Windjammer
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WINDJAMMER
Carl and Cilla glared at each other across the kitchen table. Their voices were hushed so as not to let the kids know they were fighting. Still, Rosie knew. She could feel it.
“Why didn’t you tell me we were short money this month?” she said bitterly.
“I thought I could manage it,” he said weakly.
“When I asked you about the bills, you told me everything was okay.”
“I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
“You lied to me, fucker!” she hissed viscously.
“Sorry!” was his lame reply.
“I’d rather you were stepping out on me than lying.” Cilla’s hate-filled stare was worse than her words.
“I didn’t know that was a choice.” Carl knew that sounded like a joke, but no one was laughing.
Cilla snapped her fingers in the air and abruptly stood up. “I’m so done!”
Carl watched her swishing skirt walk toward the doorway and he noticed the ring of extra flesh around her waist, squeezed inside her too-tight frilly top. A moment later she revved her minivan’s engine and sped too fast out of the driveway. Carl knew Cilla’s adrenaline was in high gear because she was mad at him and on her way to hook up with her current favorite lover.
Her girlfriend’s name was Shirley, nicknamed Wambat, a high-powered attorney by day and a tattooed female biker by night. No pretenses, Wambat had seduced both husband and wife, but since their threesome a month ago, Cilla has been moon-eyed in love with her paramour.
Cilla drove out of town to the Chop Shop, a biker bar on a barren stretch of highway. It was Wambat’s regular hangout and Cilla wanted to surprise her, then ride off to a night of erotic abandon in her arms. Soccer mom Cilla’s minivan was the only family-friendly vehicle in the unpaved parking lot, the rest of the space being occupied by trucks and motorcycles.
Inside, the Chop Shop’s owner and bartender, Early, gave Cilla a wink and refused to take her money to pay for the shot of whiskey she ordered.
“It’s on the house, Silly.”
She threw back and ordered another.
“Next one you gotta pay for,” he cackled as he poured dark brown lightning from a spout-topped bottle.
“Ahh!” Cilla let her tongue hang out. Then she felt a hand on her hip. She turned to greet Hatchet, a tall, thin, bald biker she had met before. “Hi, there!” she chirped. He kissed her on the lips with cigarette-laced breath and took a seat on the stool next to her.
She heard a female voice to her left. “Hello?” the voice said in playful sarcasm. It was Hatchet’s old lady, Hannah, who also kissed Cilla’s lips and rubbed up against Cilla’s breasts with her own plump rounders.
“What brings you here tonight?” Hannah asked, affectionately finger-combing Cilla’s mid-length chestnut hair.
“I’m meeting Wambat.” Cilla watched Early place two beers in front of Hatchet and Hannah without them actually having to order. “I’m surprising her.”
The couple nodded as one mind and proceeded to fire up a bone to go with their beers. Cilla willingly joined in enjoying the weed, while downing her third shot of whiskey.
“We’re gonna have a foursome with Indian and his old lady, Carla.” After making that unexpected announcement, Hatchet wrapped his muscular arm around Cilla’s shoulder. She savored Hatchet’s strong masculine odor. “Like to join us?”
Cilla smiled and politely said no, but the reefer and liquor mixed with her estrogen peaking in anticipation of being with Wambat. In a hazy, country-guitar moment, Cilla was giving a long, slow handjob to Hatchet, while white-haired Hannah let her fingers do the walking up Cilla’s skirt. When Hannah prodded underneath Cilla’s granny panties, the biker frau felt her smooth mound.
“You shaved,” she whispered in the other woman’s ear, then kissed it.
Cilla giggled shyly at this, even as she pulled on the lady’s husband’s cock shaft. Hannah slipped two fingers into Cilla’s wet slit and let out a pleased moan when she began to rock her buttocks in rhythm.
“I don’t suppose Wambat will mind if you gat warmed up with us,” Hatchet observed as he reached inside the front of Cilla’s pink blouse and squeezed her plumb-shaped tit. As Early poured another round of drinks from behind the bar, Hannah gave Cilla’s mature cunt a twirling finger-fuck while Cilla lowered her head and went down on Hatchet, thin, veiny penis. She came up with a mouthful of his spunk, which she smeared all over Hannah’s mouth and chin as the women finished off with a kiss.
Not long afterward, the Chop Shop’s front door swung open and in strode a six-foot-tall, long haired, long legged virago. Wambat commanded attention, from her muscular arms covered in tats to her dazzling smile. Cilla’s heart jumped at the sight, sound, and scent of her—a dash of wind-blown sand, coconut milk, female musk, and engine oil. But before Cilla called out her name and ran to her opened arms, the other one appeared—a willowy lipstick lesbian with ballooning breasts and billowing red hair.
“Cilla?” Shirley Wambaugh was incredulous. “What are escort tanıtımları you doing here?”
“I-I-I thought I’d surprise you,” stammered Cilla, looking nervously at Wambat and her glamourous companion.
“You should’ve called me or texted,” the biker-lawyer said sternly. “I have plans for the evening.”
Shirley the Wambat pulled her chanteuse closer, clamped her behind the neck with one hand and grabbed a shimmering boob with the other. Then she kissed her little bitch with such fervor she seemed to be devouring her.
Cilla was stunned, mute, and hurt, but trying not to cry.
“I didn’t think you’d fall in love with me,” Wambat stated with a smirk.
Cilla struggled to speak. “Who said anything about love?”
Wambat laughed derisively, “Why else would you come here like this?”
Cilla watched as Wambat took her girlie-girlfriend in tow and turned toward the back of the barroom, where Early had a “private” lounge.
“I thought you were more mature than that.”
Cilla took that as a wisecrack about her age—forty-four to be exact. Her anger flared and she spat bitterly, “Well, then, fuck you!” Carl’s bright and sexy MILF wife raised her middle finger for all to see and repeated, “Fuck you!”
Wambat walked away amid laughter, pointed to her blondie’s head, and sang out, “No, no, no! I’m fucking her.”
Cilla was deflated and felt like crying and puking, as the crowded bar full of bikers, truckers, skanks, and boozers turned their attention back to their drinks and smokes. She fled to the bathroom marked “HOGGETTES.” She pushed into a stall, sat upon the johnny seat, and bawled. After no more than a minute, someone was rattling the metal stall door. It was Hannah.
“Lemme in there, honey.”
Cilla leaned forward to unlatch the door while still sitting and Hannah entered the cubicle, reached out to Cilla, and embraced her in a comforting motherly hug. Cilla cried as she floated dreamily in Hannah’s aura of cheap perfume, tobacco film, beery breath, and damp sweaty skin.
“What’s the big deal about Shirley anyhoo?” she asked Cilla.
Sniffling, Cilla coughed out a reply: “She drilled me with a strap-on for an hour.”
“Ooh, that sounds so-o-o nice,” Hannah crooned, as she untucked her blubbery breasts from her plain white bra and offered an oversized nipple to Cilla’s lips. She eagerly clamped her mouth over Hatchet’s old lady’s areola. The two gals rocked on the toilet seat for a few tender moments before Cilla switched boobs and suckled a little more.
After sharing a deep, tongue-sucking kiss, Hannah knelt on the filthy bathroom flooring, lifted Cilla’s skirt, slipped down her panties, gave her sweaty cunt a long, slow licking. Hannah nibbled Cilla’s clitty, sifted the labia between her teeth, and rubbed her nose against the shaved-bare mound.
“There, that was nice, wasn’t it?” Hannah was eager to please her friend, someone she barely knew an hour ago.
Cilla smiled at her, kissed her, and shoved her hand down the back of Hannah’s slacks. She probed her anus with a finger and pulled it out, sniffing and tasting it to Hannah’s delight. “Mmm!”
The two older MILFs took turns peeing, since they were in the right place for it. When they returned to Early’s bar, Indian and Carla were seated with Hatchet.
Indian had sleek black hair, sharply handsome features, and a huge dick, as she remember from the group encounter when she had met all of her biker friends. Cilla said to Indian, who was really a delicious Irish-Hispano blend, “It’s so nice to meet your wife.”
“His fiancé,” Carla chortled. “That means he can fuck me anytime he wants and leave me anytime he wants.”
“It’s better that way,” Indian concurred with a crooked smile. “No strings.”
Carla was younger than Hannah, sort of a bleach-blonde, skinny wench with sunken cheeks, sharp nose, and angular chin. Her tits were also pointy as were her elbows and knees. Before Cilla finished her vodka with lime, done with the bourbon shots, Carla had lifted her dress to let Hannah eat out her pussy cat hive while Hatchet stuck his dick in Indian’s old lady’s thin-lipped mouth. They went at it for a while.
Cilla told Indian the sob story of Wambat and he listened attentively. Cilla gazed longingly at his deep blue eyes, bronze skin tone, and sensuous mouth. Finally, she started to kiss his face from forehead to nose to jawline and earlobes. He pulled his guided missile from his unzipped fly and Cilla took it inside her mouth. She swallowed a gullet full of Indian’s ejaculate, while her cell phone vibrated on the bar with a text message from her hubby, Carl: “I M SORRY.” Cilla straddled Indian’s lap and smothered his resurgent cock with her hungry Venus fly trap, all the while holding her cell phone. She texted back to Carl: “ME 2. B HOME SOON.”
Cilla furiously kissed Indian, filling his mouth with her saliva, while he plunged her.
“Shouldn’t we be usin’ protection?” he asked belatedly.
“Don’t gaziantep escort telefonları need no stinking protection,” she declared, accelerating the pace of her humping. “My tubes are tied.”
Indian proceeded to send a million swimming spermies into her twisted fallopians to die, after which Carla squatted between Cilla’s legs and slurped up her old man’s cream pie. Cilla then took Carla by the hand and led her to ladies room, where Cilla returned the favor, licking Carla’s pissy-tasting pussy and sweaty ass crack.
At the bar, Early told the group sexers to try not to get their slop all over his barstools. He also suggested food to counter the booze and dope everyone except Carla had consumed. For the next hour, Cilla took in chips, pretzels, peanuts, and salty crackers, along with more vodka drinks.
“How ’bout a burger and fries?” Early suggested.
“I’m a vegan,” Cilla replied politely.
“Okay, a burger and onion rings, then?”
Cilla just laughed, and breathlessly ate every bite of greasy meat, half-melted processed cheese, lettuce, tomato, catsup, mayo, and stale bun. She shared a massive pile of fried onion rings with Hatchet while Indian was outside, fucking both Hannah and Carla on the bed of his pickup.
A rumbling and churning began in Cilla’s bowels. Cilla leapt from her stool and bolted for the ladies loo, farting freely on the way. Inside, Cilla barely got her ass on the toilet before she exploded. She moaned, “Oh, shit!” redundantly, as she filled the bowl with loose feces, burning out of her little bum hole. When her involuntary evacuation finished, she unrolled wad after wad of paper to clean her smeared bum. After she stood and turned to flush, she watched in horror as the water in the toilet rose instead of going down. She desperately jiggled the handle as brown water bubbled up and spilled over the rim. Cilla started to cry for the second time tonight, but soon gathered her composure and marched up to Early at the bar.
“I’m so sorry, Early. I clogged your toilet,” she mustered the courage to say.
“No problem,” the bar’s owner responded cheerfully. Then with an impish grin he brandished a plunger and handed it to her.
Pouting, Cilla nonetheless marched back to the hoggettes throne room as Early followed behind with a mop over his shoulder.
There was no lid covering the toilet seat and so Early peered down into the bowl and exclaimed, “That came out of you?”
Red faced, Cilla protested, “You served up all that greasy, fatty, salty food I never eat anymore.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Blah, blah, blah!” he disdained, as he leaned on his broom like a cane and waited for Cilla to get working.
She started plunging too meekly at first, barely coaxing a groan from the swampy toilet bowl.
“Ya better take off your shirt and your dress ’cause it’ll splash all up on ’em,” he said helpfully.
Cilla treated him to the sight of her stripping down to her bra and panties. She carefully folded her skirt and top and placed on the counter next to the wash basin.
“It’s always the same reason.” Early shook his head and pronounced, “Too much paper.”
Determined to conquer this task, Cilla went at it with all of her arm and upper body strength. A series of rapid plunges was followed by an enormous sucking sound and the dirty water instantly receded.
“Good job!” Early complimented her and continued instructing her. “Now let the tank fill up with water and flush it again.”
As Cilla worked with her back to Early, he noticed a brown spot on the seat of her panties.
“Uh-oh, Silly! Ya better ditch them underwear. You messed ’em.”
Cilla made a sound like pretending to cry. She touched herself on the backside and wrinkled her nose. After Early became intimately acquainted with her shit, there was no embarrassment for Cilla to drop her drawers and show him her middle-aged derriere.
“Hang in there a sec,” he told her as he grabbed a handful of paper towels, went to the sink, and wetted the towels.
Cilla leaned forward and pressed her palms on the wall while the grizzled bar owner gently wiped her soiled bum. Early used a fresh wet towel on each section of her buttocks, pubis, and thighs. His fingers drew tight circles on her skin and she tingled with sensual delight.
“You’re such a sweetheart,” Cilla told him. “Thank you, Early.” Next, with an almost staged theatrical phrasing, as if to mock reality, Cilla said, “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
As if on cue, Early cackled, “I can think of a li’l somethin’ ya can do.”
Cilla closed her eyes, a slight smile adorning her face, as the skinny old coot freed his smallish, uncut penis from his blue jeans and held it tightly in his hand as he rubbed the bulb up and down Cilla’s freshly cleaned ass crack. Spurred on by the attractive woman’s moans of pleasure, Early deftly slipped his dick under her buttocks and entered her swollen pussy lips. Cilla felt the rhythmic beating of his gaziantep escort bayan telefonları discharge inside her in less than a minute. She tried not to touch his broken front tooth with her tongue or lips when she gave him a sweet, sisterly kiss.
Another hour of revelry followed. Cilla even slow-danced with Hatchet and Indian while Carla sang off-key karaoke and Hannah blew chunks all over Early’s bar. The whole time, the door to the private stayed shut, only the sound of music escaping.
“Wambat probably dildo-fucked the bimbo in the cunt for an hour and now she’s putting it in her ass.”
Indian nodded, but Hatchet said, “Maybe the bimbo’s stickin’ it to Wambat.”
Cilla Josephson laughed, “I betcha you’re right…And you know what? I don’t care.” Then she announced it was time to call it a night.
Suddenly, her friends—these hard-living, hard-drinking outlaws—turned into a circle of care.
“Oh, no, ya don’t,” Early hooted.
“Just hold on a minute, little lady,” Hatchet ordered.
“Let me tell you somethin’, girlfriend,” Carla explained, waggling a bony finger at Cilla, who for the first time noticed Carla’s head seemed oversized for her narrow shoulders and frail torso. “Did you notice I haven’t had a thing to drink or smoke all night?” She paused as if waiting for an answer in the affirmative before spreading her arms wide to say, “I’m the designated driver.”
“How do we do this?” Cilla asked meekly. “I came in my Windjammer.”
“We rode in on Indian’s Harley…” Carla began.
“…I’ll just throw it the back of your van,” Indian finished.
“As long as the seats go down…” Hatchet quipped.
When Cilla nodded, Hannah expressed her joy. “See how things work out for the best.”
Carla drove the Windjammer minivan to Cilla and Carl’s house with her new girlfriend curled up in her fiancé’s lap.
It was past two in the morning and Cilla insisted the couple stay the night.
“You and Indian can sleep on the couch downstairs.”
The biker flopped onto the divan and started snoring before the ladies red the top of the stairway to the master bedroom. In the dark, Carl was deep in REM sleep.
Carla told Cilla in a husky whisper, “Tonight you got your heart broke and I fell in love.”
Cilla took a moment to digest the statement and understood even before Carla began an elaborate ritual of undressing Cilla and kissing each patch of nakedness revealed. Carla, in handsome, slightly withered middle age, felt like the goddess of Eros. The evening ended with a rousing session of sweat-soaked double cunnilingus, alongside Cilla’s slumbering husband.
Cilla woke late Sunday morning, past ten, to an empty bed, wrinkled covers strewn about the floor.
In the kitchen, Cilla found Carl grilling some eggs for Carla, who was wearing one of Cilla’s bathrobes, her hair stringy and wet from a shower.
Uncomprehending the scene, Cilla greeted Carla stiffly. Carl silently poured his wife a mug of coffee. Finally, the white trash tramp with a heart of gold spoke up.
“Why didn’t you tell me your husband was a sweet soul brother?”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” Cilla replied.
“He so cute. I think he looks like Jamie Fox.”
“He’s more like Morgan Freeman,” Cilla countered. “Closer in age, too.”
“Hey, stop dissing me,” Carl protested as he shoveled, scrambled eggs, grits, and beans onto three breakfast plates…
If there was any doubt about what had gone on in the wee hours, it ended when Carla swooned, “It’s so true what they say…Once you had black, you never go back.”
“Dammit, Carl!” Cilla shouted. “You fucked her?”
Carl laughed, “And what were you doing at the Chop Shop last night?”
“Nothing,” she muttered, casting her eyes downward at her plate of food. “This looks so good, hon!”
“Nice change of subject, Mom.” Daughter Rosie entered the kitchen. Young and lovely, but disheveled.
“Get another plate,” Cilla told Carl.
“Make that two more,” Carla added, as Indian stumbled down the hallway.
“Was he sleeping in your room?” the mother asked her nineteen-year-old daughter in a stage whisper.
“I found him out in the hallway. I felt bad for him. So…”
“Nothing happened, I swear.” Indian spoke more to Carla’s eyes than Cilla’s.
Cilla touched her lips to Rosie’s multiply ringed ear. “Don’t try to shit me. I can smell his come on your breath.”
Rosie smirked at her mom. “We didn’t fuck, though. I have a tampon in.”
Cilla insisted, “Don’t tell daddy. He’ll flip out.”
“He lets you sleep around. What’s the difference?”
“You’re his daughter, his baby girl,” Cilla patted Rosie’s cinnamon colored thigh. “Believe me, it’s completely different.”
“I totally get that,” the adolescent beauty agreed.
Carl Josephson sat down to the breakfast he made for his beloved wife, beautiful daughter, a woman he never met before he fucked her, and a guy who was one of several cockers who fucked his wife the night before. How weird is this scenario? Could it get any weirder? Carl wondered about that as he slipped a hand under the table and felt his way toward Indian’s lap, where he messaged the bulge in his crotch till his hot rod hardened. Carl would enjoy sucking on it in the bathroom a bit later and seeing if Indian’s bunghole was as pliant as his fiancé’s well worn pussy. Life is just one discovery after another.
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