The Mrs Kennedy Assignation

As was usual every second weekend during the summer my parents split, I went to stay with my father one Saturday, but on arrival was told that he was going on a golfing trip, so even though I was twenty-one at the time wasn't trusted to be alone in case I "had some sort of party" would have to go back to my mother's.
It wasn't the first time, so I didn't bother asking why I'd not been told before walking all the way to his house, just shrugged, stuffed the "apologetic" pair of bank notes in my pocket, and squeezed next to his golf clubs in the back of "Alan's" car for the ten-minute journey home while they had a conversation without either of them bothering to include me.
My mother had already left to attend a church fundraising BBQ that she'd organised for the women's group, and knowing that there would food and beers, decided to go along on the pretence of seeing if she needed any help. I showered, shaved, dressed in a pair of faded denims and a logoed white Nike T-shirt, and not wanting to be on the receiving end of one her "irresponsible, selfish, anti-father" tirades if I'd told her where my father had gone, decided to say I'd forgotten something at home and was going back later.
When I got to the back of church and opened the large wooden gate which led to the back garden, my mother's response on seeing me was surprisingly cheerful as none of the thirty or so middle-aged women gathered in small groups on the lawn wanted the smell of smoke on their clothes from flipping burgers and turning sausages. My lie was accepted without her even asking what I'd "forgotten", and when she "volunteered" me to be the day's chef, I happily wandered over to the table covered with small plastic tubs that my mother pointed at on the far corner of the lawn.
After four failed attempts, I finally managed to light the old-fashioned charcoal grill placed by an old shed which presumably stored gardening tools, and started cooking as the women carried on having their conversations without any of them even seeming to notice that I was there.
It took about thirty minutes before anybody came anywhere near me, and when they did, it was just to fill a plate and then go without any of them even responding to my attempts at starting a conversation.
It was only when they'd all been fed, some of them two or three times, that an overweight forty-something woman with short hair dyed jet black hair walked up to the grill and introduced herself: "Hello", she smiled holding her hand out, "I'm Debbie Kennedy, and I'm told that you're Gordon, Mary's son."
I nodded a simple "yes", and tried not to stare at the outline her cigar-butt sized nipples made as they pressed against a black bikini top which was clearly visible under an almost-transparent pale pink blouse which rippled in the summer breeze.
"Pleased to meet you," I replied shaking her hand while gesturing towards the grill, "What would you like?"
Her smile widened into a grin which darkened the lines on her face so that she looked like someone had drawn a spider's web on her with a very sharp pencil as she said, "Well to start with, I'd like to know why you're barbequing in a nice shirt. The smoke could ruin it. Why don't you take it off?"
"I didn't think of that," I laughed, and though I'd been cooking while wearing it for almost an hour, pulled my T-shirt up and over my head, and gestured at the food, "Now what would you like?"
Her grin widened even more as she sipped beer from a small glass bottle and murmured, "For you not to stop there."
I tried not to laugh and could only manage to stammer nervously in reply: "I, I, I mean what do you want?"
She took a deep breath, opened her mouth slightly, poked out the tip of her tongue, ran it around the inside of her lips as if relishing the taste of something and stage-whispered "Like? Want? Same thing really or am I not making myself very clear?"
I stuttered in surprise, "Y, Y, N, N, No, I, I, I mean, I'm just...."
Mrs Kennedy lifted her index finger to my lips, smirked, and waved her glass bottle in the direction of the other women. "Do you have any idea why none of them have spoken to you?" she said quietly and then continued without waiting for me to reply, "it's because just looking at someone young and decorative like you might give them naughty thoughts, and they'd have to wait until getting home to do anything."
"I'm sorry," I said very quietly while trying to breathe normally, "I don't think I understand."
Mrs Kennedy laughed loudly, quickly realised that every head in the garden had turned towards us, took a very deep breath, composed herself and whispered, "They'll find somewhere nice and quiet where they won't be disturbed, and do something like this."
She took a step back a few paces to the side of the shed out of sight of everyone except me, sipped at her drink and added with a snigger, "Only probably with something battery operated."
I didn't move, just stared like a rabbit caught in a car's Sahabet headlights as she used the hand holding the bottle to lift the hem of her flimsy floral-patterned summer skirt up past her waist, and said solemly, "Watch for anybody coming over."
Mrs Kennedy then hooked two fingers of her other hand into the side of her black bikini briefs, pulled them to one side, rubbed the top of the bottle against the glistening folds of pink flesh hanging below a triangle of thick black wiry hair, grinned, and slowly pushed the neck out of sight.
My heart beat so ferociously that it felt like my chest would burst. It was the most excting, most erotic thing I had ever seen, and as my jaw dropped open, Mrs Kennedy slowly rotated the bottle, slid it up and down, and eventually pushed it so far inside her that only the base was visible.
I stared helplessly at the small green circle neatly framed by several layers of throbbing crimson folds of skin just below a mass of wiry black hair, felt my throat dry completely as she squeezed the tips of two fingers and a thumb around the glass, and by the time she pulled the bottle out I was close to making a mess in my trousers.
"I'm leaving now," she sniggered derisively, "you can finish this."
Mrs Kennedy held the bottle in the tips of her fingers and thumb and handed it to me without breaking eye contact. It was dripping with her juices and difficult to hold with shaking hands, but I slowly and very deliberately licked the top, tilted my head back, and drank the beer.
Debbie Kennedy smirked in a way that suggested superiority, approval, satisfaction and victory, and when she said: "Down the hill, house on the corner of the first street, number one, large gated driveway with a camera and an intercom, but the little door will be unlocked so walk straight in," I was close to bursting without even being touched.
Mrs Kennedy then strode past me, spoke to three of the women gathered on the lawn, had a brief conversation with my mother and left the church grounds without even glancing back in my direction.
I put my Nike T-shirt back on, turned off the grill, packed the uneaten food into some little tubs while shaking with nervous excitement, and somehow managed to find the composure to tell my mother that I was going back to my father's house.
I walked through the large wooden gateway, ran down the hill to the house on the corner of the first street as fast as I could, walked through a door in the large wooden gate and then an open one which led into the house, and was greeted by Mrs Kennedy sitting at the foot of the stairs wearing a white bath robe tied at the waist with a matching cord.
"Close the door and lock it," she said emotionlessly, "Then my husband can't get in if he comes back early."
Mrs Kennedy then stood up, turned as I locked the door behind me, and I followed her upstairs to a bedroom with a large bed covered in the whitest sheets I'd ever seen.
Debbie Kennedy then grabbed my T-shirt, pulled me forwards, pushed me onto the bed, grinned, "Just lie there and let me take care of everything," and took less than thirty seconds to strip me naked.
She sniggered, "Very nice," gently tugged at my now-painfully hard erection, lifted her leg up and over my lower body, knelt down with her inner thighs pressed against my hips, and untied the cord around her waist. The robe flapped open and I stared in awe at two rock hard nipples protruding like old-fashioned light switches from her pendulous breasts as my erection settled into the warm crevice between her flabby butt cheeks.
Mrs Kennedy then leant forwards, as I strained to lick a nipple as it brushed against my mouth, took hold of my wrists, moved them either side of my head, and knelt on my forearms so that I was pinned to the bed and completely unable to move. "So," she said, looking as if trying not to laugh, "Why did you lie to your mother?"
"I don't know what you mean," I muttered, genuinely puzzled.
She snorted with derision: "Don't insult my intelligence! Mary told us you were staying at your father's all weekend, but Alan told me they were going golfing. So he's either lied to me and used your father as his alibi, or said something that made you come to a women's barbeque instead of doing whatever it is that 21-year-olds normally do on a Saturday. And why wear a T-shirt with 'Just do it' on the chest? Your mother told us you didn't have it on this morning, so I'm the reason you were at the church, it was obviously meant for me, so stop pretending to be innocent."
Mrs Kennedy grinned, re-positioned herself a little closer to my nose, stuffed a pillow under the back of my head so that I could see nothing except a triangle of thick black hair dripping with sweat just above glistening folds of pulsating pink flesh around an opening that my tongue instinctively strained to explore, and said, "I'm going to sit here until you tell me what I want to know."
"They have gone away," I replied Sahabet Giriş trying desperately to flicker my tongue against the throbbing pearl-sized pink nodule which was tortuously just too far away, "but I didn't tell my mother that because she'd have droned on for ages about how selfish my father is, and I only went to the church because she'd taken all the beer and food in the house there."
Mrs Kennedy moved just enough for me to flicker the tip of my tongue against the only part of her that it could reach, and she purred softly like a contented kitten.
She grabbed hold of my hair, tilted my head back and smirked down at me. "You're not in a position to mess me about. If your T-shirt wasn't intended to provoke me into getting my own back on Alan for lying and cheating, why put it on? Or did he say something that made you think that given a little encouragement I'd want to fuck you?"
"Neither," I replied truthfully, "Your husband didn't even speak to me, and the shirt was the first thing I picked up after showering."
She started to giggle, then snigger, and then laughed hysterically. "Do you really expect me to believe that I just convinced myself all that so I wouldn't feel guilty about getting you back here?"
I nodded and managed to stretch my tongue out just far enough to taste her excitement and she let out a barely audible throaty groan of pleasure before repositioning herself just a little out of reach.
Mrs Kennedy smirked down at me. "I've been messing with you," she said through a grin so wide that the lines on her face became creases, "I don't need to give myself excuses to do anything."
I didn't reply, just strained to flicker the tip of my tongue against any part of her that it could reach as she positioned and repositioned herself fractionally too far away for me to feel anything except frustration.
"Patience," she smirked while obviously relishing my increasing desperation to thrust my tongue deep inside the luscious folds of flesh dripping and throbbing painfully just a little to far away for me to tase them, "I'm not going anywhere and neither are you."
I lifted my head as high as it would go, stretched out my tongue in a pathetic but ultimately fruitless attempt to lick something, anything, as she laughed, "Is there something you want?"
I didn't speak, just nodded furiously as she continued, "I want to give you something first."
"Mrs Kennedy then leant slightly to one side, reached across to a little box on the table by the bed, and sat upright with her knees still pressing into my arms so they couldn't move.
"Open wide," she sniggered even though my mouth was already open, dropped two little blue pills onto my tongue, put her fingers against my lips while I swallowed, and added in an amused tone, "Well I say they're for you, but they're more for me really."
I didn't know what she was talking about, and I didn't care. There was only one thing on my mind, and that was heavenly opening throbbing and dripping with desire just above my nose.
"I think you want this more than I do," she giggled, while interlocking her fingers round the back of my head, and it might have been true, but I doubt it. Mrs Kennedy might have had enough self-control to keep herself just out of my tongue's reach while tormenting me, but the way her labia quivvered and dripped with excitement and anticipation told me that the desire to sit on my face wasn't something she could have resisted for much longer.
She lifted my head while lowering herself, and the last thing I heard before my ears were squeezed between her flabby thighs was an amused, "I can't believe you were so easy to convince that I was a faithful little housewife wanting to stray because of my husband's infidelity."
Had my mouth not been getting smothered like a sink drain covered by a warm, wet plunger, I may have sniggered at the thought of Mrs Kennedy not being a "little" anything, but I licked, sucked, nibbled and caressed her insides with my tongue as she held my head, slowly gyrated and purred like a contented kitten.
Mrs Kennedy kept me in the same position, unable to move anything except my tongue, until I'd made her moan and shudder in extasy, and then shuffled down my chest just enough for me to look up past her pendulous breasts and see the satisfied grin beaming across her face.
"Very good," she smirked, "But don't think you can get away with just doing that."
I had no intention of "getting away" from anything, even it had been a realistic possibility. I was sodden exhausted mess, and wouldn't have been able to move even if Mrs Kennedy hadn't been sat on my chest with both arms pinned to the bed under her knees.
"Those little pills should have kicked in by now," she said as my oxgyen-deprived brain registered just enough amusement to smile at her use of the word "little".
My neck and shoulders were in pain, my jaw ached, my ribcage was suffering under the weight of her body, as Sahabet Yeni Giriş she sniggered, "Nice to see that you're having as much fun I am," shuffled down to my stomach, and as the grin on her face widened, added, "But now I'm going to fuck you senseless."
Mrs Kennedy then guided my hard-on into a place so warm, wet and wonderful that every cell in my body wanted her to keep that promise. She gyrated, wriggled and writhed as I stared admiringly at her enormous breasts as they bounced around, repeatedly tried, but failed, to sit up far enough to suck a giant nipple into my mouth, and eventually exploded helplessly.
But she didn't even slow down. She just laughed, "That's why I gave you those little pills," continued to ride me as if sitting on a mechanical bull, and added, "You might have finished, but I haven't."
I didn't move, and couldn't have even if I'd wanted to. Mrs Kennedy was too heavy and I was exhausted, so I just lay almost motionless as she writhed on top of me, and sweated so much that her make-up ran down her cheeks making thick black lines and smudges. It took maybe ten minutes before she finally came, and when she did, it was noisy and so vigirous that my entire body shook painfully under her weight as she dug her nails deep into my chest while squealing in ecstasy.
She straddled me while her beathing returned to normal, leant forward and kissed my forehead, then rolled over onto the bed grinning with satisfaction.
"Get some rest," she whispered, "I've got a lot more little pills and Alan won't be back until tomorrow." I was too tired to say or do anything, so I surrendered to the urge for sleep, and curled up with her arms around me.
I was woken by her tongue playing in my ear and her hand jerking me slowly up and down, "Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead," she murmured, "That's enough rest for now." I rolled over and instinctively kissed her, fully expecting to have sex in some way that was different to how it had been earlier, but she just pulled away from me and grinned.
"I can't decide," she said without any elaboration, "So heads or tails?"
"Can't decide what?" I replied, puzzled.
"Just pick," she said, looking as if trying not to laugh while rolling on top of me.
"Heads," I replied, without any understating of what I was choosing between, but fully expecting her to toss a coin or something.
"Ok," she sniggered, "If that's what you want."
I didn't reply. Not that I didn't want to ask a question, but I didn't get the chance. Mrs Kennedy shuffled up my chest, stuffed a pillow under the back of my head, and laughed "Tails and I'd have given you a pill or two and fucked you again, but we can do that later."
Mrs Kennedy lowered herself onto my face for a second time, and once again, I licked, sucked, nibbled, and forced my tongue deep inside her as she writhed around on top of me.
But this time, instead of sliding down my chest after riding me to a climax, she stayed in exactly the same place and carried on writhing, gyrating, positioning and repositioning, purring and groaning, and eventually coming twice more until I was even move of a sodden exhausted mess than I had been earlier.
"I'm too tired to fuck you again," she whispered, wrapping her fingers round my erection, "So I'll get rid of this for you."
I didn't even try to move. Laying motionless was painful. My jaw, neck and shoulders had been pounded into submission, so every bit of my body simply surrendered and let her do what she wanted. And that was to pick my T-shirt up off the floor, wrap it round my hard-on, and jerk me very slowly until I exploded over my stomach a couple of minutes later.
"That saves a pill," she sniggered, "But don't worry, I've got enough for the weekend."
I wasn't worried at all, but I should have been. At the time, all I wanted to do was sleep, and I thought Mrs Kennedy was joking. It didn't even cross my mind that her statement about fucking me senseless had been a promise of some sort, but it was: the next twenty four hours became a sleep-deprived blur of sex and having my face sat on fuelled by pills to keep me awake, pills to keep me hard, and however much neat vodka she had to pour down my throat for me to stop protesting.
Mrs Kennedy was fully dressed in a dark blue pant suit and white blouse, and sat in front of a large mirror putting on her make-up when I woke (or maybe came round) late in the afternoon of the following day, and smiled almost benignly at seeing my eyes open.
"I had a lot of catching up to do," she said almost apologetically, "but now that's out of the way, we can flip a coin once a week and go from there."
"Catching up from what?" I asked, feeling confused about everything, not just what her statements meant.
"Too long without a man between my legs," she replied, "So we'll get together every week when he's playing golf with your father."
"We will?" I said, not knowing if it was a suggestion or an assumption and trying desperately trying to work out why I couldn't think clearly, "And flip a coin to go where?"
"Nowhere you fool!" she grinned, "Heads gets your face between my legs, and Tails gets you fucked." She paused for dramatic effect and added, "And you're happy either way."