Chapter 9: Another Weekend

A couple of weeks passed, Linda and Britney waving at us as we passed, and occasionally found in my living room, conversing with my wife when I returned home from work. Brenda did not share the topics of discussion with me, maintaining an enigmatic smile, and a bland “You’ll see, and I guarantee that you’ll be pleased,” when I inquired directly.

Another weekend arrived, another “business trip” for Ben. Oddly, it called for him to depart Thursday and return the following Tuesday. His employer’s cost control scheme likely needed some revision. It did provide an opportunity for whatever my devious little wifey had planned.

She confirmed my suspicion. “Honey, save yourself. This weekend will be your big night with Britney.”

“And, how do you see this unfolding?”

“Well, Ben left this morning on another of his ‘business trips’, and that leaves the Taylor women with a free weekend. I have a plan to fix that. Tomorrow, you will seduce Britney, wine her and dine her ... well, simply ‘dine’ her, since she’s a teen, and sweep her off her feet and into your bed. There, you will introduce her into the joys of physical intimacy, and, if I’m lucky, impregnate her ... Yeah, I think that’s about it!”

Her smile in no way reached her eyes.

At the risk of repeating myself, I was, still, uncertain how this could possibly lead anywhere I wanted to go. That is, aside from into a teenager’s pants. Once into those pants, I could imagine multiple varieties of unpleasantness. Not certain I was eager to take that path into unknown problems.

“So, you have been considering how this could go wrong, haven’t you?”

She stopped, and looked at me. “Yep. You remember our conversations about Ben and his street fighting cred? Or lack thereof?”

“Uh-huh, I do. How about a gravid teenager? Might be hard to play off with the neighbors, particularly when she moves in with us, doncha think?”

“Well, if she is your slave, as I fully expect that she will become, if she isn’t already, she will tell any sort of lie to protect what she will see as her good thing, right?”

“I suppose so.”

My wife had no such doubts. “I know so. She has been asking me about teen motherhood, during our little mother-and-daughter-sex-slave teas. She is altogether on board, and has several alternate histories to share with the curious. Her favorite is the classic, ‘I yielded to my first boyfriend, and he disappeared once I came up pregnant!’, seasoned with a side order of ‘the nice neighbor couple took me in when I was almost entirely alone and pregnant’. Sorta makes you tear up, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh”, I dubiously agreed. Never one to avoid letting uncertainty screw up a wet dream, I plowed on. “So, you, and me, and Britney, and Linda, and our kids, and the baby you’re carrying, and Linda’s baby, AND Britney’s baby, all under one roof, right? What is that, five children, three adults, and we have, what, four? bedrooms? Sounds cozy.”

“No, honey,” she corrected me. “remember when we finished the basement? Remember the egress windows you insisted we put in? So, when we put up walls, and make that bathroom in the basement nice, we can have two more bedrooms, and that third bathroom can be put to use, and it won’t be all that cozy, after all. Might up our property taxes, but I suspect that, with all the nookie you will be getting, you may not care about that!”

You might wonder how long it would take me to figure out that my devious little wifey inspected all the angles, and contemplated the responses to her initiatives, and identified counters, before she briefed me on her plans. Whatever answer you came up with, it sure seemed as if I was gonna take longer than that!

Being a guy, I was ready for my Friday night outing pretty quickly. Shower, shine, shave, shirt, suit, and shaddup and wait. Brenda and I had planned on dinner, a show, and romance leading to Britney’s final initiation into the ranks of my love slaves. I checked, once again, that the tickets were in my jacket pocket, and settled in to wait. The television beckoned.

Britney, being a woman-in-training, well, she did not hurry. I was starting to get engrossed in the game, and had just figured out what inning we were in, and whether it looked as if this might be a “win” or “lose” in the pennant race, when Britney came down the stairs.

My wife, who knows how I operate, had seized the remote, and shut off the game about the time Britney started down the stairs. I looked up to chastise my wife, but Britney interrupted me, chasing whatever I had thought I was going to say clean from my mind.

The pretty teen’s dark hair framed her face, pinned up in a sort of angel’s wing look, holding the hair in back up and off her neck. Her eyes, glowing and luminous to begin with, appeared larger and deeper, with the make up artfully applied. Even so, her face did not appear to be made up, her eyes becoming the focal center of her countenance.

The dress she wore showed a tantalizing amount of cleavage, caressing but not clinging to her bust. Her hips were accented by the fabric, as it swayed with each step, as if to call attention to her legs. Combining youthful freshness and sophisticated appearance, any teenaged boy who had not asked her out had sadly missed his opportunity for this experience.

I rose, kissed her cheek, and turned as if to present her to Brenda. Linda, standing beside my wife, stepped forward. “Honey, you look so beautiful! You have a good time, and relax. Sam, here, will show you a good time, and then, once you get home, well, he’ll show you another sort of good time altogether!”

Britney clasped the older woman to her. “Oh, Mom! Thank you for all this! Thank you for sharing Sam with me!” She turned to my wife. “Oh, Brenda! I’ll never be able to thank you properly for sharing your husband with me! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Brenda winked at me over the bubbling teen’s shoulder. “Honey, you just have a good time, and enjoy yourself! Linda and I will be next door if you want to talk, but, I insist that you simply place yourself in Sam’s capable hands. Everything will be wonderful!”

I held the door for my date, and whisked her to my vehicle. Settling her into the passenger seat, I entered, started the car, and off we went.

For romancing the second of the Taylor women, I thought I’d change up the pace, and so drove to the next town, where there was a very pleasant, quiet, and intimate Chinese restaurant. The Golden Noodle was well regarded, and rightly so. My reservation placed us toward the rear of the dining room, and away from the kitchen. We were early enough that there was not much of a crowd, and our server was prompt, attentive, and discreet. Britney was a bit nervous about trying the Orange Chicken. We compromised, I ordered the Almond Boneless Chicken, and promised her that she’d love one or the other, and I’d eat the second choice.

We concluded our leisurely meal, rich with promising looks and small talk, and departed.

We arrived in plenty of time for the show. The breeze tickled Britney’s hair, flitting it across her face, and away again. We dawdled between the parking ramp and the theater. Britney turned to me. “Mark? I feel so grown up tonight. Thank you for all this. Mom, Linda, told me how you treated her. Everything, including how rough you were at the finish. I saw how you tied her the next morning. I want all that. Treat me like a real woman, like I’m able to be your equal, like you don’t have to hold back. You are going to be my first man. I want to remember everything, every moment, and I want to know you gave it to me like you would another adult.”

She stopped, drawing my gaze to her own. “Please, when you make me a woman, don’t treat me like a child, like some fragile thing. I want you to take from me, what you want. I want what you gave Linda. Would you do that for me, please?”

How could I resist an entreaty of that sort? I drew her to me, kissed her gently, and murmured, “I’ll show you what being a woman is all about. I’ll take you, and fill you with my flesh. I will not hold back. Tonight, when you please me as a woman pleases her man, I will treat you like that woman.”

She shivered a little at that. I held her for a moment, and then began to lead her to the theater. “We have a show to see, and then we’ll retire, to conclude our night, and your seduction of me.”

Continuing my theme of “you’re not a little girl, you’re a woman” with Britney, I had secured tickets to a play. I had heard the women at work talking about it, and how they had loved it for this, or that, or the other reason, and figured that my pretty little companion would likewise find it appealing.

I don’t really know what Britney thought about the play. I do know that she hung on my arm, and appeared transfixed by the show, and the theater. My bet was that in all her eighteen years, nobody (certainly not Ben, most likely not her high school swains) had ever taken her out someplace really nice, and treated her like a nearly adult young woman. Fortunately for me, her reaction to that man, who finally had, was likely to be, shall we say, enthusiastic.

The play ended, and we wound our way to my car. I drove along the river, finally turning away and arriving back at my home. Linda and Brenda had long since departed for Linda’s house, so we returned to a quiet, darkened house. Britney appeared shy, almost hesitant, as we stepped across the threshold. Britney pulled me close, and hissed in my ear, “I didn’t bring any change of clothes!”

I turned her and murmured back, “That’s because you didn’t have to. Your step mother, and my wife, took care of all details!”

We ascended to the room, and I drew back the curtains so she could enjoy the full effect of the moonlit night. As she gazed out into the backyard, I slipped behind her, and wrapped my arms around her waist. She pointed here, and there, fascinated by the difference moonlight made in the appearance of everyday things. Soon, she clasped my arms with her hands, and leaned back against me. A few moments passed, and I began to nibble on her neck, her head tilted away from me to facilitate my liberties. She drew first one hand, then the other, to her breasts, and sighed.

She turned, taking my hand again, and drew me to the bed. Her hands performed unknown magic behind her, and soon her dress fluttered to the floor. She settled herself upon the bed, kneeling, and again, unseen magic behind her back resulted in her brassiere being tossed onto the dress. She rolled onto her back, wriggled, and her panties joined the laundry pile next to the bed. She rose to her knees, and, crossing her hands behind her back, gazed at me levelly.

“Sir, you have had my mouth, and you have shown me how you take your woman. Please, be my first. Own me, and let me please you, let me be your woman.”

She might have not have been out of her teens, but the look she gave me, was that of a confident adult woman, who knows what she is about. She was petite, as was Linda, and she had dark eyes like her step mother. Her breasts, with the uplift of youth, were modestly sized, and entirely proportional to her svelte frame. The swell of her hips testified to her readiness to be that woman she was trying to be. I toed off my shoes, and pulled my shirt over my head. Releasing my belt, and my shorts and dress pants puddled on the floor, I was soon as naked as she. As I reached to caress her, she touched my chest, stopping me.

“Sir, Linda directed me to inform you that my last period was two weeks ago. I know that she is trying to conceive your child. I realize that I might get pregnant tonight. I don’t know how Mom would feel about that.”

“Britney, I don’t have a condom. I want nothing to come between us. I want to feel your skin against mine, with nothing to dull the experience.”

She paused a moment, nibbling on her lower lip. “I want you. I’ve waited, seems like forever, for this moment. Now, I’ve got you naked, you’ve got me naked, and we have no place to be until tomorrow. I wanna take this opportunity. Make love to me!”

I was not about to ignore that sort of invitation. I stepped to her, and embraced her, trapping my throbbing reltney between us. As petite as she was, that placed my slowly weeping splooge dispenser at about the bottom of her breasts, and with a little pivot of my hips, I started to paint their underside with my dick drool. She took some time to notice, as she hungrily feasted upon my probing tongue. Once the novelty of nude french kissing had begun to fade, she pulled back a bit, looked between us and giggled, “Are you done already? Your thing is leaking all your stuff on my boobs!”

I haughtily stood at full height, and riposted, “Madam, I am not completed, anything but! The emission upon which you comment, is merely my generative organ demonstrating his appreciation of your abundant feminine charms!”

She giggled, again, at that, replying, “Uh, could you say that in ordinary English?”

I slouched a bit. “Yep. I’m not done, I didn’t come. When a guy is very excited, like I am, because he’s with a pretty woman, and you are, then his ‘thing’, as you so elegantly put it, begins to produce fluid. This fluid does a couple of things, among which is to help lubricate the entrance of his ‘thing’ into his lover, so that their joining is more fun for each of them.”