J. Russell - Mother_s ass

"Yeah? Well enough to tell me?"

"I think so. I love sex, honey. I'll do anything or let anything happen to me… at the right time, with the right person and when I'm in the right mood. I'm going to be my own boss about that, and I'm not going to let Grandma Farrell's ghost scare me out of having fun or let every casual stimulus stampede me into tearing my clothes off."

Art was studying her with an expression of obvious respect. She leaned against him and let her love for him show in her smile.

"Of course, darling…" she spoke softly. "The strongest stimulus I know is seeing you want me. And that's never casual."

"If I get a 'let's screw' look in my eye, off come the clothes?" he asked with a grin.

"If that's what you want. Or on they stay, if you want it that way."

He began to look agitated. "What about guys like Barry?"

"I'm not sure. Barry's good with sex. I don't mind having him make love to me. But he's not so important to me that I'd let him if you didn't want me to. And I'm certainly not terribly interested in trying out anyone else, unless you think I ought to." She hesitated, then continued. "If I see a guy who really turns me on, I'll tell you about him and we'll decide if I ought to try him out."

Art whistled. "Goddamn! That doesn't sound like a woman talking! Sounds like the way a man would think!"

"There's been some pressure," she said. "It wasn't the kind of pressure I could have survived with tears or wishful thinking. Maybe it took survival-type logic." She smiled in an effort to appear disarming. "I guess that's what men call 'man-type thinking'."

He growled. "Come on, you sexy broad. Let's eat so we'll have some time for screwing!"

She got supper ready, pausing from time to time to enjoy one of Art's lewd caresses, and they ate quickly. Art helped her with the dishes, and while she was polishing the sink and cabinet, he began to unbutton her dress. She gave herself up to a delicious, all-over tingle and completed her work with a hasty swipe of the cloth. Hanging it over the faucet, she turned to face her husband.

Art pushed her dress off her shoulders and she let it slide to the floor, remembering how her dressing gown had fallen beside the bathtub. She watched Art's jaw twitch as he unfastened her bra and pulled it away from her tits. And she rested the heels of her hands on the cabinet and leaned back, the cold edge pressing the small of her back while Art closed his lips over one puckered nipple. When he straightened, his hands already rolling down the top of her panties, he sighed gustily.

"I'm going to like the new Helen best of all," he said.

"Me, too!" Helen shivered.

The telephone rang at precisely the moment that Helen drew her foot out of her panties. She wrinkled her nose.

Art swore. "Oh, shit! Now what!"

"I'll get it, honey."

"Well… Okay, but I'll go with you."

When she picked up the receiver, he stood behind her. She leaned against him and he cupped his hands over her boobs, kneading gently.

"Hello?"

"Hi. This is Van."

"Oh! Hi, Van."

"Helen, Barry and I were wondering if you and Art would like to come over for some games tonight."

Helen repeated the message to Art. He hesitated.

"I'm not too eager about it right now," he said. "It's up to you, though."

She spoke into the mouthpiece. "Van, would you be awfully upset if we took a raincheck?"

"No, I guess not. Say, did Art tell you what happened this afternoon?"

"No."

"One of the pipes in the upstairs bathroom ruptured. The place was flooded! I had to call a plumber, and there were three of them here all afternoon running copper tubing. Art and I spent five hours trying to save everything that was wet. Tell him, 'Thanks again!' "

"I will."

"Oh, another thing. You might want to keep an eye on Danny, too."

"What?"

Van chuckled. "That kid's got enterprise! He was over here about an hour ago. Talked me into showing him how I trim that special hybrid Winter Wonder in our lath house. I was so surprised when he started to feel me up I didn't stop him. He was damn good at it, and I wanted to see how far he'd go. Well, let me tell you, I'll spin on that cock anytime! Honey, he was magnificent! But is he ever athletic! Had me all over the lath house… in the leaf-mold, on the benches, against the planters… Jesus!"

"Good God!" whispered Helen. "Oh, Van! I'm sorry!"

"Honey, don't apologize! But you'd better tell me if you don't want him making out over here. I like what he's got, and he can play games with me any day of the week!" Vanessa laughed nervously. "I think he finally hit on the way to break the ice with that snotty sister of mine, too. Don't ask me how, but he must have found out Olga's one human trait is she's an absolute pushover for animals! Show her a stray cat or a bird with a broken wing or a perfectly healthy goat and she adopts the damn thing. So Danny just happened to ask her – just happened to, mind you – if she'd ever spent much time around donkeys. Seems this donkey – Smokey, of course – has had some problem Danny can't figure out how to solve. He didn't seem willing to describe what was wrong, said a person would have to see for himself to appreciate how seriously it distressed the poor creature. And Olga thawed and had Danny out of here so fast it made our heads swim!"

Helen groaned faintly. "Any other sparkling news?" she asked.

"No. I guess that covers it. I'll phone you to see if we can work out a good time for another get-together. Okay?"

"Okay."

When Helen hung up, Art swept her into his arms and carried her to the couch. She was aflame with desire for him as the result of his unceasing attention to her boobs during the long telephone conversation, but he sent her excitement rocketing with the unrestricted handling he gave her now. She was ecstatic over her own response; she soared into three orgasms before he reached his first, and she began to think there was nothing he could do that wouldn't drive her to a climax.

Vanessa called back an hour later. "Helen, I guess Danny scored with Olga, too. He just brought her back, and she's dragging as if she'd treated the Army of the South! I'm afraid they didn't give poor old Smokey much help." She paused. "What's wrong with the old fellow, anyway?"

"I'm like Danny, Van. You've got to see it to understand what a problem it is for him."

"I wish I could help. I'd do just about anything for that sweet old thing."

Helen gasped and grinned with delight. She could think of nothing that would give her more satisfaction than to see Van's full-curved body under Smokey, impaled on that majestic cock of his. And if she worked it right, she could use Danny's movie camera to provide something she and Art could enjoy over and over.

"Van?"

"Huh?"

"You mean that? About helping him, I mean?"

"I certainly do!"

"Maybe if you have time tomorrow morning you could take a look at him."

"Good heavens, yes! I'll be over as soon as Barry and Olga are out of the house."

This time, when Helen turned away from the telephone, she was in an incredulous daze. She could hardly believe it had been so easy. But Art looked concerned.

"What's all this about Smokey?" he asked. "Something wrong with him I didn't know about?"

She stared at her husband for a moment, recalling the way he'd described what would happen if she gave Smokey a chance to mount her. The fact that he'd been accurate was of no importance; the loving attention to detail, though, suggested he might have the same voyeuristic thing about watching such an act as Danny had shown.

"Well…" She felt confused and a little embarrassed. It would be worth the embarrassment if she could bring him as much pleasure as she thought she could. "Well, he spends about 80 percent of his time shuffling around with a hard-on honey. He's frustrated as hell, and you know how unlikely we are to find anyone who'll let us breed him to their mare. He's just too damn little!"