Chapter 4
The next day dawned as hot and muggily uncomfortable as the previous one. Evening brought little relief.
Carla West walked up and down the living room in nervous agitation. The doctor hadn't been able to find a thing wrong with her, and had had the nerve to tell her it was her imagination. That was the last time she'd go there, by God ... the gall of that old quack! And she'd been home now for hours, and there was no sign of Susan. Where was that girl anyway? She'd promised to stay home today, had promised to come home early last night, in fact-and what had happened? She'd come home at such a late hour, Carla hadn't even heard her, and she'd been sleeping like a log when Carla had had to go to that stupid doctor, and now she was gone, without even leaving a note or anything. The young mother held a glass of brandy in her hand, sipping it absently as she fumed, and finally in a huff of disappointment and disgust, she slumped down in an easy chair, feeling lost and morose. Her eyes blurred slightly with tears, and she brushed them away with the back of her hand.
Get a hold of yourself, she admonished. You're only feeling sorry for yourself, just like the doctor said, and that's no good. Do something. Read a book or turn on the television. But Carla didn't feel like doing either one. Take a walk. But she just didn't feel like going out. Well, do something! So she finished her drink and poured. herself another.
Crickets sawed a mournful dirge outside, and the grayness of a day gone by settled over the house. Carla sipped, liking the dull shadows, for they matched her mood. But she knew that this was no good. Her breathing was loud in her ears, loud in the room, and something had to be done before she cracked. She'd cut out the drinking and save herself for some attractive man who'd replace her lost Arnold, and she'd marry him. She needed a man, and Lord knew Susan needed a father to make a normal home and supply the necessary love and understanding an adolescent required. And direction and guidance so that she wouldn't make foolish mistakes that could kill her or ruin her life.
Tomorrow, she'd start, Carla promised herself. Tomorrow she'd have a real motherly chat with Susan and tell her that things were going to be different from now on, and that maybe her mother wasn't such a bad gal after all, and that she loved her daughter very, very much. She'd--
The doorbell interrupted her reverie, and Carla almost dropped the brandy from surprise. "Who ... who's there?"
"Mrs. West?" a husky, deep voice came through the door. "I'm Mr. McDonald. Bert's father. I'd like to speak to you, if I may."
"Of course." Carla hurried to the door and opened it to let Mr. McDonald in. He was tall, almost as tall as Arnold, and older but in a distinguished way. He was dressed casually in ,a lime green polo shirt and matching slacks, loafers were on his feet. He smiled at her, his moustache curling up in a friendly manner.
"What ... what is it? Is Susan all right? I mean-"
"Oh, yes," McDonald said with a chuckle. "Don't worry about the kids. I think they're at one of their friends' house, swimming or something." He waited as Carla shut the door and ushered him into the living room. "Fine place you have here, Mrs. West. Fine place." And a fine hunk of woman, too, he thought to himself. His penis lurched in his pants as he eyed appreciatively the lovely young mother of the girl his son had screwed silly last night. Just the sight of her, in her brief shorts and man-type shirt that was tied beneath her large, firm breasts with a knot, leaving the satiny, tanned belly exposed below, made him want to tear off his clothes and thrust his cock up between her smooth, satin like thighs without a moment's hesitation. But he knew that this was not the moment, that before the physical conquest of her obviously proud flesh had to come a stage of mental submission, a lessening of the barriers a stranger automatically erects to-wards another, but when the spirit of softness and acceptance had been reached...
"Well, what can I do for you, Mr. Mc-Donald?"
"Mort, please;" he said humbly.
"But I hardly think that-"
"Well, you see, that's why I'm here, Mrs. West. Or ... can I call you Carla?" The question was rhetorical; McDonald hurried on with his talk. "You see, my son and your daughter have become quite friendly, and I thought that under the circumstances it would be nice if the parents were at least acquainted. Susan's a fine girl,. Carla, one you should be proud of, and I don't think that Bert has ever been out with a nicer girl in all of his dating years."
"Why that's-"
"I can certainly see where her charm and beauty come from," McDonald interrupted her and continued, "She is certainly like her mother."
"Oh, Mr.-I mean, Mort," Carla said, brightening with the compliment. She patted her hair, feeling a little flustered. "Why, why thank you, that was very kind to say."
"I mean it, Carla." He smiled, with a faint touch of the Clark Gable look to him, Carla thought. And his voice was so warm and mellow, fitting his very respectable character. And he was so good-looking for an older man. McDonald pressed on his sugary at-tack. "I can't imagine why some lucky man hasn't snapped you up long ago. I heard about the tragic loss of your husband from Susan, and naturally I know how you feel." He looked properly saddened, and she nodded her head, a pang of memory about Arnold momentarily intruding. "Have you spoken much to Bert?" he asked.
"Why, no," Carla said. "After all, Susan's only been out with him twice. Three times, counting today." At least now she knew where she was. Well, she didn't have to worry, she guessed, not if Bert had such a nice father.
"Then you don't know much about us McDonalds," he said.
"Not a thing, I'm afraid."
"Exactly why I came," he said, beaming. Perfect-perfect. Now to add one more big lie to all the others I've been spreading so far. "You see, Carla, I'm like you. Alone. I'm a widower."
"Oh, Mort, how sad."
He sighed painfully, thinking of the fictitious death of his wife-and hoping that Agnes would kick the bucket in reality. "Yes, I've raised Bert alone for three years now. Cancer."
"How terrible." Some of her resistance melted as she looked at his sad, handsome face, and she said, "Would you like a drink?"
"That would be very kind, Carla. What-ever you're having."
"Brandy over brandy," Carla said lightly, and went to fetch another glass. Mc-Donald sat down, drumming his fingers along the back of the chair, gloating to him-self. How easy, how absolutely a push-over this young, lonely mother was going to be-just as Bert had hinted she'd be when they'd talked this morning. like daughter, like mother, all right, and Bert thought the idea of using the pictures was fantastic; he even helped develop them before coming over to take the little girl away for the day. Yeah, McDonald knew that Bert was probably banging away on the kid right now just like he was going to be fucking her mother in a little while. Well, all of the soft soap would soon be over; he'd gotten in an invitation to have a drink-now to make sure that the one drink turned into quite a few...
Carla returned and together they sat and talked, McDonald, telling a fabric of lies about his life as a widower. There was a gradual relaxation of Carla's natural defenses as she empathized with his plight, her own mind matching and dovetailing what he was telling her with her own sad loss of Arnold. She told him some about her marriage and the death of her husband, and that weakened her still more; she was putty in the hands of such a skilled manipulator, for inexorably he channelled the discussion to the intimate points of love and married 'life, sensing as he talked the subtle mood changes, knowing when to retreat and to advance, just as he could sense that he would eventually reach the moment when he'd produce a packet of pictures that would unlock the too long rusty doors to her pussy.
"I'm so glad you asked me to stay," he purred over the table. "It's so much nicer than sitting around all alone."
"Yes, isn't it?" Carla responded, sipping her brandy. Her mind was slightly confused by the suddenness of his presence in her home and life. She was still a little intimidated by him-so. masculine and handsome and magnetic, with some sort of musky pervasiveness that hit her with an animal at-traction she hadn't felt since Arnold had died. Even now, as they drank and talked in a most respectable and civilized manner, she couldn't help thinking of him in a detached way from the standpoint of a sex partner.
Sex! What a stupid thought! Still, it bothered her, and she had a hard time meeting his frankly brazen gaze, and she felt uneasy in an ethereal fashion, as if she were in danger. Which was a silly bother, for she was safe, and perfectly all right to be entertaining him alone in her house. The age when such things were considered naughty was of her own mother's Victorian age, not now. And Mort was the soul of discretion, but still the hint of something wrong, some-thing deliciously frightening stayed with her. She tried to put her finger on exactly what it was, but failed.
It had been two hours now, the time simply flying, and while too many drinks had been consumed, nothing else had happened. She shrugged off her apprehensions as she drained her glass again, determining to enjoy this man's company and stop being such a wet blanket, and chalked up the butterflies in her belly as being the result of too much brandy. What the heck, this was better than being along.
And the hypnotically talking McDonald caught the almost imperceptible relaxing of her reflexes and grinned in satisfaction to himself. This was what he'd been waiting for, had with consummate skill worked to-ward for the last boring few hours-and it was just about time to strike. He said suavely: "I could use another refill, Carla. How about you, hmmm?"
"No, not right now, Mort. I better not."
"Oh, come on. There's still a little left in the bottle, may as well kill it off."
"Mort, please, I've had a little too much as it is." Carla's eyes dimmed slightly from the slowly building effect the alcohol was having on her without her having realized it before.
"Carla," McDonald's eyes narrowed slightly as he lowered his gaze to the couch momentarily, "I think you had better go for one more. I've been putting it off as long as I could but I've got to get around to the real reason for my visit. And ... I'm afraid it isn't going to be very pleasant for either one of us."
"W-What do you mean, Mort," Carla stuttered, confused momentarily by his suddenly serious tone. "Y-you sound as though something were wrong."
"Yes, my dear," he grimaced. "Some-thing is wrong. And it involves the conduct of your daughter and her young girlfriend, Nancy."
"Well, for godsake, tell me," the young voluptuous woman demanded, lifting her glass automatically for the offered drink. "It can't be so. horrible. They're both nice young kids."
"I'm afraid, Carla," McDonald looked straight into her eyes now, "that they're not quite the innocent little things you seem to think they are. I caught them in a very compromising position with my son and a friend of his."
"Oh, Mort, surely a little innocent petting isn't going to upset you. After all, this younger generation is a lot more casual in their ways than we were during our time."
"I'm not talking about innocent little petting." His eyes dropped away again from Carla's as though he were having difficulty saying the words. "I'm talking about stripped-down, naked petting."
"A-About w-what?" The blood drained from the open-mouthed young woman, and she quickly raised the glass to her lips, draining the contents completely. "I-I'm sorry," she apologized. "I-I needed that."
"It's perfectly understandable. I think we both need it." He echoed her feeling by lifting his glass also and emptying it without pause.
Carla's head reeled from the combination of the alcohol and the sudden revelation about Susan. She just couldn't believe that Mort McDonald was telling the truth. He must be lying. Oh God, he must be.
But why, why would he make up such a story? It just didn't seem like him.
"Mort," her tone changed to one of motherly indignation. "I don't believe what you're saying. I've brought Susan up to be a nice girl, and I have no reason to ,doubt her just because you say so."
"I think you had better have another drink, Carla." McDonald shook his head slowly as though a great weight were on his shoulders. "I-I wanted to spare you this but ... I guess I'll have to show them to you."
"Show me what?" Carla asked hurriedly, a slight catch rising in her throat. "Surely you don't have any proof other than your word."
"I took some pictures," he admitted candidly.
"Y-you what?" the now visibly trembling young mother half-shrieked. "Of ... of Susan and your son?"
"Yes, I did," his seriousness changing slowly, almost imperceptibly to a thin, lewd grin. "I wanted to make certain the girls didn't cry rape afterwards and get the boys in trouble. Just a little precautionary measure."
"W-why that's the most despicable thing I've ever heard of," Carla retorted angrily. "I want you to get out of this house immediately, Mr. McDonald, and don't bother coming back again."
She rose from her seat, her face white and her body trembling from the horrible shock it had just received, but she immediately fell back again from the forgotten effects of the large quantity of alcohol she had consumed during the afternoon.
"There, there," McDonald smilingly con-soled. "No need to get all upset over the girls making out with the boys a little. As you said yourself, this young generation's way ahead of us."
"Mr. McDonald," the still trembling young woman demanded while at the same time fighting vainly against the alcohol daze spreading over her mind, "I asked you to leave!"
Bert's father's smile slowly faded and an unmistakable coldness flickered into his eyes causing the distraught Carla to freeze momentarily where she sat.
"Not until you see the pictures, every one of them, and get it clear in your mind that my boy wasn't the only one at fault. Your hot-pants'ed little daughter and her girlfriend were fucking like two turned-on minks."
"P-please don't use words like that," Carla groaned, knowing that she was helpless to do anything if what he said was true. "I'll look at the pictures, if-if you'll promise to go afterwards."
"No promises, Carla," he smiled again, this time with a slight suggestive leer on his lips. "Let's just play it by ear, shall we?"
She shook her head in abject assent, knowing full well she had absolutely no choice in the matter. "That's a good girl," McDonald purred. "Now get us another bottle and let's fortify ourselves for the pictures we've got to go through, shall we?"
Carla rose obediently to her feet and, staggering slightly, made her way to the kitchen shelf for another bottle. After which she sat down again and poured them an-other drink in complete silence. McDonald reached in his pocket and pulled out the small packet of pictures, a triumphant and satisfied little smile curling across his lips.
"Now let's get down to the nitty gritty," he said and moved next to Carla so that his leg pressed tightly against hers. She thought momentarily of moving, but her liquor-numbed mind passed the thought over immediately. She didn't want him to get angry again, and besides, she felt her-self capable of handling him if he tried to get too fresh with her.
"Here's the first little beauty," she dimly heard McDonald say, his breath heavy with excitement from looking at the dirty pictures with the helpless young mother of his son's hot little girlfriend.
"See, Bert's just going to ram his cock into her and she's got her legs spread wide open just waiting for it."
"Oh, God no!" Carla moaned, clasping her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming as the lewdly spread body of her daughter, Susan, passed before her eyes. Tears streamed helplessly down her cheeks. She could see the young girl's eyes tightly closed in rising. ecstasy as though she were actually wanting it to happen to her.
"And here's where my boy throws it to her good." McDonald hissed excitedly. "He really fucks her good."
"Please don't use those words, Mr. Mc-Donald," Carla almost screamed.
It was bad enough having to look at the pictures, but to hear him describe what was happening to her own precious little daughter in such lewd and obscene words sickened her.
"Don't call me, Mr. McDonald again," he snapped at her, "and I'll use any words I want to. If they're fucking, they're fucking, and there's no use calling it anything else."
Susan's mother sobbed helplessly and forced herself to look at the prints. She knew there was no other way out, so she might as well get it over with quickly.
"Look at her hot little pussy wrapped around Bert's cock in this one. Man, you can even see her cunt hairs, that zoom lens worked so well."
"Oh, God, Mort, please don't make me go on. Just give me the pictures so I can destroy them and I won't say another word."
"It ain't gonna be that easy, honey, if you know what I mean. I might need a little something to make it worth my while."
"Blackmail!" Carla cried out. "All right, I'll pay you somehow. I ... don't have much, but I'll do it. I have to do it. How much? How much do you want?"
"I don't want money from you, Carla." McDonald chuckled. "No, I think that there're better ways for you to pay the price for your daughter. Much better ways, don't you agree?"
The hapless mother groaned softly, her insides tied in convulsive knots, for she knew exactly what the man across from her had in mind now, knew that he meant her to submit her body to him and work off the debt her child had created, and the only question remaining was exactly what physical surrender on her part would satisfy him and make him agreeable.
"What ... what do you want me to do?" she asked hesitantly.
"You're a smart young woman, Carla." McDonald stood up, his face beaming with lust, and she saw for the first time the full extent of his excitement and lecherous de-sire for her-the bulge of his hardened penis stretched the fabric of his pants almost to the bursting point, and a widening stain from his seminal emissions was plainly evident on the front, right where the throbbing head of his cock pressed against it. "I want you, baby," he grinned lewdly. "Watching Bert and your hot-cunted little daughter fucking last night got me damned hot, and I thought I'd lose my mind just taking those pictures. Now, my dear, it's going to be our turn, just you and me. And you'll love it."
"You ... you must be insane." she blurted.
McDonald laughed harshly. "We'll see who's insane in just a few moments."
Carla felt her lips twist into a harsh, cynical smile as the galling truth of her position flooded her mind. She was being forced into submitting to this handsome but bestial man in exchange for saving the reputation of her child. She would, for Susan's sake, for her own life was over and Susan's was just beginning, and there was nothing that she wouldn't have done to make Susan's future brighter and freer-even this. She became nauseated as she imagined the lewdly de-grading sensation of young Bert McDonald's father's cock buried deep up in-side her defenseless vagina, for she was sure that that was what was going to take place. She would love it, he'd said. She knew she would almost die from the humiliation of it all.
McDonald read the symptoms and forced another glass of brandy into her trembling hands. "And tomorrow, you'll get the pictures. All of them, and nobody will be the wiser. Now, drink some more."
She felt the liquor sear her throat as it spilled into her stomach with a warming sensation that slowly began to spread through her chilled blood. The big man was sitting beside her now, and had his arm intimately pressed around her; she could smell the heavy scent of his male excitement and then his hand tightened, his fingers toying with the tender flesh of one large, heaving breast that was hidden beneath the thinness of her blouse.
"You ... you'd better give me another drink," she heard herself say, and then the brandy once more glowed in her belly. Maybe if she drank enough, it would be endurable ... dear God. She must force her-self to remember that all this was to save her daughter's future.
"Feeling better, Carla?" McDonald smiled lecherously, removing the glass from her hand and drawing her to him. The tormented young mother found courage from the burning alcohol coursing hotly through her bloodstream and pleaded: "Oh, no. Oh, Lord no, not here, Mort." She shuddered, looking around. "If anybody should come..."
McDonald, aware that little capitulations often help bring the final prize, murmured, "Fair enough. How about your bed-room?"
Still in a half comatose shock of disbelief, she reeled under the impact of his words. He was going to force her to make love on her own marital bed. Where she and Susan's father, Arnold, had so often and warmly embraced. Mort McDonald couldn't have hit upon a more despicable way of degrading her, truly crushing her slightest mental resistance ... but, closing her mind to the horrible reality of the situation, she arose and allowed McDonald to lead her down the hall to the bedroom of her and her former husband, beyond the pale now, unable to fight back.
"Now, let's see how you compare with your daughter, baby," McDonald grunted. "Strip off your clothes and get naked."
Her mind tried to formulate thoughts, but she struggled against them, wanting only a total blankness to blot out what was being done to her and by her. Obediently she slipped out of her shorts and blouse, then unhooked the thin bra she wore, threw it on top of the other clothes, and after a hesitant, shuddering second, sent her thin, white, lacy panties to join the pile. She watched in horrid fascination as McDonald stripped, frozen trance-like by horror as his thick, rigidly hard penis appeared, standing out from beneath his slight paunch like a heavy, blunt spear pointed at her. Then he grinned lewdly and began stroking his massive shaft back and forth to taunt her.
"like it, baby? Sure you do. You like cock, I know it." Carla couldn't speak, no sound coming from her fear-constricted throat, and her eyes dropped to his hard, fleshy penis against her will, and she knew that there was no turning back now. This cold, crude man was going to ravish her defenseless body no matter what she did or said, and she was completely at his mercy. And she was well aware that no mercy was in him to give, only a smoldering, all-consuming lust.
She stood before him, humiliatingly naked, and she almost lost her balance when she felt the sudden wet contact of his saliva-moistened lips pressed to the nude flesh of her globular, ivory breasts. Then, soft, blond pubic hair grazed his cheeks as he dropped to his knees before her, his breath coming in heavy labored gasps. He spread her pink, moist pussy lips outward with his thumbs and flicked a lizard like tongue into the sheath of the softly pulsating split. The beautiful, fear-crazed woman jumped at the electrifying assault on her vaginal area, and falling backwards, her knees buckled against the side of the bed, and she sprawled with a soul-searing moan on the coverlet, flat on her back, her thighs spreading wide, inadvertently, as she landed.
McDonald pounced on the bed and caught her by her ankles before she could close her legs. She struggled, but it was a one-sided battle, and then she relaxed, offering all of her defenseless hair-fringed cunt to his salacioud and gleaming eyes, knowing that she would have to give in eventually, and that there was nothing left now but the submission, her body a helpless toy to be used as lewdly as he wished.
"On ... your knees, baby," McDonald commanded, his licentious excitement aroused beyond belief by the mere sight of her voluptuous, naked body. Her milk-white skin, her erotic, pleasure-filled thighs, perfectly formed hips and legs, trembling, begging vaginal lips-never had McDonald seen such perfection in all his life! "Yes! Yes! Get down on your knees!" he husked impatiently.
"Why?" the bitterly humiliated mother moaned. "What ... what are you going to make me do?"
"You're going to suck my cock, Mrs. Highhat. You're going to take my cock in your mouth and lick it till it comes right down that pretty little throat of yours, you hear?"
"No! Oh, God, no, I ... can't do that!" Carla cried out pitifully. "It's sick! Degrading! I ... never even did that to my husband! Nooooo!"
McDonald's laugh reverberated gratingly through the tiny bedroom. "You will, my pet ... or else!"
And Carla sobbed out her total capitulation, knowing that he would be true to his word, that if she didn't take his penis in her mouth, she'd never get the pictures of her daughter back.
"Wrap those hot-lookin' lips around my cock, you fuckin' bitch. And do it now!"