Some of the soreness was soaked away in the hot bath, and Donnie felt better, both physically and mentally. He relaxed in his room, getting dressed, finally, and going into the kitchen to forage for some food.
Charity heard him rummaging around and went in to help him. Together, they put some sandwiches on the table, along with a quart of milk and some cookies. Don wolfed down his food, talking now to his sister, as he chewed huge mouthfuls.
"That's out of sight… you getting the lead in the musical!" he told her. "Sorry, I laid it on you… when you first told me about it…" She glowed, happy that her brother had complimented her.
"Thanks, Donnie… it's real groovy… and it's a good show they chose this year…"
They chatted on about groups, festivals and school happenings. It was nice, Charity reflected, to be able to talk to Donnie. He could be nice some of the time, and he seemed to be working at being extra polite to her.
Dad had not been home, all day, she remembered and asked her brother, "Where's Dad…?"
"Who cares…!" he said, offhandedly; then, "Probably stoned somewhere!"
"I'm worried about him!"
"Don't!" he snapped. "It's not worth it!"
"He's still our father!" she pouted.
Donnie snorted. "Not much of a father!" He was sarcastic, disdainful. He arose from the table. "I'm splitting… got to take care of some business."
"Girl type business?" Charity kidded.
"Yeah!" he said, grimly. "Girl type?"
It was just getting dark when he left the house, mounted his motor bike and roared off down the street. He stopped, on his way across town to change the twenty dollar bill for two tens.
He parked his cycle in front of Marcy Lunceford's house, ambled up the front walk and rang the doorbell. Her mother come to the door, eyed him up and down and barked, "Yes?"
"May I talk to Marcy?" he asked politely.
"And who are you?"
"Don," he told her. "Just tell her Don wants to see her."
Mrs. Lunceford, again, looked him over from his boots to his middling-long hair. She must have found something distasteful in the way he looked, for she turned away, saying, "I'll call her… She'll see you, I suppose, if she's not busy!" She closed the door in his face.
"She'll see me!" Don assured the intricately carved portal.
The door was re-opened in a few moments. It was Marcy. Don lounged on the porch railing; he did not go to her. She was forced to walk over to him. He held the bills in his hand.
"I brought you your blood money!" he gritted.
"Groovy! Give it to me!"
He flung the bills to the floor at her feet.
"Pick them up… whore!"
Hers was a bitter laugh. "Wake up, Don… smell the coffee! If it gives you a thing… try the same label out on your mother!"
Don shot off the porch railing. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "That's a God damned lie!" he grated into her face. "You little bitch… I ought to give you some of what I got this afternoon!"
Calmly, she shrugged free of his grasp. "You wouldn't dare! Jack and his boys are just waiting for a chance to cut you up!" It was a bare-faced threat.
He backed away from her. There would be no point in running into something he knew he couldn't handle… yet.
"All right… lay it on me… you know so damned much! How do you know… that… about my mom…?"
"I've known it for months… my uncle was talking to my father – I overheard them. He said he'd laid Dottie Scott… took her to that motel, on the highway… just outside of town. He said she sucked him off… and fucked him!"
"That's enough!" Donnie's mind was seething. Christ! My own mom! "Did he pay her for it… just like a regular… p-prostitute?"
"Yeah… he said it cost him twenty bucks!"
"The God damned bitch!" he raged.
"Cool it, Don! It's her bag! She's the one that's doing it! It's her thing!" she reasoned.
"But… it's my mom!"
"… And, maybe there's a reason…"
"Like what…?"
"Like your father, Gabby… he's the town drunk… isn't he? When was the last time he worked?"
Her truths were hitting home. Damn! Maybe she's right! Maybe Mom did hove reasons for… for doing it! He walked to the edge of the porch and stared out into the street. Then, it's really Dad's fault! He's to blame…! And, Mom just wanted to get things for us kids… like her helping me to get my motor cycle! Christ!
"I know something else, too…" she taunted.
"Lay it on me… too!" he growled, not turning to face her.
"Your dad's in jail! He beat up a guy in a bar… because he called your mother a whore!"
"Great! Just great!" Don grunted, "I hope he rots there!"
He walked quickly down the walk, started his bike and shot off down the street, without a backward glance.
God! What a mess! Our family's just one great big nothing! Christ… the sooner I hit the street, the better…! But, I've got to have some bread… before I leave! Got to have something to start out with!
Don headed for Ray Donahue's house. In Ray's room, lounging at ease, he talked about what had happened to him at the hands of Jack Roberts.
"We've got to have muscle, man! We can do the same things better… if we've got the organization!" he told Ray.
"Yeah, like that's what I say, too. We could get a couple more cools guys… and do some leaning of our own!" Ray agreed, enthusiastically.
They talked for hours and laid it all out. Their meticulous plans, they were convinced, was going to net them a lot of bread. The money would come their way, now, and they were going to use every means at their disposal. Don, of course, didn't tell the tall, freckled-face boy that for him, at least, this was going to be a short-term project. All he wanted was a stake… then he would get the hell out of Redfern. It was the street for him… probably in San Francisco! Things happened up there. He wanted to be in on it… where it was happening!
"You want to go the whole route, Don… use some real muscle?"
"Like what?"
"Like guns, maybe?"
"Guns?" Don was incredulous. "Christ! You get caught… and they send you up north! No simple little Juvie for that!"
"But, if you're smart… real brainy… you don't get caught!"
"Yeah… But…"
"I lifted a couple, already!" Ray boasted.
"Guns…?"
"Like, why should I put you on…?" Ray reached into his closet and produced two pistols, a snub-nosed.38 and a.45 automatic. He handed Don the.38, and he hefted it in his hand. "Be careful… it's loaded!" Ray warned.
Don was impressed. "Like, man… nobody'd argue with this!" He suddenly saw the weapon for what it was: a powerful force, in the hands of the wielder… and equalizer… a counter force. He had given up some ideas about peace, love… and non-violence that afternoon. Those ideas had fled as the blows rained down on him from the fists and boots of Jack Roberts and his two goons. Christ! What a temptation! "You want to learn how to use it?" Ray asked.
"Sure, man! Go ahead… lay it on me!"
Ray Donahue showed him the mechanics of the pistol and gave him a half-full box of ammunition and loan of the pistol so that Don could do some target practice.
"Now… don't let that thing get away from you!" Ray told him. "I can let you have it till Saturday… got it?"
"Right on… I'll get it back to you on Saturday, sure!"
Riding home on his big motorcycle, Don felt important, confident, even a little cocky, with the.38 tucked into the waistband of his jeans, his windbreaker zipped up to cover the butt of it. As he rode along, his hand would steal to the pistol, to feel it, fondle it, and he idly wondered whether or not he would use it. Could he point it at a person? More importantly, could he fire it… if he had to do so? He didn't know. One thing he did know: there could be no such thing as a three to one fight… with the loaded gun in his hand.
A station wagon, standing at the curb on the opposite side of the avenue, attracted his attention. A stockily built man labored, in shirt sleeves, to change a flat tire. It was almost one o'clock in the morning. There was no traffic. The man was alone.
Don rode on for two more blocks. He wrestled with an idea he couldn't shake. It was late. The guy was alone. He was a middle-aged establishment type, and he probably had a wallet stuffed with bread. Man! It would be easy! He fondled the butt of the short-barreled.38 that nestled in his groin. Like taking candy away from a baby! Shit! This could be perfect! The guy couldn't possibly identify me… it's so dark!
The boy pulled over to the curb and parked. His heart pounded. Fear and a certain sense of profound excitement welled up in him. He had experienced it once before and overcame it, as he reached into his mother's dresser drawer and stole a twenty dollar bill. What he contemplated, now, was bigger… much bigger. With an effort of will, he calmed himself. His mind was racing, planning what he must do. He must have every detail set in his hastily formulated plans. Every move must be thought through… so there could be no possible foul-up. Satisfied, finally, his mind made up, his plan of action settled, he went to work. He took off his boots, removed his socks, put the boots back on and used the socks, tying them on with bits of string from his saddlebag, to conceal the registration plate on the rear fender and the manufacturer's name on the right side of his bike. He was almost ready, but he looked around to make sure he was not observed. All the homes were dark and peaceful; however to throw off suspicion, he knelt down and pretended to tinker with the engine. It was a master stroke. A car drove by on the avenue, and he was caught in the glare of its headlights, as head down, he delved into the machinery of the motor. His heart beat like a jackhammer, momentarily, until he was sure the car would not stop. It continued on up the avenue, not pausing in its steady forty mile an hour speed. Damn! That scared the living hell out of me!
After long moments, he stopped shaking, mounted his bike, made a U-turn and headed back towards the parked station wagon with the flat tire.
Don had tied his handkerchief over the lower part of his face as he rode along and pulled his stocking cap down to his eyebrows. He pulled up beside the car and behind the man changing the flat tire, noting that he was just tightening up the lug bolts. Don said nothing. He waited, the gun in his hand.
The salesman looked up at him, finally, and started to say, "Got the damn thing…" He stopped. The menacing pistol in Don's hand was pointed directly at him.
Speaking low, Don told him, "Put your wallet on the hood of the car!"
The frightened man hastened to obey. It was the second time tonight he had stared down the barrel of a pistol.
"Now, put your hands up… on the roof!"
He retrieved the wallet, looked in, saw several bills and removed them. "This all?" he barked.
"That's it… l-look I've got to drive eight hundred miles to get home… I-I can't…"
Donnie put a twenty dollar bill back in the man's wallet. Then, he threw the billfold under the car.
"Crawl under after it!" Don ordered. Again, the full-faced man obeyed. Far be it from him to argue with a gun.
Stuffing the bills into his jeans pocket, Donnie mounted his motor cycle and roared off down the avenue, in the opposite direction from his home; then, taking a round-about route he worked his way homeward, parked his bike in the driveway, removed the socks from it and put them in his windbreaker jacket. Easy! Christ! It was almost too easy! The damned guy was seared almost shitless!
Don hastily counted the money, as soon as he was in his room. It amounted to seventy-nine dollars. Not bad! Not bad at all! He put the money in a safe hiding place, the gun into the back of his closet in a cloth duffel bag. He was just emerging from the closet when he heard a soft tap at his door.
"Don…?" It was Charity, his sister. "Can I talk to you…?" she murmured in a half whisper.
"Sure… why not?" He opened the door and let her in.
Afterward, she applied herself to her school assignments and watched a favorite T.V. show. It was later than usual when she prepared for bed. Her father had still not returned home, and she wondered, again, briefly, where he might be, deciding after some reflection, that it was not unusual for him to be away from home for long hours. He was probably drinking with some friends, trading stories, or maybe telling dirty jokes. He did get completely stoned, at times, she knew… but his absence out of her mind, went into the bathroom and began her bedtime ritual of bathing.
She couldn't, however, put her father completely out of her mind. The way he looked at her, lately, really bothered her. It was as though he was mentally undressing her, his half-lidded eyes following her every movement, avidly, devouring her every contour, and she knew, almost instinctively, that it was wrong. No father should have that kind of interest in his own flesh-and-blood daughter as a sex object.
… And, it was sexual interest in her, on his part; she knew it and recognized it, and was afraid to be alone with him. This was, of course, the reason why she had wanted to remain at school in the nurse's room, rather than go home. It was the unmentioned subject of her conversation with Mrs. Keaton, the school nurse. It was also what prompted her to remain in her own room, as much as possible, with the door locked, and she, habitually, locked the door to the connecting bathroom when she occupied it. On more than one occasion, he had accidentally blundered in on her, his eyes sweeping over her naked young body before he excused himself and left the room.
She knew, also, that Donnie was doing the same thing, now. There was the same look in his eyes, a lustful yearning… an unnatural desire.
Stripping her clothing from her young body she prepared to step into the warm bath she had drawn. Her reflection in the mirror caught her attention, and she studied her definitely womanly figure. She was satisfied with what she saw… But I'm not really as beautiful as Mom. My breasts are smaller… and my hips are not as curvy… at least not yet.
Running her hands over the smooth, satiny skin, she brought up both hands to cup the rounded hemispheres of her high, proud breasts, rolling the erectile buds of the nipples in her fingers until they were distended and the areolae puckered up around them, the warm flush of tumescence flooding through her… that feeling of need… of desire… of sexuality.
With an effort of will, she denied that sexuality, making herself think of other things to relieve the concentration of her thoughts on her body… and its promises.
As she had undressed a few moments before she was elated to discover that her menstruation had stopped. Well… that's finished and done with… for this month…
Charity knew about and understood the mechanics of sex and reproduction. She had had the Sex Education Class in school, but she had no burning interest in sexual things. She had refused to go steady with any one boy; she preferred to date several, but the mores of modern youth dictated steady dating as de riguer. It followed, that although she was an extremely attractive girl – no… she was an extremely beautiful girl – she didn't have many dates, because the word was out: Charity doesn't want to go steady! She was practically cut off the vine, so to speak, for one of the main reasons for steady dating was easy availability for petting… heavy petting… and sexual intercourse. Making out was the word, and Charity knew that many of the couples of her acquaintance were either going all the way in sexual encounter… or were petting to orgasm, so-called heavy petting.
She remembered with an embarrassed blush the boy she had consented to date for the third, consecutive time. He had parked after their date, and she had consented to a few kisses and embraces. Bill Cartwright, the boy, had gotten more and more aroused, his kisses deep and probing, his tongue tantalizingly sweet and demanding in her mouth, then his hands were on her breasts, dipping inside her blouse, unhooking her bra and going under it to the warm, satin smoothness of them, her nipples coming up spiky-hard, unbidden. There was that warm glow in her, and she did not stop him, strangely, in spite of her resolve not to, wanting it to go on and on, as searing sensations played in her loins… new, delightful feelings with their ever growing promise of rapture.
His mouth had trailed down her neck to the cleft between her breasts, and then unbuttoning her blouse, he claimed the budding nipples with his warm, wet lips. Oh, God! It was wonderful!
… But, something in her told her that it must stop, and she tried to pull away from him, mumbling, "No… Bill, no! We can't go on…!"
He muffled her protests with his mouth, welding it to hers, as he kissed her, again, deeply, his tongue doing wonderful things to her, and she reciprocated, giving him her tongue to suck and nibble upon, while he allowed his hand to caress and smooth down across her flat belly, arriving, finally, at the vee between her thighs where he rubbed at her through her clothing.
Again, she objected, but his insistent hands were under her skirt, moving up her satiny smooth inner thigh against the rising wetness of her panties, his finger through the filmy nylon material, finding the hardening flesh of her clitoris in its secret hiding place, the sparse hair-ringed furrow of her femaleness. His finger played there, stroking her while the fiery sex sensations flooded through her, making her weak in her objections to his manipulations, until finally, with a low throaty groan up into his mouth, she surrendered to them.
She hadn't wanted to do it. Her reasoning mind told her that it was wrong, but her body, sensate and reaching for ecstasy overruled all rational thought and grasped for the pleasure of the moment, as her hips moved, uncontrollably, in tiny, undulant movements up against his teasing finger. Then, he pulled aside the wispy material of the crotchband of her panties, his finger teasing into the tight, virginal lips of her cunt, moving, tantalizingly, in the vestibule, but not entering further, merely stimulating her beyond all reason.
"Oh, God… Bill! Don't do any more to me… I'm afraid!"
"Like what…?" he asked. "Orgasm…?"
"I've never… d-done… That…" she faltered.
"Man… you're strung out and ready, now!" he said with authority.
Reaching up, he grasped the waistband of her panties and pulled them down as far as he could, she, unconsciously, shifting her weight until he was able to pull then halfway down her thighs. He wormed a finger into the viscous moistness of her pussy, again, and drew it through the coral furrow up to the pulsing miniature phallus that peeped out, above. She gasped when his finger touched her there, the nerve endings sending out desperate signals for fulfillment. He stroked and fondled with his hands, one in her cunt, moving with gentle caresses on her clitoris, the other squeezing and smoothing her firm, rounded young breasts, alternately, his mouth, meanwhile, busy sucking, nibbling and chewing at her mouth, her neck and the hard, erectness of her nipple-buds.
Under his manipulative movements, her body had gone wild. Her hips moved back and forth, now, countering the stroking movements of his fingers, her mouth returned his kisses, and as the building fires in her loins became almost unbearable, she began to moan, incessantly, her voice keening in the closeness of the car. Her breath came in short gaspings; she knew it was a sign that her climax was near. Oh, God! It feels wonderful! I never want it to stop!
Her body began to jerk convulsively, her hips flexing upwards faster and faster off the seat of the car, the sex-raw sensations arcing in her like thunderbolts, until, suddenly, she recognized the new experience of orgasm. She was in it! Surging tides of rapture enveloped her. Sight and sound dimmed, and there was only the all-consuming ecstasy of the moment. As from a great distance, she heard her own voice, "Ooooh! Biiiillll! Ooooooooohhh! It's happening… to me! It's cumming! It's cuuummmming! AAAaaauuugggh!"
Wave after wave of euphoria washed through her. She collapsed in Bill's arms, and he kissed her tenderly.
"Groovy… wasn't it…?" he asked.
"Y-Yeesssss! Oh, yes!"
She was ecstatic for a moment, but a disturbing thought struck her. She verbalized it, immediately. "But… it seems… Wrong… s-somehow… doesn't it…?"
"Hell! How can it be wrong? It felt good didn't it? And you enjoyed it… that's the main thing!"
"But… it's m-masturbation."
"That crap's for the dark ages!" he said, vehemently. "It's never hurt anybody! Now, you can fix me…!" He reached down, unzipped his pants, delved inside and brought his fully erect penis out into the car with them.
Charity had seen it standing up massively from his body, as he held it by the shaft and pulled the foreskin back to expose the bulbous head of it, a tear of preparatory lubricant glistening, viscously, at the slit in the very tip. She looked away in embarrassment, not knowing how to handle his obvious exhibition of it. On a few occasions, she had seen both her father and her brother nude, but she had always felt uncomfortable… as though she were witnessing something that was basically dirty.
"Here, let me put your hand on it," Bill said.
"M-My hand…?"
"Of course… you're going to jack me off… do the same thing for me… like I just did for you… You know…"
"Wh-What do you… M-mean…?" she asked.
"I'll show you!" he grunted, taking her hand and placing it on his hardened rod, curling her hand around its chunky girth. "Now, move your hand on it… up and down… until I cum!" He kept his hand around hers and demonstrated the movement.
At the first contact of her hand with his virile young cock, she tried to shrink away, the shock of actually touching the thing frightening to her.
"N-No! I-I can't… do it!" she moaned.
"Come off it, Charity! You'll either do it this way… or suck me off! I've got to have my fun, too!"
"S-Suck… on that…?" She was incredulous. "Ugh!"
He had given her a choice. She chose the former suggestion, finding it the least disagreeable. She just couldn't imagine anyone doing it. That's horrible! Why that's the nastiest thing I ever heard… sucking on a boy's t-thing!
"Sure! Millions of people do it!" he assured her.
"I don't believe it!"
"I'm just laying the facts on you!" he said, exasperated. "Here… let me put a little spit on it!" He removed her hand for a moment while he applied saliva to his upstanding prick. "There, now… move your hand… slow at first… I'll tell you when to speed up…!" His hardened cock was warm in her hand; she could feel the heat it exuded as she did his bidding, moving her hand stiffly in the up and down motion he had shown her. Her fingers barely reached around it, and she wondered idly how an erect penis was ever able to go into a girl's vagina. Specifically, she wondered how it could ever fit into her own tiny virginal cunt. She knew from examination of herself that there had to be a disparity of size.
She knew she would not ask him that particular question; he might want to show her, and she was not ready, yet, to lose her virginity. In the state she had been, just a few moments, before, she might well have allowed it, the power of the passion that had held her in its grasp had been all-consuming. It would have been easy, she realized, now, for her to have accepted anything, at that point… even vaginal intercourse. The thought was frightening. Dear God! I might have done it! I might have let him put his thing in me… and… and… It was too much. She couldn't bring herself to complete the thought. God! She had been so close… and hadn't realized it, at the time!
"Christ!" he grated. "Don't try to choke it to death! Loosen up your hand… and let it move kind of loose like… all the way up and down… over the head, too!"
Trying to do it the way he instructed her, she felt it throbbing and jerking in her hand, and somehow, there was a thrill to it… some undefinable feeling of erotic stimulation. She suddenly, had the idea that there was power, force… an animal energy in the organ itself, as it responded to her now feathery touch. His cock expanded and throbbed against her hand, its heat seeming to increase with the friction as she moved on him.
Now, his hips were jerking up and back to meet her manual manipulation of his prick, fucking her hand-substitute with jackhammer fury. Finally, she realized that he was moving faster and faster. She tried to keep up, but could not. Finally, holding her hand almost immovable on him, she could only wait desperately for his explosive climax.
Charity had not noticed, earlier, that he had removed his handkerchief from his pocket, but now, she saw it in his hand; she knew, instinctively, what it was for, as he brought it down to hover just above her hand curled around his racing cock. He must be very near, she decided, feeling a definite stirring in her own being, with the realization that she was acting as an instrument for all of this magnificent power, a power held solely in her own tiny, trembling hand.
Suddenly, he groaned and gave a final thrust, and she could feel the hard rod of flesh in her hand expand and begin spasmodically jerking, pumping his white, hot and viscous cream through the tumescent tube of his cock. Several times she felt it, a tiny, shivering thrill going through her. At the instant of his shuddering climax, he had brought the handkerchief down to cover the head, catching the sperm in its enveloping shroud. She was slightly disappointed that she could not actually see it… see it and feel it as it spewed forth, but she understood his concern for their clothing and the interior of his car. Then, some of the warm, sticky fluid ran down onto her hand, and she could smell the pungent male odor of him in the confines of the car. She found it not at all unpleasant, now, and she was completely surprised at herself. What had come over her? Was it because she had helped to give him pleasure? She didn't know… and slowly, reluctantly, she released him.
She finished her preparations for bed, snapped out the light and crawled in between the sheets. Tossing and turning, restlessly for several minutes, she was finally claimed by sleep from sheer fatigue. Hers had been a full day.
Charity had been aware of the sexual activities in her parents' bedroom for several years. She had been about six years old, when curiosity had overcome her, and she had walked into their bedroom in the midst of a particularly passionate scene. Her father had punished her, severely, paddling her little, bare bottom and telling her she must never come into their bedroom, again, at night. She had been so thoroughly frightened and chastised that she had never considered the possibility of spying on them, again. True, she had heard them; it was difficult not to have heard, because the flimsy walls of the old house made that kind of privacy impossible.
When she had awakened that fateful evening, hearing voices in her parents' bedroom, she assumed that it was her father and mother who made them. They did often make love very late in the evening, or in the early hours of the morning; her mother's work schedule, of course, must have been the determining factor.
She was suddenly disturbed, however, when she became aware that tonight her mother was talking to someone, not her father! It was a strange man. She was sure of it. She would have known her father's voice, anywhere, anytime… and she could think of no valid reason why her mother should be having a strange man in her bedroom at this very late hour. Words were not clearly distinguishable to her, and, finally, her curiosity could no longer be held at bay. She had to see who it was!
Her heart pounding with both fear and apprehension, she slipped out of her bed and padded, softly, into the connecting bathroom. She stood near the door leading into her parents' bedroom, ears straining to hear the trend of the conversation and trying to identify, if she could, who the strange man might possibly be. There was not the slightest suspicion in her mind concerning why the man might be there.
Then, she heard him say distinctly, clearly, "Because… tonight… I'm going to do anything I want to!"
There was several minutes of relative silence on the other side of the closed door. Then, the sounds of rustling bedsheets, the slight squeak of bedsprings came to her, and afterwards there was the sound of low, mewling moans, followed by her mother's voice. It was unmistakable, now! The strange man in her mother's bedroom was having sexual intercourse with her mother. The realization of it shocked her. Her mind spun. She was dizzy and she grasped the wash basin to maintain her balance. Her mother's words were distinct. She had actually heard her mother say them: "Oh, that's so good! Fuck me… n-now! Oh, fuck me!"
Mom! Oh, dear God! My mother…! It's my mother… another man… and he's doing it to her! Oh, God… my own mom… committing adultery! That's what it is… when a woman does it with another m-man… a man who's not her own husband! Oh, Mom! Why? Why are you doing it? Why are you… ch-cheating on Daddy? Why, oh why?
Unbidden tears welled into her eyes and streamed, unnoticed down her smooth, young cheeks. An overwhelming feeling of shame flooded through her… a feeling that her mother had no right to do what she was doing.
That, somehow, her mother's lewd act involved her, also. It was, in her mind, as though her mother had betrayed her… betrayed her in the cheapening act of taking another man into her bed, into her father's rightful place.
Again, her mother's voice came to her where she stood listening at the connecting bathroom door. Her mother's voice was different. It was agonized, strained… straining and full of desire and passion. "Fuck me, God Damn it! You're only teasing me…frustrating me! I want your c-cock fucking me in the cunt! Come on! Fuck me… that's what you're here for… isn't it?"
The strange man's voice: "Not yet, baby… I've got something else Iwant to do… first!"
"Wh-what…?" Her mother's tremulous voice.
"I'm going to fuck you in the mouth!"
Charity was shocked again. She hadn't realized that her mother could use such language. On rare occasion, she had heard her father use those obscene words – Donnie used them, too – but never had she heard her mom use the vile words. Dear God!
Her mother was answering, "All right… I guess I can s-suck you off!"
"You misunderstood me! I said that I'm going to fuck you in the mouth! Get up on the bed!"
A horrible vision of the humiliating act the stranger described passed through Charity's mind. She shuddered. Dear God! That's awful… I-It's obscene… and d-dirty! How could Mom… d-do it…? Ugh!
Her mother's voice, again: "My God… that's inhuman…"
Charity heard the loud crack of flesh being slapped, cruelly. Oh! He's slapping her… forcing her to do it!
There was the faint rustling sound of a body moving on the bed, the groan of the bedsprings as the second person got onto the bed. That would be the man, she decided.
"That's more like it! When I pay a whore… I expect her to do what I want to do… otherwise, there's going to be Hell to pay!"
Charity had to cover her mouth to stifle her gasp of surprise and dismay. How much more could she stand? Oh, my God! My God! It's not j-just a-adultery… Mom… i-is doing it f-for m-money… s-selling herself…! Mom i-is a-a… Whore… a wh-whore…! Ooooooooh! Mother!
The anguish in the girl's heart was immeasurable! Her senses whirled, and for several moments, it seemed, her whole life went into a tailspin, crashing to earth with tremendous force. She was crushed. The knowledge was almost unbearable that her own mother was nothing but a prostitute, a whore… a woman of the streets… a low woman. Her own mother had sunk to the lowest rung of humanity!
Again, the stranger was speaking: "Open your mouth, baby, or do you want another across the face?!"
"God, n-no…!" Her mother.
There was a few moments of silence on the other side of the closed door before the man spoke again. "You can go ahead and suck like that… if you want to, but I'm going to do the work, baby! I'mgoing to ram my cock down that sweet mouth of yours… fuck your mouth like a cunt!"
In her shocked and stunned condition, Charity moved as one in a trance. There was something in her that made her want to see for herself… her eyes, alone, would give the lie to her ears. It wasn't really possible that her mother could allow herself to be debased in such an unnatural and cruel way! Stealthily, her hand crept to the doorknob and found it in the darkness. She turned the knob, praying that it would make no noise. The door opened, silently, and swung toward her an inch or two, her eye peering through the crack with fright, the fear pounding in her. It was not necessarily the fear of being discovered in her spying, although that was something she did not want; rather, it was the fear that her eyes would reveal the corroborative truth of that which her ears had already heard.
The bedroom was dimly lighted, but she could see, clearly, the obscene tableau on her parents' bed. Her mother was stripped completely naked; her white, tapering thighs spread wide to reveal the moist, pink furrow of her femaleness, and the nude, solid and stock figure of the stranger sat astride her mother's chest, her full, rounded breasts crushed, cruelly, under his fleshy buttocks. Then, her frightened, watching eyes swung to her mother's face where she saw the lewd spectacle of the thick, hard penis that was absorbed to the hilt in the tiny, red-lipsticked and ovaled lips of her mother's mouth.
Oh, God! It's true! He's doing it… doing what he said he was going to do! He's got his thing in morn's mouth… and… and… d-doing it like he would down b-below… i-in her v-vagina…!
Charity watched, now with perverse fascination, as she saw the man begin to withdraw his hardened rod until just the head of it remained just inside her mother's mouth, and she saw that the inner flesh of her lips was pulled out, a ragged line of the tender, pink flesh showing around the thick hugeness of him. He was speaking, again, now: "Now, keep your lips just like that… tight, but not too tight!"
She saw her mother's lips turn in, now, the flesh stuffed back in, as the hard rod of male flesh slid deeply into her mouth and throat, burying itself far down into the confines of her warm working throat. Again, he withdrew it, only to plunge his rampaging cock powerfully down and in, between the cruelly tortured lips of her mother's roundly stretched mouth, until she was sure that she would gag or suffocate with the unnatural invasion.
Then, he established a regular rhythm, fucking in and out with long, powerful strokes, his cock disappearing each time, until his bristly pubic hair covered her mother's nose and mouth, and she saw her mother close her eyes.
Did she close her eyes in shame… to blot out the lewd debasement to which she was being subjected… or was it because of erotic stimulation, a perverse, masochistic pleasure she obtained from the lewd act? Charity didn't know, could not fathom her mother's reaction to this whole sordid affair. What would she, Charity, have done… if she were in her mother's place? Swiftly, the thought came and went. She tried to visualize herself in her mother's place. It was useless. She could not imagine it… could not take her mother's position and allow such an obscene act to be perpetrated upon her.
Mom… how can you let it go on? Dear God… sh-should I do something… make a noise… let them find out that I-I've been watching… a-and make a big s-scene…? I-I could do it real easy… but, then… Mom would kn-know that I-I know a-all about h-her… and what good would that d-do…?
The girl knitted her brows in deep thought as she watched. Her decision was a hard one to make, but, instinctively, she knew that she was making the right one. No! I-I'll never l-let her kn-know…! But, I-I can't stay here… live in this h-house with h-her… knowing what I-I d-do…!
Now, the movement of her mother's soft, smooth, white thighs caught her attention, and she watched with fascination as her beautifully sculpted columns began to move, rubbing back and forth sensuously against each other, her hips moving in undulant circles under her, erotically. This, the young girl saw and recognized. Her mother was sexually aroused!
It was a completely surprising revelation to her; the possibility that her mother could enjoy this unnatural oral coupling had not occurred to her.
Then, the truth of this shocking discovery was borne out for her, as she saw, now, that her mother's head had begun to move in opposition to the punishingly hard cock in her mouth, countering his fucking movements, her lips seeming to tighten around the thick hardness of him and her cheeks beginning to hollow in and out with vigorous sucking movements. Oh God! Her mother was helping him! She was a participant!
Above her mom, now, the man was panting, his face contorted with the agony of his need for release. He was moaning aloud. He spoke then, the first sounds for several moments: "Just a little more… and I'll cum in that sweet little mouth of yours!"
Charity watched as he slid his knees back and lay flat on her mother's face, his hips flexing up and down, driving his lust-inflated prick ever deeper into her tightly locked lips and the young girl marveled that her mother was not suffocated from the brutality of his pile-driving actions. Her mother gasped for breath and writhed under him, her thighs splaying out, almost as though they begged for something. It happened then! Charity knew what her mother felt. She was unfulfilled and frustrated. Her mother's thighs were spread to receive a penis she could not get, and as she watched, her mother provided it for herself!
Her mom's hand snaked downward to the moist, blatantly throbbing mouth of her cunt, three fingers held closely together, forming, roughly, a stiff substitute with which to fill her demanding pussy. Charity watched, disgust filling her as her mother's fingers ground deeply into her own voracious depths, matching the rhythm of the huge penile presence in her mouth. Then, her other hand moved on her clitoris, and together, both hands worked there, lewdly, faster and faster, her fingers jabbing almost savagely into her open, hair-fringed cunt.
Suddenly, she saw the man's body stiffen, and the horrified young girl knew that he must have reached his climax, his sperm pumping through his swollen cock deep into her mother's mouth. She saw her mother struggling to swallow it as his ejaculate spewed from him. She decided, at that instant, that she had seen enough and heard enough of the depravity going on in her mom's bedroom.
Sick at heart, she turned away and padded through the other connecting door into her own bedroom and closed it, softly, to blot out the scene that was rapidly coming to an end. Then, the girl threw herself full length on her bed and sobbed softly into the crook of her arm, reaching for a corner of the pillow to stuff into her mouth when she feared that her grief would be heard in the other bedroom by her mother. Never would she allow her mother to know that she had spied on her. Oh, Mom… why? Why? WHY? Charity, of course, would never know how that scene ended.