Chapter 8: Otherwise Engaged

"Beatrice Dalrymple, just what do you think you are you doing to that poor young man?" Eleanor demanded from the doorway.

Corky's prick was still pulsing inside Beatrice's bottom, having just deposited his tribute therein. Beatrice, for her part, was forestalled from her imminent climax by her mother's exquisitely ill-timed interruption.

Corky fought down the urge to scramble for cover, and remained in place atop (and within) his paramour. Though the doorway was behind him, his mental image of his landlady's formidable anger did not lack for vividness.

"Wherein lies the ambiguity, Mother?" Beatrice asked with a reasonable approximation of equanimity. Corky fancied he could feel the electrickal prickle of the gathering storm behind his back.

"Young lady," Eleanor growled between clenched teeth.

"If you can clarify the source of your uncertainty, I shall endeavor to resolve it," Beatrice continued, and wriggled her hips gingerly, extricating Corky's softening prick from her bottomhole. Then she rolled Corky off of her, and rose to sit cross-legged, seemingly obvious to her rampant nudity. "But at another time. Currently, my fiancée and I prefer to be alone."

At the third word of her last sentence, Corky let out a little involuntary noise that went ignored by the participants in the familial confrontation before him.

"Your what?" Mrs. Dalrymple demanded.

"My fiancée. William and I are to be married. I do apologize for not telling you sooner, Mother. The decision was relatively recent."

Mrs. Dalrymple appeared to be swelling to quite double her former volume. "Young lady!" she thundered. "I did not give permission for any such undertaking!"

Beatrice flinched a bit at this onslaught, and her lower lip trembled minutely, but still she stood her ground. "No, you did not," she said, with just the faintest hint of sulkiness. "We did it ourselves. We're in love."

"Pfaugh!" spat her mother. "In love! I didn't give permission for that either!" She seized Beatrice by the ear, and pulled her off the bed in a flurry of slender bare limbs. "We'll soon see about this 'engagement' of yours, girl."

"Let--" said Corky, and his throat constricted into silence as Eleanor Dalrymple turned the full ferocity of her glare towards him for the first time. At that moment, he would far sooner have faced a horde of rampaging Hottentots than his infuriated landlady, but, as no Hottentots appeared to be on offer, he soldiered on. "Let her go," he said.

"Mr. Brandywine," she said scornfully, "perhaps you would prefer to put on some clothing before you endeavor to lecture me on my child-rearing tech--"

There was a shriek, and she flew forward. For a bare instant, Corky believed her to be springing for him like some terrible jungle feline, her teeth and claws ready to rend him in fury. Then he realized that she was in fact toppling from a shove from Beatrice. In an instant, she had collapsed upon him in a chaos of crinoline, russet hair and exquisitely painted fingernails.

"Impudent girl!" the widow screamed, striving to right herself. "I'll soon beat this insolence out of you!"

She succeeded in coming to a sitting position on the bed, hair and clothing still disordered, and made as if to spring for her daughter, who remained, her pale bare limbs frozen in place by nervousness, failing to flee from the doorway where her mother had dragged her.

With a burst of wild courage, Corky seized his landlady's arms and held her fast.

"Filthy boy!" cried Mrs. Dalrymple, "Unhand me at once."

"I c-c-ca'n't let you hurt Beatrice," Corky said as he struggled to hold the twisting, kicking woman.

"Jolly good, William!" Beatrice cheered from the doorway. "Flip her over, or she's sure to get away!"

Heeding his love's advice, Corky endeavored to rotate the woman in his arms despite her violent struggles, and soon succeeded in pressing her to the bed face-down, her arms twisted behind her back. Her bucking and kicking made his hold a precarious one. It also had the unfortunate effect of flinging her skirts up about her waist so her stockings, pale voluptuous thighs, and magnificent bottom was entirely exposed.

"Her legs," Corky called to Beatrice, dodging a vicious kick, and she rushed forward and seized her mother's limbs, effectively subduing the enraged matron's struggles. Her howls of outrage and humiliation were rendered largely unintelligible by the pillow against which her face was pressed, though their general gist was all too guessable.

"First-rate, William, " Beatrice said, flushed with effort and excitement. "You were so brave!"

In circumstances other than wrestling in the nude with soon-to-be mother-in-law as she screamed vile imprecations at him, Corky would no doubt have blushed at such extravagant praise As it was, he merely favored his fiancée with a small smile.

"You really do have a lovely bottom, Mother," Beatrice mused, reaching out to stroke and squeeze the resilient globes thereof.

"Do'n't touch my posterior!" her mother cried, twisting about with renewed passion.

And then:

"Do'n't pull my legs apart!"

And then:

"You must'n't touch me between my legs!"

But her daughter persisted, saying, " What a lovely mass of crinkly brown hair you have, Mother, and the lips within--so plump and soft! Why, I do believe this situation is exciting you, you wicked strumpet! Your lovely mouth is quite swollen, and the clitoris here--"

Here Beatrice's hand, concealed from Corky's sight by the ripe swell of her mother's buttocks, did something that elicited a wail of dismay from her victim. "--is as fat and firm as a little cock."

Beatrice pressed herself up between Eleanor's splayed legs, her rigid prick sliding into the groove between the elder woman's ample buttocks, her face now a few inches behind her mother's ear. Delighting in the friction this enclosure provided, she began to work her pert little bottom up and down, so that the flushed head of her erection played peek-a-boo with the crease of her mother's posterior. "You know," she said, "you interrupted me and William before I could achieve my satisfaction. And now I think you shall have to provide me with that pleasure yourself."

She shifted her attention then. "Kiss me, William," she pleaded, and he leaned down, only to be caught up in her ardent suction and the gentle, thrilling nips of her teeth. She moaned into his mouth as her agitation against her mother increased in vigor and speed, until she broke the kiss with a gasp.

"You do'n't mind if I bugger this wicked old strumpet, do you darling?" she said pleadingly to Corky, "I'm so dying for a good spend, and I think it shall teach her a valuable lesson."

At the word "bugger," the widow, whose struggles had heretofore begun to subside into occasional twitches and grunts, twisted and bucked with renewed vigor, though she remained far inadequate to the task of throwing off the two young and vigorous individuals holding her.

Corky, for his part, was rather thrown to be consulted in this decision, and, though he was loath to deny Beatrice any satisfaction, he hesitated to assent to such debauchery as she proposed.

"Your prick seems rather to like the idea," she prodded him gently. For the first time, he noticed that he had acquired a fresh cock-stand despite his prior satisfaction. "Would you like to take her mouth while my cock is in her bottom? I imagine she'll suck you quite divinely while I fuck her."

These lascivious words were not without effect on Corky's already-inflamed imagination, and he found his hands tightening on th widow's forearms as he remembered the myriad indignities to which she had subjected him.

Without a word, he took both of Mrs. Dalrymple's wrists in one of his hands, and took the jar of pomade from the end table. Grinning, he handed the jar to Beatrice, who smiled warmly back at him and began to apply the thick paste to her mother's hidden aperture. The widow twisted her head to one side, and glared over her shoulder at her daughter.

"Do'n't you dare touch my bottomhole!" she demanded rather ineffectually, "Do'n't press your finger into my bottom!"

"But it's so hot and tight, mother!" Beatrice cooed into her ear. "How can I resist this delicious little orifice? Does'n't it feel lovely when I wiggle [here the widow whooped as if she had been dropped into icewater] my finger thus?

"Your dear little bottom-hole is so wonderfully resilient! I do believe it's already craving another finger.

"There! How do you like a second finger in your bottom, Mother? The way you're twitching your posterior, I do believe you're dreaming of when I jam my cock in there already."

Mrs. Dalrymple, for her part, appeared to have decided not to give Beatrice the satisfaction of a reply, and merely grunted and groaned in response to all her taunting.

Corky had abandoned some portion of his previously habitual reserve, and was stroking his cock lightly, quite delighting in the sight of the incestuous violation before him.

"Feeling taciturn, eh?" Beatrice said, smearing pomade onto her rigid little cock. "I believe I have just the medicine for this uncommunicativeness that seems to have so uncharacteristically overtaken you." And she levered herself down until the head of her prick was pressed up against her mother's crinkled orifice, all glistening with pomade.