The only vehicle Frank owned was the rattling panel truck in which he stored and transported his ladders and other painting equipment. It looked somewhat out of place as he pulled into the parking lot of a supper club noted for their excellent steak dinners and nosed into a parking space between a low-slung sports car and a gleaming new Cadillac.
Marge would've preferred to arrive at such an expensive place by taxi, but the whiskey was having its effect on her so Frank's old truck didn't embarrass her as much as it might have. Once inside, thanks to the modern custom of casual dress, she felt only slightly conspicuous because of Frank's Levi's, loud sports shirt and scuffed cowboy boots. His face and hands were a bit leathery from exposure to the sun and wind, and Marge fancifully imagined that the well-dressed people around them were mistaking Frank for a wealthy, eccentric young rancher who couldn't care less what anyone thought of his appearance, for indeed he didn't give a damn how he looked and his boisterous manner proved it.
"About time," he gibed good-naturedly when the scantily-clad waitress came to take their order. "Grandma was slow but she was old; what's your excuse?"
"I'm handicapped, sir," the young woman shot back at him pleasantly. "I'm built too close to the ground. It sort of slows me down."
Frank's booming laughter momentarily drowned out the dinner music and conversation around them. "You're built, all right, short stuff."
Marge felt like sliding down under the table.
The waitress smiled politely: "Would you like to order now, sir?"
"Yeah, give us each a T-bone with all the trimmings. The best you got."
"I can give you a child's plate for the boy," the waitress said, her pencil poised above her pad.
"Nah, don't shortchange my buddy there. Give him the works. If he don't eat it all, we can take the leavings home to Bozo in a doggy bag, right, Kenny boy?"
Kenny nodded. "His name's Bobo," he corrected.
"Bozo fits him better," Frank grinned. "He's a clown like short stuff here."
The waitress was no longer smiling. "How would you like your steak, sir?"
"Medium rare, all three of 'em. That's the only way to eat good steak."
The waitress looked questioningly at Marge, who nodded agreement although she would've preferred hers and Kenny's steaks to be cooked well done.
"Would you like to order cocktails or wine now?"
"I'll have a dry martini," Marge said. She was mortified by Frank's lack of manners in such a posh place as this. "On second thought," she added, "please make that a double."
"Hey, that's the spirit, baby," Frank said, much too loudly. "Live it up."
"A double for you, too, sir?"
"Hell, no, I don't go for that fancy stuff. Bring me a cold bottle of Coors, and a Coke for the kid. That suit you, Kenny, old buddy?"
Kenny looked at his mother. She usually made him drink milk with his meals. "Is that okay, Mama? Can I have a Coke this time? Or do I have to drink milk?"
"Sure it's okay," Frank told him without waiting for Marge to answer. "I said it was, didn't I?"
The boy got his Coke with no objections from his mother. Marge wasn't about to cross Frank for fear he would make a scene in public. Actually, Frank's behavior was true to his character. It was just that here, in the midst of elegant surroundings and well-mannered people, Marge noticed it more. She felt as if they were stuck out like a sore thumb, and that everyone was secretly laughing at them.
When their food came, Frank attacked his steak like a starved savage, actually picking up the bone toward the end to uncouthly tear off the remaining meat with his teeth. His atrocious table manners embarrassed Marge to the point where she ordered another double martini.
Thank goodness he didn't tuck his napkin into his shirt collar for a bib, she thought. It was a mistake, coming here to eat. I'll never let him bring me to another nice place like this, until after we're married and I've taught him some dining etiquette.
When they left the supper club, Marge was well on her way to becoming potted.
"What'a'ya say we park the kid at the apartment and come back here to dance for a while?" Frank suggested as he started the truck's engine.
There's no way you're going to get me back in there, Marge felt like saying, but instead she begged off, explaining that she was pooped from job hunting all day. "All I want to do is collapse on the couch and kick off these shoes, and go to bed soon as the late news is over."
"Sure, baby, whatever you say," Frank agreed, grinning to himself.
He stopped at a liquor store on the way home, bought another fifth of on-sale whiskey and a bottle of chilled wine.
"Take Bobo down to the alley so he can go to the bathroom, Kenny, and feed him the steak down there," Marge said as they entered the apartment, and just as she'd said she wanted to do, she plopped down on the couch and kicked off her shoes, sighing with relief as she rubbed one stockinged foot with the other.
Glasses rattled in the kitchen. Marge supposed Frank was making them a nightcap. Good, she thought fuzzily, I can use another drink. God, I'm tired! She lit a cigarette and took a deep, lung-biting drag.
There was a nagging, troublesome question in the back of her mind. How could she love the handsome redhead and yet be ashamed of the big lug in public? It hadn't occurred to her that the trauma of being deserted by her husband had caused her to latch onto the first seemingly strong man who appealed to her, or that her attraction to Frank might be nothing more than animal magnetism due to her sex-starved condition when they'd first met.
Kenny and Bobo were reentering the apartment when Frank returned to the living room carrying three water glasses. He had rotgut on the rocks for Marge and himself, and a mild, sweet red wine for Kenny. He told Marge it was strawberry soda pop but winked conspiratorially at the boy as he handed him the glass.
Although he didn't know what his glass contained, one sip was enough to convince Kenny that he liked it. He grinned and winked back at Frank. First a Coke with his supper and now this, whatever it was, that Frank wanted him to have but hinted that his mother mustn't know what it really was because if she knew she wouldn't let him have it. They were putting something over on her, him and Frank, and Kenny was beginning to like the big man. Frank had called him his buddy, and the way he was treating him now made the boy feel big and important.
In no time the wine had Kenny feeling all warm and funny-like on the inside. After he gave a couple of inappropriate giggles, Marge smelled a rat and took a sip from his glass.
"Why, that's wine!" she cried. "Frank, how could you? He's only nine!"
With a burst of laughter, Frank told her, "Don't get your bowels in an uproar, baby. It's just Strawberry Hill. Only nine percent alcohol. Now can that hurt him? Hell no, so pipe down and let my buddy have a little fun, too. We're celebrating, remember?"
"But I don't want Kenny drinking!" she wailed, and started to get up with Kenny's half-full glass and her nearly empty one in her hands.
"You know what your problem is, Marge?" Frank drawled, holding her down on the couch between himself and Kenny. "You're too damned sober."
"I'm half drunk and you know it," Marge protested. "Let me up, Frank. It's time for the news. I want to turn on the TV."
"Piss on the news," he said. "What you need is another drink." He wrenched the glasses from her hands, gave Kenny back his wine, and instead of refilling Marge's glass, he picked up the fifth of whiskey and held it to her mouth. "Come on now. Open up and take a drink for Daddy. You're all uptight, baby. It'll help you relax."
Marge took a swallow to humor him.
But Frank wasn't letting her off that easy. He cupped the back of her head, the way he'd done in the bathroom earlier, and kept the bottle, perhaps a third full, tilted against her lips, his resonant voice droning, "That'a girl. Take another swallow. Another. Don't stop now, baby. A little more. You know you need it. Just one more swallow. Come on, it'll make you feel better."
"Unn… glub, glub… noom… glub, glub… unn-nnnn… glub, glub… huh-uhhhhh… glub, glub… UNN, UNN… glub, glub, glub." She struggled and whimpered, thrashing about desperately, but it did her no good.
His hamlike hand held her head securely as he eased the neck of the bottle into her mouth and poured the fiery liquid down the throat of the piteously protesting woman, forcing her to choke or swallow.
The burning sensation in her rapidly working throat brought tears to Marge's eyes. Frantically she dug her fingernails into the wrist of his bottle-wielding arm, causing him to wince and mutter a curse, but he didn't let up on her. When at last he pulled the bottle from her mouth, it was empty.
"My God!" she croaked, and plunged her face into her hands, coughing and sputtering, fighting to catch her breath. "You made… me drink… it all!"
"Wasn't much left anyway," he chuckled. "Don't worry about it, sugar. Got another full one right here beside the couch. Want a slug out of it?"
"Goddamn it, Frank! No!" she husked, her hands shaking as she angrily fired up a cigarette. The room was spinning around her. Her throat felt raw. There was a bonfire in her stomach. She feared she was going to be sloppy drunk before she even finished her smoke. "Why the hell did you have to pour all that booze down me?!" she wailed, batting her eyelids in an attempt to clear her tear-misted vision.
Frank winked at Marge's tipsy son as he took her in his arms, cuddling her tenderly but offering no excuse for his actions. By the time she finished her cigarette, she was stoned out of her gourd, which was exactly the way Frank wanted her.
He began working her up, hugging her, Frenching her ear and stroking the nylon-sheathed columns of her long, lovely legs. At first Marge protested that she didn't want her little boy to see them carrying on this way, but Frank repeatedly silenced her with kisses. Marge pushed weakly at his chest, then finally whimpered submissively and started sucking his tongue as he fed it to her like a cautious, slippery snake.
Awareness of her son's presence faded gradually from Marge's alcohol-dulled mind. She couldn't remain angry with Frank, especially when she was in his masterful embrace, their tongues wrestling about in one another's mouths while his hand wedged insistently between her knees. She allowed him to pry her legs apart and, clinging to him, she uttered a purring noise as his work-callused hand caressed its way slowly but surely up the inside of her nearest thigh, his palm whistling faintly over the sheer nylon of her flesh-toned stocking.
The boy's curious eyes weren't missing a thing. He had a tight, nervous half-smile on his young face. The way Frank kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, giving him an occasional wink, made Kenny feel that he was somehow a part of these intimate goings on. He didn't know what to make of the way Frank and his mother were behaving, but he wasn't nearly so jealous this time. He and Frank were buddies now, so as long as his mother didn't mind the way Frank was kissing her and rubbing her leg, he guessed it was all right with him, too, although he couldn't understand why having her leg rubbed would make his mother squirm around so much and keep sighing all the time.
"Mmmm," Marge murmured, when Frank began kneading the exposed portion of creamy-textured thigh above the topband of her hose.
For a moment Frank dallied scant inches short of his primary objective, furtively watching the boy's mesmerized expression as he coaxed the mother's shapely legs farther apart. When he was convinced that Kenny's soulful brown eyes were riveted to the lust-inciting action of his hand, he cupped Marge's crotch and started stroking her clefted mound through the thin strip of secretion-moistened nylon of her lavender-colored panties.
"Ooooh," she sighed, smiling with her eyes closed as she spread her legs wider and savored the sensual pleasure of having her pussy petted.
She'd completely forgotten about her son by this time. She was drunk, hot and bothered, hardly knew where she was. Marge had no idea how long Frank teased her panty-covered box, but it was delicious, the kind of petting her husband used to give her in the early days of their marriage. She was thoroughly enjoying this unaccustomed treat. Far as she was concerned – she was feeling not thinking – she was perfectly content to have this exquisite moment go on forever.
But this wasn't Frank's intention. He had much bigger and – to him – better things on his vulgar mind. He was petting her puss for the same ulterior motive that'd made him force liquor down her. She was drunk enough for his purpose, all right, and now that he had her so worked up the crotchband of her panties was soaked with the slimy/slick proof of her passionate desire, it was time to move on.
He broke their tongue-entangled kiss and pecked along her cheek toward her ear, deliberately working his head in between her and the boy so as to shut off any possible view she might get to remind her Kenny was sitting on the couch with them. Knowing it would melt her, he covered her ear with his mouth and thrust in his hot tongue, swirling it around wetly in the delicate whorls.
"Ouuu, Daddy!" she whimpered, hugging him tight.
"Raise that sweet ass, baby," he whispered. "Let me get those damned panties off you."
The toes of her stockinged feet pressed down into the threadbare carpet as she used the floor for leverage to lift her rear end for him.
Swiftly he hiked her mini-dress up to her trim waist and hooked the fingers of both hands into the elastic waistband of her sheer step-ins. The edges of his front teeth captured her erogenous earlobe, making her shiver and moan with desire as he tugged her panties over the flare of her hips and whisked the protective undergarment down the alluring curves of her upraised, slightly parted legs. He pushed her lace-trimmed briefs past her knees and let the weight of their secretion-drenched crotchband pull them on down to her feet.
"That hot twat's good and juicy now, ain't it?" he breathed.
"Uh-huh!" she cooed, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she kicked away her lavender drawers.
"Got you good and hot, have I?"
"I'll say," she moaned, and fastened her mouth leechlike to his throat, biting him and sucking his flesh.
"That's it, baby," he encouraged, grinning at Marge's naive but excited young son as he pushed her legs wide apart and tugged her squirming rump out to the edge of the cushion. "Brand me with your love mark."
Motioning for Kenny – who'd already finished his wine and set the glass on the floor – to be quiet, Frank took the tipsy lad's hand and ran it up his mother's nylon-clad thigh. He drew it higher, working it in a circular motion over the warm, creamy skin of her perspiration-moistened inner thighs above the tops of her stockings.
Kenny's eyes were like saucers now, his body shaking with a mixture of strange, frighteningly powerful emotions which he'd never experienced before. The corners of his fearfully trembling lips were curled up in a tight, timid smile of uncertainty. With great difficulty he ripped his hypnotic gaze from the fascinating hairy crack between his mother's legs and glanced up questioningly at the big redheaded man.
"It's all right," Frank mouthed silently, his green eyes glinting devilishly from the charge he was getting out of this. "Do you want to feel her pussy?" his lips asked wordlessly.
"I don't know!" Kenny replied in kind, whispering just a tiny bit on the last word. He did want to, but he was scared. His mother had always been careful to keep that part of herself hidden from him, so he knew it was a secret, forbidden place. And by the sneaky way Frank was acting, he could tell they were doing something naughty to his mother, something she would never permit if she knew what Frank was up to.
But Frank didn't leave the decision up to the boy. This was one of his perverted fantasies and he was too close to seeing it come true to stop now. As a boy of twelve, Frank used to dream of playing with that hairy hole between his own mother's legs, and later, in his teens, of fucking it; he'd never gotten the chance to do either, but the thought of any kid diddling his own old lady made Frank wild to see it happening.
The fact that Kenny was scared shitless only made it all the more exciting for Frank as he forced the child's small, reluctant hand the rest of the way up between her legs and brushed it against the puffy, brownish folds of her vulnerable, secretion-moistened sex slot.
Kenny whimpered and sucked in his breath, but it went unheard because of Marge's nasal sigh of longing. Had she realized the vile trick that was being pulled on her, she would've been shocked to the core of her inhibited being. In her present state of lustful desire, however, Marge's alcohol-dulled mind failed to detect the difference between the disparately proportioned hands of her lover and son.
And Frank took full advantage of the lewd situation, too. Excitedly he guided the boy's hand over the mother's privates, combing the tiny, trembling fingers through the crisp, dark brown curls adorning the womanly mound above her distended vulval opening, forcing them to stroke up and down through the slippery folds of Marge's fatty labia before he finally sank two of Kenny's timid fingers into the velvety softness of her feverish, sticky-wet pussy.
"Mmmmmm!" Marge moaned, still clinging to Frank and sucking his neck.
"Do you like that?" Frank asked aloud, watching the expression on Kenny's face as it mirrored the lad's sudden surge of excitement. "It feels good, don't it?"
Kenny nodded, and Marge, thinking Frank's question was meant for her, quit sucking his neck long enough to say, "Mmmm, it sure does!" Then her lips pressed hungrily to a new hunk of neckflesh and she drew it into her mouth to suck and chew.
"Christ, this is rich!" Frank chortled, and he started masturbating the unsuspecting mother with her son's fingers. After a dozen or so pumping motions, he asked, "You got the idea now?" and when Kenny nodded, he released the kid's wrist and left him on his own.
While the tipsy child eagerly finger-fucked his inebriated mother, Frank slipped his hands behind her and began undressing her. He had her dress unzipped and her bra unhooked before it dawned on Marge that both his hands were busy divesting her of her clothes. But her alcohol- and lust-fogged mind was too sluggish to immediately grasp what was going on. Pondering how one of Frank's hands could, be in two places at the same time, she quit sucking on his neck and murmured, "Frank? Frank?" as she drew back her head, blinking to get him in focus.
"Yeah, baby?" He had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.
"You've got… both hands behind me… haven't you?" Her speech faltered due to her drunken condition, but her words themselves were only slightly slurred.
"Yeah, guess I have at that," he admitted, his voice quavering with the need to break loose and vent his perverted glee.
"But you're still… how can you be…?" Marge's voice trailed off as her soggy brain cells filtered out the truth of the matter. If Frank had both hands behind her back, then the hand between her legs couldn't possibly belong to him. It had to be someone else's… and there was only one other person's it could be. "Oh, no!" she moaned, suddenly recalling that her son had been sitting beside her when Frank had begun loving her up. She didn't want to believe what her mind told her had to be happening. Not her own son! It just couldn't be!
"Oh, yeah!" Frank howled as he pulled away from her abruptly and jerked her head down, presenting her with an unobstructed view of the action between her legs.
The shock of discovering that it was her son's small hand pumping all that carnal pleasure into her aroused snatch left Marge stunned speechless for what seemed like an eternity but was actually only seconds. It was insanely wicked, too horribly perverted for words. Kenny was jabbing his small fingers in and out of her like a little fiend, the grin on his childish face reminding her of the Devil himself; and despite the horror of her outraged mind, Marge's feverish pussy insisted that it felt absolutely terrific anyway!
"Oh,no! My God, noooh! Oh,my Goddd!!" she wailed, and with righteous indignation she shoved Kenny away and hurled herself up from the couch of her shame, intending to turn on Frank and claw his eyes out for degrading her and her innocent son in such a despicable fashion.
But she had no strength, and precious little control of her muscles. To Marge's utter consternation, she heard Frank laughing like a fool as she found herself staggering crazily about the tilting room in a desperate attempt to maintain her equilibrium. She lost. Her rubber-kneed legs gave way and her ass hit the floor with a jolting thud. "Oooff!" she grunted, and helpless as a newborn baby, she toppled ignominiously onto her side, her unzipped dress having slipped down off her shoulders by this time.
Marge felt dizzy and weak. It took great effort just to struggle up into a sitting position. In the process, her unzipped dress slipped down nearly to her waist, trapping her arms at her side. She jerked at her dress, trying to pull it back up. Her movement caused the straps of her unhooked brassiere to slip down from her shoulders, and the freed bra cups spilled her foam rubber falsies into her lap.
"Shit!" she wailed in frustration, and began crying.
Her hair was mussed up. She was half undressed, in a state of total disarray, sobbing with anger and humiliation. The flood of salty tears liquefied her mascara. It began running in zagged, dark brown streaks down her quivering white cheeks.
Bobo, who'd been investigating Kenny's sudden appearance on the floor beside him, walked over to Marge now, his tail wagging, and began licking her face.
"Goddamn it, get away!" she whined, and extricating her arms from her fallen dress and bra, she shoved the German shepherd with one hand and slapped at his head with the other.
Normally Kenny felt sorry for his mother when she cried, but not this time. His feelings were hurt by the way she'd yelled and shoved him off the couch. And he was mad at her, too. Long as she'd thought it was Frank playing with her old pussy, she'd liked it; but she'd thrown a fit soon as she saw it was him doing it. Her reaction had made the boy almost insanely jealous again. It wasn't Frank who was trying to shut him out of their relationship; it was her! No matter what his mother had said, the wine-high child was now convinced that she loved Frank better than she did him. He was furious with her. If she let Frank play with her pussy, why wouldn't she let him? Especially since Frank didn't mind, and must have even wanted him to, for the man had put his hand on her there and showed him how to do it.
Frank was bent over double now, pointing at Marge, laughing uproariously and slapping his knees. And Frank was Kenny's buddy, so the boy began imitating the man.
"That'a boy," Frank told him. "You want'a fuck her?"
"Huh?" Kenny had heard the word, but he didn't know what it meant.
"Put your peter in her pussy and pump it in and out, the way you saw me doing this mornin'. You want to?"
Kenny shrugged. He sort of wanted to try that, but he was afraid his mother wouldn't like it.
"Maybe I'll let you," Frank said, picking up the unopened fifth beside the couch as he returned his attention to Marge, who at that moment fell again, cursing, as she was trying to get up. Her dress had slid down to her knees and tripped her.
Frank thought it was hilarious. He laughed so hard tears formed in his eyes as he twisted off the bottle cap, breaking the seal as he did so. When he lifted the bottle, taking several large pulls of the cheap whiskey, he couldn't shut off his laughter completely. Some of the rotgut ran down his chin and dribbled off onto his lap.
"Potent stuff!" he croaked, and offered the bottle to Kenny as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
The lad took the bottle. Imitating his "buddy", he raised it to his lips and filled his mouth with the fiery liquid. His eyes snapped wide open and he spewed the whiskey back out. "Bleah!"
"Yeah, know what you mean, kid!" Frank guffawed.
Abruptly he snatched the fifth from Kenny's hand and recapped it. He quit laughing. His face took on an evil smirk as he set the bottle on the floor and reached under the couch for the paper bag he'd hidden there earlier, the one he'd said contained a present for Marge.
"Hey, Marge," he called, waving the bag at her as he got up off the couch, staggering a little, and started toward her. "Time for me to give you your present, baby."
"You know what… you can do with… your Goddamn present!" she muttered without looking up. She'd managed to push herself up into a kneeling position. The hem of her mini-dress was trapped beneath her knees. She was tugging at it, futilely attempting to pull it back up over her exposed tits.
The six-foot-three redhead weaved his way over to the kneeling, pitiful-looking, half-naked woman. Her mascara streaked cheeks made her look like a clown, what with her disheveled brunette hair framing her face in such a mussed-up manner. He lifted his leg, placed the sole of his scuffed cowboy boot on her bare shoulder and toppled her over to the floor again.
"Goddamn you!" she whined, landing in a very undignified heap on her side.
With the pointed toe of his boot, Frank nudged Marge onto her back. Then he dropped to his knees, straddling her midsection, and opened the brown paper bag. His green eyes glinted with perverted lust as he whipped out her "present" and showed it to her.
Marge stared in horrified disbelief. The object Frank held in his hand was the most obscene thing she'd ever seen. It was a huge artificial cock, easily a foot long and as big around as Marge's wrist. The head was nearly the size of her fist. It was made of a dull-sheened, jet-black rubber, the consistency of which simulated an erected phallus. The shaft was festooned with prominent, vein-like ridges. The massive, mushrooming head had a pencil-sized hole in the end of it, from which an unseen plastic tube traversed the center of the shaft, connecting the glans with a rubber bulb that served as a single, grotesque testicle. Beyond the flared base of the shaft, there was a narrower handle, by which Frank held the monster dildo.
"Where did you get that… that monstrosity?!" Marge gasped.
"Friend of mine's got a dental lab," he said with a lecherous grin. "Had him make it special for you, baby. You like it? Want'a kiss it before I give it to you?"