Glumcest

DAD IS GOING TO LENINGRAD, MOM'S FUCKER WILL BE GLAD!..

… Father told us not to go see him off at the airport, but to wave to him from the balcony—we, of course, went out.

Waiting for him to appear from the entrance, adjusting the strap of his travel bag, lighting a cigarette, killing five minutes until our driver Slavik arrived, I, copying my mother's parting words, boomed down like the Beast from "The Scarlet Flower": "Vo-ova-a-a (that's what mem calls him), don't eat dry food-oo-od!…" He, appreciating the joke and in turn pretending, saluted the "Voice from Above": like, I obey, everything will be in order!..

… If only he knew where the hand of one of the "well-wishers" was right now,

he definitely wouldn't be in the mood for jokes!…

— Y-you pro-omised!… — Breathed in my direction, instantly flushed a thick crimson, mother (the third-floor height and the pre-dawn half-darkness—only 4:00 a.m.—hardly allowed father to see these traffic-light cheeks; and if he had, he probably would have attributed this effect to the pre-morning chill and fresh breeze), whom my "boat," which had "sailed" between "Scylla and Charybdis," forced to arch and rise on tiptoe, like a ballerina.

Instead of answering, subduing the rebel, I deliberately rudely (and even m-meanly!) grabbed her by the crotch, making her gasp convulsively for air and—thank God not crashing loudly!—push her stomach against the panel under the railing. That's better, mommy! Now where are you with me—in my fist!..

"Fabulous!", as the heroine of an old comedy used to say. Chatting about nothing with my own parent, joking, and, at the same time—"kneading the mince," holding his wife's pussy like a boss!… A plump pussy, it should be noted! Where "over the pubis—a bun has rolled!" Not a "little stone," like Ilonka-Flatbottom from the second entrance,—a very juicy, meaty fried bun between mommy's lush thighs!..

… Slavik brought the car right on the dot. Just when our traveler, finishing his smoke, raised his hand in a farewell salute: "Don't miss me too much!" ("Yeah, you bet!…", I smirked to myself), and just when what I had grabbed the subdued sprawler by—swelled, sagged, and squelchily gurgled a couple of times, filling my cupped palm with the burning tears of the Bartholin's glands.

Making the one held by the lower abdomen give a fake "shh-hh!" and muttering: "Say something, you fool!…",—I, "with particular cynicism," duplicated my order with "Morse code,"—squeezing and releasing the maternal vulva sensitively.

"… Kiss-es! Have a good tri-ip!",—strainedly (in the literal sense: on my index and middle fingers) smiled the harassed mutter, sending a return "flying kiss" up to the cuckold.

… The slam of the car door coincided with a slap on the massive maternal rump, driving—"N-now, let's go-oo!…"—the "wife-mother" who had become mine for a whole three days into the room.

— You promised!… — Already contorting her face into a tearful grimace, she stamped her foot when I closed the balcony door behind us.

"Well now,—reproaches, insults, unfounded suspicions!…", "sadly" sighing, I quoted an old joke (to which joke, however, the mutterchen, shocked by my outrage, didn't even react). — Was our oral agreement violated by me?! — "In bewilderment" I spread my hands. — Everything as agreed: no groping, no squeezing, no feeling up! I even overfulfilled the promise! Because, in addition to the listed, I also didn't press, and didn't paw! I only caressed! Just and exclusively! That's all there was to it!… What's with you, mom, like a virgin, really?!… — I decided to "take offense" in poetic form.

— Not in front of him!!! — Clenched her fists in despair, the matrona on the verge of hysteria, whose "mind blown" brains again missed the salaciousness addressed to her. — Not!!! In!!! Front!!! Of!!! Him!!!

"Bingo!!!", I rejoiced inwardly. "Here is the Moment of Truth!!! NOT IN FRONT OF HIM!!!" So "WITHOUT HIM"—is allowed!?! Even if "voluntary-compulsory," even if—heh, a pun!—"with sin-half," but already without "rebellious moods"!?!

Outwardly, however, not showing my triumph in any way (so as "not to spoil"), I calmed the "touched to the quick" with a voice used to talk to a kindergarten girl who scraped her knee and started sniveling: "There, there… Shh-shh-shh… I won't-I won't… In front of him (emphasized with my voice)—I won't…" … And—to reinforce the "Stockholm syndrome" in the "victim of sexual terrorism," enhancing the "sex hostage's" "sense of indebtedness" for granting the right of the "broadest choice" from as many as two evils (otherwise the oath-erased from the mobile /but saved on the "hard drive"/ "Grandpa's Moonshine Dream" from the series "How I Spent My Summer Vacation" doesn't stop awakening in me the desire… mmm… to bring the grandpa-fucker who fucked you from the school bench and right up to the wedding to belated but criminal responsibility!…),—kissing the bawling cow, like a little one, on the top of the head: "Don't cry, my little calf!…",—in the most treacherous manner turned el parencio, as in a fairy tale: "to the armchair frontwards, to me backwards," and,—judging by the crybaby-wax's "Ow!?!", which I translated as an unfinished "I love you!",—my 25 centimeters of hot filial love reached the very maternal heart!… "Ow!…" "… love you!…" "Ow!…" "… love you!" "Ow-ow-ow!…" "… love you-u-u-u-u!…"

FABULOUS!!!

P.S. From the Soviet Information Bureau! For the second month now, our troops have been trying to break through the enemy's defenses, which he is still holding. As a result of fierce battles, we have captured key heights and prepared a bridgehead for a decisive offensive. Despite the fact that the enemy continues to resist, confusion and dismay are already noticeable in his ranks. The opposing side is being pressed, and it is becoming clear that the question of its capitulation is only a matter of time. Victory will be ours!

Author's e-mail: ranxx@lycos.com