"Honeybear, don't go there!"

With your guest Priscilla scampering about the shady grove topless, who-knows-where, you settle down, blessed by a little "For What We Are About to Receive" prayer, to make a meal of your wife's pussy, which always satisfies. Mary's lips are deep pink, moist and swollen. Whatever her hesitating words of the last few minutes, her body is all in.

But you've noticed that prayer brings out your wife's eagerness to have her bones jumped right then and there. More than once you and Mary haven't made it all the way home from a Sunday church service before she was bent over the corner of the car at a hurried roadside stop, begging "Honeybear, put it in me!"

You're pretty sure that you planted either Shasta or Sarah, maybe both, over the fender of the old car you were driving back then. For your second daughter, you're all but sure she was conceived by the side of a country road after church, Heaven striking her mother with the lightning of joy as you were gripping her wide, muscular buttocks and hammering in your last strokes while pouring your devotions into her.

You'd later sold the car to Mandy's daughter Deenie, after you taught Deenie basic automobile mechanics as a way for her to escape Mandy's attempts to turn her daughter into her idea of a ladylike young woman, which, as far as you could tell, was some sort of high-toned Barbie Doll. You might have had a harder time giving Deenie the space she needed if you'd actually married Mandy. But Mary's insatiable lust and angel-eyed love were powerful persuaders, and you'd taken Mary as your bride. So Deenie was over at your place at a safe distance while she helped you with the old car. Some days you dropped Mary off with Mandy and picked Deenie up, then exchanged them a few hours later, Mary flushed and beatific, her hair pinned up a little off-kilter, Mandy in a carelessly thrown-on housedress, looking dreamy, and Deenie grimy under the fingernails with grease that wouldn't quite scrub out.

Not that you and Mary tying the knot had stopped Mary from banging Mandy after they got off work together, if you were away driving a long-distance route, or even sometimes when you weren't. And not that it stopped you from banging Mandy good and hard when she called you over to her place to help with some repair or other. Fixing a hole that always needed a little more fixing, down the line. "You owe me, Brian Forbes," she sometimes said. But that was a debt you enjoyed paying. And maybe you and Mary keeping Mandy's hole filled and fixed had kept Deenie from picking up a bad stepfather.

It wouldn't surprise you if one day Mary and Mandy sorted out how to share a kitchen and which rooms Mary's angels would and wouldn't be in, and Mary declared to you that it was time to move in with Mandy. You wonder what the daughters would think. You'd be happy to go along with their grand design, as long as you've got a little shed or a treehouse out back, or a little room off a detached garage. Somewhere to get out of the earnest, serious, loving crossfire. Just a little distance so they can miss you good and proper.

Mary tilts her hips back and raises her legs high as you eat her out. "Oh honeybear, yes," she says. "I can feel the angels hovering close around, the whispers from their wings."

The trees whisper with the breezes. It's perfect, warm but not sultry under the sheltering branches. Mary's taste is slick, salty, womanly. So good. You love how well you know her, listening to the sound of her breaths as they come faster and deeper, hissing in and out through her nose, then a little quiver in her hips and a low "Oh". Mary is on her way to Heaven.

You're not in a hurry but you're not keeping her waiting. You bring in your thumbs, pressing and stroking the cushions of her outer lips, plush with the tails of her bush. "Oh" again.

"Oh honeybear, yes, yes," Mary says. "You're so wonderful. Take me to Heaven. Bring Heaven down to me right here."

But you can't help but feel a little devilish. You ease one hand down a little, and quest with a thumb underneath your chin as you keep licking. There. You rest the pad of your thumb on your wife's butthole. You can feel it twitching, winking as you eat her, especially as you lick her swollen clit, a good stiff lick bringing a twitch under your thumb.

"Oh honeybear, don't go there, it's dirty," Mary says.

But it sounds like just her words. The rest of her has no objection. Her hips are still quivering, her legs supple and spread back high for you to eat her out. The sound of her voice is the same, low and lustful, and each "Oh" sounds as close to Heaven as before.

Do you go there?

Game and One Page Engine notes:

On a 10+, using EAT HER. choose either:

• You go there. You lick Mary's ass, Mary climaxes (+1 XP), you make her love it. (But not "no trouble"), or
• You don't go there. Ease back or just keep gentle pressure with your thumb. Mary climaxes (+1 XP), no trouble, take +1 Forward.

You have 3 XP (with +1 XP coming), +0 Hard, +0 Hot, +1 Cool, +1 Control, Eat Pussy, OMG, and Submissive (Mary).

For either case: Where is Priscilla? (You can use a "How Much" Oracle as "How Close")