"Ohhhh, too bad. Well, perhaps next time," Monica said, tilting her head to one side and studying her daughter. There was something wrong, something strange about the way Arlette was behaving suddenly. Monica wanted to go further into this conversation, but the teen was already climbing the stairs, yawning and telling her mother she would talk more in the morning.
"Good night, Mother," Arlette called down, feeling the ceiling would collapse in on her if she were to stay down there any longer. Fucked! Yes, that's what her mother was fucked hard and long by that wonderful, horrible young stud. And now natural, how normal she looked now, so matronly and sedate. No one seeing her now could possibly believe she had been screaming the ceiling down, fucking her brains out while tied up in that grotesque fashion.
"Oh, God!"
Arlette didn't even go into the bathroom to shower and change. She was too confused, too exhausted, too drained by her experience. Making her way into the bedroom, the young teen fell across her bed.
"Oh, this is horrible, awful," she kept repeating in a whisper, closing her eyes and still seeing her mother and Jack fucking, coupling like two wild animals in the woods. Who was he? Would he come back? How had her mother landed someone like that? "God, God!" The girl draped one arm over her eyes and felt herself falling into a deep sleep. The last thing Arlette saw in her mind's eye was that fat prick, loaded with jizz, disappearing between the fur-edged lips of her mother's cunt.
In the morning, Arlette awakened with a start. Bright sunlight streamed in through her bedroom window. Turning to one side, she saw it was nearly eight o'clock. Rising quickly, the girl stripped off her clothes, showered quickly, then pulled on a white halter and matching tennis shorts, and she padded barefoot down the steps. She could hear her mother clattering around the kitchen. There was the pleasant aroma of bacon in the air.
"Morning," Arlette said sleepily, scooting behind the breakfast table and dropping a white paper napkin in her lap.
Monica had dressed earlier in an outfit similar to Arlette's a tight-fitting halter to show off her high-riding tits and a tight pair of shorts. She knew her body was still good, as finely tuned and attractive as most teenagers', including that of her daughter. Men still paused and did double takes when she walked by.
Jack. Monica bit her lip, pausing for a while while, stirring the bacon in the pan. That had taken her by surprise. How could she ever explain her reactions to someone like him? He was her husband's friend, had come over several days ago suddenly to see if there was any handy work that could be done. Jack Finney had been laid off his job at the Kaiser Steel Plant in Fontana earlier last month and was drifting through L.A., searching for work. Things had happened that day, things Monica couldn't explain to herself. It was as if some wall shattered the moment he stared hotly at her over that late-afternoon cup of coffee. Arlette wasn't at home. The house was quiet. In a moment, she found herself gathered in his arms, begging him for…
"Mother, someone's at the door. Should I get it?"
Monica nearly dropped the fork.
"Yes, dear. It's the handyman. I'm just finishing up here. Invite him in and see if he wants a cup of coffee."
Arlette finished her orange juice, dabbing her lips with the napkin, then rose from the table.
CHAPTER FOUR
Arlette thought she was going to hit the floor! That man! That same man, the one who had been fucking and hitting and roping her mother last night, was standing right there in the doorway, toolbox in hand. She stared stupidly at him, tempted to slam the door in his face and rush back into the kitchen.
"Can I come in? I've got some jobs to do here, girlie," Jack said dryly, his eyes taking in the girl's lithe body.
Arlette blushed furiously, knowing exactly what must be going on in Jack's mind. She stepped back, still searching for her voice, half expecting him to take her roughly in his arms and rape her there on the spot.
"Mother's inside," Arlette said in a choked voice, turning and walking stiffly back into the kitchen. Monica peered out around the doorway and smiled a little uneasily at Jack. Arlette saw her embarrassment and thought she would faint. She wolfed down the bacon, watching Jack and her mother as Monica poured out some coffee and handed it to the stud.
"Gotta take care of some of the tiles in the garden," Jack muttered, the cup to his lips, his eyes drifting from Arlette to Monica, then back to the frightened teen once more.
"Of course," Monica murmured, noticing Jack's attention, and feeling a slight twinge of jealousy mixed with fear. No, she couldn't let her daughter know about this, couldn't even let her suspect what had happened last night and what would possibly happen in the future. Her fingers trembling and cold, Monica steadied her coffee cup, feeling her asscheeks resting against the sink counter and wishing with all her heart that Arlette would go somewhere and leave her and Jack alone.
"I… think I'll go outside and get some sun or something," Arlette muttered, putting down her glass of milk and wiping the white mustache from her upper lip.
Jack muttered, finishing his coffee, his eyes following the teenager as she rose from the table, then trotted from the kitchen.
"Nice little filly you got there," Jack muttered, putting down the cup and pushing himself away from the table. Folding his hands behind his head, he tipped back on the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. He looked so certain of himself, so damned cocksure of the woman shivering with excitement in front of him.
"She's not for you," Monica said, her voice unsteady.
"Oh? We'll see. Anyway, you think about what I said last night? You wanna go further? You wanna be my mare, baby? You wanna feel how it's like to do the whole bondage scene?"
Jack's black eyes glittered with amusement and lust all at once, and his feet shuffled under the table. Monica knew that she was on the brink of something that could be rewarding, as well as terrifying. She had heard about some of the S amp;M scenes. Stories of girls who had been kidnapped and tortured by their rapists somehow appealed to a dark force stirring in her. Jack had mentioned all sorts of leather harnesses and certain acts that made her flesh ripple with goosebumps.
"I don't know," the woman confessed haltingly, putting the coffee cup and saucer down with a clatter. The sound of the front door slamming shut nearly made her jump fromher skin.
"Sounds like the kid's gone. That leaves us alone… for a while. Bet she don't come back 'til lunch," Jack said, his voice dropping a tone. He was sitting back against the table now, his hands folded in front of him, his forehead wrinkled, one shock of hair hanging over his right eye. Monica felt her heart pounding, beating hard against her ribcage. What she was thinking was awful, almost unbelievable? How she hated one part of herself for giving into that stirring, dark force, making her palms so sweaty with excitement. To think she was considering letting Jack touch her like that, to do things to her when Arlette could come bouncing in at any second and discover them. And then it occurred to her that the possibility of her daughter discovering them added a pepper to her arousal. Shame, fear of discovery, a desire for punishment, a desire for prick – everything was mixing together in a heady brew as she stood there against the sink studying the big stud.
"All right," she whispered, hardly able to get the word out.
"It's in my toolbox," Jack said, kicking the large, gray-metal container from under the table.
"Oh?" Monica answered with interest, studying the large container. Her eyebrows raised, and she felt her pulse race a little more. It was nearly three feet in length, one foot wide, one foot high, with two metal holders on either side. It was the sort of thing handymen carried with them all the time. Apparently, what was inside was far from what a repairman would normally tote about.