Chapter 15

Lageule and Gwen looked up, startled.

There was a tall, pudgy blonde woman standing in the doorway. Lageule caught a glimpse of an overhanging feather hat, bright-red lips, baggy chin, piercing blue eyes that looked anything but friendly.

"And what, pray tell, is the meaning of this!" The woman's voice echoed scorn, amazement, anger.

"Oh-oh," Lageule heard Gwen mutter under her breath Then aloud she said, "Hi. Hi, mother!"

Mother! Oh, no! Lageule prayed more fervently than he ever had in his life, praying to the Blessed Virgin to send an earthquake, a volcano, or at least to cause the floor to cave in and swallow him up, prayed to St. Francis, St. Stephen, St. Anselm, started praying to St. Christopher, until he re-membered that he wasn't accredited any more ... He was half-way through his rosary, when he heard the tall woman speak again.

"And who is this, may I ask?"

Gwen had somehow stood up and was vainly trying to cover her nakedness with a pillow from the sofa-which object was hardly adequate.

"Uh ... come in, Mother," mumbled Gwen, and then she fled from the room.

Lageule stared up at the large woman, wondering if they could get him on corrupting a minor....

"COME BACK HERE GWENNETH!" bellowed the figure in stentorian tones.

Gwen crept back into the room a moment later, wrapped up in a voluminous dressing gown. She seemed small and frail amid all those folds of material, and Lageule realized that he should speak up like a man and defend her.

"Look," he said firmly, "you have no right-"

"NO RIGHT TO DO WHAT? NO RIGHT TO VISIT MY OWN DAUGHTER WITHOUT FINDING HER BEING MOLESTED ON THE FLOOR?" The woman took a step inside the room, and Lageule backed away in terror. He felt Gwen nudging him from behind and he spun around as if nuzzled by a gun.

"Here," she murmured, handing him a towel.

Thankfully, Lageule wrapped himself in the terrycloth.

"IN A PERVERTED POSITION, MOREOVER!" shrieked Gwen's mother, her bosom heaving with the throes of wrath, her eyes shooting fire.

"Uh, sit down, Mother," said Gwen nervously, bustling around to pat the sofa, rearrange the cushions, move the ashtray unnecessarily.

The woman steered herself into the living room and settled herself, dowager like, in the exact center of the sofa.

Gwen shuffled to a chair and sat herself down, and Lageule slid himself into the nearest seat.

Gwen jumped up again.

"Uh ... would you like some tea, Mother?" she asked.

Lageule nodded.

"China tea," added Gwen, "it's really good."

"This is hardly the occasion for tea, Gwenneth, in view of the shocking spectacle I have just been an inadvertent witness to!"

Lageule nodded. He felt the woman's eyes on him, and nervously crossed his legs, pulling the flimsy towel over his kneecaps.

He was thinking frantically. He had to be manly about all this, had to protect Gwen-if only he could think of what to say. Above all, this woman must never know that he was a cop!

He decided to tell her that he was a travelling salesman, and he had made an outright attack upon her daughter ... but at the last moment, by the mother's own intervention, the daughter's honor had been saved.

He was about to launch into his narrative, when he felt the woman's piercing blue eyes upon him. The words flew out of his head. HE gulped, blushed, fumbled ineffectually with the ever-spreading towel, and coughed.

"Well, Young Man?" the voice bellowed with authority, "I'm waiting!"

Her blue eyes fixed him with a powerful intensity, and there was something familiar about the glance. She did look a lot like her daughter, Lageule thought ruefully-too bad the resemblance was only on the surface.

He tried to think fast.

"Uh, well, you see, Mrs. ... " He gulped, realizing that he couldn't remember Gwen's last name! For some obscure reason, this fact made him feel guiltiest of all: 'You might at least have remembered her name,' his conscience nagged.

"Uh ... Mother!" said Gwen, her voice nervous and shrill, and falsely gay, "we certainly weren't expecting you ... uh, I'm sorry the place is rather untidy ... " Her voice trailed off, as her fingers gestured vaguely around the room.

"Yes, as I was saying, you see-" Lageule gulped again. He couldn't think fast enough.

"Young Man, I am WAITING!" the voice lashed out in sudden anger again. The draft of air from her wind-pipe blew Lageule's towel apart.

He looked down at his lap, not knowing where else to turn his eyes. He stared, paralyzed with fear and embarrassment. He was too shocked even to try to rescue the stray folds of towel. He could only stare in stunned silence down into his lap.

For there, in front of his own eyes, his cock was getting stiff and red again!

He stared at it, as though it were a foreign object, somehow detached from his body. He hoped fervently that it would become detached, that it would just casually fall off and slink away into another room; that this hideous prolonged moment of acute embarrassment would simply fade away....

He was aware of the two women staring also.

He waited for the bristling thing to fall off ... 'Oh my, did you see that,' he would say as the penis faded away ... innocently, nothing to do with him at all, at all.

But it only grew bigger. And it was most definitely attached to him, he could feel the coursing fluids from his tingling balls.

And that woman was waiting, she said, waiting-waiting for what? An explanation, he must think of an explanation ... but it was his brain, instead of his prick that had fallen off and slunk away, he no longer had it with him ... he could think of no explanation at all.

"I'm waiting, Young Man!" the woman said again, but her voice seemed quieter now-or was it only that he had lost touch with reality?

He looked up at her, at the ridiculous feathered hat, at the intense and not unattractive blue eyes. Suddenly a wild image seared itself on his mind, or the vestiges of it it that were left; a wild, crazy idea-but what else could he do?

Lageule stood up, and laughed aloud as he crossed the room toward the large, imposing woman. The laugh sounded giddy and strange even to his own ears.

"Young Man, I expect an immediate explanation, I demand-Young MAN, YOU MUST CEASE THIS BUFFOONERY IMMEDIATELY! YOUNG MAN!!!" She protested loudly, but her hands seemed oddly ineffectual in restraining him. He had all her clothes off in a moment, with ever so little real effort.

Lageule stood back and surveyed his handiwork. She wasn't bad, not bad at all for her age. Her skin was not as soft as her daughter's, of course, but her ample dimensions were a pleasing change from Gwen's slenderness. The mother's colossal tits cascaded down to her waist as she sat on the sofa, while her spread hips were lush and wide.

"GWENNETH! I DEMAND TO KNOW-" But the woman's irate protests were cut off in mid-sentence, as Lageule bent his head and enveloped her in a long and ardent kiss. His tongue probed far into her mouth, swirling and prodding, diddling and fondling, while his hands roamed down over the mountainous orbs of her boobs. To his joy, he felt the nipples stiffen and harden under the soft caresses of his fingers, and he redoubled his efforts with tongue and hands. Gradually he felt her whole body relax in his arms, and then, slowly, reluctantly, her tongue reached out to respond to his.

His hands were gliding over her tits, and down into the soft creases of her belly now, stroking and caressing where-ever they went. Slowly, teasingly, he slid one hand down, down, toward the soft furry rise between her legs.

He moved his lips to nuzzle at her cheek, ear, neck and shoulder, and he felt her squirm deliciously; then he put his lips to her ear and whispered, as his hand moved toward her cunt: "Do you mind, Mrs. ... uh ... ?" He used his softest, most sensual French accent.

Her voice was hoarse with urgency as she replied: "Not at all-and call me Lily."