Terry Carter was worried. No, she was more than worried, but she wasn't sure what her feelings might be called. Her husband, John, had just called to tell her that their car was, in the words of the mechanic, "Not worth fixing any more." John told her that they sure would fix it and charge him over eight hundred dollars, if that's what he wanted, but that he'd be back spending the same amount soon.
"I guess I'll be using the bus for awhile," John said, always trying to put a positive spin on things.
"Oh, John, we can't . . ." But she cut herself off. Why be negative right now? Take a shot at seeing the bright side. "Yes, well, at least there is a bus. We'll start scouring the web for used cars."
"Yeah, we'll be just fine," he told her before hanging up.
Fine. Well, sure, sometime, but not right now. With the economy running so slow, and John only working a three-quarter schedule, about all they could was make their house payments. And, the truth be told, they could probably only keep that up for another month or two. Now she wished they hadn't moved here before they both had jobs. She'd had no luck in finding one, and John's job at the factory was well beneath his abilities. Still, at least he had a job.
What about now? They had one hundred and five dollars in the bank until payday a week from then and two young children to feed. And, of course, her prenatal care wasn't cheap either. What on earth were they going to do?
"Knock, knock!" Jenny Peterson called out as she pushed open the back screen door. "You decent?"
Terry smiled and pushed her sandy, shoulder length hair back from her face as she fought a bright expression onto it. "You bet," she said, shifting around on her chair to stand and greet her neighbor. She genuinely liked Jenny Peterson, and she hoped she'd be in as good shape as her in twenty years. The woman had the most amazing breasts, Terry thought, though she'd prefer a little less on the backside.
"You look worried," Jenny said. "Sit down, sit down. You shouldn't be standing all the time."
"I'm only in my sixth month," Terry said, laughing. "And I need my exercise, too, you know."
"Okay, sit or stand, whatever. Where are the kids?" Jenny asked.
"Napping."
"Must be feeding time somewhere," the older woman pointed out. "You're leaking."
"Oh, damn," Terry exclaimed, standing again. "I've gotten so I barely notice any more, and I really can't afford to stain all of my clothing." She walked to the sink and quickly unbuttoned her blouse. Running cold water, she closed the drain and dropped the blouse inside to soak. "Okay, one problem solved," she said, turning back toward Jenny.
Jennifer was transfixed by her heavy breasts in the maternity bra Terry was wearing. They were pendulous, full of milk, and they looked so soft and warm suspended over the swelling of Terry's pregnant belly. Jenny couldn't help but lick her lips as she looked at the wet stains on the cups of the bra.
And Terry couldn't help but notice the look in her eyes, either. "So, what were you saying?" she said.
"Oh, yes, I was wondering what was wrong," Jenny said, breaking her gaze away.
"Our car," Terry admitted. "It's shot. Of course, we'll have to fix it I suppose, no matter what. We can't . . ."
"Your car? Oh, goodness, that's nothing to be so worried about." Jenny was all smiles then. "It's down at our shop, you know. I spoke to Daryl on the phone a bit a go and he mentioned how the car isn't safe at all, and he hopes you don't fix it. That's what I came over to tell you."
"Well, we sure can't afford a new one," Terry said. "Or even a good used one."
"Well, Daryl and I were thinking that you could use a loaner from the dealership in the interim," Jenny said. "If you don't mind driving around advertising Westside Motors, that is."
"No, we couldn't." Terry shifted the straps of her bra a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to keep it supporting her breasts. No, they were too full of milk to be comfortable. "I mean, the interim could be a year. More, even."
"So you drive it for a year. Big deal. We can't have you taking the little ones around in a dangerous car, can we?"
"No, but . . ."
"Okay, then, we'll be by this evening with the car." Jenny stood then, beaming. "If you don't mind my saying, dear, you'd better milk those things. It's gotta hurt."
"Yes." Terry lifted both breasts slightly, which reduced a bit of the pain. "But my breast pump is broken. Hell, everything we have is broken, I think."
"Well, since you don't want to start the four year old breast feeding again, and your husband isn't here to suckle, you're just going to have to milk them yourself. Even a little bit would help," Jenny said, her eyes fixed on Terry's chest.
"Oh, my goodness, did I really tell you about John?"
"Oh, yes, don't you remember?" Jenny tried to keep her eyes on Terry's eyes but did a poor job of it. "Just off hand when we were talking."
"Sometimes I chatter a bit more than I should."
"No worry. I don't think there's a man alive who would turn down a taste of mother's milk. At least one suck or two, anyway. I know Daryl wouldn't, that's for sure." Jenny opened the back door again. "I'd suggest sitting in a nice hot bath and having a little rub while milking. That always got me off like a bang. Bye now. Be back later with the keys."
"Bye, bye." Terry watched the door close thinking that if she had invited Jenny to suck at her breasts, the older woman would have taken her up on it in a heartbeat. It was weird, too, that she didn't feel the least bit repulsed by that notion.
#
"I think they liked the car," Jenny told her husband later. She was just beginning to suck his cock back to life after he'd emptied himself into her pussy. They'd taken Jenny's car over instead of a loaner. And it was nearly midnight now, playtime for the Petersons. "Shocked the hell out of them that it wasn't the loaner car."
"Well, I hadn't thought of the insurance costs when I suggested a loaner," her husband said.
Daryl was still an imposing man at 54 years, with a broad shouldered physique and not too much pot belly, it was his full hair of silver hair that made him stand out in a crowd. Of course, Jenny thought his eight inch cock was his best attribute and felt that it was too bad that more women out there weren't acquainted with it.
"You're right, though, dear," she said, looking up into his eyes and stroking his hard cock slowly. "I can drive any car on the lot if I need to. Selling them my car for a dollar a month was a great idea."
"I'm glad they didn't argue too much about it," Daryl said. "It's so embarrassing."
"No parent is going to endanger their children, even if it means swallowing some of their pride," Jenny said, pushing his legs apart to lift his scrotum to her mouth.
"You're going to be swallowing my pride in a moment," he laughed. "You're right about Terry. God, I'd love a taste of her milk. Do you think they noticed my interest?"
"Oh, gee, not at all, dear." Jenny trailed her tongue up his shaft to the head of his cock and licked it like a lollypop. "Your hard-on only just stayed in your pants and I think you actually made eye contact a couple times." She laughed, teasing him. "Very discreet."
"Good," he laughed. "Now climb on board for awhile and give yourself a thrill before I paint your tonsils with my love juice."
"Oh, you silver tongued devil, you."
#
"That's an awfully nice car, you know." John Carter sat on the edge of the bed in his shorts looking at his wife as she lay naked on the rumpled bed. He was still worried, but now it was about having a car rather than not having one. "Those guys are very sweet, but I sure hate to accept charity."
"He sold you the car, silly. A dollar a month." Terry smiled, moving her legs apart as she tried to entice her husband. She could tell by the status of his cock in his shorts that he was interested, but his attention was diverted by their plight.
"A joke a month. How can we hold our heads up if everyone know we're a charity case?"
"Hey, I'm sorry I talked you into buying this house, okay?" Terry said, resignedly. "I really am."
"Oh, honey, I didn't mean to imply anything." He turned to her now, feeling horrible that he might have made her feel badly in any way. It wasn't her fault they'd signed on for too large a mortgage. They did it together.
"God, you're sexy," he said, lowering his head to admire the glistening slit of her labia beneath the rising mound of her pregnant belly and her large breasts beyond. That sight was the landscape of his desire. "I want to eat you up," he said. "And drink you down."
"Come and get it," she cooed.
"Are you feeling up to it?"
"No, I'm laying here spreading my legs because I want you to lay off. Get up her and get to work, mister."
John complied, laughing as he lowered his face to her pussy and began lapping tenderly up her labia and around the hood of the clitoris. He was a rather wiry man, about five ten and average in build, and, though he felt his six inch penis was too small, his wife was more than satisfied. It ain't the meat, it's the motion.
Later, as he lay suckling on her breasts and squeezing her broadening bottom, Terry decided to voice some thoughts she'd been having about their benefactors.
"Did you notice anything about the Petersons when they were over here tonight?" she asked, stroking her husband's hair.
"No, I guess I didn't," he admitted, switching to relieve the pressure on the other breast. "They stare a lot, I guess, but some people are like that."
"Yes. Did you notice where they were staring?"
"Yes. Did you notice where they were staring?"
John rested his head on one breast and thought a moment. "No," he said, at last. "Well, I guess Daryl took more than a couple looks at your tits, dear. That's not unusual since the guy is still above ground."
"His wife, too," she said.
"Really? What's up with that?"
Terry related the afternoon's exchange to her husband then. "And I'll bet she'd have sucked me dry if I had asked," she finished. "What do you think?"
"They're a randy older couple who like big breasts. I don't blame them." Then he paused, frowning. "Of course, it might mean that this car comes with more strings attached than we might think. But they didn't say anything, so we can just say no."
"Sure. Exactly. You don't suppose they're swingers, do you?"
"They're in their fifties, Terry."
"You act as though that's old, John. Daryl is in good shape, and he had a pretty healthy hard-on when he was staring at my chest.'
"Shit, really?"
"Really. I think both of our neighbors would like to stop by for a drink at my milk bar."