At Home with Melody Part three

Note : This story is completely fictional!

Chapter Nine

Tom could not settle. It was Thursday night and he was seated in a leather armchair, watching one of his favorite shows on their huge widescreen Television. Patricia was by his side, sitting in the three-seater. As usual the kids were nowhere to be seen.
“What’s wrong?” His wife felt compelled to finally ask.
Like a bullet, “nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, Tom. You know how I hate that. Something’s been biting you on the bum all evening.”
After some thought, “I think we should give the Manor a break for a while,” he stated. He had actually been thinking about the comparisons between Little Bo Peep and his daughter. Although roughly the same age, they were, in fact, very different to look at; was it the same when they were naked? What were Melody’s tits like; and her bare bum; even her pussy? How did she keep herself? And how could he possibly think such awful things about his own daughter?
Pat looked at him more closely. The remark had been a strange thing to come from him, considering the Manor parties only happened every second month or so, and he had always looked forward to them with great anticipation. “I don’t understand, you’re not still worried about what happened, are you?”
“Aren’t you?”
She was quiet.
Deflecting his real concerns, “Two guys at one time…And one was our Mel’s teacher. Not your everyday kind of occurrence.”
Stung, she said quietly, “we agreed not to judge.”
“I’m not judging. It’s just that I never thought…”
Cutting across him, “that things could get so out of hand.”
And he blurted, “I had sex with a girl, Pat, a girl young enough to be our daughter.”
She looked him straight in the eyes. “I’ve thought about it as much as you. And what I’ve concluded is that it’s just that—sex,” and she then said forcefully, “We’re not looking at relationships here. I’m not judging you on what happened…I’ve thought about my own past; and believe it or not, I can still recall what it was like to be her age. She might look young to us, but she’s a woman, not some little girl who doesn’t know her own mind. I felt responsible for my own actions at her age. She knew exactly what she was doing. And as for you choosing her, don’t fool yourself.” Realizing how this might sound, she softened her tone. “Most of the time us women do the choosing, the men just don’t realize it. She chose to make love with you. A client she found attractive, and one she felt she could trust. Just remember, though, that’s all you were to her; a client. Perhaps if you were going to continue seeing her on the side, I’d be a lot more worried,” a hidden warning, that Tom recognized.
She quickly reiterated, “But if it was just the sex you’re concerned about than please don’t be, I’m completely okay with it now. Not wishing to be unkind, but in her profession, I bet she would hardly remember who you were by now, and she’s probably had older guys then you…It was her choice, Tom, nothing more than that.” 
“But she was Mel’s age, Pat.” He stressed.
“Yes, and haven’t you noticed? Our Mel’s not a little girl anymore. So forget it.” Her look was insistent. Even more seriously, “They’ve been grown ups for some time now, we just haven’t been watching…I’m actually rather worried about how much time we’ve let slip by. We’ve been far too selfish in this lifestyle we’ve chosen. That’s more worrying to me right now then who we had sex with at that party.”
They were silent for awhile. But the show continued to fail to engross them. Instead of commenting about their children, “And I’m fine about the guys.” Tom suddenly blurted.
A short pause, quietly, “I was a little worried.” She returned without looking. That kiss had lingered far too long. She had tried to remind herself that it was all in the heat of the moment, a simple act of lust, not love, but it lingered. 
“About what?” he finally replied.
“That you might hate me for it, that you might think I was dirty. I didn’t think it would go that far. I thought I would never do something like that,” She sounded as worried as she looked.
“But you’ve fantasized about things like that. You’ve told me.”
“Yes, but fantasy and reality are two different things.”
“You didn’t enjoy it?”
She was quiet again. Then, “I could have stopped them at any time, but I didn’t. It was too exciting. I haven’t felt like that in a while. What worries me is that I did like it.”
He had thought about it, and not all of his thoughts had been disapproving. Somewhat fascinated, “So you did have both of them at the same time?”
She knew what he meant, “Yes.”
He grinned, “And I thought Little Bo Peep and her French Maid friend were rather adventurous.”
“Do you hate me for it?”
More seriously, “has it changed how you feel toward me?”
“No,” she stressed, “of course not. I know it was just sex. We agreed on all this…I love you.” And with those simple words, words that had been uttered a thousand times before, yet never with more meaning, Mr. Wilkin’s kiss had returned to it’s rightful place—meaningless, but very nice.
“Then, as I said, it’s fine with me what you do. I won’t even stop you if you want to try it again.”
“I don’t think so,” she said without conviction. “Once was a novelty, but I have to say I was rather sore afterwards.”
“You’ve recovered okay.”
“Oh, I’m perfectly fine now.”
Was that lust in her eyes? He looked at her more closely, and suddenly realizing how fine she truly looked, “you dressed up this evening. You look lovely.”
“Thanks.” She was surprised. He’d not said a thing about her attire ever since he’d come home, and she’d spent quiet a deal of time preparing make-up and clothes. She needed to know that he still noticed her as much as characters like Little Bo Peep.
“And I’m still madly in love with you too, my dear.” His smile was sweet.
“And Little Bo Peep was just a fun time?” Her look was suddenly deadly serious.
He took his time. His wife could always read if he was lying, so honest had their relationship been. But this was something he had thought a lot about, and only now did he know the true answer. Confidently, with a smile and twinkle in his brown eyes, “And Little Bo Peep has lost a sheep.”
She understood then the struggle he’d had, so much could she read. She was satisfied. With a pout, “So you love me, and not her?”
“Utterly,” he unreservedly stated.
Provocatively, she returned, “well what should we do about that then?”
“For one thing, the TV can go off.”
A little later saw them standing, and with white wine, toasting their rediscovered commitment to one another, then they kissed as passionately as young lovers would. Patricia went to the cd player. What she chose, surprised Tom. Rather than gentle, romantic music, she had selected hard rock. She did not put it up too loud that it was annoying; rather, the energy was exciting.
Tom then moved to behind her, reached around, and folded his hands over the curves of his wife’s large concealed breasts, then gently squeezed. He undid her lace-trimmed blouse and pulled it back. She wore a sexy white bra.
“I want you to watch me,” breaking from his arms, she commanded, then moved over to his favorite chair. He came to sit on the edge of their excessively large, smoke glass, coffee table.
She seductively hoisted her long black evening skirt, to above her waist then sat down elegantly, before spreading her legs like a prostitute. On her feet were white high heels, and she wore decorative, stay-up, white stockings, and no panties. All evening without panties, the thought had Tom as hot as a teenager. Her pussy hair, although not completely shaven, was cut short enough to allow a good view of her plump pussy. For a moment, he thought of Little Bo Peep on the wide interior stairs of the Manor, she had gone around without panties on during the party, and had struck a similar pose, in very similar stockings. But then he looked more closely, taking in all of that beautiful female sex. One thing that had always fascinated him was how no two pussy’s ever looked completely alike. And his wife’s was no exception. This was not Little Bo Peep; this was his adoring wife that, because he loved her so much, he wanted to fuck even more than sweet young things.
She began to teasingly rub her inner thighs; then she ran a finger along the entire length of her crack. She spread her ample labia so that the inner flesh was better seen. She poked a finger deep into her hole and pulled it out—her lovely wet hole puckering then sighing.
Languidly, she continued to play. One finger, two, then even a third, shoved deep into her cunt; and she frigged her Melody-sized clit.
Affrontingly, she withdrew her fingers and proceeded to sucked them clean, “now it’s your turn,” she said, “Come over here,” she curled a finger and signaled, “I want you to eat my pussy.”
He was happy to oblige. And how he ate and fingered her enchanting pussy to the point of near orgasm. She stopped him. “Now show me your cock.” She commanded. “Take it out. I want to see what you’ve got for me tonight.”
He did. It was about seven inches long and was thick, like a small wrist, and as hard as rock.
“Hmm. It’s so pretty,” she watched it bobbing about in front of her, “will you play with it for me,” she begged. She loved watching him jerk off. However she didn’t let him play for very long before moving to the edge of the luxurious armchair, and reaching forward, grabbed it herself. Then she literally pulled him by his thick cock, until he was close enough to the chair for her mouth to easily reach it.
And seated, with stretched mouth, she began to lovingly suck, not forgetting how he liked to see her eyes.
Their twenty-two year old son walked in. The music was just loud enough to hide his entrance; with him was his current girlfriend. She was younger than he was. The pair stood, transfixed; and for a while, unnoticed. The girlfriend pulled on Anthony’s arm in the hope of escaping before they were seen. But Anthony was unmoving.
Eventually, “Um, bad timing?” he calmly stated aloud. His petite young girlfriend looked completely shocked.
His mother tried desperately to hide what she’d been doing, but it was pointless, how could such an obvious act be covered up?
“Hey look, don’t let us stop you.” Anthony said, then rudely, “Go for it dad. We’ll just leave you two alone, shall we?” And he took his stunned girlfriend by her hand, and led her away toward the stairs.
“I’m so sorry,” his mother called out after him.
“Don’t be,” he returned without looking back. “I’m the one back early…We’ll be up in my room.”
The husband and wife team sat looking at each other. “It is our house,” Tom tried to joke. “We should be able to do what we like. And he is right. He never comes home this early.”
“So what do we do now?” She asked; feeling more flustered than ever.
“We’ll have another drink.” Her husband stated, dumbly, “I think we need it.”
She could think of nothing else, and so they did.
The music went off and the Television went back on.
Ten minutes later, feeling a little tipsy and somewhat over the shock of being discovered in such a compromising position, “now what?” Her eyes suggesting she wanted him to take the lead.
He was just as dumbfounded as her. There was nothing interesting on the screen.
The TV was switched off, and he turned to face his provocatively looking wife, “It really is our house,” He conferred.
“And he never comes down when he’s got a girl with him.” She offered. The thought of her son catching her in such an act, had lingered; and it was not as horrible as she would have imagined.
Tom was struck by his wife’s audacious look. This was daring beyond daring, and rather exciting. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”
Pat looked to be considering their situation. This was ridiculous, the mood had somewhat been lost, yet something inside her drove her on, and completely surprising herself, “Perhaps.” She mumbled.
The prospect of what now felt like forbidden love was having stunning results on Tom. His cock was urgently making suggestions of its own. He simply had to listen to it, “you really think we should chance doing anything?”
For a split second he feared she was going to chicken out, instead, “You can’t hear anything up there, especially if we turn the music back on…But first I need to pee.”
“Okay,” he nodded.
Then, to his surprise, at the door to the downstairs bathroom, he heard her call. He went to see what the matter was and found his wife at the bathroom door, looking rather sheepish. “You know you once said…” she began.
“Said what?”
“You know?” she prompted.
He was a little drunk and unable to comprehend, so she furthered, “Come in.”
“What?”
“Damn it, Tom, come in,” she pulled on his arm. Once inside the large bathroom she went to the toilet, raised the lid, and rather than fully sit down, she squatted just above. “Come over here,” she signaled her husband forward, “you recently said you would like to see me pee. I never did show you.” Tom came to within a few feet of his squatting wife. Smiling, she pulled back her labials, which, had she not, would have caused her piss to splash everywhere. She had drunk quite a bit, so when she began, she peed and peed, only some of it splashing. While Tom continued to watch, she wiped herself. “Did that look good?” she asked, a little worried at her brazen action.
Tom nodded, “but now I need to pee,” and so Pat watched her husband.
They cleaned their privates and returned to the lounge. Their son and his girlfriend could not be heard. 
Pat put the music back on. Tom sat down in an armchair, Pat took to the three-seater and laid out, resting her head on cushions. She again hitched up her long dress then blatantly started playing with her breasts and cunt. Whispering, “come here, big boy, your wife wants you to fuck her.” Lust had returned to her eyes like a fire, and the fire burnt any doubts at what they were doing. Even for her, there was something strangely exciting about the thought of her son upstairs with a girl while they were down below, screwing their brains out.
Tom unzipped his fly and his wonderful erect cock again sprang out like it was ecstatic to be free.

Upstairs Anthony’s girlfriend was still recovering from what she’d seen and the way her boyfriend had behaved. In her house her parents never even spoke about sex, and certainly would never have gotten caught in such a compromising position.
Despite his earlier calm reaction, Anthony reassured that this was not an everyday occurrence. He put his own music on; it was slow and only background to talk that quickly became intimate. It was just as strangely erotic to him to have the olds possibly fucking downstairs, while they were together in his bedroom.
Fondling began.
Rather than disturbed by what she had just seen, Samantha was surprised at how turned on she was. Indeed, Tony’s dad was rather handsome for his age, and Tony’s mother, a very attractive older woman, had looked quite at ease with a large cock in her mouth. Unbeknown to her own parents, Samantha was utterly interested in all things sexual. It was kind of like being the rebellious daughter of a minister—always wanting to know what sins the terrible congregation were getting up to. 
So deep in lust was she that it hardly registered that Tony was taking down her jeans. It was not until he pulled down her white panties that she suddenly snapped to attention. “Do you really think we should? What if they hear us?”
“So?”
“Tony! They’re your parents.” Her words, however, did not quite match with how she was feeling. The truth being, it was rather exciting, imagining Tony’s parents fucking.
Still he continued with the panties until they were completely off, “they won’t bother us, I assure you.”
For a while he just stared at her mostly shaven sweet pussy. “What does she think?” he asked, while looking at her sweet cunt.
Samantha smiled coyly. There was no way she could back out of this. Not when her dewy vagina was screaming for attention, “Cindy wants Pegasus,” she admitted.
“And so Cindy will have Pegasus. But first, I want to devour her.”
Samantha giggled as Tony’s tongue reached forward and licked her slit. And lick it and finger it, he did, while Samantha cupped her small concealed tits. With a little whimper, she enticed, “yes, Tony, finger Cindy, rub her little head.”
He did so, with gusto.
Then he stood and was just about to take down his own pants, when suddenly she hurried to pull on her sexy panties. “We just can’t” She whispered. She thought she had heard a noise above the quiet music.
“What?” He looked cross.
She tried to explain. “I heard something.”
“You’re imagining things.” Not only was Anthony’s room upstairs, it was also down a corridor and far from the lounge. 
“What if they come up here?”
“And why would they do that when there’s a bathroom downstairs? I’m telling you, they won’t come anywhere near us. In fact, they’re probably so embarrassed they won’t bother me for a week.” He gave a little laugh, hoping humour might ease the situation, then, “Samantha, it was your idea to come back here in the first place. You said it was a dumb film.”
“It was. I hate action films. But I didn’t know your parents were going to be home…And doing that. You know what she was doing, don’t you?”
“Giving my Dad a headjob,” he bluntly returned, “I’m not blind.” Then noting her shocked look, “What!” As though he hardly understood what her problem was. “Did you think our generation invented oral sex or something?”
Emphatically, “NO! I just. I don’t know. I just thought, when you got older, you just. Tony, they’re your parents,” she reiterated. Again it was just talk. In her mind she was enjoying talking about such a taboo subject, as parents having sex.
“Yes, and I think they still look pretty good for their age, don’t you? And I promise you, they definitely won’t be coming up here to bother us, all right. And I’m twenty-two now, not a child, I can do what I like in my own room. It’s off bounds to everyone else,” meaning his sister as well. “Just think of it like our own private hotel suite.” Ignoring her feigned concerns he continued to take down his pants, to reveal his bulging boxer shorts. Then he came to sit with her on his bed. They cuddled. “Look. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” It was the right thing to say. Taking the pressure off, led to more comfortable conversation. Samantha really was rather turned on, and now that she was more over the shock of what they’d walked in on, she started to relax. Her legs parted slightly. Anthony noticed.
He touched her.
She did not flinch.
He touched her more intimately, and still she didn’t stop him. A hand glided up to meet with her white panties, and he started to rub her.
Between moans, “Okay, but we have to be quiet…Really quiet.”
“We can just play around a little if you like. We don’t have to…”
“Tony, I’m not a high school girl anymore and I don’t like to just be teased,” she looked at his face, then his straining boxers. She had wavy long brown hair, and big hazel eyes. She was slight, including her small breasts, and she was pretty, “All I’m saying is that we should be very quiet, all right.” They were not usually particularly quiet.
Anthony understood. “Like church mice.”
To prove her returned enthusiasm, she took down her own panties then proceeded to take off her white top. She had a small plain bra on. She turned so Anthony could unclip it from behind. He fumbled. He hated always fumbling, yet always did. It eventually came undone. “You can’t just tease a naked girl.” Samantha whispered. “Now that just wouldn’t be right,” her smile was wicked. “You have to fuck her, okay?”

Pat could not help it. Rather than eagerly watch, as her husband’s cock was about to enter her—as she usually did—propped up on a stack of cushions, she was stealthily glancing over the lounge, to make sure they remained alone. It was too late to stop, but she should at least keep an eye out. Then it entered, that magnificent, luscious, cock penetrating her wet vagina. And so wonderful was that sliding sensation, that she soon lost the last of her reservations.
At about the same time, upstairs, her son’s cock rested on Samantha’s cunt. The young girl grabbed it, and patted her clit and ran the head of that sweet cock all over her hairless slit. Everything about Samantha was small, including her labials and tight hole. Still, her cunt was not so small that after a good push, it could not accommodate that lovely swollen cock head. “Oh shit!” she said too loudly.
“I thought we were going to be quiet.” Anthony laughingly reminded.
She threw a hand to her mouth then giggled.
“Watch,” Anthony commanded.
And she did. Nothing in the world compared to the wonderful sight of a slicked cock running in and out of her wet pussy. She was so turned on that she was happily frigging her clit and moaning loudly. Samantha was a girl who had fallen madly in love with sex the first time she had had an orgasm, and no matter how prim and proper she tried to behave in public, those in the know, knew she was a screamer in bed. Now she was biting back that very desire.
Anthony was trying hard not to laugh out loud. Samantha was an incredibly horny girl, who completely lost it in times like this, almost like she was a victim to her sexuality.
Whimpering, looking strained, in a tiny whisper, “fuck Cindy, Tony, fuck her with your big bad Pegasus.”
He didn’t particularly like the idea of sex organs having names, but was willing to go along with it if it meant she was happy, “don’t worry, Pegasus wants to fuck your pretty Cindy until pretty Cindy can’t take any more.” And he hammered her cunt for all he was worth.
They were not quiet, and the soft music, a poor cover.
Pat and Tom soon gave way to the throws of passion and using both the three-seater leather lounge and the carpeted floor by the fake wood fire, they fucked with great enthusiasm.
Finally, on the coffee table, “Mmm.” Pat lay with eyes closed, looking like she was sating her favorite dessert. “Yummy, yummy…Yummy.”
He stroked her clit, while he gently rocked back and forth, she was close, and he could feel it.
“Fuck…my…CUNT.” And this was not a whisper either. Such was her lust, that not only was she enjoying the brilliant deep fucking, but she was even given to moments of wondering what her son and Samantha were up to. They had to be fucking. It was obvious to all in the house that Anthony was always having sex. What was her son like? Was his cock like his father’s? Was he shoving it in and out of Samantha, right then, right in time with her and Tom? She fought of such thoughts and concentrated more intently on her husband’s cock. In with a good push; out just as nicely; every stroke spinning her head around in utter fuck heaven. 
“Pat,” Tom was so startled he stopped fucking.
“Sorry,” she said, and more quietly, “but please, Tom, don’t stop fucking me.”

Samantha was light, and Anthony was able to move her around like a doll, but in the end, they settled in the missionary position, and slowly he slipped his veined cock in and out. Tension rose. Her pained look said it all, she was about to explode.
Little squeals were followed by a howl that had even Anthony looking worried.
She quickly threw a hand over her own mouth. How could she have done such a thing, yet it had been quite involuntary and there was no taking it back now?

The squeal was heard.
Tom laughed. So did Pat. Her son had been fucking in time with her, and it sounded like his girlfriend loved it.
“A squealer,” Tom said. And he increased his pace then slowed almost to a stop just at the right time. A few more wet strokes and Pat’s face screamed urgency.
She did not, however, squeal. It was difficult.

Upstairs, Samantha was now using a hand to wank Anthony. His cock was still slick with her pussy juices. He soon came all over her small tits. She rubbed it in, licked her fingers then went to the adjoining bathroom to clean the rest off. “Do all these rooms have bathrooms like this,” she called back to Anthony.
“You should see my sister’s,” Anthony replied. “Like a palace. And she loves it. Takes the longest showers of anyone I know.”
“I thought you couldn’t hear anything from in here.” She called back.
“You can’t hear anything happening downstairs,” he reiterated, “But I assure you, if I listen carefully enough, I can sometimes hear my sister at play.”

One last thrust and Tom came deep inside his wife. She was not the least bit afraid of cum and licked his dick clean of what was not inside her. She then went to the bathroom to properly clean up. While she was in there, she thought about her son. He certainly seemed to have a wonderful sex life.

Hours later, on the same night, the strangest thing—the four found themselves together in the well appointed, downstairs, open kitchen area. They shared coffee, cake and biscuits, and a surprising amount of laughter. For Pat and Tom, it felt good to be so intimately involved with their son again, no matter what the circumstances were; and they rather liked his latest girlfriend.
Samantha was over the shock now and with her open and honest nature, was obviously winning them all over. This was the weirdest night of her life. She had earlier fucked Tony and now she was in the kitchen discussing life with his parents, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Secretly, she couldn’t help glance at the noticeable bulge in Tom’s trousers, had it really only been a few hours ago that she had actually seen his cock being sucked by his wife, Patricia—Tony’s rather attractive mother? Her glances did not go unnoticed by Patricia, who found no offence at all in the young woman’s interest.
“You’re a fine man, Anthony.” Slapping his son on the back, his father said at one point.
“It’s, Tony, Dad.” And from then on, his parents would always address their son by the less formal name.
These were the first signs of a new beginning for a family that had spent far too much time apart.

Chapter Ten

She had large, transparent, and very delicate, bejeweled, fairy wings, which occasionally flittered. In her long, off-blonde, hair were chains of flowers. Her skin glistened and sparkled. A trickling stream, heavy rainforest, splintered sunlight, and she danced—naked—Melody the fairy princess.
She found a boulder. She sat. And she folded one leg up onto the boulder, arched her back and neck, and with sparkling eyelids closed, worshipped the sun; the nipples of her perfect breasts rising.
“Shit, Travis, I had no idea you could play that well.”
Travis spun around in terror. It was Friday. Everyone had left the school, or so he had thought. Worse, it was April. April hated him.
“I was just…” He stumbled. Thank goodness no one could read his imagination. “We’re accompanying Melody’s play. I was just.”
“You were practicing…Because you want it to be perfect for her.”
“What?”
She came forward. Was she wiping a tear from her eye, had the music really moved her that much, surely not? Then he saw it. He froze. What was she doing wearing that bracelet?
April noticed his attention. “It’s beautiful, don’t you think? Melody gave it to me.”
Emotions conflicted, and he didn’t know how to answer. “You’re very good.” April furthered. “People should recognize that more.”
“What are you doing here?” He asked without anger.
“Hiding.”
He knew. Quietly, “I don’t believe them.”
“That Wayne fucked me up the arse and that Clayton just stood by and watched, is that what you don’t believe? I know they’re all talking about it.”
“They shouldn’t. They’re pigs. Most of them are like that. You girls think that jocks are so…”
“Stop it, Travis.” She demanded, “Listen to me. It’s true. It’s all true.”
Travis took a moment to put his violin away, while he did, she added, “I wasn’t just saying that to make you feel good, you really are very talented. I don’t know why I didn’t notice before.”
Without looking at her, “You look different.”
“Not so tarty you mean?”
“I wasn’t saying that.”
“Look, Travis. What happened to me was my own fault. I got myself into that stupid situation…But I’m more than that, and I want the chance to prove it.”
“I don’t care what they say.”
“I said it was true.” She stressed. Milder, “but I appreciate that you’re not judging me by one incident alone, like so many others around here are. I was drunk. It’s as simple as that.”
“He shouldn’t have told everyone.”
“He?”
“Clayton. He’s the one going around bragging, not Wayne,” said Travis. “Wayne isn’t talking about it at all. He’s gone rather quiet since he came back to school. I don’t think he and Clayton are even talking to each other.”
“That’s another reason why I’m here?”
“I’m sorry?” Travis was stumped.
“They don’t notice you at all, do they?”
“I guess not,” he said shyly, “not unless they need someone to ridicule, or someone to collect their towels and stuff.”
“You can get close to them whenever you like and no one would notice.”
“I’m nothing more to them than the stupid waterboy.”
“Exactly, you’re the waterboy.”
“So, it’s not like I wanted the job?”
“How would you feel about getting even with a jerk who treats you like shit? And at the same time, doing me and Melody a really big favor?”
“But you hate me,” he said bluntly.
She thought about this, then, “I hate the way you watch Melody, that’s creepy, but I don’t hate you.” She came to better look him in the eyes. “You don’t need to creep around us anymore. If you want to speak to us, just approach us in the normal manner. We’re not going to bite your head off.” Looking at him like this, she was surprised how accurate Melody’s assessment had been—he wasn’t all that bad looking, and perhaps muscles were a little overrated.
They spoke.
In the end Travis was excited at the prospect of being involved in something so devious.
And as April went to leave the auditorium, “You’re not nothing,” she called back.

Melody had traveled home by herself that afternoon. She had wanted to be there when April had confronted Travis, but had agreed that it might not have been such a good idea.
She was nervous, too, at the prospect of the upcoming play, and thought it wise to spend some time practicing her lines in her room.
When she got home she was staggered to find her parents were there. They were never home, together, at this time of day.
They wanted to talk.
Melody hardly knew what to say. But talk did come, and it was the most open and productive conversation the three had shared in a very long time. They even discussed sex, and were shocked to discover that their beautiful daughter was still a virgin.
“We love you, Mel.” Her mother reiterated.
“And we’re very proud of you,” said her father.
Melody openly wept. She couldn’t believe how much she had wanted this, like she had been lying to herself how important it was to be part of a happy family.
Her mother hugged her with genuine feeling. “Soon you will be gone,” she whispered. “I don’t want to miss what we have left…From now on I’m going to make sure I’m home more often…And I want you to know I’m here to talk about anything you want. I feel there’s so much I don’t know about you, and I don’t like that at all. I’ve been way too selfish.”
“How’s the play going?” In a bid to down tone their conversation, her father interjected.
They had never shown real interest before, even thought her ideas of Hollywood were far-fetched and not something that should be encouraged. Melody was silent for a moment. Looking more closely, she realized her parents were genuinely interested. “Okay, I guess.” She spoke quietly. They didn’t appear satisfied. She looked more closely. They really did want to know. “I’m a little nervous. But that’s pretty usual…It’s fine…Really…I think I know my lines pretty well now. We just have to hope it all gels on the night. First night’s always the worst.” The play was scheduled to run for three showings.
“We’re going to make sure that we’re there,” he emphasized, “We’re really looking forward to it.”
At least one of them had not been there for her last four plays, and she didn’t trust her dad’s statement, Looking for conformation, “Both of you—together?”
“Yes, both of us,” her mother stated as emphatically as she could, “And we want you to know that we’re one hundred percent behind your dreams.”
“And if that is still, Hollywood,” said her dad, “Then I’ll drive you there myself.” 
“But you’ve always said…”
“You’re talented, beautiful, committed. You can do anything you want with your life, Mel, and we want you to know that you have our full support.”
Overcome and somewhat uncomfortable with her emotions, Melody pointed out of the room, “I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’ll just go up and do a little practicing.”
She left.
In her room she found concentration difficult. It had always helped to have April to practice with. For some reason, she thought of Raylene. She felt so much less afraid of her now. So what if she was a lesbian.
She thought she’d thrown the number away, but she hadn’t, a little apprehensively, she rang.
Raylene was home and more than keen to fine-tune their lines.
Then Melody rang to see if April was finished with her quest yet.
Half an hour later, Raylene entered Melody’s house for the very first time, by her side was April.
They were surprised by how attentive and friendly Melody’s parents were.
“What’s all that about?” April later asked Melody as the three girls went up the wide staircase.
“I’m really not sure,” said Melody, “Some kind of midlife crisis, I think.”
“Looked more than that to me,” said the redheaded, Raylene.
“What do you mean?” asked April, as they entered Melody’s large room.
“Like parents who were just concerned about their family,” she replied, before then being blown away by the pretty room. “This is beautiful.” And she started walking around as though in a wonderland. “Really, really, beautiful, I’ve never seen anything quite like this before; like walking into a fairy tale.”
“It’s in need of a few changes,” said Melody.
“You could never change this.” April replied. She had always loved the very obvious contrast to her own disorganized, less girly room.
“I just think its time to put away a few things, that’s all I was saying.”
“What’s that?” Raylene asked of the large white TV cabinet.
“Show her,” April pleaded, and Melody finally conceded and drew back the doors that then slid into recesses at the side.
“Wow.” Exclaimed Raylene, “That’s a huge TV to have in your own bedroom, and look at the rest of this set-up.”
“We’re here to practice our lines.” Melody reminded. Then completely out of character, “and if we all do a good job, I might just have a little surprise for us later. She looked at April, who simply nodded, approvingly. This was going to be a very fun evening, and there was still Saturday to look forward to.

Travis fingered the small package April had supplied him with. It was a daring venture to say the least, but he was excited.
However, what surprised him most, was April herself. She was always going to be brash. ‘Wayne fucked me up the arse.’ But instead of finding this offensive, he now saw it more as honesty. April could never be accused of being dishonest: And she actually liked the way he played the violin. But why did she have to be wearing the bracelet he’d bought for Melody? The thought of his dreamgirl giving it away so frivolously was offensive? That wasn’t something a fairy princess should be doing.
He pulled out the school yearbook. He found his favorite picture. Of late, instead of simply admiring that perfect face, he had continued to masturbate. Afterwards, he felt like he’d done something bad to his untouchable goddess, like she was for worshipping, not for getting your rocks off.
Now he was simply angry.
Part of him died that night—a part that needed to die in order for him to grow up.
Later still, instead of Melody’s picture, he returned to his collection of pornographic magazines. He found a brunette woman who looked nothing like Melody. And this woman was wild and nasty. The nastiest pictures Travis owned.
It started with photos of the slim, beautiful, snarling, mid-twenties woman, posing in black latex that hugged her wondrous curves like liquid. There were many zips. Another picture had her unfastening a long silver zip that ran between her legs. Following was a picture of her sitting on the edge of a chair with her shimmering slender legs, ending in stilettos, wide apart, fully exposing her gloriously smooth, perfectly presented, pussy. Using both hands, she spread her labia, what a beautiful puckering hole. The next picture, an extreme close-up, showed even her tiny peehole.
She peed.
There were three explicit pictures of her peeing: a clear pool collecting on a red satin sheet, laid out on the floor. Two long zips held back her straining breasts. They were unzipped. For a slightly built woman, her breasts were somewhat large and sat perhaps a little too perfectly to be natural. Her nipples were not dark or particularly long, but were nicely erect. A flesh-colored dildo was introduced. She provocatively sucked it. Another picture had her running it over her breasts. Then a two-page spread, containing four pictures of the fake dick slowly disappearing into her tight pussy. One large photo then showed her sitting on the chair, wickedly smiling, and hands to her sides, leaning back, while the dildo was half inside her womanly folds. It looked so delightful just bobbing there, hands-free, contrasting with black latex and the red satin sheet on the floor.
Then, except for her black stilettos, a series of photos where she was depicted naked and on the floor. There was no sign of pee now on the red sheet. She posed in a variety of positions. Then the dildo was reintroduced. The very last photo was of her on knees, cute bum in the air, with the dildo actually poking out of her anus, while three fingers were being pushed into her hairless cunt. It was a special issue magazine, and definitely the only photos Travis had that were so confronting.
Yet he did not feel confronted. Indeed, this was exactly what he wanted—sheer decadence. His dick was so hard that not only did it throb, but it also tingled to the point where he was almost afraid to touch it incase he came too quickly. Eventually, however, he could resist no longer, and he began to slowly wank.
It looked good: The woman, his hard dick, those tits, the swollen head poking out of the top of his fist, and back to the woman again and what she could do with that dildo. How could anything ever match that feeling as, nearing conclusion, his cock swelled even further?
Unbeknown to him, his forty-four year old, slightly overweight mother was outside his door. Several months ago now, when she had come looking for laundry, she had knocked lightly, and hearing no reply, had peeked through the bedroom’s keyhole, surprised at the excellent view of her son’s bed. He was laying back, listening to music, with headphones on. She had chosen to leave him alone. Twice, since then, she had quickly peeked, before knocking. On the third time, however, instead of music, she was shocked to find her son masturbating. She decided this was a perfectly natural thing for him to be doing at his age, so she simply left him alone, and never discussed it.
This was now the fifth time she had peeked. And surprising herself, she had been particularly quiet in her approach. Had she actually been hoping to catch her son out? It could not have been more perfect. Through the keyhole, she could clearly spy him looking at explicit pictures while playing with his handsome young cock. She was riveted. 
Travis flicked back a few pages to where the model peed. It was so incredibly naughty. And he closed his eyes and imagined her there, live, in his room, peeing on that red satin sheet then calmly fucking her photo-perfect pussy and anus with that slippery dildo.
All over the centre pages of the magazine, he came in wads.
So erotic was watching her son powerfully ejaculate, it took all of her willpower not to rub herself silly. Then quietly, she slipped away as though she had never been there.
Half an hour later, in the safety of her own bedroom, Travis’s mother, still dressed in her day clothes, lay down on her double bed. It had been months since she had last played with herself, and that had only been brief, while lying in the bath. Now she couldn’t help herself. First it was just rubbing her ample breasts through the fabric of her light blouse. It felt good. Better than it had felt in a long time. So much so that she undid several buttons and ran a hand over her very full bra. Her big nipples were very aroused thinking about her son’s dick. Suddenly she rose and went to check the bedroom door. She seldom locked it, but tonight, she knew she would feel uncomfortable unless she did. Before returning to her bed she removed her white blouse. She positioned her pillows and returned to lying with her legs slightly open. Anyone watching would have found a rather unglamorous view of a middle-aged, plump woman, with strong supportive bra—rather than lacy and sexy—and simple black tracksuit trousers. How she might look to others at this time, however, was of little importance to her.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on what she had just seen. It was wrong, she was certain, but who was there to judge her? A hand wandered over her bra then she held one huge tit, while with her other hand she simply went straight for her crotch and grabbed it. Shit it felt good. She was on fire. Why had she neglected herself so much? Without further ado, her hand shot into her tracksuit, into her large unsexy panties, and right into her dark pubic hair. It needed trimming, but this was not the time to contemplate such things, instead she went to work on her throbbing clit like it was demanding to be rubbed as quickly as possible. In her mind her son was licking it, sucking it, delving and teasing and worshipping her clit and very dark cunt. She thought again of his dick—so erect; so very erect: Of it actually plunging deep into her hole, her young son fucking her for all he was worth. She came so fast and so intensely it surprised herself. And after, she promised not to wait so long before wanking again. Not only had it been fantastic to feel such heat coursing through her body after such a long time, the images she had created in her mind, had been intoxicating. Was it really so wrong to think of her son that way, when all it had been was a desire to share a more intimate love with him?
As Travis cleaned up what was an excessive mess, he wondered why he would ever want to see a woman pee. It certainly wasn’t an everyday fantasy. He hadn’t even liked the shockingly confronting photos when he had first discovered them; and was certainly not the reason why he had bought the usually more restrained magazine in the first place. Perhaps he was learning a few things about himself—the quiet muso who was still a virgin.
Later, in bed, he nervously contemplated the next day. Was he really up to it? Melody would be impressed, he thought, half the school might be, if they knew what he’d done. And he could live with the results, too, if the football team found out who the culprit was.
A wry smile, it would all be worth it.
Then a thought from left field.
She had thought the bracelet was beautiful, wore it with pride. Did he really mind? He had heard such terrible things about her, and she had even confessed to the most disgusting thing Travis could imagine—anal sex. Sex should be clean. Anal was not clean. But hadn’t he just got his rocks off at pictures of a woman peeing then shoving a dildo up her anus? Perhaps he was a touch too judgmental. Perhaps he knew nothing at all about life.
He thought of the ridicule she had received. He knew what it was like to live with ridicule. Suddenly it was very important to help April get her revenge. And April was right. It would be his revenge too.

Chapter Eleven

The hype was enormous. It always was on game day. You would have thought it was the NFL.
Clayton, the all-American jock, the quarterback, the captain, the best looking guy on the team, was at his vocal best. In full uniform, “this is OUR turf, and we’re going to beat them into the ground, make them eat dirt! They’ll wish they never came here! We’ll KILL their sorry arses!”
Wayne stood in the background, an unfamiliar position, and ignored his once friend.
At the end of a long bench, Travis looked on. It was perfect; no one was paying the waterboy any attention, whatsoever.

The crowd roared as their star-studded team came running out onto the field. They were favored to win and everyone wanted to see the drubbing, everyone except April and Melody, who couldn’t care less about the stupid game. Now if it was basketball…
With binoculars Melody was watching Clayton. Was he already in discomfort, too hard to be certain at such a distance? Then the helmet went on. She continued to watch. Something was wrong with his uniform. He was itching. That had not been part of the plan. She showed April. April laughed. What had Travis done?
The teams lined up.
The game began.
Within minutes it was obvious that the star player was in serious trouble. Unable to concentrate on the ball, the opposition quickly hammered him into the ground.
Then began the stomach cramps.
In a break, “Waterboy,” in agony, Clayton called out to Travis. He never called Travis by name.
Travis, feigning deep concern, ran up and offered more of the doctored sports drink. They all had individual drink bottles. It was too easy.
By halftime, Clayton had already made a visit to the toilet. That was nothing compared to the second half.
The itching powder—a touch overdone, perhaps—had been Travis’s own idea, the diuretic and laxatives had come from April. It was an old gag, and it was perfect. By the end of the game Clayton was a laughing stock, even to the opposition.
To April’s utter frustration the team still won. Wayne had made more touchdowns than in any other game he’d played in that year.
After the game, the unexpected, with the encroaching, excited crowd cheering, Wayne was calling out to April. It did not seem to matter to him that most of the team knew what he was doing.
April was reluctant. Wayne insisted, his smile suggesting nothing sinister.
April finally came over.
“Give us a few minutes,” he said to her, “then come to the changerooms. I want to speak to you.”
“Never!”
“It’s not like that,” he loudly reassured. “It’s nothing bad.” Noting her disbelief, “Look, I’ll leave it up to you, but you really don’t have anything to worry about. We need to talk.”
“In the changingrooms!” She stood as close as she dare get. It was incredibly uncomfortable being next to someone she hated, but better than having the whole crowd—including the rumour-mongers—knowing what they were talking about. 
He shrugged his padded shoulders, “Yeah, actually, that’s exactly where we should talk.”

Later, at the far end of a bench seat, in the boisterous changerooms, Clayton was bullying Travis. “You fucked with my drink bottle, didn’t you? You stupid little fuck!” He screamed into Travis’s face, then grabbed him by the collar. “I’m going to kill you.” He cocked back a fist. Travis closed one eye and waited for the impact.
But before any damage could be inflicted, “Leave him alone,” Wayne called across the room, before starting over. He was a deal bigger than Clayton was.
“Yeah, leave him be,” another added his own weight. The truth was that no one really liked the way Clayton treated people.
“I’ll never live this down, you cocky little prick!” Clayton still held a fist, but had not delivered the punch.
Travis, realizing his advantage, feigning ignorance, “perhaps it was something you ate,” he quietly stated.
“Yeah, something I ate.” Clayton mocked. “You nerd. You think I’m stupid, what about the itching, that something I ate too, huh!”
“Maybe you should shower more,” yet another added.
“And maybe you should just shut your mouth,” Clayton stormed and jumped up ready to thump his teammate. However, instead of fighting, his sudden movement only brought on another bout of stomach cramps, making it unnecessary for Wayne to intercede.
They were all left laughing, as Clayton hurried for the toilet.
Wayne said to Travis, “He’s needed that for a long time.”
April entered.
For support, Melody followed immediately behind. There were naked men. Melody tried not to look, but she did, and liked what she saw. Real cocks!
“April,” began Wayne. “Guys, you know April.” He addressed them all. To April it didn’t sound like a promising start.
There were some nods. “I asked her to come here because of what I did. What Clayton and I did.” He looked straight at her. “I’m really sorry, April, we were arseholes.” There was a quiet ripple of laughter, considering they all knew the subject matter. “Stop it guys,” he insisted. “This is serious.” And he looked serious. “What we did was inexcusable. You guys have all been laughing at someone who was taken advantage of. That is crap!” Looking directly at her again, “and that’s what it was, us getting you drunk so we could use you. Clayton planned it that way. You tried to get away, but we wouldn’t let you.” Then back at the guys, “It wasn’t like the way Clayton told it, there was nothing clever about it, and April’s no slut. We were bastards, and I’m ashamed of myself.” Back to April, “I really am sorry.” Feeling guilty, some guys nodded apologies, while another quietly mouthed a ‘sorry’. Other verbal apologies followed. April just stood there not knowing what to say.
“So you should be! You arseholes!” Melody blurted. For some reason her outburst caused the majority to laugh.
Then April asked, “where is he?”
Wayne gave a wry grin, “he’s kind of busy right now.”
“Got the shits,” another, kindly offered.
To this April had the composure to reply, “Well I hope it kills his arse!”

Come Monday morning, April was yesterday’s news.
Now Clayton’s, on again off again, on-field disasters, were the talk of the town.
His reputation was ruined.
Later he would leave the team, the school, and the state. Apparently, after having returned from their vacation to find their number one son despairing, his parents, always desperate to please their only child, felt that there were better opportunities in another, more sports orientated, school.
As for Travis, he had found a new circle of friends. They included jocks and nerds alike, but most importantly, they included Melody and April.
He learnt very quickly that putting a girl on a pedestal had been foolish. Melody was everything he had ever imagined and more; but most of all, she was flesh and blood, not some fairy princess.
And as a human, she had faults that he sometimes found annoying, not the least of which was her obsession with acting. Was it possible for her to ever see him as a potential boyfriend when her dreams were so filled with Hollywood, a world far removed from Summerville? In his mind, he felt so ‘small town’ when he listened to her talk. And there was also the sudden absence of that far-away stare, which had once suggested hidden, perhaps painful, secrets—nothing for Travis to now provide comfort for.
That’s when April truly came to his attention.

Chapter Twelve

Opening night.
The music soured, matched only by the flawless performance of a cast that included Melody and Raylene in their key roles. Such was their acting, that many in the audience were reduced to tears.
When it closed, Melody’s own parents and her brother, and her brother’s girlfriend, were the first to rise to their feet, and they led a standing ovation.
Then it was the orchestra’s turn.
When Travis stood with his violin, April led the clapping. By now he was seen as somewhat of a school legend. To April he was simply the most magnificent musician she had ever heard. She fingered the bracelet on her wrist. She knew now where it had come from, but didn’t mind in the least. It was beautiful, and—on the quiet—Travis had told her that the biggest mistake he ever made was in giving it to Melody in the first place and not her.
Melody and Raylene, April and Travis, and many of the cast members, partied hard that night.

And two days later...
In the privacy of her room, April kissed Travis for the first time.
“What about Wayne?” Braking away, Travis blurted. It had worried him that April could still be friends with someone who had done such awful things to her. Was it even possible that she could like someone like that, his apology had been so extraordinary that maybe she even admired him a little.
“What about him?” She looked confused.
“That was pretty amazing what he did. He took a big risk. You could have had him up on charges.”
“Me! Charges! Are you shitting me? I told you, it was as much my own fault as it was theirs, I’m no poor innocent thing, you know, and don’t you go thinking otherwise.” Looking at him she realized she had not quite answered his question. “Look. Yes he was brave. And yes, he did the right thing. But, Travis, he still fucked me up the arse and didn’t stop when I wanted him to.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying, dumb fuck, I’m not interested in Wayne.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m only interested in being with you. You see me differently than the rest of them.”
He looked at her. Did she always have to be so blunt? But then that was part of the reason he liked her so much.
And he really did like her. More than he had ever liked Melody. Indeed, infatuation was a poor substitute for the real thing.

It took a long time. Weeks ran into months. The longest April had gone without intercourse since her first fuck, but she could wait, she actually found that she wanted to wait until it was right for Travis.
Kisses became fondling, fondling became petting, and still she waited.
When it happened, it was beautiful, for it was more than just sex, it was love.
And it was with loving eyes and gentle kisses that Travis first eased his virgin dick into her aching cunt. There was no explicit chatter—as was often the case with April—they tried only a couple of positions, April did not orgasm, and it was over quicker than either would have liked, yet it was the best fuck April could remember.
It was only two days before they were at it again, and this time Travis lasted a little longer. Still April did not cum. By the fourth time they were at it like bunnies, using foreplay and even a toy to ensure April came like an earthquake, and Travis willingly took off his condom and splattered her belly with copious amounts of sperm. They would learn to play well together.