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Family Relations
by Wayne Scheer

Tony saw it was getting late. He wanted to surprise his wife by making dinner.

“Baby Doll,” he said, from his vantage point on top of Lena Carponi, “I gotta get home soon. How long you gonna take?”

Lena tightened the scissor hold she had on Tony. “It'll take as long as it takes, goddammit!”

Tony pumped furiously, thinking about his wife and the veal piccata he was planning.

“Hey, slow down. This ain't no race.” She squeezed tighter and pushed herself upwards in an attempt to slow him down.

Tony mistook her actions for an orgasm and he reciprocated with a grunt and a “fuckfuckfuckfuck!” He collapsed, still on top of her.

Lena gave him a few seconds to catch his breath, but wouldn't let him roll off. Putting her time on the Thigh Master to good use, she refused to let go. “Stay with me, Tony. I'm almost there.”

“Almost there? I told you I have to get home early today.”

“Stop talking and start humping.” Lena set the rhythm at a slow, steady pace.

There wasn't much Tony could do but try to stay with her. He felt himself shrink and hoped she would release him. Instead, she found new resolve.

One look at Lena's oversized breasts flopping and flapping like two flags in the wind gave Tony new life. For a few seconds. Then his mind drifted back to the veal piccata and the good pinot for the sauce and the fresh lemons he'd picked up at the Farmer's Market earlier. He had already pounded the veal thin.

“Hey, Asshole, remember me? “ Lena slapped his ass to get his attention. Tony usually liked that. Not this time. He wanted to get home to his wife.

Lena relaxed her legs a little and Tony took advantage of the moment to slither off her and roll away.

“Damn you, Tony. Get back.”

“No, Baby Doll, I can't. I'm sorry. Connie'll be home soon.”

“She doesn't get home until after six.”

“There are things I gotta do. I'm cooking veal piccata tonight.”

Lena jumped up from the bed. “Why didn't you say so? Invite me over. I haven't seen my sister in a week.”