0 comments/ 35414 views/ 1 favorites Back From The Dead By: English Bob It's tough to get good health care in my line of work. I'm a thief. A good thief, but still a thief. My speciality: armed robbery. The first problem is that if you carry a gun then you gotta be prepared to use it. The second problem is that if you use your's, someone else might use their's! That was what led me to the good graces of Dr. Jenkins, a drunken, shamed physician who I swear poured more of the whisky down his throat than he did over the gaping wound in my chest. I can still feel the excruciating pain as he fumbled about inside the ragged hole, eventually extricating the .357 slug with slurred triumph. How did I get into this predicament? Let me tell you! The bank job was actually Ray Dalton's idea. Dalton: gambler, womaniser and, until recently, the partner in crime of yours truly, Jack Summers. We had planned and executed that last job with our usual precision, hitting the bank just at closing time. The place was empty and none of the staff gave us any problems at all. The whole thing went like clockwork and Ray and I soon found ourselves in a dark alley preparing to split the proceeds. Ray had been acting a little oddly all day. He was highly animated and much more excited than usual. I soon found out why. "That's fifty for you and fifty for me, Ray." I said breathlessly as I counted out the cash. "Good job, my friend!" "Actually, Jack, I think I'll take the whole hundred grand if that's okay!" I was confused and looked up to see my partner and so-called friend pointing the business end of his pistol at me. There was a half smile on his face; the last thing I remember seeing before hearing the retort of the weapon like an explosion and feeling the full force of the shot as it hit me in the chest. It had taken me six long weeks to get on my feet again. I guess if the shot had been an inch to the left or right it would have finished me for good. I suppose I should have felt lucky, but somehow good fortune didn't figure too highly on my list of priorities! As usual, on waking, the first thing that hit me was the pain in my chest. I checked my reflection in the mirror and examined again the ragged stitching that was the result of Doc Jenkins inebriated handiwork. Carefully I pulled on my shirt, wincing at the sharp pains that shot like bolts of electricity through my ravaged body. There were two things that kept me going: revenge on Ray Dalton and the thought of seeing my beautiful blonde wife Wendy again. It was strange that Wendy hadn't been in touch - actually nobody had - but then I had kept a low profile, as far as the rest of the world was concerned Jack Summers was dead! But now I had work to do. I had big plans for Mr. Dalton, but those could wait. The first thing I wanted to do was see Wendy and let her know I was all right. I guessed that she must have been going out of her mind with worry. The small, rented apartment must also have been the work of Doc Jenkins, I thought as I looked around for what I hoped was the last time. It was the type of place where he would have felt most comfortable; quiet and basic and built above a bar. But it wasn't my idea of home. I wanted to return to my loving wife. And the sooner the better. In the bustling street outside the air was warm and filled with traffic noise and people going about their normal business. Nobody paid any attention to me as I walked, taking slow but steady steps in an effort to reduce the discomfort. A few people brushed up against me as if they hadn't seen me and this renewed the pain in my chest. I had estimated that the walk to my house would take only thirty minutes. In the event it actually took nearer forty-five as I found myself stopping every few minutes to catch my breath. But eventually I made it and, with a proud feeling of achievement, I found myself looking up at the large, luxury home that years of unlawful behaviour had provided. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't have a key to let myself in. I could see Wendy's Mercedes parked in the drive and I was on the point of knocking when I thought it might be fun to surprise her with my return. As I made my way painfully around to the back of the house, the garden looked different somehow; a little overgrown and unkempt. The colours that had always provided me with such pleasure seemed dull and faded even in the late afternoon sunshine. But I paid little attention. I was too excited. I Was about to see Wendy again. The door creaked as I entered the kitchen quietly. My heart was beating fast causing my chest to ache painfully. I smiled as I heard the familiar light hearted laugh of my wife coming from the next room. The door was slightly ajar but as I went to open it and make my grand entrance, I heard something else that stopped me dead in my tracks. The second, male voice, was also familiar. Dalton! What the hell was that bastard doing here, I thought? He and Wendy were laughing together as if they didn't have a care in the world. I wanted to burst through the door and attack him there and then. Strangle him or stab him and leave him for dead as he had left me. But my body refused to co-operate; my legs remained fixed to the spot by some unseen force and all I seemed able to do was to open the door just a crack and peer through. Not only were Dalton and Wendy laughing, but they were now engaged in a lustful embrace. My whole body seemed to shake with the injustice of it all. How could Wendy do this to me, I silently asked? I would have expected this behaviour of Dalton, but never of her. I sank to my knees silently. I wanted to turn away and throw up, but the unseen force kept my gaze from faltering. Dalton's hand was on my wife's thigh as they kissed deeply. The house was warm and Wendy wore only a thin, summer dress that covered little of her lithe, sensual body. Her legs looked long and tanned and the halter covered only about half of the breasts as they swelled from the low neckline. I watched them as Wendy's head fell back exposing her slender, swan-like neck and Dalton's lips pecked gently at the soft skin. His tongue extended and licked the smooth creamy flesh and my stomach revolted again, turning over with sickening lurches. Why I was not able to stop this display of infidelity I couldn't begin to comprehend. Usually I would have been straight through the door, kicking and screaming at the pair of them, but there was something that I couldn't understand; something that stopped me and forced me to continue watching. I had managed to stand again now, but my eyes were still fixed to the scene before me as I observed the debauched behaviour of my wife through the crack in the door. Dalton's hands were now all over her; pulling the hem of her short dress up and stroking her urgently through the thin material of her panties. His other hand had found her breasts over the dress and were squeezing and manipulating the heaving globes as Wendy murmured words of obvious encouragement. Wendy's quiet moans quickly became more stringent as Dalton's hands aroused her. I could hear her breathing becoming shorter and more ragged as my nemesis eased down her panties and inserted a finger into what was clearly a very moist pussy. Dalton began to finger my wife quickly and expertly as she stood, feet apart, in front of him. Her hands went behind his head and pulled his lips back to her neck. I could see his finger flash in and out of her pussy as he finger-fucked her closer and closer to orgasm. Wendy suddenly let out a long low moan. Her lower body trembled, her legs like jelly as she climaxed on her lovers finger. I noticed with some jealousy that she had completely shaved the hair from her mound and it was easy to see the moisture that clung to Daltons finger as he finally withdrew. Apparently eager to return the compliment, Wendy now squatted in front of my sworn enemy. Her fingers fumbled for a moment at his belt, but I, and he, knew exactly what was coming next. With clearly trembling fingers, my wife opened her lovers pants and withdrew his stiff, angry looking member. For a moment she held the inflamed weapon in her hand, admiring it lovingly and stroking the turgid flesh. Dalton moaned deep in his throat as she gently encouraged him towards her open and clearly willing mouth. I heard him gasp as he entered the warm, wet cavern, his hands resting on the back of her head and gently pulling her towards him. Wendy fellated him expertly. Her mouth opened wide to accept his wide girth and I heard her gag slightly as she allowed him to enter her tight throat. For Dalton's part he was clearly revelling in the attention being bestowed upon him. He leaned back with a luxuriant expression on his face. His eyes closed gratefully as his entire member was swallowed by my wife's greedy mouth. Her fingers played wistfully with his tight, heavy balls stroking the twin sacs tenderly as he swelled in her mouth. I watched as she slipped a finger between his legs and tickled seductively at the man's anus. "Oh, shit baby!" Dalton cried, "that feels so good!" With her mouth so completely full of his tool, Wendy was in no position to speak but the sigh that escaped her lips told me that she was happy enough to please him. Slowly, Dalton began to rock his hips back and forth as his fingers tensed and entwined in Wendy's hair, gripping the blonde tresses. He held her head steady while he fucked himself deep into her throat, groaning lustfully with each downward thrust. But the sensations were soon to cease. With a look of quiet composure, Wendy extricated herself, while somewhat reluctantly, from Dalton's solid length and looked up at her lover. "Don't cum yet, baby," she whispered, "I want you to fuck me hard!" "My pleasure, darling!" replied Dalton with a smile, "I thought you'd never ask!" Helping my wife up to her feet, Dalton stood back to admire the view. While still wearing her dress, Wendy was an absolute picture of lust. But the dress wasn't to last long. Dalton's hands went to her breasts and caressed them roughly through the thin material. "You're wearing a bra?" he asked. Wendy's nod of affirmation made him smile. "Better see it then!" No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a loud ripping sound filled the air as the dress tore down the middle at the mercy of his hands. Dalton nodded appreciatively as the red matching bra was exposed. The tattered dress dropped to the floor and he looked Wendy over, almost inspecting her. Things now began to move more quickly and less gently. With surprising force, Dalton spun my wife around so that she had her back to him. Her hands rested on the counter in front of her and she arched her back, pointing her pretty, shaved pussy up towards him. "Hmmm...tasty looking cunt, baby! Think I'll fuck it now!" Wendy was undeterred by Dalton's course mouth; on the contrary, she seemed to revel in his words. She was looking back over her shoulder at him as he pulled his pants down to his knees and roughly spread her legs from behind. With a grunt of satisfaction he plunged his entire length in to the hilt. Wendy seemed still to be wet, but even had she not been, I don't think that this would have deterred Dalton from his lustful task. Wendy gasped loudly as she felt the initial deep penetration and actually wriggled her bottom backwards clearly wanting to get more of Dalton's thick erection inside her vagina. His hands gripped her hips as he pushed deeper, sighing and groaning as he thrust his weapon in and out of her soaked snatch.. "Oh baby! You're such a good fuck.....mmmm....a cunt like velvet.....ahhhh...so glad your my little bitch now rather than Jack's!" My jealousy prickled as I heard Dalton's sex talk but I was way too engrossed in what was going on now to think about retribution now. His time would come, I kept promising myself. Over and over, Dalton slammed his hard cock into Wendy's juicy pussy. Each thrust was accompanied by a squelching sound that was getting louder and louder as she became wetter. It was obvious that she was heading straight for another climax. "Ohhhh.....shit, baby...I'm cumming!" Wendy cried almost on cue. I saw Dalton smile wickedly and slam harder and harder into her abused pussy as her sex fluid dribbled out of her slit and trickled down the inside of her thighs. "Damn, baby! You're so wet now I can hardly feel you!" "Mmmmmm.." Wendy replied, her eyes opening for the first time since he had started fucking her. "Put that nice big cock in my ass. I'm sure you'll feel me then!" Dalton seemed delighted by the prospect of giving my wife a good butt-fucking and slowly withdrew his dripping tool from her pussy. Pushing her down with one hand, he lined up the tip of cock at the entrance to her puckered little anus and began to push forward gently. "Oh..yes...harder..harder!" Wendy exclaimed as she was impaled on the thick pole. Dalton obliged and forced another two inches of inflamed meat into her back passage with an evil grin. I watched fascinated. Wendy's buttocks twitched as she contracted her anal muscles around Dalton's cock. She propped a knee up onto the counter, opening herself open further as her lover spread her quivering buttocks with his hands. Again and again Dalton thrust up into her body. There was no gentle tenderness now, this was a hard, rough ass-fuck that was for his pleasure alone. I saw his eyes screw up in lust as Wendy's hand came back between her legs and cupped his balls, squeezing them sexily; encouraging him to release his seed into her. Dalton seemed ready now. It had amazed me how long he had lasted so far and wasn't surprised when I saw his legs start to tremble with the onslaught of his impending climax. The first jet of cum was punctuated by a loud cry of satisfaction from my former partner, the force of the blast seeming to almost lift Wendy from the floor. I saw his hand grip the base of his cock and hold himself as he pulled out quickly. Wendy's ass looked open and wet as the long appendage was so unceremoniously removed and she was almost begging to receive more of his cum. Again, Dalton obliged. His hand pointed the tip of his cock towards the dilated hole and he let fly. Six or seven jets of thick, hot jism squirted from the tip and splashed obscenely over Wendy's spread buttocks. Dalton smiled as he used his finger to spread the liquid gunge over Wendy's unblemished cheeks. He pressed the digit alternatively into her ass and pussy grinning all the time as my wife's body shuddered into yet another orgasm. As the adulterous pair lay recovering on the thick pile carpet, I suddenly felt my limbs come back to life. The blood seemed to surge through my veins and arteries as I sensed the feeling return. I was about to step into the room but was stopped dead in my tracks as Wendy looked up sniffing the air. "What's wrong, baby?" Dalton asked, his fingers idly toying with one of my wife's stiff, angry nipples. Wendy brushed his hand away. She seemed irritated. "Can you smell that scent?" "What? What are you talking about?" "That scent. It smells just like the aftershave lotion I bought for Jack just before you did that last bank job!" "Oh come on, honey. That was nearly two years ago! Surely you're not still thinking about Jack? He's dead, baby. Killed by that mugger, you remember? He's been dead for nearly two years. You got me now, okay? Jack's gone, baby!" As I stood listening to them both, the room began to spin. The colours and light turned inside out. Dalton's words echoed in my head. In a haze of stars I remembered Doc Jenkins leaning over me and shaking his head. I remembered Dalton trying to suppress that sickly smile. I remembered the sheet being pulled up over my lifeless body. I remembered. The End Back from the Dead She might have heard the weak sputtering cries for help if she hadn't been crying out herself. Lydia was fighting for her breath. She wanted to move, to get out from underneath him, to gain the ascendance, but Pepe was just too young, virile, heavily muscled, powerful, and determined for her. Idiotically, Lydia thought about the bed of ferns that was being crushed in the small grove of trees surrounding the walking path beyond the pool patio. She worried what the gardeners would think when they came the next day to groom the grounds and found the ferns trampled and bruised and torn. But then she had something else to think about, as Pepe thrust his hips and entered her deeply with a hard, throbbing cock that stretched her and filled her nearly to the limit. His pelvis was insinuated between her thighs as he fucked her missionary style. She was trying desperately to get out from underneath him, to turn him unto his back, but he would have none of it. He was Caribbean. He would have what he wanted his way. Just like his father had done. Lydia thrust her hips up, trying to turn their sweaty, thrashing bodies, but Pepe had both of her hands trapped above her head, holding them together at the wrists in the firm grip of one hand. The other hand had her by the throat and he was squeezing, taking the air and the fight out of her. And then he began to ride her with his cock, using the technique he must have acquired by heredity, as she remembered it so well from years past—when his father fucked her. Bringing the head of his cock out and sliding it across her clit, putting pressure on her there until he felt her jerk, and then the long slide back inside her to the hilt. Listening for the deep moan escaping her lips, her fighting for breath as he gripped her neck. Pumping her deeply, and then shallowly, rotating his cock inside her with a languid twist of his slim hips. And then the thick bulb of his jet-black cock rising out of her, dragging up to her navel and then descending again through her platinum blonde pubic hair and finding her clit. Loving her clit with circular motions, lubricating it with his precum. Waiting for the jerk and shudder of her, as she reached a higher level of passionate sensitivity. And then the slow, long dive inside her. Lydia arched her back and cried out as Pepe let loose his grip on both her neck and her wrists and dove for her breasts with his teeth. Her long fingernails raked down Pepe's heavily muscled back and dug into his meaty butt cheeks, moving around to his hips and trying to force his pelvis up. She continued crying out—her throaty gasps and groans drowning out the faint sounds coming from the swimming pool as Pepe began plowing her strongly and deeply and she writhed and shudder under him. He lifted his face from his assault on the nipples of her ponderous breasts and gave her a smile and a laugh. "Now?" he whispered in a deep-throated voice. "Oh, god, yes, now," Lydia cried out. Pepe laughed again and then encased her arms between his, rose up on his knees, on either side of her hips, but only a couple of inches. Allowing the head of his dick to come out and rub across Lydia's clit again as she gathered up her strength. His lips went to hers and she opened to him. Then, digging the heels of her feet into the moist soil of the fern bed, Lydia wrapped her hands around Pepe's young, slim waist and thrust her pelvis up into his, impaling herself and taking him deep inside and beginning to pump, fucking herself on his now rock-steady pole. Using him to reach all of the nooks and crannies inside her that impassioned her in ever more thunderous, closely timed waves of flow and electricity and going . . . over . . . the edge. Good. No, very good. Just . . . not . . . the same. And as she felt her explosion coming on, reaching between Pepe's legs and listening to his bellows of passion as she worked his balls with probing, searching fingers to bring them to an almost simultaneous climax. Murmuring to each other, cooling down in the moist embrace of the fern bed, as Pepe caught his breath and quickly recovered his vitality and control. His lips on her nipples and the fingers of one hand prodding between her labia for her clit as his still-half-hard cock twitched inside her. "It's too quiet. I think we need to go back now," Lydia whispered. "He'll wonder why we've been gone so long. I just said I had something to show you in the garden." "And so you did," Pepe said. And then he laughed again. His father's easygoing, guttural laugh. Lydia had found that so disarming. It had helped coax her to open her legs to him. She had been young and naïve. And he had been Caribbean and beautiful and full of life . . . and hung. "You're supposed to be helping him in and out of the pool. He'll be angry he's had to get out on his own. And that no one is there to take him right inside." "You didn't bring me here to play nursemaid to your old man," Pepe said. "No, I didn't," Lydia admitted. "You brought me here for this," Pepe said and he reached down and encircled the root of his reengorging cock and rotated it inside Lydia, causing her to shudder. "Yes," she sighed. "But now we'd better . . ." "No." "Don't argue, Pepe," Lydia said, and she started to push him off her. If he knew, he'd obey her. But of course he didn't know. No one but Lydia knew now—well, no one who mattered. "No," he declared again. "This is the way you want it. You're a tease. You invited me because you are ripe for fucking. Your Stan can't do you right anymore. I know what you need and want. I've got ten inches of what you want." "No," Lydia moaned and she started to struggle, but to no avail. He was just too young and strong and virile . . . and enticing to her. Pepe came up on his knees, straddling Lydia's hips, and he put an arm under her and turned her and brought her up on her hands and knees underneath him. Cupping a breast in one hand and wrapping the other one around her neck, once more making her fight for her breath, he arched her shoulders up into his chest, rose up on the balls of his feet, encased her hips between his knees and fucked her hard and fast, the power of his hard-muscled thighs in each thrust. As her cries of rough taking and passion rose, his hand moved from her neck to cover her mouth and nose to muffle the sounds of sex, and she was on the border of an exhausted faint when he ejaculated deep inside her and she met his spouting cum with fireworks and flow of her own. Lydia's millionaire, older husband, Stanley, whose daily swims were therapy for fully regaining the movement of his right arm and leg following a series of small strokes, was floating face down at the shallow end of the pool when Lydia and Stanley's new physical therapist, Pepe returned from the fern bed in the forest walk beyond the pool patio. It was later determined that he'd had a massive stroke and probably would have died even if he hadn't drowned in the pool. "Oh god, oh god, what are we going to do?" Pepe said, for once not in full control. "Call the police and his lawyer, of course," Lydia said, fully composed, belying the many years—nearly twenty-seven now—that she and Stan had been married. More than twenty-six very long years by Lydia's reckoning. "It's not like this was unexpected," she continued. "He was a walking time bomb. I'm sure he's had a stroke." "But I was supposed to be here with him. But, my god, I can't let them know I was here professionally. I don't have my license yet. I told you . . . but you were too hot for my dick to hear me." "Calm down," Lydia murmured. She walked up real close to Pepe and ran her fingernails down his arm, causing him to chill. "Of course you don't need to be here. Go on, take off. No one but me now knows you were asked to come give Stanley therapy. Go on now. I'll call you when all of this blows over." But Lydia wasn't sure she would call him again after all. She had thought he might be the substitute she was seeking. But he was just too male-dominating Caribbean. She had done everything she could to signal to him what she really wanted. But it just had not been the same. Lydia watched Pepe stride around to the side of the mansion, where his motorcycle was parked. She enjoyed the way his tight butt cheeks grabbed as he walked while he pulled the black muscle shirt over his milk-chocolate skin. A luscious mix of his father's Jamaican darkness and good solid Norwegian stock. Lydia had no intention of revealing that Pepe had been here, and it had nothing to do with him not having a license to work as a physical therapist yet. She didn't want any nosey investigators looking into Pepe's past, as they surely would considering the fortune Stanley was leaving. It would certainly complicate matters and look at least a little suspicious, if they discovered that the son Lydia had born out of wedlock in college and given away was present at her husband's demise. * * * * "I don't know what we're waiting for," Lydia said, trying to feign patience but not doing a very good job of it. She was sitting in the family lawyer's office, waiting for the formal reading of Stanley's will. It was inevitable. She was aware that Stanley had a prenuptial agreement leaving her well fixed but not in total control of his fortune . . . unless he died heirless. It seemed a little ridiculous after more than twenty-five years of marriage to even have a prenup, but neither she nor Stanley had given a thought to changing it. However, she didn't see that there possibly would be a problem. All of Stanley's relatives were gone. They had had a son, Brian, but he had died while on an Everest mountain-climbing expedition two years ago, his body still in a deep crevice on the unforgiving snow-clad mountainside. No one had mourned Brian as Lydia had. No one could even appreciate the depth of the relationship she'd had with her son. He had been so devil may care and adventuresome, though. A beautiful youth, but throwing himself into any opportunity to risk his life and limb. And in the end, it had caught up with him. Lydia lifted her handkerchief to her eyes and blotted her tears. It was fine for her—very fine indeed—if the family lawyer believed the tears were for her husband, Stanley. But she, and she alone, knew they were for her beloved son, Brian. "Just a few more moments, Mrs. Morton," the family lawyer said. He was sweating and mopping his face with his handkerchief. Lydia had never seen him like this. He'd always been so calm and collected when she and Stan had dealt with him. "I don't . . . ," she began. "Just a few more moments. There apparently has been a glitch. A phone call from India last week. And . . . and . . . I'm sorry I didn't say anything about this before. But I didn't know how . . . ah, well, here he is now." The lawyer was standing, his face flashing between expressions of concern and relief, his eyes looking beyond where Lydia was sitting in front of his desk. Lydia stood and turned. And gasped. "Hello, Mother." The voice was halting, the speech a bit slurred. "No!" Lydia cried out. It wasn't really the shock at the greeting and what it might portend. It rather was that she didn't recognize this man who was moving through the door, leaning on a cane and favoring a stiff leg. And she wasn't slow of mind. She had instantly caught on to why the lawyer was holding off on the reading of the will and what the appearance of this man meant. "I know it's a shock, Mother. That's one reason I didn't contact you before now. I was badly broken—and, for months wasn't even conscious. My climbing team had assumed I was dead, but another one found me and took me down to Katmandu, and then, when it was clear I might survive, I was sent on to New Delhi. I . . . I've been convalescing. And deciding whether I even should . . . well, you know. I've been thinking about this self-destructive streak I've had, and I . . ." Lydia turned to the family lawyer and declared in a steady, steely voice. "I'll not make any declarations at the moment. This young man is a good ten years older than my son. . . . I just don't know. I don't want to see a court fight, and I suppose it's slightly possible that recovering from such an accident could have aged him. But I just don't know. Perhaps we should wait on a reading of the will. I just don't . . ." "Yes, I think you are right, Mrs. Morton. Yes, I think that would be best." The relief in the lawyer's voice was palpable. He'd never had this happen to him before in thirty years of law practice. And she was taking the possibilities, the ramifications of the situation very well. He had always admired Lydia Morton. And, yes, he'd wanted to get in her panties too. She was a beautiful, ageless blonde. Much younger than Stanley, of course, and the lawyer knew that they had rushed to the alter because their son, Brian, was on the way. And Lydia Morton obviously married Stanley for his money, not his looks. But she was one sexy, smart broad. And she'd stuck with Stanley for over twenty-five years. Her reaction to this turn of events showed her to perfection as unflappable. He felt himself going hard. He wanted to fuck her more now than ever before. Perhaps after all of this unpleasant uncertainty was over . . . "I know it's been a shock, Mrs. Morton . . . Lydia. Perhaps we should call it a day. I will see Brian . . . this young man . . . settled in a hotel, and we'll set up appointments for the two of you . . ." "No, I think he should come home with me." "Come home with you?" The lawyer was flabbergasted. "Yes, I think if we have time to discuss this alone, we can come to some accommodation." "Oh, yes, I understand," the lawyer said. And at the moment, he thought he did understand. Although he knew Lydia had stood by her marriage, he also knew that she'd had affairs here and about. In fact, a rumor was going around now that she was sleeping with a Caribbean half breed muscle man. He could see it now. Presented with a complication between her and her husband's full estate, Lydia was going to see if she could fuck her way out of the problem, ensnare this young man and convince him to sell his somewhat shaky birthright—at least until or unless he let them do DNA sampling—just to get his cock inside her. And, as the lawyer took another look at Lydia, he thought the chances were good she could carry it off. The lawyer only had it partially right, though. Lydia Morton indeed wanted to get this Brian pretender home and alone. But it was more because she wanted to be sure herself that he wasn't her son. She knew exactly how she could do that, but she couldn't do it here in this office and she couldn't do it during arranged meetings with witnesses. "Is that arrangement satisfactory with you?" the lawyer asked the Brian claimant. "Yes, quite," the young man answered. "I would not have come back at all, if I wasn't prepared to face this." That night, after having set the scene—having all of the servants cleared from the house after a gourmet dinner and after-dinner drinks before a roaring fire, letting the flames in the fireplace set the diamonds encircling her neck and descending to her carefully uplifted cleavage in an alluring gown sparkling, and showing the young man not only where his bedroom was but where hers was as well—Lydia prepared her bedroom. She slipped on a diaphanous gown that revealed all of her charms to perfection and lit the lamps on either side of the bed to their lowest setting. She wanted the atmosphere to be alluring and her charms to have the right lighting, but she needed light. She would know if it was Brian or not if he came to her as she had implicitly invited him to—and she would know what she wanted to assure herself of if he came to her in the light. She then posed herself on the silken sheets of her bed and dozed until the darkest hour of the night. Lydia awoke to her mattress yielding to the weight of him, and she opened her eyes just as he was leaning over to turn off the light by the bed. He had already clicked the other one off. She only got a glimpse of him, but she could see that that his body was hard and well-muscled and that he, indeed, was a somewhat aged version of her son. "No. The lights. Please leave them . . ." "I don't know if I could in the light," he mumbled. "I almost didn't come back. I had so much time to think. To think about this . . . us. I don't know if I could . . . if I could see you. But I couldn't stay away." "The light. I want the light . . ." She was flustered and thwarted. She had to see to be sure. This was all set up so that she could see—and know beyond a shadow of doubt. The young man cut off her objection by covering her mouth with his and taking her into a deep kiss. He had her pinned to the bed, one of her arms under his body and his good leg straddling one of hers, holding her to the bed, while he slowly unbuttoned her gown and revealed her trembling flesh. Her head was cradled in his arm and the hand of that arm found one of her breasts and was pinching at a nipple and causing her to shudder and writhe and moan softly under his touch. His other hand glided down her belly and through her pubic hair, and he parted her clitoris lips with his fingers and began the process of giving her hot flashes and flowings and bringing up moans and groans from deep inside her. He was moving on top of her and parting her moist labia with his strong fingers and inserting the bulb of his cock there. She struggled under him, still intent on seeing, on knowing. But she began to yield to him almost immediately. Yes. He was monstrously long and thick. Yes, yes. He was curved upward, the bulb dragging along the undulating muscles of her passage walls as he moved into her. Yes, yes, yes, his fingers going to her clit. Y-e-s-s. As he slowly stretched and entered and entered and entered, reaching farther up into her than any other man had ever done before. Not pumping but relentlessly sliding up into her, reaching for her heart. And then, her heart pounding, her passion reaching for the heavens, as he turned onto his back and brought her up straddling his lap, impaled to the quick on his cock . . . and let her take over the fuck. Yes, yes, yes, she exulted as she rose and fell and rotated at her own pace, creating her own waves of passion, using his gigantic, skyward pointing pole to fuck herself wildly and totally, bringing herself—and him—to and over the edge as their juices mingled and then beginning at the beginning and bringing them to a shared climax again and then again. Yes, she no longer had to look for the birthmark at the root of his cock. This was what she tried to find in substitute from Pepe and could not achieve. This was how she had taught Brian to fuck her. There was not a doubt in the world. The son Stanley had given her was home and very much alive.