Chapter 4
In the months to come, we repeated the wild and rollicking escapades each time Father went out of the city or country on business. It was the same each time-I thoroughly enjoyed the time I was actually humping with Bridget but loathed and deplored the moments when I had to plunge my growing pecker into the massive folds of my stepmother's gaping gash. Fortunately, they were sufficiently enamored of each other that I was not called upon to join them every night when my father was away.
On those nights, I would lie in my bed and listen to their moanings and thrashings in the next room, and I would bite on the corner of my pillow until sleep overtook me and my body and senses relaxed into blissful slumber.
Once, in the middle of the summer of my fifteenth year, Father took my stepmother with him on a trip to Paris and left Bridget and myself alone in the house with deaf and blind old Aunt Hattie. She thought of us as tiny children and kept shunting us off to one room or another to play while she sat quietly in the parlor with her knitting.
One extremely hot and humid night, when we were shunted off to bed, I enjoyed my first escapade alone with Bridget-that is, the first time without her mother in the room with us. I had gone off to bed, convinced that Bridget was not interested in any sexual games, that she was strictly a girl who did only what her mother insisted she do. But she surprised me. I had been in the bed no more than five minutes, and since we had not had a wild party for more than two weeks, I was fully erected and lay with my rampaging penis in my right hand. I was pondering the wisdom of jerking him off into my handkerchief, when I heard the soft rapping at the door that joined my room to Bridget's.
I got up in the darkness and unbolted the door from my side. I opened the door but could not see anyone in the blackness of the room.
"Is that you, Bridget?"
"Yes."
My hand reached out and touched naked flesh. I could not tell immediately which part of her anatomy I had touched, but a quick check revealed that it was her left breast.
"My gawd," I hissed through clenched teeth. "You're in the bloody nude."
She giggled. "May I come into your room?"
"Why don't I just come into yours?"
She pushed into my arms and clung to me. "I hate this room," she said. "I don't want us to do anything in there-ever again."
I felt the same way, but I was surprised at the degree of her distaste. I had thought she was so much in love with her mother that she would love anything her mother did or wanted to do.
"Is it because of what we've been doing?"
"Partly," she said. "Oh, Louis!"
And she was clinging tightly to me. Her body shook with spasmodic sobs, and wet, salty tears streamed against my face and down into my pajamas. I led her to the bed in the darkness and sat with her on the edge of it, my arm in a comforting gesture across her shoulders.
"I never knew anything else," she sobbed. "My mother taught me that loving her in that way was right and that I should want to love her that way-and that she would return that love. But I don't like it any more. I like you, Louis. I want to do things normally. I'm a girl and you're a boy, and that's the way God intended things to be-boys with girls and girls with boys. I don't think it is natural any other way, but Mummy keeps insisting that it is and that we should continue. Oh, Louis, I love you. What in the world am I to do?"
I was stuck. I hadn't the foggiest idea of what the poor girl could do. The rousing in my crotch told me that I had a temporary solution, and so I slid my hand down over her naked breast and began toying with the nipple. She kissed me and pressed the naked breasts into me, and before long I was naked with her.
We fell back on the bed, and she kept on crying while I made the necessary arrangements and worked my tool into her wet snatch. She cried when I started a steady plunging into her and kept it up even while her own buttocks were rising to meet me, stroke for stroke. We didn't go in for any wild play; we just kept humping and panting, and before long we both came in a most delightful way. We slept for a little bit, and when we awoke, we really went at it. I screwed her so hard that she complained of having a sore twat.
Finally, she went back to her own bedroom, and I tried to forget about her problems. But I couldn't. I was worried about my stepsister. She was a beautiful girl, and she deserved to have a good shake in life, not a bloody mess on her hands with her crazy mother. I decided to make the big sacrifice and to join them the next time her mother came to Bridget's room.
Three weeks later, Father went off on another business junket and, as could have been predicted, Brenda got the two of us together in Bridget's room that very night for another session. This time, though, it was different. She had a long bundle of something wrapped in brown butcher's paper, and she smiled like the eternal Cheshire cat as she watched us strip down to our nothings. When we were all naked, she went to the bundle and began to open it.
"I have a delightful surprise for you both tonight," my stepmother said.
"What is it, Mummy?" Bridget asked. Her body was shivering, and I had an idea that she knew what was in the bundle.
"Wait and see," Brenda said. "Remember what you did to me many, many months ago, after your father died? Remember that, darling?"
I looked at Bridget and saw that her face was beet red. She remembered, and she seemed not to want to remember. Brenda tore the paper from the bundle, and I noted with curiosity that it contained what looked like a dozen hickory canes. God on earth, I thought, what the bloody hell are those for?
"I am going to teach you two darling children something tonight," she said. "All children have natural curiosity, and I know that you want to learn about canings." She turned to me and slapped one of the canes in the palm of her hand. "Louis, did you ever see anyone whipped with a cane?"
"No, ma'am."
"Have you ever been thrashed with one?"
"No, ma'am."
"Have you ever been thrashed?"
"Yes, ma'am. Several years ago when I was particularly naughty, my father whipped me a little with his razor strop."
"Did it hurt?" Her face was brilliant with her smile, and I could tell that she enjoyed the conversation.
"Of course. But he only hit me a few times, so it wasn't really so terribly bad."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Criminee, no," I said. "Cod, I guess not!"
She walked up to me and pressed the curved enc m of the cane into my hands. Her enormous breasts touched my naked chest when she pressed the cane into my hands, and I could tell by the hardened nipples and her hot breath that she was already aroused.
"Tonight is your chance to get back," she said, winking. "Tonight you can get your revenge on adults by striking me with the cane. I want you to strike me every bit as hard as your father struck you with the razor strop. Will you do that?"
I was doubtful of the wisdom of doing such a thing, and this doubt must have shown in my face.
"It's all right," she said. "I'll simply bend over the end of the bed with my buttocks high in the air, and you can come down real hard with the cane. After that, Melody can take her turn. She's done it before-would you like her to go first to show you how it's done?"
I nodded, and Melody looked at me as though she could tear my tongue out. She backed away as her mother approached her with the cane. "Come now, dear," my stepmother said. "Don't be that way. You've struck me before, and you know exactly what to do. Come on now, Bridget, take the cane."
"Please, Mummy," the girl said. "Can't we just-just do what we always do? Why must we have the canes?"
Her mother pushed the cane at her and stared almost hatefully into her eyes. "Because I say we must!" she said. Her voice was firm and full of nasty authority. "Take the cane, or I shall lay it a few times across your own lovely ass."
Bridget took the cane but held it loosely in her hand. Her mother quickly flung herself across the end of the bed, her buttocks raised high in the air, her great breasts flattened onto the mattress. My erection had subsided slightly during the argument over the canes, but it now rose to full power when I looked down at the gaping, hanging pussy of my stepmother. Even though older flesh had no special attraction for me, I had grown so fond of screwing that the sight of any exposed twat made my tool spring to life and attention.
"Come on, Bridget," she said. "I'm ready. Lay the cane across my raised ass with all your might. Come on, child."
Brenda was breathing quite heavily now, and she kept looking back, like a mistress waiting for her lover to come join her in bed. She smiled sweetly and winked at Bridget in an attempt to lure the girl into an act that obviously repulsed her. Finally, she lost her composure again.
"Hit me, dammit!" she cried.
Almost by reflex action, the girl raised the cane and brought it down half-lamely across her mother's buttocks. The crack was barely audible, and it left no mark at all on the white, upraised flesh.
"Harder!" Brenda cried.
Bridget tied one into her, and the crack resounded sickeningly off the walls. I looked at my stepmother and saw that, even though she was smiling broadly, tears had squeezed out of her eyes.
"Very good," she said. "Excellent. And now three more about like that one-only harder."
Bridget raised the cane, ready for the strike. Her facial expression turned from determination to fear to horror and then to defeat. She dropped the cane to the floor and, with a loud sob, leaped to the floor beside the bed and grabbed her mother around the thighs from behind. She sobbed as she kissed the naked buttocks.
"Oh, Mother," she cried, "please don't make me do it to you any more. I love you, Mummy. I love you, and I don't want to hurt you. Please, Mummy, let's just make love the way we always have and forget ah about the canes."
Brenda turned violently in her anger, spinning the girl from her. Her right hand flashed, out and cracked the girl on the cheek. Bridget sat naked on the floor and sobbed as though her heart would break.
"You little tramp," the mother said. "How dare you be so cheeky with me! You will do as I say. Now, get off that floor and pick up that cane again. You will whip me, Bridget. You will give me what I need when I need it. Do you hear me?"
Bridget shook her head and continued sobbing. "No, Mummy," she cried. Her sobs were of mammoth proportions, and each time a great sob wracked her body, her firm young breasts bobbled enticingly. I wished the old hag of a stepmother would leave us to our own devices. My erection throbbed for the feel of Bridget, not to be witness to a thrashing with a miserable cane.
"All right," Brenda said, her lips and jaw set in determined anger. "Louis, help me get this naughty child onto the bed. If she won't whip me with the cane, I shall give her a taste of it."
I backed away, filled with horror at her suggestion.
"Come, Louis," the wicked woman said. "Help me get her off the floor."
"No," I said. "No, don't hurt her."
She glared at me and then at Bridget. Suddenly, her eyes widened in a sort of realization, and her face took on the look of an extremely wicked and insane woman.
"Aha," she said. "Now I understand. You two have been making love during my absence. You have been sneaking around behind things like a couple of dogs and fucking each other, haven't you?"
Bridget cried out loudly, and I stood staring at the hateful woman. She kept looking from Bridget to me, and I felt my heart begin to pound with a tremendous pressure in my chest.
"All right," she said at last. "I shall teach you both a lesson."
She picked up the cane and, without warning, lifted it and brought it down across Bridget's naked back. The crack was so loud that I was certain the insane woman had broken the girl's back. Bridget cried out like a hound that had been beaten by the fox. Instinctively, I ran to her aid and leaped up to grab Brenda's arm as the woman raised it for another blow. I crashed headlong into her and felt the warm flesh of her heaving tits against my face as we both fell in a heap upon the bed. The woman struggled, but I grasped her whipping arm with both hands and would not let go.
We wrestled vigorously on the bed, and as we rolled over and over, my erect penis kept slipping and sliding up and down in her crotch area. I tried to get the rascal inside in hopes that the feel of it in her soft vagina would halt whatever demons were possessing the woman, but I was unsuccessful. The woman was far stronger than I, and she succeeded in wresting her arm free. She leaped from the bed, leaving me there. I had started to get up to go after her again, when I heard the lethal swish of the cane and felt the bitter sting of it across the small of my back.
I yelped like a hurt puppy, and my hands went automatically to the injured area. That was my greatest mistake. As my hands probed the hurt spot, the cane was already on its way down. It cracked across my hands and arms, and I yelled again. This time the pain was more than mere sting. I felt a deep and throbbing pain in my left arm, and I knew that the bone was broken.
I started to shout this fact to the world in general-and in an unmistakably realistic tone-and the woman snorted her defiance and disbelief.
But it was enough to keep her from striking me again with the cane. She moved away from the bed, leaving me sitting there nursing my painful arm in my right hand. I rocked back and forth on the soft mattress, holding my arm and moaning loudly. I looked up in time to see the cane flying through the air again.
"No!" I cried.
Crack!
I was too late. The cane struck Bridget's back in almost the same spot as the first strike. Bridget screamed in pain and rolled over on her back, kicking up at her mother.
"On your stomach," her mother shouted. "Lie on your stomach or I'll whip your titties off."
I saw the terror in Bridget's eyes and the insane determination in her mother's, and I had the most distinct and horrifying feeling that I was about to witness a murder. I was convinced that the crazy mad woman was going to beat her daughter to death. If she did, she would then commence to do the same to me, because I would be the only witness to the dreadful act.
More in defense of Bridget than in concern for my own safety, I leaped from the bed and, in spite of the roaring pain in my arm, crashed into the fleshy body of my stepmother, knocking her to the floor beyond where Bridget lay. I quickly scrambled to my feet and knelt beside Bridget. I held her crying face in my right arm and looked up at Brenda as she came toward us, the cane raised high in the air above our heads.
"Don't," I pleaded. "Please don't. You'll kill her. You've already broken my arm, and I wouldn't doubt that you've broken her back."
I knew my pleas would go unheeded as I stared up at the menacing cane above our heads. I steeled my body to receive the blow and moved across Bridget so that it would not strike her again. I felt that my back was stronger and more able to absorb the angry cane. When the blow didn't come, I looked up to see why.
Brenda's face had frozen in a horrified expression, and she was staring at the door.
I turned quickly, and there was Father, his mouth wide-open, his eyes staring in disbelief at the scene. His mouth moved slightly, but no words came out at first.
"What-what in bloody hell is going on here?"
My heart cried out in thanks to him, but T, too, was unable to speak. My God, talk about being saved in the nick of time-and he was the last person I expected to see that night.
Suddenly, Brenda dropped the cane and started toward my father.
"Oh, George," she said in a sickeningly sweet he, "you just can't imagine the horrible thing I found these two doing just now. I simply had to punish them firmly or ... "
"You bitch!" my father shouted. "You filthy, evil, depraved BITCH!"
His mouth kept on working, but he was so angry that his voice died into silence. He had raised his hands to strike Brenda, but the great fists merely shook in spasms of frustration and anger. Brenda stopped a few feet in front of him and, remembering her nakedness, knew that there was no way out. She quickly gained her composure and looked back at Bridget.
"Get dressed quickly, Bridget," she said with amazing calmness. "It is easy to see that we are not wanted here."
Bridget still cried in her spot on the floor. I had stood up and wanted to run to my father, but I was ashamed to do so in my naked condition. He came into the room and looked around in what was obviously a painful experience for him.
"My God in heaven," he finally said when he saw the big bundle of canes. "What kind of an animal are you? Have you no sense of human decency? Have you no feelings!"
"Come, Bridget," my stepmother said.
My father had moved to the dresser where the canes lay in their torn butcher's paper. He selected one of the canes and hefted it several times in his right hand.
"Very solid canes," he said, wearily and sadly waving his head from side to side. "I suppose they could very easily break a bone."
I didn't want to tell him about my arm-not just yet. I wanted to see what he was going to do. He swung the cane up and down several times, listening to the wind whistle and swish around it. He looked at his naked wife, and I could almost see the wheels of revenge revolving in his head.
"Louis," he said quietly. "Gather up your clothes and take Bridget out of here."
"Bridget!" her mother snapped. "I told you to get up and come with me. We're leaving this house."
"You're going nowhere," Father said. "Not just yet."
I gathered up our clothing and helped Bridget to her feet. As we passed the naked woman, she glared at both of us. Bridget avoided the penetrating eyes and, still sobbing, allowed herself to be lead from the room. I knew that Father was going to give the woman a beating, but I rather hoped he wouldn't. The bitch, as he had called her, actually wanted a beating, and that was what the whole mess was all about.
I took Bridget to my room, where she collapsed crying on my bed. I examined her back and saw that she had two dark, ugly weals, side by side, across her back and shoulders. She had no broken bones, and surprisingly, even the skin was not punctured. I wanted to see what was going on in the next room, but I knew it would be dangerous to climb on top of the wobbly table again. My arm was already throbbing painfully, and a fall from there could very well break the blasted thing right off.
I took a water tumbler from my wash stand and pressed the open end of it to the door. I had learned the listening-device trick in school. Placing my ear against the bottom of the glass, I could hear almost every sound from the next room. It sounded as though they were talking into a barrel.
"I don't want to hear any lies about why you were beating those children," my father was saying, "or why you made them strip and exposed your horrible body to them. Don't tell me anything. I only know two things. One, I am going to give you some of what you were giving them. Two, when it is finished, I want you out of the house in one hour. If I ever see you again, you filthy bitch, I shall kill you."
"You call me filthy," she replied. I couldn't see her face, but I knew her sarcastic, evil expression well. "I could tell you a few things about that darling Louis of yours. Let me tell you-"
"Shut up!" my father snapped. "I won't have you spreading your filthy lies about my son or about your daughter. She stays with me until the court can resolve this matter. Meanwhile, you'd better get ready for a whipping."
There was a pause, then soft footsteps and the creaking of the bed.
"Just on the buttocks, please," I heard her say. Her voice had grown soft, pleading. Her indignant anger had left her, and from the tone of her voice, it was obvious to even me that she was looking forward to the expected whipping.
There was another long pause, and my father said, "I see. One of those. You think you're going to enjoy this, don't you? I can also see by the red marks on your filthy ass that you forced one of the children to cane you. Well, my lovely bride, you shall get yours." Crack!
There was no outcry.
Crack. Crack. Ker-ack!
Brenda cried out for mercy.
"Not there," she screamed. "Please, George, not so hard, you'll kill me."
"I heard the cracks you were giving those children all the way downstairs," he shouted above her pleas. "Thank God poor Hattie is nearly deaf or she might have heard and come to the rescue before I got here. What would you have done to her, beat her to death for interfering with your sordid pleasure?"
Crack!
He hadn't even waited for an answer.
The loud cracks and responding shrieks filled the room and came to me through the glass as though through a long tunnel. One part of me told me to get away from the door, but the more curious part of me forced me to stay. Bridget stirred on the bed behind me, and I knew that she could hear at least some of what was going on.
Crack. Crack. Crack!
They went on and on, and to my great surprise, I felt myself feeling sorry for the crazy woman.
And then they stopped. I listened for a long time, fearful that the sound of my breathing was being transmitted back through the glass into the other room. I heard the bed squeak again and knew that my stepmother had probably moved to her back. I kept my ear to the water glass and waited. Finally, her voice, soft and sexy, came through the tunnel.
"Come here, George," she cooed. "You know you want me, and that terrible beating has worked me into a terrible desire. Come here and put that great, sweet pecker of yours into my waiting pussy."
After another long pause, I heard Father's voice. "You want to be screwed after your little beating? Is that it? Is that the usual procedure?"
"Of course, darling. Oh, come now, George, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for what happened tonight. Come here and make love to me-like we did on our honeymoon-and we shall talk about it. You'll see that what happened was perfectly innocent and understandable."
"So you really want to be screwed?"
"Oh yes, George. Yes, yes, yes."
There was another pause and I heard my lather's heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. My heart shriveled up and died when I thought of him giving her what she wanted. If he went to her, she would wrap him around her little finger and make up a fantastic he about the events that had gone on in the room. And nothing would have changed.
I listened for the telltale sound of his clothing being removed, but it didn't come.
"Are you ready?" his voice asked, soft and low.
"Oh yes, darling. Hurry. Sock it to me."
After another brief pause, my eardrum was nearly shattered by the loudest and most grief-stricken scream I have ever heard-before or since.
"Ooooaaaaawghhhh."
I hear my father's heavy footsteps move away from the bed, and I knew what had happened. He had rammed the hickory cane as far as he could up her waiting, wet, receptive pussy.