John C. Douglas
Stepmother Lover

Chapter 1

Dorothy Morgan glared at her stepson with angry green eyes as she listened to the lawyer's cracked voice destroy the hope she had nursed for the past five years.

Damn it! It just wasn't fair! Bruce Morgan had been ages older than her twenty-four years, and his children were already into their teens when she married him. He wasn't a bad looking man, and he had been proficient, if not inventive in the bedroom. But Dorothy was convinced that she could have done a lot better with a minimum of effort. The only reason she married Bruce Morgan was his clearly stated promise that the three hundred acre farm would be hers when he died.

For five years, she had played mother to Ted and Linda, while dutifully offering her young body to Bruce's nightly assaults. Now, Ted was eighteen and Linda was sixteen, and Bruce was dead.

Dorothy did not pretend a grief she could not discover among her emotions. Even the youngsters received the news of the auto accident with suppressed sighs of relief. Bruce had never been close to either of them, and his authoritarian attitude would be missed but little.

"So," the lawyer concluded, folding the document and removing his glasses, "Mr. Morgan left the bulk of his estate to his sole male heir, Ted Morgan. The others will receive sums up to ten thousand dollars."

Ted's dark eyes mocked her as Dorothy exclaimed, "He couldn't do this to me! I'll contest the will!"

The attorney sighed. "That is your privilege, of course. But I assure you, this will cannot be broken. Mr. Morgan was very specific in his demands that it be made unbreakable." He folded his bony hands on the desk. "I'm sure you can work something out among yourselves without all the expense and embarrassment of prolonged litigation."

"Sure," Ted's deep baritone drew another glare from his stepmother. "We can work something out. We'll talk it over when we get home."

"Your home," the woman exclaimed angrily. "Not mine! Your father saw to that."

The lawyer stood up, his narrow shoulders supplying a shrug of finality. Ted rose to his feet, tall and muscular, offering an arm to Dorothy and receiving another furious frown of refusal.

Linda Morgan, Ted's younger sister, followed her brother and stepmother from the office, down the narrow hallway, and out the side door into the parking area where they had left the Chrysler.

The contents of the will had failed to surprise the girl. It seemed logical that Ted should assume control of the farm. He was, after all, a man, and farming was no job for a woman, especially one like Dorothy.

Linda didn't dislike her stepmother. It was just that she had never been able to accept her as Bruce's wife. Her father had been a stern and cold man, while Dorothy, with her flaming red hair and generously curved body, was-Linda found it difficult to shape the word, even in the privacy of her mind-sexy.

"I'll drive," Ted announced when they reached the car. He held out his hand for the keys, and Dorothy's normally full lips became a tight red slash above a quivering dainty chin. She placed them on his palm with unnecessary force, then stalked to the rear door and climbed into the back seat.

"You can ride up front with me, Linda." Ted grinned, and the girl trotted happily around the car, her skirt climbing over her slender thighs as she settled herself in the comfortable seat, watching her brother insert the key with an air of authority.

"Are things going to be different, Ted?" Linda asked as they pulled out into the light afternoon traffic. "At home, I mean."

Ted gave her a quick smile, his eyes dropping to caress the tanned flesh above her dimpled knees. His right hand lifted from the wheel to curve warm fingers about her thigh, gentle, yet bold, moving upward just enough to suggest more than a casual touch.

Linda's body tensed as she felt the warm tingling between her legs.

Then, just as suddenly, the muscles relaxed and she let her thighs roll on the seat, widening the angle between them. She was mistaken about Ted's intention. She had to be. It was unthinkable that her own brother would actually do the thing that flitted through her mind.

"Things will be better, Sis." His voice was soft, conveying the same thrilling warmth that radiated from his fingers, still sliding over the smoothness of her skin, dangerously near the forbidden zone. Linda wondered what she would do if he actually touched her there.

"What are you doing?" Dorothy's voice came harshly from the back seat.

She was leaning forward, staring at Ted's hand, her own gripping the leather upholstery.

Ted's eyes were insolent, meeting hers in the rectangular mirror. His fingers tightened about the young flesh, possessively and boldly. His voice bore a trace of harshness that made the woman sit back, her face a lovely mask of confusion.

"I'm doing what I want to do," he said tensely. "She's my sister. Or have you forgotten that?"

Linda wondered why Dorothy had objected to her brother's touch. He wasn't hurting her. On the contrary, the most pleasant sensations were pulsating through her lower belly, concentrating their tingling thrills in the plump mound beneath her thin panties.

A faint pink glow spread upward from her small breasts to paint her cheeks. She desperately hoped that Ted would not notice the dampness that was beginning to seep through her panties.

Linda hated it when his hand returned to the wheel, and she hated herself for thinking that it had been anything more than a gesture of affection. Ted would never dream of doing those awful things that were pictured hazily on the rim of her consciousness.

All three were silent as the powerful car swallowed the miles with its throaty purr. At the farm, Dorothy was first out, stalking into the multi-columned house with an exaggerated twisting of her lush bottom.

She climbed the stairs to her second-story bedroom, closing the door behind her before dropping the mask of haughty defiance and yielding to the gut-wrenching sobs of disappointment. Before the mirror of the heavy oak dresser, she stared at the convulsive heaving of her prominent breasts, the big mounds shoving their outlined tips against the black dress.

"Mourn, bitch," she whispered in a fierce tone. "Pretend you're sorry!

The only thing you're sorry about is getting cut out of his will."

The lips snarled, quivered, then curved in a strained smile. Her head went back, the red hair swirling and reflecting the lift from the tall windows of the bedroom. She laughed, beginning with a sobbing chuckle, and climbing dangerously toward hysteria.

"He fucked you, Dot!" she hissed at her swaying reflection. "The son of a bitch fucked you after he was dead and buried!"

Her fingers tore at the neckline of the dress, ripping it down the front and tugging the split until it hung like a ragged black smock, gaping to expose her nakedness. Her tits poked meaty nipples at the mirror, and her pubic thatch flamed its redness.

"He got the prime years," she whispered, the angry tone surrendering to a wistful softness. "And what did you get? You got fucked! That's what!

He promised you the whole damn pie, and you end up with the crumbs!"

Gracefully, even in anger, she shrugged the torn dress down over the firm breasts, wiggling her voluptuous hips until the cloth puddled about her feet, and she stood naked except for the sheer hose, garter belt and slippers.

Unsnapping, feeling her thighs tensing and quivering, she removed the last item to stand, long legs spread wide, devouring her mirrored nakedness with half-closed eyes. The spongy nipples began a visible engorgement, swelling and tightening in their pinkish brown circles.

She shot her pelvis forward, pushing the plump cuntal mound into greater prominence, bending her knees and widening the angle of her thighs until the lips of her pussy were tugged apart to reveal the delicate slit of the vaginal entrance, pink, moist and shivering with suppressed excitement.

"God!" she breathed. "If I'd only had a real man during those years!"

She bent her head forward, one hand cupping a pliant mound and contorting its roundness to lift the succulent nipple to where her wet tongue could caress its rounded tip. The other hand splayed slender fingers over the red hairs of her bush, the middle digit disappearing into her red corridor. Her neck arched, and her red lips fastened about the swollen nipple, sucking avidly. Her finger probed and wiggled, and her luscious ass bucked excitedly.

Pleasure welled in her grinding belly, becoming a hot slippery flow that coated the dancing finger and spread to the other digits, enabling her thumb to slide delightfully over the throbbing bud of her expanding clit.

It was never necessary for Dorothy to fantasize during her masturbatory sessions. Her own body was the only image required to create a swirling desire in her easily aroused loins and she could quench that surging lust with skillful fingers and a knowing mouth.

Her hand and wrist were wet from the flood of vaginal nectar, and it trickled sluggishly down the inner curves of her quivering thighs as her finger plunged and retreated, frictioning the labial lips and the pulsating walls of her convulsing pussy.

The saliva-covered tit slipped from her mouth as the ecstatic shivers of climax tightened her muscles, pulling her grinding hips forward, and arching her torso backward. The tendons in her slender neck rose to become writhing blue worms beneath the flawless skin, throbbing to the accelerated rhythm of her pulse and the repeated stabs of orgasmic pleasure.

For a few fleeting moments, Dorothy was able to forget the injustice of her late husband's will. As her vagina contracted with a force that made her whole body jerk and tremble, she gave herself over to the familiar, yet always incredible pleasure. It was one thing that Bruce had been unable to take away from her.

Her legs were still weak when, showered and dressed in a white blouse and skirt that accentuated her breasts and hips, she went downstairs to talk with her stepson.

Ted was in the study, seated behind the massive desk talking on the phone. He had pulled one of the lower drawers open and propped a foot on it, leaning back and swinging his elevated knee from side to side in a way that drew the fabric of his tan slacks tightly against the obviously large contents of the crotch.

He murmured something into the phone as Dorothy entered, then replaced it, keeping his knees spread, and sliding farther down in the swivel chair. The position shoved his bulging crotch forward. He watched her cross the floor, his eyes sliding up and down her body, insolent and appraising.

"Well," he drawled, matching voice to expression. "If it isn't my darling stepmother. Have you decided to be more reasonable?"

Dorothy sank onto a straight-backed chair, the skirt baring dimpled knees and the beginning of perfectly rounded thighs. She took a deep breath, forcing back the anger and bitterness.

"I acted childishly, Ted," she murmured. "I was blaming you for something your father did. It isn't your fault."

The handsome face showed no expression, merely watched her, the eyes flicking down, now and then, to caress the curve of her thighs. She found his stare disconcerting.

"You haven't said what you want me to do," she continued. "I have nowhere else to go, and the money won't be available for several weeks." Her voice trembled, then steadied. "Even then, I'll have just enough to see me through the year."

Ted's voice was gentle as he said, "What makes you think I want you to leave? Linda would be lost without you."

She watched his eyes trying to read them. Failing, she said, "I've always felt you didn't approve of my marriage to your father."

The eyes hardened, hatred flickering in their depths. "My father is dead." The voice was flat. "Whatever I may have felt about him no longer matters." He was silent for a moment, still moving his knee in that metronomic cadence. "Do you want to stay here?"

"I have nowhere else," she repeated, unable to keep her eyes from his bulging crotch. It seemed larger than before. It suddenly dawned on her that she had never seen Ted naked. He had been almost thirteen when she married Bruce, and already showing signs of maturity.

"That wasn't the question," he reminded her, his lips curving. "Do you want to stay?"

Wordless, defeated by the prospect of near-poverty after the five years of luxury, she exclaimed, "Yes! You know I do!"

His broad shoulders rose and fell. "Why don't we discuss it tonight?" he suggested, the lashes masking his eyes. "After Linda has gone to bed."

"What is there to discuss?" she countered, failing to read anything unusual in the remark.

"There are several changes I plan to make," Ted said, lowering his foot from the drawer. "I just called Aunt Joyce, and invited her to bring the kids for an extended visit."

Dorothy tried to hide the sudden frown as she said, "She never liked me. There'll be trouble between us."

The handsome face hardened perceptibly. "You still remember that they are my relatives," he said in a flat voice. "Aunt Joyce was my mother's sister."

"That's why she hates me," Dorothy ventured. "She felt that I was trying to take your mother's place with Bruce."

The slight frown faded, replaced by a curious tilting of the wide mouth. "Would it make you feel better if I called you Mother?"

It was her turn to frown, with a confused knitting of her brow. "I…

I don't know. Both of you have always called me Dorothy."

"Yes." The grin broadened. "But, like I told you, there are going to be some changes made."

Linda's entrance halted their conversation, and Dorothy retreated to the kitchen, checking with the cook on the preparation of dinner. She had no chance to be alone with Ted until after ten o'clock, when Linda yawned and excused herself for the night.

Slumped in his late father's chair, watching the news without any real interest, Ted reminded her of his previous remark. "We'll talk in your room, Mother." The last word was emphasized, Dorothy was unable to determine its meaning.

"Why can't we talk down here?" she asked.

His eyes flickered from the TV to her face, then back again. "We're going to talk," he replied coldly. "Not argue. I don't like arguments."

Dorothy felt a surge of anger, but forced it aside, keeping her voice even as she said, "Are you ready to go up?"

"You go ahead," he answered, not looking at her. "Just leave your door unlocked."

Dorothy's mind sought for some explanation of the lad's conduct as she ascended the stairs, entering her room and closing the door. She had known Ted for five years. But, she realized, she didn't really know him at all.

A creature of habit, she found herself selecting a gown from the closet, carrying it into the adjoining bath and changing into it before considering the implications of Ted's presence in her bedroom. Quickly, she tugged a robe from the closet and shrugged it on over the thin gown.

She had hardly drawn the fabric about her narrow waist when Ted opened the door without knocking, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

"You could have knocked!" she said forcefully. "I might have been dressing."

He leaned casually against the door, his eyes lazy and humorous as they drifted up and down her body, its lush curves challenging the robe with their prominence.

"You seem to forget, Mother, dear," he drawled. "This is now my house.

I can go anywhere in it, at any time."

"You can show a little common courtesy!" she exclaimed.

His lips curved. "Oh, I'll show more than that!"

Dorothy stared in disbelief as he reached for the zipper of his slacks, drawing it downward with a gesture of boldness. His hand dipped into the gaping fly to emerge with his cock, huge, even in flaccidity. His fingers tugged the loose skin back from the meaty glans.

"I plan to show you everything, Mother," he said softly.

She had expected some childish display of authority. But his deliberate exposure caught her by surprise. For several seconds, as the cock began a rapid swelling under the manipulation of his encircling fingers, she was unable to speak, merely staring at the meaty cylinder that jutted from his fly, arrogant and lustful. The purple head was shiny, its membranous surface tight under the pressure of his fist.

"What do you think of it?" the boy asked before she was able to speak.

The prick was already larger than Dorothy imagined it would be, and it was still growing. As if aware of her thoughts, he added, "It's a lot bigger than the old man's."

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" The words sounded trite and foolish. The lad was correct in his comparison. Bruce's tool was a trifle when measured against the engorged column of arching hardness that sprouted from the base of Ted's belly.

His eyes became glittering slits, chilling her with their icy stare.

"Take your robe off, Mother," he said in a tight voice.

She shook her head, the red hair brushing her cheeks with the violence of her refusal. She continued to gaze at the huge organ, hypnotized by its size and virility. Her hands flew to clutch the robe more tightly about her big breasts, feeling the fabric slide against the thin gown, teasing her sensitive nipples.

"You have a choice," Ted reminded her. "You can do as I tell you or get out." His voice softened just enough to compel her attention. "Wouldn't it be a lot simpler to cooperate? I can make things very pleasant for you."

"What…what do you want me to do?" she asked weakly.

"Eventually," he answered in that same soft tone, "everything. But, I'll settle for a little head right now. I have the feeling you really know how to suck a big, juicy dick."

Her breath was audible in its swift intake. "You're awful!"

He moved toward her, his free hand darting out to clamp her shoulder, the fingers tightening until her face twisted with pain and she gasped, a whimpering sound of protest.

"Down, Mother!" he growled, forcing her downward toward the rearing column of throbbing cock flesh. "It's time to pay the rent for a change."

Dorothy's face poised over the slitted head of his prick, so close that she could smell the musk of the engorged phallus. Her knees trembled and bent, and she sank to a kneeling position before him, her hands flying out to push against his hard thighs as she sought to evade the scarlet knob that aimed its tiny slit at her mouth.

"Don't, Ted!" she whispered. "Please! Please, let me up!"

She knew the plea was futile just as she knew that the boy was perfectly capable of forcing her to submit. His eighteen-year-old body was rock-hard, and the grip on her shoulder sent waves of pain through her torso.

"Don't be coy!" he exclaimed, shoving his hips forward and rubbing the satin knob against her chin. "Don't try to pretend that you've never chewed on a cock."

The pain in her shoulder was unbearable. She shuddered convulsively, her voice breaking. "All right! For God's sake! I'll do it!"

She offered no resistance when his hand tugged the robe from her shoulder, pushing the gown aside to bare the pink-tipped mound of one breast. He didn't touch it, but Dorothy could feel his eyes on the nipple, and a strange tingling spread through the sensitive aureole.

The spongy bud stiffened and expanded, in spite of her mental commands to the disobedient flesh. She heard Ted's soft chuckle.

"You see, Mother?" He rubbed the head of his prick against her cheek, his free hand caressing her red hair. "You get all excited just looking at my cock. Imagine how it will feel when you start sucking on it."

Dorothy tried to fight back the sob that racked her shoulders and jiggled her naked breast. Her hands, still clutching his hard thighs, gripped the muscles through the thin fabric of his slacks.

"Let's stop fucking around," he said huskily. "Pull my balls out, and let's have a little action."

There was nothing else she could do, Dorothy told herself. She had to obey him. Her fingers dipped into his fly, beneath the root of his thick cock, lifting out the huge sac with its twin nuts rolling in her gentle grip. Her other hand curved about the shaft of his prick, finding that she couldn't make her fingers meet.

God! He was big! Much larger than anyone she had ever handled before marrying Bruce, and a third larger than Bruce's. No matter how much she resented what the lad was making her do, she couldn't help wondering how it would feel to have his monster cock inside her, stretching her vagina and pounding up against her womb with its huge head.

"That's it!" Ted exclaimed, his buttocks clenching as he shoved his hips forward, sliding the huge prick through her warm fingers. "Now wrap your tonsils around that dick!"

Dorothy jerked her head back as the prick shot forward, the scarlet helmet glistening as its tiny slit parted under the sudden strain. A glob of clear pre-come oozed from the reddened eye, then began moving sluggishly down the inverted V of his glans.

"Lick it off, Mother!" he demanded, the hand on her head urging her closer. "You may as well get used to the taste of come. I'm going to see to it that you have all you can handle."

She could not twist aside. The musky scent of his organ filled her nostrils, and she grunted as the head was jammed roughly against her closed lips. She felt the hot wetness slide toward her left cheek, gnashing her lips back against her clenched teeth.

"Open your mouth!" There was a fierceness in his voice that demanded obedience. She strained her jaw to accommodate the large knob, feeling it brush her lips and drive between her widely parted teeth. The taste of his cock filled her mouth, slightly salty and completely masculine.

It touched her tongue, and she tried to block its deeper penetration by stiffening that oral member.

"Take it, damn you!" he hissed, fingers tugging at her hair until tears sprang into her tightly closed eyes. Her protest was a nasal whine, for her mouth was filled with the meaty tip of his prick, and he was forcing still more of it inside.

Until that moment, Dorothy had believed that she could find some way of avoiding the complete surrender demanded by her handsome stepson. If nothing else, she was prepared to give him a few kisses, and use her hand to relieve that throbbing hardness.

But the lad was not interested in the usual foreplay. He had acted so quickly and forcefully that she could do nothing but obey his barked commands.

Her tongue dipped beneath the advancing head of his cock and she felt it press the soft arch behind her palate. Her fingers tightened about the base of the shaft, and she gagged as the knob drove farther back, threatening her throat with its huge bulk. She felt her lips press the circle of thumb and forefinger.

"Move your hand!"

Dorothy's brain whirled. It couldn't be happening to her. It wasn't possible that the boy she had accepted as a son just five years ago could be doing this terrible thing to her. But the meaty shaft was all too real, and as her fingers relinquished their grip his cock was driving deeper, filling her throat and blocking her breath.

The boy's hips shuddered as the head reached the soft embrace of her tonsils and the involuntary convulsions of her throat tightened the hot wetness about it. His hands, like talons on her red hair, held her securely in place for a long moment, ignoring her frantic efforts to breathe.

Air whistled through her nostrils as he drew the prick outward to the roomier area between tongue and palate. She whimpered, swallowing quickly, and tasting the tart jism left by the deep plunge of his cock.

"Suck it real good for me," he said in a thick voice, "and I won't make you take it all. Understand?"

She heard her whine of assent, and felt the prick slide over her tongue as she bobbed her head in agreement. She was willing to do anything to avoid another choking invasion by that huge shaft. Squeezing her eyes closed, she went to work.

Before her marriage to Bruce, Dorothy had permitted a few select partners to slide just the heads of their cocks into her mouth and she had teased their glans with rapid movements of her tongue. She had even sucked a little if she was in the proper mood. But she had stopped long before they could shoot their wad, no matter how much they pleaded with her to go all the way.

This time, she realized, there would be no stopping. She would have to take his load in her mouth. Then, if she was careful, she could spit it out after he withdrew his cock.

As if reading her thoughts, Ted said, "You're gonna drink it!" His fingers in her hair reminded her of her helplessness. "You're gonna make me come, and you're gonna swallow every goddamn drop of it!"

She was already sucking him, and sliding her mouth back and forth on the throbbing shaft. Now as his words registered in her confused mind, she accepted them without argument. He had already reduced her to an animal-like submission. She could hardly be forced any lower.

His prick, now that she could analyze her reaction, had a pleasant taste, and her jaw had finally become accustomed to the strain of acceptance. Even as she pondered that discovery, the cock gave a little lurch, and she felt a fresh glob of jism on her tongue.

The delicate taste of the slippery liquid sent a strange sensation throughout her body. Her breasts, quivering with the bobbing motion of her head, tingled, and the nipples swelled to an even greater distention.

Without realizing what she was doing, Dorothy began taking more of the prick inside her mouth with each slide of her encircling lips. When awareness finally came, it was too late for retreat. Desire had claimed her more effectively than Ted's demands and threats, and she was nursing his cock with an avidity completely foreign to her nature.

Another glob of jism surged through the thick staff, and her tongue gathered it in, happily swirling over the slippery knob. She swallowed, feeding the strange hunger that was building in her throat, yet finding the seminal sample insufficient to quell that ever-mounting demand.

No longer conscious of his hands, Dorothy altered her rhythm, shoving her head forward to drive her wet lips down the engorged shaft until the knob filled her throat with its meaty goodness. Then, fingers rolling his heavy balls, she swallowed, whimpering at the delightful feeling of her convulsing muscles about that throbbing cockhead.

As her mouth retreated, she sucked with hot, fierce vacuuming, her tongue dancing beneath the corded belly of his prick, then polishing and massaging the glans where it lay poised like a huge, slick plum just behind her lightly gripping teeth.

"Damn! Ted's exclamation was hurled through contorted lips. "You're a natural cocksucker! Take it all, bitch! Swallow it!"

This time, she didn't pause to think about it. With a whimper of greed, Dorothy screwed her mouth down on the shuddering length of his prick until the head was again lodged in her throat. Her body jerked and her head leaped forward, her nose burying itself in his thick pubic hair.

Her chin touched his leathery scrotal sac, and her fingers rolled the big nuts against the delicate cleft as she caressed the hilted knob with repeated swallows, thrilling to the presence of that throbbing flesh that seemed to reach all the way down to her stomach.

With a snarl of lust, Ted's hips began hunching his cock in and out, plunging it past her flashing tongue to probe that gulping corridor of hot tissue, then dragging it back until only the gentle clamping of her teeth behind the flared glans prevented its escape.

Dorothy welcomed the assault. Saliva dribbled from the corners of her straining lips, and she heard the wet sounds of the prick's sliding.

She heard her own throaty gurglings as she sucked the delicious meat, eager for each thrust and each drop of that tasty liquid that oozed from its slippery tip.

"Now, bitch!" she heard him cry, and felt the powerful shuddering of his hips become a jerking swell of the prick that filled her jaws with its expanding bulk. "Drink my come!"

Hot, thick and wet, the semen spurted into her throat with such force that she could not swallow in time. The ropey cream was forced back about its originator to spill from her lips and coat her trembling chin.

Like a savage animal, Dorothy impaled her face on the exploding cock, gulping the come with such force that the youth cried out in surprised protest as he felt the clenching of her greedy throat.

Unable to breathe as she ingested his repeated volleys of semen, Dorothy's senses reeled under the onslaught of an orgasm that seemed to begin in her throat and spread downward to her almost forgotten cunt.

Each spurt of the ropey sperm triggered another and more powerful convulsion of her vagina, as if the movement of her throat muscles were actually the involuntary spasms of a new and impossible form of climax.

Her lips still stretched to encompass his spent cock; her nose and chin were coated with the spilled sperm, wet and sticky as she held him with one last feverish milking. She moaned her protest when he forced her head back, pulling the prick from her lips and letting the knob flip up against her nose, then waving it teasingly before her glazed eyes.

He grinned triumphantly as her tongue reached out to lick a broad circle about her bruised mouth, gathering the spilled come. The grin widened when the tongue reached for her fingers, still holding his scrotum, and claimed their sticky coating with savage twistings.

"The old man missed a good thing," Ted grunted huskily, releasing her tousled hair and stepping back. He forced his dwindling cock inside his fly and drew the zipper up. "I'll bet he never let you blow him." He smiled as her head wagged from side to side. "Don't worry about it.

I'll see that you get all you want."

Dorothy remained on the floor when the youth left the room, closing the door behind him. Her robe gaped about her generous breasts, and she looked down to discover a fleck of semen on her right nipple.

Slowly, hand lifted, her forefinger sponged the creamy drop and carried it upward to her parted lips. She sucked it into her mouth, holding the tip of her finger in place as she relived the past few minutes, her tongue licking slowly and greedily.

She stared at the closed door as she sucked her finger like a bashful child, wishing fervently that Ted would come back.