Snap, Crackle, Pop

WARNING:

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!

This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.

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Snap, Crackle, Pop!

Okay, I'll admit it. I was having a bowl of that talking rice cereal, a generic variety, and the unceasing noise reminded me of an incident with a young woman that had the same collection of sounds. It happened before Harriett became the successful businesswoman she is today, but after I'd introduced a few of Annie's friends in the neighborhood to the pleasures of sex. That should give you a rough approximation of the timing.

Being the sharing kind of guy I am, I've typed it into my computer with tender loving care, and published it for your pleasure. Maybe you should grab your earplugs before you start.

* * * * * * * * * *

I rolled over and glanced at the clock. Bright and early on a Sunday. A full bladder interrupted my intention to sleep in. Harriett wouldn't be back until Tuesday, giving me a quiet day off and a lonesome Monday. The house felt eerily silent without the echoes of arguments or the waves of latent hostility. Just before she left for her "Reentering The Business World" seminar in Milwaukee, we had words about her getting a job. It wasn't any macho or gender thing. The thought of dual incomes sounded cash register bells in my head. I just didn't believe she'd succeed, and then I'd be left to clean up the long-term mess. The possibility of working, making money, doing something useful in the real world brightened her spirits, but only mildly softened her attitude towards me. I guess I shouldn't expect miracles.

Just as I cracked an egg into a sizzling fry pan, the phone rang. Maybe I should take out our landline and get an unlisted cell phone, like Annie. "Hello?"

"Harvey, this is Roberta Pasternak. I play bridge with your wife?"

It sounded like a question, along the lines of, 'Do you remember me?' I didn't, but pretended. "Hi, Roberta. Harriett is out of town."

"Yes, she told us. She was so excited. But, she rarely makes it to our games anymore. Do you play?"

Around? Yeah, with a couple of babysitters and some of Annie's friends on their birthdays. Bridge? Not since college, and then not well. I never could get the hang of bidding with signals. I always wanted to announce 'One false club.' "Not for a long time."

"You should sit in for Harriett some time. I think you'd enjoy it. I know we would."

Sitting at a card table with three women, only communicating through a formal but imprecise bidding protocol? Not my idea of snappy entertainment. Now, if bridge were a strip game, at least there'd be breasts to look at-

"I have a favor to ask," she continued. "My daughter MB is going to be in the senior dance show and I'm having trouble getting her costume put together. Harriett always told us how handy you were, when Anna was growing up."

Handy? "Me?" Harriett paid me a compliment?

"You'll help MB, won't you?" Her voice was pleading, oozing with honey.

A young woman whose costume falls apart? Possible trouble, but her mother was asking. "Sure."

"Great! I knew I could count on you. She's on her way over-"

The doorbell rang.

"Was that yours? I'll let you answer it, its probably MB. I told her to co-operate and not to make things hard for you. Take good care of her, okay?"

Not make things hard? Can't be avoided with me and young women, in most cases. Take care of her? Didn't she mean the costume? "Yeah, fine. Bye."

MB was at the door in polo shirt and shorts carrying a cardboard tube. Her costume? "Hi, Mr. Marcus. Did Mom call?"

"Yeah, we just got off the phone. So what's the problem?" I stood aside so she could come in. Her hips swayed as she passed me. Nice wiggle, whether intentional or unconscious.

"So, I'm in this dance number. Modern. Mom tried to get my costume glued together but it wouldn't stay."

"Is it in that tube?"

"Uh huh. Do you want to see it?"

"Let's do it in my office upstairs, where I have my tools and stuff." The tool in my pants was perking up at the thought of having this young lady alone in the house. I hoped she wouldn't notice but after all, I still had only pajamas on, not the best way to camouflage an erection. Could I avoid sexual stuff? Maybe.

"Mom says you've got the right tool to handle me."

Strange way to phrase it. Not 'You've got the right tools to handle the situation.' The sexual innuendo of Roberta's words delivered by MB was distracting. I uncapped the tube and spread the contents onto my work area, a card table hand-me-down from Harriett. There were two identical cutouts of transparent plastic that crackled as I unrolled them. The shoulder edges were stained with a white glue residue. Remnants of tape, clear, dotted the edges. Roberta had done a poor job of assessing the proper solution. "Hang on." I fetched some rags from under the laundry tubs and wiped away the remnants of MB's mother's attempts. The plastic sounded like radio static with even the slightest movement.

From the bottom drawer, I grabbed some corded tape, the strong kind used in packaging with fibers embedded. I mused how I would feed in bed, embedded in MB's pussy. God, why do these thoughts come to me? Cum? There it was again.

After I got the edges clean, I dried them and brought them over to MB. "Stand up." She shot from the side chair like a soldier getting commands from a sergeant. MB stood, hands behind her back, her breasts thrust out. The buttons strained on her shirt.

I handed MB the front piece of her costume. "Hold this." She clutched it to her chest. Crunch. I walked around back, cut a couple of short pieces of tape, held the back against her shoulders and taped the front and back together at the shoulders. I walked around to the front to see how it fit. At the bust line, the front piece stuck out, pushed away by MB's breasts. "Are you sure your mother cut this right? It seems small."

MB looked down at the problem. "Maybe its because I don't wear a blouse under it."

I swallowed hard. I prayed the answer wouldn't be 'Nothing.' "What do you wear?"

"A leotard."

Dodged that one. "Did you bring it?"

MB shook her head. "It's in the wash at home. Mom got glue all over the shoulders and sides."

I rubbed my chin.

"I can take off my blouse," she offered.

Damn. She was willing to undress in front of a perfect stranger? Well, I guess I'm not perfect, but I was sporting a perfectly functional erection. "Are you okay with that?"

"Oh yes. Mom said I should cooperate completely. She says you're good with girls like me."

Good with costumes, or in the sack or what? How did MB's mother know, anyhow?

I undid the tape and placed the two parts on the worktable and waited. MB unbuttoned her blouse and slid it off her arms. The bra held her breasts high on her chest, up-thrust and perky. I knew from just looking that even without the blouse, the problem wouldn't disappear.

MB placed the blouse on the back of her chair. "I should probably take off my bra, too. I wasn't wearing it when Mom measured and cut out the pieces. The dance instructor insisted we don't wear them under our leotards." Without waiting for permission, MB reached back and popped the hooks. Her breasts leaked out from under the loose garment. I was shocked at how much her young tits sagged. Weren't all young breasts naturally uplifted? Why, even Harriett's breasts didn't sag until years after we were married. When they'd been firm and forthright was a waste, however, since I'd gotten slapped every time I tried to nuzzle them or use my mouth on her nipples.

Given MB's nude profile, I understood why her mother's measurements and cutting were fine. Without high-placed tits, there was sufficient material along the sides to glue and still fit her daughter's torso. I heard a snap. MB had opened and slid her shorts off while I was contemplating the design of her outfit. "We don't wear pants either," she explained.

So now I was face to face with a nubile young woman only in panties, standing straight as a soldier, waiting for my next request. 'Jump onto the bed and spread your legs'? Why do I do this to myself? And better yet, why do I do it to them? "Let's try another fitting, shall we?"

This time, MB held the front part against her chest, squishing her nipples against the plastic. It crunched with contact. I brought the other piece around back, surveying her nice round ass. It was half covered by bikini panties and hadn't fallen a millimeter. I reattached the packing tape and came around front. The outfit lay fine around her body. Roberta's words had sounded like she expected her daughter to get laid.

"You're not going to leave it like this, are you?" MB's face showed dejection.

Her mother had tried glue. "I can add more tape. Is there a reason it has to be attached differently?"

"The dance teacher was very explicit. No tape. The overhead lights will make tape stick out like a sore thumb."

MB's lack of clothing was quite explicit, with almost all of her showing. And I was sticking out, longer than any thumb I'd ever seen. "Not tape, hmm?" I thought for a moment. "I know! Epoxy."

"Is that expensive?"

I laughed. "Nope. I have the stuff right here." I strode over to a thin woodened cabinet with half a dozen drawers. It took rifling through various tapes, glues and miscellaneous adhesives before I found the two glass bottles in the bottom drawer. I removed the tape and placed the two parts of the costume on the table. I applied a thin bead of part one along the edge of the front piece, skipping the neck hole and bottom. The backside got the other gel. I waited the requisite minute, glancing over at MB for most of that time. She smiled, feet together, and those hands going behind her back. Her breasts remained in a sagging position.

With as much precision and concentration I could muster with an almost nubile young woman in the room, I joined the front and back and pressed the edges together. The chemicals in the two gels warmed as they bonded. It would take at least fifteen minutes for them to cure sufficiently to test. I took a chair down across from MB. "Sit. We have to wait."

"Okay."

The silence was more than awkward. What do you say to an almost nude woman, obedient and willing? "So tell me about your dance."

"Can I show you?" She was all smiles, almost jumping out of her seat.

"All right. Is there enough room here?" My office was extremely cluttered with magazines, boxes of mementos, all of which Harriett called "Harvey's crap." Good thing I had my own room, or my stuff would have disappeared a long time ago.

MB moved her chair out of the way and stood, arms to her sides, chin up, legs straight and together. She took a stiff step forward, like a march, but just once. Then she stood. And stood some more.

I didn't mind having an excuse to look at her naked form, but I was also curious. "Is this dancing?"

She came out of her statue stance. "It's an interpretive number. We're chess pieces, on a board. The stage will be painted as squares. I'm a pawn."

In my game of seduction? Perhaps her mothers? "Okay."

"There are other pieces on the board, and they interact. That's what you're not seeing. You could help."

"How?"

"You can be the knave."

To the best of my memory, there were no knaves in chess. Knights, rooks, bishops, yes. "Okay. What do I do?"

"Stand there, over to the side, on a diagonal." I stood in the spot she pointed to. "Great. Now, we wait while some other pieces move."

It was difficult to concentrate, with MB standing there in only her panties, arms at her sides, breasts exposed, rising and falling with each breath.

"Okay, now take a step towards me." I did, looking down at her, the slope of her breasts, the smell of her hair, herbal. And something else. Was she gooping her panties? Something smelled like sex.

"Now, take me."

"Huh?"

"Take me, silly."

I accepted her direction, scooped her up in my arms, one hand behind her back, one under her legs. Her eyes went wide, as I moved my face forward to kiss her.

"What are you doing?" she shouted.

I stood embarrassed with an unclothed young woman in my arms. Best idea was to put her down. "You said 'take me' and I thought-"

"Not that kind of take. Chess take, like of the board. Bumping." MB stroked my arm. "Don't feel bad. I'm flattered."

My face felt like it was on fire. Their words were accidents of speech, not an invitation for sex. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Come here." She dragged me back to my position facing her.

My cock pushed the crotch of my sleeping pants out. No way could she ignore that. "Now what?"

"Push against me, like a knave taking a pawn in chess."

I leaned forward. My erection touched her first, followed by my stomach and finally my chest. "Like this?"

"Uh huh." MB rocked back and forth, bumping her lower body against my hard cock. Then she sidestepped away. "Now turn around and face the audience."

I spun one hundred and eight degrees.

"Perfect. That's my part." She giggled and pointed to my crotch. "And that's your part."

I looked down. My penis had escaped, splitting the flap in front. I adjusted my sleeping pants, tucking my erection back inside." "Sorry."

"That's okay. Mom said you might show me your penis."

"She did? And why would I do that?"

"Because you might need to demonstrate something. About sex. I've been having big trouble with boys."

So, maybe I was wrong. Roberta expected me to be a knave and seduce her daughter. And she advised her daughter to be willing. "You want to talk about it?" Oh please.

"Guys don't like my tits." Her eyes teared up. "As long as I keep my bra on, everything is fine. We kiss and touch and, well, you know. But if they insist I take my bra off, or they lift one of my tits out, they get grossed out." She escalated to crying. "MB is short for Mary-Beth, but guys call me Mushy Breasts." Now she was sobbing, covering her chest. "This shouldn't happen until I'm way older. Hell, I'm only 18."

That confirmed her age and her physique.

"They're quite lovely. Every woman's body is unique. You're very attractive, because of your breasts, not in spite of them." Color came into her cheeks and she smiled. "Stand up."

She did as I asked, but kept her tits covered. By her wrists, I pulled her hands wide to get access. I lifted her tits gently, and bent over to kiss them. I ended my attention with a suck of each nipple.

MB snaked her hand into the fly of my pants and took my cock in hand. "How does it feel?"

"Better when you're touching it."

She smiled and moved her hand up and down. "Like this?"

"Have you given your dates hand-jobs?" I asked.

"Uh huh. The first time I tried, he came all over his pants and car seat. It was a mess. Now I make sure I have a wad of tissue. "

If she kept stroking me, with some skill I might add, I'd shoot my wad. "Feeling better?" I know I was. My fingers caressed her tits. Occasionally, they'd flick her nipples.

"Mom said you were a nice guy." She put her arms around me and hugged. I lifted her against be, holding her weight and her ass in my hands. My fingertips toyed with her crotch. She kissed me, repeatedly. Tongues resumed their darting and probing. My cock bounced against her.

"You want to do it, don't you?" She took one hand from around my neck, reached down and grabbed my prick. "You want to make me a woman?" She slid the head of my penis along her pantied pussy.

My knees trembled. "Yes. Oh yes, so much."

"Mom said you would. She told me I could trust you."

How would good old Mom know that? "Did your mother say how she knew me, as being trustworthy I mean?'

"Uh huh." She held onto my prick for dear life. "She plays bridge with some of the moms in the neighborhood, and they told her how good you were with their daughters."

Other mothers, whose daughters I'd fucked? Was that why MB's mom told me to take good care of her? Was she offering her daughter to me? Is that what the women in the bridge club talk about while they play? How nice it was for good old Harvey Marcus to fuck their virgin eighteen year olds? "What kind of good?"

MB dropped my cock. "Do you think the glue is done?" she asked.

Oh yes, her transparent costume. "I'm sure the epoxy has set by now. Let's check."

Sure enough, the two pieces were permanently bonded. "You should try it on."

She stood straight, nude, arms up. The plastic garment crackled as I pulled it over her, but it stopped, stuck on her head. "Oops, the opening is too small."

"Can you fix it?"

"I can make a small seam in back, so you can get it over your head."

"Okay."

I found a scissors in the top drawer and cut a slit down the back of the costume, starting at the collar. "Let's see if this is enough."

MB struck the spire pose, hands above her head. It took significant concentration not to focus the curves and beauty of her body. The opening just barely allowed her head to slip through. Her ears flicked as the garment passed. "It's too tight."

I expected she'd say the same thing if I attempted to slip my dick into her. "Let me make it a little longer." My cock was as long as it had ever been, teased by the proximity. I extended the back slit by a couple of inches. There she was, a sexy shrink-wrapped young woman. I stood directly in front of her, my naked cock dancing, pointed at her belly. Her sagging breasts perked a bit, and her nipples were red and pointy.

She inhaled sharply. "Can we practice the dance again?"

We're both aroused from mutual stimulation and she wants to practice that stupid dance? "Sure."

"But you should take your pants off."

Aha! I was being set up. I'd be naked below the waist, and we'd be bumping bodies. I slid my elastic-waist sleeping pants to the floor. My erection bobbled and pulsed in the open. "You want to start from the beginning?"

MB stared at my cock, mouth open.

"MB? Dancing?"

She licked her lips. "Oh, yeah. From the start."

I backed off and let her take her one step. Then I waited for my cue. It came in the form of a finger wiggle. I stood adjacent to MB's position. "Now?"

She nodded. I closed the gap and stood in front of her. Then I leaned against her. The plastic crackled as my cock poked her belly. She giggled. I did it again. Crunch. Our chests made contact to the sound of a thousand tiny firecrackers. Unlike last time, she put her arms around me, drawing me even closer. She went up on her tippy toes. My erection slid lower, towards the sweet spot between her thighs, but with her costume as a barrier.

"Take me," she whispered.

I bumped against her with more force. We sounded like butter sizzling in a hot pan.

"Take me!" Her voice was more insistent.

Being held, it was impossible to bump so I rocked forward. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me hard. "Will you take me already?"

I felt dense. She wanted my original take on taking. I scooped her up, kissed her, and carried her into my bedroom. "Let me help you." We reversed the slip-on procedure. I was left standing directly in front of her, holding the plastic costume over her head, both of us with our arms up. I laid the plastic costume on the floor, out of the way.