The Reunion, A difficult time for the Bunker family, His thin arms and shoulders were aflame from hoisting the corpulence of his upper torso. His flabby core tingled with effort, its impending failure threatening the collapse of his tense, sweaty body. He desperately swallowed gulps of air that brought cool, but torturously evanescent relief to his burning lungs. His thighs and ass had gone virtually numb, their straining driving force rendering his thrusts shallow and uncoordinated. His genitals tingled almost unbearably, and it took every ounce of resolve within him to not spill his seed. His teeth threatened to crack from the force of his jaw, which was clenched shut in a desperate effort to endure the stress on his body. The man was a sweating, wheezing, jiggling mess atop his wife.
Yet, he was truly happy.
It had been a while. He had spent the better part of the last two decades watching his life slowly decay. He watched as a lean young man with fierce eyes melted into a pudgy slob with slumped shoulders. He watched as an idealistic economics major sold out his dreams for vapid, but well-heeled accountant work.
Most tragically, he had watched as the warm tenderness of his fresh marriage slowly rotted into a rancid arrangement of frigid tolerance.
But that was part of the unpleasant past that he had vowed to forget. Ever since their successful “Reunion”, the Bunkers had found marital bliss once again.
So he switched his thoughts to happier memories.
He remembered the first time he had seen Kristen Baines – two decades ago – clear as day. Initially resistant to a marriage arranged by his parents, his misgivings completely evaporated when he stepped into the guest bedroom and saw a gorgeous 18-year old with lush, blond hair bouncing in springy curls; curly lashes batting over pretty, blue eyes; ample, red lips curled into a captivating smile; and a voluptuous frame packed into a modest, but entirely alluring summer dress. Indeed, when Pastor Baines transferred his lovely daughter onto Doug’s arm on his wedding day, more than a sliver of his mind was busy imagining his wedding night.
Doug smiled, remembering the night of passion and fulfillment.
“I l-love you,” he wheezed, looking at the woman below him.
If he’d asked her how she remembered their wedding night, she would have spun a different tale.
Certainly, she remembered it well; after all, Kristen had been looking forward to it for years. Despite their rustic roots, the Baines were a hedonistic lot, and Kristen’s born-again parents could not shield her from the annual, highly educational trips she took to the families’ countryside estates. By the time she had ripened, the girl knew more about sex and breeding than the most liberated feminists in the country. Even her parents, for all their Puritanical moralizing, did not abstain from partaking in the marital bliss they had enjoyed since well before their religious conversion; Kristen fondly remembered the hot summer nights outside her parent’s bedroom door, quietly stroking her pussy as she imagined herself in her shrieking mother’s place. Indeed, had she not known of the gratifying nature of her parent’s marriage, her virginity would have been undoubtedly lost to her enthusiastic and physically gifted cousins and relations on the Baines ranch.
When she learned of her would-be suitor, a college-educated, urban gentleman who would take her away from her repressed hometown, she was overjoyed. For all of Doug’s excitement at their wedding, Kristen could barely focus on the ceremony, her imagination awash with the sights and sounds that she had come to expect after her extensive, but entirely second-hand sexual education.
In reality, Kristen was greeted by a prudish and genteel virgin who awkwardly deflowered her for a few minutes before quickly drifting to sleep. She remembered weeping alone, angry at her naiveté and her disillusionment.
“I love you too,” Kristen replied, opening her eyes and flashing her spouse a smile before retreating back into her mind.
“F-feel good… baby?”
“Ya it’s good, Doug,” she lied.
Thinking about her wedding night ruined what little arousal she had achieved, so Kristen switched her thoughts to greener pastures; although she had been a virgin up to her wedding night, Doug was certainly not the only man she had ever been with. After the inaugural year of their marriage, Kristen had become thoroughly convinced that her effete and increasingly workaholic spouse would never satisfy her boundless sexual appetite.
Certainly, she did not actively quest to be unfaithful. Unfortunately, after assenting to her husband’s request to teach piano to help pay for the child they had planned on having since their wedding night, circumstances began testing her forbearance. Within a year, the frustrated, young housewife had between her legs a blond lothario home for the summer from his college and his wrestling scholarship. By the end of the summer, she knew well what her mother was screaming about for all those hours at night.
After the revelation of her first affair, Kristen became a serial philanderer. She spooled through the various liasons in her mind, her cleft again moistening with each memory. The PTA dad who would not let her husband coach baseball. The contractors that took weeks remodeling the basement bathroom. The boy in loose shorts selling magazines. Doug’s young and gifted summer intern.
And then, accidentally, she unearthed the one she had been trying to avoid.
Garrett.
Her handsome son.
She remembered flashes of their first time. Doug’s month-long business trip to Thailand. Pleasant High’s summer vacation. A bottle of wine after a long, exhausting, but incredibly fun Independence Day. Garrett’s warm head in her lap, his soft hair in her hands, his shorts bulging obscenely before her eyes, his sobriety weakening with hers. Knees pressing a skirt into the carpet. Fingers pulling down boxers by the elastic band. Kristen’s eyes widening with incredulous discovery, her head nudged forward by the ambitious teenage hand on the back of her head, her gag reflex sorely tested, her large teats lubricated with an oily river of teenage precum. A skirt hiked up past creamy thighs. Motherly calves stroking her boy’s strong shoulders. A teacher flooding the mouth of her best student with her amply flowing honey. A son’s eyes shut by his loving mother scratching his glans to sublime ecstasy with her long, painted nails. A mother’s eyes wide at her horny son gorging her experienced pussy to virgin levels of stretch with his thick, pale truncheon. Incestuous screams announcing midnight. Warm maternal jus spraying onto a squat teenage pestle. Potent teenage cream spilling out of a distended maternal basin. Garrett’s disappointment at his quick release. Kristen’s delight at his quick recovery. Leading her son up the stairs, his cock in her hand. Folding his mother on her marital bed, her legs on his shoulders. A trembling colt growing into a glistening stallion. A cooing mare remembering how to be a shrieking filly. 1 AM. Stuffed full, ass up, face down. 4 AM. Elbows locked, hips undulating, riding cowgirl. 8 AM. Legs up in the air, toes curled, breath a scream. Noon-
“Kristen?”
Her eyes flashed open. Doug had stopped moving and was looking at her, concerned.
“Huh? What is it?”
“Your face… I’ve never seen it like that.”
“Oh uh, you’re just making me feel so good.”
“Well, it’s sexy, so I’m glad. Ugh I’m glad you’re close honey, cause… baby I’m almost there,” he groaned, resuming his thrusts.
“O- oh yeah… yeah I’m close,” she covered, aware that his efforts did nothing to scratch the now-aching tingling deep inside her.
Doug seemed to buy it, “Yeah, I can tell – you’re dripping wet now.”
“All for you, Doug.”
“Aww yeahhh… *huff* c-come with me b-baby.”
“Oh yeah Doug – that feels so good. I’m so close, baby.”
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