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Tea For Two Families, Part 8 free porn video
Part Eight
Beth stood at the foot of her bed, fumbling with the snaps of her house
dress. She looked longingly at the bed, the covers still thrown back from
her nap. It would feel so good to slide between those sheets, close my eyes
and sleep. But I need a bath, a warm, bubbly bath. Scratch the bubbles. No
time to soak. Maybe just a little.
Beth slid the yellow dress on the hanger, laid it over the foot of her bed.
She slipped the straps of her slip off her shoulders, letting it fall to
the floor, pooling about her toes. She ran her hands down her loins before
lifting the soft, sheer material with her toes, her knee flexing out from
her body. I may not be Cyd Charisse, but Miz Haygood couldn't complain.
Well, she could always complain about something, but I can still point my
toes. Not bad for an old broad's drill team memories. She slipped on a thin
pink robe, just enough to turn a draft.
Beth adjusted the water temperature, hot enough to warm the cool tub, not
so hot as to scald. Satisfied, she closed the air conditioning vent before
sitting at the bathroom vanity, pulling the faux gilt tray that held her
cotton pads and cleansing lotions to her. Gotta get the skin clean.
Blemishes are really unprofessional. She began with her eyes, damp cotton
pads peeling off the teal eyeshadow and black eyeliner. Lids clear, she
looked over her shoulder at the water level. There was just time enough to
remove her lipstick before turning off the water.
The bathroom grew warm and moist from the tub as Beth finished cleansing
her face. Even on an "informal" day, she applied a little foundation to
smooth her color and protect her skin. A few hours of summer sun, even
spread over several days, would produce a crop of freckles, less obvious
than a case of the measles, but a complication for producing an even toned
face.
As Beth stripped off color, pale skin emerged, glowing slightly from the
astringent rub. Beth leaned into the mirror, critically examining her pores
for any reddening spot, the first sign of an eruption. Ivory. That's what
we tan impaired call it. Not peachy, not rosy, but an ivory complection.
She had inherited active oil glands from mother Evelyn. That promised a
healthy, young skin for years to come, but at the price of eternal
vigilance against the dreaded "zit." Still, it was better than her few
friends whose skin was so dry that they slathered on moisturizer daily. At
least when she had had a bedtime companion, she hadn't felt like a greased
pig when she slipped between the sheets to snuggle.
Beth reached back, patted her hair, feeling along the seam of the French
Twist for loose pins. Satisfied, she fingered the smooth surface before
reaching for the blue floral shower cap that would protect her hairdo in
the bath. I do have nice hair. All we Templeton women have nice hair, a bit
thick, a bit of wave, a hairdresser's delight. It's truly our crowning
glory. It's so nice Freddie and Sandy have it too. No wonder Miss Jennie
wants to show Missy Alexandra at the stylists' competition. When his adult
hair comes in, it should be a real girl magnet, ideal for a hair model.
Perhaps Sarah has a point about Sandy modeling.
Beth slipped the robe from her shoulders as she stood. She couldn't help
pausing to look at her reflection, still firm and shapely despite two
children and being on the far side of twenty-nine. Her wasit was a little
thicker than before she became pregnant with Fredericka, her deep navel had
a bit more roll around it than her drill team washboard, but from the tips
of her rosy pink nipples to the slight crack of light below her sandy
haired bush, she was a fine figure of a woman.
Beth slipped her hands down to the front of her hips, nails splaying
through her bush, fingers running alongside the lips of her honey pot. She
arched as a thumb found her clitoris hidden inside its hood. Oh-h. It's
been so long without a tongue down there. The ruby tidbit swoll, parted the
fleshy folds. Maybe I should take up Vicky's offer. A meaningless one night
stand with my legs wrapped around a pretty head? Beth shuddered, drew her
hands away. She stepped to the tub, intending to wash her tension away.
Beth slid into the water, its warmth engulfing her, soothing her, relaxing
her. When the warmth reached her tits, the teats relaxed, deflated. The
warmth covered her shoulder, encasing her in almost womb-like comfort. The
tub was deep enough that her knees remained under, at least when they were
parted as much as the tub allowed. That allowed warm fluid to flow through
her thatch, trickle between protective lips. She clinched slightly, opening
herself to the warmth that flowed within, mimicking in reverse the slow
flow of a lover's satisfying stream.
Beth began to wash, to raise a lather on her hands, then smooth the suds
down her legs, over the arch of her foot, between her toes. She lifted each
leg in turn, stretched, pointed her toes, felt the thigh and calf flex,
tighten, relax. Can I? Still? She pulled a knee toward her, then
straightened her leg. The foot poised, straight and hairless before her
eyes. Yes. Once a drill teamer, always a drill teamer.
Beth's thoughts drifted back to a dusky fall afternoon her senior year,
after practice was over. Ben Thomas was a dream, a back, tall, shifty,
fast. He had good hands that let him catch passes as well as make them. I
never knew how he got my bra undone without my knowing it, but his hands,
his tongue had felt wonderful on my breasts. When I let him reach inside my
panties, his finger knew just where to press. After the Homecoming Dance,
we were, I was, only a technical virgin. The next afternoon, I wasn't even
that. All my drill team flexibility came in handy in the back of that van.
Only terminally horny teenagers could do it there like pretzels without
being permanently warped. The day before the game for district, my soreness
was gone, my flow had stopped, and I wanted him in me again. He was against
our tree while I wrapped my legs around. His big hands helped me bend back.
I had my first orgasm. I sat in the tub forever, feeling him flow out of
me, reliving every delicious shudder.
Beth's finger had pressed between the folds. She shuddered lightly at
memory of her wrapped around Ben, of hi shaft throbbing and pumping in her
until his hot seed stream splashed inside her. It's been too long. Mama
deserves to be nice to herself.
Beth slowly washed herself, the hand towel rubbing softly over her, arms,
pits, breasts, belly. Her body was still half aroused, the soft folds of
toweling awakening her nerve endings, the warm, sudsy water trailing off
her body like a lover's tender kisses. It was only when she sat up to
awkwardly wash down her spine, that the lush receptive feeling dissipated.
Beth levered herself up, toed open the drain, stood there dripping as the
water whirled, pooled, slid down the drain. She clutched herself, wiped
water from her body, touched herself. She arched her foot as she stepped
over the rim of the tub, reached for a bath towel, began to rub her body
slowly, thoroughly, as she dried herself. She passed the towel between her
legs, drawing it back and forth slowly, to rid herself of any dampness
clinging to her cracks. She lifted a knee, pointed her toe, rubbed down the
calf to the tips of her polished toes. Her toes dug into the bath mat,
depositing the dampness between them in the long fibers.
Dry, Beth watched herself in the circle of mirror fog as she removed the
shower cap. Yes. There's something of interest there if I do say so myself.
Good bait should I go trolling. Should I?
Beth considered the proposition as she shrugged on her robe, her toes
slipped into her fuzzy mules, as she opened the vent louvers. Maybe. But
who? Where? When?
Beth turned out the light, her arm caressing the hardness of the doorway as
she slipped back into her bedroom.
???
The sheets felt wonderfully cool and crisp as Beth slid between them,
drawing the light cover up around her. She turned on her pillow, hairdo
protected by her sleep cap, body comfortable inside the aqua folds of her
nightgown. Her head worked at the pillow, carving out a comfortable crease
as her arms snaked another pillow close to her. Have to do. Someone softly
spooned next to me would be better. Oh well.
Beth's legs drew up slowly, her toes pushed down, down under the robe lying
loosely over the foot of the bed. Her feet nestled under the turned back
coverlet, the layers warding off the chill nipping at the soles of her
feet. Least no ice blocks on my legs. She drew the pillow hard to her, her
thighs capturing the nether end. But no warm tush either.
Beth closed her eyes, letting the music of soft strings flow through her.
The notes sifted over her, caressing her, escorting her mind off to
slumber. Schubert soothed, relaxed, never intruded into her soft drift away
from consciousness.
Children, my beautiful children. Tucked in their beds.
Beth tucked the pillow top under her chin, the soft mass warm against her
belly. It was warm, soft, almost like being with someone. If it only
breathed.
A head appears, so close I can touch it. Curls, a jumble of sausage curls,
inviting curls, beseeching fingers to play with them, clutch at them, lose
themselves in them. To grasp, to capture, to control the head beneath them,
drawing it forward, then down, guiding it down to play, to worship, to lap.
Those curls, curls of willing surrender, offering pleasure to receive
pleasure in turn. A coman's curls, soft, docile, devoted to pleasing his
woman.
Ringlets fall behind, from under one side of the crown mass, ends layered,
three long curls, golden curls fall down, down past the neck encircled by
the ribbon of a velvet choker, down over the shoulder, one down onto the
breast. The milky breast gently swells above the heart shaped beaded
bodice, the glimmering bodice trimmed with stiff lace of a wedding gown.
The head turns, eyes glistening, ears sparkling, a tiara shines before the
curls. Shadow accents the eyes, a blush mimics the true rosy flush of the
cheeks. No ring rests over his pink lips. The bride's nose receives her
wedding ring at the altar from her dama. Kneeling to pledge to love, honor,
and obey, he will raised by his dama as her wife, her beloved.
Alexandra's head bows, waiting to receive his veil, the veil of modesty, of
his singular devotion to his dama to be, faithful, committed, a good wife.
"Please, Mama."
It's time, time for the birl to pass to the protection of another woman, to
become a coman with his own nest, to fill it with love and devotion. And
children of his own.
The veil lifted in place, corners pinned under the nest of curls, those
curls that will soon be drawn down so he may pleasure his dama, before his
groom mounts him, melds with him, makes him her own. After tonight,
Alexandra will no longer be my sweet little birl, but a good wife and a
good mother. And a good lover.
The blusher falls forward, incompletely hiding the eyes glistening in
anticipation. His hand rises, a hand encased in a fingerless lace glove,
oval nails pointed and polished, his diamond engagement ring gleaming,
waiting to be joined by a wedding band. The hand rests lightly on an arm
encased in Delft Blue soignee silk. "Ready, Sweetheart?"
Alexandra's head nods, the long golden curl sliding softly up and down the
heaving breast. "Ready."
Ready to wed, bed, and be bred. My sweet birl.
The bridal room door opens. The wedding party looms ahead, the first notes
playing as the first pair steps off. All before, Alexandra left, arm
clasping arm. Hand covers hand as slow steps lead down the aisle. A glance
to the side finds a steady head, a proud head, only the short breaths
betraying the bride's nerves. With each step, the torso raise and falls
even as the head remains steady, true to all those hours balancing a book.
Only the slight movement up and down of the golden curl on milky breast
marks any movement, any bobble.
At the head of the aisle, Alexandra's head turns, eyes shining at mine,
than turns again, looking at his fianc?e. His smile widens, his eyes gleam,
then glance down lest they betray his ardor, his desire. His hand is placed
on the hand that will protect and cherish him, love him, support him. He
will change his name, change his point of reference, change his role,
change everything he does, change everything but his beautiful soul.
???
Beth's eyes blinked, opened. The only sound in the dark room was the
whisper of the upstairs air conditioning, making its last run for the
night. Besides the glow of the bedside clock, the only light filtered
through the blinds and draws from the street light on the lot behind. The
pillow between her legs was crushed, the fill pressed upward, molded to her
belly and breasts.
Beth blinked, her dream so vivid that its reality overwhelmed the night
enveloping her. Slowly the details faded, only the bright, veiled face of
her Alexandra retaining the strength of its impression. My birl. My
beautiful birl. What a beautiful bride you will be. So long before you are
pledged, before you become a bride. So many tomorrows.
Beth shifted, lifting the warm mass away from her, turning the coolness to
her, holding it close, stroking it.
Someday, I will be without them. Someday, I will need someone to help fill
my days. Not now, but someday.
Beth stroked the pillow with her hand, moving it gently down, finding her
hip, her thigh. The hand slipped between the pillow and her body, between
her legs. She felt her bush, flattened, not damp, but not completely dry.
Her finger found the top of her crease, opened the lips, found her pleasure
button lying quietly within. It awakened to the pressure, grew, emerged to
be stroked.
Yes, yes. It's been too long. Vicky's right. I need to feel like a woman,
desired, wanted. I need it, need to feel myself mount as I am filled, need
to feel release, relief.
Beth's finger pressed, sawed little circles, her love knob growing under
her pressure. She arched, caressed her breast with her under arm, clasped
her thighs to capture the high hand. Little pants blew against the pillow,
he belly shimmered, she tightened, clamped, stiffened. She inhaled,
stretched tight, relaxed. Her eyes closed, her breaths came in long, sighs
soft, deepening.
Oh, yes. I need someone. If just for a night.
Beth's body relaxed. She pulled the pillow under her, rolled forward onto
it.
Maybe Vicky's right. Get out some, find someone. But the children? Me, a
desperate grass widow?
Beth hugged the pillow tightly to her.
Me? Prowling the bars for prey? Me? Who's only done it with three men in my
life?
Beth reached up to check her sleep cap. The stiff material was still firmly
anchored by long pins, the string bow still in place under her ear.
If I do, what would it be? A hotel bar in Nashville with some self-centered
male? A desperate she-male from a Heraton fern bar? Definitely not Angela.
How could I give him instructions, look him in the eye after rolling him in
the hay?
Beth rolled over, tucking the pillow under her, then rolled the other way,
pulling the pillow close behind her back.
Face it, Beth, ol' girl. You're a one man woman. Someone's pretty head
beside you on the next pillow, breathing softly afterwards, but someone you
can respect. Maybe even marry if the kids like him. Pretty curls to twine
about my fingers. Willing to put his tongue to good work on my honey pot.
Someone round, yielding, supportive of me this time. What's the use of
living in Heraton and not take advantage of the norms?
Have a pretty fianc?, a pretty bride, a pretty wife. Maybe even barefoot
and pregnant. Might feel good to knock up my wife, have him all swollen
like a grape. That would give the girls and birls at High Style something
to talk about. Beth Brown's little coman. Pregnant again? When's he gonna
drop? Seems like he's always swelling or nursing. Lucky birl.
Beth smiled to herself, heart pounding just a little. Girl, would that ever
show Alex. He wouldn't be the only one who could give Freddie and Sandy
step-siblings. Lessee, one of each, a beautiful birl and a gallant girl.
That's the ticket. That way Sandy would see what it will be like when he
has children.
Beth reached over, punching the "Play" button. There was a soft swirl, then
the first familiar strains of Schubert's "Sonata in D" rolled forth,
soothing, relaxing, inviting sleep. She reached back, tucked the pillow
under her back, tight under her buns. She folded her hands under her cheek
and shut her eyes.
"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And bless
Freddie and Sandy for being so sweet. And bless Mama Evelyn and Papa Robin
for being there. And bless Vicky for being a wonderful friend. And let
Fredericka and Samantha grow to love and care for Carol Suzanne and
Alexandra."
Images danced on the back of Beth's eyes. An auburn bouffant smiles and
laughs, hands supporting his belly great with child. A chestnut pile holds
Freddie and Sandy close, Sandy gently rubbing his big tummy. A dark brown
Gibson looks up and smiles contentedly, his blouse open to let their child
suckle. A golden blonde with curls stacked high lies back in a sheer red
nightgown, eyes sparkling, arms held out, a stencil on his belly: "Insert
Baby Here." A long black shag crawls like a cat across the floor, then
stands and turns, his belly distended between his harem pants and jacket.
Beth smiled contentedly. It might be fun, looking. If I can just find the
time. But I've got time, nothing but time.
Beth's shoulder blades relaxed, her shoulders slumped. Ah, well, tomorrow's
another day.
Pansy
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Batwoman meets Catwoman Part One
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Tea For Two Families Part 3
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