Mafia Desire (Erotica)

The gesture was almost automatic: holding this woman evoked so many memories of how he’d recently held Joyce, Hilary, and Bridget in this exact position that he couldn’t prevent his hand from straying. Incredibly, Tara didn’t seem at first to notice where that hand was; but at last, its warmth on one of her butt cheeks brought it to her attention.

“You’re being naughty,” she said, still sniffling a little and saying those words without any sense of outrage or disapproval.

“I’m just trying to make you happy,” Gerald replied, now pasting little kisses on her face.

“What about Joyce?”

“She won’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

And with that, Gerald raised up the hem of Tara’s nightgown and put his hand on her bare bottom. She let out a sigh of pleasure and cuddled even more closely to him, and that made Gerald’s next move–the sliding of his hand between their bodies so that it covered her sex–a little more difficult. But he managed it, especially as Tara instinctively spread her legs to allow him access to her private parts.

The stroking and fondling that Gerald now began was–as both of them realized–largely therapeutic. Tara was mourning the death of her marriage just as much as Gerald and Joyce had mourned the death of their spouses, and she needed some reassurance that she was still a living, vibrant female. As he detected wetness oozing out of her, she opened herself up to his touch–fingers sliding up and down on either side of her labia, rubbing her engorged clitoris, and inserting themselves deep into her vagina, getting even more moistened by her juices than before. Her breathing becoming irregular, she clung to Gerald and gave way to the waves of pleasure coursing through her.

And then, when a sudden orgasm overwhelmed her, she cried out sharply and came close to biting Gerald’s neck like a vampire as her climax flooded her body and mind like a tsunami. Unlike the other women in the house, Tara’s body didn’t quiver all over, but there was no doubt that she was rendered almost comatose by the unexpected stimulation she’d received from a man who, although largely a stranger, already seemed an intimate acquaintance.

She took some moments to quiet down, and when she did so she gave Gerald a watery-eyed smile and kissed him firmly on the mouth. No words were needed, and she knew that it was now her turn to repay Gerald for his kindness. Gerald didn’t know whether she would allow him the ultimate invasion of her body, but she settled that question by making him lie on his back while she got on her knees, whipped off the nightgown (allowing Gerald only a momentary glimpse of her robust bosom and fur-covered delta), and then lay back down on him at full length, peeling away his underwear to free his cock.

There followed the strangest copulation Gerald (and Tara) ever had.

He had no problem with a woman being on top: sometimes it’s good for the female to do most of the work. But, although Tara did insert his member into herself, she just lay there, her legs spread on either side of him and her head cradled in the crook of his neck. Gerald sensed that this was to be a quiet but intense coupling, and so he didn’t do any thrusting at all, and she made no effort to do any either. Instead, their bodies were simply fused as she encircled his shoulders with her arms and gave him little kisses on his neck, throat, and shoulders. Sometimes she just lay still, and Gerald almost wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

But the sensation his cock was experiencing was incredible. At first he wasn’t even sure he was actually in her; but gradually the warmth, wetness, and tightness of her vagina made itself evident to him, and no further stimulus was needed for him to experience the height of physical and spiritual intimacy. He did place a hand on her bottom, since she seemed to like that; but otherwise they remained almost motionless, united as two people have rarely been.

Time seemed to have stopped as the two gloried in their unity. And when Gerald’s cock began pumping Tara’s pussy full of his seed, each successive jolt bathing her vagina with his thick discharge, she let out another sigh that signaled her satisfaction at stimulating a man in this unusual way. I can still make a man come.

They remained joined for minutes afterward, not wishing to become two separate bodies again. But at last Tara got off of Gerald and lay down on her back next to him, feeling his emission seep out of her and onto the bedsheet. She gave him a silent look of thanks and then curled up to go to sleep. Gerald would have liked to do more, but realized that this one coupling had been about as perfect as it could possibly be; and he also sensed, as she did, that there would be more meldings of body and soul–and more active and enthusiastic ones–in the future.

*

Tara stumbled out of bed, leaving Gerald sleeping heavily. Snatching some Kleenex to mop up the remnants of his come as it seeped down her thighs, she slipped on her nightgown and made her way downstairs.

She found Joyce in the kitchen, quietly sipping coffee. She couldn’t help uttering a gasp and looking at the other woman in alarm. But Joyce gave her a broad smile and said, “Hello, dear. Sit down here next to me.”

Tara slid into the chair Joyce had indicated, too fearful to say anything. She could hardly believe that Joyce wouldn’t be furious at Gerald’s probing of her body, which she was certain Joyce knew all about.

But all Joyce said was, “He’s a wonderful man, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Tara said, wanting to say so much more but unable to find the words.

“I hope he made you… feel better?”

“Yes–ever so much better.”

It was at that point that the two girls thundered into the room, also wearing their nightgowns. Both of them looked with a sly smile at Tara: they too knew exactly what had happened in that second guest room.

“Good time with Gerald last night?” Hilary burst out.

“Hilary, please,” Joyce chided. “You’re spoiling the moment.”

“Oh, come on, the moment’s over. I’m sure it was splendid while it lasted, but now it’s time to think of what happens from here on out.”

“What does that mean?” Tara said in utter bafflement.

“Nothing, nothing,” Joyce said.

“Mom,” Hilary said, “you mean you haven’t told her?”

“Told me what?” Tara cried.

“Of course I haven’t told her,” Hilary said nervously. “She’ll think we’re a bunch of–”

“What are you people talking about?”

“What we’re saying,” Hilary said, staring right at Tara, “is that Gerald took my virginity.”Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“Mine too!” Bridget piped up happily.

“And now we take turns bedding down with him. It’s all great fun–he’s such a sweetheart.”

There was a stunned silence as Tara gazed at each of the women in turn. “You’re telling me,” she whispered frantically, “that–that Gerald has slept with all of us?”

“Sure looks that way,” Joyce said.

“But–but–” she sputtered, then turned her attention to her daughter. “You, Bridget? Aren’t you a lesbian?”

“I guess I’m bisexual,” Bridget said with some satisfaction.

“You know what we got here?” Hilary said, as if suddenly understanding the theory of relativity. “We’re a harem!”

“We’re not a harem!” Joyce snapped.

“I think we are,” Bridget concluded.

“Look, you guys,” Joyce said insistently, “a harem was something in the Middle Ages in Arabia or somewhere. There was this big room and a lot of young women in silks or whatever. Maybe there would be a eunuch to protect them. The Sultan would snap his fingers and one of the women would come to his room and–well, you know, service him. That’s nothing like what’s going on here.”

“Okay, maybe not,” Hilary said, like the lead person on a debating team, “but that makes us a modern harem. Here we have two middle-aged ladies–”

“We’re not middle-aged!” Tara exclaimed.

“–who have good jobs and earn their keep, and two other younger ladies who are going to college and will get good jobs later. I wouldn’t mind wearing silks, but otherwise we’re pretty up-to-date–and we’re still a harem.”

“Okay,” Joyce said defeatedly, “we’re a harem.”

It was at this point that Gerald walked in. Looking around at the four women in turn, he was struck by how different they were–united only in the fact that he’d bedded down with each of them, and would apparently continue to do so for the indefinite future.

“Um, are you talking about me?” he said.

“We sure are, Sultan,” Hilary said tartly.

He gave her a puzzled look. Joyce rescued the situation by saying, “We’d better get breakfast going. Are you young ladies willing to oblige?”

“Oh, all right,” Hilary said, heaving herself up from her chair. “Come on, Bridget, let’s start slinging the hash.”