Chapter 5
Returning to the apartment she shared with Ann Mason and the later's son, Albert Kalawrence, she found supper being made by the pimply-faced, long-nosed boy. His mother made him do all the menial work around the apartment.
"Well?" the overweight bullish-looking woman asked, her black dress hanging on her like a tent as the well-dressed Carol walked in. "Did you have a good session with the analyst?"
"It was all right," Carol nodded, hanging up her coat.
"Hey, what is it," Ann asked. "Come on, come on, no secrets, remember. Spill it, Carol."
"Well," Carol shrugged, "the analyst says I'm not really a lesbian. She claims I should try for a heterosexual relationship."
"S'that a fact? What led her to that conclusion?"
"Well, when I told her how I managed to come when my stepfather attacked me."
"No fooling?" Ann muttered. 'I know you told me about the way the slob attacked you, but you never said anything about liking it."
"What am I supposed to say?" Carol shrugged. "How d'you admit you like being raped? How do you admit the most disgusting man of all time made you feel the first bit of sexual pleasure you ever felt?"
"I don't know," Ann muttered, undoing the black belt from around her dress, sliding it out slowly from the loops. "But I do know that good friends ought not to keep secrets from one another."
"What was between the analyst and myself is private," Carol insisted.
"Bullshit!" Ann screamed in her highpitched, whiney voice. "You and I are more than friends. We're lovers! You lied to me, Carol, you made me believe you had told me everything about you, just like I told you everything about me."
"I didn't lie to you, Ann," Carol mumbled wearily. "I just didn't tell you everything."
"You were supposed to tell me everything," Ann insisted. "What you're saying is, you still don't trust me."
"Come on, Ann, that's not what I'm saying and you know it," Carol muttered, backing away from Ann, who was circling so that Carol had to back into the apartment rather than toward the door.
It was a small apartment. It had only two rooms. There was a bedroom, where Ann and Carol slept together in a full-sized bed, and there was the combination living room, dining room, kitchen, where the sofa opened up so that Albert was able to sleep on it.
Right now, Ann was backing Carol toward the sink off to the left, and Albert, seeing what was about to happen, moved out of the way, crossing to the other side of the room. His mother always let him stay when she humiliated Carol. He loved watching it all, and at his mother's instructions, even pulled out his cock and jerked off while she was making it with Carol. Ann's most potent threat to Carol was that one day she would bury her son's cock in Carol's body.
At the moment, Carol was backed up against the porcelain sink, unable to move. She began quaking, then watched as Ann reached out with the leather belt and wound it around her neck, her weighty presence making Carol feel submissive. Carol knew for a fact that her stepfather's treatment had caused her to feel the need to be humiliated in order for her to come. She had tried making it with one or two lesbians who weren't too overbearing, and had been unsuccessful. This was why she had enjoyed being with Ann. The even more humiliating event of always allowing her son Albert to watch what was happening seemed to heighten everything that much more for Carol. In her mind, sex was a humiliating, degrading thing, and so the only way for her to enjoy it was to be abused, first.
Ann pulled the belt all the more tightly around Carol's throat until she had left almost no room for breathing. Then she slipped the end through the buckle and made it fast so it wouldn't loosen.
"On your knees, you miserable excuse for a cunt," Ann squeaked, her voice taking command in spite of its high pitch. "On your knees like the bitch-dog you are, and then we'll talk a little more."
"No," Carol gagged. "The analyst said we have to talk face-to-face."
The graying haired woman slapped Carol solidly across her face, and the younger woman felt the fire stinging her cheek. The instant she was smacked, she fell humbly to her knees, but Ann still had a firm grasp on the belt.
"Now my little doggie-bitch," the older woman said to the younger one as her big-nosed son began opening his pants and pulling out his miniscule penis. "I want you to tell me everything you told that damned analyst-everything. Don't leave out anything."
Carol was aware of her entire body quaking, though she didn't know if it was with fear or anticipation. It didn't really matter because even if she began by feeling fear, it always changed to anticipation. She gnawed on her lower lip to keep her voice from quavering, and then gagged as she felt Ann pull the leather belt a little tighter around her throat. She was choking just the littlest bit.
"Come on," Ann urged. "I want to hear everything, every last thing you told that hard-nosed cunt who still prefers man, herself. You're my mistress, Carol. I pay for everything here, including a lot of your clothing. I've taken good care of you, so you've been able to bank almost all your money. Now you tell me just what it was you said to the analyst, sweet bitch!"
Ann used the free end of the belt to slap Carol viciously across her face, and she knew if she didn't start talking, Ann might cause some permanent damage. Certainly she needed her voice, because she loved talking on the phone and denying claims. So she nodded and Ann loosened the belt a little. She told her lover everything the fat woman wanted to know, about her having enjoyed what her stepfather had done to her, and how she had hated him, and had been glad when he had died, though she was sorry she was only the indirect cause of his death.
As Carol kept talking, Ann began undressing, though she maintained a tight hold on the leash. She removed her dress, displaying her large, hanging breasts. They looked a lot like her mother's, which was one of the reasons why Carol was so aroused, although her mother's were much smaller. Still, the tan coloring, the brown nipples and areolas, and the hang all seemed to be much like her mother's. Then she was removing the half slip she wore, kicking off her low-heeled, black shoes. She had no stockings on, having taken them off when she had come home.
Next she removed her panties, revealing the full, swollen liver-colored lips between her thighs, lips that were already juicily wet, making Carol unwittingly lick her lips, and she stood directly in front of Carol as the latter continued talking, letting her see the pussy and even inhale the muskiness of it. Ann might have been old, but she was clean, and the vaginal aroma seemed to do something to Carol. She actually thought of it as almost being her own vagina, even though her cunt was smaller, fuller, and much pinker.