Kitten In Heat Ch. 02

I.

It was 6 a.m. in the Midwest. Pink and grays drifted slowly off the horizon like curtain being pulled back from over the breaking dawn.

In a non-descript neighborhood in a non-descript subdivision a woman who was the feeling very opposite of non-descript was stirring around her admittedly non-descript one story ranch home.

Katherine "Kitty" Clark was downstairs in the family kitchen making breakfast. As she set aside pepper, habanera peppers, butter and eggs her usual uptight mannerisms were noticeably absent. These tensions had developed over the course of a two-year marriage to man that resembled a dopey-eyed sloth but were notably missing. Instead, she shifted with an easy feminine grace as she shuffled around the kitchen with ingredients in tow.

Her full c-cup chest, a firm measure of sumptuous breast for a 37-year-old woman, shifted and bobbed comfortably in her small blue baby t-shirt.

She peered down at her impressive rack, which she'd seen so many other gazing lovingly over like her tits were really cheery ambassadors of love and kindness and the all-American way.

No man could argue with these kinds of ambassadors. They seemed to smile up from her petite frame and speak with a perky upbeat voice of their own saying: "Well hello there, Slim! I just dare you to be in a bad mood we're I'm around."

The thought of talking tits made her giggle a little.

The lower edges of her vanilla white breasts peeked out from the small baby-t.

"The ambassadors of Mammaria must've had a tough night - they're falling asleep on me!" She thought with another barely suppressed giggle.

Any other day her beautiful breasts being semi-exposed would have made her feel self-conscious. This morning it made her feel a little wild.

Kitty wiggled her hips every so often to a happy beat that she hummed to herself and decided she was dressed enough for making breakfast.

Katherine, Kate to her close friends, cracked the shells of three delicate white eggs and dropped the syrupy contents into a pan.

Franklin Clark, Katherine's 19-year-old stepson and guest for the summer, wandered downstairs and into the dining room. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he groggily shuffled into the kitchen in a state of semi-awareness.

As the last of his sleep cleared from his vision his attention became blearily focused on a soft melody that was apparently coming from a half-naked MILF in a modestly adorned kitchen.

"I have to be dreaming." Franklin said, not really meaning to speak this thought out loud.

Franklin wondered how a porn star had wandered her way into his uptight stepfather's kitchen. And then it hit him --

"That's my Kitten."

The thought hit him like a subway car coming off the rails and careening directly into his better judgment.

Before him, his beautiful stepmother purred a tuneless, upbeat rhythm. It was the only sound in the early morning of the Clark household.

Teenage hormones being what they are it's an understatement to say that she, like a burning bauble or a diamond lit by a million watt bulb, had his total and undivided attention.

Franklin observed Kitty's loose pair of baby blue cotton pajama pants as they swayed dangerously low on her hips following the beat of the smooth, low humming from her lips.

Kitty, for her part was takin' her time enjoying each movement each sound in the still quiet warmth of the morning.

The yellow waistband curled dangerously low around her full hips and "bodacious" ass (bodacious was a word Franklin used she reminded herself), but she didn't seem to mind too much.

Daily rituals. They can begin with the first face you see of the day. And according to many unnaturally chipper morning TV show "scientists", this "first face" will usually define how most of the rest of the day will go for a person. Call it a mental impression if you will.

Whether Franklin was aware of this pseudo TV fact or not he looked up to his sexy stepmother's perky round face. Her elfish, lightly pointed nose and large brown eyes had a way of settling easily on his own. This morning, hers was Franklin's first face -- the face of his beautiful stepmother, Katherine "Kitty" Clark.

Franklin decided today was going to be a very unusual day. What the 19-year-old didn't know was just how unusual this day was going to be.

Out of the corner of her eye Kitty caught her admirer.

Even now, as Kitty allowed him to survey in the full bounties of her amazing body the sexual tension inevitably built. It began in slow gulps that caught in the throat and revealed itself in troubling trickles of sweat in the palms, and threatened to reveal itself in slight flutters of the vocal chords.

Franklin, becoming keenly aware of this unmistakable brand of sexual tension, began trying to decide exactly how he was going to keep his hands off this creature -- today or any other day. The two had developed a naturally flirty relationship that seemed to alleviate this particular kind of tension but like any other drug: the more you get the more you want.

He'd been so bold as to kiss her on the lips on several occasions. This resulted in his young, beautiful stepmother allowing for longer and longer durations, growing accustomed to the heat of each other's mouths. They each had begun to savor the stolen, desperate kisses while they slowly and gently tumbled over each other's lips.

Each time Kitty would bring these unexpected intimacies to a sudden halt. She would never mention them except in passing. But she did remember them.

She secretly remembered their stolen kisses the way a woman would greedily cherish the look of burning lust in a former boyfriend. Mentally, she would caress a mental photo of that moment and carefully turn a long red fingernail over her his picture-- trying to remember every detail of a former life through each desperate sexual encounter from another life.

Part of the recent shift in Katherine's mood from being uptight to enjoying a more upbeat and mellow attitude was due to having her stepson around.

Franklin, in her opinion, was what was commonly referred to as an old soul. Her 19-year-old stepson, full of wildly conceived of philosophy written by outlawed and damned thinkers long since dead or burnt at the stake, He had a darkly comic sense of humor that constantly caught her off guard. For example, Franklin labeled %99 of the world full zombies - the cannibal variety. He would smile and make the sign of the cross at glorified flesh-eaters in Nikes and Porches.

It was not uncommon to hear him wondering aloud in public why zombies were always so gosh darn hungry for some brains.

"This time they really are coming to get us, Barbara!" he'd whisper knowing she would instantly recognize the infamous zombie movie line.

The looks on passer-by's was priceless, Slack jawed bleach blondes would pause in mid-sentence or scowling yuppies would ball up their faces in practiced disgust.

He'd manage to do this in the middle of their mundane, mindless errands, pointing to a particularly decrepit husk of a human being dragging it's carcass down the street w/it's ear buds firmly implanted in each ear.

"And they're bringing barbeque sauce!" he follow up, making sure to leave enough confused, blank expressions on passers-by's faces.

It was enough to break Kitty up into giggles. He was so different...

Between laughing fits and bemused smirks Katherine had noticed that his sea blue eyes flickered with something more than humor. Those sea blue eyes spoke to Kitty as if they were sharing a quiet secret with her alone -- no matter what anyone else thought.

In light of all this, it was very difficult for Katherine to resist the urge to lean into his body when they were together. She felt drawn to him in some inexplicable way. His wide shoulders and thickly muscled frame did not scare her -- they reassured her.

As for Franklin, although a boneheaded teenager, noticed this innate and particular kind of trust between them. His six-foot beefy frame made her think that she was completely safe when he was around -- why would she think otherwise?

On top of the mental and immediate physical attraction, Franklin had a habit of calling her of all things to call a cute 37-tear-old MILF (another one of Franklin's words) - Kitty.

Sometimes she was "Kitten" to him and no one had ever called her that.

He only used this private pet name for her when no one was else was around, like he imagined she was secretly a luxurious, feline creature. The way he said the word, Kitty, it suggested that Katherine was secretly something that he desperately needed to pet, to paw at the gentle arcs and curves of her sexy body like an eager pup, or perhaps to even ravage her like demon.

But, besides the stolen kisses, Franklin always behaved with the greatest amount of restraint around her.

"Was he struggling with more than a playful need for her?" She wondered again as she re-arranged eggs in their carton.

She was glad that Kitty was his pet name for her. It was much better than "Wife-O-Mine" like the 49-year-old man she had married called her. "Kitty" was worlds better than her sloth-like husband's preferred nickname for her like she was toy he'd lost interest in decades ago although their marriage was only two years along.

Sometimes Katherine wondered why she married an even dumber version of Fred Flintstone. Then, she remembered that love was the last thing that she had married him for. When they met Edward Clark was a well off yuppie and she was a struggling waitress. With Edward she didn't have to worry about sharing a filthy house with three other desperate types. No bearded weirdo's offering her strangely colored pills or eyeballing her purse over and over.

Katherine, thinking only of a better future with a tolerable man, quickly married her husband for a sense of financial security alone.

'What does love have to do with it?' was what the lady said. For the definition of her marriage it was exactly the case.

As all these thoughts turned in Kitty's brain, Franklin watched her waistband slip lower and lower over her hips. The slinky internal rhythm of her body's music, her sweet music, had caused them to reach the very edge of her "bodacious" bottom.

For Franklin, the combination of his own raging hormones and the idea of illicit sex always made Katherine seem irresistible to him. It was all he could do most days to catch glimpses of her firm M.I.L.F.-ish body when he believed she wasn't aware - and it was killing him.

To make matters worse his stepmother looked exactly like porn star Tory Lane. This killed him most of all -- like he would forever be denied a treasure that floated each day unaware of his need for her, right under his nose.

Although Katherine acknowledged her stepson's presence with a crooked smile from over her shoulder she said nothing. Instead she reached up on her bare tiptoes into a kitchen cabinet for something.

As she did, her loose pajama bottoms continued to sag slightly downward revealing the fading tan lines that bordered on her plump, shapely ass cheeks. Her frame was petite but her ample bodily proportions of breast and ass gave her an amazing hourglass figure.

Katherine pretended not to notice how much of her was plainly visible to Franklin. She began to slip deep into thought, as she slowly went through the motions of making breakfast.

She knew Franklin would steal looks at her body. It was at least half the reason she would go to the gym and pour sweat while imagining his hands on her hips, his tongue tracing rough, electrifying ovals between her legs. On her little pussy-

"Oh my God, my 'little pussy'? I don't use language like that!" She thought, chastising herself for being so raw and sexual -- even if no one knew, a small wave of shame crept up in her mind.

As she leaned upwards, Katherine felt cool air around her taut midsection like invisible fingers racing across down to the top of her barely exposed ass cheeks. Her cheeks, the ones on her face, slightly reddened as her body and mind fought against what every part of her soul wanted.

"Am I making a fool of myself?" She thought.

All she was sure about was that she wanted more, more attention from Franklin, and was completely in the dark about how to get more of it. She wanted more but wanted to remain a woman and not a needy little girl who wants another lick of an ice cream cone.

At this moment, sensing the conflict in his beautiful stepmother, Franklin made up his mind. This was his opportunity to move in for a closer inspection. He moved like a determined sleepwalker to his sexy stepmother, another kiss on his mind.

Kitty stole another look over her shoulder at her approaching summer guest, looking over his broad shoulders tapering down to the bulging muscles in his arms and legs. When her gaze stopped at his boxers she realized their mutual attraction was making them both much too turned on for a stepson and stepmother.

Franklin, never taking his eyes off her beautiful hips, stretched amiably as Kitty continued scooping out ingredients for breakfast from a cabinet.

"Aaa-h--h-h-" Franklin yawned, making for the ceiling with his fingertips.

Trying to conceal her obvious embarrassment at performing a PG-13 strip show for him and only succeeding in turning herself on, Kitty delicately placed a finger in the corner of her mouth, a serene baby doll expression spread over her girlish, elfin face. Katherine asked in low, hushed tone:

"Um, Franklin, honey, can you please reach this?" she cooed.

"If I'm acting like a needy little girl then so what!" She thought.

Now it was Franklin's turn to sweat.

"She has to know what she's was doing to me." Franklin thought, unable to hide the growing swell of his attention in his red flannel boxers.

The combination of revealing clothing and sultry tone in her voice screamed that she wanted his affections.

"Maybe for a kiss?" Franklin asked, the uncontrollable intensity of his teenage hormones being badly masked with a sleepy, half-smile.

Her eyes drifted to the growing bulge in her stepson's shorts.

"Oh my! He really was a growing boy..." She thought devilishly, her red tipped finger back on the curve of her mouth.

She was good woman, she thought and this was just harmless, flirty behavior. She arched her back up and put her free hand on her hip. Twisting her finger around the soft curve of her mouth. She spoke directly to his growing erection.

"You should do it because you love me, Franklin." Kitty said, playing the part of the helpless ingénue.

"I'll take my payment in advance, please." Franklin growled.

Kitty lifted her chin to directly meet his gaze. Her face rested just a few inches below Franklin's own. Her delicate face and brown eyes upturned to Franklin's modest demand.

"Ok, well - pucker up, mister." She whispered.

In the world of kisses some smooches are made with so slight of an effort that they seem resigned to their own uselessness. This kiss was not one from that category.

There was a restrained desperation in the soft tenderness of their kiss. The lips met and then pulled away the same way two lovers hands would unwillingly separate, full of unfulfilled desires.

And now, technically paid for his efforts, Franklin obligingly lumbered over to the corner cabinets where Kitty was having difficulty.

"Was she really as turned on as he was?" Franklin thought, the boy in him questioning everything he did or said.

"Um, which one, Kitty? I can't see it." He said, playing for time to be this close to what he was beginning to consider his own personal sexy, and half-naked MILF porn tar.

In order to better direct his efforts, Kitty spun slowly around in the small corner of the kitchen, unwittingly pinning herself between the cabinets and her tall, young stepson. She pointed, once more, to a yellow box at the top of the open corner cabinet.

"Up there, Franklin." She said, back on her bare tiptoes and enough to completely expose the lightly toned area of her body from the middle of her spinal column to the dimples of her rounded bottom.

Franklin, his morning wood shifting gradually into a full-on erection, leaned in roughly while hopefully working within this pretense to feign some sort of innocent biological accident.

His firm cock pressed into her delicately nearly undraped body as he reached up to grab the box of pancake mix from the top shelf. Franklin felt short bursts of Kitty's hot breath on his chest as he feigned a struggle for the box.

Katherine, much to her growing excitement, found herself completely pinned between Franklin's hard-on and the stovetop. She suddenly began trying to decide what was hotter: yanking this 19-year-old's cock out of his boxers and engulfing it hungrily in her mouth or leaning back into the stove top and enjoying the moment.

She chose the latter and in the corner of the kitchen, pressed upward. With her shapely hips revealed and her ass cheek threatening to be just as bare, Kitty's lips grazed the side of Franklin's cheek as he fumbled for the box. Her thoughts seemed to echo Franklin's own exactly.

Franklin looked down from his task for a second. He caught Katherine appraising the firmer southern details of his body. It looked to Franklin as if she was trying gauge his next move.

Her brown eyes flickered up to meet his own. Something wild glimmered in those big brown eyes -- a pent up need to do more than just look cried out in those sultry eyes of hers.

Unbeknownst to Franklin, Katherine had been thumbing through Franklin's rock and roll magazines. They were mostly a collection of Bizarre and Rock-A-Billy kept scattered through out his less than immaculate bedroom. She looked them over, paying special attention to the pin-ups included in each magazine, to get an idea of what kind of woman that young men like Franklin fantasized about. She wondered if he noticed the small changes in her appearance she made after careful examination of the pin-ups, models and female rock singers that these magazines tended to feature.

These women were very appealing with hungry eyes, plaid miniskirts, dark bangs and an unmistakable wildness in their photos.

In contrast, her sloth-like husband Edward, Franklin's only legal guardian after his mother had left them, had very mediocre sexual tastes. Edward Clark was a fan of the peroxide blonde, the bland and the banal. Edward sometimes asked Katherine to emulate vacant peroxide blondes like Brittany Spears or Madonna's bleached, tanned appearance. Katherine indulged him in traditionally lackluster rituals that usually ended with her unsatisfied in a half of a skimpy cheerleader's outfit (G-O, T-E-A-M!) and Edward fast asleep.

For all of her efforts, she was repeatedly rewarded with a husband who was the sexual equivalent of a lemon -- sour and prone to breakdowns. Even with the benefit of her cheerleader outfit and mouthfuls of Viagra, Edward was still completely sexually incompetent.

In response to what she felt that Franklin found attractive, Kitty had let her honey colored complexion gradually fade into a milky white tone. Her blonde tresses got darker and darker until they reached the jet-black tone that Franklin's adorable pin-up girls favored.

Her efforts to be more Bettie Page must have worked.

Ignoring the pretense of helping his stepmother cook, Franklin took a long straight tress between his fingers appraising it like a feather from a rare black bird.

Franklin, as Kitty looked on, studied it with some confusion, maybe remembering an ex-girlfriend or trying to reconcile his intensely sexual feelings toward his hot, young stepmother.

"Um...Franklin...-- the box?" Kitty asked quizzically. She never shifted from the rock hard cock that was brushing up against her ass.