The Wife's Young Lover

CHAPTER FIVE

Charles had been turned on by photography for a long time, but he had kept his kinky desires secret from his wife, just as she had kept her passion for young boys secret from Charles. Charles was slightly embarrassed by his turn-on – not that it was shameful in itself but because of the way that his fetish for film had begun.

Unlike Marlene's lust for youth, which had grown gradually over the years and which she had never really tried to find a psychological reason for, Charles knew perfectly well why he got turned on by taking pictures of naked women. He could place it to the minute.

Charles had been a teenager and a virgin – but a horny virgin. He jacked off with regularity. Whenever he found himself alone for five minutes, he pulled his cock. Bedrooms, bathrooms, closets – they were all the same to randy young Charles – give him a place to stand and he would produce his cock and move his dream world. At school he whacked off in the lavatory, the locker room, the cloakroom. In history class, where his desk was at the very back of the room, he pulled his prick under his desk.

Once, during a blackout, he came in the corridor. He poured out cum by the bucketful and the more he spilled the more his potent young balls seemed to produce, as if operating on the law of supply and demand that he had learned in economics class while shooting a creamy wad into a copy of Adam Smith.

In those days, his masturbation fantasies had no direction. His tastes were all-encompassing and comprehensive. Sometimes he thought about girls he knew, sometimes film stars or characters in comic books.

He liked to look at dirty pictures, of course, and did so at every opportunity, but at that time they had not assumed any great importance in his carnal category. He would much rather have looked at a flesh-and-blood girl than a photograph.

Two girls had allowed him to feel their tits, one inside the training bra she wore. One other girl had once rubbed his dick through his jeans so that he'd come in his pants. That was the extent of his experience.

Then he discovered that his father had a collection of naughty photographs.

He had discovered that one day when he had come home from school early and entered quietly, because he wanted to sneak straight up to his bedroom for a pull without having to pause for a conversation with his parents.

His route took him past his parents' bedroom.

The door was ajar and he glanced in, feeling guilty because he was en route to a hand job – and then he blinked and saw that there was, no reason for him to feel guilty at all, unless his father was equally, guilty, for that gentleman was stretched out on the bed with his fat cock in one hand and a cluster of photos in the other.

He had the photos spread out like a hand of cards and he was studying them intently, his eyes shifting back and forth along the line.

His other hand went up and down his cock. Amazed and intrigued, Charles crouched in the hallway and peered around the doorjamb.

Then his mother walked into the bedroom from the attached bathroom.

Oh, boy! Dad's in trouble now, thought Charles. From the perspective of his own station in life, he supposed that getting caught masturbating was always shameful.

Then he was even more amazed.

His mother was stark naked, glistening from the shower – and she was smiling!

Charles gasped.

His mother lay down beside his father.

"Here, let me do that," she, said.

The man took his hand off his prick and the woman put her hand on it and began pumping it steadily up and down.

Charles thought he was going to faint. That may have been from shock or it may have been because so much blood had suddenly rushed into his cock that his brain was starved for oxygen, for the sight had given him an instant hard-on.

Having a free hand now, his father cupped his mother's cunt and began to caress that hairy slot.

And they looked at the photographs together!

"I like this one best," the man said.

"Ummm… that is a nice one."

"This is a pretty sexy one, too."

"You're a very good photographer," she said.

"Well, I had an interesting subject."

Charles was getting shock after stunning shock. From that conversation he deduced that these were no commercial dirty pictures, but that his father had been behind the camera. He realized they were Polaroid pictures.

His parents were depraved!

Charles felt quite proud of them.

They lay shoulder to shoulder, masturbating one another as they studied the photographs and Charles, kneeling in the hallway, simply had to produce his own prick. He began to pump it up and down to the same tempo with which his mother was stroking his father's dick, emulating her rhythm – the child learning from the parents.

His mother began to squirm. His father began to groan.

Her crotch had opened, her cuntlips folding back so that the slit became a slot and the slot filled up with a flood of juice that looked like melted ivory.

His father's peckerhead was flaring and smoking.

But even as the thrill took them, both of them continued to look at the pictures.

Charles was so excited that he shot first, even though he'd started later than his father had. His cum splattered against the wall, running down like hot lead from his fiery soldering prick.

He blew a tremendous load out, but he was so inspired that his dick did not falter at all and he kept right on pumping, intent on a second orgasm, never missing a stroke.

His eyes were fixed on his parents.

He saw a creamy jet spurt from his father's cockhead and run down the purple slab, welling up against his mother's thumb and index finger. She continued to pump, milking his father's cock to the dregs.

Her hips were dancing a wild gavotte and her belly humped up and down. Her ass came up from the bed. A long moan escaped from her throat and her pussy creamed on the man's massaging hand.

Charles shot a second thick wad against the wall.

It had been the most exciting time of his young life.

He got his handkerchief out and wiped the wall as best he could while, in the bedroom, his father got up on weak knees and crossed to the dresser with the photographs. He put them away in a drawer.

Charles took careful note which drawer it was.

He had every intention of having a look at those pictures at his very first opportunity. He got his chance the very next day.

It was Saturday and he had no school. His father had driven his mother to the shopping plaza and Charles knew that he would have at least an hour alone at home – time enough to jack off four times, at least.

He went up to his parents' bedroom. His dick was already hard with expectation, but he left it in his pants for the moment, wanting to have those pictures in his left hand before he pumped himself off with his right. Then, he thought, he would switch and do it again. He was an ambidextrous wanker, almost as proficient at milking out cum from the sinister side as he was from the dextrous, and it made for a nice change – jacking off left handed was almost like getting it from someone else.

He pulled the drawer out, stepping back so that it didn't raw into his towering hard-on.

He peered into the drawer and frowned. He didn't see the pictures but he saw something else and for a moment he couldn't believe his eyes. Could that possibly be what he thought it was?

He took the object out.

It was most definitely what be thought it was, and the horny lad's head reeled.

It was a big rubber dick!

Charles had seen pictures of dildos and he knew what they were and what they were used for, but he was astounded to discover that they were used by mothers.

The thought made him so hot that he was afraid he would come in his pants and, just to be on the safe side, he opened his fly and hauled his prick out.

His cock was as big as the rubber dick, he saw, taking pride in the comparison.

He put the dildo aside and began to rummage through the drawer. It was his mother's drawer, not his father's, and it made the boy even hotter to realize that the dirty photographs were the woman's possession – or at least were in her keeping, stored there amidst her bras and panties.

He found the Polaroid pictures.

He avoided looking at them for the moment, wanting to get comfortable first. He went over and stretched out on his parents' bed. He positioned himself just as his father had been. He folded his hand around his root and then he fanned the pictures out and looked at them.

There were six pictures.

Two showed a naked woman in erotic postures, with her legs spread. The other four showed the same woman in company with a man, and then with two men. The details had not registered on Charles at first. There was such a wealth of erotica there, such an overkill of jack-off lore, that the boy could not seem to concentrate.

He decided to look at the photos one at a time, jerking off over each one, starting with the least erotic – the woman on her own – and then going on to the combinations.

He gazed at the first photo and began to run his fist up and down his dick. He looked at the woman's tits. Then he looked at her cunt. Then he looked at her face.

"Oh my God!" said the startled lad.

It was his mother!

She was stretched put on her back, her legs apart, one hand cupped over her hairy pussymound with the fingers trailing into her juicy snatch.

His father had taken a photo of his mother while she played with her twat!

As soon as his initial shock and amazement had passed, Charles began to grin. He was so thrilled that he forgot to pump his prick, which was bounding and bucking as it demanded manual attention.

Well, that wasn't really so naughty, he thought. After all, they were married. They fucked and all. Charles didn't see that he should castigate them for taking photos.

But then he had another thought.

Who was the woman [missing text].

Then the other pictures – with them? If it was his mother and father, then who had taken the photo? And in one picture the woman had been with two men…

Almost afraid of what he would find – or not find, as the case may be – the boy spread the stack of pictures out in his shaking hand and stared at them.

It was his mother in every picture.

And his father was in none of them.

Charles recognized the two men. They were neighbors. He realized that they must have been invited in for this photography session, performing while his father worked the camera. He was in such a state that he totally ignored his pecker as he studied the Polaroid shots.

One showed his mother getting fucked missionary fashion, her long legs wrapped around Ben Carter's haunches and a smile of ecstasy on her face.

Another showed her sitting on Norman Johnson's cock, her ass raised on the upstroke so that the boy could see the man's thick cock disappearing into her pussy.

The next photo had caught her on her knees, getting doggy fucked by Carter while she sucked on Johnson's dick. There was cum running down her chin.

Sweating and trembling, Charles looked at the final photo. This too featured both men. His mother had just finished jerking them both off and spunk was running over her face and down her tits, dripping from her nipples and pooling in her belly button. Her tongue was out and silvery jism glistened on the moist pink surface.

Charles groaned.

Then, staring at the incriminating photographs, he pulled himself off five times in rapid succession.

Ever since that memorable day, Charles Metcalf had been a freak for dirty pictures.

Even as a teenager, he had had a healthy attitude toward sex and he figured that as long as his father did not mind, there was nothing wrong in what his mother had done – what she had posed for.

Charles, as soon as he could, bought himself a camera. He photographed girls every chance he got. But although he enjoyed taking pictures of naked strangers or casual acquaintances, his dream was to someday get his wife to pose for erotica.

Perhaps a kink like that was hereditary, he speculated.

He was dying to make the suggestion to Marlene. But he was positive that she would be shocked and outraged and think he was a terrible pervert. He hadn't even dared to ask her to pose naked solo, let alone suggest that she might let him photograph her with another man – or men.

It was the only source of frustration in what, for Charles, was a very satisfactory sex life and a happy marriage.

Someday he was determined to work up the nerve to bring the conversation around to the subject. If only something would happen that would help him initiate the suggestion.

Charles was going to get lucky.