William never asked his wife what she had done to prevent herself getting pregnant again and she never told him. She just told him he could now take her whenever it suited him without fear of her conceiving.
During the day when Meg was busy with housework she was allowed to practical wear skirts, Capri pants, or shorts in summer, with a comfortable blouse and a little makeup. But by six o’clock when William came in from the fields she was to be dressed to please him.
Bold makeup, elegantly coiffured hair, skirts or dresses which showed her long legs to advantage were the order of the day. Nylons and high heels were mandatory.
Meg would start dinner and then go upstairs to her bedroom to get ready for her husband around five o’clock and come down just before six o’clock sprayed liberally with perfume.
Petey would be sent outside to do chores with orders not to come back inside the house until called in for dinner around six-thirty. When Peter was old enough to work beside his father he was given extra chores to keep him busy until the appointed time. Needless to say as Peter grew into maturity he was curious as to why his mother and father were to be left alone during that half hour between six and six-thirty and one day he decided to find out.
But as he got older curiosity overcame fear and one day not long after his eighteenth birthday Peter snuck up onto the porch in his stocking feet carrying his boots and crept up to the kitchen window.
He was shocked by what he witnessed.
His mother was on her knees sucking on her father’s penis. William was holding her head as he shoved his erect penis in and out of her mouth. His mother was lapping, sucking and stroking the immense organ and seemed to be enjoying it well enough.
Then his father lifted his mother to her feet and roughly spun her around and bent her over one of the kitchen chairs. She reached behind and lifted her dress up and out of the way while his father unbuckled his pants and dropped them around his ankles. His mother dutifully presented herself, her ample buttocks clad in frilly red silk panties.
His father came in behind his mother and yanked the gusset of her panties out of the way and thrust himself inside her. His mother gasped but she didn’t seem to be in pain, in fact she pushed herself back, impaling herself on her husband’s phallus. Then his father gripped his mother’s hips and began to service her.
Peter couldn’t help himself, he quietly put down his boots, took out his penis and began to stroke it. He stroked it in time with his father’s thrusts and when his father pulled his mother back hard against him as came deep inside her Peter came too, ejaculating a runnel of semen that splashed against the weathered siding and pooled on the boards of the porch. He stroked himself harder as his mother’s wanton moans escaped through the glazing.
When his father had finished he pulled out of Peter’s mother and wiped his still erect penis with the cloth that he kept in the back pocket of his pants. His mother walked over to the bench with her panties around her knees and tore off some kitchen paper to pat herself dry, then she pulled up her underwear and smoothed out her skirt. She kissed her husband on the cheek and went to the stove to check on dinner.
Peter buttoned his pants and tiptoed off the porch and sat down on the old bench next his mother’s small vegetable garden and began to pull on his boots.
When dinner ready Meg powdered her nose, freshened her lipstick and straightened her seams ready for her husband to sit down for dinner. It was time for her son to join them.
“Peter! What are you doing you silly boy, come and get supper,” his mother called from the porch.
Meg was shaking her head in exasperation when she turned around to go back inside the house.
Then she saw the splatter of semen on the wall and the pool of creamy spend on the boards. At first she was alarmed, then she smiled to herself. Her son was now a man and he had developed a man’s appetites.
Peter was naive in many ways. His mother and father’s bedroom was the only room off limits so of course he was curious as to what was in there. Looking out of his upstairs bedroom he could see his mother tending her garden so he snuck into his parent’s bedroom to go exploring. Rummaging around in her dresser he found a cache of corsets, bustiers, black fully-fashioned silk and nylon stockings and lacy French knickers.
He lay the garments on the bed fascinated by them. They smelled of his mother’s perfume and they felt so soft and sheer against his skin. He began to become erect and he panicked. Peter began to stuff the lingerie back into her dresser but in doing so he snagged one of her stockings, he stuffed the accusary garment into the front pocket of his pants. He took a deep breath and unpacked the lingerie and took his time folding each item carefully and tried to put them back exactly as he had found them.
“What are you doing in here Peter?” his mother was leaning against the bedroom door.
Peter thought she would be angry but she had a bemused look on her face, watching her son panic and try to put her lingerie back in the dresser.
“You’ve found mommy’s night clothes haven’t you? Like most young men you find them fascinating, yes?” she stepped into the room, closer to him.
She was wearing a denim skirt, a white cotton blouse unbuttoned down to the rise of her bosom and flat comfortable shoes. She wore sheer nylons as always and although she wore full makeup her face and décolletage were flushed by the sun. Peter could smell her perspiration though the miasma of her perfume.
“I’m sorry mom, I know I shouldn’t be in here and I won’t come in here again. But yes, those clothes are so lovely and delicate and that they did draw my attention. They look nice but I don’t think they’re particularly suitable for farm life,” Peter countered.
His mother encouraged Peter to ask questions, ‘that’s how you learn’ she had told him. ‘Never be afraid to ask me anything,’ she had impressed on him.
Meg turned his question around in her head and told him a half-truth.
“They’re my bed clothes, daddy likes me to wear them to bed,” she replied.
She had noticed that her son was trying to conceal an erection and saw the toe of one of her nylons hanging from the pocket of his pants.
Peter knew nothing about what women wore to bed and didn’t question why his mother would go to bed dressed in sexy lingerie and full makeup but he did wonder about the banging headboard, creaking bedsprings, and muffled moans coming from his parent’s bedroom at night. At school the girls had teased him when he tried to talk to them so he had become reclusive and even though he was now legally a man he was naïve when it came to sex.
His mother diffused the awkward situation by telling Peter to wash up and come down for lunch. When he came down, having secreted the stolen stocking under his pillow, his mother had freshened up and fixed her makeup. She had put his chair beside her where she sat at the kitchen table with a large textbook open in front of her.
“Sit here Petey, I want to show you something,” his mother patted the chair.
Peter was sitting uncomfortably close to his mother. He could smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her body, his bare leg brushed against her silken-sheathed calf and he started to become erect again. He was glad that his erection would be camouflaged by the tabletop.
“I thought your father would have had the birds and bees conversation with you by now Petey but obviously not,” she patted his knee and he jumped a little.
She left her hand there and he could feel her long fingernails gently scratching his skin.
“Birds and the bees?” Peter was bemused.
“Sex Peter, sex,” his mother looked at him with some concern.
Peter blushed.
“Dad just pointed out various farm animals while they were… were… were doing it,” Peter’s face was flushed.
“Copulating?” his mother was absentmindedly drawing circles on his thigh with her fingernail and it was driving him wild.
“Yes mother, copulating. Dad said that’s how they make babies,” Peter thought his voice sounded thick.
“Yes that’s right. But men and women also copulate for pleasure. Because they like the way it feels, do you understand?” she looked her son in the eyes.
Peter nodded but she could see he was confused.
“Look Peter, you’re eighteen years old so I’m sure that you get erections. You know, when your penis gets hard. And I’m sure sometimes you notice that when you rub the erection it feels very nice,” Meg’s throat was dry having this conversation.
Peter was so aware of his bare leg rubbing on his mother’s stockinged calf, her fingernails scratching his thigh, her perfume, her closeness, his erection, that his head was spinning.
“Look,” his mother pointed to a page on an encyclopaedia she had taken from a shelf.
It was a lithograph of a male penis in both flaccid and erect states.
“So this what you and daddy look like when you are aroused,” she tapped her finger on the erect penis.
“And this is what mommy and other ladies look like,” she turned the page.
A lithograph of vagina, showing all of its intricacies including an expanded internal diagram. Peter thought he was going to faint.
“As you can see the vagina is basically a sheath for a man to put his erect penis into. He parts these outer lips, the labia majora and these inner lips, the labia minor, and thrusts forward. His penis fills the woman’s vagina and they thrust against each other until the man ejaculates, just like you have seen horses and dogs do, although women are often on their back,” Meg explained very matter-of-factly.
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