Chapter 2
Katherine didn't know at first if it was a sound that had awakened her, or her shattered nerves, or if she had not been asleep at all, merely lulling in a conscious dream of escape from which reality had brutally wrenched her back.
The darkness in her bedroom was impenetrable. Beside her she could hear her husband, Paul's, even breathing. Beyond that, now silence. Yet she waited still, listening intently for some movement in the other part of the house.
That Tom might someday come home with a girl like this one had never entered Katherine's mind. On fleeting occasions she had allowed herself to realize that he was becoming a man, a handsome man with a man's body, and that he inevitably would attract a number of women wherever he was. And of course he'd been popular and dated a lot in high school. A couple of the girls he'd gone out with had even worried her some, though she was certain she'd never shown it, either because they had reputations for or exuded an air of sexuality, or because she thought Tom liked them a little too much. But there had been nothing serious. She'd never had to face the fact, by virtue of any direct evidence, that he'd been to bed with a woman. And she'd always taken for granted that someday he'd meet a girl and become engaged, eventually marry her. But that had been a dream, she thought, like long ago sex had been: not a part of her reality but something far off in a distant and dubious future. And to further isolate herself from this eventuality, she'd fabricated for this role a vague picture of an angelic and pure creature, radiating chastity and spirituality. This girl radiated sex!
It was not just her skimpy dress, or her walk, that was a musical shuffle in which her entire scarcely cloaked body seemed to roll, to undulate in evocation of a movement done more commonly in a non-upright position. Nor was it that look of invitation in her crystal blue eyes and on her pursed sultry lips, a look she seemed to reserve not just for her boyfriend, but for everyone, Paul, even Katherine, a look of open invitation that combined challenge and surrender. Nor was it just her beautiful body, the hard round buttocks that looked as if they would tear out of her shorts if she bent over to pick up something she'd dropped, or her breasts, which even in the skimpy halter revealed all their magnificent shape, that were not large yet still were overbearing and obtrusive perhaps so even in the mere fact of their perfection. Nor her beautiful face. It was all this and more, to the very air around her. An air of hedonism and sexuality. And it had taken Katherine only minutes to see that Tom was blinded by it completely. Later at dinner it seemed that Paul was just as taken in. There was a look in his eyes Katherine, thankfully, did not often see anymore.
But something else about the girl irritated her almost even more. The fact that she was not ashamed of it; rather, she was proud, but even that was a pride without arrogance. And of course she had sensed Katherine's immediate and unyielding animosity toward her, a hatred she'd not been able to cloak even after the initial shock had dispersed, that had lingered through a tense dinner and difficult conversation afterwards until they'd all had the chance of escape afforded by a couple of remarkably almost passable T.V. programs. But the girl's response had not been any of the things Katherine might have expected. She had not been ruffled at all. She was neither bitter, aloof nor flaunting. Even in the face of Katherine's bursting, thwarted rage, which had vexed even Tom and Paul, she seemed warm and open, almost loving. Something about it made Katherine's skin crawl.
Suddenly she stiffened in bed. Now she did hear a sound, the sound she knew must have awakened her, must have suspected even then and been waiting for confirmation of those suspicions. It was from the guest bedroom, where she'd grudgingly put the girl up. The first sound must have been when the girl had got out of bed. Now she was opening the door, now walking down the hall past the door to Katherine and Paul's room, now turning off through the patio. She knew, as she'd known all along from the instant she'd first suspected the sounds, that there was only one place she could be going. She had her own bath adjoining the guest room and to get to the kitchen she should have continued on along the hall. The little vixen was going to Tom's room!
She lay motionless and silent for a long time, listening though she knew it would be impossible to hear anything less than a real racket from there. Then she rolled onto her side, and curled her legs up almost to her breasts. She imagined what must be happening in that room now, and the lurid visions that raced through her mind made her shiver. She squeezed her eyes tight and held her breath, gritted her teeth and stiffened her body until she almost shook. But she couldn't get the visions out of her mind. In a few minutes, or maybe they'd even started already, her son was going to be having sex with that girl, right here in his own mother's house. The thought of it was almost more than she could stand. She felt insulted and repulsed, as if the shock she'd already been through today was only being compounded, as if she'd been defeated already, and now they were trodding her into the ground. She felt like a heartbroken woman who's man had run off with a slut, then come back and moved with her into the house across the street.
But she had to hear it, the sounds of whatever lewd thing it was they were going to do or were already doing in Tom's room. She had to, no matter how repulsive an act it would be for her to eavesdrop, no matter how much more what she heard would hurt her.
Once she'd decided to make certain of what they were doing, it was as if nothing could stop her. Impelled by her obscene craving she slithered naked from beneath the sheets, in the darkness found her way to the closet and pulled her flimsy robe from the door. Clutching it loosely together at her waist, not bothering to tie the sash and leaving her unencumbered breasts to swing freely in front of her in the cool night air, the nipples swelling with an exciting tingle, she fled out the door and down the hall. Behind her she heard her husband shift in the bed, but he was a sound sleeper. She knew he wouldn't awake.
In the patio she paused at the entrance to the small foyer that gave way to her son's room. Through the skylight the almost full moon shined, casting a soft and eerie light over her flimsily cloaked body. The nylon robe clung to her flesh like a thin veil, revealing all her luxurious contours. In this light, her silken body glowed darkly, the combination of shadows and illumination defining the soft curves of her breasts and satin thighs revealed beneath the short gown.
What am I doing? she thought. To come here intentionally to eavesdrop on this wicked thing is as terrible as the act itself. But she didn't turn back. She tip-toed into the foyer, before her a crack of light that marked Tom's partially opened door, listening intently.
For a moment she heard nothing. She seized the fleeting hope that perhaps she'd been mistaken, that the shameless young girl that had taken her son had merely gotten confused and followed the wrong route to the kitchen. And as that idea flashed in her mind, she felt a strange, sinking, an inexplicable let down. She understood suddenly that she did want the act to happen, did want to hear it. She wanted it proven to herself once and for all that her suspicions and her dislike of the girl were well-founded and not mere fantasies of an estranged imagination.
Two steps closer to the door and now she was a mere four or five feet away from it she stopped again. A wave of relief, yet a terrible kind of relief, flowed through her as she heard a woman's soft moan, light and frivolous, almost like a giggle.
Then she heard Tom's voice: "Lys, I feel terrible about the way my mother treated you tonight."
Had the girl come here just to talk to him? she thought with a wave of indignation. "It's all right," the girl said. "No. It's not all right."
"She just doesn't understand," Lys said. "She's from another generation. Their hang-ups hover above them like a cornucopia, a great weight spilling over them. It's not her fault. They don't know what the joy is, of giving your body freely, of loving without guilt. And they can't help but resent someone who does know how to do it."
Katherine felt the hatred well in her with a flourish. The vile, condescending bitch! Then Lys added: "I just hope that before we leave for Mexico I can change that. Make her understand, maybe even like me."
She wanted to burst through the door at that, screaming that she would never accept her, never accept a moralless little whore who had corrupted her son and who was flagrantly flaunting that fact in his mother's own house.
Then a soft purr from the bedroom stopped her. She froze, listening to the girl giggle, listening to the shifting movement of their two bodies on the bed that made the springs creak softly.
"Hey, do that again." She heard Tom say.
Katherine's body stiffened with expectation. She waited. Again she heard a shifting on the bed.
"Lower," her son moaned. Then he sighed softly, then said, "You have the most beautiful tits in the world. Rub it with the nipples ... Yes. Like that."
For a moment she didn't understand. Then her mind conjured the image, and as if to confirm that Tom said: "Push them together and squeeze it between them." He sighed again. "Yes, like that."
He was thrusting it up between her breasts. His penis, which must now bear little or no resemblance to the cute and tiny little thing she remembered from his childhood, but rather be like Paul's as it had looked to her that first night: ugly and grotesquely large, threatening and yet in the threat somehow weirdly beautiful, the way an extremely homely face can reach a state of grotesquerie that makes it beautiful like a craggy chiseled sculpture. And with that penis he was screwing her, fucking her was what they'd no doubt call it as she knew that word had become commonplace in the language of the younger generation, between those small, wide and high breasts with the big pointed nipples that had looked like darts almost punching through her flimsy halter. They would be goose bumped now, as her own were, the nipples swollen and tingling, with her son's heated male hardness tunneling up between them, agitating their vibrant softness, making them swell even harder and fuller.
For a long time she listened to the silence. They said nothing. Then she heard her son moan deeply. "Yes," he gasped. "Lower. Lower ... Suck it in your mouth, Lys. All of it!"
She didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to see the vision that imprinted itself on her unwilling mind. The feelings that surged through her own body at the thought of it, at the thought of that girl or any girl taking her son's or any man's penis in her mouth, sucking and kissing it like a child with a sucker, repulsed her. She felt almost sick at her stomach; yet it was a light and nervous kind of nausea that sent tingles fluttering through her being, like fear on an empty stomach.
Unconsciously her hand touched her stomach. She'd no longer bothered to hold the robe together and it hung wide open to reveal the splendor of her naked breasts, which were larger and longer and more mature than Lys's, her downy belly laying small and flat between her flaring pelvic bones, and there between her lush thighs that foreboding triangle of darkly curling pubic hair. Furtively her hand crept down her belly and into the waiting curls which felt so soft and silken to her fingers. She uttered a muffled sob as her hand touched the ripe, moist bud of her clitoris. Again her mind cried out silently: what am I doing? But she couldn't stop The obscene, electric twinges that shot through her demanded more. Lewdly, she began to massage that soft delicate pulsating bud rapidly with her finger.
"Ohhhhh, Jesus!" Tom moaned. She heard a bouncing sound on the bed that she knew could mean only one thing. He was actually thrusting it in and out of her now, using her mouth the way a man used a vagina. And he was probably holding her head, by the hair or by her ears, shoving his cock deeply and viciously into her open mouth between those full pouty lips of the young girl. A lurid triumph surged in her. The image was so debasing and degrading. In a strange way she loved the thought of it. Of her son using that woman's mouth as a receptacle for his virile young semen, using her mouth as if it were nothing more than a thin, hairless cunt to be fucked until it made his waiting testicles explode with orgasm.
"I'm going to cum in a minute," he said quietly, almost with a calm in his voice, a matter of factness.
The girl made a nearly unintelligible sound, but the meaning of it was clear enough: yes. With her mouth filled, her lips stretched wide and the huge male hardness pounding all the way back to her tonsils, she was saying yes to the prospect of having its milk-white semen spewed deep into her throat!
Though the thought nauseated her even further, Katherine still felt the surging triumph, the confirmation of all her suspicions about the girl, as she head the unmistakable sounds, the gasping and grunting and the rapid pounding of the bed, as Tom shot off in her mouth and the girl noisily swallowed it down.
Then they were silent suddenly and she had to stop the frantic ministrations of her own hand on her tortured and pleading clitoris. Then there was one last noise, though maybe she only imagined it: she thought she heard the girl gurgle, swallowing.
"Now your turn," Lys said.
Katherine almost fell to her knees. She hadn't dreamed that would come next, that the situation would be reversed and that her son, of whose masculine young virility she'd become these last few moments almost proud in a lurid obscene way, would allow his mouth to also be used that way. She'd heard of it, but she thought she only had half-believed it. That a man would do that to a woman. Eat her pussy, they called it.
"Put the pillow under your ass," Tom said. "Like this and your cunt way up with your legs spread wide."
She started to turn and run sobbing back to her bedroom. She wanted to escape, to wake up and find this had all been a dream, not just this but everything that had happened since her eighteen year old son had come home. But instead she took two more steps forward, so close to the door she could have pressed her face to it, and she gazed through the crack of it and saw in the dresser mirror the reflection of the two figures on the bed. Her son's girlfriend was lying flat on her back, her arms extended up in a wide "V" above her head to grasp the bedstead, her thighs spread wide and her feet planted out to the sides to give leverage to her hips, which were propped up high by the two pillows beneath them. Kneeling at the foot of the bed between her parted thighs, leaning forward just now to kiss her exposed, golden-haired young pussy was her son Tom! Katherine's hands returned to her own loins and sobbing with almost masochistic joy, she resumed her frenzied fingering of herself up between her open thighs.