Bens Girl Harem by Auumaan chapter 25 conclusion
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Ben’s House free porn video
My friend Ben lives in a small house a couple blocks from me. We hang out at his house because it is a relaxed environment. Ben is laid back and outgoing and these qualities are reflected in his parents and his sister.
Jerry, his dad: jovial, potbellied man in his late 40s who does some sort of banking for a living. Runs his own business and therefore makes his own hours. Oftentimes you’ll find him camped out on the sofa in front of his big flat screen TV watching stock market updates. From his position there he can only see out of the room to his left, where the wall opens into the kitchen. He has a straight and narrow line of vision to the kitchen table, the fridge, and the snack cabinet, but that is all he can see. So when you come downstairs from Ben’s room to get some food that is pretty much the only time you’ll ever be in Jerry’s senses. Once he sees you though he’ll talk your ear off.
Hey Nate, hows it goin buddy?
Hey Mr. V, I’m doin alright, yourself?
Good good. Hey listen you had a great year this year…you know for soccer.
Ah thanks. Ben was pretty good himself.
Well you see the thing about Ben is…
There begins a completely misguided and misinformed analysis of Ben’s athletic ability to which I sip my soda and nod conversationally. Then, as if he’s been released from a trance and realizes he’s talking to me, he politely provides a completely misguided and misinformed analysis of my athletic ability to which I sip my soda and nod conversationally. Then he starts talking about college and all the colleges to which Ben has applied. I know that when talking to Mr. V you have to be the one to initiate the separation so I refill my soda and wait ’til there’s a break in the monologue to part and go back upstairs. For all I know he continues to talk to himself as the stock updates roll by on the bottom of the screen.
Sometimes Ben’s mom Lanie, is in the kitchen while this is going on: As Jerry is a social sloth, Lanie’s a social bee. She buzzes around her house talking to anyone who will listen. Maybe that’s why she’s so open to us coming in all the time. In her moments of solitude she still doesn’t really have solitude – she keeps a small transistor radio on in the kitchen while she works. During the summer the radio’s voice is Joe Castiglione narrating Red Sox games, other times its oldies pop. She’s small and thin and is in great shape for a woman in her forties – she’s an avid runner in her spare time. I don’t hear her around the house but her car is in the driveway, so that must be what she’s out doing now.
I chill in Ben’s room for a while listening to music and watching TV. We never really do much over here but it’s just a nice place to relax. There is one fun thing about his house though, one thing that gives me a little bit of a thrill. I’ll show you.
First I think you have to know a little more about how the house is set up. When you walk in the front door the stairs up are right in front of you. To your left there’s a little hallway that leads into the TV room where Jerry sits watching stocks. To your right there’s a living room that nobody ever really lives in: it’s the room that gets the most sun though because the outer wall is a window. So the cats sit there during the day. This room opens into the kitchen, which is then connected to the TV room in the back. And that’s the main floor.
But you can go upstairs, up the steep stairs. Upstairs is a tiny hallway that has doors to four rooms: the bathroom, straight ahead, Jerry and Lanie’s room, to the left, Ben’s room, immediately to the right, and Ben’s younger sister Kelly’s room, to the left, in between Ben’s room and the bathroom.
Kelly: a few years younger than us, and weird. The verdict’s still out on her looks. She’s freckled and looks younger than she is, but who knows what she could develop into, maybe her mother. Like her mother she talks a lot but she says weird, immature things that remind you how young she is.
Anyway, I leave Ben’s room and close the door mostly behind me. To his knowledge I’m just going to the bathroom. But actually, I take a few steps more and sneak into his parents’ bedroom. The room appears clean and fairly boring – the bed is on the right and there is a TV next to it. On the left are closets, painted white. In between the first and second closet, concealed from the outside, is a column with four shelves, stacked vertically. I open the first closet door slightly ajar and reach my hand in on top of the highest shelf, on top of the column. This is where Mrs. V keeps her panties.
There’s nothing particularly special about Mrs. V’s panties. They aren’t red satin thongs or crotchless and leopard printed. Those aren’t fit for her anyway, they wouldn’t match her. The thing I know about Mrs. V that appeals to me is that I don’t know much about her. I know her exteriors, I know her friendly social housewife persona. But that’s a classification she molded herself into and will preserve, right down to the underwear she chooses for herself. I hold them in my hand – white Jockeys, the occasional black or gray. Classic, rounded, reserved shape. Faintly stained. These things aren’t the truth. Why should we always want to know the truth when we can enduringly indulge ourselves in our far more expansive imagination? These cotton delicacies mask the truth, they are the last mask for the truth. That’s why I find them so erotic. They are the last thing that must mold to her, that she must mold to. They are the last persistent blue flame of the imagination. They are the last thing she uses to hide and the last thing I seek to remove – but who doesn’t want games of hide and seek to last longer? Isn’t that the best part?
I select an off white pair, distinguishable because of its florally-patterned band. Zip them up inside my jacket pocket and then creep into the bathroom to flush the toilet and turn on the sink for a few seconds before I return to Ben’s room.
I stay in Ben’s room until around midnight when I decide to go home. At the bottom of the stairs I kneel down to collect my shoes. I peek around the corner and see that Mrs. V has returned from her run and is now doing dishes at the sink. Still in her running outfit. Brown hair tied back in a mess. Cotton white undershirt clinging to her body with dried sweat. Black spandex pants showing off the shape of her butt like a shadow. A nice, gentle matronly figure. Doing the dishes in her nice, gentle matronly way. I walk into the kitchen to grab a snack for the road. No: I walk into the kitchen and grab a snack for the road to let her know I’m there, to talk to her a for a little while, to look at her and be near her a little while. She glances over at my footsteps.
Oh hey Nate. That’s so funny I just saw your dad at the grocery store and you know what I learned that he doesn’t buy vegetables any more at least not during good weather he grows them all in his own garden I didn’t know that…
I see Mr. V still on the sofa and I find myself nodding and smiling conversationally again but now I’m looking at Mrs. V’s front for the first time. Disguised glances at her white cotton shirt sticking slightly to her front, the faint outline of her sports bra through her shirt, inhibiting sight of the shape of her breasts. Quick furtive glances down below her waist, the crotch of her pants, the plain of her thighs. Fuel for my thoughts. Once again parting from the kitchen and this time walking out of the door into the cold fresh night.
I drive the five minutes home unconsciously. Lock up the house, turn out the lights, put the keys back on the ring, trudge up the stairs, brush my teeth, wash my face, take off my jeans, drop into bed – unconsciously.
I remove the panties from my jacket and drop the jacket as well as my shirt to the floor. I hold the crotch up to my nose, and don’t smell Mrs. V but the soft pristine smell of laundry. Off with my boxers and on with the panties, feeling them stretch around m
y larger waist and struggle to accommodate my cock. Press the cotton into my cock, and immure myself with it using my finger and thumb in a circle. Playing movies in my mind.
Leading the shy Mrs V. into her room, sliding her onto the edge of her bed and laying her down on her back. Getting down on my knees, my face inches from her panty-clad crotch, licking in deliberate patterns tracing around the cotton. Her inaudibly moaning in the soft night and methodically bucking her hips in circles…
In bed I mock these hip circles of hers until sleep overcomes me. Leaving the rest up to dreams that act as dogs to our temporary blindness.
To be continued with positive feedback…
Latisha
- 13.02.2022
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