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Message-ID: <62026asstr$1334106611@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Thinking Horndog <im_a_thinker@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Ye Olde Pickup Place 6/9 {Thinking Horndog}(ScFi BBW MF MFF MMF/F D/s oral anal ir rom)
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Date: Tue, 10 Apr 2012 21:10:11 -0400
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A Swarm Cycle Story.  Chapter 6 of 9.
<1st attachment, "Ye_Olde_Pickup_6.txt" begin>

Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: Ye Olde Pickup Place
Part: 6 of 9
Universe: The Swarm Cycle
Summary: Some unguarded words at a favorite watering hole lead to some long-
term relationships.

Keywords: ScFi BBW MF MFF MMF/F D/s oral anal ir rom

Ye Olde Pickup Place

Chapter 6

Ronald:

        Beatrice nearly sucked all of the oxygen out of the room, gasping,
then wailed, "OMIGAAAWD!" and covered her face -- and started bawling.

        Alan looked at me and asked, "What happened?  Why is Aunt Bea
crying?"

        "I think she's happy."

        "But..."

        "You know, Alan, it's a woman thing.  I really don't understand,
either."  I beckoned Beatrice and she ran to me and tried to squeeze me to
death, bawling her eyes out.  I looked down at Alan.  "Do YOU like chow
mein?"

        "It's okay, I guess."

        "You like something better, then."

        "Yes.  Hot dogs.  From the place where they bring them out to your
car.  I like the ones with the chili stuff on them."

        "Okay, maybe we'd better get hot dogs so Aunt Bea can get this whole
thing under control," I advised.

        "Yay!"

        I chuckled.  The worst was over -- we'd bonded.

        Beatrice took ten minutes to settle down some, then we took her car
to the drive-in, because it already had a car seat in it.  I drove and
Beatrice would have blown me if there hadn't been a five-year-old in the back
seat.  As it was, she was all over me.  We were at the drive-in, waiting on
our order when Alan announced, "Okay, I can see that she's happy.  I still
don't know why she was crying, though."  Beatrice was draped over the center
console and I had my hand under her blouse mauling a tit.

        "Like I said, Alan -- it's a woman thing.  They cry when they're sad
and they cry when they're happy and it's confusing to us guys."

        "Yeah."  I watched Alan nod in agreement in the rearview mirror.
After a moment, he added, "I hope they hurry.  I'm hungry."

        Beatrice insisted that we take the food home to eat it -- and since
she knew thirty-seven times what I did about child rearing, I didn't argue.
Hot dogs don't taste that bad cold.  She nuked mine, but it turned out that
Alan was better off with a cooled one, anyway.  We were at the dinner table
when Alan tried out 'Uncle Ron.'  "So, Uncle Ron, are you going to stay until
Momma comes home?"

        "I'm staying all night," I informed him.

        "With Aunt Bea?"

        "Yes."

        "Where are you gonna sleep?  On the couch?"

        "With Aunt Bea."

        "Oh."

        There was some freighting to that 'Oh.'  I decided to investigate.
"Has that happened before?"

        "Once, a long time ago.  Aunt Bea made funny noises late at night."

        I flicked a glance at Beatrice, who was shading toward pink.  "Uh...
huh..."

        Alan was frowning, thinking hard.  "Uncle Ron, have you been here
before?  After I went to bed?"

        "Why?"

        "Aunt Bea made those kind of sounds..."

        "Recently?" I supplied.

        "Uh huh.  Then Momma played with her buzzing thing."

        I covered my mouth.  "Her buzzing thing?"

        "Yeah."

        "Do you know the significance of the buzzing thing?"

        "Sig..."

        "Do you know what it does?"

        "No.  Momma flops around and makes faces and grunts and groans when
she plays with it, then she seems happy," Alan said seriously, "But I don't
know if playing with it makes her happy or she's happy because she can put it
away..."

        It took me a minute to get control of my face.  "Uh, Alan, you
probably shouldn't say anything to Momma about that."

        "Why?"

        "It's a private thing, like going to the bathroom.  Momma wouldn't
want to know you've seen her play with the buzzing thing."

        Alan turned to Beatrice.  "Aunt Bea?"

        "Ron is right, Honey.  You really shouldn't watch Momma -- and you
probably shouldn't tell her you did."

        "Okay."  Alan turned to me and I knew we were back to the original
question.

        "Yes, I was here the other night," I admitted.  Alan nodded sagely,
but the question was there on his face.  "You're a little young to..." I
began, then remembered earlier in the evening.  "No, you're not, actually.
We were practicing making babies.  It doesn't work every time, but it's a lot
of fun."

        Alan's eyes popped and his mouth opened, but he nodded understanding
-- and suddenly, the subject was closed -- I thought.  But as I turned away,
I got, "Uncle Ron?"

        "Yes?"

        "Are you just practicing making babies with Aunt Bea, or..."

        I put on my best poker face.  Beatrice said, "Alan, Honey, finish
your dinner..."

        But Alan wasn't going to be put off that easily.  I could lie to him,
but he was going to find out, anyway, and then I would be a liar...  "Yes,
Alan. I'm going to practice with your momma.  In fact, I already have, once."

        Alan absorbed this.  "If it works and I get a little brother or
sister, will you be my daddy then?"

        I thought about it.  "It isn't automatic, like it would be for your
brother or sister, but if we decided together that that's what we wanted,
then yes."

        He sat there, looking serious.  "I don't know who my daddy is."

        "You don't know who your FATHER is," I corrected him.  "Your father
put you in your momma.  But you can pick your daddy -- he's the guy who helps
you grow up.  If things go okay, maybe we can agree that I can be your
daddy."

        "Aren't a father and a daddy the same thing?"

        "Lots of times," I agreed.  "When a father stays around and helps a
momma and helps his kids grow up, then they're one in the same.  But your
father was never a daddy -- he hasn't been here for you.  Understand?"

        "Uh huh."

        "Let's give it a while and see what happens and then you can tell me
what you want."

        "Okay."  At that point, the subject WAS over -- except for Beatrice
sniffling.


        Alan went to bed at eight-thirty -- and Beatrice and I were
'practicing making babies' by nine.  If he was awake for it he had the good
sense to pretend otherwise when Beatrice went to check on him.  Bridgette
came in around one and crawled into bed with us and went right to sleep.

        As a result, Bridgette was totally unprepared for cross-examination
by her son at breakfast.

        "Momma, did you and Uncle Ron make a baby yet?" Alan asked
innocently.

        "WHAAAT?!?"  Bridgette went bug-eyed.

        I looked at Beatrice.  "Fix it.  Bring your sister up to date."
Bridgette was hyperventilating and Alan was looking upset.  "Alan, making
babies is a subject you never sneak up on Momma with.  Women take that kind
of thing VERY seriously!"

        "What's going on?" Bridgette yelped.

        "You!" I turned on her.  "Sit down and shut up and your sister will
brief you!  In the meantime, you're upsetting your son!"

        "Ah..."  She licked her lips.  "Okay."

        "Alan surprised us last night," Beatrice told her sister carefully.
"It seems that he knows a lot more about what goes on that we thought he did.
We ended up having a far-ranging discussion.  We actually ended up covering
the birds and the bees to a certain extent."

        "Uncle Ron and Aunt Bea are gonna make babies," Alan announced.
"Uncle Ron said so."

        Bridgette turned big eyes on me and I added, "And since your sister
insists upon sharing..."

        Bridgette blinked in incomprehension for a moment, then her eyes
doubled in size and she sucked in a breath.  "OMIGAAAAWD!"

        "She's gonna cry, isn't she?" Alan queried.

        "You're catching on, Kid."

        After the breakfast hysteria, we had breakfast -- and then Alan and I
left the kitchen and went to watch cartoons so the women could babble at one
another in peace.  After about forty-five minutes, Bridgette came in and
tugged me by the wrist -- and the look in her eye was unmistakable.  I
refused to budge, however.

        "Ron!" she whined.

        "No.  You don't tell ME when -- I tell YOU when!" I admonished.

        "B-but..."

        "No buts.  YOU told ME who needed to be in charge around here.  Well,
now that I'm aware of all of the ins and outs, you get to suck it up!"

        "I want to suck it up..." Bridgette replied, her expression suddenly
sultry.

        "Papa spank!"

        Alan eyed me.  "What...?"

        "Momma wants to practice making babies."

        "Oh."  Alan shifted his gaze to his mother, who blushed.

        "You don't always give them what they want.  If you do, they walk on
you," I advised.  "It's not like I don't want to do it -- it's a LOT of fun
-- but somebody has to be in control.  We've agreed that somebody is me, so
Momma has to wait."

        "But Ron!"

        "You want to stop -- right now!" I warned.

        "Please!"

        "Fine."

        "Let's go."

        "Uh uh."

        "But you said..."

        "Right here."

        Bridgette gasped.  "Ron!  Alan is right there!"

        "Yup.  I warned you!"

        "I know, but I never..."

        "Thought?" I finished for her.  "That's right -- you weren't
thinking.  Who told me how you are?  Did you think I wasn't listening?"  I
turned to Alan.  "What does she do when you don't listen to her when she says
no and go on and on about something?"

        "Well, a bunch of things," Alan replied.

        "In general, though, she punishes you, right?  She makes you do
something you don't want to do or takes something away or does something else
so you understand that you don't get your way and know better than to cross
her next time, right?"

        "Uh huh."

        "Well, there are a bunch of things, like you said.  I'm about to
punish Momma for going on and on about things."

        "What are you going to do?  You aren't going to hit her, are you?"

        "No.  It's an option, but there are better ways.  Does Momma let you
see her naked?" I asked.

        "No."

        "Sometimes, the way to punish someone is to give them what they want
-- in a way that they don't want it.  Your momma and I are going to practice
making babies -- right here, in front of you, so you can see it.  Momma is
going to be VERY embarrassed -- which is her punishment.  Does that make
sense?"

        Alan frowned, but he nodded.  I turned to Bridgette and said, "Get
naked."

        "But..."

        I grabbed her by the wrist and went eyeball to eyeball with her.
"Are we taking this to the next level?"

        Bridgette stood there with her mouth open for a moment, then closed
it.  "No."

        "Do what I tell you then."

        "Ron..." Beatrice started up.

        "Do you want to kneel up next to her?"

        "No."  Beatrice shook her head.

        "Be very, very quiet..."

        Bridgette was undressing, her eyes on her son.  I turned to him.
"There is nothing wrong with being naked -- even in front of your own son.
But your momma was taught otherwise.  Similarly, there is nothing wrong with
you seeing her practice making babies -- but it is a very private thing for
her and she will feel very vulnerable -- and therefore, she will be
uncomfortable.  I don't have to tell you that practicing making babies is a
very basic thing, do I?  Something everybody does when they get to be
grownups?  It's how you got here, after all.  It's how I got here and how
Momma got here and Aunt Bea...  Somebody made babies and those babies grew up
to be us."

        Alan nodded, watching his mother step out of her panties.  "Uh huh."

        "Pretty, isn't she?"

        "Yeah."

        "I think so, too.  Making babies is a lot of fun -- but Momma is
upset, so she's going to have trouble enjoying herself now.  That's part of
her punishment.  I'm going to try to work around it so that she DOES enjoy
herself, which will embarrass and humiliate her -- which is just as good if
not a better punishment."

        Alan frowned.  "I still don't understand."

        "Did you ever pester Momma for ice cream until she gave you too much
ice cream and made you eat it until you got a headache and maybe got sick?" I
asked.

        "Not ice cream..."

        "Something else?"

        "Fire balls.  She made me eat six at the same time."

        "That's what I'm doing.  I'm making her make babies somewhere that
she doesn't want to."

        "Ooooohhhh!!!"  Alan nodded.

        I beckoned Bridgette.  "Come here.  Move the coffee table."  She did
so.  "Lie down on your back."  Bridgette did so, gingerly, her gaze moving
back and forth between Alan and me.  I dropped a throw pillow between her
knees for me to kneel on.

        "I don't know how much I want to go into anatomy, but Momma is
clearly different than you, right?"

        "Uh huh."  Alan gazed at his mother's fuzzy pussy.

        "What do you call what's missing here?"

        "My pee-pee?"

        Right.  There are a lot of names for it, but you get the idea.  When
you grow up, your pee-pee will get larger -- a LOT larger -- like mine."  I
beckoned Bridgette.  "Sit up and get it out."

        Bridgette bit her lip and sat up and unzipped my fly.  "You're not
going to make me...?"

        "Ask a stupid question and see what happens!" I warned.

        "Yes, Ron."  Thoroughly cowed, she pulled down my pants.

        Alan's eyes bugged.  "WOW!"

        "Well, don't get discouraged -- you're a little boy and yours isn't
going to change for several years yet.  Little boys and little girls aren't
ready to make babies -- you need to be a grownup so everything is big enough
to handle it."  I went ahead and got out of my pants the rest of the way and
waved for Bridgette to lie back.  "Now, the big difference between boys and
girls is this -- we have pee-pees and girls have a place to put them."  I
spread Bridgette's pussy lips with my fingers and slid one inside her vagina.
"See?"  Alan nodded, bug-eyed.  Bridgette was bone dry, of course.  I looked
at her and said, "Okay, you need to get over this -- you're sending Alan
mixed signals.  Get with the program and show him how it's supposed to work."
I started rubbing on her clit with my thumb and she bit her lip and I knew
that she would get aroused in spite of herself.  I pumped my finger in and
out of her a couple of times and resumed working her clit while I told Alan,
"This is ALSO where babies come out."  I cupped my balls.  "I put my pee-pee
in her and I move it back and forth -- and it feels real good and we both get
excited and very happy.  These..."  I cupped my balls.  "These make some
white stuff that when I get really excited, I shoot deep into Mommy's hole
with my pee-pee -- and it mixes with her eggs and makes babies, sometimes.
Got all that?"

        "Uh huh."  Alan nodded, watching my fingers in his mother's cunt.

        "Now again, this is a grownup thing.  You'll know when you're ready
when your pee-pee gets big.  Girls' holes are blocked off while they're
little, because they aren't ready, either.  Making a baby is a lot of work
for a girl, but we're done when we shoot the white stuff, basically.  It's
not right to mess with a girl who doesn't want you to see her hole -- we call
it a pussy, generally, although it has a lot of doctor names.  You should
never mess with a pussy unless a girl invites you because it is a very
private thing."

        Alan grimaced.  "But Momma..."

        "Momma WANTS to make babies, remember?  She just wanted to drag me
off somewhere private.  The reason we're doing it here is two-fold.  First,
she's being punished for not doing what I tell her, and second, you need to
know what is going on.  I don't want you to stumble on me and Momma or me and
Aunt Bea trying to make a baby and think I'm hurting her."  I turned to
Bridgette, "Am I hurting you?"

        "No."  It was a croak.  Bridgette was getting wet and her clitoris
was standing up to duke it out with my thumb.

        "Tell him what he needs to hear.  He thinks you don't want me in
there."

        Bridgette turned to her son, "It's okay, Baby.  I want Ron in there
-- I want it BAD!  I want him to make me feel good, okay?"

        "Soooo..."

        "I wanted to do it in the bedroom.  That's the usual place -- but as
you can see, you can do it just about anywhere.  Usually, it's a private
thing..."

        I wrinkled my nose and grinned at him.  "It doesn't have to be -- but
Momma was raised to believe that.  There are people who want to put a lot of
rules around anything fun, you know?  You can't play ball with them unless
it's their ball -- that kind of thing.  Momma grew up with rules like that.
You should respect them in other people and go along with them because that
makes them comfortable when you're at their house or whatever, but it doesn't
necessarily mean you have to put up with it at home.  We've agreed that we're
going to live by MY rules and that means we'll make babies when and where I
feel like it."  I turned to Bridgette and gave her a look, and then did the
same for Beatrice.  "What that means to you is that you might as well get
used to it and realize that it's no big thing.  Once you've seen it a few
times, it won't be anything to get that excited about until you're ready to
do it yourself.  Even better, you'll know what it's all about, and your
friends who have never seen it done won't.  Still, you should keep stupid
people from embarrassing Momma and Aunt Bea by not talking about it to others
-- what happens in our home is between us, understand?"

        Alan nodded.  "Uh huh."

        "That's a lot of rules and stuff, I bet," I told him.  "We'll talk
about it again later, but momma is getting juicy down there and wants to
play, okay?"

        "Okay."

        "Look all you want -- but hold your questions, or ask Aunt Bea,
because we're going to be busy," I announced, then crawled forward and
pressed my cock against Bridgette's opening.

        "Tell me you want it," I demanded of Bridgette.

        "Please!" Bridgette licked her lips.  "I want it!  Give it to me!"
Somewhere during my lecture, she'd turned the corner.

        "I dunno..."  I pretended reluctance.

        "Please!"  Bridgette wiggled her hips, trying to impale herself.  I
turned to Alan and wrinkled my nose and grinned at him, then snapped my hips,
burying my length in his mother.

        Bridgette gasped in surprise.  "OMIGAWD!"

        "Don't confuse the boy," I admonished.  "Make sure he knows..."  I
stopped moving.

        "It's SOOO good!  Baby, I'm going to make noises and make faces, but
Momma is LOVING this, okay?"

        "Okay."  Alan nodded.

        Bridgette tugged at my forearms.  "Please..."  I started cycling in
her.

        Turning my head, I picked up Beatrice with my eyes.  "Answer
questions.  Be truthful.  I don't want him to have hang-ups."  I got a nod
and I forgot all about both of them -- and Bridgette did, too, as I got into
my rhythm and she moved to match it.  Bridgette took a little longer to get
started, but it wasn't anything outrageous -- pretty soon, she was gasping
and shuddering her way through an orgasm.

        Somewhere in there, I remember hearing, "Doesn't that hurt?"  We were
hammering each other pretty hard at that point -- Bridgette was closing on a
peak.  I don't remember hearing Beatrice's answer.

        We didn't go forever -- it was only a few minutes before my balls
crawled up and I started pumping out babymakers.  I was cycling slowly in
Bridgette, enjoying the aftermath, when I heard, "Look!  White stuff!"

        "Uncle Ron told you about that, right?" Beatrice asked.

        "It's not pee..."

        "No.  It's different.  It just comes out from the same place,"
Beatrice supplied.

        "Actually, there are two tubes in your pee-pee -- one for pee, and
one for this," I told him.  "The plumbing switches back and forth.  Either
you can pee or you can shoot white stuff -- semen, it's called, among other
things.  Generally, you can't do both at the same time."  I backed out of
Bridgette and creampie began drooling out of her pussy.  "Say thank you," I
directed Bridgette.

        "Thank you, Ron!  It was wonderful!  I had a great time!"  Bridgette
declared.  She leaned up to kiss me.

        "Momma makes those noises when she plays with the buzzing thing!"
Alan announced.

        I tried REAL HARD not to laugh -- and failed miserably.


        A few minutes later, Alan and I were again sitting on the couch and
cartoons were the most important thing going on.  In order not to add to the
confusion, I had Beatrice bring me a washrag to clean up with, and then
Bridgette had used it to plug her up while she waddled off to the bathroom to
drip out.

        "I'm thinking about having Momma and Aunt Bea go naked at home.  What
do you think?" I asked Alan.

        Alan thought about it.  "That might be fun.  Can I go naked?"

        "Sure.  I might, too, for that matter.  Just in the house, though --
like I said before, some people aren't happy unless they're pushing their
rules on other people.  For that reason, we don't want to talk to others
about what we do at home.  There is nothing wrong with it -- but other people
may pretend there is -- or even think there is, because that's the way they
were brought up."

        "Why do people have those rules?" Alan asked.

        "Well, a couple of hundred years ago, someone who was in charge of a
lot of people came up with them -- and pushed them.  Being the boss, she got
away with it.  But one of the things she did was forbid people to talk about
it.  She made rules that said you shouldn't see certain parts of the body --
that they should always be covered with clothes -- and that baby-making was a
subject that shouldn't be talked about.  This was very effective, because
once something is a secret, you have to be careful who you talk to about it
-- and some people never get the word, you know?  All they know is that it's
a secret.  Then people don't get taught about baby-making and they have to
learn it by themselves and some of them learn it wrong -- but it's all they
know, so they pass the wrong ways on to others...  It's a mess.  Then I tell
you when you're very young that it's a secret and you should never talk about
it and because you're young and you hear a lot of things like that, you say
okay, and when you grow up, you don't know anything about the secret, but you
tell YOUR kids it's a secret, and they tell their kids, and so on -- and
either nothing at all or the wrong things are all that get passed to a lot of
people...  Most people know better, nowadays, and you can find ALL of the
information if you go looking for it, but we were all told at your age that
it was a secret, too, and we believed it and now it's hard to get past that.
Watch this."  I beckoned Beatrice forward.  "Is it wrong to be naked, all
things being equal?"

        Beatrice thought about it.  "No."

        "See?"  I turned back to Alan.  "Aunt Bea KNOWS it isn't wrong -- but
she stops to think about it -- and her initial reaction is to say it IS
wrong, because someone told her it was when she was very young.  That's
called prejudice.  Prejudice is something you learn when you are very young
by taking someone else's word for something before you can think about it
yourself and judge for yourself whether it is true or not.  Prejudice is a
powerful thing -- things you learn when you are little from your parents and
other people by watching them or having them tell you something stay with you
forever -- you believe them because they came from Momma or Daddy or someone
else you trust and you don't test these lessons because you are too young and
you don't know how.  But if Momma or Daddy had those same wrong beliefs given
to them when they were your age, then they can pass them to you without
thinking about it -- because that's how THEY learned them.  It's a hard thing
to fix.  There are other prejudices out there besides those about baby-making
-- and I'm sorry to say that some of them are going to prejudice people
against you."  I sighed.  "Let's watch TV.  We can decide about going naked
in the house later."  Alan nodded and that closed the subject for a while.

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