by Schone Lakens

It was one of those sultry July afternoons where you could get wet just thinking about water. Gwendolyn eased her soaking thighs into her pink satin panties. She put on her tiny tigerskin-patterned mini- skirt and smoothed her damp silk shirt over the naked roundness of her breasts. She also adjusted her glasses. She had a split nail. It was one of the most important things that had happened to her since she had let the milk boil over, which was yesterday. It urgently needed attention. It wasn't the only thing.

Gwendolyn paused by the front door to adjust her clothing one last time. She sighed in frustration. The heat did such strange things to her imagination. It seemed to make her limbs longer and more languid than they already were; and her nipples seemed to swell so that they pressed tight against her shirt. On hot days, men seemed to stare at her in the street, though she had no idea why. She wondered if it was her new purse which was mauve and green stripes and made of plastic. She decided to leave it behind. Unlatching the door, she slipped into the street and ran straight into Father O'Horn who was hurrying past. He was not tall and, for a moment, their faces brushed as he grasped at her breasts to steady himself.

"Forgive me, Father,"the girl cried. "For I have... "

"Sinned?" The priest seemed to gaze at her in wonder, as she stood clutching her hands between her thighs in her distress. "Then, Child, you must come and see me."

"Well," she murmured, a little mystified. "I was going to say: 'For I have nearly knocked you down.'"

The priest gaped at her for a moment longer, his face becoming very red.

"You must see me anyway. Tonight, ten o'clock." His eyes had slipped down to her trembling bosom.

"But, Father, I..."

"Please excuse me,"he said and hurried on his way. He seemed to be limping, bent far over, holding his briefcase in front of him.

Gwendolyn shrugged. It was too hot to argue and, anyway, she would never dream of disobeying the priest. Luckily, it took only another twenty-five long slow steps to reach the corner store. On hot days, walking was so difficult for her. The heat seemed to make her thighs rub together, giving her wild ticklish feelings she couldn't control. They took her breath away and made her think of caramel cream fudge. She couldn't help it. It was her favorite candy. She longed for it, and yet it embarrassed her to have to ask Tom. He was such a dirty old man and he seemed to take some perverse pleasure in speculating about what she did with her food. In any case, he always seemed to ask her. Yet the more she thought about it, the more she needed to feel that rich, milky sweetness spreading inside her; and anyway, if she had to see the priest later that night, perhaps he would like some too. She decided she had to have it, but she wouldn't ask Tom. She would make it for herself to fool him. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

His rasping voice was oily.

"What can I do for you, my dear?"

Somehow, she knew he wasn't talking about groceries. She lowered her eyes so he wouldn't think she was being forward.

"Just a jar of caramel and some cream, please," she said, quickly. She was sure he wouldn't imagine she could make caramel cream fudge all by herself. "And a Band-Aid for my broken nail."

Tom went to the back of his store. She could feel his eyes on her from the deep shadows and there was a strange rustling sound. Knowing he was there, the waiting made her nervous. She could feel her breathing deepen, and her nipples grew hard and pressed against the thin silk of her shirt. Suddenly he was back, leaning across the counter with her purchases.

"What's the caramel for?" he breathed, his eyes turning back in their sockets with excitement. She had to think quickly.

"Just for the ants," she explained.

"The ants?"

"In dishes around my bed."

"Go on." His hot breath seemed to burn her cheek.

"To draw them away, otherwise..."

"Otherwise?"

His closeness was making her panic.

"Otherwise -- they crawl over my body -- every inch of my body, all night long."

He was panting hard now and she couldn't understand how she had got herself into this position.

"Go on. And the cream?"

"The cream?"

"What do you do with it?"

"Well, it's just..."

"Yes!"

"It's for my..."

"Yes! Yes!"

"It's for my pussy."

"Aaaah..."

"Her name's Louise."

His face went bright red. He seemed to slump for a moment and she was scared he might be ill.

"Are you alright?"

He raised his head.

"Five dollars forty-five," he rasped. "You need a bag?"

He stepped out of the shower, wisps of steam still wreathing his body as his right foot made contact with the tile floor. Drops of water ran down the hair on his bronzed chest, cascading down his legs and his ten inches of hot, throbbing manhood. He grabbed a towel and ran it across the length of his six-foot-six body, violently rubbing himself from head to toe.

He pulled on a pair of faded jeans, grunting a bit as he pulled the denim over his firm ass and buttoned them up. The skin-tight fabric made him acutely aware of every bit of his body, from the waist down. Pulling an oversized tank-top over his head, he went over to the next room of his apartment, where an old bicycle leaned against the wall, next to his window.

His name was Brad. He was a nineteen-year-old Art major. And he was hungry.

As he knelt down to check his tire pressure, Brad caught sight of Gwendolyn in the window, which faced the grocery across the street. His heart leapt. His eyes swept her gorgeous figure, lingering on the ten-dollar bill she held in front of her breasts, which were straining against her shirt the way his cock was straining against his jeans, and he knew what he was going to do, degrading as it was.

His hand wrapped around his tool, and he began to pump vigorously.

Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump.

Man. It was taking forever to inflate just one of his bicycle tires with the cheap hand pump he'd inherited from his older brother. "One of these days," he thought, "I'm going to have to buy a better model." It was his now-deceased mother's thriftiness that had prevented him from doing so, he supposed; she had even saved used Band-Aids to hang pictures.

Seeing Gwendolyn about to leave, he quickened his strokes, and finally managed to get his tires hard. Rock hard.

He wheeled his bike outside just as she emerged from the store, clutching a paper bag protectively against her chest. "Hey, Gwen!" he called.

"Why, Brad!" she cried. "I didn't expect to see you!"

He looked at her hungrily, and with clear longing in his eyes.

"Can I give you a lift?" he said.

"On that thing?" she replied, looking at his frame. "It looks like it's been through a war!"

"It is a bit banged-up," he said, "but it still has plenty of miles left on it."

"Oh, okay," she said. "It's way too hot to walk." She hopped onto his lap, her round bottom rubbing against his crotch. "Are you sure you can ride me -- I mean, ride with me like this?"

"No problem; you steer, and I'll pedal, okay?" he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Say, Gwen...what were you buying, anyway?"

"Oh, just some caramel and cream," she said. She giggled, as Brad pedaled, the motion causing her breasts to bounce against his hands through the thin silk. "I'm making fudge."

"Really?" he said excitedly. "Sounds yummy," he said, as strands of her hair blew into his face. "Can I help?"

"Why not?" she said. "I'll even let you lick the spoon when we're done."

What Brad and Gwendolyn didn't know was that there were other forces at work, forces beyond their simple desires. Forces few human beings could resist. Forces known as...their parents.

As Brad and Gwendolyn pedaled peacefully toward Gwen's apartment, two others were intersecting there as well. One went by chance: Brad's father, Matthew, widowed many years past, was taking his long daily walk. His attention was divided, as always, for while part of his mind was appreciating the long legs and short skirts of many women he passed as he walked, the other part was worrying about the problem of his son. When would the boy settle down with a nice girl? When Matthew had been Brad's age, he'd been married for three years to Brad's mother. Matthew had only a vague idea what sort of trouble a young unmarried man could get into, but he didn't want any of that for his son. Brad seemed to like that nice young woman, Gwendolyn -- why didn't he just marry her?

At the same time, Gwen's mother, Rosemary, was heading straight for Gwen's apartment. Rosemary's mind ran on a similar track to Matthew's -- marriage for her daughter, and soon. Rosemary had a wild youth, and she knew exactly what sort of trouble Gwendolyn could get into. And even if it had been fun...still, a mother had a duty to try to get her daughter to settle down. Maybe that nice Brad boy; he seemed to like Gwen. Rosemary would just have a nice long talk with Gwen, and perhaps things would finally get settled.

At that moment, Gwendolyn and Brad were tottering down the street, not doing a very good job with the bicycle, but just managing not to fall off. Gwen didn't steer very well, and Brad was in imminent danger of falling, so he had to hold on to Gwen's waist very tightly, and tuck his head into her neck. He inhaled deeply as he did so, breathing in her delicious scent -- was that cinnamon or cloves? It reminded him of cookies. And cakes. And muffins. Not to mention roast chicken with new potatoes, an apple-cinnamon-clove stuffing, and a nice green salad with a lemon vinaigrette and some fresh crushed black pepper. He bent his head even closer to Gwen's neck, and valiantly resisted the urge to lick.

Gwen, for her part, was mostly trying not to fall down. But she did notice how Brad's thighs clenched around hers, how hard they were - - how hard all of him was. She supposed it made her seat on the bike a little more secure, and for that, she was grateful. It was a bit lumpy, though.

They were just starting to get the hang of it as they approached Gwen's apartment, when suddenly an impeccably dressed older woman jumped out in their path.

"Yoohoo! Gwen!"

Gwen swerved the bike, narrowly missing the woman, and instead plowing straight into the distinguished gentleman, sending all three of them flying. Gwen's skirt tumbled up as she tumbled down, and her long legs pinwheeled prettily in the sunlight before she landed on the soft grass by the side of the road. Brad was similarly lucky. He simply got flung against a tree, but he was so tall and strong and robust that the impact did little more than knock a little more sense out of him, and make him feel a bit peckish. As for the distinguished gentleman...

The older lady bent over him, looking shocked.

"Matthew!" she exclaimed.

He looked up at her, dazed. "Rosemary?"

Gwen had picked herself up at this point, "Mother?"

Brad chimed in, "Father?"

Rosemary turned to Gwendolyn. "Gwendolyn! Why didn't you tell me?"

Matthew turned to Brad. "Yes, Bradford! Why didn't you?"

"Bradford?!" Gwen asked, feeling thoroughly confused.

"My full name," Brad replied, blushing. "I know it's a bit formal..."

"I like it," Gwendolyn replied. "There's something really strong about it. It reminds me of English lords in dark brooding castles on the moors, and young girls in white dresses, frightened by dark rumors about the English lords, reading nervously in the library while the lord stalks the cold grey walls of his castle, and the storm grows worse with every passing day..."

Brad, Matthew and Rosemary were all simply looking at Gwen at this point, bewildered.

"I like reading," Gwen explained, "and libraries."

"Ah..." they replied.

"But the point, Gwendolyn," Rosemary continued, "is why didn't you tell me you knew Matthew?"

"And the point," Matthew interjected, "is why you didn't tell me the same, Bradford. Umm...or the opposite. Or...well, you know what I mean."

Brad and Gwen looked even more confused, which would have been difficult for most people, but which they managed to pull of with the panache of long years of practice. Gwen finally spoke, "You know Brad's father, mother?"

"Ah, so this is dear Bradford's father!" Rosemary blushed prettily and held out a hand. "Who would have thought, after all these years..."

"And that means that you, lovely Rosemary, must be sweet Gwendolyn's mother. How charming! I would have guessed you her younger sister..." Matthew took Rosemary's hand and bent over it to kiss it. He lingered over the kiss, not salivating, but taking his time, inhaling the intoxicating odor of rosemary. Finally, he dropped her hand. He was breathing fast, no doubt from the excitement of the collision.

"Oh, should we be so formal?" Rosemary exclaimed. "We did know each other in high school, after all!" She stepped forward, and offered her arms for an embrace.

Matthew pulled her into his strong arms, which despite their extra twenty years, could easily rival those of his son for sheer power and muscled grace.

"What I can't believe is how we missed the chance to really get to know each other back then..." He bent down to kiss Rosemary, his lips brushing hers tenderly once, before his tongue plunged into her mouth. His hands on her ass clenched, pulling her even harder against him.

"Weren't you friends, father?" Bradford asked, befuddled.

"Oh, no..." Matthew replied briefly, as he lifted his mouth from Rosemary's and started kissing her cheek and ear and neck.

"We hated each other," Rosemary explained, her voice shaky as she trembled and clung to Matthew's very muscled (did we mention that?) arms.

"Despised each other," Matthew continued, starting to unbutton Rosemary's blouse to have better access to her warm, glowing skin.

"Loathed each other," Rosemary whimpered, as she reached down to unbuckle Matthew's belt, sliding one hand over the massive lump in his pants as she did so.

"Well," Gwen said, "It's so nice that you've found each other again, and are getting a chance to get reacquainted. Brad, don't you think they'd have a much better time if we left them alone for a bit?"

"What a splendid idea, Gwen! Maybe if they used your apartment to chat, you and I could go and make that fudge at my place..."

"Wonderful!" Matthew shouted, as he pulled Rosemary to the apartment door, then plunged his head back down so his teeth could bite into her naked shoulder.

"Marvelous!" Rosemary joined in, shoving the door open with her elegant hip while her hands slid under the waistband of Matthew's clothes.

"Have a good time, kids!" they chorused, as they disappeared inside the building.

Gwen and Brad climbed back on the bike, and started pedaling away.

"Whew! That was close!" Gwen exclaimed. "You don't know my mother -- when she comes over these days, all she wants to talk about is how spring is here, and it's getting hot, and how I should get married soon. I don't know what heat and marriage have to do with each other. And she always looks so strange when she's talking -- sort of the way she was looking just now."

Brad nodded. "My father says exactly the same sorts of things. We're sitting down to breakfast, or lunch, or dinner, and all he can talk about are young women. When there's a good meal in front of him! It's incredible."

"Well, it's nice that they're getting a chance to have a nice long chat. Maybe they'll get it out of their system," Gwendolyn said firmly.

Bradford simply nodded agreement, and they pedaled onward, in happy accord.

The bike ride went somewhat easier than before, though more than once, while hitting a pothole, or some such semi-obstruction, Brad's hands gripped harshly, making her moan with a strange discomfort. Eventually, they arrived at Brad's apartment, and Gwendolyn dismounted. Brad tossed the bike over his shoulder, and held the door for her, waiting for her slowly-swaying hips and dancing skirt to pass through before following.

Inside they encountered terror...despair...and all sorts of ickiness. A sign! 'Elevator out of order'. A panic, straight and true, shot from Gwendolyn's eyes to Brad's.

And, in a soft, almost childlike voice, he replied, "12th floor." Around the 6th floor, Brad began to feel mesmerized, dazed, confused; not because of the climb...his long, legs were powerful, and even with the bike over his shoulder, his muscles strained gladly with each step, the slightest beads of sweat along his brow...a single drop down his spine sending a pleasant shiver.

No, it was because of Gwendolyn. His eyes had been locked on her ass for the entire climb, and her hips had been swaying in perfect time with each stair...her soft thighs whispering against her skirt...back and forth...back and forth...rocking languidly...the pink of her panties flashing briefly with each motion, almost strobe-like...and he found himself unable to resist following...sleepy...so sleepy...so like the time he was hypnotized on stage and made to act like various kinds of produce for 15 minutes.

In an effort of supreme will, around floor 10, panting...lips parted...sweat now running down the backs of Gwendolyn's thighs, drawing even more of his focus...he shook his head violently and snapped out of it.

They exited the stairwell and Gwendolyn fell back against a wall.

"Oh...pant...my...gasp!...GOD! I wasn't sure I could make it there for a bit," she said.

Brad, while pulling the keys from his pocket, followed suit...leaning back on the wall...their bodies very still except for the panting and sighs.

"Put it in," she whispered, just loudly enough to hear.

"What?"

"The key...put it in and open the door...we have caramel cremes to make, remember?" she giggled.

They dragged their weary, sweaty bodies into Brad's apartment, and closed the door.

Suddenly, they were encased in velvety darkness.

"EEK!" squealed Gwendolyn.

"Shit," cursed Brad.

"Um, could you hit the lights?"

"I could, but I forgot, I need to replace the bulb here...it's the only light in the apartment," sighed the ever-penniless art student.

"OK, so do you have a bulb?"

"Yes, but its more complex than that. The ceiling light is quite high, higher than even my body can reach. And my bohemian lifestyle prohibits the possession of chairs. All I have are piles and piles of silk pillows."

This was why Gwendolyn would never marry Brad. She could never get comfortable on a pile of pillows...she was always leaning too far back...legs ending up splayed open...the hairs on the back of her neck rising as the silk caressed her legs...and one of the damn things always ended up between her thighs.

Suddenly, the solution came to her.

"I know," she spoke into the darkness, unable to see anything, but sensing the heat of Brad's body, his presence close to her, "I'll use you as a ladder! I can climb up your body, and then I should be able to change the bulb!"

Brad contemplated the idea for a moment.

He remembered that Gwendolyn was wearing heels.

He feared for his 10 inch manhood.

"Ok," he replied, "but please be careful."

"Of course I will! Now just stand there, and keep still."

Gwendolyn ran her hands over Brad's body...searching...roaming...trying to find a good place to hold on to...finally, she decided to just shimmy up. Her arms wrapped lightly around Brad's neck, feeling his quickening pulse throbbing, then her legs slithered around his waist, locking tight, squeezing him while forcing her body upwards, squeeze, then slide, squeeze then slide...her skirt rising around her hips, their bodies grinding together as she went higher and higher, slowly, carefully, the peak in sight (metaphorically -- it's still quite dark).

Finally, she was on top of him, her thighs gripping onto his head for dear life, her skirt covering him.

"Ok, I'm up here, now hold still while I remove the bulb," she said to the man under her skirt. Her delicate fingers reached for the bulb, finding its familiar curved shape...its rigid form...it moved easily in her talented fingers...she slipped it into her hand with practiced skill. No, this wasn't the first time Gwendolyn had done something like this. No indeed.

Speaking again to the hungry young man between her thighs, "Give it to me...give it to me now!" a slight bit of panic creeping in as she wobbled from atop her man-perch.

Brad fumbled for the bulb and passed it up to her.

Again, Gwendolyn's skillful fingers went to work...holding the hard, yet strangely delicate object in hand, she put it in...slowly at first...finding the right angle...then feeling it click into the groove...faster and faster, tighter, harder, until...until...

She saw stars...bright lights behind her eyes...and gasped a tiny "Oh." of surprise.

The light had come on right in her face, and spots were everywhere.

One word came from beneath her skirt as she swayed in the afterglow, "Coming."

Things had been going less well for Brad. He was stuck between a woman's sweaty thighs...he could taste the salty fluid dripping down onto his lips...he could feel the wet silk of her panties grinding against his face, he was hungry still, so very hungry, but one thought ran foremost in his mind, overwhelming even these. And that thought was...

AIR!

So Brad asked the question again, "Are you coming down now?"

"Oh! I'm sorry, I kind of forgot what, I mean, who I was on top of!" She slid her body down his like a fireman down a pole.

Gwendolyn quickly regained her sight as Brad gasped for air. She gazed at him and a warm longing spread through her insides. She had never thought of Brad like this. Suddenly the sight of him, shaking his head in that sweet befuddled way he had, reminded her of her favorite thing in all the world. The longing became a deep desire. There was something, she knew, would have to be satisfied. Why hadn't she done it sooner? She resolved to deal with it. She would go to Taylor and Child, as soon as they had finished their work. Brad looked into the eyes and they both laughed like old friends, childhood chums. She leaned close to his ear and purred, "Now it's time for soft...creamy...sweet...hot...caramel creme!"

So, clapping their hands together and squealing like school girls, they ran off to start their treats.

Gwendolyn crossed the enveloping heat of the outdoors, her clothes sticking in ripples that only emphasized her fluid movements and proud bearing, toward the secret pleasures of Taylor & Child, Toymakers. The need she had felt so strongly earlier had only become more urgent, even though she had enjoyed herself so much with Brad. The caramel cream fudge had been a great success. Brad had licked everything clean - the spoons, the bowls, her fingers. He even licked it off her neck and the soft bits at the top of her breasts. She could hardly believe the funny places where it had found its way. He loved caramel cream fudge. She had given him a whole tray and now she had the rest of it in her bag, along with the remains of the caramel and the cream.

She entered the familiar musty kingdom to the low, Zen tone of a bell stroked once, drawn again to its secret recesses. The barest touch of a breeze from an oscillating fan reached her, and she turned to face it fully. Between her grateful chest and the teasing fan ran a model train on an oval track, steaming dreamlike in and out of a welcoming tunnel. A different sort of heat arose within her, and her hand moved, without her willing it, to the top button of her straining blouse.

"Ouch," she said, "darn fingernail."

"May I help you?" asked the clerk, licking her lips hopefully as the cool air played delicately across Gwendolyn's nipples.

"It's a bit embarrassing," said Gwendolyn.

"Not at all, we're alone," soothed the clerk.

"I'm looking for a special toy," Gwendolyn stumbled, feeling her checks flush.

"For a special someone?" asked the clerk, smoothly.

"Well...for me," Gwendolyn said quietly, finding sudden interest in her toes. "Mine got too worn and ... I'm a little embarrassed to talk about it."

She missed it so much. So often, she used to wake with it lodged between her breasts or sometimes it would even slip down and she would clutch it between her thighs. It helped her sleep.

"You see, it comforts me and ..."

"Ah..." the clerk responded, smiling intimately at her. "Don't be embarrassed. You're not alone. We have a special section, just for our adult friends."

Gwendolyn gasped.

"You mean other people love them too."

"Very much." The clerk moistened her lips. "To be honest, I have a different one for every night. Perhaps you'd like me to show you our collection."

"Oh, you have different sorts?"

"Of course. Glass, silicone, rubber, batteries or not, even a solar powered model for the dedicated exhibitionist."

"Wow, I had no clue there were so many varieties of Winnie the Pooh," brightened Gwendolyn.

A sudden coughing spell seized the clerk, perhaps explaining her flushed face. "To your right near the stuffed giraffe," she finally choked, turning away quickly.

Gwendolyn left with the Pooh and a spring in her step, followed by the clerk's mournful but hungry gaze.

Gwendolyn happily made her way back to the apartment. Pooh always brightened her day. She thought about the priest and how she was to visit him later. The heat pressed down on her as she sauntered along the sidewalk, her thighs swish-swished back and forth sticking slightly as she stretched her legs wide. She couldn't wait to get home and eat the remains of the warm caramel and cream while sitting naked in front of the swamp cooler. Gwendolyn giggled as she thought of the creamy liquid dripping from her splayed fingertips.

Her excitement increased as she approached her stairs and doorway. She reached, perhaps too hastily, for the doorknob. Her nail split again, further this time. She shrieked in pain and dropped the bag of caramel and cream. Pooh flew across the floor, landing upside down beside a stack of ancient, torn magazines. The bag landed with an awful, glistening crack.

"No!" Gwendolyn cried. She bent down on all fours, gingerly groping the bag, looking for signs of breakage.

"Gwendolyn!"

Gwendolyn turned to find her mother and Brad's father standing in the hall behind her. Her mother looked astonished. Matthew stared down, his eyes brilliant, as she bent to scoop up her precious sweets.

"Oh, Mom! I broke my nail, I dropped my sack, and now look," Gwendolyn sobbed. Her hips rocked back and forth as she tried desperately to save the remaining cream.

"It's all right, Gwendolyn. Matthew, would you like to help her." Gwendolyn's mother pushed her horned-rimmed glasses up on her nose and clutched her purse tight to her pointed bosom.

"Yes, yes, Rosemary." Tearing his eyes away from her pink panties, Brad's father slid past the kneeling girl and crouched in front of her. His eyes drifted to Gwendolyn's ample cleavage which strained against her sticky, silk blouse. His hands began to shake.

"It's okay," she said, a little breathless. "I've got most of it. You sit down."

Gwendolyn carried the messy sack into the kitchen and dumped it on the table. A drop of thick, warm cream ran down her long finger. "Eh-hum."

Gwendolyn's mother stood in the doorway. "There's a gentleman here to see you. A Father O'Horn."

"Oh! He's early!" said Gwendolyn in a panic. "That is -- I was going to see him."

Suddenly the priest was standing next to her mother, his nostrils twitching as his sensitive nose picked the lingering scents of Rosemary's recent intimacy with Matthew. Gwendolyn was embarrassed. The priest was staring at her and her hands were covered in sticky cream. It seemed rude to run off to the sink and even ruder to leave him standing there. Without thinking, she put her finger into her mouth and sucked it clean. A second finger had become sticky so she sucked them both, stuffing them in and out of her mouth to finish as quickly as possible. Spotting her daughter's predicament, Rosemary tried valiantly to cover for her.

"I think Gwendolyn has some sweet cream fudge for you, Father. She'll probably give it to you when we've gone."

The priest stared at her, his mouth open, then turned back to gape at Gwendolyn who was just cleaning off the last creamy traces, her pink tongue deep in the crevice between her fingers. She had hurried as best she could but she could see he was becoming impatient. He seemed to be trembling terribly and his face was quite flushed. She thought she should pretend to notice him for the first time.

"Oh, Father," she said, as brightly as she could manage. "Father, I see you've come."