The Yard Sale

The warmth of the Florida sun crept in through the shades in Rachel’s room. It was like Mother nature’s alarm clock telling me I needed to get up.

I slept until at least 9:30am. I usually try to sleep in on Sundays, but my mom forces me to get up early.

The Wagners had let me sleep in. I panicked at first because my dick was covered in cunt juice, I was naked, and Doris was nowhere to be seen. I quickly washed up in the sink and threw my clothes on.

Dennis and his family had already had breakfast and set up their yard sale in the driveway and garage. He didn’t seem concerned that I had overslept at all. “Well, there he is!” Doris smiled up at me.

She was seated in one of those classic aluminum lawn chairs with the green and tan webbing that were very popular in the 1970s. She was wearing a long shirt, a straw hat, sunglasses and shoes. Doris looked very comfortable as she sat at a folding card table to collect money.

There was a sign that read “EVERYTHING AT THIS TABLE IS FOR SALE! INCLUDING THE LAWNCHAIR! PRICE IS NEGOTIABLE!”

They had the assorted ordinary bric-a-brac, knick-knacks and junk you might expect at a yard sale in the 1980s. Clothes, board games, old toys, old tools, and collectibles that they were storing in their garage.

They had a novelty rectangular lava lamp that could be plugged in. The lamp operated like a see-saw. As one end one down, the other end went up. It created artificial blue waves as it did. Dennis had it working.

He had multiple signs that read “ALL CLOTHES HALF OFF”. Dennis set the price to almost everything to fifty cents.

Inside the garage was a wooden divan. It was basically a simple divider that could be used to cordon off the dining room from the living room. There was a sign on it that read:

ALL CLOTHES HALF OFF! NO DRESSING ROOM. GIRLS ARE WILLING TO MODEL ANY CLOTHES! NO RETURNS, NO EXCHANGES. SOLD AS-IS.

I was surprised they didn’t have any dildos, sex toys or bondage supplies for sale. It looked to my eyes like any ordinary yard sale that you might expect to find in an American suburb on a lovely Sunday morning.

There were a few cars parked along the side of the road and people milled around looking through their stuff. I felt like that might be humiliating on some level. Imagine a total stranger poking through your cherished possessions and seeing them priced for a quarter. These are things that took you your entire life to collect.

Then they have the audacity to dismissively judge what you consider priceless as not worth twenty-five cents and keep on looking for a better deal.

“Where is Lori and Rachel?” I asked.

“They are being lazy or shy,” Dennis looked over his shoulder and called into the garage “Get your lazy asses out here and offer to model some of these clothes. I don’t want to put them back in the garage. Everything must go!”

The customers thought nothing of Dennis’s demand to his daughters. He sounded like a pretty typical father.

The girls peaked out of the garage and stepped out nervously. They had both done their hair and applied fresh make-up. They didn’t seem tired at all even though I assumed they had far less sleep than I did.

Lori was wearing a very short white shirt and also had a sign around her neck. “ALL CLOTHES HALF OFF! ASK ME TO MODEL THEM!” with the words “MODEL IN TRAINING! HELP ME PRACTICE” written below that.

Rachel was wearing her glasses, magenta sweater, sandals and a leather collar. “All clothes half-off! Collar is not for sale. Ask me to model for you”

“Do you have panties on under there?” I teased.

The girls flipped their shirts up. Lori was wearing a pair of white panties with a caption that read “Keep on Truckin’”.

Rachel was wearing a flimsy pair of bikini bottoms.

“Why do you look so nervous then?” I shrugged.

They looked at each other in surprise. “He doesn’t notice. That’s a good sign,” Rachel said to her sister.

“You have some suntan lotion on your nose,” I mentioned that she had what appeared to be a gob of Hawaiian Tropic oil dripping from her nose that reminded me of sweet donut glaze. Rachel immediately made a sour expression like she was hoping I wouldn’t notice.

“Is that?”

“Yes, it’s cum, Brian. It’s Dad’s idea of a family weekend yard-sale,” Lori groaned with a lack of enthusiasm. Lori kept her voice down because there were a few people milling around.

“I’ve got it too,” Doris whipped her head around. I could see a copious amount of semen dripping down her face.

“I can’t just make you run around naked on the front lawn and do cartwheels and spin until you are dizzy. I’ve got to have some fun. The yard sale was overdue for months and its family weekend.”

Dennis didn’t seem too concerned if the customers heard him or not. He didn’t speak in his normal booming voice, though.

“You did all of this?” I was impressed with Dennis. I could spank my monkey three times before noon but even I couldn’t produce this much spooge in such a short time. Their faces were fairly well covered and the cum looked relatively fresh.

“No, it’s easy to find volunteers when you have neighbors,” Dennis introduced Mr. Johnson. He had been in the garage. He was fixing his pants. “Hey, I’ve got something I want you to model for me, Lori.”

“Are you really going to be an extra small one-piece bathing suit?” Lori asked incredulously. She held up a pink swimsuit designed for a much younger girl. It featured Smurfette on the front.

“I won’t know until I see how it looks on you,” Mr. Johnson was clearly having a bit of fun with Lori.

“I just put my shirt back on,” she raised her hands and let them slap against her sides in frustration and went behind the Divan. You couldn’t easily see her change back there. If you stood next to a stack of old Mac Davis and Jerry Reed records and looked diagonally you could see her change. There were also a few mirrors that Dennis had diabolically placed around the yard sale that had been positioned so that if you happened to look into them at the right time, you’d have the perfect view of his daughter changing.

I had seen Lori’s ass plenty of times, so I didn’t stare too long. I noticed Dennis had several WWII Airplane models that had been painstakingly super-glued together and painted. “You make Revell models?” I asked.

“Those are Brad’s planes,” Dennis said proudly. I couldn’t picture someone as athletic and cool as Brad sitting down with instructions and thousands of pieces of plastic in order to superglue them together.

“Where is Brad?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Brad is old enough to take care of himself. He called this morning and left a message. I am sure he is out having fun,” Dennis seemed a little wistful. “They grow up pretty fast! Well, not Lori. She’s nineteen and has yet to move away.”

Lori walked out of the garage. She was still dripping of snot. She looked like some kind of obscene Barbie doll in the swimsuit. It was tight all over her and stretched so that the tiny strip of material around the crotch barely rode up the slit of her pussy. She presented herself to Mister Johnson so that her neighbor could ogle her.

He made her spin to model the skimpy outfit. She was popping out of it from every angle. He nodded approvingly. Mr. Johnson clearly enjoyed the show as well. A few of the customers admired Lori’s body. A few of them snickered and a few were aghast. I was surprised that the ones who found it distasteful seemed to be the ones who watched the longest.

An older woman was digging through a stack of paintings of ships. “I believe I gave you these for Christmas.”

“No, we have those on the wall in a place of honor, Mrs. Waxerman,” Dennis was clearly lying. I think the old lady knew it too.

“Well, I’ll buy the lot of them!” she handed him two dollars. She was wearing a big white hat, white gloves and a pink dress as if she were on her way to church.

“I am looking forward to getting those again for Christmas,” he smiled at her politely and directed her to give the money to his wife. Doris was sitting at the cash box as if she was stuck to the chair.

“Hello Mrs. Waxerman,” Doris frowned.

“I see your daughters are acting like Jezebels, again.”

Mrs. Waxerman stared at Lori as she twirled and sighed. She seemed a little pissed off she had to do this just to make a 25-cent sale.

“They are just modeling the clothes. Dennis doesn’t want people trying them on.”

“I can understand that if they are colored people or Mexicans. You never know where they’ve been,” Mrs. Waxerman half-whispered her racist comment. She looked over her shoulder to make sure there wasn’t a minority listening after she made it.

“Well, thank you for the sale, Mrs. Waxerman. You go on and have a nice day.”

“There was a dress that I had my eye on in the garage. Would you be a dear and try it on for me?” the old wind-bag described a dress similar to the one she was wearing.

I had a feeling that Mrs. Waxerman was just being persnickety. Doris’s facial expression told me that she didn’t particularly like her neighbor.

“No, but Rachel will be happy to put it on for you,” Doris directed Rachel to get it.

“I am closer to your size, Dear.” Mrs. Waxerman was frumpy, and a little pudgy. She wasn’t close to Doris or Rachel’s size.

“Yes, I’d be happy to try it on for you. Ra will you come mind the cash register?”

Rachel sat down and frowned. Doris stood up. Her piercings clinked every time she walked. The shirt she had on was probably just long enough to cover the very tips of the bottom of the piercing. Mrs. Waxerman arched an eyebrow and walked behind Doris.

“I’ll take it, wrap it up!” Mr. Johnson said just as Doris and Mrs. Waxerman walked past him. Mrs. Waxerman turned up her nose at both Lori and Mr. Johnson. It only seemed to amuse both of them.

Mrs. Waxerman folded her arms and stood behind the divan. She thought nothing of watching Doris change or offering her any privacy. I assume she expected Doris had something on underneath the t-shirt.

“What are those?” Mrs. Waxerman shrieked in horror.

“My piercings, do you like them?” I could picture Doris grabbing her pussy lips and offering the old woman a chance to feel them.

“You are as wicked as your daughters, Mrs. Wagner!”

“Well, I try!” Doris offered. A few customers looked in the direction of the divan to see what the hub-bub was about. The customers probably couldn’t hear what was being said and assumed it was just a friendly squabble.

“Hold on, Mrs. Waxerman,” Dennis was already out of his chair and on his way over to calm things down.

What’s seems to be the problem here?”

It was obvious they were rather familiar with Mrs. Waxerman. She was clearly a bit of a snob and a cantankerous old gossip.

“Your wife is not wearing any undergarments and look at that those ... those ... whatever they are. swinging between her legs!”

“Doris, did you get some new body jewelry without telling me?” Dennis pretended he had never seen the piercings before.

“Yes, dear. Do you like them?” I could picture her mischievous blue eyes twinkling. I could also imagine Doris holding up her pussy lips and piercing to show him as well.

“Yes, but that is inappropriate for a yard sale! You knew you would be modeling outfits today! Now, hands against the wall!”

“Yes Dear,” Doris agreed.

“Will ten be sufficient?” I heard Dennis ask his neighbor.

Doris harumphed as if she was willing to be spanked – but only because her husband insisted. I knew better. She seemed to love to be spanked (the harder the better). I assumed either this was an act, or she genuinely didn’t want to be humiliated in front of her snooty neighbor.

“Twenty it is,” he said. I heard the hard sound of a leather strap against Doris’s ass while she yelped and counted them breathlessly. The customers definitely heard that.

“Daddy, I need to get in there to change. Mr. Johnson wants this swimsuit,” Lori interrupted.