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Constant, Part One
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
CONSTANT.STY
By Friar Dave
(Copyright, 1994)
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What follows is fiction. Hopefully, entertaining and not too heavy-
handed. This work contains heterosexual activity between adult men and
women, and between adults and legal minors. A little same-sex
exploring between some minors. There is absolutely no domination,
submission, violence, piercing or bathroom sports. There's a little
nausea, but not related to the sex. The only drugs are some brew and
some scotch. There's a bit of coercion, but not what you're probably
thinking. If the presence or absence of any of the foregoing is
disturbing to you, don't read this. And please don't inflict it on
those who don't knowingly ask for it. --fd, 10/1/94
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CONSTAN1.STY
Three weeks, she thought. Three more weeks. And then the pre-school
preparations would get under way.
Constance shook herself out of the reverie, tried to refocus her
attention on the Thinkpad. She really had to finish the proposal for
the school board. Her fingers went to the keys, but her eyes soon
wandered back to the bay window.
The day was gorgeous. Perfect, stereotypical Bergen County August
sunshine flooded the yard, turning the hedges almost luminously green.
From two hundred feet away, on the other side of the hedge and muffled
by the glass in the window, came the sound of splashing and laughter.
The neighbors' kids were true water babies. They reveled in the
sunshine and rejoiced in the pool. Constance envied them for their
dark complexions. She loved to sit out in the sun, but the genes that
had given her bright red hair had also given her pale flesh, all-too-
susceptible to melanoma. And Constance sunburned with the best of
them, but never tanned.
She recalled with longing the carefree days when she was fifteen,
sixteen, seventeen -- barely older than the neighbor's kids. After the
agonizing years of being called "shrimp" and "beanpole," how she'd
savored the pleasure of knowing men's eyes followed her swimsuit-clad
form to and from the surf, the concession stands, even the restrooms.
Overnight, it seemed, her breasts had blossomed. No longer flat and
mistaken for a kid three or four years younger, Constance suddenly was
sporting C cups on a form that had filled out to "slender" from
"skinny." In a tight two-piece, she could silence whole beach parties
simply by nonchalantly strolling past, her pale skin glowing in the
bright sun, her red hair blowing in the salt breeze.
"Ah, well," she whispered, surprising herself with her own voice.
A loud shriek and a splash made her smile for the kids in the pool.
Kids -- technically, anyhow. She saved her unfinished file and shut
down the laptop. She needed a break before she was going to get more
work done on the proposal. She stared longingly at the sun-drenched
lawn and the summer furniture.
What the hell, she thought. I'm going to go have a sun-soak, even I
have to lather on some goo with a 90 SPF, even if I can't enjoy
turning men's heads the way I used to.
In her dresser, she found the little black bikini.
I wouldn't have dared wear this to the beach, she thought. Not back
then.
Constance stripped, efficiently folding her blouse and pants,
unclipping the bra -- now a 34-D -- and skimming off the plain white
panties. She'd loved wearing lacy little insinuations when she and
Jack first married. He'd come home from work and start groping her and
then she'd see the happy surprise in his eyes -- and elsewhere -- when
he found a red lace bra or a skimpy black teddy under her prim school
teacher clothing. That had been almost 10 years before, and he hadn't
groped her on arrival in half as many years.
She straightened and eyed her naked form critically in the mirror. At
five-foot-six, she was not a bad-looking specimen for a woman of her
age.
"Oh, bullshit!" she spat aloud. She was still a fox. And her age was
32; she was just entering her full bloom. Her body was, if anything,
better than when she'd first met Jack. Her hips were still lithe at 33
inches, and her waist was still a tiny 22 inches. Her tummy was flat,
and her ass was tight. Her tits were still a shock on her slim form,
thrusting and full and taut and milky white, with hints of the blue
veining showing through. When she looked lower, past the slightly
darker red fluff of her compact pubic mound, her too-sensitive flesh
at the top of her trim thighs still didn't meet. Three days a week at
the health club and a round of golf every Thursday went a long way to
keeping her in bouncy good shape.
"Face it, baby -- he's having an affair. Again."
Seeing her reflection say the words, there in the very bedroom they
shared...
She sighed. At least his infidelities were discreet. And it wasn't as
if he neglected her. It was just that when they made love, he
was...mechanical. Predictable. The ritual, predictable foreplay. The
ritual, predictable cunnilingus, bringing her -- as always -- to a
powerful, if detached, orgasm. The ritual, predictable fucking: doggy-
style, or him on top or her on top. Fucking. She'd cum three or four
times before he did. And then they'd sleep. Period. End of session.
And a few days later, it would be repeated.
"At least he's discreet," she breathed, and began slipping into her
indiscreet bikini. The bottom wasn't much more than a G-string,
leaving two-thirds of her little ass exposed. The top was two string-
linked triangular patches of cloth, each covering maybe two-thirds of
a globular tit. She slipped her feet into thongs and padded through
the split level toward the back door, grabbing up her straw hat,
sunglasses and sunblock. She considered a book, decided against it.
She opened the door to an inferno of an afternoon.
The heat was a shock after the cool of the central air-conditioning.
Ninety-two degrees, cloudless, no breeze. She took a deep breath,
savoring the moisture already forming on her pale flesh. The air was
redolent of green and living things, and the sound of the pool fun was
louder, clearer.
Enjoy yourselves, kids. Soon enough you'll have to learn to be
discreet.
Standing by the chaise longue, she began applying the thick, creamy
lotion to her bare flesh. Discretion. She'd once made a boy cum in his
swim trunks at the beach this way: applying lotion to herself. She
smiled at the memory of his bulging eyes, reddened face. He'd
recovered enough to speed off to the surf, his trunks still bulging
with teenaged vigor.
She felt her nipples crinkle as she dwelled on that: teenaged vigor.
She'd loved it. No matter how often they came, they were ready again
in moments -- and she'd always been more than ready.
A true redhead, she told herself.
She finished her legs, began on her abdomen. Yeah, those had been
heady days. She loved sex, loved letting herself go with it -- and her
body and face had always attracted plenty of throbbing young men eager
to help her out.
Constance spurted more of the white gunk into her palms.
Looks like semen, she thought. She rubbed it lovingly into her
shoulders and as much of her breasts as she could reach without
staining the fabric-sample of her suit.
But those days had been a long time ago, before the plague. Once, the
worst fear was pregnancy -- avoided through the ever-blessed pill --
and the clap, banished with the snick of a needle, and a course of
pills. Not any more. One indiscreet fuck now could kill a person.
She hoped Jack was being discreet in his choice of fucks.
Her nipples flattened.
Constance lay back on the chaise, adjusting her straw hat to cover her
eyes. The sun began massaging her willing flesh. Her ears tuned into
the yelps and shrieks from the neighbors' pool.
"Come on, Ronnnnnie!" someone yelled.
Constance's lips twitched. Of course. It would be Ronnie and his
friends. The noise had been unabated for almost an hour. Not that his
sister didn't romp in the pool with her friends, but Nancy would have
tired of it rather quickly.
Her mind wandered back to her proposal. Ronnie and Nancy were ideal
examples. They were a year apart. They were undeniably goodlooking
youngsters. They were in excellent health. They were popular and
accepted by their peers. They were brother and sister. And there the
similarities ended.
At 13, Nancy was advanced for her years. Poised and mature as most
kids three or four years older, she was a quick learner, a voracious
reader and an overachiever in school. Her I.Q. was in the low 130s. It
was Constance's job to know. In fact, Nancy even looked more mature
than her years. She was an early bloomer and probably could even get
into some bars without being carded...if she was so inclined.
At 12, Ronnie was behind his years in every way but physically. He had
trouble learning new things and difficulty retaining classroom
material. With individual attention, he did significantly better. He
wasn't technically retarded; he was just at the low end of the normal
curve. But he was a good-natured kid, friendly, outgoing and trying as
hard as anyone.
He's also getting to be quite a hunk...for a kid, Constance thought.
Then: A hunk, period.
Which was true. Tall for his age, stringy and gangly, he was
strikingly handsome. Constance was sure that once he got past his
awkwardness with girls, he was going to be a very busy young man.
Assuming he wasn't gay.
Her thoughts strayed back to the proposal: Set up a tutoring program
of brighter kids working with slower ones. That was it. One on one. It
would educate both, especially in teaching the more advanced students
to understand the difficulty of not grasping a concept immediately,
and the importance of being able to convey such concepts in simple,
direct language.
Constance smiled again. She wouldn't mind teaching Ronnie a few things
herself. He'd surely be discreet. And grateful. Too bad he was just a
kid.
The growing warmth between her legs was not due to the sunshine.
"Ooooh, please, Jack, cum in me...I can't take any more of -- OH!" She
convulsed in front of him, the long, black hair shimmering in the
room's single bedside lamp. He felt her pussy tightening on his hard
cock. He watched the strength go out of her, and followed her
collapsing form down to the rumpled bedcovers. He held still inside
her for a few seconds, his lips next to her ear as he held his weight
off her.
"I love it when you cum," he whispered.
She panted heavily, her twat loosening just a bit. She turned her head
weakly to the side. "Please, Jack, cum. I'm gonna pass out if this
goes on. I can't keep cumming like this..."
"I'm not hurting you, am I?" He was genuinely concerned. She was a
tall woman, but slim and tight.
"No -- just -- I'm scared. I'm cumming so much..."
"Let yourself go, baby." He pushed himself back to his knees, pulling
her hips and small, runway-model's ass up with him. Her upper body
still lay limply on the bedsheets. Holding her by her trim hips, he
pulled back, watching her tight pussy flesh and taut lips cling to his
slick prick. He could feel her groan resonate through her body. He
paused with just the head still inside her...and then slid slowly back
in a-l-l-l-l the way. He ground his cock around inside her and felt
the spasming begin in her cunt again. He grinned.
This was the best, he thought. They'd been fucking for almost two
hours, and now she was perpetually on the edge of orgasm or actually
cumming.
His balls were tightening again. Jack began pistoning his dick in her
with long, uninhibited strokes that made the most of his cock for her.
She was cumming again -- and again. Her hands gripped the sheets and
then flopped limply as the orgasms went through her. She didn't seem
able to stop cumming. Her cunt was convulsing and her ass cheeks were
tightening as if vibrating. He felt the rumble of his semen rushing
upward, felt the electric needle of the pleasure barreling through his
penis, felt it swelling in her trim cunt still more.
"Oh, yeah, baby -- uh!"
His balls pumped, his dick lurched deeper into her again and again and
she let out an odd little squeal, barely audible, with each fresh
geyser pouring into her already full and sopping cunt.
Finally the paroxysm passed. He let himself topple slowly to the side,
bringing her with him so they lay nestled, still joined, with his arms
around her. He nuzzled her neck and ear. She whimpered, her cunt still
fluttering from time to time.
"Feeling okay, baby?"
"Jack, it's too much, too much. I feel completely wasted -- almost
drugged." She drew a deep breath. "I can't even think." She raised a
hand, brushing the thick, black hair from her flushed face. "Are you
like this with you wife?"
He grinned. "I used to be, but..."
"But what? Wear her out?"
"I don't know. She used to be insatiable; I loved it. Now it's like
she can take it or leave it, like she's doing a duty." He added,
quickly: "Don't get me wrong. It's still good sex, she still gets off
a lot, but...she just never initiates anything. It's like having prime
shell steak for dinner every day. It's great, but...predictable."
"So you decided to have some dim sum."
He grunted. "That's not it, Mei, and you know it."
She sighed. "I guess so..."
"I mean it. You're gorgeous and sexy and you know it. The old man
wanted a stunning, exotic-looking executive secretary for his image."
"My predecessor was a beautiful black woman," she whispered. "Did you
have an affair with her, too?"
"If I did, that would be between her and me."
"The word is that you did."
He considered. Then: "The word is wrong. I wanted to. I would have
loved to. She was so unbelievably hot...but I couldn't even get her to
have coffee with me."
"Hotter than me?"
"I'll never know, but if you keep talking like this...something's
going to come up."
She groaned. "Oh, please, no -- I won't be able to go back to the
office, I won't be able to function. I've already cum too much...
noooo..." She moaned, unable to stop the movement of her hips as she
felt his dick reinflating for the second time in her pussy. "Please,
Jack, I'm too sore..."
He slowly, regretfully pulled his hardening cock from her cunt.
Copious juices, hers and his, dribbled out of her puffy, tenderized
cunt onto the inside of her thigh. "Okay, okay...but I'm gonna have to
think of some way to shrink this thing or I'll be walking around with
a newspaper in my lap all day. Hey, have you ever -- ?" He lifted his
prick and rubbed it between her buttocks.
She gasped.
"Wanna give it a try?"
He saw the glint of mischief in her eyes, felt the renewed swelling of
her little nipple in his palm. He nuzzled his glans against her anus.
"Be gentle," she cautioned -- and sucked in a breath as she felt the
knob begin spreading her sphincters. Despite her misgivings,
excitement was building in her abdomen...and her pussy was tingling.
"It feels so big -- oh!"
With the glans securely lodged in her asshole, Jack grabbed onto her
hips, still laying sideways, and slowly began working his stiff tool
into her.
Dim sum on a skewer, he thought, and slipped a little more into her
butt.
Must've dozed off, she thought. Constance felt the difference in the
sun's angle, heard the silence from the neighbors' pool. She knew she
should go in the house, shower and change and get back to work on her
proposal. The sun-induced lethargy was difficult to overcome, but she
was just about to do just that when she heard something.
She lay motionless, looking under the edge of her sunglasses and the
brim of the straw hat.
She heard the sound again. Her gaze went to her right, toward the
neighbors.
There they were. Three boys. She didn't recognize one of them, but she
knew the boy in the middle -- Mikey, a friend of Ronnie's. And there
was Ronnie.
They were ogling her.
Maybe I've still got it, she thought with a little leap of pleasure.
Turning on a bunch of 12- and 13-year-old boys.
They were straddling the fence between the hedges, hidden from their
waists down. She saw Mike lean to Ronnie and whisper something. Ronnie
blushed and then nodded, grinning that sweet, handsome grin of his.
Mike turned and whispered to the other boy, who also blushed, but
shook his head. Mike shrugged.
Constance saw Mike's and Ronnie's arms move and then begin to shift
back and forth rhythmically. The third boy, still blushing, climbed
off the fence and departed. What --
Her nipples went stone stiff. They were whacking off together.
Maybe it was restlessness. Maybe it was loneliness. Maybe it was too
much sun. Whatever it was, Constance decided to be a bit indiscreet;
she let her legs part slightly and shifted her shoulders so her bikini
top covered even less of the side of her breast.
The boys' eyes widened, their arms moved more quickly. First Mike,
then Ronnie, stiffened and shook. Ronnie seemed to shake for a long
time.
Enjoy yourselves, boys, she thought. I wish I could do more for you.
After they climbed off their voyeurs' perch and departed, Constance
roused herself. She didn't bother readjusting her top. She took her
lotion and ambled into the house. Not just a shower today, she
resolved; a shower with the handheld sprayer.
Sid Sugerman groaned as the door closed behind Constance, and he
leaned back from the spotter scope. What a piece of ass that broad
was! He shifted on his stool and eased the length of his stiff tool
down his trouser leg.
I'd give anything to give that hot little bitch a ride, he thought.
I'll bet that sweet little cunt couldn't get enough once she felt 10
inches of Sid Steak up her snatch!
He looked back at the plate on his drafting table, but all he could
see was Constance's big, milky breasts bobbling as she shifted in the
tiny bikini. No, no chance of concentrating on the project -- even if
it was the most lucrative yet. Usually, nothing could break Sid's
concentration on a project; it was one of the traits that had put him
among the three or four most successful custom home-builders in the
Northeast.
But Constance McEvoy sunning herself...
Man, those gorgeous tits!
Another of Sid's good qualities was that he was observant. As all-
consuming as the sight of a nearly naked Constance had been, he'd
noticed movement in the hedge and spotted the boys whacking off. He
had to grin. Ronnie was a little slow in some ways, unlike his mother
and father and his sister, but in at least one way he was his father's
son -- the kid's boner was huge.
Remember what that redheaded sex cart looks like, boy, and don't end
up like your old man -- married to an overweight matron who stopped
caring about her figure the minute the marriage was consummated.
Yes, Sid was bitter about that.
His gaze went back to the window. All he needed was one chance, one
opportunity to slip the salami into that petite sex bomb's little re-
furred cunt and then he wouldn't mind sharing his bed with his
overweight wife of eighteen years...because he'd know the redheaded
doll would be begging for more every afternoon.
The gate to the pool area opened, the movement drawing his attention.
Nancy, his little gem, with one of her friends...Lisa. The sight of
his little girl made him beam and chased all thought of lust from his
mind. His darling Nancy, who made him so proud with her grades and her
science award and her essay award. He'd dreamed of passing his
business on to his son, until it became obvious that it would never
happen. More and more though, he envisioned Nancy, when she someday
grew up, marrying a bright, ambitious guy and passing the business on
to them.
The girls were wearing simple one piece suits under wraps. They
shucked the wraps. Nancy went to the diving board and did a perfect
dive. His smile widened. She was a pretty girl and so graceful.
Lisa, a year older than Nancy, took the board. Lisa with her short
brown hair really had a hell of a build for a kid her age. When she
raised her hands over her head for the dive, her titties drew up
inside the suit, crescent mounds swelling over the top. Sid's prick
began swelling again. She really *was* built. He wondered if --
"Stop it," he growled to himself. "Sick fucker, letting a little girl
turn you on." But even as she splashed, a bit clumsily, into the
water, his focus was zeroed-in on the ripe little teenybopper ass
barely contained in her suit.
He forced an image of Constance McEvoy into his mind. That was better.
Yeah, Constance asking him to put some lotion on her, moaning when his
fingers wandered, gasping at the size of the tent his hard cock made
in his suit, begging to see it...
He began rubbing his hand over the swollen limb of his prick through
his trousers.
Yeah, Constance fishing it out, pleading to taste it and suck it,
those big tits heaving as she took it into her little mouth, her small
hands groping the shaft, her young face framed by her short brown hair
as he came...
"Yeah," he groaned as his prick jerked and spurted, soaking the inside
of his boxers and trousers. "Yeah..."
...and she tried to swallow, her teenybopper throat working to --
"Oh, shit," he moaned, angry and disgusted with himself. How the FUCK
had a nice safe fantasy of Constance McEvoy sucking his cock twisted
into the perverted image of a little girl only a year older than his
baby doing it?
"Sick, Sid, sick." He looked down at the dark stain in his pants.
Cursing softly, he went to the bedroom, He'd change his clothes and
get back to work. He wouldn't stop until the plans were drawn. That
was the answer. Just don't think about sex with Constance or his wife
or anyone -- especially little 14-year-old girls with big titties --
until he was done and exhausted. Yeah, that was the answer.
But then his fingers were moving to the spotter scope, changing its
angle with the certainty of practice, to the second floor window where
sometimes -- just occasionally -- his neighbor neglected to close the
drapes while she changed her clothes.
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