny until my come soaked the crumpled clothing beneath me.

The thrusting cocks came inside her in quick succession, and after they disengaged Doris grinned triumphantly. "See?" she exulted. "I told you I could do it!"

The next few days were frantic as Doris and I shopped for new outfits, leaving Wilbur to take care of the more mundane tasks of obtaining a special licence, and booking the Registry Office for a civil marriage ceremony. The registrar's clerk was, in the manner of so many petty officials, far from cooperative, despite pleas that the bride and groom to be had to catch a train on Saturday afternoon. Muttering under his breath about 'Yanks pinching our girls', he was sourly adamant that the registrar was fully booked for at least three weeks. Not surprisingly however, when a pound note was produced he dithered for an instant, then 'miraculously' discovered an 'unexpected cancellation' for nine thirty on Saturday morning.

So soon after the war's end, choices of affordable clothing were limited, so it didn't take Doris and I long to find a suitable outfit each. As with the rationing of the basic essentials, the privations of war did not seem to apply to the wealthy, and since Mum was looking after Angus, and we still had most of the afternoon to spare, we went from one expensive store to the next, audaciously trying on garments we could only dream of owning. Seeing each other in our underwear added to the excitement of our audacity, and by the time we arrived home we were so keyed up we wasted no time undressing, and for the best part of an hour we licked and fingered each other in a frenzy of lust.

Having satisfied our urges, we dressed and went to pick up Angus, and to show Mum our new purchases. Whilst we had been shopping, I had had the germ of an idea, but not wanting to raise any hopes, I kept quiet until I had spoken to Mum. The chance came when Doris was changing to show off her smart new baby blue skirt suit, and after a whispered conversation Mum nodded in pleased approval.

"Very nice dear," she smiled as Doris twirled proudly, "but wouldn't you have preferred a white wedding? I know it's only in the Registry Office, but you only get married once."

My friend's face clouded for an instant as she smiled wistfully. "Of course I would, but I don't have enough clothing coupons, and even if I did I wouldn't waste them on on a dress I'll only wear once. I know I won't need them after Saturday, but I'd prefer you and Thelma to use what coupons are left in my ration book after I leave."

With a conspiratorial wink at me, Mum said offhandedly "I don't suppose you'd care to wear my old wedding dress. After all it's a bit old fashioned for modern days."

Her eyes shining hopefully, Doris took both Mum's hands in hers. "The one Thelma was married in? Could I really? That looked so beautiful. Would it fit me?"

Mum gave a gentle laugh and looked her up and down. "I'd like that. It's a little big but I imagine a few pins here and there will help. Besides, it would be a nice surprise for Wilbur when he sees it. If we can make it fit that is."

"I'll make it fit!" Doris declared, eyes brimming. "Even if I have to eat like a pig and get fat I'll make it fit! Can I try it on now? Please?"

I fetched the dress from upstairs, and kept Angus amused as Mum set to work. As she deftly tucked and pinned, she smiled indulgently as my friend chattered non stop in excitement. Work progressed steadily until Dad came home from work, and as soon as she heard his key in the door, Mum ushered Doris hastily from the room. "We can finish this upstairs. Another half hour or so should do it."

My son was nodding off beside me on the couch, and putting a cushion under his head I went into the kitchen to make Dad a cup of tea. As I held the kettle under the tap, he came to stand behind me and cupped my breasts. "Where's your Mum?" he whispered.

I gestured with my head and looked up at the ceiling. "Upstairs helping Doris with something for the wedding."

"OK." He moved his hands to my hips, pulling me back until I could feel his hard on pressing against my bottom. "How long will they be?" One hand slid under the front of my skirt and stroked my fanny through my knickers. "Do we have time?"

I shook my head uncertainly. "I don't know." His fingers slipped inside my knickers, and I trembled with apprehension. It had been risky enough that time we watched Mum cooking and I had wanked him through his pocket as he fingered me, but that had been during the blackout, and with only the light from a candle beside the cooker the chances of being discovered were relatively slight. But now it was broad daylight. I knew I should push his hand away, but his insistent fingers on my slit were chipping away at my resistance, bringing back the thrilling excitement of the time in the blackout, now even more intense due to the greater risk.

I turned to face him with a sigh. "Better be quick," I muttered, parting my quaking legs and linking my hands around his neck. Pressing me back against the counter, Dad lifted my skirt and after fumbling briefly with the buttons of his fly, he pushed into me through the leg of my knickers. I looked nervously towards the door, straining my ears for the sound of descending footsteps on the stairs, but once he began gliding in and out I could think only of his driving prick as he shagged me urgently. I felt relieved when he came in me before we could be caught out, but at the same time I was filled with exhilaration. Adjusting my knickers to prevent our mixed come dripping on to the floor, I couldn't believe we had taken such a huge risk and got away with it. It was by no means the best shag I'd ever had, but the thrill and the danger certainly made it a shag I wouldn't forget in a hurry.

I finished making him a cup of tea, then leaving him to keep an eye on Angus, I went upstairs to see how Mum and Doris were getting on. Doris stood bare to the waist as Mum made adjustments to the top of the gown before pulling it up, and I looked on with envy as she casually cupped one small breast and tucked it snugly into the bodice, before doing likewise with its twin. Most probably it was only my imagination, but at the time I felt that Mum held each breast a little longer than was really necessary, and if the broad smile Doris gave me was any guide, Mum's touch was far from unwelcome.

Mum stepped back and surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. "That will do it, but remember now, not a word to the men or it will spoil the surprise. And Doris, I think you had better sleep here on Friday night. It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony, so it's best not to tempt fate."

There didn't seem any point in mentioning that Hamish had seen me on the morning of our wedding, and it hadn't made the slightest difference to our happiness since, so I waited until Doris had changed into her street clothes, and we went downstairs to join Dad.

We sat chatting about the wedding whilst Dad drank his tea, then I looked at the clock. "Oh well, I'd better take Angus home and put him to bed." Dad stooped to pick my son up, but knowing his damaged lungs couldn't take the strain of carrying the robust toddler more than a hundred yards, I pushed him gently away. "It's OK Dad, I can manage."

With Angus seated on my hip, Doris and I started the walk home. "It's good of your mum to trust me with her dress" she blurted. "It must be worth a fortune."

I shook my head. "She's just happy to see it used."

"It doesn't matter, she didn't have to." Suddenly she giggled. "Omigosh, did you see the way she looked at my tits?"

It was too ridiculous to take seriously, and I dug her in the ribs with my elbow. "Don't be daft. It's just your dirty mind."

She laughed again. "Probably, but it still made me wet enough to take on a football team."

We stopped off at the garage so Hamish could kiss his son goodnight, then went through the adjoining gate and into the house. When I came downstairs from putting Angus to bed Hamish was just coming into the house, which surprised me because only a few minutes before he had told us he wouldn't be home for another hour.

"Wilbur rang just as you left," he told Doris. "His replacement turned up and he has to show him the ropes, so he can't come until Friday."

Her face fell. "Oh no, that's not fair." Her frown disappeared as quickly as it came, and was replaced by a wicked grin. "Still, never mind Hamish. It looks like you're going to have your work cut out keeping both of us happy."

I was a little concerned at this unexpected development, not because I wasn't willing, but because my fanny was still squishy with Dad's come, and I was afraid Hamish might notice and start to wonder. Stopping to toss my soiled knickers into the wash basket I dashed upstairs to the bathroom to clean up. On my returned I was amused to see Doris had been too impatient to wait, and was lying naked on the carpet with the ever willing Hamish between her legs. With a happy smile she patted the floor beside her, and I sank to my knees to take her hard nipple between my lips. I watched them shag out of the corner of my eye as I sucked and fondled her small tits, knowing what she was feeling as my husband's strong cock drove in and out of her, and then for the second time in a matter of hours her fingers were probing my fanny, coaxing out my wetness.

He needed time to recover after he came in her, so Doris and I entertained him by keeping each other aroused with gentle licks and caresses. She arched her hips as my tongue searched for my husband's come, and then drew a gasp from me by fastening her lips on my clitoris. Just when my arousal was reaching its peak she withdrew her mouth, but my squeal of protest was cut short by Hamish kneeling behind me, and driving his stiff pole into my fanny. Doris pressed tighter against my mouth, murmuring encouragement to Hamish as he began to shag me, and after he came she pushed his cock aside and fastened her lips on my slit.

We had a leisurely supper, allowing him to recover before he shagged Doris again, but although she was more than willing she seemed distracted. As soon as he filled her fanny with come she began to dress, so I asked her what was wrong. With a rueful shake of her head she looked from Hamish to me. "I missed Wilbur. Don't get me wrong, I love it when Hamish shags me, but this is the first time without Wilbur being here, and it didn't excite me as much without him watching."

In a way I understood how she felt, but not only because I like Hamish watching me with Wilbur. At the start that had been unbelievably exciting, but after I got used to it, being watched became more important than who was watching. No matter how exciting that was though, nothing could match the delicious thrill of incest that went through me every time Dad stuck his dick in my fanny. Given her subdued mood, it came as no surprise when a short time later Doris asked Hamish to drive her home in one of the Jeeps.

We didn't see her at all next day, and when she arrived about mid afternoon on Friday carrying a small suitcase, she explained that she had spent all day Thursday with her cousin. Hannah had been distressed that Doris was leaving after so long, as they had become very close, especially after her husband's ship had been torpedoed in the Atlantic two years before the war ended. My friend still seemed a little down in the dumps, so I dropped Angus at Mum's and took Doris window shopping to distract her.

As we wandered from shop to shop she kept up a constant chatter about her coming wedding, and browsing through an underwear display she asked, "Does it really have to be four different things?"

I looked at her, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You know. Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. I mean I'll be wearing your Mum's dress, so does that count as old and borrowed?"

This was something that hadn't occurred to me, but after a moment's thought I shrugged. "I suppose it does really. I mean I never heard anyone actually say they all had to be separate."

Picking out a lacy blue underwear set, she said "OK, so if I get these they'll be blue and new? I won't be able to wear the brassiere with the dress in case it shows through, but I'm sure Wilbur will like the knickers. Even if he will have them off three seconds after he sees them" she added with a giggle.

She was cheered noticeably by her new purchase, and we picked up Angus and returned home to find that Wilbur had arrived in our absence. After we both greeted him with a kiss, Doris and I set about making a light meal, and we had barely finished eating when Mum and Dad came in. "Dad is taking the boys to the pub to celebrate Wilbur's last night of freedom," she said, as Angus clambered on to her lap, "so I thought we might have a cup of tea and a gossip."

With the men gone, Doris showed Mum the new underwear she had bought, and Mum laughed softly. "And just how long do you think Wilbur will let you keep those on?"

Doris grinned and held the knickers in front of her. "Not long I hope."

I suppose I should have been shocked at Mum's response, but having seen her with Chuck, I wasn't.

"If he's anything like Fred on our wedding night, I'd say about a second and a half. Oh God, I thought he was going to undress me with his teeth!"

The conversation quickly went downhill from there, until Mum surprised us again. "OK, why don't you try them on?"

With a glance at the now slumbering Angus, Doris shrugged and began to unbutton her dress. "I don't have anything you both don't have, and you've pretty much seen most of it anyway."

I stared hungrily at her fanny as she removed her knickers, wanting to taste it but lacking the courage. Mum was almost clinical in her appraisal, but she smiled as she held out the new undergarment. "I must say Wilbur is a very lucky man. He has a lot to look forward to. You both have. I know you will make each other very happy." She unfastened Doris' brassiere and helped her fit the other before nodding. "Yes, very nice. Now you'd better change before the men get home."

I had just put Angus to bed when Dad, Wilbur and Hamish returned, and I don't know if it was our conversation or seeing Doris naked, but Mum took Dad's hand, and with a salacious wink at Doris and me she urged him towards the door. "Come on Fred, time we were in bed. Don't you two be too late," she added. "We have a busy day tomorrow."

The door scarcely had time to close behind them before my friend was tugging at my husband's belt. "God, I thought you two would never get home," she breathed, struggling to pull down her knickers and free his dick at the same time, then she was lying back on the carpet, sighing as he pushed into her. Within moments I was beside her with Wilbur between my legs, and his hard cock sliding smoothly in and out as he shagged me slowly and gently, with affection rather than our usual lust. It seemed as though he was drawing it out as long as he could, trying to memorise the feel of my fanny around his shaft, just as I was trying to imprint on my mind how good he felt inside me, until that inevitable bitter-sweet moment arrived when his hot Yankee come flooded into my pussy for what was to be the last time.

His face reflected my own sadness as he continued to shag me until his cock was spent and limp, and I looked at Doris to see that she too was weeping silently as Hamish reluctantly withdrew from her come filled twat. The men held us tenderly until the tears stopped, and then Doris moved into the circle of my outstretched arms. Knowing this was our only opportunity to farewell each other in our own special way, I turned top to tail over her, and ignoring the avid stares of the men we applied hands to tits, mouths to fannies, stroking and licking, until our probing tongues ached and our fannies were drained of come, both our own and the men's.

Slipping a clean set of underwear for myself into a paper bag, along with the new blue knickers for Doris, we hid our nudity with just our dresses, and kissed Wilbur and Hamish goodnight. Making our way arm in arm to Mum and Dad's house, I slowed my steps, enjoying the soothing play of the cool night air on my bare fanny.

Things were chaotic next morning as we rushed around, falling over each other in our haste to be ready in time, but seemingly more by good luck than good management, Dad was finally able to get Mum, Angus and myself, and more importantly Doris, into the Jeep he had borrowed from the garage, and we arrived at the Registry Office with minutes to spare. Wilbur's eyes widened in surprise when his bride walked in, radiant in her wedding gown, and I swear that if I live to be a hundred I will never again see so much love on a man's face. Apart from when Hamish looks at me, that is.

Moments before we were called in by the Registrar, Doris looked anxiously around the waiting room, then at the door to the street. "I wonder where Han... Oh, here she is."

She broke off as a tall heavily built woman aged around thirty five or six bustled in. "Whew! I thought I'd miss it. The darn taxi was late." Without a pause she planted a kiss that seemed rather more than friendly on Wilbur's lips. "Hello again handsome." Turning to Doris she hugged her briefly, then held her at arms length. "What a beautiful dress. You look stunning, truly stunning."

Smiling proudly, Doris thanked her for the compliment, then gestured to Hamish and me. "Thelma and Hamish, this is my cousin Hannah."

Hannah smiled as she hugged me for an instant, then grinned broadly at my husband. "So this is the famous Hamish." Taking both his hands in hers, she kissed him as soundly and boldly as she had kissed Wilbur. "I'm so happy to meet you at last. Doris has told me all about you."

A little concerned about just how much Doris had told her about Hamish, I still couldn't hold back a smile at the stunned look on his face, and then we were called into the inner office. Fifteen minutes later the happy couple emerged as man and wife and we all piled into the two Jeeps to return to our house. As expected, the newlyweds went straight upstairs to 'change', and knowing they would be a while Mum and I set about preparing the wedding breakfast, with Hannah's willing help. Working so close together gave me the opportunity to study her properly without appearing to do so.

She certainly knew how to dress for effect, in a loose vee neck blouse which although not exactly immodest, nonetheless served to draw the eye to the valley between her huge breasts. Her skirt had been equally well chosen to minimise the swell of her broad hips and generous waist. A rather too large full lipped mouth made her face more interesting than pretty, and when she spoke it was with the same forthright Yorkshire bluntness that Doris showed.

Mum had sent Dad and Hamish out to try to find some beer and wine, and without them under our feet, it didn't take long for the three of us to prepare a meal using ham Wilbur had brought, hard boiled eggs thanks to Sam and May Harper, and salad greens.

I had just finished setting the table when Dad and Hamish returned, loaded down with bottles. A few moments later Wilbur and Doris came down the stairs smiling sheepishly, and were subjected to a barrage of good natured and rather salacious banter, mostly from Hannah. As Doris and the men took their places at the table, Mum, Hannah and myself carried the food in from the kitchen, and I couldn't help but notice that as she set a bowl of salad on the table, Hannah seemed to go to great lengths to ensure Hamish had a lingering view of her generous cleavage. Nor did it escape me that he deliberately moved his head to see as much as he could.

Dad began to pour wine for the ladies, and beer for the men, and squeezing into the chair beside me, Hannah looked fondly at Wilbur and his bride. "I'm going to miss them," she whispered, taking a gulp from her glass. "Wilbur was such a great comfort to me after I lost my husband." Her tone, and the way she pressed her knee against mine made me wonder just what she meant by 'comfort'. It also made me wonder again exactly what her cousin had told her about Hamish.

She drained her glass and held it out to Dad for a refill, and almost as though she had read my thoughts, she nudged my knee with hers again and said "That's a fine husband you have." Taking another gulp, she continued "I'm sure if he wasn't married there are plenty of women would love to spend some time with him."

I looked at her suspiciously. "Present company included?" I asked rhetorically, suddenly convinced that as I suspected, sometime in the past and probably on more than one occasion, Wilbur had shagged her. Quite unreasonably I also felt a little resentful that she must have enjoyed his hard Yankee cock before I had. She lowered her eyes without replying. It seemed significant that whilst she hadn't admitted that she fancied Hamish, she hadn't denied it either.

Without meaning to I lowered my voice to a barely audible whisper. "For what it's worth, Hamish is my husband, but he is not my property. He is more than capable of making his own decisions." I realised that in effect I was giving her permission to make a play for my husband, but I also realised that what I said was nothing less than the truth. Her eyes narrowed as my words sank in, but she still didn't speak, remaining silent until the meal was finished and we all moved to the living room.

As the drinks flowed I became increasingly amazed at her capacity for alcohol without any noticeable effect. Although there was no further mention of our conversation, she became more and more attentive to Hamish, ostensibly offering to replenish his drink, which he steadfastly refused because he had to drive Wilbur and Doris to the station. The true reason for her attention though seemed only to ensure he had plenty of opportunities to study her cleavage up close.

At half past two Hamish stood up. "I hate to say it, but we'd better get you two to the station or you'll miss your train" he told our friends. Looking at Hannah, or more accurately looking at her bulging breasts he added "If you like you can come along to see them off, then we can drop you at home. Save me going out again later."

She looked disappointed when she realised that I was going with them, but since it appeared that he was giving her no choice she accepted the inevitable. After a reluctant goodbye to Mum, Dad and little Angus, Wilbur and Doris followed us out to the Jeep. Before starting the engine he handed Wilbur an envelope. "There was no time to sell the rest of the motorbikes, so I worked out what they would have fetched, and added some for the van. You have enough to carry as it is, so I put in another five hundred as a wedding present from all of us. It will give you a start in America." Fortunately Wilbur didn't embarrass us with profuse thanks, but simply pocketed the offering with a nod, and we set off to the station.

It was a heartbreakingly tearful farewell, and as the porter called for all passengers to board the train Wilbur held out his arms. "I'm going to miss you" he said quietly, and under cover of a group hug he pressed a hand firmly against my pussy. "I'll miss this too."

"Me too," I whispered, equally slyly squeezing his cock through his pants. "I'll miss this. Goodbye, remember we will always love you both."

We watched and waved until the train was out of sight, then with heavy hearts and feet we made our way back yo the Jeep. "OK," Hamish said, contriving to brush a hand against one large breast as he helped Hannah into her seat, "Which way?"

She directed us to a small terraced house with a manicured handkerchief sized lawn, and led the way into a neat living room. "I don't know about you but I could do with a cup of tea," she announced, putting her handbag on a table and opening the door to a small kitchen.

As we dropped onto a roomy overstuffed couch, Hamish nudged me and whispered "Did you see the way she was carrying on? I'm sure she wants me to shag her."

I laughed quietly at the thought, not sure if it was true or just wishful thinking on his part. Or maybe even on my part. Over recent months I had taken so much pleasure watching him shag Doris, and now that she was gone the idea of seeing him shove his big tool into her cousin definitely appealed to me. There was no doubt in my mind that if he was right Hannah would enjoy my husband's cock every bit as much as Doris and I did.

"The way you've been drooling over her tits all day," I smirked, "you wouldn't exactly be reluctant, so if you want to don't let me get in your way."

Hannah returned with a laden tea tray, and it was impossible not to notice that two more buttons on her blouse had come unfastened. With a guilty, almost apologetic grin at me, Hamish shifted to make room for her beside him, and stared openly at the extra cleavage. "You know with what you have there a man might get ideas."

She arched her brows, trying unsuccessfully to look innocent. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, a man might be excused for thinking you want him to do this" He unfastened a couple more buttons and pushed his hand inside her brassiere.

Hannah looked at me uncertainly, but when I merely shrugged her demeanour changed completely. Dropping all pretence, she leaned closer to him and sighed. "That feels nice." She sighed again when he removed her blouse and brassiere, and leaning back with her eyes closed, her sighs became more laboured as his hands roamed over her massive bosom. He took a large nipple gently between his teeth and pulled her skirt up around her waist, and she raised her bottom for him to remove her knickers.

They appeared to have forgotten I was there as he stared at the profuse bush covering her mound, then his trousers were around his knees, and he was spreading her meaty thighs and pushing his hard dick through the wiry growth and into her plump fanny. She gave out a howl which subsided to a low moan, and she drove her hips to meet him, seeming to put months or maybe even years of need into this one desperate shag. A continuing stream of near obscenities punctuated her moans and gasps, ending with her urgent plea for him to "Give me your come! Now Hamish! Fill me now!"

He continued shagging her for several more forceful thrusts before he obliged, and she slumped back, her huge tits and stomach quivering as she struggled for composure. "Oh God," she panted, "That was just what I needed." Slowly her breathing returned to normal and smiling at Hamish she squeezed his spent dick. "Doris wasn't exaggerating about your big cock. I'd never have believed it possible but you shag even better than Wilbur."

I stared with mixed feelings at her plundered twat, swollen even more by the treatment it had received, and oozing with my husband's sticky come. Since I had effectively consented I could hardly resent him shagging her, but I did resent the fact that my best friend had spilled the beans to her cousin about having spread her legs for my husband. By implication this could only mean I had done the same for Wilbur, and I wasn't yet ready to admit I had committed adultery. On another level I couldn't help feeling proud that both cousins thought that my husband was the better shag of the two men.

Understandably, after what I had witnessed my own fanny was wet and tingling, but even if Hamish had been able, the prospect of being shagged in front of a comparative stranger did not sit very comfortably with me, although it clearly hadn't bothered her. As tactfully as I could I suggested we get ready to leave.

Hannah looked contentedly at his spent cock as he pulled up his trousers, but made no attempt to cover herself, and Hamish grinned at the sight of her massive tits, swaying heavily as she walked with us to the door. A playful tweak of her nipples produced an appreciative giggle, and she kissed him hard before we walked down the path to the Jeep.

I was pleased that she hadn't invited him to return -- either with or without me -- even though her every move and gesture said he was welcome to stick his cock in her as often as he wished. At the same time I was glad he had shagged her, because rightly or wrongly, in my mind I had shown him implicitly that I did not fear him ever leaving me for another woman. Besides, I still had two dicks to keep me happy, so it was only fair that my husband have a second fanny available. Especially if it was my time of the month and he didn't feel like shagging my arse. Just so long as he didn't neglect me at other times, it wouldn't matter to me how many other women he might shag, because they would only be borrowing his dick for a short time, but his heart would always be mine. In a way it was the same with Dad and me. Regardless of how much he shagged me, and I fervently hoped it would be for many more years, I knew that if it should ever come to a choice between Mum and me, Mum would win hands down. And, of course, since I had seen how willing she had been to let Chuck shag her, no doubt she would also win knickers down.

The departure of Doris and Wilbur left a huge empty space in our lives, which Hamish and I sought to fill in our own ways, although I benefited more than he did. He worked harder than ever to build up both sides of the business -- selling the Jeeps, and repairing cars for customers. Even though he often came home exhausted, happily for me he always managed to find the energy to make love, whilst I made good use of the long hours Hamish worked, by creating as many opportunities as I could for Dad to stick it in me.

My husband's industrious nature resulted in him quickly disposing of the remaining motorcycles, and all but one of the Jeeps, which I had insisted we give to Dad because pedalling his bicycle was placing too much strain on his deteriorating lungs. I was so impressed by how much profit he made from the sales that I readily agreed to his suggestion that he invest in reasonably decent quality second hand cars, which could easily be fixed up and sold at a profit.

And so "Browning's Quality Motor Cars" was born.

A few weeks after Wilbur and Doris left, we received a letter telling us that they had arrived safely, Wilbur had found work selling real estate, and she herself had successfully auditioned for a role in what she termed a 'specialist movie'. She didn't provide any details, other than to say that it paid exceptionally well, and she planned to save her earnings towards Wilbur opening his own real estate business.

On the following weekend Hamish, Angus and I paid our usual monthly visit to Sam and May Harper. As expected, May was overjoyed with the opportunity to shamelessly indulge "My little man", plying Angus with home made sweets, and laughing uproariously at his vain attempts to catch chickens. Hamish had the bonnet of Sam's old lorry raised, and the two men were gazing gloomily at the engine.

After tinkering for the best part of half an hour, it started with a stuttering roar, and although Sam looked pleased, Hamish shook his head. "There's not much I can do without the proper tools - and the time to work on her properly" he mourned. "Any chance you can drop her at the garage tomorrow and leave her with me for a week?"

Sam pulled a face. "If I can get it started I'll go over. Not much good to me like this. It's like me, getting too old."

The next day we had an unexpected visitor in addition to Sam. We heard the stuttering cough of the engine before we saw it, and when Sam drove in to the garage, it gave a final dying shudder. As Sam climbed down from the cabin, the passenger door opened and a gaunt, almost emaciated man struggled out and limped heavily towards us. "This is Bert Proctor," Sam announced. "The man I told you about. Used to fix the lorry before the war."

Hamish nodded as they exchanged handshakes, and Sam continued. "Had a rough time with the Japs in Burma. Been in hospital since he got back. I know it's asking a lot but I wondered if you could give him a couple of days work. He doesn't have the strength yet to get a proper job, and not many will give him a go because of his leg, so I thought.... well you know."

The newcomer nodded agreement. "Aye, they seem to think 'cause I've got a bum leg my hands don't work either. Look, if you can't help it's OK."

Hamish shook his head without hesitation. "That's what it's all about isn't it? Helping each other? If it wasn't for fellas like you we'd be talking Japanese or German, an' if it wasn't for Sam here the missus and her folks would have gone hungry. I can't give ye more than a couple o' days here and there, but it'll give ye a chance to get yer hand in until ye get some meat on yer bones."

Bert pumped Hamish's hand vigorously. "I can't do more'n a couple o' days anyhow 'til I get my strength back, but a man needs to pay his way."

Deciding the matter was settled, Hamish looked at the lorry. "That thing's had it Sam. The engine is shot and the rest isn't far behind." Seeing the resigned expression, he made a decision. "Come on, I want to show you something." Leading the way around the side of the garage to the former furniture store site, which now held a dozen or so recently acquired cars, all with prices on the windscreens, he gestured. "What d' ye think?"

Sam looked uncomprehendingly at the array. "What about them? Can't carry much in one of those."

Hamish shook his head and began to thread his way through to the van at the rear. "I don't mean those, I'm talking about that there. Any good to you?"

"Christ yes." Sam looked apologetically at me as he realised he had blasphemed. "At least it would be if I could afford something like that." He was too preoccupied gazing with longing at the former ambulance to notice the wink that my husband gave me, or my sudden grin of enthusiasm as it dawned on me what he had in mind.

"Well now, it's like I just told Bert here. It's all about helping each other, so you can do me a favour by taking it off my hands. I'm in the business of selling cars, not vans, and I could fit three cars in the space that heap of Yankee rubbish takes up."

Sam shook his head regretfully. "Thanks Hamish, but no. I don't need anyone's charity."

I decided it was time for a woman's touch. A very stubborn woman's touch. Planting myself firmly between him and Hamish I glared defiantly. "Now you look here Sam Harper, I'm having none of this silly 'Man's pride' nonsense. It's like Hamish said. People help each other, and friends help each other more. You helped us during the war, now we can help you." He opened his mouth to protest, but I punched him in the chest. "Shut up, I'm talking! We want you to have the van, so that's all there is to it. If you must pay you can pay us in chickens, and if I get any more argument I'll have a word with May, and you'll have her to deal with too."

A tear rolled down his cheek as he capitulated, and he tried to hide it by wrapping me in a huge bear hug. I was glad he didn't try to thank us, because the look on his face said more than words ever could. He climbed into the cabin and started the engine, pure joy reflected in his expression as he listened excitedly to the smooth throaty rumble. Thirty minutes later all documents transferring the van into Sam's name had been filled in and signed, and Hamish and I stood in the road, waving happily as it roared off in the direction of the farm.

When Angus was settled down and was sleeping peacefully that evening, I studied Hamish with anticipation. I could never have imagined that simply doing a good deed could affect me the way it did, but my nipples were tingling and my fanny was as wet as I could ever remember it being. He seemed to be in tune with my excitement, because without speaking he undressed me slowly, gently kissing each part of my body as it was revealed. When I was fully naked I did the same for him, finally taking his quivering tool into my mouth. I lost all sense of time as I sucked him, easing off each time I sensed he was close to coming. After I don't know how long, he began pleading with me to finish him off, but I was not yet ready. Withdrawing my lips I lay back, guiding him over me and into me, arching to meet him as he shagged my hungry dripping fanny until we exploded together in a cataclysm of passion, before falling instantly into an exhausted sleep.

Bert Proctor was waiting when Hamish opened the garage on Monday morning, and was put to work on routine servicing which required little exertion, and although slow, no fault could be found with his attention to detail. Hamish declared himself satisfied, but cautioned him not to overdo things and to work at his own pace until he regained his strength. I did what I could to help his recovery by cooking him a nourishing meal on any day he worked, and by the end of the fourth week he was showing a marked improvement, both physically and in his work rate.

To reward his diligence he was offered an extra day's work each week, provided he felt he was able to handle it. Nodding his thanks, Bert remarked that the extra money would be welcome, because now that he was working, his landlord had become greedy and was demanding more for the pokey little room he was renting.

Outraged and disgusted, we suggested he find somewhere else, bur he shook his head. "It's not that easy to find somewhere I can afford, especially somewhere close to work. If I had to walk much further I couldn't make it with my leg being the way it is."

To say I was worried sick that night would be putting it mildly. In hindsight, the voraciousness with which he had attacked the food I had provided led me wonder if perhaps he was skipping meals to pay his rent. The thought of such a possibility was horrifying considering the progress he was making, and I pestered Hamish all evening to help me think of a way to help. I knew we had room in our house, but that was impractical since the slightest friction at home could have an adverse effect at work, and vice versa.

There was another possible solution, but I was reluctant to suggest it because of where it would almost certainly lead. Eventually I could see no alternative, so I asked Hamish. "Do you think we could ask Hannah if she wants to rent out Doris' old room?"

I knew immediately what he was thinking when he grinned. "I suppose we could. Maybe I might have to soften her up first though."

"Typical male," I laughed. "I knew you would think of that. More likely she would soften you up though."

"Probably, but not as well as you do," he whispered, stroking my fanny as his dick stiffened. Now that it had been decided, I was able to relax, and I smiled happily as I opened my legs.

After leaving out son with Mum and Dad, we arrived at Hannah's house about ten the next morning. Being a weekend I wasn't surprised to find her wearing an open housecoat over her voluminous nightdress, but she smiled without embarrassment and invited us inside, making no attempt to fasten the buttons down the front. Understandably Hamish's eyes went immediately to the heavy breasts outlined under the thin material, but I got straight down to business, explaining the reason for our visit.

She listened without comment as I told her what Bert had been through as a prisoner of war, and my concern that he find somewhere he could afford without having to scrimp on meals and delay his recovery. When I finished she thought for a moment, then asked "Can he be trusted?"

I nodded. "Yes, I think so."

"OK then, I'll give it a try if he wants. I'd be glad of the company, and he can pay whatever he thinks fair." A long silence followed, then she cleared her throat. "Look, I'm glad you came. I need to apologise for last time you were here."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why should you? Hamish was every bit as willing as you were, and I could have prevented it if I'd wanted."

She shook her head vehemently. "No, I don't regret that for an instant. It was exactly what I needed and I meant what I said, but I spoke out of turn. Doris told me in confidence that Hamish had shagged her, and that Wilbur had shagged you, and I had no right to betray that confidence."

My respect for her grew as she expressed her remorse, and I waved dismissively. "Well what's done can't be changed so let's forget it."

Hannah smiled gratefully, then fell silent for a while before meeting my eyes again. "What did you mean when you said 'If you wanted?' About preventing it I mean?"

"Call it a quirk. The truth is I liked seeing him shag you."

Her generous mouth went round in a silent "Oh", and suddenly shy, she pulled her housecoat closed, hiding the swell of her breasts. After a moment she let it fall open again and looked at Hamish whilst still addressing me. "I don't suppose you'd like to see it again?"

My heart pounded as I whispered my reply. "If you'll let me help."

After a moment's hesitation she rose and slipped off her housecoat. "I've never done much with a girl, but I don't mind trying. That is if you are interested."

This was all the encouragement Hamish needed, and he quickly pulled her nightdress over her head, cupping one large breast in both hands as my own hand pushed between her legs. I felt her thick thighs quiver, either from nerves or need, as I prised apart the pudgy lips, releasing the heady scent of her arousal. "Oh God, that's nice," she murmured, opening up to my probing, bending her knees slightly to press down on my exploring fingers as Hamish undressed me and then himself. When the last of our clothing was off Hannah looked towards the hallway. "Bedroom would be best."

We followed her upstairs and into a rather untidy bedroom, and after straightening the bed she lay down and grasped Hamish's dick. "Warn me before you come" she cautioned, feeding his length into her mouth. I watched her bobbing head for a moment, then slipping a finger into her hairy wetness, I lowered my lips to her prominent nipple. With a muffled moan she pressed my mouth into the soft flesh of her tit, and writhing against my invading fingers she sucked Hamish as though his cock was to be her last meal.

Seconds later I felt a tentative touch on my inner thigh, and I opened my legs to allow her to push first one, then a second finger into my fanny. I shifted to a slightly less awkward position, switching my lips to her other nipple, and I suckled greedily as we shagged each other with our fingers, until Hamish gasped a warning.

Immediately Hannah withdrew her mouth and with her eyes fixed on his dick she pushed my hand from between her legs and told him quietly "I want you to do me now. Really hard."

I wasn't sure it was in his nature to do what she wanted, because he had always been very gentle with both Doris and myself, but he moved between her bent knees and pushed his cock inside her hirsute fanny. I watched as he started to thrust in and out, then returned my attention to her wobbling tits, and she responded by pushing her fingers into me again and pleading with Hamish to shag her harder. As Hamish began to pound into her, she urged me to greater effort on her breasts, and although part of me was afraid of harming her soft mounds, I could not help feeling excited at knowing it was what she wanted.

Her staccato cries of pleasure mingled with the wet sounds of my husband's cock hammering in and out of her fanny, and I sucked so recklessly on her taut nipples and the surrounding flesh, that by the time he filled her with come her once pristine tits were speckled with red and blue love bites. I was a little afraid that in my enthusiasm I had gone too far, but she looked down at them with a rueful grin. "A boy did that when I was at school," she said, giggling as Hamish pulled his cock out with an audibly sloppy squelching. "My Mum went mad, but I couldn't wait for gym class so all of the other girls could see. They were already jealous because I was bigger up here than any of them. As soon as I took my brassiere off they all wanted to know which boy did it but I wouldn't tell them. Then just to rub it in, even though all I did was wank him I let them think he shagged me."

She glanced at the clock beside the bed. "I don't know about you two but I'm hungry. Anyone fancy a sandwich and a cuppa?" Using the corner of the rumpled sheet to wipe the excess come from her fanny, she padded into the kitchen, returning after a short while with a tray.

As we sat cross legged on the bed eating and drinking tea, Hamish looked at her redly swollen fanny. "Is it sore?"

She touched herself gingerly. "A little but I'll survive. You know what they say, 'Everything has its price.' It was worth it though."

"You can always get Thelma to kiss it better." Hamish smirked, and we both laughed at her shocked expression.

"I couldn't do that! It's full of you know what!"

His smirk grew wider, and picking up the tray he laid it on the floor. "That wouldn't bother her. Would it Thel?"

I shook my head and she looked speculatively at me. "It sounds tempting. If it's as good as what you did before...." She paused for a moment, then said "My husband was much too conservative for anything like that, and Doris didn't think it right to touch each other down there because we're related."

That didn't sound at all like the Doris I knew and loved, but then again the subject had never come up, so I really didn't have the faintest idea how she felt about sexual activity with family members. Admittedly she and Hannah were only cousins, and not even first cousins at that, but they were related by blood, so given her puritanical upbringing perhaps Doris saw any manner of intimate contact as a form of incest. Rather than comment on what Hannah had said, I merely nodded as she finished, "The most she did was let me touch her breasts while she watched Wilbur do me."

I laid a reassuring palm on the inside of her thigh, and licked my lips suggestively. "Well then, I'll just have to put that right, won't I?"

Hamish eased her down until she was lying flat, and as he parted her legs she whispered, "If Thelma is really going to do this I'd like to try something else as well. You'll probably think I'm awful, but is there any way I can watch you shag her while she does it?"

He feigned disappointment and held a finger to her lips. "I was hoping you would finish what you started."

Poking out her tongue to lick his fingertip, she nodded. "Why not both? You do her until you're nearly there, then I'll finish you. That way I'll be able to taste both of you. Now how are we going to do it?"

I supplied the answer by kneeling astride her head with my fanny inches from her face, and leaning forward I touched the tip of my tongue to her tender swollen slit. I could feel her warm breath on my delicate inner folds as she parted my lower lips, then Hamish's hard cock was filling me, driving and sliding into my wetness. Hannah gasped, raising her hips when my tongue nudged her clitoris, and with my excitement heightened by knowing I was the first to do so, I licked eagerly, tracing the folds and form of her wet fanny before plunging my tongue into her recently shagged hole. At first there were two distinct tastes, my husband's come and Hannah's, and I continued to lap up the exotic mixture until there was only her continuing flow.

Knowing what was to come increased my own excitement even more, and he was bringing me to my third climax when he pulled out suddenly. "Ready Hannah?"

Almost without a pause I heard her mouth begin slurping on his slippery cock as she sucked noisily, and I reversed my position just in time to see her throat work to swallow his sticky stream. She continued to suck and lick until he was drained and limp, then sat up, shaking her head almost in disbelief. "That was amazing. If only my husband and I had been more imaginative our time together could have been so much more exciting. Not that it wasn't," she added defensively. "It's just that I never had the courage to suggest anything really naughty, so what we did just now would never have occurred to me. I needed somebody to show me."

I was a little put out that she had swallowed the come that would otherwise be inside me, but the pleasure of being considered the teacher of a woman so much older than me more than made up for my disappointment, and I gave a silent 'Thank you' to Doris for introducing me to the joy of licking a wet fanny.

On Monday morning Hamish told Bert about the tentative arrangement we had made on his behalf, and he agreed to go with us to meet Hannah after work. When they were introduced, they looked each other over appraisingly, then she squeezed his upper arm. "Oh, what you must have gone through." Her tone was laden with compassion, and then she smiled brightly. "Never mind, it's all in the past. We'll soon beef you up." From her attitude it was plain she had already decided she had a new house guest. It became clear that Bert had reached the same conclusion, because he barely looked at the room before agreeing to move in the following evening, without even bothering to discuss terms.

The move turned out to be a wise one for a number of reasons. My suspicion that Bert had been missing meals to pay rent seemed to be confirmed, because over the next few months his frame began to fill out, and he lost his gaunt, almost haunted look and became quite handsome. With his returning strength he was able to take on the more strenuous tasks, leaving Hamish more time to concentrate on selling cars. After five months, although there had been no formal agreement, it was generally accepted by both men that Bert was now a full time employee.

Eight months after we introduced them Bert told us that Hannah had finally accepted the latest of his many marriage proposals, and he had arranged a civil ceremony for two weeks time, before she could change her mind. As the big day approached, he asked if I would care to go clothes shopping with his bride to be, which as anybody who knows women will say has to be one of the silliest questions ever. Rather like asking a starving man if he would like a meal.

We hadn't seen Hannah since Bert had moved in, mostly because we hadn't been invited, and when I arrived for our shopping trip a couple of days before the wedding, I was delighted to see how well and happy she was. She had gained weight considerably, not all of which could be attributed to a healthy appetite for food, because her floral button through dress could not quite conceal her bulging stomach, the result of indulging other appetites, and no doubt partly the reason for her hasty decision to marry. She smiled as my eyebrows rose to meet my hairline, and stepped aside to let me enter.

Taking a seat on the couch I laid a palm against her distended belly. "How far gone?"

"As far as I can work out, about four months. I can't be certain."

"I see. Why has it taken until now to decide to get married? I mean Bert told us he's been asking you for ages."

She nodded. "Yes he has, but even though I wanted to say yes, I kept telling myself that he wasn't really serious, and was only asking so I would keep letting him shag me. To be honest I don't know why I let him do me the first time, because quite frankly I didn't really fancy him all that much. I think at the time it was a case of I needed a dick and he had one. Perhaps I just felt sorry for him after what he's been through. I mean he could have died, so a quick shag seemed a hardly adequate reward for keeping us safe at home. Everything changed though when he put it in me. It felt like it belonged and I knew there had to be a second time. And a third, and as many times as he wanted. As he got stronger he just got better at it. I was glad then for that time with you and Hamish, because it freed me of the inhibitions of my first marriage, just enough to open my legs for Bert. Doris and Wilbur helped too, of course"

She paused and looked at me, and I waited patiently, sensing that she felt a need to go on. Perhaps to unburden herself. Taking a deep breath she continued. "My husband had been at sea for five months when I heard the news, and I felt dead inside. Wilbur had just arrived to take Doris out, and when he saw how upset I was he tried to comfort me. If I closed my eyes it was easy to imagine it was my husband holding me, even though I knew it wasn't. When Wilbur put a hand on my breast I didn't resist because right at that moment I needed to be touched, to be reassured in some way that life went on. After a few moments he touched me down there and I almost welcomed it. I knew I should be ashamed when he took my knickers off, and even more so because Doris was watching but all I felt was a sense of release. Then he was inside me, and rather than being horrified at being shagged with someone watching, I felt more alive than I ever had."

She broke off to make a fresh cup of tea, and when she returned she resumed.

"Somehow, whenever Wilbur was doing me I couldn't bring myself to think I was being unfaithful to my late husband, as much as I was being true to my own needs and feelings. The only disappointment, if you can call it that, was that although Doris liked to watch, she showed no interest in participating. Not that I had any idea what I thought she should do. I didn't even get to see Wilbur do her. When Hamish was doing you while you licked me it was the first time I'd seen anyone being shagged, and I didn't know what was the most exciting, what I was seeing him do to you or what you were doing to me. It made me want to know about other things, so when Bert started shagging me it was easy to go along with him when he wanted to experiment.

"Then when I realised I was pregnant, I couldn't bring myself to accept his proposal because I didn't want him to think I'd trapped him. It was only recently that I allowed myself to believe he is serious. That he really does want to marry me, expecting or not."

She went quiet for quite some time, her breasts rising and falling with her breathing, then she took my empty cup and placed it next to hers on the small coffee table beside the couch. Half turning to face me, she looked down at her hands folded in her lap. "We may never have another chance," she said in a shaky whisper.

"No I know." Her narrative had clearly affected us both, and my whisper was as shaky as hers. I inched a little closer as she cautiously raised a hand.

"I've never felt another woman's breasts before. Would you mind?"

I unbuttoned my blouse and folded it back."Of course not, why should I?"

Instead of stroking my breasts, she rose and glanced at the door. "Shall we go upstairs?"

Dropping my blouse on the couch, I unhooked my brassiere and followed her up the staircase, watching the cumbersome sway of her hips. In the bedroom she turned to me, and seeing my naked bosom she quickly unfastened her dress to the waist and let it fall to her feet. Removing the rest of my clothing, I sat on the edge of the bed and put my hands on her hips to draw her close.

Her hands trembled on my breasts, but her caress became more assured as my nipples rose, and I leaned forward to kiss the roundness of her abdomen. I reached behind her to unfasten her brassiere, and gasped with dismay to see her pale breasts dotted with angry looking finger marks.

"What on earth has he done to you?" I demanded.

She laughed softly at my shocked expression and lifted them in both palms. "I know, don't they look lovely? My Bert has such wonderfully strong hands. So masterful. I just know we'll be so happy as man and wife."

I wanted to contradict her, but there was so much pride in her voice that I could only say "I just hope he doesn't go too far."

She shook her head. "No, he's very careful and loving. He only does what I like him to do." Holding her hands about a foot apart in what I fervently hoped was an exaggeration, she smiled dreamily. "He's very large and very imaginative. There are all sorts of other things he's taught me to like, besides being shagged hard."

I wondered what 'other things' she meant, but before I could ask she returned her attention to my breasts, kneading them gently. "So soft and firm. Hard to believe you're a mother. Did you breastfeed?"

I sighed as her caresses grew more insistent. "Yes I did."

"How did it feel to have a baby sucking your tits? Was it as good as when a man sucks them? Did it make you want to shag?"

"It's impossible to compare really. The purposes are poles apart. In a way feeding is better. It's hard to describe how fulfilling it was feeding Angus, so when his little mouth was on my nipple my only thought was how wonderful it was being the mother of a tiny miracle. It's completely different with a man. When he's sucking my tits it's always in my mind that he's trying to get me in the mood to let him put his dick in me, and because I love being shagged it usually works."

"Yes, I know what you mean. It always works with me too." Her voice was husky now, and she slipped a hand between my legs. "How many men have done you?"

I thought carefully before I replied, not because I didn't know, but because she might ask who they were if I did say how many, and I certainly couldn't tell her about Dad. In the end I decided a half truth was better than a lie, and if I volunteered information she might be satisfied. "Hamish, Wilbur and a couple of others."

Hannah counted in her head. "Four. Same as me. Hubby, Wilbur, Hamish and Bert. How many girls have you licked?"

"Only Doris and you."

She stopped tickling my clitoris and pushed me flat on the bed. "You're going to be my first."

I shivered with excited anticipation as she sank awkwardly to her knees, and parting my legs wide she planted her mouth on my wet fanny. She began slowly at first, lapping the fluids that her fingers had coaxed from me, before delving deeper. I murmured encouragement as her tongue parted the pouting lips, briefly caressing my clitoris then plunging into my opening. She used her tongue almost like a miniature dick, pushing it in and out until I was riding the thundering wave of a climax, then she broke off and rose to her feet to join me on the bed.

"Your turn now" she whispered, easing her knickers down over her heavy thighs, and I stared in fascination. Her formerly profuse bush had been neatly trimmed into the shape of a heart, leaving her fanny completely bare. She giggled at my expression and quipped "It's so Cupid's arrow can find its mark."

I patted her rotund stomach with a laugh as she knelt astride my face. "Well it's definitely found its mark a time or two."

Devoid of their furry coat, the prominent lips seemed plumper and more pronounced than I remembered, and without wishing to seem unkind, they put me in mind of nothing so much as two succulent pink sausages side by side. Nor were they any less appetising as they parted readily for my exploring tongue. I quickly discovered that as with her fanny, her clitoris was also larger than I recalled, which prompted me once again to wonder about the 'other things' she had referred to.

Taking care not to put any weight on her swollen belly, she leaned forward to slip two fingers into me, matching each stroke of my tongue with a thrust of her fingers. For fully five minutes I nibbled and licked her elongated clitoris, as her pudgy fingers drove me to distraction, and at the peak of my climax I gasped as a third finger joined the others.

Suddenly she stopped and knelt upright to grasp my hand. Her mouth was slack and she stared blindly into space as she bunched my fingers together, and tucking my thumb against my palm she seized my wrist. My eyes widened as I divined her intention, and with excited disbelief I watched her bear down until my whole hand was engulfed by her fat overstretched twat. She paused to adjust to the sensation, then with a happy smile began to rock gently and reached again between my thighs.

Concerned for the safety of her unborn child I cautioned her to take care, but she was quick to reassure me. "I don't think there's any danger just yet. Besides, Bert goes further into me than this, and that hasn't done any harm."

I thought of asking if she meant his cock or his hand, but two of her fingers were still busy inside me, so I concentrated instead on the pleasure they were bringing. When a third finger pushed into me I became a little apprehensive that having succeeded in squeezing my hand into her, she might try to do the same to me. I could still remember how Doris had stretched my fanny when we had shagged each other with bottles, and although it had been exciting at the time I had suffered for it the next day. Hannah's hand though was half as big again as the beer bottle, and the mere thought of having her fat fist crammed into me made me cringe. The problem was that knowing how reckless I had been in the past, if I was aroused enough -- and right at that moment I most certainly was -- it was on the cards that I would spread my legs as wide as possible, and let her try, leaving the worrying until later.

As it turned out my concern was baseless, because she was content to shag me vigorously with three fingers until the flow of my come matched hers. When she had finally had enough, she took my hand out of her swollen fanny with a satisfied sigh. "Thank you Thelma, that was wonderful. I was far from sure I would be able to manage it but I had to try. Bert's hand is far too big just yet, but we are hoping that having the baby will stretch me enough."

I looked anxiously at her fanny, with the reddened lips puffed up even more than before. "I do hope you'll be careful. Not just for the baby. For both of you. Unless you really want to be so big that you can't feel his dick inside you."

"Goodness no. We don't do things like this all the time. Just often enough to be exciting. Most times Bert just shags me. It's only about once a month or so that we experiment."

I nodded, not entirely convinced that her fanny lips and her clitoris had become so enlarged by only 'occasional' experimentation. "Well that's good then. I suppose we'd better get dressed if we're to go shopping."

Recalling how I had felt the morning after I had the beer bottle inside me, it didn't surprise me when Hannah left off her knickers when she dressed, and I smiled in sympathy. "You must be feeling quite sore."

She replied with a shake of her head. "Not particularly, why would you think that?"

"Because you haven't put your knickers on, and I just thought... well you know."

"Oh, I see. No, I left them off without thinking. Habit I suppose." Seeing my puzzled look, she smiled bashfully. "The truth is, even though my husband was very conservative in the bedroom, he wasn't like that all the time. When he wasn't actually doing me he could be quite frivolous. In fact it used to amuse him to lift my skirt to look at me when I least expected it. Because I liked to please him I started taking my knickers off before he came home, then after a while it seemed easier to leave them off altogether, except for when I had to go anywhere."

A faraway look came unto her eyes, and she grinned wickedly as she continued. "Things changed one day when I had to rush to catch the shops before they closed, and I didn't have time to put them on. It was really windy and at first I was afraid my skirt would blow up and show everything I had, but when it nearly did I was so excited I almost wished it would, even though I would have died of shame if anyone had seen my bare fanny. After that I stopped wearing knickers altogether unless we were going somewhere special. The most exciting thing though was one time on the way home from seeing some friends. It was the only time I ever saw him drunk. We were upstairs on the very front seat of the bus and he put his hand up my skirt and felt me all the way home. I was mortified in case anyone noticed, but at the same time it was unbelievably exciting and I couldn't wait to get home to bed. The only problem was he fell asleep as soon as we were in bed, and I had to use my fingers and then a carrot to finish what he started. To make matters worse he spent the next two days forever apologising for treating his wife like a common tart."

Rather belatedly we went into the bathroom to clean up, and as I watched her put on her make up, she started speaking again. "He became even more conservative after that. It was like he put me on a pedestal and thought touching me was somehow disrespectful. Except when his own need was too strong to resist. He even stopped lifting up my dress to look at me, although I continued wearing nothing under my skirt because I'd come to like the feeling of freedom, especially when men looked at me when I was out. He hadn't really touched me for almost two months when his ship sailed for the last time, and after I heard he was missing, although I was upset somehow it didn't seem to make all that much difference."

She went quiet whilst she applied her lipstick, then, "When I realised Wilbur wanted to do me it was like a breath of fresh air. Just the thought of being treated like a real woman, rather than some sort of goddess was enough to make me wetter than I'd ever been. When he actually put it in me I felt some of the sparks that were missing in my marriage. That's when I had my first ever climax, and after he came inside me I almost cried with gratitude for showing me what it was like to be well and truly shagged. I think that, and what Doris had told me, was what made me so keen to get Hamish to shag me. I knew I would never see Wilbur again, and now that I knew how good it could be I didn't want to give it up. Then I met Bert, and although I loved Hamish doing me, Bert is so much better for me because he understands my special needs, and teaches me things I never dreamed I might like."

Hannah's candid, and at times descriptive recollections had left me in a renewed state of arousal, and the rapid rise and fall of her heavy breasts led me to suspect that she was similarly affected, and it was only the fact that we were supposed to be going shopping that gave me the will power to resist taking off my clothes again, and guiding her mouth back to my recently licked fanny.

My tongue seemed reluctant to form the necessary words, and it was only after several silent attempts that I managed to say somewhat shakily. "I think you'd better put your knickers on if we're going shopping. We would be locked up if you took off your dress and a shop assistant saw where Cupid aims his arrow."

After she grudgingly complied we set off, and for the next three hours we visited every clothes shop we could find, in search of a dress that both suited her and helped conceal her condition. Finding something suitable was more difficult than we anticipated, because few of the shops catered for women of Hannah's bulk. A nasty young assistant in one shop inadvertently solved the dilemma when she told us bluntly that 'decent establishments' did not stock clothing for 'fat old cows', and scornfully suggested we look in the maternity department of one of the larger department stores. After reporting her rudeness to the manager, and having the satisfaction of seeing her instantly discharged, we followed her suggestion with almost immediate success.

The matronly assistant in the first store we came to greeted us warmly and smiled. "I think we have just what you want." Selecting an armful of dresses she ushered us to a changing room, and keeping up a constant stream of chatter through the closed door, waited patiently as Hannah tried one after the other.

When she was dressing after making her final choice, Hannah sighed with relief. "Thank goodness for that. Now I can get rid of these dreadful things." Reaching under her skirt, she pushed off her knickers and tucked them into her handbag. "That's much better, I'll be glad to get home and have a cup of tea."

In the hope that she had been giving me a hint, I lingered just long enough to follow suit as she accompanied the assistant to pay for her purchase. Waiting for the bus a stray breeze caressed my bare fanny, and I thought again about something she had told me. If the front seat of the bus was free, would I have the daring to reach under her skirt and finger her fanny the way her husband had? I knew the answer was no, and as it happened the bus was crowded so we had to stand anyway, but the thought stayed with me as my imagination worked overtime. In my mind I was already lying with spread legs, writhing in ecstasy as her nimble tongue danced a quickstep up and down my fanny. I suddenly returned to reality as a spontaneous climax started my come flowing, and I clamped my thighs together in a frantic, but only partially successful attempt to prevent it oozing down my legs.

Any hope I had of fantasy becoming reality disappeared when Hannah opened her front door and was greeted warmly by her husband to be. He interposed himself between us as they embraced, but not quite enough to hide the fact that his hand was on her breast, his fingertips digging in almost cruelly. I winced in sympathy but she rolled her eyes in delight, and made an obscenely suggestive gesture behind his back. Taking the hint I grinned at her and said goodbye to them both, although I suspected that Bert was far to preoccupied to hear me.

I didn't see either of them again until the day of the wedding, when Bert arrived uncharacteristically late, accompanied by his somewhat flustered bride to be. After a hurried ceremony Hamish drove the four of us back to Hannah's home for a modest wedding breakfast. We finished the meal with beer for Hamish and Bert, whilst Hannah shared a bottle of wine with me. As we drank, Hannah confided in me that since it had not happened at her first wedding, she and Bert had decided to revive a rather daring practice usually reserved for the formality of a white wedding. That of the bridegroom publicly removing a garter from high on his new wife's thigh.

Although the only 'public' present was Hamish and myself, she sat on an upright kitchen chair, smiling as Bert lifted the hem of her skirt enough to expose the silken band fastened tightly around her plump thigh. With a happy sigh he slipped it down past her knee, and turned his head to see if we were watching. Whilst his face was averted, she smiled wickedly and pulled her skirt higher to reveal that not surprisingly, at least to me, the garter was the only thing she was wearing below her waist. Then I saw what was presumably the reason for their tardiness in arriving for their nuptials, as I stared in dismay at her reddened and swollen fanny. I had no real way of knowing the cause, but having recently pushed my whole hand inside her I had a valid reason to suspect. Suspicions which seemed to be confirmed when she grinned proudly and held up a clenched fist.

It was only the briefest of glimpses - not more than two or three seconds -- but Hamish was visibly shaken. Even when she had restored her modesty I could see him becoming increasingly agitated, and after a short time I excused us by quipping "Come on Hamish, I'm sure the newlyweds are keen to start their honeymoon."

He drove silently for a while, then shook his head in bewilderment. "I canna believe that is the same bonnie twat I shagged. How could any man do that to a woman? Especially to one he loves."

"She must have wanted him to," I replied. "Didn't you see the look on her face when she showed us? Besides, it wasn't so long ago when you were more than happy to watch Doris and I shag each other with bottles, so you can't really criticise." It was an argument he knew he couldn't possibly win, so he let the matter drop. I suspect that he was not quite as outraged as he seemed though, because as soon as we arrived home he raised my skirt and shagged me against the wall through the leg of my knickers.

Even though I regularly saw Bert whenever I had occasion to go to the garage, I didn't see Hannah again until their daughter was born. This suited me perfectly because I really had no wish to be drawn into her excesses. Admittedly I had found it exciting to push my hand inside her, but that was my problem. Perhaps I had found it too exciting, because on reflection the episode with Doris and the bottles had shown me how easily I could be persuaded, and the last thing I wanted was a fanny as distorted as Hannah's. I enjoyed being shagged by Dad and Hamish too much to take such a risk, and I certainly didn't want my husband to look at me with the same revulsion I had seen in his face when he had looked at Hannah's abused fanny.

I visited the new mother and child in the hospital, mostly because it was expected of me, but also because I knew any interaction between us was out of the question. As she held the baby to one enormous breast she lifted the other and grinned. "There is enough in here for Bert too." When I didn't reply she squeezed my hand. "Look Thelma, please don't be upset, but I've decided that now that I'm married I must be faithful to my husband. I hope you understand, but I never betrayed my first husband, and I won't betray Bert."

I assumed an air of disappointment, but inside I was relieved that I would no longer have to put my mouth on her unnaturally bloated fanny. "Of course. I understand perfectly. We all must do as our consciences dictate." Now that she had established her boundaries our relationship blossomed into genuine friendship, and I became a frequent visitor to her home.

In early spring 1947 I went to the cinema with Hamish. Before the main feature there was a documentary film about the post war rebuilding of France. I don't remember much about it other than a stage show in Paris, and a resort on the Riviera. The only reason I remember those was because I was astonished that the show featured bare breasted showgirls, whilst at the resort total nudity was not only permitted, but actually encouraged. Whilst the film had been heavily edited to avoid offending the more sensitive cinema goers, it had the opposite effect in that what was actually revealed merely helped the imagination emphasise what was omitted.

At least that was certainly the effect it had on my husband. No sooner had we collected Angus from Mum and Dad's and put him to bed, than Hamish was tugging urgently at my clothing, declaring fervently that 'none o' they showgirls had tits as nice as ma bonnie wee wife.' Although I certainly doubted his appraisal, I had no cause for complaint as over the next hour it was not only my breasts which were the objects of his earnest and most thorough appreciation.

Meanwhile both sides of the business continued to prosper, with Hamish becoming more and more reliant on Bert to run the garage, leaving him free to concentrate on buying and selling cars. At the start of June, Hamish announced that now that everything was running smoothly, we could take some time off for a belated honeymoon. As might be expected I needed no persuading whatsoever, and would have been more than content with a week at the seaside, so I was beside myself with excitement when he suggested a few days taking in the sights of Paris, followed by a couple of weeks relaxing in the sun on the Isle of Levant on the French Riviera. I had no idea where or what the Isle of Levant or the Riviera were, but they sounded so exotic I didn't care.

Six weeks later, having arranged for Mum and Dad to look after Angus, and leaving the business in Bert's capable hands, we were on a train approaching the French Capital.

It was early evening when we arrived at our hotel, and with my tummy rumbling from hunger, I leafed idly through some brochures on the reception desk as I waited for Hamish to sign the register. I tried to stifle a giggle as I opened a programme for a place called 'Folies Bergere' and showed him some photographs of dancers wearing elaborate costumes that were carefully designed to reveal their bare breasts. We followed the hotel porter as he carried our luggage to the lift, and as we moved upwards Hamish glanced at the glossy paper in my hand. "Would ye like tae go?"

Lured more by the beautiful costumes than anything else I hesitated no more than a second before nodding. "I don't see why not, I've never seen a live show and the clothes look absolutely marvellous."

After the porter showed us to our room and left, Hamish and I sat on the bed looking through the brochure. The pictures reminded me of the film we had seen, except that these were better. Rather than fleeting black and white glimpses, we were able to study the naked breasts in full detail and in living colour. Although they were revealing, I found it difficult to see anything improper about the photographs. Granted there was a certain sensuality about the images, but when all is said and done, they were intended to attract men. Needless to say my husband was not immune to such fleshly temptations, and as I turned the pages he busied himself with the buttons on my blouse.

I watched him lift my left breast from my brassiere and kiss the nipple. "That's nice," I murmured, "but do we really have time just now? I mean we haven't eaten since this morning, and we don't want to miss the theatre."

"Och, why d'ye have tae be sae practical?" he grumbled, tugging the cup back into place.

"Well we can stay here and shag if you want," I teased, "but just think of all the big tits you'll miss seeing. After all it was your idea, and you can see these old things of mine any time." He continued to grouch as we cleaned up and changed our travelling clothes for something more suitable for an evening out. I knew from experience that his apparent grumpiness was no more than an act, to hide the fact that he didn't want to appear to give in too easily, so I ignored him and rang reception to order a taxicab.

We arrived at the theatre with more than an hour to spare, and the driver of the taxi recommended a small cafe and bar in a side street. From the outside it didn't look very impressive, but after being assured that the food was good and inexpensive, we put aside our misgivings and entered. We were fortunate enough to find a vacant table for two, and were presented with a menu by an attractive but harried looking waitress. The menu was useless since we could not understand the French language, but Hamish solved the dilemma by pointing to an almost finished meal being eaten with obvious enjoyment at an adjacent table. "We'll try some o' that."

"Ah, Anglais, oui?" The waitress nodded her understanding. "Un moment." She left, and returned quickly with two plates overloaded with slices of fragrant smelling meat pie and vegetables, all smothered with rich gravy. We had heard some rather disturbing reports from returned soldiers about French cooking, so were were pleasantly surprised at how delicious the simple meal was, although after a long day of travel my stomach was certainly in no mood to be choosy.

I looked at our surroundings as we ate, and noticed two or three small intimate two seater booths against the wall furthest from the door. For such a busy establishment it struck me as strange that the booths were unoccupied, but within minutes I began to suspect that there was more to the place than met the eye, when a man entered and went directly to a booth. I stared in shock with my fork halfway to my mouth when the waitress approached him, and he boldly reached out in an attempt to fondle her breast. Rather than taking offence, she merely brushed his hand away with a laugh and shake of her head, and directed his attention to a group of three girls seated at the bar.

Undeterred by the rejection he followed her gaze, and after a brief conversation she crossed to the trio, and inclining her head towards the man in the booth spoke to a pretty, if slightly overweight young blonde. After a quick glance the girl climbed down from her bar stool and sauntered across to join him, giggling as he openly pressed a palm to her generous tits. When he ventured to unfasten her blouse, she gave a cautionary shake of her blonde curls and spoke sharply, before dropping her hand below the level of the table top. His expression changed abruptly as he leaned back in his seat, convincing me that some unspoken 'negotiation' was taking place under the concealment of the white linen tablecloth. He spoke urgently to her, dropping his hand casually to her lap, and she rose with a smile and led him to a door alongside the bar.

My imagination began working overtime, and I don't remember eating the rest of my meal, because my mind was filled with images of plump thighs, quivering tits, and a hard dick plunging in and out of a chubby French fanny. I completely lost track of time, and I found myself looking down at my suddenly empty plate as the couple reappeared. Studiously ignoring the knowing glances of the waitress and the other girls at the bar, the man walked quickly to the door into the street as the blonde rejoined her companions. Minutes later Hamish paid for our meal and we made our way to the theatre.

The show was more entertaining than I had expected, and although there were plenty of bare breasts for the mostly male audience to admire, there was a variety of acts, from acrobats and singers to jugglers. In a way the partial nudity was overshadowed by the stunning gowns and elaborate headdresses. The front of each gown was cut away above the waist exposing the breasts, whilst below the waist it was open to reveal mesh stockinged legs and a skimpy scrap of lace that covered the wearer's fanny barely enough to satisfy decency, yet leave plenty to stimulate a fertile imagination.

Although I was enthralled by the needlework in the exquisite costumes, I was equally entertained by the changing expressions on Hamish's face as each semi naked girl paraded across the stage. At the end of a very enjoyable evening we returned to our hotel, where I went immediately to the bathroom to prepare. When I presented myself to Hamish some thirty minutes later, I giggled with unbridled glee at the dumbfounded look on his face. In a parody of the costumes worn by the showgirls, I had discarded my brassiere and arranged the open bodice of my belted dress around my exposed breasts with freshly rouged nipples. The front hem of my dress I had bunched up and tucked into my belt to reveal my bare legs, and knickers which I had attacked ruthlessly with a razor blade, until all that remained was a meagre strip of material covering my by now extremely moist slit.

"Och lassie," he gasped, reaching out to me. "Ye grow bonnier by the minute."

There was so much love in his eyes that my heart was ready to burst, and I stood with parted thighs as he tore off the remnants of my ruined knickers, and planted a resounding kiss on my fanny. I glowed with pleasure at his compliment, but I couldn't help teasing. "We just saw lots of girls better looking than me."

"Aye, maybe," he replied, pushing me on to the bed, "but what good is a beauty if a man canna taste her twat?"

For the next ten minutes his moustache sent my clitoris into raptures as he tongued me until my come coated his face. Finally he moved up over me. "Time for a good shag," he whispered, fastening his sticky lips on my rouged nipple and driving his wonderful cock into my wet fanny. He wasn't exaggerating when he said it was time for a good shag, because his mouth on my nipples, and his thrusting dick inside me kept me writhing in ecstasy for at least forty minutes before he filled my ravenous twat with his sticky goo. Nor was he finished because after a short rest he turned me on to my stomach and completed my pleasure by pushing his still slippery tool deep into my more than willing bottom. We finally drifted off to sleep, still locked together, and he woke me in the early hours by shagging me until his come was oozing from my well satisfied arse.

After a shower and a quick continental breakfast, we checked out of the hotel and caught a taxi to the railway station, where we boarded a train bound for southern France. Hamish remained stubbornly tight lipped about our final destination, so I contented myself with gazing out of the window, and marvelling at Mother Nature's ability to repair the ravages of war.

The only indication of where we were going came when we arrived at Toulon, where Hamish bought swimming trunks and shorts for himself, and a demure two piece sun suit comprising shorts and blouse for me. The purchases were completed with a one piece swimsuit for me which, although it revealed rather more of my bustline than I would have liked, seemed overly modest compared with the bare breasts we had seen the night before. Almost as an afterthought we chose a pair of sandals each, and after making a few enquiries we boarded a bus to a town called Lavandou, where we were redirected on to a boat which took us to an island called L'isle du Levant.

When I saw the sign the name rang a faint bell, but I didn't quite know why until we stepped from the boat, and were welcomed warmly by a woman in her forties. Everything fell into place then, because she was wearing nothing but a tiny garment that barely cupped her fanny, and which I later discovered was known rather appropriately as a 'cache-sexe'. Like all of her body her pendulous breasts were a rich mahogany from prolonged exposure to the sun, and unaccountably her maturity put me more at ease with her nakedness than a younger woman might.

Looking around I noticed several other people of both sexes in varying states of undress, some even totally nude, and it began to dawn on me that this was the place featured in the film we had seen some months earlier. I looked accusingly at Hamish, knowing that he had manoeuvred me into coming here, but he assumed an air of innocence as he stared openly at a passing group of half naked girls. Once all of our fellow boat passengers had disembarked, the woman turned and led us to our hotel, apparently unconcerned, or perhaps uncaring about the many pairs of eyes focused on her swaying bottom.

After we were shown to our room I rounded on Hamish, berating him for deceiving me, but he shook his head calmly. "I didn'a deceive ye lassie. I wanted tae surprise ye."

His reasonableness only infuriated me more, but he smoothed my ruffled feathers as only he could, knowing I could never say no to his hard dick. Of course, sex is never better than when making up after a disagreement, however slight, and after a boisterous and energetic shag and showering off the dirt of travel it was time for the evening meal. Eager to show off my new clothes I donned my sunsuit, and we went hand in hand to the dining room.

Seated at the table I became increasingly self conscious that I appeared to be about the only woman in the crowded room who was not bare breasted. By the time the waiter had taken our order it was more than I could stand, and whilst we waited for our meal I excused myself and went to the ladies' rest room. Hamish smiled his approval when I returned to the table with my sunsuit blouse and brassiere tucked into the pocket of my shorts. I didn't feel nearly as uncomfortable baring myself to the eyes of strangers as I had feared; in fact it was almost a relief not to stand out in the crowd, and I thought nothing of it when Armand, our waiter, glanced casually at my tits as he set my plate down.

There was no way the hotel service, particularly in the dining room could possibly be faulted, and I mentioned this to Hamish, but he laughed softly and looked at Armand, who was now attending to other guests. "Och, the randy bugger just wants to feel yer tits."

I glared at him indignantly until I realised he was teasing, but the seed had been sown, and although the thought was preposterous, for the rest of our stay I could not resist amusing myself at meal times by picturing Armand's soft, almost feminine hands caressing my breasts.

It had been a tiring day, made more so by our energetic shag, so after we had eaten we unpacked and had an early night.

The next morning, keen to explore the beach, I put on my sunsuit, leaving off my brassiere and knickers in case I felt like splashing in the sea, and carrying towels and with Hamish wearing just his bathing trunks we headed out into the warm sunshine. Just as we stepped onto the path to the beach we were accosted by an elderly couple, totally naked and brown as berries.

"You can't go on to the beach like that m'dears," the woman chided us with a smile, pointing to a sign written of course in French. Her accent sounded West Country, possibly Devon or Cornwall as she explained further. "That means you can't wear anything beyond the sign."

I was completely taken aback by what she had said. Revealing my bosom in a room full of similarly bare breasted women had been one thing, but letting total strangers look at my fanny was a different matter altogether.

I shook my head uncertainly. "Oh. I don't think I could do that."

Seemingly oblivious or at least unconcerned that her dried up breasts hung almost to her flabby waist, and that her large and age wrinkled vagina could be seen clearly through her iron grey bush, the woman smiled again. "Don't be silly my lovely. When everyone around you is undressed it feels no different to walking down the high street at home in clothes. You'll see."

Her assurances really didn't make me feel any better, so I merely thanked her for her advice as they went on their way. Standing beside the sign I looked enviously at the family groups frolicking carefree and naked on the sand, then with a sigh I pulled off my blouse, wishing I had the courage to go further, but fearing I would be ogled. After a few minutes I realised that my fears appeared groundless, and I relaxed a little. Before long the hot sun on my bare breasts became rather uncomfortable, and I gazed longingly across the sand at the cool waves that seemed to beckon invitingly.

Eventually the heat and the temptation became too much, and hooking my thumbs in the waistband of my shorts I pushed them down before I could lose my nerve. Handing them with my blouse and sunglasses to Hamish, I covered my fanny with my hand and scampered across the beach and into the sea until the waves restored what little modesty I had left. Standing waist deep, I slowly submerged, sighing with relief as the water soothed my burning tits and stiffened my nipples. As often happened, the pleasing tautness of the rubbery tips precipitated a tingling lower down, marginally lessening my inhibitions, and hoping not to attract too much attention I left the water, and as inconspicuously as I could I returned to where Hamish still stood staring with disbelief at my daring.

"Look what the water did to my nipples," I breathed with a sly tug at his trunks. "If you come into the water with me you can play with them. Nobody will see."

"Dinna talk like that lassie," Ye'll make me embarrass myself."

I gave him a grin loaded with devilment. "Well take these off quickly and come in. Then if you do get hard I'll be happy to take care of it." I could see he was tempted, and I shrugged my shoulders so my breasts jiggled.

"Damn ye woman," he groaned. Stepping a few yards past the sign he spread the towels on the sand, and hastily divesting himself of his swimming trunks he dropped them on the towel with my sunsuit, and sprinted for the water. Laughing gaily I ran after him, catching up as he waded in up to his waist. With a quick look around to ensure we weren't observed I grasped his tool, stroking it to glorious stiffness as I led him out to deeper water, then I turned to face him. Trembling with need I leaned against him and opened my legs to his probing fingers.

"Do you think we dare shag?" I asked urgently, leaning away and using the natural buoyancy to lift my legs and lock them around his hips, too aroused to really care if anyone saw. His eyes gleamed in the sunlight, and he pulled me to him and on to him, thrusting wildly as my secretions flowed out around his shaft, only to be immediately washed away by the water. I hadn't taken this possibility into account, and although the loss of the creamy natural lubrication increased friction, heightening and hastening my climax, the rubbing was making my clitoris tender, so I was relieved when less than three minutes after he entered me, Hamish gasped and unloaded his thick come deep inside my twat.

In that sense of euphoria that follows a shag, we walked hand in hand from the sea and stretched out on the towels, too elated to be concerned if anyone looked at us, or even guessed what we had just done. After a short while I realised the wisdom of what the elderly lady had said. Other than a friendly wave of greeting, other holidaymakers scarcely seemed to notice us. That is not to say that I didn't notice them, because I most certainly did. Behind the anonymity of my dark lenses I gave my imagination free rein as I studied the swinging dicks, jiggling tits and bouncing bottoms. Although none of the male equipment I had seen do far was a match for my husband's impressive weapon, if a man was pleasing to the eye, my mind had his cock stiffening to almost frightening proportions, and my fanny expanding in turn to accommodate its length and girth. Needless to say my husband had his part in my imaginings, with every attractive woman on the beach fighting the others to impale her fanny on his rampant and insatiable cock.

Much as I would have liked to I could not share my fantasies with Hamish, because unlike me he had the misfortune of being male, and could not easily hide any signs of arousal without spending every second lying face down and exposing his back to the unrelenting sun. After a while my sensual daydreams were interrupted by a friendly voice. It was the old lady who had stopped us earlier.

"You shouldn't stay in the sun too long until you're used to it my dears. The last thing you want is a bad dose of sunburn spoiling your holiday. Perhaps half an hour at a time, and remember to keep turning over." A mischievous gleam made her eyes glisten as she glanced briefly at my husband's somnolent dick. "Young people can sometimes be quite foolish. We came here when we married a lifetime ago, and too much sun completely ruined our honeymoon, if you know what I mean." Her huge breasts swung loose as she leaned to whisper confidentially into my ear. "You know, it was so bad I was still a virgin two weeks after our wedding."

She had been right earlier, and I knew she was right now. The thought of Hamish or myself being too blistered to shag filled me with horror, and I pulled him to his feet as I thanked her for her sound advice. My fantasies were still playing in my mind on the way back to our hotel room, and I startled Hamish by pushing him on to the bed and taking his dick into my mouth, sucking furiously until he was hard enough for me to engulf him with my fanny. There was no water to wash away my natural lubrication this time. For the first time I appreciated rather than took for granted the slippery fluid as I pressed my clitoris against his shaft and rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell, fast, slow, fast slow, then faster fasterfasterfasterfaster, until my come was pouring out and down around his cock, and his come was pumping up and into my ravenous twat. I fell forward, crushing my tits against his heaving chest, and lay without moving until his drained cock shrank and slipped out.

When I eventually rolled off him he pushed a finger into my come filled slit. "I'll have tae bring ye here more often if this is what it does to ye. What made ye do that?"

I couldn't bring myself to tell him about my fantasies about imaginary oversize cocks filling my imaginary oversize fanny to bursting, so I put my hand on his limp member and told him a half truth. "I was lying in the sun thinking how lucky I am to have such a lovely husband with such a lovely dick, and I thought I would show them both how much I love them." I moved lower and took him into my mouth again. It was too soon to get the reaction I would have liked, but I wanted to taste us both.

I sucked and licked until there was no more to taste, then I looked at the clock. "Food time. I'm starving."

It was still too soon for the dining room to be open, but one of the waitresses recommended a small cafe in the village, pointing out discreetly that although total nudity was acceptable in the hotel and encouraged on the beach, in the village itself some form of clothing was expected. We returned to our room and I put my sunsuit back on, and with Hamish in shirt and shorts we strolled to the village. After a light snack we spent a very pleasant afternoon exploring the village shops, and returned to the hotel in plenty of time to prepare for the evening meal. Not wishing to stand out again I took off my blouse before going to the dining room. After the day I had had I was now perfectly comfortable revealing my bosom, so much so that although Armand was as attentive as the evening before, I felt almost hurt that not once did he look directly at my tits.

Meal finished, we moved to an outdoor shaded area and passed away the rest of the evening drinking coffee, and chatting as well as we were able with passing guests with some knowledge of the English language.

On the morning of our third day we hired a large beach umbrella, and until lunch time we alternated between splashing in the sea and sitting in the shade, where I happily indulged in my pleasant new pastime. By now we were both taking on a healthy tan, and I found myself quite enjoying the occasional looks that came my way, even those directed between my legs. Perhaps especially those, because they added to the pleasure of my own voyeurism. It seemed I was not alone in this distraction, because I soon noticed that occasionally when a singularly attractive or well endowed young lady appeared, Hamish chose that moment to turn on to his stomach or run quickly into the cool water until she was out of sight. As a result, a quick lunch was followed almost inevitably by a not so quick shag, after which we decided to explore the rest of the island.

Our curiosity was frustrated by the discovery that, with the exception of the holiday resort, almost the entire island was in fact a military establishment. I felt quite saddened that such a peaceful and idyllic retreat should be virtually surrounded by a place dedicated to hostility, especially since the recent nightmare of war was still in the minds of many. Since there was nothing there that we were permitted to see, we went instead to the village, looking at the array of souvenirs in the shops with a view to later purchasing mementoes for those back home. It sounds strange to say it, but when we returned from the village I undressed for dinner, and after we had eaten we again passed the evening socialising with other guests on the outdoor area.

By the end of our fourth day we seemed to have fallen into a comfortable routine -- beach in the morning, beach or village in the afternoon, and socialising until bedtime. We slept late on the fifth day, and after we grabbed a quick sandwich from the kitchen we made our way to our usual spot on the beach, only to find someone had beaten us to it. Undeterred, Hamish set up the umbrella about fifteen feet away, and went in search of some beach chairs.

As I waited I studied the interlopers, a deeply tanned couple in their late forties. There didn't appear to be anything remarkable about the man, so I turned my attention to his companion, who had waist length hair which looked too white to be natural, but paradoxically also appeared too white to be dyed. I could see her only from the side as she rubbed lotion into his back, but the one breast I could see was fairly large and firm, set high on her ribcage above a flat stomach. Moments later I was given to wonder even more about her hair when she straightened, and in the instant before she lay face down I caught a glimpse of a bush that appeared even whiter against the dark tan of her stomach and thighs.

At that moment Hamish returned with a beach chair and an English women's magazine he had found, and soon I was sitting engrossed with the magazine propped on my raised knees. As I came to the end of the first article I glanced up and froze. The white haired woman was sitting up staring out to sea, whilst her companion was also staring. Directly into my open slit with a huge grin on his face! Dropping the magazine in confusion, I sat bolt upright and glared at him, but he merely shrugged and said something to the woman, who rose and gathered up their belongings. I had become quite accustomed to passers by glancing at my fanny, so it no longer bothered me, but this hadn't been a casual glance. He had actually stared! For how long I had no way of knowing, but it was a definite stare, and with my face burning I heaved a sigh of relief as they left. Self conscious for the first time since I had first stripped for the beach, I sat hunched on my chair with my legs firmly closed until lunch.

Although I didn't really feel up to it, Hamish badgered me into returning to the beach after we had eaten, and again I sat with my legs together, unable to fully relax. We had been sitting in the shade of the umbrella for about thirty minutes when we were greeted again by the elderly couple, who seemed to have taken a shine to us. Ever the gentleman, Hamish invited them to join us, and I relinquished my seat. With a smile of thanks the old lady lowered herself awkwardly into the chair, and leaned back with a sigh. Just as when we had first met, she appeared totally unconcerned that her vagina was clearly visible, or that Hamish seemed unable to tear his eyes from the wrinkled lips for longer than a second or two. On the contrary, she seemed to enjoy the attention, because her legs parted gradually to expose the inner folds and her rather large clitoris. Faced with this complete lack of self consciousness I began to relax slowly, and before too long it ceased to bother me, in fact I even felt a little flattered that her husband was staring openly at my fanny in that way old people have. The afternoon flew by as she chattered happily about everything, from her children and grandchildren, to the many naturist resorts they had holidayed at across the length and breadth of the continent. Several times I found myself looking between her legs, and I couldn't help wondering if these charming septuagenarians still 'did it', but the question went unasked and unanswered, because she held out her hand for Hamish to help her from the chair, and together we ambled back to the hotel for dinner.

We had been sitting in the outside area for around forty minutes, letting our meal settle, when Hamish pursed his lips in a silent whistle. "My God," he breathed. "Just look at those fanny hairs! Did ye ever see anything like it?"

I looked in the direction of his stare, and was disconcerted to see the couple who had taken our spot on the beach approach bearing two bottles, one beer and one wine, and four glasses. I took the opportunity to study them in greater detail as they drew nearer, noting that she was the taller by around five inches, whilst he looked marginally shorter than Hamish. Up close the woman's large mature breasts were nothing short of magnificent, with prominent brown nipples, and the startling white patch at the junction of her thighs seemed even more dazzling than it had on the beach. Not waiting for an invitation, she set the wine and two glasses on the table and drew up a chair, smiling tolerantly as Hamish gawked. By contrast her companion was quite unprepossessing, apart from one thing. He was the first man I had ever met who came close to rivalling Hamish, with an impressive cock which hung heavily between his legs.

Over the next hour, despite language difficulties we managed to learn that their names were Ingrid and Bjorn Sarsgaard, and they were from Sweden. From a photograph she took from her purse, showing them naked beside a sign, the only word of which we could understand was naturist, we deduced that like the elderly couple they were practising nudists, which accounted for their deep tans. Throughout our attempts at communicating Bjorn kept sneaking glances between my legs, but since Hamish was paying similar attention to Ingrid, I could hardly object, so eventually I sat back and let him look.

As if this was what he had been hoping for, he turned to speak to his wife, and placed a palm against the inside if her knee. I assumed that it was some sort of signal because she smiled and nodded, opening her legs wide, her smile turning into a tinkling laugh as Hamish and I stared. Just as her suntan had accentuated the whiteness of the hairs covering her mound, the same whiteness emphasised the moist pinkness of the inner folds of her sex. Bjorn's laugh joined with hers, and he looked at Hamish.

"Ni knulla, ja?"

Seeing the uncomprehending looks on both our faces, he turned to Ingrid with a helpless shrug. Her mouth moved silently as she tried to find the necessary words in English, then she smiled and nodded at Hamish. "Ja. Ja. Knulla... fuck. Fuck me ja?"

We were too stunned to believe she knew the full meaning of what she had said, but she formed a tight circle of the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, and pushed her other forefinger in and out suggestively. She pointed to Hamish then between her legs and repeated, "Fuck ja?" Then from Bjorn's dick to my fanny, "You fuck?"

For several seconds I was in total shock at the bluntness of the proposition, then it sank in that since we lacked a common language it was virtually impossible for her to convey her meaning more delicately. An instant later I was overwhelmed at the prospect of seeing my husband spear his sun browned cock into the exotic pink and white nest. A single glance at him told me how keen on the idea he was, and not caring that I was also agreeing to let Bjorn shag me I nodded my head.

With a delighted grin Bjorn pulled his wife to her feet. "Go room" he declared, taking my hand and tugging me toward the doors into the hotel, leaving Ingrid and Hamish to follow.

When we reached their room he kissed my nipples and fingered my slit while Ingrid searched in her purse for the key, then pushing the door open she seized Hamish by the cock and led him inside. I hesitated briefly, reluctant to dislodge Bjorn's exploring fingers, but with his free hand on my bottom he urged me into the room in time to see Hamish push Ingrid on to the bed and thrust through her white bush into the pink folds of her fanny. With Bjorn's fingers still inside me I waddled closer to see more clearly, but after watching them fuck for a minute or two my own needs became more urgent, and I turned my attention to Bjorn.

Fully erect his prick was even bigger than I had expected, certainly more so than my husband's, and moving to sit beside him on the bed I fed its fat length into my greedy mouth. For some minutes I was in heaven, sucking and licking, cupping his testicles in my palm and moaning against his cock as his fingers drove in and out of my fanny. I felt his balls tighten and I prepared to swallow his seed, but he pulled out and squeezed the base of his cock as I had often seen Hamish do as he waited for the urge to come to pass. His fingers were still busy between my legs, and I turned my head to watch his wife and my husband. Her legs were clamped around his hips, and her head was thrown back with her mouth open in a silent scream as he sucked fiercely on her large tits, and hammered his rod in and out.

Moments later Bjorn regained my attention by abruptly pulling his fingers out and rising from the bed to look down at me. "Knulla ja?"

"Knulla?" My mind went blank for a moment, and then, "Oh, knulla." I tested the new word and added it to my mental list. "Yes, of course you can knulla me." I lay back and opened my legs as wide as I could. He may not have understood my words but he certainly understood my actions, and he stretched out beside me and nibbled my nipples before kneeling between my thighs. I tensed a little as his big cock stretched my fanny, then he was inside me and I was pushing up to meet him, and trying at the same time to force my entire tit into his mouth.

I was stunned by the suddenness and ferocity of my climax as he fucked me harder faster and deeper than I had ever been fucked before. The head of his punishing cock seemed to be probing places I didn't know I had, and he was sucking my tits harder than they had ever been sucked. I clung to him desperately as I returned his thrusts, mumbling almost incoherently.

"Knulla me! Oh fuck yes. KNULLA ME!"

Less than two minutes later he was grunting and pouring his come into my strained twat. He fucked me again a little while later, mercifully more gently than the first time, and I finished the evening by sucking him until his come filled my mouth and slid down my throat, while Ingrid did the same for Hamish. It was after midnight when we returned to our room. Hamish had a happy grin in his face, but my fanny was sore from the initial pummelling it had taken. It felt a little better after I had bathed it with warm water, but that only drew my attention to my swollen nipples, and I had to bathe them with cold water before I was comfortable enough to sleep.

My monthly cycle started next morning, which didn't please Bjorn, but I consoled him by sucking him so I could still have the pleasure of watching Hamish thrust his dick into Ingrid. Needless to say, Hamish was keen to make the most of his opportunities, and since Ingrid was more than happy to accommodate him, the remaining three days of the Sarsgaards' stay often saw Hamish between her legs, and Bjorn with his fat cock in my mouth.

My incapacity lasted until two days before our own return home, and I spent most of the day on the beach with my fanny on display, and fantasising to build up my anticipation for after dinner. Things did not quite work out the way I hoped though, because Hamish got into conversation with a group of newly arrived English holidaymakers, and the drinks began to flow. My veiled and not so veiled attempts to persuade my husband to take me to bed went unheeded, as he unnecessarily assured some of the more dubious newcomers that they would quickly become comfortable revealing their bodies. I say unnecessarily, because a glance around at the many nude or almost nude guests sitting around would provide all the assurance they might need. My patience finally ran out when he pointed out my fanny as further proof, and snapping at him that I would wait for him in our room -- if he was interested - I stamped off.

Lying on the bed in our room I began to regret my outburst, telling myself that he was merely enjoying being the centre of attention, and that I was being selfish expecting him to abandon his new found friends simply because his sex mad wife was feeling randy. Darkness closed in as I lay waiting, but when there was no sign of Hamish after ninety minutes I fell unhappily into a restless sleep. He came stumbling in pie eyed and incoherent in the small hours, collapsing on the bed beside me, and after sticking a finger in my fanny promptly passed out. In a mixture of dismay and disgust I turned my back on him, and used my fingers to ease my need enough to enable me to go back to sleep.

When I awoke he seemed to have barely moved, and I shook him angrily. "Get up, we have to go into the village."

He squinted through half open lids. "Leave me be, ma hied is splitting."

I shook him again. "It's your own fault. Now get up. We have to get some souvenirs."

"Och lassie, you get them. I'm too sick."

It was clear that nothing would stir him, so putting on my sunsuit I picked up my purse and stormed off towards the village. As I passed a small cafe I remembered that I had missed breakfast, and drawn by the aroma of baking I went in and ordered a hot croissant and a cup of coffee. Ten minutes later I was sitting outside in the warm morning sunshine, washing down the last of the croissant with coffee, and I felt a light touch on my shoulder. I turned my head and saw Armand, our waiter from the hotel, dressed casually in open neck shirt and shorts and bare footed smiling down at me.

"Bonjour Madame Browning." His voice was soft and friendly as he added "Where is Monsieur Browning?"

Trying to hide my annoyance, not at Armand but at my hungover husband, I mimed drinking and replied that he was not feeling well, but should be fine soon. Nodding sympathetically, Armand pulled up a chair and asked how we were enjoying our stay in Levant. Omitting our adventure with the Sarsgaards, I told him we had enjoyed it immensely, thanks in no small part to his excellent service in the dining room. He shrugged off the compliment with disarming modesty, and I told him that sadly we would be leaving next morning, and that I had come to the village to buy some keepsakes for our friends and family at home. His face lit up and he graciously offered to escort me around the shops, to ensure I obtained the best prices.

For more than two hours we wandered from shop to shop, with Armand dickering good naturedly with the owners, and sometimes getting as much as a half off the asking price of a purchase. He was a good conversationalist, telling me about his childhood on a small farm fifty kilometres from Paris. His face clouded as he spoke of how he and his two younger sisters had hidden under a pile of straw, and watched in horror as their parents were marched into a field and shot by the Germans for aiding the Resistance. Leaving his sisters with an aunt, he had joined the Resistance hoping to avenge his parents, but peace was declared before he could see any action.

Without thinking, I slipped a sympathetic arm through his as we made our way back to the hotel. When we arrived he led me through the staff entrance, and opened a door into a small room furnished with a chair a table and a single bed. I know I could have and should have stopped him, but I was still feeling a degree of residual resentment towards Hamish, and compassion for Armand, so I returned his kiss as he confidently slipped his hand inside my blouse, and then, as they had so often in my imagination at meal times, his soft hands were roaming over my breasts. I still could have stopped him there, but then my stiffening nipples betrayed me, and I stood shivering as he worked a hand down the front of my shorts, and his fingers explored my suddenly wet fanny.

I can't recall if he undressed me or I undressed myself, but moments later my sunsuit was lying forgotten on the floor with his shorts and shirt, and I was lying naked beneath him on the narrow bed, his mouth and hands on my tits, and I was pushing my fanny up to meet his plunging cock as he fucked me to climax after vengeful climax. When his come mingled with mine in the dark liquid depths of my twat I was overcome by remorse, although I was not sure if it was because I had allowed a stranger to fuck me without my husband's knowledge, or because I had enjoyed it so much. And enjoy it I most certainly did.

Whatever the case may be, I couldn't meet Armand's eye as he handed me a towel to wipe the mess from between my legs. Nor did I speak as I dressed and collected my purse and purchases to return to my room. Hamish appeared not to have stirred in my absence, and I went into the toilet to relieve myself. As soon as I opened the door I was struck by the sour smell of vomit. Thankful that at least he hadn't left a mess for somebody else to clean up, I pulled down my shorts and sat down. As I peed I noticed that more come had leaked from my well fucked slit and left a dark patch on my shorts, so I took off my sunsuit and soaked it in the washbasin, using it to clean up my fanny before rinsing it properly and hanging it on the towel rail to dry.

Back in the bedroom my shame disappeared to be replaced by more anger as I looked down in disgust at my slack mouthed snoring husband. "It's your own fault Hamish Browning" I thought bitterly. "If you hadn't put the idea in my head in the first place I would never have let him feel my tits, and if you hadn't been too hungover to take me shopping like you promised he wouldn't have been able to fuck me."

I thought again of how good Armand's cock had felt inside me, and in an act of defiance I knelt astride Hamish's head, pushing my fingers up inside my fanny until I felt another climax begin to build. For an instant I was tempted to drip my come into his open mouth, but at the crucial moment I realised how petty I was being and I changed position and let it drip on to the pillow beside his head.

It was another hour before he woke, and it was clear his conscience was troubling him, because he avoided my eye and spoke only when I spoke to him. I grew more and more annoyed, and when he refused to go to lunch with me, claiming his stomach was still too upset, I flew off the handle and stormed out. I was late arriving at the dining room, and there were only a few people still seated as I took my place at the table. Armand was very formal as he served me, leading me to conclude that having taken what he wanted from me he was no longer interested. He brought my coffee as the last of the diners left, and for the first time in public he looked openly at my breasts, then down to my lap.

"You were very good."

I was pleased that it came out as a statement rather than an empty compliment, and I smiled shyly as he turned away and began clearing the tables. When he was finished he returned and stood beside me with a rueful sigh. "It will be good to sit and rest my feet until it I must return to prepare for dinner," he said, looking meaningfully at my coffee cup.

I nodded sympathetically. "That's fine, you go ahead. I'll return my cup." I watched as he left the dining room, and for several more minutes I sat brooding over how my husband's drinking spree had marred the last full day of what until then had been an idyllic holiday. Finishing my coffee I took my cup through the swinging doors leading to the kitchen, and left it on the counter of the serving hatch. Through the open door at the end of the long corridor that led past the staff quarters I could see the pathway to the beach, and decided on the spur of the moment to catch some more sun, and admittedly to fantasise about a few more dicks before leaving in the morning.

Passing Armand's room I hesitated, and expecting the door to be locked I turned the handle and pushed, a little surprised when it opened easily. He was sitting at the table reading a newspaper, and looked up as I half stumbled in the doorway.

"You were very good." The words came not from his lips, but from my memory, and I made another spur of the moment decision. Crossing the narrow space to the bed, I leaned forward and placed my hands flat on the covers and looked over my shoulder at him. After the eternity of a couple of heartbeats he folded the paper and knelt behind me, caressing my fanny with his tongue before pinching my clitoris between his lips. As he nibbled the sensitive bud he eased a finger inside me, coaxing out my increasing wetness. For several seconds that seemed like hours, yet were still too short, he licked and probed until I was panting with need, then he rose to his feet and I sighed as he pushed his cock into my fanny.

Grasping my hips and lending strength to my shaking legs, he fucked me without the haste of the first time, long measured strokes, and when I began to come it was with equal gentleness, like waves ending their long journey across the ocean, to break softly on warm sand. There was no regret when he filled me with come for the second time. Hamish had disappointed me badly, and in the mood it had put me in I felt it only fair that someone else share what he had ignored. Armand withdrew and I turned and knelt, filling my mouth with his sticky cock and drawing out the last few drops of his salty seed.

When it was clean as a new pin and dangling limply between his legs I straightened and pressed myself against him. Linking my arms around his neck, I looked into his warm brown eyes. "You were very good too," I whispered sincerely, as I kissed him firmly, then disregarding the come seeping down my thighs, I slipped from his room and walked to the open door at the end of the corridor. Once outside I ran quickly down the path to the beach and on into the sea. I waded out until the wavelets were lapping at my fanny, washing away the stickiness, and then I stretched out on the warm sand. I alternated between sea and sand, cooling down in the water when the sun became too hot on my skin.

Each time I emerged from the water I looked for Hamish, and with each minute that passed with no sign of him, the more irritated I became. When he eventually appeared after more than two hours, looking as if he hadn't a care in the world, I was almost seething.

"I wondered where ye got to," he said casually as he dropped to the sand beside me.

"What would you care?" I flared. "You didn't care last night when I wanted you to shag me. You were too interested in showing off and getting drunk. And you didn't care this morning when I wanted you to go shopping with me. Or when I wanted you to put in an appearance in the dining room. And you cared so much about where I got to that it took you until now to come looking."

He had never seen me so angry, and my tirade left him speechless, although in all honesty most of my anger was for show. I felt he needed a lesson, but at the same time inwardly I was thanking him for providing me with the motivation and opportunity to enjoy two very good shags I would have missed otherwise.

Being in no mind to let him off lightly, I ignored his attempts to placate me, and returned to our room where I lay on the bed, hardly able to believe how easily I had allowed Armand to seduce me the first time, and even more amazingly how brazenly I had bent over the bed and offered him my fanny for a second time. I had been sincere when I told him he was very good, but as the saying goes 'Practice makes perfect'. The confidence with which he had seduced me could only come from experience, and I was not so naïve as to think that I was the only guest he fucked during the long holiday season on the French Riviera. Even so, despite his experience I could not honestly say he was as good at shagging me as Hamish, although he had certainly been perfect for my needs at the time.

Hamish returned about half an hour later, expressing remorse and pleading for the opportunity to redeem himself. As I hesitated, furrowing my brow as though considering it, he sat beside me and put a hand on my fanny, which right at that moment was the last thing he should have done. If he had waited for me to accept his apology, which I was on the verge of doing, I would have happily opened my legs for him, but as it was I pushed him away.

"Hamish Browning, you neglected me all night, and ignored me all day, so if you seriously think you can put things right just by sticking your dick in me, you are very much mistaken." His brief touch had started my fanny tingling and I almost weakened, but I remained firm, continuing to give him the cold shoulder until dinner time, when I insisted he go with me to the dining room.

Armand was his usual efficient self as he served our meal, although he stared openly at my breasts when Hamish wasn't looking, and when we had eaten I reached out to shake his hand. "Thank you Armand," I smiled, holding his hand a little longer than was necessary, and squeezing his fingers a little more firmly than was proper. "For everything," I added, stressing the word.

"Thank you Madame" His eyes moved down to my fanny as he nodded. "I hope my service pleased you."

Fortunately our double meanings and intimate byplay were lost on Hamish, and I continued in the same vein. "Very much so, I could not have been more satisfied."

After saying our goodbyes we returned to our room to pack our things in readiness for our journey home. No sooner had I opened my suitcase than Hamish cupped my breasts and kissed my ear. "I'm sorry lassie, I'll never get drunk again, I promise."

Telling myself that to punish him further would only punish myself, I fell back on the bed, pulling him over me and into me, straining up against his stiff dick as he did his best to devour my tits. We resumed packing after he filled my fanny with come, and as I folded clothes I reflected that it was the first time since Doris and Wilbur left that I had been shagged three times in one day. Hamish demonstrated his contrition by making it four when we finished packing an hour later, and at my instigation we made it five before we fell asleep shortly before midnight.

We left early next morning, taking the boat to Lavandou and a bus to Toulon, where we boarded a train for the return journey to Paris, and after an overnight stopover we made our way home to the familiar comfort of our own bed.

The next morning we went to check with Bert that everything was running smoothly, and found a young man leaning against one of the cars on display smoking a cigarette. Hamish approached to shoo him away, but as soon as the man saw us he put out his cigarette and smiled. "Good morning Sir, can I interest you and your good lady in one of these high quality motor cars? As you can see, we have many to choose from, so I am sure we can meet your needs and your pocket."

It was several seconds before Hamish could find his voice, then in a barely controlled roar he demanded "Who in blue blazes are you?"

Unperturbed, the man's smile widened further, and he pushed out his chest. "Why Sir, my name is Clive Alexander Kelly, and it is my honour to be sales manager of the finest quality motor car emporium in the north of England. And may I be permitted to ask your name?"

Too stunned at the brashness of the fellow to speak, Hamish could only point to the "Brownings" sign and then to himself.

Clive Kelly's jaw dropped and he lost some of his brashness. "You mean you are, um..."

Hamish nodded. "Aye laddie. Hamish Browning. I own this place. Now who made you sales manager?"

"Well Sir, I'm the only one selling cars, so in a way I manage things. Besides, people are more likely to buy if they think they are dealing with the boss, so I tell them I'm the manager. Mister Proctor took me on."

"I see. Stay where ye are. I'll be back." I accompanied him into the workshop, where he confronted Bert.

The mechanic looked up from the engine he was working on, and raised his greasy hands. "We both know I'm no salesman, and even if I was how could I sell cars looking like this? The lad wanted a job, so I told him I would pay him a commission on every car he sold. No sale, no pay. He's not bad either, three last week and two so far this week. For what it's worth I think he's got the gift of the gab. Definitely worth keeping him on, at least until we see how he works out."

Hamish nodded. "Fine, I'll trust your judgement. By the way, Thelma picked up some souvenir knick knacks for Hannah but we haven't unpacked them yet."

"OK, thanks, You can drop them off later if you like, she'll be glad to see you both."

"Aye, if we have time. See how it goes." We returned to our 'new' employee, and Hamish shook a finger at him. "OK, I'll give ye a couple o' months then we'll see. I dinna care what ye call yersel' but just keep in mind I run an honest business. One lie to the customers about any o' the cars and out ye go." Waving away Clive's thanks, he collected the keys to one of the cars, and after stopping off at home for the souvenirs we drove across to visit Hannah.

She had just finished feeding her baby daughter when we arrived, and she blushed when Hamish eyed the wet milk stains on her blouse. To cover her embarrassment I quickly handed her the bag of gifts, and after she 'oohed and aahed' over the keepsakes, I presented her with a surprise gift. Her expression was one of pure delight when she unwrapped what I told her was called a 'cache-sexe'. Holding the blue sequinned scrap of material against the front of her skirt, I explained that it was a French name for a g string worn by the performers at the Folies Bergere, to preserve their modesty and keep them on the right side of the French police.

She burst into a fit of giggling. "Well this isn't France, and you've both seen it all anyway." Without hesitation she dropped her skirt to the floor, and insisted that Hamish and I help her try it on. I was a little relieved to observe that her plump fanny showed almost no sign of the excesses to which Hannah and Bert were partial. It was a challenge to tug the waist band up over her huge hips and bottom, but we were finally successful, and Hamish and I stood back to study the effect. The tiny glittering triangle was dwarfed by her massive thighs, and was barely adequate to cover her mound. In fact where it narrowed to pass between her legs, it was too narrow to hide more than the crease dividing her fanny, and left both bulging lips almost totally exposed.

On the pretext of making a minor adjustment, Hamish took the opportunity to slip a mischievous finger into her, causing her to gasp as her eyes widened in surprise. Slowly and gently she reached down and pushed his hand away. "Now now Hamish," she chided, "You know that is only for my husband now."

He grinned at her and retreated to the couch. "Ye canna blame a man for trying," he smirked. "After all ye seemed to enjoy it last time."

She hesitated before replying, as though remembering. "Yes, I don't deny it, but that was before Bert." Even to me she didn't sound too convincing, or convinced, but I remained silent. After a moment she looked toward the door leading to the stairs. "I want to see how it looks on me." We followed her upstairs to the bedroom, where she studied her reflection in the dressing table mirror. "I do hope Bert likes this. Do you think he will?"

I smiled reassuringly. "Of course he will. How can he not like it?"

She stared at her image for several more seconds then her face lit up. "I know just the thing. Wait here."

Three or four minutes after Hannah left the room she returned, holding a pale blue dress which was torn beyond repair, and a tin of golden syrup. "Bert ripped this taking it off me last week," she said. "I just rescued it from the rag bag because I can use these." Holding the dress up, she indicated four large fabric covered ornamental buttons on the front. Hamish and I nodded without really understanding, and with a sly expression she picked up a small pair of scissors from her dressing table, and snipped off two of the buttons. Setting them aside, she removed her blouse to reveal her massive breasts, and using a dab of the sticky syrup she fixed a button on each big nipple. "There, that looks better don't you think?"

The buttons were a different shade to the sequinned garment, but I had to admit the contrast enhanced the overall effect, and I assured her that she looked very fetching, whilst Hamish could only stare. Flattered, she squatted cross legged on the bed, patting the covers on each side and insisted we tell her all about our holiday. Starting with the night in Paris I told her about the meal in the small cafe, and about the young girl at the bar plying her trade. Hamish listened with equal interest since he hadn't seen her, and I couldn't resist embellishing the tale, saying that I had actually watched her take the man's dick from his pants and stroke it.

Hannah gasped in disbelief and licked her lips "Oh my goodness! Really? How big was it?" I held my hands about ten inches apart. "Oh God," she whispered. "I'd heard the French women were casual about these things but I didn't think they went that far. What happened next?"

I shrugged. "He gave her some money and they went through a door. I imagine he must have shagged her, because when they came out he left straight away."

Hamish took up the tale, recounting the performance at the Folies Bergere, using his hands to describe the bare breasts and hard nipples of the chorus girls. When he fell silent I resumed, skipping over the journey and taking up when we stepped from the boat and were greeted, and conducted to our hotel, by a woman wearing no more than Hannah herself was now wearing.

Hannah giggled when I spoke of how embarrassed I had felt in the dining room, not because my breasts were bared in a room full of strangers, but because they weren't. She seemed intrigued to hear how we quickly became so accustomed to being naked, that I didn't mind in the least when men looked at my fanny, even to the point of deliberately opening my legs as I lay in the sun.

Again the temptation to exaggerate was too strong to resist, and her eyes glittered at my lurid descriptions of the countless dangling dicks, most of which I invented solely to tease her.

When I mentioned the Swedish couple Hamish guessed what I was up to, and laid his fingertips lightly against the inside of her knee. Hearing how Ingrid had blatantly invited Hamish to shag her, she became increasingly agitated, and seemingly oblivious of his wandering hand, she stared intently at the outline of his hard dick, as I described how he had pushed it through the patch of white fur into Ingrid's pink inner folds.

She looked down suddenly, as though she had only just realised that Hamish was actually stroking her slit. "No," she whispered weakly, trying half heartedly to push his hand away, until I distracted her by describing Bjorn's big cock, and how he had thrust it into me so vigorously that he left my fanny so sore that for three days all I was able to do was suck him whilst we watched his wife being repeatedly shagged by my husband. She made one more feeble attempt to stop him, but when I released his hard cock from his pants she sighed helplessly. "I suppose one more time won't make any difference," she moaned, falling back and raising her parted knees, "but Bert must never know."

"Don't worry," I assured her, moving the now wet triangle of cloth aside to fully expose her fat gaping twat. "He'll never find out," and for the next twenty minutes or more I watched excitedly as he hammered in and out of her with every ounce of force he could muster.

In view of her initial reticence I expected a show of remorse when her need had been satisfied and she could think clearly, but she had a dreamy smile as she looked at Hamish. Reaching down she gingerly patted her swollen and come filled fanny, obviously happy with the punishment it had received. "I'd forgotten how good you were," she sighed, seeming to address his cock rather than my grinning husband. "I just hope Bert never suspects."

I thought I detected a hint of promise in her tone, and I quickly reassured her. "There's no reason for him to ever know" I promised in return. "We will certainly never tell him." I pointed at the bedraggled scrap of material between her legs. "I think you'd better get that washed and dried before he finishes work. That way you can be wearing it when comes home."

We went back downstairs to the living room, and Hannah went to make a pot of tea. When she returned with the tray I assumed she had heeded my advice because her fanny was bare, and she had removed the buttons from her nipples. Her demeanour was somehow different, and it took me a little while to pinpoint why. Then I realised that when she had first taken her skirt off she had been indifferent to us seeing her fanny, but now that Hamish had shagged her she seemed to want us to look at it, because she sat with her legs wide apart as she drank her tea, and looked pleased when either of us glanced at her open slit.

When we left a half hour later, to say I was 'hot and bothered' would be putting it very mildly indeed. In the close confines of the car I lifted my skirt and took off my knickers, in the hope that the sight and scent of my arousal would send a clear message to my husband. My ploy worked even better than I hoped -- within seconds of arriving home he had me pinned against the wall, almost lifting me to my toes with each thrust of his cock.

After we had fucked I made a light lunch, then we picked up Angus from Mum's and went to see May and Sam Harper. The first thing we noticed was the van. A coat of eye catching pale yellow paint had replaced the dull olive green, and there was a large picture of a roast chicken, surrounded by the slogan "BREAKFAST LUNCH OR DINNER -- HARPER'S POULTRY IS A WINNER" painted in arcs above and below. In the bottom corner of the rear door was a neat sign a foot square in small letters "VEHICLE SUPPLIED BY BROWNING'S QUALITY CARS" and the telephone number of the garage.

We didn't return home until after six o'clock, and after we had eaten Mum and Dad came around in time to say goodnight to Angus. Mum and I had a cup of tea and Hamish shared a bottle of beer with Dad, whilst we brought them up to date on our holiday, omitting of course our encounter with Bjorn and Ingrid. Dad gave an embarrassed chuckle when Hamish used his hands to illustrate the tits of the showgirls, but when we mentioned the Ile du Levant, he was positively outraged at the thought of his daughter parading herself naked in front of strangers. No amount of explanation of the circumstances made any difference, and after a sulky silence he took Mum home.

When Dad and Hamish were at work next day, Mum dropped in with a letter from Doris and Wilbur. The letter was brief, stating only that they had settled well into life in America, and that she had recently completed the fifth of a series of ten movies, at the end of which she hoped to have saved enough to establish Wilbur's real estate business.

Mum brought me a cup of tea as I slipped the letter back into the envelope, and she asked me in greater detail about our holiday, or more precisely about what went on on the island. "Weren't you embarrassed being undressed with all those strangers around?" she asked as her grandson climbed on to her lap.

I shook my head. "Only for about the first half hour on the beach, then I got used to it. To be honest I was more uncomfortable being the only woman fully dressed in the dining room. I had to take my blouse and brassiere off in the ladies' room so I wouldn't feel so conspicuous. It was the same on the beach. They don't appreciate you wearing anything there, and besides there was plenty going on to keep me distracted." I gave her a saucy grin. "The best thing about sunglasses is nobody knows where you're looking, and believe me there was lots to look at." After a short pause I took a breath and continued. "It's not as bad as it sounds, but after a couple of days I found I quite liked people looking at my body, especially my fanny."

Mum frowned at this. "It's a good job you didn't tell your father that, although with your looks I can understand you wanting to show yourself off. I'm not so sure I could do it though. I couldn't stand anyone pitying me. Maybe I might have twenty years ago when my bust and tummy were firmer, but not now."

"That's the point Mum -- nobody cares. You see all ages and shapes there and nobody cares. We met a nice couple who must have been in their seventies. I never knew their names but they sounded like they were from Cornwall, or somewhere like that. She had the most used looking fanny you could imagine, but she was totally indifferent as to whether or not anyone stared at it. I think it was seeing how little she cared if anyone looked down there that gave me the nerve to take my own clothes off."

"I suppose it's one of those things you have to experience to really understand." Mum conceded. "Anyway, enough of that for now. How about getting Angus dressed and we can have a look around the shops?"

On the first Saturday morning after our return I was standing at the sink washing the breakfast dishes. Hamish was at work, and I was looking through the window watching Mum pushing Angus on his swing when I felt Dad's hand on my bum. "I missed this, he said quietly."

I smiled over my shoulder at him and wriggled my bottom against his hand as he raised my skirt. "Me too Dad." I reached behind me to free his cock as he tucked the hem of my skirt into my waistband, and in a scene reminiscent of the time I had seen Chuck with Mum all those years ago, I stood with my hands braced against the sink and my knickers stretched tight between my wide spread knees, thinking how good it was to be home, as Dad jabbed his familiar dick deep into me. Seeing Mum less than twenty feet away added an extra element of excitement to the illicit fuck, and I returned my son's happy wave as Dad's thick come flooded my twat. I barely had time to pull up my knickers before Mum and Angus returned from the garden, and I quickly handed a tea towel to Dad so she wouldn't be too curious.

After Dad gave me my welcome home shag, things fell quickly into our familiar old routine. If anything, my French adventure served only to increase my appetite, and I eagerly embraced every opportunity to have Dad's hard dick in my ever willing fanny, often taking needless risks which of course added to the excitement.

As Clive gained experience and confidence, he developed into an extremely competent salesman, leaving Hamish free to study the newspapers or attend auctions, in search of suitable cars to meet the increasing demand. As well as the auctions, which were usually on Wednesdays and took up most of the day, he frequently disappeared for a couple of hours at a time on other days to look at cars he had seen advertised.

One day he came home from such an outing, and kicked his shoes off as usual, leaving them where they landed, again as usual, before putting on his slippers. As I picked them up to put them by the door, my eye was caught by a tiny gleaming half moon caught in the criss crossed lace of one shoe. I picked it out with a fingernail and discovered it was a shiny blue sequin, and since I could only think of one possible place it could have come from, I realised that Hamish had been hunting more than cars.

For just an instant I was miffed that he had visited Hannah without my knowing, but the more I thought about it the less it mattered. She had a taste for rough hard shagging, which Hamish had been happy to cater to, so if it spared my fanny similar treatment so much the better. Besides, with my lurid account of our holiday, I had deliberately goaded her into spreading her legs for him last time, even hinting afterwards that I had no objection to future encounters. There had been no stipulation that I be there or even know. After all, my husband had no idea what had happened with Armand, and he certainly didn't know about Dad shagging me, and satisfying me far more frequently than Hamish was sticking his cock into Hannah's abused twat, so I could hardly complain even if I had wanted to. I had only had one reservation about Hamish shooting his come into her, but that had been put to rest about three days after he had shagged her on our return from holidays, when Bert told him she was carrying their second child. With the fear of an unwanted pregnancy no longer hanging over them, I could think of no good reason she and Hamish shouldn't continue to enjoy each other, provided I got my share.

I couldn't resist balancing the sequin on the edge of his plate when I served his meal, and although he looked uncertain at first, he was relieved when my ardent kiss told him I didn't mind that he had shagged Hannah again. After we had eaten I settled our son down for the night then returned to Hamish, and without warning I pulled his trousers down, relishing the lingering scent and taste of Hannah as I took his dick deep into my mouth. I sucked eagerly, anticipating the hot spurt against the back of my throat, but he withdrew abruptly, and minutes later I was filled with liquid proof that shagging Hannah in no way diminished his tender appreciation of my twat.

At the end of summer came the proud but sad day when I kissed my son at the school gates for his first day, wondering how he had grown so fast.

Autumn gave way to winter, and as the days shortened the weather forced more people to stay home, putting off buying cars because it was too cold for family excursions. The cold worked for us too, because car owners took advantage of the bad weather to have their vehicles serviced ready for spring. Slower sales meant less buying trips for Hamish, so for three days a week he donned his overalls and helped Bert in the workshop. This benefited me too, since the longer work hours allowed Dad to take his time fully undressing me for a relaxed and leisurely shag on his way home from work, instead of having to snatch what opportunities we could, and hurrying in case Hamish came home.

Hamish continued to visit Hannah of course, although he suggested that he might reduce his 'dalliances' from fortnightly to monthly, to coincide with my monthly cycle, when I 'wouldn't be in the mood anyway'. This offer only served to show how little he, and most other men really understood about women. Nor was I deceived, because he and I both knew that, before he began shagging Hannah regularly, my arse and mouth were always available even if my fanny wasn't.

In the sixth month of her pregnancy his visits stopped abruptly, and after some badgering he admitted that her tastes had become too extreme for him to deal with.

The beginning of the end had come two months earlier. He had gone along with her suggestion that he push his fist into her come filled twat, because it had fascinated him to see how far he could stretch her, but he had recoiled a month later when, after he had shagged her, she had asked him to use his belt to thrash her tits and fanny. When he asked her why she would want that, she informed him blithely that this was normal practice between her and Bert, and it excited her beyond imagination. She then told Hamish that her husband knew that she was being shagged by another man, and although he neither knew or wanted to know by whom, he had urged her continue as long as he could admire the bruises that resulted from her 'act of contrition'.

To his credit Hamish had refused, saying that hard rough shagging was one thing, but under no circumstances could he use violence against a woman, regardless of how much she wanted it. It was just not in his nature. The final straw came the following month. Hannah had told him bluntly that they were finished, because she and Bert had met a couple with tastes that matched theirs. To his horror she had proudly raised her skirt to show him how at her request, and at the prompting of their new friends, Bert had used a large needle and a narrow ribbon to lace together the bloated lips of her now hideously swollen fanny, leaving only a tiny aperture to allow for calls of nature.

Poor Hamish was so distressed by recalling and recounting the experience, that for the first time since Angus had been conceived, he was unable to get hard enough to shag me.

As the warmer weather of spring crept up sales increased dramatically, and Hamish decided that Clive had earned the right to be paid a retainer in addition to commission. The young man's former brashness had been replaced by a calm assurance, and his natural charm often swayed the ladies in helping to decide on a purchase. So impressive was his sales record that when Mum raised the subject of holidays, Hamish had no hesitation in deciding that between them Clive and Bert were capable of looking after the business for a couple of weeks.

The next day I wondered about Mum's motives when she asked about the Ile du Levant, and if whole families really were welcome there. My suspicions were confirmed when I agreed this was true, and she gave a pathetically exaggerated sigh, assuming a comically woeful expression. "I would love to go there if only your father and I could afford it."

Her hint was so transparent and her acting so bad that I had to laugh. "Oh yes," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure Dad would be over the moon at the thought of strangers ogling you on the beach. Especially when you are definitely worth ogling."

"Do you really think so?" she preened, raising her skirt to mid thigh. "Do you really think men would want to look at my legs?"

I laughed again. "It's not your legs they'd be looking at Mum. It's what is between them."

"Oh. Of course. I hadn't thought of it like that."

"Obviously. Dad would have a fit."

She giggled suddenly. "You know, I don't think it would bother me all that much, especially if other women are showing all they have. Still," she shrugged, resuming her woebegone expression "there's no point thinking about it. Dad and I couldn't afford it anyway."

I knew she was shamelessly playing on my sympathy, but since I was certain that Dad would never agree to her exposing her most intimate parts to strangers, I decided it wouldn't hurt to play along with her game. "Look Mum, if you really want to go I'll have a talk with Hamish. I'm sure the business could pay for it," adding to myself, 'Besides, knowing him he'd probably jump at the chance of seeing your tits and fanny.'

Despite me reminding her that Dad wouldn't go along with it, she looked hopeful. As predicted, Dad put up a stubborn resistance, but when Mum told him in no uncertain terms that she was going with or without him, he capitulated. Three weeks later all five of us were stepping from the bus at Lavandou, and heading for the boat to the island.

Dad was all eyes behind the shield of his sunglasses when we were greeted and escorted to the hotel by the same buxom, g-string wearing woman as last time, and Mum couldn't resist a jibe, calling him a dirty old man, which of course he indignantly denied.

As we were checking in at the reception desk I felt a hand on my arm, and a quiet voice whispered, "Welcome back Madame Browning. I hope your visit will be as pleasing as last time." I turned in surprise to find a smiling Armand, dressed smartly in a light summer suit.

"Thank you Armand," I responded, raising on tip toes to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "It's good to be back. I'm sure your service will be perfect as always." Turning to my family, I introduced Mum and Dad, and most proudly my son. "This is Armand, our waiter in the dining room."

Armand smiled as he gravely shook hands with Mum and Dad, and patted a shy Angus on the head. "Ah, I am no longer a waiter, I am now Assistant Manager, but I promise I will see that you have all you need."

I smiled at the memory of how he had given me all I needed last time, then followed as he showed us to our units. Dad continued to grumble, but he grudgingly conceded our accommodation would 'be OK, I suppose'. By chance he and Mum had an almost identical unit to that Hamish and I had shared the year before, but separate from the main hotel, whilst we and Angus had been allocated a two bedroom suite next door.

By the time we had finished unpacking it was time to change for the evening meal. Being familiar with the informal dress customs, and since Dad had seen me naked more times than I could count, I took the initiative, donning only the shorts of my sun suit, and moments later Mum emerged, also wearing shorts, but with her arms crossed protectively over her bare bosom.

As we neared the dining room she sighed. "Oh well, In for a penny, in for a pound." Lowering her arms to her sides, she straightened her shoulders, and pushing her relatively firm breasts out defiantly she followed a waiter to a table. Dad glared at her as he sat down, although he couldn't help the occasional sly glance at a couple of women at another table, and when he realised they were unconcerned he stared more openly. By the time the meal was finished he was frankly appraising every pair of breasts he could see, apparently no longer troubled by Hamish's scrutiny of Mum's assets.

After we finished eating we were all pretty tired from a long day of travel, so we decided on an early night, or more accurately Dad decided, and in addition to Angus being almost asleep on his feet, Hamish and I were too weary to object.

My parents were both looking quite smug when they appeared next morning, and I guessed from Mum's crinkled nipples that they had made a good start to their holiday. Although Dad wore his usual scowl of disapproval over Mum showing her breasts, she now seemed quite at ease with being looked at, and was quite eager to splash in the warm sea. After breakfast we went straight to the beach, where Mum, Hamish and I undressed and stretched out on the warm sand, whilst Angus splashed happily in the water. Meanwhile, Dad stood at the end of the path to the beach, seething at what he saw as our total lack of shame.

His indignation lasted no more than ten minutes before he pulled off his shorts, and holding them in front of him he strode towards us, his expression daring us to comment. Behind his dark lenses he seemed to be making a determined, albeit unsuccessful attempt to avoid looking at my fanny, although Hamish showed no such restraint where Mum was concerned, whilst both she and I had cast aside false modesty, lying with legs parted or closed, whichever was most comfortable.

Before too long the interest of both men turned to other women around us, and seemingly surprised that his feared erection hadn't happened, Dad allowed his shorts to slip from his lap. Apart from a brief glance, which confirmed that he was more generously endowed than Dad, Hamish naturally enough showed no interest, although he looked pleased that Mum was certainly aware of the difference. I of course enjoyed both regularly, and other than the secret thrill of the forbidden when Dad shagged me, I took equal pleasure whichever one was inside me, and had no real interest unless they were hard and ready.

Not surprisingly, in almost next to no time Dad became so accustomed to seeing bare skin all around that he too was able to relax, and his perpetual scowl was replaced by genuine pleasure as he frolicked on the sand and in the shallows with his grandson. The next day he was completely in the spirit of the holiday, even teasing Mum and me occasionally when men appeared to look too intently at our bodies.

On the third morning I woke feeling a little out of sorts, and I insisted that Hamish and the others took Angus to breakfast so that I could rest a little longer. They had been gone perhaps ten minutes when I answered a tap on the door to find Armand looking concerned. "Monsieur says you are unwell. Perhaps I can help?" I hesitated and he continued, "Is there anything you need?" When I still didn't reply he must have read something in my expression, because suddenly his hands were on my tits and fanny as I worked frantically to unfasten his trousers. When he entered me it was as if the intervening year had never been, and I responded as energetically as I had the first time he had shagged me. With one significant difference. This time I felt no misgivings whatever when his seed filled me.

I looked anxiously at the travel clock beside the bed as he withdrew, and he nodded understandingly and pulled up his pants. When he was ready to leave I turned him to face me and kissed him firmly. "Thank you Armand," I whispered sincerely. "You always seem to know exactly what I want before I know it myself."

It was a very near thing, because I had no sooner finished cleaning Armand's come from my fanny when the family returned. Once they saw I was feeling better they prepared to walk down to the beach again. The morning passed happily and quickly, and coming up to lunch time Mum said that the breakfast menu mentioned that picnic lunches were available from the hotel kitchen for a very small extra cost. Since Dad was busy helping Angus bury me in the sand, he suggested that Mum and Hamish go to pick up enough for us all, along with some lemonade.

They were gone some forty five minutes, and when they returned Mum spread a clean towel on the sand and began handing out the serviettes and food, which seemed to be mostly croissants with ham and cheese filling. She seemed a little subdued as she worked, looking at neither Dad nor myself, and although there were no outward signs, and without knowing how it had come about, instinct told me that she and Hamish had taken the opportunity to shag as the picnic lunch was being prepared.

I examined my feelings for some form of resentment, but the only thing I felt was pleasure for them both. After all, considering my own actions earlier, I was hardly in a position to object. Besides, my husband no longer had Hannah with whom to scratch his itch, and I knew from seeing Mum with Chuck that under certain conditions she was no more averse to to spreading her legs for the right man than I was. The thought appealed to me for her to have regular access to another cock, and Hamish to another fanny, just as Dad and I had secretly had for years. Furthermore, since Hamish regarded her as the mother he never had, and Mum saw him more as a son than a son-in-law, I dared to hope that they shared the thrill of the forbidden that Dad and I enjoyed so much.

Although I had been surprised that Hamish and Mum had shagged, the biggest surprise of our holiday came at the end of our first week. On the Saturday afternoon during one of our infrequent meetings, Armand told Hamish and I that there was to be a screening that evening for selected guests of a 'special' film, and that we were welcome to attend. Curiosity piqued by the emphasis on 'special', we accepted the invitation after persuading Mum and Dad to babysit our son.

At the appointed time we arrived at an unoccupied suite in the main hotel building, to find six or seven couples already present, and as soon as we were seated the lights were switched off, and a large screen against a wall lit up as the projector started. The opening titles of the black and white film were in German, with the English translation:-

"ROADSIDE RESCUE" 'Starring MISS VERITY DUNWELL and Friends' superimposed.

The first grainy scene of the poor quality film showed a close up of a sign reading "LAS VEGAS - 10 Miles", and moved sideways to a rear view of a woman with waist length blonde hair peering into the open bonnet of a large American convertible.

The woman threw up her hands dramatically, and said something in German, which was translated at the bottom of the screen as "Oh dear, Whatever is the matter with my automobile? What am I to do?"

My eyes widened, and I gasped in shock as she turned to face the camera. I nudged Hamish. "Look who it is!"

He stared in disbelief, and his expression mirrored my own shock. Underneath what was obviously a wig, and heavy make up was the unmistakable face of my best friend Doris!

The screen went black for a moment, with the words "HELP ARRIVES", and the next scene showed an approaching Jeep, with two negroes in American Army uniform. The driver, with the stripes of a corporal on his sleeve, saluted and spoke as he dismounted.

The guttural German, again translated so implausibly as to be almost laughable read "Good afternoon Miss, may we by chance be of some small assistance?" Reaching under the bonnet, he produced what at first looked like a snake. "It appears you have broken a fan belt. If you care to wait here, we shall fetch another, and you can resume your journey in no time at all."

As they drove off, Doris/Verity took a seat in the car, fanning her face ostentatiously with her hand. "Oh dear, I do hope they will not be too long. I declare that I will melt in this hot sun." After a few moments she flapped her skirt. "It is so hot." She looked deep in thought for a short while, then. "What can I do to pass the time while I am waiting?"

The camera moved lower as she raised her skirt to expose fishnet stockinged legs, then an expanse of bare thigh, and I heard Hamish catch his breath as she revealed a smoothly shaven fanny, with her prominent clitoris peeping out. "Oh god, he breathed squeezing my hand hard. I wish she had been like that when we knew her. Maybe you should do it."

Very slowly her fingers moved to her slit, parting the smooth lips and pressing her clitoris from side to side. "That feels so nice. It has been far too long since I met a real man."

There was a brief image of a clock, showing the hour hand moving forward an hour, to denote the passage of time, before the calera focused once more on he bald fanny. Suddenly her skirt was pushed down as the roar of an engine announced the return of the Jeep. "Ah, they have returned at last. Thank goodness."

The next scene showed the private closing the bonnet of the car as the corporal looked on. "There you are Miss, as good as new."

"Oh thank you boys. However can I repay your kindness?" she asked archly, raising the hem of her skirt to her stocking tops.

The scene closed and reopened to the sight of my friend sprawled across the bonnet of the car,

wearing only her shoes and stockings, one foot resting on the road, the other knee bent sideways at a sharp angle, leaving her fanny open in invitation as she grasped an impossibly huge dark cock in each hand. "Oh my, boys." she gasped with feigned breathlessness. "How big and hard you are. I do hope you will not hurt my delicate little virginal pussy. Please fuck me gently."

Hamish snorted with derision at the word 'virginal', and his grip on my hand tightened as she took one cock into her mouth and the other pushed into her hairless pussy.

I didn't want to think badly of my best friend acting in such a manner with two strangers, and the poor quality of the film, plus the fact that it was definitely not her voice we were hearing, made it easy to half convince myself we were not watching Doris. Undeniably it was her pussy and mouth that were being fucked, but I reminded myself that after all she was a professional actress, who had merely loaned them to her alter ego Verity Dunwell for the sole purpose of making a film.

The remaining half hour was filled with varying camera angles of both cocks alternating between her tits pussy and mouth in different positions, before spraying their seed over her upper body and face. The final scenes were of her waving to the Jeep as it disappeared into the distance. "Thank you for cumming boys. You are welcome to cum again any time." Then a close up of her come (cum?) coated breasts, with one large creamy blob dangling precariously from her right nipple, before the screen faded to black with the announcement "MISS VERITY DUNWELL is done VERY well indeed."

The moment I saw the word 'cum' on screen and identified it with what was dripping from her tits I decided I preferred 'it to 'come', and I unconsciously added it to my growing mental jigsaw of words, even though it sounded the same.

"Now we know why Doris wouldn't say what kind of films she made." Hamish remarked as we returned to our room. "I never saw a twat without hairs. I can't believe how good it looked."

I knew he was dropping another hint, but my mind was whirling with images of Doris with those two huge cocks in her, and especially of how Armand had taken advantage of the dim lighting to slip a hand down the waist of my shorts to give my fanny a sly rub as we were leaving.

Angus was sleeping peacefully when we reached our room, and with one look at my crinkled nipples Mum smiled knowingly and ushered Dad to the door. I don't think it was more than ten seconds before Hamish had us both naked and he was arranging me on the bed. When he positioned me with one leg draped over the edge of the mattress and the other knee bent, I knew he was envisioning me as we had seen Doris on the car bonnet.

For the first time since we had met I was not thinking of my husband as he thrust into me. Nor was I thinking in the usual familiar terms, instead picturing a huge ebony cock plunging in and out of my pussy -- not my fanny or twat, and wondering how Doris felt to be plundered by two such massive organs. The film seemed to have had the same effect on Hamish as it had on me, because without my needing to hint that I might want him to, he withdrew from my pussy and slid his sticky length into my waiting mouth. With a hunger I never dreamed was in me, I licked and sucked greedily until there was nothing left to taste, and then he moved back between my legs. For I don't know how long, my wonderful husband alternated tirelessly between one pair of lips and the other, until, just as I was ready to cry enough, his driving dick poured his cum deep into my pussy.

After breakfast on Sunday morning Mum mentioned that she would like to explore the village, and hoping they would make the most of any opportunity that presented, I suggested that Hamish show her around. They both agreed a little too readily, but their faces fell when Dad said it would nice if Angus could go for an ice cream with his Daddy and Nanna. Put that way Hamish could hardly refuse, although I was well aware what Dad really had in mind.

Needless to say, within minutes of them leaving I was on my hands and knees on the bed, trembling as we enjoyed our first father/daughter fuck since we left home. As he unloaded inside me I made a silent promise to Mum and Hamish, to do what I could to make up for Dad and I stealing their chance.

As it turned out my help wasn't needed, because they returned just over an hour before lunch. I knew they had been talking when Hamish nudged Angus and whispered "Go on laddie, ask yer Mum." Looking at me he pulled a face. "He's been naggin' us. Wants t' know if you an' yer Dad will play in the sand wi' 'im. Isn't that right son?"

Angus nodded uncertainly and sat on my lap. "Can we Mummy?"

I glanced at Dad and he stood up. "I don't see why not. It's his holiday as much as ours." He looked at Mum and Hamish. "OK, come on you two."

Hamish shook his head. "You three go on ahead. We'll hang around and order some sandwiches or whatever they have in the kitchen. We'll see you on the beach in a while."

Before Dad could insist they come with us I rose from my chair, hoisting Angus on to my hip. "OK, good idea. We'll see you down there." I glanced back as we turned towards the path to the beach, my son walking between us holding our hands, and saw Hamish, now minus his shorts, push the door to. I walked as far as the first bend in the path and stopped. "I must have dropped my sunglasses somewhere" I told Dad. "You go on and I'll catch you up."

It wasn't true, I had hidden them in the folds of the towel I was carrying, but it gave me an excuse to return to the hotel. It was only my instinct that told me they had shagged the first time we had a picnic lunch, and I saw this as my chance to know for certain. Creeping to the rear of the unit I peered through the window, relieved to discover that Mum and Hamish had been too impatient to bother going into the bedroom. The high sill of the window prevented me from seeing more than the top of my husband's head, and moving to the door I held my breath as I turned the handle, hoping that they were too preoccupied to notice the door opening.

I couldn't see much through the narrow crack, but Mum was sitting on a chair beside a small writing desk, with her back to me. Hamish was standing with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, an intense look on his face as her head bobbed back and forth. From my position it was impossible to see more, but my imagination gave me a perfect picture of her mouth sliding back and forth on his cock. A moment later she straightened and rose, and for an instant before he took his place on the chair she had vacated, I saw his stiff dick, glistening with her saliva. Turning to face him she smiled and lifted his hands to her tits as she sank down to engulf his cock.

I was disappointed that I was unable to see him going in and out of her fanny, but at least I had the confirmation I needed, and I watched her rise and fall for a few moments, my heart thumping so hard I was sure they would hear. As much as I wanted to watch him cum inside her I was afraid of lingering too long in case a passer by saw me spying, or even worse, in case Dad started wondering why I was taking so long and came looking. Still, I had seen for myself that Hamish and Mum really were shagging each other, so I was more than content. It would have been nice to see her slit slippery with his cream, but it wasn't important enough to risk discovery for. Carefully pulling the door closed, I hurried along the path, remembering at the last second to don my 'lost' sunglasses before I reached the beach.

There was nothing really noteworthy about the final week of our holiday, other than that Dad and I took turns with Mum and Hamish in collecting a picnic lunch, and of course shagging. I had hoped for one more opportunity to have Armand between my legs again, but it wasn't to be, and I felt a twinge of regret when we took our leave and boarded the boat for Lavandou and home.

There were two surprises waiting for Hamish when we arrived home, one pleasant, and the other less pleasant but nonetheless not entirely unwelcome. The first became apparent when he went to check how Clive Kelly had managed in our absence. Almost a quarter of the motor cars in stock when we left had been sold. Acting on his own initiative Clive had engaged his younger cousin as a junior salesman, to 'warm up' prospective clients, and keep them interested until he himself could clinch the sale, promising the young man a share of his commission when 'the boss' returned. Since the system appeared to be successful, Hamish decided against interfering, although he spent a frantic week and a half seeking replacements for the depleted stock.

The second surprise concerned Bert Proctor. Although Hannah had been a more than willing, even eager participant, in the weeks leading up to our holiday Hamish had become increasingly resentful of the way Bert mistreated his wife's tits and fanny. This resentment had unconsciously affected my husband's attitude towards the mechanic, without Bert knowing why. It came as something of a relief then, when Bert thanked him for taking him on and giving him a start, but told him reluctantly that he had found employment in another city, and would leave in two weeks.

This meant that Hamish would have to don his overalls again until a suitable replacement could be found, but first, since Clive had mentioned the poor sales image of using the workshop office to sign sales contracts, he ordered and supervised the construction of a prefabricated sales office at the rear of what I still thought of as the Turnbull site.

When our son was in bed the same night, Hamish was feeling me on the couch and he hinted again how good Doris had looked without hairs. I definitely wasn't in love with the idea of anything sharp so close to such a delicate area, but I was in love with my husband, so I agreed to allow him to shave my fanny.

The soapy caress of his shaving brush had me in a lather in more ways than one, and I grasped his wrist to press the stiffly flexible bristles against my clitoris. It took a great effort of will to hold still when he applied the razor, and I heaved a sigh of relief when he finished, but I had to admit the end result was worth it. Until I saw it in a hand mirror I had never known that my love bud was so prominent, which in turn explained why I was so easily aroused. Seen for the first time, my now hairless slit looked to me even more attractive than Doris had, although admittedly the grainy black and white film didn't do her justice. The caress of his hand as he applied talcum powder was more sensual than I could have imagined, and I reached for his dick, my only thought being to feel it inside me with his shaft caressing my exposed clitoris.

A couple of days later when Dad took my knickers off, I was a little apprehensive about how he would react to my new bald state, but his response was totally unexpected. With a delighted smile he parted the smooth lips, and for the first time ever I felt his mouth on me. To describe the feeling as amazing would belittle it. Not even Doris had licked me with such skill, and when I came my climax was almost violent as I tangled my fingers in his hair to pull his tongue deeper. When he finally raised his grinning face and prepared to put his dick into me, I couldn't bring myself to let him go unrewarded, so I shook my head and took him into my mouth.

Inevitably this new turn of events added a new dimension to our activities. Now that Dad knew I, unlike most women according to him, was not deterred by a mouthful of cum from sucking his cock, we began to pleasure each other with our mouths with as much enthusiasm and almost as often as we shagged, although happily Hamish still preferred to put his cock in my fanny.

A week before Bert left Hamish took on a third year apprentice mechanic, to take care of routine servicing on the days he was out on buying trips. Lady Luck continued to smile on us as the business prospered beyond our wildest hopes. With Malcolm Fisher, the apprentice, to ease the workload, Hamish was able to spare two, and often three afternoons a week looking for new stock, although he still worked late hours in the garage after Malcolm had gone home.

A few weeks after the apprentice started a pattern began to emerge. On the days Malcolm was required to attend trade school, Mum took it on herself to take a midday meal to Hamish, returning an hour or more later with the empty plate, and, I had no doubt, a full twat. This took a load off my mind, since I had been trying to think of ways for them to spend time together, without them suspecting that I knew what they were doing.

The sales side of the business continued to flourish, thanks in no small part to Hamish's reputation for honest and fair dealing, something that was sadly lacking in many sectors of the second hand car trade. By late 1950, with five salesmen now on the payroll, including Clive who was now officially sales manager, Hamish applied to one of the major car makers to become an authorised dealer. Unfortunately, after a visit from a representative he was rejected, on the grounds that to be associated with a dealer operating from what was essentially a bombed site did not fit in with the image the company wished to project.

After serious thought and much discussion, at the beginning of 1951 Hamish took a gamble, and invested a large portion of the accumulated profits in having an impressive showroom built. His next application, supported by sales figures and bank records was successful, and a month later he took delivery of a full range of new cars. In the succeeding months and well into 1952 sales continued to grow, and on the 'recommendation' of the car maker's representative during one of his regular inspection visits (the way the recommendation was phrased hinted that dealer authorisation could be withdrawn as easily as it had been granted), a modern service centre was built next door to the showroom, and behind the garage, which was then demolished.

Malcolm, who by now had completed his apprenticeship, was invited to take part in a three week course at the car factory, to further familiarise himself with each model. Hamish was involving himself less with the mechanical side and more with administration, which necessitated the hiring of another mechanic, to work under Malcolm's supervision.

Opportunities had become restricted when Malcolm no longer had to attend trade school, but a chance but unrelated comment led me to conclude that floating between both sides of the business also allowed Hamish to take time to visit Mum at home for their regular fuck.

The 1950s were a time of flux. Under the influence of American magazines and such, British youth adopted more and more slang in place of familiar expressions. For example they stopped going to the cinema, or the 'flicks' as my generation called it, referring instead to 'taking in a movie'. Many terms used by my generation only in the privacy of the bedroom began to appear in the common speech of teenagers. Words like 'boobs' and 'knockers' were readily bandied about, as were 'clit', 'snatch', 'pussy' and 'clam', which last I found particularly distasteful. Amongst other expressions, 'screw' and 'fuck' were preferred to the now too British 'shag', and I became so used to overhearing them that they became automatic additions to my mental word jigsaw.

Perhaps the most notable foreign influence, mostly Parisian, was in women's clothes. As hemlines slowly crept up, underwear began to shrink, as did the descriptions. Underwear manufacturers reaped greater profits, as in the name of fashion they charged three times as much for a third of the material. Brassieres became smaller, and in turn were referred to simply as 'bras', whilst knickers were banished in favour of 'panties', and the appropriately named 'briefs'.

In May 1953 Hamish bought our first television set, and on the second day of June Mum,Dad, Hamish and I sat huddled before the small screen to watch the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II.

Later the same year the armistice brought the Korean conflict to an end, and more of our soldiers returned home to be welcomed as heroes.

One morning I went shopping for groceries after taking Angus to school, and I picked up a few things for Mum, since I was stopping off at her place on the way home. She was coming down the stairs as I opened the front door, and when she saw me she pulled her housecoat closed, but not before I noticed that her mound was as smooth as mine. I assumed from her reddened pussy lips that Hamish had paid her an early visit, but she smiled and glanced back over her shoulder.

"Hello dear, look who's here."

If it hadn't been for the uniform with the three stripes on his sleeve I might not easily have recognised the figure coming down the stairs. The hair was thinning and grey, and the waist thickened, but the embarrassed smile was unmistakably Chuck. As he reached the bottom stair I dropped the shopping and threw my arms around him in delight and gave him a warm kiss of welcome. He shuffled his feet a little uncomfortably at almost being caught in the act, but I pretended not to notice, and dragged him into the living room whilst Mum made cups of tea for herself and me, and coffee for Chuck. Pushing him on to the couch, I demanded he tell me about what had happened to him since we last saw him. Over the next hour or so he told us about his various postings around Europe and Asia, finishing in Korea, where his job as supply sergeant kept him a safe distance from any action. Now that conflict was ended, he had decided to end his army career after more than twenty years and return to his homeland, but first he had to look up and say goodbye to the only people who had ever treated him as family.

When he had finished I told him about Hamish and Angus, and how, starting only with a few army surplus Jeeps, my husband had built up a prosperous business. He seemed genuinely pleased, even joking about the American made Jeep, and saying we couldn't have made it without the Yanks. As I got ready to go home he insisted on walking with me to carry my shopping.

During the short walk Chuck seemed preoccupied, then he stopped and looked at me. "Look, Thelma. About your Mom."

I shook my head quickly. "No need to explain. Mum would never have done anything with anyone she didn't have feelings for, so as far as I'm concerned that makes it alright."

He heaved a sigh of relief and resumed walking, and when we arrived he set the shopping on the kitchen bench and stood looking at me. "The years have been kind to you Thelma. You hardly look a day older." I smiled at the compliment, even though it wasn't true, and tried to think of something to say in return, but he beat me to it. "The things we did together... you know?..." I nodded, remembering, and waited for him to continue. "Well I was thinking how it was always in the blackout, so I never actually saw you."

I knew what he was thinking, and in truth I was thinking the same. My fingers went to the buttons on my blouse. "Perhaps it's time you did then." He watched intently as I took off my blouse and reached behind me for my bra fastening.

A smile lit his face as my breasts fell free. "They are bigger than I remember."

I returned his smile and patted my tummy. "So is this. Having kids can do that to you. Heaven knows what I'd be like if I'd had more than one."

"Probably just as good." He was being gallant and I knew it. I fumbled with the fastening of my skirt, but he shook his head. "Better not go any further. I don't have a rubber."

I let my skirt drop and taking his hand, turned towards the stairs. "You don't need one." Stretching out on the bed in the spare room, I slipped off my panties, feeling his eyes devouring my hairless slit as he undressed. "That's bigger than I remember too," I grinned when he stepped out of his underpants and his dick sprang free.

"You're so like your Mom," he whispered, lying down next to me. I wasn't sure if he was referring to my being shaved, or comparing my looks and figure with Mum's, and I hoped it was the former, not being too keen on the idea of being compared to a much older woman. Then his fingers were between my legs, and I no longer cared what he meant. I squeezed his hard cock, moving my hand up and down its length as his fingers explored my wetness, then I pulled him over me. The slide of skin on wet skin was bliss when he pushed into me, and the memory of furtive fumbling in dark doorways returned as we fucked with complete and uninhibited abandon. This time though it was infinitely better, because there was no unwanted rubber barrier to take the edge off our pleasure when we came in a rush of liquid release.

As we dressed afterwards, we each promised to keep in touch, but we both knew they were only words, said to fill in that awkward moment of realisation that things had run their course. At least we had finally had our chance to say goodbye, and a pussy filled with Chuck's cum seemed a fitting way to close the door on the past.

Angus turned fifteen in 1957, and although, like most mothers, I had hopes that he would go on to university to study law or medicine, I did not stand in his way when he expressed a wish to take after his father and become a mechanic. Within days he took up an apprenticeship, and 'Browning and Son' became more than just a name. Mum continued her lunchtime visits, but now that she was feeding them both she was forced to be more discreet, so reluctantly she had no choice but to keep her knickers on.

Over the last couple of years, Dad's gas ravaged lungs had been getting steadily worse, until it reached the stage where even shagging me put too much strain on his breathing. Work was out of the question, and he was spending more time in bed than out of it, which meant Mum had to give up her job to look after him, with me taking over when she needed a break. He lost none of his sense of mischief though, and sometimes during Mum's absences he would ask me to sit on the bed beside him so he could feel me.

Five weeks after my son started work we were all devastated when the inevitable happened, and Dad passed away. Mum remained stoic throughout the funeral, and over the following couple of weeks, but one morning I popped in to check on her and found her looking at a photo of Dad, and weeping quietly. I knew words were no good, so I sat holding her until the tears stopped.

That was the only time I know of that she cried over Dad's passing. It wasn't that she hadn't loved him, because she most certainly did. I think it was more that she was relieved not having the pain of watching him fight for every breath. More than a little worried about her becoming depressed on her own, I had a word with Hamish, and between us we persuaded Mum to stay at least a few nights a week in our spare room.

Dad had been gone about six weeks before Mum was finally able to talk about him openly. We were sitting on the couch having our usual morning cup of tea, when she put her cup aside and fiddled absently with the top button of her blouse. "I really miss him you know."

I nodded. "Yes, I know. We both do. We all do," I amended.

"No, I mean I miss him here," she touched her breasts, and then between her legs. "and here. Especially here."

I don't know what made me say it, but the words were out before I could stop them. "At least you still have Hamish."

She looked at me sharply. "What do you mean?"

I smiled. "It's OK Mum. I know. I've always known."

"And you didn't mind?"

"Not at all. Men will be men, and if Hamish was going to shag another woman, I'd rather it be someone who wouldn't try to take him away from me."

She was silent for a while, then she took a deep breath. "Seeing as you know about Hamish, I'd better tell you something that happened late one night a few months before our holiday in France. It was on one of the very rare occasions your dad was able to persuade me to use my mouth -- you need to understand that girls of my generation were brought up to believe that only 'bad' women did that sort of thing, mostly for money. Heaven forbid they did it for pleasure -- anyway I was doing it and I tasted something on him that seemed out of place. I wasn't sure what it was at first, until it dawned on me that it was not unlike the taste on your dad's lips after he kissed me down there, which was what he used to do when he was trying to convince me to let him put it in my mouth. He thought it would make me more willing."

Mum hesitated for a moment as she searched for the right way to continue. "It seldom worked because my upbringing was too strong, but a few days later curiosity got the better of me, and I did it again. This time I tasted nothing unusual, so I gave it a few days then had another try, which of course both surprised and delighted your father. It was third time lucky because I tasted it again, and I knew it could only have come from you, because his routine never varied by more than two or three minutes, so he could not possibly have been seeing anyone else. I started doing it more often, telling myself I was just trying to be sure of my facts before confronting him. It was more than a week before I tasted you on him again, and by then I was learning to like how he felt in my mouth, although it took me a little longer to enjoy the taste of his stuff. I think that liking how you tasted helped. Before I knew it all the inhibitions of my upbringing had disappeared, and sucking him became second nature to me. He didn't even have to ask any more, the more I did it the more I wanted to."

She laughed. "Your Dad must have thought he died and went to Heaven. I still intended to challenge him -- or you - about him doing you, but I was like a child with a new toy. Then Hamish booked the holiday, and I didn't want to spoil it for everyone, so I put off saying anything. When I let Hamish shag me in France I couldn't bring myself to be a hypocrite and complain about you and your Dad doing what Hamish and I had done."

I really didn't know what to say to that. It was a relief to know she hadn't objected to Dad shagging me, but the manner in which she found out had me lost for words. Had she truly liked how I tasted, or was she just saying that to make me feel better?

Suddenly she laughed and hugged me. "Aren't we wicked?"

'If you only knew', I thought to myself, remembering how willingly I had let Chuck and Wilbur fuck me, and how shamelessly I had barged into Armand's room and leaned over the bed, but I simply laughed in return and hugged her back.

After a few moments of silence she spoke again. "Now that we know about each other I sort of wish Hamish was here."

One of these days my mouth is going to get me into trouble, because without thinking I replied. "He might not be here here, but I am." And then I did the unthinkable. I put my hand on her breast and squeezed gently.

Her mouth went wide with shock. "Oh!" She looked down at my hand. "Oh. Oh dear. I never thought... I mean I... Only three people ever..."

I knew she was including Chuck in the three, but she didn't try to move away so I rotated my palm until her nipple stiffened. "Four now." I whispered. She still didn't move, but she shivered as I started to unfasten her blouse. When the buttons were all undone, I hooked a finger in her bra cup to pull it aside, and she tensed. "It's OK Mum," I soothed. "I've seen them before, remember."

Careful not to take things too quickly, I let my hand fall into my lap and looked at her exposed breast for several seconds, before pulling the other cup down. Once again I sat in silence, studying her pale mounds until she relaxed, and then a sudden light flick of my fingertip stiffened her nipple even more. She drew in a shuddering breath when I slowly ran my tongue across one puckered bud, and she pushed me away, covering both breasts with her hands.

"You'd better stop that before we go too far." Her tone was shaky and unconvincing, and I pulled her hands down.

"What's too far?" I asked quietly, sucking first one nipple, then the other.

"I don't know, and I'm not sure I want to find out. It's all too much too quickly. Please stop."

I sucked for a few seconds longer, then raised my head to Mum's obvious relief. I stood and picked up the empty teacups. "How about another cuppa?" She nodded absently, looking down at her breasts as though unsure that I really had sucked them.

As I put the kettle on I glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, surprised to see it was almost lunch time. I put my head round the door to ask what she fancied for lunch and stopped. Her bra was back in place, but her blouse was still open, and she gazed unseeingly into space as she pinched and twisted her nipples through the fabric.

Ducking back into the kitchen before she noticed me watching, I raised my voice. "Fancy some scrambled eggs Mum?" Her reply was indistinct, so I took it as a yes, and as I cracked the eggs into a bowl I thought about what I had seen. There was no way of knowing if what she had done was prompted by our revelations, or by my sucking her nipples, but whatever the case it was clear to me she had certainly been aroused to some degree. We didn't say much as we ate, and after I had rinsed the plates I suggested we fill the afternoon looking round the shops.

She seemed very subdued and distracted as we wandered from shop to shop, hardly speaking except to reply to my comments, and only then in monosyllables. Her usual enthusiasm for trying on expensive fashions she had no intention of buying just wasn't there, and I began to wonder if she was trying to avoid being with me wearing only her underwear. If maybe I had indeed gone too far for her comfort. The afternoon dragged on, with Mum's seemingly dark mood starting to rub off on me, so I was only too happy to agree when she suggested we return home.

It must have been later than I thought, because when we got home Angus was sitting at the table shovelling beans on toast into his mouth. "Hello Mum, Nan," he mumbled. "Going to the dance hall with some of the lads from school. Shouldn't be too late." He pushed the plate away with a satisfied burp. "Before I forget, Dad said he's knocking off early, and he'll be home about sixish to take you and Nan to the pictures." Leaving me to clear the table, he gave Mum and me a peck on the cheek, and disappeared into the street.

Taking the dirty plate into the kitchen, I put it on the draining board to be washed later, and when I returned Mum was sitting on the couch, wringing her hands nervously. She flinched when I sat beside her, and I took her hand. "Look Mum, I'm sorry I embarrassed you. I don't know what made me do what I did."

She shrugged. "What's done is done. It's too late to worry about it now."

"Maybe, but it ruined the afternoon for both of us."

"No, it wasn't that, it just reminded me of something else, that's all, and I couldn't stop thinking about it."

I knew it was probably none of my business, but I had to ask. "What was it then?"

She took a deep breath. "Chuck. It reminded me of the first time he made a pass at me. He didn't touch me right away. He just sat beside me on the couch for a while, looking at my cleavage, then he started to unfasten my blouse the way you did. I was a bit shocked, but I was flattered at the same time, and I told myself that after all he'd done for us it wouldn't hurt to let him see my brassiere. When he took my breast out I didn't try to stop him, because by then I didn't want to, so I let him take my undies off and do it. When you undid my blouse before you even touched my breast, it reminded me of him, and it started me wondering how you and your Dad started. I was thinking about that all the time we were out."

It suddenly struck me that telling me about Chuck was her way of leading up to this, and there was a gleam in her eye that was more than mere curiosity. I squeezed her hand. "Do you really want to know?"

She lowered her gaze and nodded. "Only if you want to tell me."

This time it was my turn to take a deep breath. "It was under the stairs during the blitz. You were in front of me and Dad was behind me holding us both. As you know, it was really cramped in there, and he was pressed tight against me. I could feel him getting hard against my bottom, and I recalled something Hamish had said, about dying without ever knowing how it felt to do it. Actually I nearly did it with him, but you and Dad came home just as he was about to put it in me."

I could sense Mum was becoming more and more agitated, and when I paused she urged me to continue.

"The bombs were getting closer, and Dad started pulling the back of my nightie up, and his hard dick was against my bare bottom."

I paused again, and she asked "Didn't it bother you that he was your father?"

"Of course it did, but I couldn't stop thinking about dying without knowing. He started feeling my fanny, and when a bomb landed in the next street I was sure the next one would be ours, and it suddenly didn't matter who shagged me so long as I knew how it felt."

Her eyes were gleaming, and she pressed her thighs tightly together. "Then what?" she breathed.

"Then he pushed his dick into my fanny. It hurt a bit, but not for long, and then he was pushing it in and out, in and out, and it was the best feeling ever. When he asked a week later if he could shag me again I just couldn't say no, and it was even better because we weren't so cramped for space. He could look at my fanny and I could look at his dick, and he was able to put it all the way in."

Just as I finished, Hamish came home. He kissed me and then Mum, and when she flinched he looked at her. "Is something wrong? Ye look a bit out of sorts."

"No, I'm fine. We've been talking." She hesitated, then blurted out, "Thelma knows."

"Knows what? I'm not with ye."

"She knows about us. You and me."

He tensed, "Oh, I see. What made ye tell her?"

"She didn't tell me," I put in. "I already knew."

"Oh? Since when?"

"Since the first time in France."

His scarred brow wrinkled in a frown. "And ye didna object?"

I shook my head. "Why should I? I didn't object when I watched you do it with Doris, and I didn't object when I watched you with her cousin Hannah, so why should I object to you doing it with Mum? I love both of you, so if it made you both happy it made me happy."

Mum's eyebrows shot up at the revelation that I had watched him shag Doris and Hannah, but she seemed a little more at ease knowing that I truly didn't mind. "Besides," I told him, "With Dad gone, Mum needs you more than ever now." Seeing the hunger in her eyes, I smiled encouragingly, and added "And I mean now."

Hamish studied her thoughtfully, then said. "Look, I know I said I'd take ye both out tonight, but d'ye mind if we stay home?" He squeezed in between us and put his arms around our shoulders. "I must say it's a relief," he said, pulling us closer so he could slide his hands down on to our breasts.

Mum shifted position slightly, snuggling into his palm. "Yes it is."

We both sighed at the same time as he started stroking our tits, and I reached across to unfasten her blouse. Her need must have been more intense than I thought, because she quite surprised me when she hesitated for no more than a second, before easing her boobs from their restraining cups, and drawing his head to her nipples. It was difficult to believe that she could be so forward, but I knew from experience that when aroused, people were capable of acting in ways that would normally shock them. And at that moment it looked as if Mum was more aroused than I would have thought possible.

She seemed to have forgotten I was there as Hamish sucked her tits, and she freed his dick, watching her hand glide up and down as she slid her bottom to the edge of the couch, causing her skirt to ride up. Her eyes opened wide in surprise when I crouched between her knees to pull down her panties, inhaling the scent of her need as her pussy was revealed. I longed to cover her slit with my mouth, but remembering how she reacted when I had sucked her nipples, I controlled the urge, contenting myself with merely looking. Even with Dad gone, she had continued to shave, and her smooth lips were gleaming with moisture. Not daring to touch her myself, I took Hamish's hand and guided it to her fanny. A barely audible moan escaped her, and she raised her hips, opening up to his questing fingers.

She turned until she lay lengthways on the couch, one leg raised on the cushions, the other foot flat on the floor, and in less than five minutes, that which I had dreamed of since I spied on them in France, but never expected to see, happened. I avidly watched the pouting lips part as my husband eased his hard cock into Mum's wet and more than willing fanny. Not since he stopped seeing Hannah had I had the joy of watching Hamish shag another woman, in fact I had pretty much given up hope, but now, knowing it was my Mum's twat he was about to fill with cum made it doubly exciting. No longer able to contain myself, I stripped off my blouse and bra, and pressed my bosom to hers as I watched them fuck. I had half expected her to push me away again, but when she didn't I took a chance and fastened my lips on her nipple, fondling my own tits and watching from the corner of my eye, as his cock continued to slide in and out of her bald pussy.

I slipped my hand inside my panties as I sucked her tits, desperate to quell the inferno between my own thighs. The intensity and suddenness of my climax shook me, because I had given my clit no more than four strokes before my cum poured into my cupped palm.

I finished myself off quickly and turned my attention back to Mum and Hamish. His cock was coated with the milky sheen of her secretions, and her breathing was becoming more laboured as he fucked her closer and closer to orgasm. Suddenly she gave a most unladylike grunt, her tummy muscles tensing as her seeping secretions became a flow, and she began to undulate her hips slowly and purposefully.

"Yessssssssssssss." It was a long drawn out sigh as much as a word, and her face took on a look of absolute bliss as Hamish came inside her. She continued to thrust against him, milking his cock until it softened and slipped out.

Now that her passion was spent she seemed a little bashful, sitting up straight and pulling her skirt over her sticky fanny. Hamish went to the toilet to relieve his bladder, and Mum patted the couch beside her. Avoiding the cum that had pooled on the cushion, I perched on the edge as she took my hand. "I can't believe I let you watch me being shagged. If anyone had told me a year ago that I would let anyone see me do it I would have been horrified. Least of all you. But after you told me how your father did you I was too far gone to resist. And when you said you watched Hamish with Doris and Hannah, the thought of you watching him with me didn't seem so strange, although I never thought it would excite me as much as it did."

I was starting to really appreciate the frankness that was developing between us, and when Hamish came back downstairs and leered at our still uncovered boobs, I asked him to go out for some fish and chips. He had been gone no more than a few minutes when Mum broke the silence. "I know you watched Hamish with Doris and Hannah, so I wondered -- did Wilbur and Bert do it with you?"

I shook my head. "Bert didn't but yes, Wilbur did. He fucked me whenever Hamish fucked Doris, which was pretty much most weekends."

"I see." She frowned at my use of the F-word, which she had never heard me say before, and fell quiet for a while. Finally she glanced down at her breasts, and in a barely audible whisper she said. "What you did before when Hamish was doing me, did you do that with Doris?"

"Yes, many times." I didn't need to ask what she meant. "That and much more."

Hamish returned before Mum could say more than "Oh", although I could see that she longed to hear more, but not in the presence of my husband. We sat on the couch with him between us and ate the fish and chips with our fingers straight from the wrapping, wiping our hands afterwards on the discarded paper. Almost shyly, she reached for his hand and rested it on my bare breast. "Thelma's turn now" she whispered in a shaky voice, and when his fingers closed on my nipple, she crouched between my knees as I had done with her and pulled off my soggy panties.

Hopefully I lifted my skirt and spread my legs wide, wanting her to touch me, but she merely stared, studying my exposed inner folds before unfastening Hamish's trousers. "Do her" she demanded urgently. "I want to see you do her."

In her crouched position, for a brief moment I could look up her skirt at her slit and picture it again filled with my husband's prick, then she moved to stand beside me as he dropped his trousers and positioned himself between my legs. Her eyes were gleaming as she watched him take aim, and I took advantage of her distraction to caress the smooth skin of her inner thigh. She backed away before I could explore higher, but when Hamish thrust into me she gasped and moved closer, so I tried again.

This time I managed to get as far as touching her fanny, but when I tried to part the soft lips she grasped my hand. "Please don't. It's too much, too soon. I just want to watch him do you."

Reluctantly I took my hand away and pinched my nipples, watching the changing expressions on her face as Hamish fucked me. She sucked in a breath through pursed lips when he came inside me, then she smiled. "Thank you both for a wonderful evening. I think I'll have an early night." With a lingering look at my cream filled fanny, she kissed us both goodnight and went upstairs.

We were wakened early next morning by Mum singing at the top of her voice as she clattered around in the kitchen. Glad to hear her so happy, but wishing she had chosen a more reasonable hour to show it, I groaned and buried my head under the pillow. Soon the smell of frying bacon wafting up the stairs lured Hamish out of bed, and I snuggled further under the blankets. My few moments of peace were disturbed ten minutes later, when Angus yelled out that he was off to work, and as the door slammed behind him I wrapped my housecoat around my shoulders and trudged downstairs.

Hamish was seated at the kitchen table holding the remains of a bacon sandwich, whilst Mum filled his teacup. She was smiling indulgently, and it wasn't until I moved around the table to sit down that I realised he had one hand busy between her thighs. When she saw me she made no attempt to stop him feeling her, other than to say quietly, "Now, now Hamish, you'll be late for work, and what sort of example would that be setting for your staff?"

He laughed as he rose from his chair. "That's the best thing about being the boss. I canna be sacked, but ye're right. If I'm no there to crack the whip there'll be nae work done."

Mum seemed a little regretful as we watched him leave, which made me wonder just how long he had been feeling her fanny before I came downstairs. It also made me wonder if last night had made her more adventurous. After all, she hadn't tried to stop me sucking her tits when Hamish shagged her, so maybe with a bit of persuasion she might let me do it again.

She sat facing me across the table as I tucked into my bacon and egg breakfast, and trying to sound casual I asked her, "How was last night? Did you enjoy it as much as you seemed to?"

Her smile spoke volumes. "Once I overcame the awkwardness it was exciting. I never thought I could ever do anything so outrageous. How about you? Did you like seeing Hamish doing it with me? Was it as good as watching him with Doris?"

She seemed to be seeking reassurance, and I reached across the table to take her hand. "It was much better than with her. Seeing my Mum shagged by my hubby added that little bit of naughtiness and made it extra special. How did you like seeing me do it?"

"It was interesting to say the least. I've never seen anyone do it before. As you said it was rather naughty watching my daughter and I found it quite exciting, but not as much as having you watching me. I'll even go as far as to say I didn't mind your mouth on my breasts when Hamish was in me."

I guessed from this admission that our conversation was having a similar effect on Mum as it was having on me, so I decided to see how far I could push her. I finished my breakfast and we took our cups of tea into the living room. "OK." I said, settling down beside her on the couch. "I told you how Dad started with me, so it's your turn. How did you and Hamish start?"

She thought for a few seconds before replying. "Actually it was easier than I would have thought. The first time I saw him naked on the beach I liked what I saw. As soon as I realised I wanted him to look at my vagina, I knew if he ever tried anything I wouldn't have the will power to say no. I didn't dare open my legs properly though in case your father noticed how wet I was. When your Dad suggested Hamish go with me to ask about a picnic lunch I thought my good fairy was smiling down on me. We were told at the kitchen there would be a short wait, so we went to our room where I sat in the chair with my legs open enough for him to have a clear view without making it too obvious."

Mum paused for a moment, but when I nodded for her to go on she continued. "At first he pretended not to look, but by the way he was sitting I could tell what he was thinking, and what it was doing to him. He tried to joke, saying he liked how my nipples puckered when they were hard, and if I wasn't his wife's mother I'd be in trouble. I pretended not to understand and he laughed and put his hand on my breast, saying that was what he'd do if I wasn't his mother in law. It felt like he started a fire between my legs and I couldn't stop myself from opening them wider. When he started stroking my vagina I knew there was no stopping. I tried telling myself it was wrong to have sex with my daughter's husband, but when he put it in me it just didn't feel wrong. The longer he was inside me, and the more he pushed in and out the more exciting it was."

Her reminiscences had the effect I hoped for and she was almost breathless when she concluded, so I took a chance and slipped a hand inside her housecoat. "Did he feel your breasts like this?" I whispered squeezing gently. She sighed and nodded. "Did he suck your nipples like I did last night?" Another sigh, another nod. I opened her coat and pushed my hand between her legs. "Did he feel your fanny like this?"

"Yes... no... I don't know... don't... oh god yes!" Her thighs parted and she gave a strangled moan, pressing back against my teasing fingertips. She didn't see my smile of triumph as I took her nipple between my lips. My seduction of my Mum was almost complete, but I knew I had to time it just right or risk ruining it forever. I took it slowly, stroking as I sucked, gently at first, encouraging her increasing wetness, then more insistently, caressing her the way I liked to be caressed, sucking the way every woman likes to be sucked and caressed. As only a woman knows how to.

When the urgency of her responses told me she was close to the edge, I slid down and pressed my lips to her pussy in the most intimate of all kisses. Considering that less than twelve hours earlier she had pushed my hand away, her reaction was startlingly dramatic. The instant my tongue parted the moist lips and centred on her clit, she grabbed my hair and pulled me closer, grinding her pussy against my mouth.

I don't know if it was my imagination, or simply the thrill of the forbidden, but Mum's fanny tasted nicer than Doris or Hannah's ever had, and I licked voraciously, lapping her lubricating juices as fast as they flowed. My tongue was as far inside her as I could get it when she started to cum, and the first creamy drops slid straight down my throat. I raised her knees against her chest, opening her fanny wider and making her clit protrude further, and attacked the swollen bud with my greedy tongue, pushing a finger deep inside her inviting hole and finger and tongue fucking her until she lowered her legs, pushing me away.

"No more. Please," she gasped. "I can't take any more."

My own fanny was on fire but I didn't want to pressure her into anything she wasn't ready for, so I just sat back on my heels and licked my lips. Mum's demeanour changed as she recovered her composure, and a tear rolled slowly down her cheek. "I'm sorry Thelma, that should never have happened."

I looked at her in confusion. "Why are you sorry Mum? You enjoyed it, didn't you? You wanted it as much as I did."

She shook her head. "I can't deny I enjoyed it, but I didn't want it. At least I didn't want it to go so far. It's just that when you touched me down there I couldn't stop until it was over. I had to know what was going to happen and what it would feel like."

"So long as you liked it what does it matter?"

"That's just the problem," she frowned. "Maybe I liked it too much. Maybe it will change how I think of men. I mean everything you did was just right, and no man was ever able to do exactly what I needed without being asked or told how."

I couldn't help laughing as I told her, "Just wait until Hamish puts his dick in you again. You'll soon see that you have nothing to worry about. A woman may be able to lick you better than a man, but that's only because she licks the way she likes being licked herself. The woman hasn't been born who can shag you as good as a man can. I loved it when Doris licked me, but a tongue doesn't compare with a hard dick. It's just one more thing to enjoy."

She touched her pussy briefly. "I hope you're right," she whispered half to herself. "Anyway, let's get dressed and go out for some fresh air."

Walking along the street I tried to ignore the burning between my legs, whereas by contrast Mum's mood lightened as we wandered I and out of the shops. By the time we stopped at a small cafe for lunch she was almost back to her usual self. After we finished eating we resumed browsing. Passing the local cinema she pointed out that there was an afternoon matinee showing at half price, and suggested we go in to kill a couple of hours.

The run down old place was scarcely a quarter filled, mostly with elderly people sitting up front close to the screen, and we easily found a row to ourselves halfway down. When we were settled in our seats, Mum nudged me and glanced towards the back rows.

"It was in those seats back there that I first let a boy touch me" she whispered. "His name was Henry, and he was quite the handsomest boy in the whole school. All the young ladies were in love with him, and I was so flattered when he asked me out that I told a fib to my parents, and said I was going to see a film with some girls from school." She giggled. "Poor Henry had such a difficult time of it. Skirts were so long those days and we all wore petticoats. It was such a struggle for him to get his hand under all the layers without attracting attention, and then he had my knee length bloomers to contend with. He had only just put his hand on my vagina when the film ended, and he had to stop before the lights came back on. It was so naughty and exciting though. I never went out with him again, because he became angry when I refused to let him feel me on the way home, and I realised that that was the only interest he had in me."

The thought of my Mum sitting in the dark with a boy feeling her fanny set me off again, and I surreptitiously slid down the zip in the side of my dress. As the lights dimmed I slipped my hand inside and down the front of my briefs, quietly rubbing my wet slit until the flames were reduced to smouldering embers.

Back home later I made a steak and kidney pie, whilst Mum peeled potatoes and vegetables, and we watched television until it was cooked. Angus came home at his usual time, and after wolfing down his meal he disappeared again for the evening. Mum and I ate ours more slowly, and leaving Hamish's loaded plate in the oven to stay warm, we returned to the living room and the television.

Promptly at eight thirty Hamish came in from work, and after kissing Mum and me he sniffed appreciatively as he took a seat at the kitchen table. "Something smells good. I'm starving."

Mum took his plate from the oven and set it in front of him, sighing in exasperation when he pushed his hand under her skirt. "Don't you men ever think of anything else?"

He laughed good naturedly and pulled her closer. "Och, ye know how we are. Plenty o' food and fanny and we're happy."

She smiled indulgently and let him feel her pussy for a few moments, then stepped away. "Enough of that. Eat before it gets cold."

"Aye, OK," he leered. "And then we can finish what we started."

"Not with me you won't. I want to see you do Thelma again." Her no nonsense tone told him the matter was not open for discussion, and I followed her into the living room, pleased that she had put my needs before her own. Before I sat down on the couch, Mum reached under my dress and tugged my panties down then sat beside me. She unbuttoned the front of my dress, and was unhooking my bra when Hamish came into the room.

"Don't just stand there gawking," she commanded, pulling my dress up to my waist and parting my legs. "Take your clothes off and lick her vagina." He looked at her in shock but she stared him down. "Come on, you've licked mine often enough, so you can't say you never did the same for your wife. Now I want to see it before you do her."

I was just as flabbergasted as my husband because I'd never dreamed she could be so forceful and demanding, but as he capitulated and started to undress I smiled gratefully. Her eyes gleamed and her face was flushed as she leaned close to watch him lick up and down my fanny, alternating between poking his tongue into my slippery opening and prodding it against my clit.

It struck home to me just how much she was coming out of her shell when, with her eyes firmly fixed on my tongue filled slit, she raised the hem of her skirt and easing her panties to her knees she pushed a finger into her pussy. The squishy sounds of her thrusting fingers sent me over the edge, and I pushed Hamish away.

"Quick, put it in me now!"

Mum's fingers moved faster as she watched him fuck me, then I lost all awareness of everything but the plunging cock carrying me on a wave of ecstasy, until my cum was soaking the cushion under my bottom, and my husband's cum was flooding my twat.

She seemed embarrassed at having given in to her urge to finger herself in front of Hamish and me, and she scarcely said a word as we sat watching telly and drinking tea, until around ten thirty she yawned and went upstairs to bed.

The next morning Mum stayed in her room until Hamish left for work, and then she moved back into her own house without any explanation. After washing up the breakfast things I went to ask for an explanation, but no matter how hard I pressed her she remained tight lipped. As the day passed I formed the impression that she was avoiding Hamish, and to some extent me, but I couldn't for the life of me understand why. Things became more and more strained over the next couple of days, and it wasn't until the third morning when I was thinking about the conversation we had after I licked her that it came to me.

I went over immediately and confronted her. "Look Mum, this silliness has to stop. I know why you've been avoiding us, especially Hamish, and you're wrong. I know you're worried that what we did -- what I did -- might have changed your thinking, but you don't know for certain, and not knowing can be worse than knowing. If you will just let Hamish fuck you again you'll see that I'm right. Being licked by another woman can be fun, but only for something different. It could never be as good as having a hard dick in your fanny. At least think about it." I added, and left before she could think of an excuse to refuse.

After Hamish and I made love that night he was lying on the bed beside me, admiring my body as he so often liked to do, and we heard stealthy footsteps on the stairs. Thinking it might be a burglar, he reached for the heavy bedside lamp ready to brain the intruder, when the door opened and Mum came in wearing a determined expression, and, as we discovered moments later, little else. She dropped her coat on the floor to reveal her nude body, and kicking off her shoes climbed on to the bed beside Hamish.

"Move over!" Her breasts were heaving and she sounded like she had been running, and as if she had been working up the courage all day, she leaned over him and took his limp cock into her mouth. She sucked and stroked until he had regained his erection, then knelt astride his hips and lowered herself on to his shaft.

This was a vastly different Mum to the one I had first watched my husband fuck. On that occasion she had been calmly compliant, sedately accepting his thrusts, but now she rode him fiercely as though intent on devouring his cock with her pussy. Since Hamish had flooded my fanny only minutes earlier, it would be quite some time before he was able to cum a second time, and I watched spellbound as Mum went through climax after climax after climax. She was flopping about like a rag doll on a stick, with her cum pouring unchecked down his shaft and on to the bed covers when his cock finally erupted and sent a fountain of thick goo into her slippery twat.

The strain of her exertions was etched on her face, and she gave me a weary smile as she raised up enough to allow his spent prick to slip from her thoroughly fucked and dripping hole. For fully five minutes she sat motionless, the only sounds being her deep breathing, then she leaned forward and kissed Hamish firmly but without passion. "Thank you" she murmured, "If you two don't mind I'll sleep here tonight." Without another word she picked up her coat and left the room.

Hamish shook his head as the door closed behind her. "What the devil brought that on? She ignores us for three days then she does that! Not that I'm complaining." he added with a dirty grin.

I suspected I knew the answer but I couldn't tell him, because I had no way of knowing how he would react if he knew I licked my own mother's fanny. Besides, she had made it quite clear at the time that it wouldn't happen again, so there was no point mentioning it.

When Mum came downstairs in the morning wearing her coat loosely wrapped around her, Hamish looked up from his breakfast. "You going out this early?"

She shook her head. "No, my housecoat is at home so I had to put this on."

"That makes sense." He flipped her coat open and looked appreciatively at her freshly shaven fanny. "Did you walk through the streets like that?"

"Yes, it didn't seem to matter in the dark. It was late at night and I had other things on my mind anyway."

His mouth twisted in a familiar grin. "I noticed." He put out a hand and she shivered as his finger traced the dividing line of her slit.

"You'll be late for work." she muttered, contradicting her weak protest by moving closer.

Pushing his chair away from the table he leaned back and slipped a finger into her. "If the boss canna be late now and then where's the point in being the boss?" he reasoned, as he worked it in and out.

"I dare say you're right" she sighed, parting her thighs a little more and pushing her hips forward. "I suppose someone had better take care of this for you." she murmured, laying a palm against the growing bulge in his trousers. It wasn't exactly the sort of question that needed an answer, and she undid his pants and sank down to take him into her mouth. I half expected her to suck him until she was ready to be shagged, as she had last night, but she didn't stop sucking and stroking until he exploded in her mouth. Rising again she wiped a couple of stray drops of cum from her chin and grinned. "OK mister, you'd better get to work and let us girls get on with the housework."

When he had left she looked at me uncertainly. "I hope you didn't mind me doing that? It's just that I like using my mouth and I was still excited from last night."

I smiled and shook my head. "Of course not. I enjoy seeing it almost as much as you seem to enjoy doing it, and I'm sure Hamish will never complain." Her relief was almost tangible and I couldn't resist teasing. "Just be careful of your bottom, he gets a bit carried away sometimes."

She surprised me by laughing gleefully. "Don't I know it? He's done me there several times. I was a bit horrified the first time, but now I don't mind so long as he takes it easy and isn't too energetic about it. Not that he does it often, although when he does it makes a pleasant change."

Her enthusiasm hadn't waned when he came home from work that evening, and she was almost joyful as she spread her legs for him. I must confess I was a little concerned that she might wear him out, but he seemed indefatigable when he shagged me an hour or so later, and again when we were alone at bedtime.

We fell into a comfortable routine as the days passed. Two, sometimes three mornings a week Mum would start his day by sucking him, and although he didn't shag her every day, he did her often enough to keep her content. Nor did he neglect my appetite, so none of us had cause to complain.

After she had sucked him one morning before he left for work, we were sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of tea, and she reached across to take my hand. "Can I ask a favour?"

She seemed a little edgy, so I squeezed her fingers to reassure her. "Of course, what do you want me to do?"

"Well, I was wondering," she said hesitantly, "what it's like to touch another woman. You know... intimately."

My eyes widened in surprise. Ever since that first time, apart from occasionally stroking her breast when Hamish was inside her, I had been careful not to alarm her by making any more advances, so her suggestion took me off guard. I recovered quickly, unfastening my house coat as I moved around the table to stand beside her. Now that we were so close she seemed almost afraid to make the first move, and I turned her face gently and guided my nipple to her mouth. After a moment or two her lips parted, and she pressed the tip of her tongue against the stiffened bud. She still seemed a little uncertain, so I encouraged her by lifting her hand and pressing it to my unoccupied breast, and as her fingers moulded themselves to the curves she opened her mouth wider, ringing my nipple with the tip of her tongue.

As her confidence grew she became more eager, changing from tit to tit, constantly caressing the pliant flesh as she sucked and nuzzled. Moments later I felt her palm against the inside of my knee, and momentarily relinquishing my nipple, she whispered, "Can I touch your vagina now?"

Pushing my hips forward in reply, I smiled with amusement at her outdated terminology. Despite her determination to appear 'modern', there remained aspects of my Mum's more prim upbringing that she could not quite bring herself to discard. To her thinking, what was between a woman's legs could only ever be a vagina, never a fanny or a pussy. Just as she was more comfortable saying 'do', rather than 'shag' or 'fuck'. In its own way I found this quaintness strangely arousing, and I held my breath with excitement when she parted my pussy lips.

"It's like warm wet silk," she whispered, running a finger along the length of my slit and pressing gently but firmly on my clit. "I can understand why men like to do this." She went back to sucking my tits as she twisted her finger in and out, spreading my wetness over my bald mound. Just as my climax was beginning she spoke again. "Do you want to do me again like last time? I think I'm more prepared for it now than I was then."

I tried to slip her housecoat from her shoulders, but she rose quickly and took my hand. "Not here. Let's go upstairs." I allowed her to lead me up to her room, where I saw she had prepared by laying a towel over the bed covers. Her hands shook as she removed my house coat, then taking off her own she lay on the bed and raised her arms to me. She was still a little nervous so I started slowly, gently caressing her trembling breasts and nibbling her nipples until she began to calm down. As she became more relaxed I kissed my way down her body and parted her legs, releasing the exotic scent of her arousal. I eyed her moist pink folds with hunger, and slowly lowered my mouth to her smooth lips, but she put her had on my head.

"Not just yet. I want to look at you too, then we can taste each other together."

I hurried to move into a sixty nine, feeling her hot breath as she studied my fanny. Hesitantly she parted the lips and eased me down onto her mouth as I put out my tongue and moved my face closer, until we were joined as one, mouth to fanny, fanny to mouth. When my tongue found her clit she copied my actions precisely, licking where I licked, probing where I probed, nibbling where I nibbled, then suddenly she was no longer aping me. Instead she was using her tongue and lips to guide me, letting me know where and how she wanted me to pleasure her. I felt her fingers enter me, tentatively at first, then more forcefully as I thrust my hips in encouragement, and pushed my fingers into her.

We were both too excited to hold back, and it seemed only moments before I was lapping Mum's cum as my own secretions poured into her open mouth.

"Oh god, Thelma," she panted, clawing wildly at my tits. "That was the most exciting thing I ever did, but I can't help thinking a dick would have made it even better."

I looked at her, perplexed. In view of her reticence over other terms, 'cock' was the last word I would have expected to hear from her. 'Thing', maybe, or 'it' or perhaps even 'dick', but certainly not 'cock'. Still, there was no point fretting over something I would probably never know the answer to, so I went into the bathroom to clean up.

Putting on a dress to protect me from spitting fat, I fried some bacon for sandwiches whilst Mum cleaned herself up. We sat side by side on the couch as we ate, each engrossed in our own thoughts, then putting her plate aside Mum brushed the crumbs from her naked thighs and parted her legs.

"Again?" she whispered hopefully.

I looked at her still slightly puffy fanny and nodded eagerly as my own juices started to seep. "Again." I responded, unfastening my dress as I headed towards the stairs.

Perhaps it was relief at realising that what we had done earlier in no way diminished her taste for men, but she was a changed woman when we reached the bedroom. Oozing confidence she pushed me on to the bed and crouched over me, rubbing her slit almost violently against my mouth as her tongue assaulted my clit. She was so intense that it seemed no time at all before her secretions were pouring into my mouth, as she licked more cum from my pussy than Doris had ever made me produce. When we were both finally spent, she rolled on to her back and giggled.

"I wonder what Hamish would say if he knew what we just did?"

There was something about her tone that suggested it was more than idle curiosity, then it was my turn to giggle as I recalled how Hamish and Wilbur had egged Doris and I on.

I replied as honestly as I dared. "I doubt if it would bother him too much. In fact, he might even surprise you." Mum looked a question at me but I refused to take the bait, and after we had cleaned ourselves up for the second time, we dressed and went downstairs, where I changed the subject to what to cook for Angus and Hamish when they finished work.

Hamish decided to rearrange the showroom display, working after hours to avoid disrupting business, which necessitated I him arriving home so late and tired that for several days he touched neither Mum nor myself, except for one morning when Mum sucked his dick before work. After what seemed much longer than it really was, he was finally finished, and he came home at his usual time. Mum and I were sitting watching television, and leaning over the back of the couch he pushed his hands down the tops of our dresses and inside our bras.

"I've missed my girls," he muttered, fondling our breasts. I can't speak for Mum, but my nipples rose instantly, and my face dropped with disappointment when he withdrew his hands. "Don't go away" he whispered. "I'll just wash up, then I'll show you how much I missed you."

Mum must have decided to take the bull by the horns, because she immediately unbuttoned my dress and took off my bra, before undressing herself to the waist and leaning toward me. When Hamish returned she raised her mouth from my nipple and grinned at him. "I thought we may as well start without you."

He returned her grin and took her breasts in his hands. "Don't let me stop you. I'll just enjoy the view."

I slouched back, enjoying her enthusiastic attention to my tits, and I inched the hem of her dress up to uncover her panties.

"Aye, that's the way my bonnies," Hamish approved, removing her dress and briefs, and turning his attention to mine. "Dinna stop there." He coaxed me down onto the floor, parting my legs and eased Mum over me. "Use yer tongues." Murmuring encouragement as he watched us lick each other, he quickly undressed and knelt behind Mum, grasping her hips and raising her from my mouth to push his hard cock into her wet fanny. After several energetic thrusts, he withdrew completely and thrust again. She gave a startled gasp when his now well lubricated dick slid smoothly into her back passage, then she began to push back to meet him.

No longer able to reach her with my tongue, I stroked her clit and pushed two fingers inside her pussy, finger fucking her wetness as I watched my husband shag her arse.

Her gasps of "Oh, Oh, Oh," in time with his thrusts warned of her approaching climax, and I opened my mouth to catch her oozing fluids as she lapped my own cum from my dripping twat. Half a dozen strokes later Hamish grunted as his pulsating cock filled Mum's arse with thick goo.

When he pulled out she turned and smiled at him. "That was a nice surprise. Unexpected but nice. We must do it again some time."

He took her at her word, and the following evening he had me crouched over her with her fingers in my fanny and his dick in my bum as I feasted on her clit.

As we recovered from our exertions I had a whispered conversation with Hamish, then spoke to Mum. "Look, we've been thinking. You spend more time here than at your place, so it seems senseless to maintain two homes. Why don't you put your house up for rent and move in here with us?"

She nodded thoughtfully. "It might be for the best. It can be a bit lonely at night without your Dad. I miss him just being there. Although he didn't do it often, and sometimes it annoyed me when he did, I miss him shagging me awake in the mornings."

I looked at her in surprise. I couldn't recall her ever talking about what she did with Dad, so this was somewhat of a revelation. It was also an indication of how much she had progressed since I told her I has known from the start that she and Hamish were shagging.

She looked at him and laughed. "Don't get any ideas. Even if I do move in with you, your wake up shags belong strictly to your wife."

That weekend was spent moving Mum, with her lifetime of "treasures" and her essentials into our spare room, and on the Monday she listed her house with a rental agency.

Although this solved the problem of her loneliness, it presented another that none of us had forseen. With a teenage boy under the same roof, there were fewer opportunities for Hamish to shag her, although they certainly took full advantage of those that were presented, sometimes, but fortunately rarely, to the point where he had no energy left to satisfy me.

About a year after Dad passed, Mum, perhaps out of a need to associate or mix with people of her own generation, became a volunteer worker in a charity shop. Almost immediately, some of the spring in her step which she had lost when Dad died returned, and with the passage of time some of the years seemed to fall away. Her rediscovered zest for life transferred to her relationship at home, and for the next year or so things couldn't have been better.

Angus had not long celebrated his seventeenth birthday, when Mum came home looking rather despondant.

"I'm worried about George," she told me, referring to one of her volunteer co workers, a small dapper ex soldier some ten years her junior, who took care of the heavy lifting and sorting of donations. "His wife is somewhat younger than he is, but she is constantly unwell with what he calls 'women's problems' and is unable to 'accommodate' him physically." She touched her breasts. "Today he hinted that it would be nice to find out if these would fit into his hands."

"I see, did you let him?"

"Of course not. What concerns me most is that I actually considered it before I changed the subject."

"I can understand that," I told her. "It all comes down to what you want. And what you are prepared to put up with. If you like someone enough I see no harm in letting him take certain liberties. After all, that's the way it was with Chuck. You liked him enough to let him shag you."

She looked uncertain. "Yes I know, but I'm not sure I like George enough to go that far, although I'm pretty sure he wants to."

"It's not just about what he wants though is it?" I answered. "You have to make up your own mind. If you like him enough to let him feel your tits then why not? So long as he understands that's as far as you're prepared to go. You set the limits and make sure he doesn't cross the line. Unless you decide otherwise."

She shrugged. "I suppose I'll just have to wait and see."

It wasn't mentioned again for a few weeks, then she came home from her shift and seemed even more unsettled. I asked her what was wrong, although I thought I already knew.

"It's George again. His wife is worse. The doctor says she has a growth that started in her womb and spread. There's nothing they can do. He put on a brave face, and was flirting and flattering me all afternoon, then when we were closing the shop he hinted again about my breasts fitting his hands. I suppose I felt sorry for him, and I thought if I let him hold them for a moment outside my clothes he would shut up about it. After all, as you said, what harm could it do? He held them briefly and I thought that was the end of it. But then he touched me down there -- on the outside my clothes of course -- and I came this close to slapping him. I don't know why, but it was like Chuck all over again, and instead I told him if he really wanted to I would let him shag me."

I smiled. "How was it?"

She pulled a face. "It didn't. He said he wanted to feel my tits and vagina, but wouldn't go all the way because he didn't want to betray his wife. After all, it wasn't her fault he couldn't do her. He doesn't love her as much as he used to, but he has to stand by her. I knew if he felt my fanny I wouldn't want to stop, so I told him it was all or nothing."

She seemed ready to burst into tears, so I put my arms around her. "We all have our weaknesses," I soothed. "The body doesn't always listen to the brain. I think every woman knows what it's like to be out somewhere and see a total stranger, and all of a sudden her fanny is dripping. Most times he doesn't even notice her and nothing happens, but it still leaves you with the feeling that in other circumstances something would happen."

"I suppose you're right. Is that how it was with you and Wilbur?"

I shook my head. "No, that was totally different. That was sort of planned. The four of us were already best friends. Wilbur wanted to shag me, and Doris wanted Hamish to shag her, so without me knowing the three of them put their heads together and arranged for it to happen. Not that I was entirely reluctant."

"I see, so when did you see your stranger?"

"That was the first time we went to France. He wasn't exactly a stranger though. Do you remember Armand, the hotel assistant manager?"

Mum nodded and I went on. "Well the first time we went he was a waiter. A couple of days before we came home, Hamish was in bed with a hangover, so I walked down to the village to get some souvenirs. I bumped into Armand and he helped me with my shopping. He walked with me back to the hotel, and we took a short cut through the staff quarters. When he stopped outside his room, without thinking I went in with him and he started feeling my tits. I was still a bit mad at Hamish, so I didn't try to stop him, and when my nipples got hard my fanny got wet. I didn't even know I wanted him to shag me until he was inside me. When I returned to our room I was feeling a bit regretful, not because I let him shag me, but because I didn't think I should have enjoyed it as much as I did. Hamish was still passed out and the room smelled of sick, and I got angry again. I washed my fanny and decided to go to the beach to calm down before I lost my temper with him. I took a short cut through the staff quarters again, and as I was passing Armand's room I couldn't help myself. I just barged in and leaned forward over the bed, and it was even better than the first time."

For some minutes we remained silent, each lost in our own thoughts, then I took her hand.

"Remember when we all went to France together?" Before she could reply I laughed. "Of course you remember. That's when Hamish first shagged you. Anyway that one morning when I woke up feeling a bit off, Armand came to our room to see if I needed anything when you were all at breakfast. As soon as he came in my legs just sort of opened by themselves and it was just like I had never been away." I let her think about it for a couple of minutes before adding. "Like I said, sometimes we have to listen to our bodies."

"You're right, we do," she whispered, glancing at the clock and slipping a hand under my skirt. "The men won't be back for an hour, so is your body saying the same as mine?"

I looked at her in surprise, because she had never before taken the initiative with me, then I quickly undressed as she did likewise, and greedy mouths were on eager dripping fannies as we licked and stroked each other to a totally uninhibited mutual climax.

She was fairly quiet for the next few days, but on Thursday of the following week she was more than an hour late getting home. I had just put a cottage pie into the oven to brown the top when she finally turned up and went straight to the bathroom. When she came back downstairs she seemed pensive, so I asked if everything was alright.

"Fine" she nodded. "I was held up in the shop that's all"

"No trouble I hope? You weren't hurt were you?" I asked, immediately concerned that they may have been robbed.

She laughed briefly. "No, nothing like that. It was just a strange day. George had told me his wife had taken a turn for the worse, and was under heavy sedation as they waited for the end. After we put the takings in the safe, and were getting ready to close the shop he touched my breasts again. I suppose it must have been at the back of my mind all day, because I didn't try to stop him undoing my blouse and bra. His mouth and hands were very gentle on my breasts and nipples so I let him play with them for a while. When he put his hand up my skirt and stroked my vagina there was no turning back. I let him take my pants down and do me."

"That's wonderful!" I exclaimed. "I'm so pleased for you. How was it?"

"It was nice," she admitted. "For such a small man he was unexpectedly large. Not as big as Hamish, but still quite big, and it felt really good in my vagina. We both came pretty quickly."

"That's wonderful." I repeated. "Are you going to let him shag you again?"

Mum nodded. "I hope so, but I'm not sure."

"Oh? Why not?"

"He seemed a bit guilty about shagging me whilst his wife was still alive, so I suppose we'll have to leave it there, although I don't want to. It's no reflection on Hamish, but it's nice being shagged by someone closer to my own age for a change. But only for a change," she added quickly.

I sensed that our conversation was having an effect on her, just as it was on me, and I slipped my hand under her skirt, surprised to find that she had either neglected to put her panties back on after George fucked her, or she had taken them off in the bathroom when she came home. Whatever the case she was as wet as I had ever known her to be. She let me stroke her fanny for a minute or so, then pushed my hand away.

"No don't. Angus will be home soon and we don't want him catching us. Besides, I'd rather wait until Hamish is here."

Minutes later she gave me an 'I told you so' look when my son barged in, impatient to be fed before going to meet his friends.

The scene was repeated a couple of hours later when Hamish came home. Pulling a chair out he sat at the dining table and sniffed. "Something smells good, I'm starving."

I divided what was left of the cottage pie between us, and sat facing him as we ate. Mum seemed preoccupied, hardly touching her food until Hamish pushed his plate away with a satisfied burp, then she slid her chair back and half turned towards him. The tips of her ears turned pink as she slowly and deliberately inched her dress up to reveal the moist pink inner folds of her pussy. I could hear the need in her voice as she asked nervously "Is there anything else you want?"

Despite his surprise he didn't hesitate, leaning forward to undo her blouse and bra as his finger slipped into her fanny. I watched him feel her for a short time, then collected the dirty dishes and took them into the kitchen. When I returned she was sprawled across the table, her legs clamped around his hips and she was frenziedly pushing her fanny up to meet his plunging cock. My own earlier frustration boiled to the surface, and I quickly took off my pants and sat on the hard chair, fingering myself as I watched them shag until his cum flooded her pussy.

Hamish was perplexed by her uncharacteristic impatience, and he mentioned it to me later that night in bed. He was lying on his side, kissing my tits and stroking my slit, when he raised his head. "I wonder why she was in such a hurry to be shagged?" he mused. "It's not like her at all."

I thought of mentioning George, but decided against it. If mum wanted him to know, it was her place to tell him, not mine. Instead I laughed quietly. "You know how we are," I teased. "We never do the expected when we're in the mood." To illustrate my point I turned my back to him, and reaching back between my legs I grasped his cock, and after rubbing it on my fanny for lubrication I steered it into my bum.

Some six or seven weeks later Mum came home from the shop beaming, and saying that George had started shagging her again. He seemed to have a new lease of life since his wife passed on and had done her twice that day. It came as no surprise to me that she continued to 'work late' every Thursday, although it did surprise me that her appetite for Hamish was in no way diminished.

For the next fifteen months or so life was idyllic and Mum was the happiest she had been since we lost Dad. Then I had the shock of my life.

It was laundry day, and I had gone into my son's room to gather his discarded clothing and change his bedlinen. I picked up his pillow to change the pillowslip and found a well thumbed and dog eared glossy magazine with the German title "Ficke Meine Mutter." The cover depicted a middle aged woman sucking the huge cock of a man half her age. I turned the pages with growing horror at a succession of explicit photographs of the pair having sex in every conceivable position. The magazine dropped from my nerveless fingers, and fell open at the middle pages and my heart stopped. Carefully trimmed photos of Angus and my faces had been pasted over those of the actors, and my mind went numb as the title of the magazine became clear. "Fuck My Mother!"

There was an icy cold lump in the pit of my stomach as I replaced everything as I had found it and left the room on rubbery legs. I stumbled to my room, eyes squeezed shut against what I had seen. An image already burned into my brain, of a woman wearing my smiling face having her pussy crammed to bursting by the outsized cock of a youth with my son's grin.

Laundry forgotten, I lay on my bed, tears of shame streaming down my cheeks as I tried to blank out the words that ran through my mind, like an endless recording. "Ficke Meine Mutter, Fuck My Mother, Ficke Meine Mutter, Fuck My Mother, Ficke Meine Mutter, Fuck My Mother!"

How could my own flesh and blood disrespect me so much that he could use my photo in such a way? What on earth was he thinking? Was it really disrespect, or, Heaven forbid, wishful thinking? I felt a moment of panic, but as I recognised the possibility that I was right, I became calm, and able to think rationally. After all, Angus was hardly the first teenager to fantasise about shagging his mother, and he certainly wouldn't be the last. In most cases their focus changed when they met "Miss Right," so all I had to do was wait because I certainly didn't feel the same way about him. Nonetheless I thought it prudent to keep a wary eye on him, at least for now. After a couple of weeks there had been no change in the way he had always looked at me, so I relaxed. Just to be sure, I sneaked into his room to see if he had pasted our faces on any more images of the couple, but despite searching high and low there was no trace of the magazine.

Five or six months later I persuaded Hamish that a kitchen renovation was overdue. He agreed without hesitation, admitting that we were now wealthy enough for "Ma Bonnie Wee Lassie" to have nothing but the best, although in his typically Scottish way he saw no sense in spending money to pay someone to tear out the old fixtures, when he or Angus were perfectly capable. We called a supplier to come and take measurements, and after a visit to the factory to check the quality, we ordered new cupboards and counter tops, before going in search of the latest appliances.

Professional installation was arranged for the following Friday, and when the new cupboards were delivered the day before, I rang Hamish who sent Angus to start removing the old. The work went better than expected, and by lunch time there remained only the old appliances, which would require qualified tradesmen to disconnect, and one large wall cupboard. As Angus loosened the three main screws holding it in place, I stood at one end ready to put my shoulder underneath as additional support if it was needed. When the screw at the furthest end from me was removed, the unexpected happened. The fastening closest to me tore free and the whole unit swivelled on the remaining central screw. My end came crashing down, ripping my blouse and pulling down my bra, leaving an angry red weal on the pale skin.

Angus cursed, moving quickly to relieve some of the weight, then stared hard at my fully exposed breast. "Sorry Mum, are you OK?"

With my hands full there was nothing I could do to cover myself, so I merely nodded. "It looks worse than it is, but I can't hold this thing up much longer. Hurry up and unscrew it so we can take it down."

Without taking his eyes from my bare tit, he took the entire weight of the cupboard on his shoulder and wrenched it loose, lowering it to the floor as if it were a toy. As he straightened I moved to fix my bra in place, but he licked his finger and rubbed the mark. "Are you sure you're ok?" When I nodded he lifted my breast as casually as though it were an every day occurrence, teasing my nipple as he placed it gently into its cup.

When his fingers curled around my now bra covered breast I looked down. "Shouldn't you be doing that with girls your own age?" I protested weakly.

"They're not you." A simple phrase that said it all, given what I had seen in the magazine.

I heaved a sigh of relief when he removed his hand, but the feeling was brief as he stripped away the ruined remnants of my blouse, and dropped it on the floor. He reached out and I backed away in alarm, but my heels came up against the cupboard we had just removed and I fell backwards until I was sprawled along its dusty top.

He laughed and knelt beside me, staring thoughtfully at the darkening bruise. "That looks painful. Would you like me to kiss it better?" I started to shake my head, but leaning closer he pulled up my bra and covered my nipple with his mouth.

"That's not the sore place," I said indignantly, trying to push him away with arms that had suddenly turned to lead weights."

"I know," he agreed. "I said I would kiss you better. Isn't this better?"

"You know what I mean," My protest came out as a whisper so quiet I couldn't be sure I had really said it.

Both hands were on my tits, stroking, teasing as he sucked each nipple in turn. "Is what you mean what you want?"

I shook my head, not in denial, but because I was no longer certain. I wanted him to stop, but I didn't want the sensations to stop, because now they were so intense that I was barely aware that he had slipped his hand under my skirt. "Let me feel your cunt."

'Cunt!' How I had always hated that word! But hearing it from my son's lips caused a sudden gush of wetness. I tried to stop my my legs from opening, but it was impossible, and I shivered as he raised my skirt and pushed his hand inside my knickers.

He parted my cunt lips and pressed a finger insistently against my clit, and I recalled what I had told Mum about sometimes having to listen to her body. And right now my body was screaming so loudly I couldn't hear myself think. I lay in helpless surrender, letting his probing fingers explore my wetness, telling myself that this was wrong. That this shouldn't be happening, then my mind flew back through the years to the cupboard under the stairs, to the delicious forbidden thrill I had felt as my Dad pushed his hard dick into my fanny for the first time.

Suddenly I knew that every illicit shag I had had since then - Chuck, Wilbur, Armand, the Swedish man whose name I could no longer remember - had only been foreplay for what was about to happen. For what had to happen. I raised my hips for him to take off my knickers, wanting him to look at my cunt, wanting him to see and appreciate how smooth and hairless it was, just like that of the woman being fucked in the magazine.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband and drew them down my legs and off, and I smiled with pleasure as his eye widened.

"God that's beautiful," he whispered, parting the lips and exploring my inner folds with a fingertip. He probed for several long delightful minutes, then unfastened his belt and stepped out of his trousers. "We have to do it Mum."

I nodded agreement. "Yes, I know. We can't stop now." For the first time since he was a toddler I saw his dick, pleased and impressed how strong and vibrant it had become, and I watched him bring it closer and closer, pushing my hips forward at the last second to help him enter me. I felt like a teenager again, with the remembered scent of new mown hay in my nostrils as he fucked me with the urgency and vitality of youth.

Years before, a pussy filled with Chuck's cum had closed a door on the past, and now, as my son's thrusting incestuous cock spilled his healthy young spunk into the creamy darkness of my gloriously fucked cunt, another door opened on a new and exciting future.