"No, sir!" Kenny hissed. "But I'm still not scared of you!"
Frank let out a howl of delighted laughter and tousled Kenny's sandy, neatly trimmed hair. "Good! I like that. You're all right, Son. Damned if I don't believe me and you'll get on okay, after all." He set the bottle on the floor and approached Marge with the bag held out in front of him. "Bought you a present, baby."
Unsurely Marge reached for the bag, her face brightening a little.
He pushed her hand aside. "Huh-uh, you don't get it till later tonight."
"What did you get me?" she asked. It was the first present he'd ever brought her, and she was pleased despite the fact that he'd been drinking and was in a rough, playful mood. He hadn't really hurt Kenny. In fact, he seemed to be growing fond of her son.
"You'll find out when I give it to you," he replied, his green eyes dancing mischievously as he poked her lightly in the belly with the end of the bag-hidden article. "I think you'll like it, too," he added. Suddenly his hand darted lower. He stuck the bag up under her mini-dress and rubbed it against her crotch.
"Honey, don't!" she squealed, slapping at his arm as she jerked her hips backward. "Kenny's watching us!"
A burst of male laughter rumbled like thunder in the tiny john. "Yeah, baby, sure," he grunted, turning away from her. He picked up the fifth, uncapped it and took a slug from the bottle. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and offered the bottle to Marge.
After what she'd been through today, she needed a drink, but she shook her head no, not wanting to drink in front of her son directly from a bottle.
Frank dropped the bag. It hit the floor with a rattle of paper and a dull thud, bouncing once. He pushed the fifth at her. "Don't be that way, baby. Daddy wants to celebrate. You got to catch up with me if we're gonna have any fun tonight. Take a drink."
"Not in front of Kenny," Marge said.
"Not in front of Kenny!" Frank mocked. He shoved the fifth at her. "I said take a drink, damn it!"
"Honey, please, not out of the bottle, at least!" she whined, backing away.
"Out of the bottle's good enough for you when we're by ourselves and, by damn, it's good enough for you now," he insisted as he backed her into the corner. He cupped the back of her head, tilting the bottle as he pressed its neck against her closed lips. A trickle of whiskey ran down her chin, Marge making noises of protest in her throat as she wrestled ineffectively with his bottle-wielding arm. "Take a drink or I'll pour it in your hair!"
Marge whimpered as she fitted her lips to the rim of the bottle and allowed the strong-tasting amber fluid to flood her mouth. She felt cheap for letting him force it on her, but it was better to take one drink and humor him than to stubbornly refuse and make him sullen and angry for the rest of the evening.
It burned all the way down her throat. Frank was not a connoisseur of fine liquors. He liked to booze it up but he always bought whatever brand of rotgut the liquor store happened to have on sale when he went in.
"That's enough!" she gasped, finally managing to push away the bottle after he'd poured three large gulps of the fiery liquid down her. She hadn't eaten all day. The eighty-proof whiskey hit her empty stomach and sent a warm glow emanating out from it. She was already getting tipsy as she tore off several sheets of toilet tissue with which to blot her mouth and booze-streaked chin. "I hope you're satisfied. Good Lord, Frank, you've got me half-drunk already."
"You're more fun that way, baby," he said, and swatted her playfully on the butt.
Marge giggled. When he took her in his arms, she protested only halfheartedly, then gave up and opened her mouth for him as he pulled up her dress and fondled her lavender-pantied rump in full view of her innocent young son. His prick sprang up to a full erection and, for some strange reason, it gave her a perverted charge to see the expression of tormented jealousy on Kenny's face as she clung to Frank, sucking his tongue, letting him feel up her ass and rub his lovely fat dick against her flip-flopping belly.
"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Frank asked, when at long last he broke their spit-swapping kiss and held Marge out at arm's length to look at her.
Her face took on an odd little smile as she shook her head.
"What are you grinning about?"
"I dunno," she chuckled. "I just feel like it."
"Good. You feel like going out to eat? Celebrate a little?"
She nodded. "I'd like that."
"Gotta have a bath and a shave first," Frank said, and he began undressing. "Kid, you about through with the tub?"
"Honey, wait. I'll get Kenny out of the tub and clean it for you, so you can have the bathroom all to yourself. Frank! Don't undress yet!"
But Frank paid her no mind. He stripped in front of her and Kenny, the boy's soulful brown eyes nearly bugging out of his head when he got a good look at the burly redhead's fully erected seven-inch phallus and the huge, copper-haired nutsac dangling below it. "What're you gawkin' at, kid? What'sa'matter, you never seen a hard cock before?"
"Frank, please!" Marge wailed, jumping in front of the man as she held open a towel for her son to step into. "He's just a little boy!"
"Yeah," Frank laughed, "but he's gettin' a few ideas of his own, I'm thinkin'. Take a look at how that little peter of his is standin' at attention."
Hurriedly Marge wrapped the towel around Kenny and whisked him from the john, her cheeks stinging with embarrassment. "For God's sake, Frank, stop it," she called over her shoulder. "Don't tease him that way! It's not healthy, honey!"
"Yeah, sure, baby, anything you say," Frank readily agreed, his resonant voice booming lightheartedly through the apartment. "Guess I did get a little out of line there. Sorry about that."
"Well, I should think so," Marge muttered to herself as she began toweling her son dry. "The very idea!" Then it hit her – Frank had agreed with her, had actually yielded to her superior judgment in matters of decency for once – and she smiled, thinking that at last her persistent efforts to polish away his rough edges and turn him into a gentleman were beginning to pay off.
Little did Marge suspect what sort of lewd fantasies were going on at that moment in the dirty mind of her horny lover, however, lurid things involving her, perverted sex acts that would make the upsetting incident in the bathroom seem like a Sunday School session by comparison.
CHAPTER FIVE
The only vehicle Frank owned was the rattling panel truck in which he stored and transported his ladders and other painting equipment. It looked somewhat out of place as he pulled into the parking lot of a supper club noted for their excellent steak dinners and nosed into a parking space between a low-slung sports car and a gleaming new Cadillac.
Marge would've preferred to arrive at such an expensive place by taxi, but the whiskey was having its effect on her so Frank's old truck didn't embarrass her as much as it might have. Once inside, thanks to the modern custom of casual dress, she felt only slightly conspicuous because of Frank's Levi's, loud sports shirt and scuffed cowboy boots. His face and hands were a bit leathery from exposure to the sun and wind, and Marge fancifully imagined that the well-dressed people around them were mistaking Frank for a wealthy, eccentric young rancher who couldn't care less what anyone thought of his appearance, for indeed he didn't give a damn how he looked and his boisterous manner proved it.
"About time," he gibed good-naturedly when the scantily-clad waitress came to take their order. "Grandma was slow but she was old; what's your excuse?"
"I'm handicapped, sir," the young woman shot back at him pleasantly. "I'm built too close to the ground. It sort of slows me down."