Laurel Willis stared at the table before her. There was a cup of coffee, barely touched, long since grown cold with curdled cream bubbles on the surface. A very bad novel which she'd opened and closed almost simultaneously. And an ashtray overflowing with stale-smelling, ground-out cigarettes. She looked at the kitchen clock. In just a few minutes she'd find out why her life had begun to disintegrate in the past twelve or fourteen hours.
It began so placidly. Last night. She was in the bathroom, just getting ready to step into the tub. There was a knock on the door. "Are you decent, hon?" Sam called.
Laurel looked at her naked body and replied, "Of course!"
He opened the door to join her. Behind him, in the hall, stood Sean, and both males caught sight of Laurel's bare body at the same time. Sam slammed the door quickly, but not so fast that Laurel missed the goggle eyed stare from her son, or his quick turnabout.
"Damn it," Sam said, "I asked if you were decent! You shouldn't run around like that in front of Sean. I'm positive he saw you, and he might get, well, funny ideas."
"From his mother?" she laughed. "Besides, you didn't say he was with you."
"You look more like a chorus girl than a mother," Sam replied, moving close to squeeze and cup her bare tits. "A hell of a sexy chorus girl." He was in his clothes then, but she pressed herself against him as though both of them were equally nude. It was an invitation, a seduction, and Sam's pecker responded in gratifying fashion. Laurel ground her crotch against her husband's.
"Knock it off," Sam warned.
"I have something you ought to knock off," she teased. "Bet it'd purr for you, too, just like a furry little pussy."
"Not tonight, hon," he pleaded with a smile. "I've got a headache." He moved away from her, cock still punching out the front of his pants, and he began to undress. Laurel leaned against the sink, arms folded on her belly, watching admiringly as his shirt flew off, then his pants, last of all his shorts, allowing his powerful cock to spring free.
She started to give him a wolf whistle, but it died on her lips as she caught sight of her husband's prick. A cold feeling oppressed her body, and she felt her nipples pucker as though an icy wind had just blown through the bathroom.
On the barrel of Sam's dick were the definite imprints of someone's lips. Not just one, there seemed to be dozens of kiss-marks on his peter.
Laurel bent her head to one side, trying not to be too obvious, hoping that he couldn't hear the pounding of her heart. That wasn't her lipstick. That shade simply did not go with her dark hair and eyes. It was too bright. Whose?
He didn't seem to notice! That was the most shocking part. Some stranger, some girl had kissed his cock and left the prints of her mouth there, and Sam didn't even notice! Laurel wanted to knock him to the floor and twist his nuts in a pair of pliers till he confessed the name. Who? Who?
He stepped down into the tub, sighing at the heat of the water on his legs. "You coming in?" he asked his wife, bending over to pick up the soap. She could see his big dick and his big balls hanging down between his legs and she wanted to pull them from his body. How had he dared, when had he dared to be so intimate with another woman?
"No," she said, "I don't think so," trying to keep the doubt and the fear from her voice. Perhaps there was an innocent explanation for this. She tried to believe there could be. But how could Sam have lipstick on his cock and nothing to confess? Laurel gathered up her clothes, slipped into a robe, and went down the hall to their bedroom.
She was under the covers when he arrived to join her, and he was wearing only his bathrobe. He threw it off as he stood beside the bed, and Laurel saw that his cock was scrubbed clean and beginning to harden.
Sam lifted the sheet and lay down beside his wife, teasing her thigh with his dick, and she felt it stiffen more perceptibly from the touching of her skin. "Come on, honey," he suggested, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her nightie. "Let's fuck."
"I don't think so," she replied. "I, I don't feel like it."
"Sure you do," he insisted, pulling her nightie up to her waist. She had nothing on underneath and Sam rubbed the head of his pecker through her fluff of beaver, tickled with its bulbous knob the ticklish inner sides of her thighs.
Laurel's legs parted obediently as her husband insinuated himself between them. She felt his weight upon her for a second as he inserted his dick, and then he lifted his head and shoulders into push-up position. Laurel made a soft grunt as she took his cock inside, all nine inches of his thick rod, but she neither complained nor co-operated. She wasn't going to help him. Let him jack himself off in her cunt. If he wanted more, he could return to his red-mouthed cock-kisser.
She lay beneath him resignedly, allowing him to fuck her, but she knew that, for Sam, it was like screwing a corpse. He humped with eagerness, moving his peter in special, provocatively sexy ways that would normally excite her, make her moan, cause her to encircle him in her legs and clutch him to her body, but they didn't work now, and Laurel fought to repress a smile of triumph at that.
Sam worked to keep his hard-on, but without Laurel's active cooperation it was a losing battle. Her cunt was like a dead fish ringing his prick, slack and unresponsive, and Laurel felt the interest drifting out of his cock. It grew softer, softer, then uselessly limp. Her husband's dick slid out of her passive cunt, and he lay beside her once again.
"Is something wrong, honey?" he wondered.
She shook her head and lied. "No. I just don't feel like doing it. That's all."
"I'll bet you found a gray hair in the bathroom," he teased, "and you're afraid you're getting old. Huh?" His hand cupped a tit through the silky thinness of her nightdress. "I dig older women," he leered, "or didn't you know that?" and he bent to kiss her neck. Still Laurel would not, could not allow herself to respond. Sam looked into her face. "Is it your period coming on?" Still no word of answer. She saw him shrug, she took his good-night kiss, and then he rolled onto his side. Sam was asleep in a minute and she was left to herself and her thoughts, there in the darkness.
Laurel trembled with that isolation. What had happened? Who could Sam have been with?
Laurel forced herself to consider Jamie for an agonizing moment. His daughter? But it had happened in other families. No! Out of the question! Jamie rarely wore any kind of makeup, and certainly not the garish red lipstick that had smeared Sam's cock. Of course, bright makeup for teenaged girls was a current fad. But that particular shade of red? Blondes, maybe. Girls with bright, golden hair…
"Oh, God!" she said aloud. Robin Mackenzie! It was so obvious! Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? But how, when? Well, Sam drove the girl home, didn't he? And didn't he have some ridiculous story about Robin being attacked by teenaged punks, that he'd rescued her from them? It was only a cover-up. They'd been shacked somewhere. Her husband had fallen for a wiggling ass in tight jeans, for fat titties in a tight halter top.
And the story he'd told her, which she'd believed and gasped over now, now that she was certain she knew the truth, his tale seemed as phony as hell.
An hour later Laurel had decided what she'd do. Tomorrow afternoon she'd send the kids out, and she would confront their father with the truth as she understood it.
It was easy last night, Laurel told herself, stubbing out another cigarette. She'd quit smoking two or three years ago. But deep in a forgotten drawer she'd uncovered one last pack of Kents, stale, dried-out, but still tobacco. The pack was almost empty now.
Yes, easy. She'd thought she knew the backward and forward of it, and she was ready to hit Sam in the gut with her challenge. But before she could, the whole, ugly truth dealt her a sneaky sucker punch.
The alarm rang at nine on Sunday morning. It was time to get the kids up and ready for church. Neither Sam nor Laurel went any more, but they both agreed that Sean and Jamie should go every Sunday. Sam always drove them to church, picked up the Sunday paper, and waited to bring the kids home.
She went down the hall tapping on the kids' doors. Grunts of disapproving sleepiness greeted her as always, but she was adamant. Wake-up detail completed, Laurel went downstairs to fix breakfast, certain that Sean and Jamie would be down very soon in their Sunday clothes, waiting for their father to crawl out of bed.
Jamie entered the kitchen as Laurel set the strips of bacon to dry on a paper towel. The girl was combing her hair, very cute in her kneesocks, navy skirt, and white pullover. Laurel nodded in greeting, then looked back quickly.
"Young lady, where is your brassiere?" she demanded in a time that wait! At least Jamie had the good grace to blush. And as well she might, for the pullover clung to her budding little body, boldly revealing the outlines of her nipples. Laurel was certain, too, that she could even see the pinkness of her daughter's nipples showing through the white sweater, but that might have been only her natural shock.
"Oh," Jamie pouted, sifting down at the table. She eased the comb through her dark, long hair with a lazy grace. "You never wear one. Why should I have to?"
"Because you're going to church," Laurel replied sharply, "and because I say you have to. As long as you're a child in this house, you'll do what I tell you to do. And right now I'm telling you to go right upstairs and put on your bra. Do you hear me?"
Jamie got up with a sulk and she went out.
Laurel set out the rest of the fried bacon. No one had come down to eat. Were they all asleep? Sighing, she ascended the steps, going to the nearest door, Jamie's. She tapped on it, then opened it and stuck her head inside. "Are you going to be all day?" she asked, just as her entire world came crashing down upon her shoulders.
Sean was sitting on the edge of Jamie's bed, his pants down, his cock up. It was a big cock for such a young boy, Laurel noted incongruously, at least what she could see of his tool. Most of her son's shaft was buried inside his sister's sucking cavern of a mouth.
They'd been warned by her knock, but her action followed too closely for them to break position. Jamie's head was still bobbing up and down, her eyes only beginning to turn toward the door. She'd removed her sweater, and her growing boobies jiggled as she sucked Sean's cock.
"Oh, no!" Laurel whispered, blackness rolling across her stunned eyes.
Some of that stunned shock was reflected in Sean's face. He seemed to be changing color rapidly as Laurel stared back at him, or was it only her own fuckering vision that gave her that impression? It was incest, perversion, disgusting, shocking. She knew they could see her, and still Jamie made no effort to stop blowing her brother. The little girl held her brother's knob in the O of her lips as she knelt between his, legs, and her hand began to jerk rapidly, up and down on the lance of his cock.
Sean moaned, and he moved as if he meant to stand upright, but he merely raised his ass a few inches off the bed and he stood humped over, hands clutching frantically at Jamie's head.
Laurel heard that moan, heard the lewd gulping noises her daughter made, and she watched the girl's throat curiously. It seemed to bob and bulge, as though an apple were caught inside it, and then Jamie let go her brother's dick, turning at last to face her mother.
The girl rose from her knees with painstaking care, stretching in jiggly fashion to retrieve her bra from the bed. With a smile she settled her tits into the pink cups, then fastened the catch behind her back and arranged the shoulder satraps to please herself. When she opened her mouth to speak, a pearl of cum glistened on the tip of her cute pink tongue and Laurel understood for the first time that Jamie had allowed her brother to shoot off in her mouth, right before their mother's shocked eyes.
"Were you saying something a while ago, Mother," Jamie asked.
Laurel herded them into their clothes and downstairs to the kitchen. Sam hadn't gotten out of bed yet, but he would soon and she wasted not a second in getting down to business. "What was the meaning of that, that horrid thing?"
"We were…" began Jamie, but Laurel cut her off.
"I know what you were doing," she said, "and it's a terrible thing, Jamie. It's sinful and perverted."
"NO!" Jamie chirped defiantly. "It's not terrible or sinful or any of those other things. It's nice. I like to do it. When Sean comes in my mouth [missing text]."
Laurel was aghast. "And for the love of God, how long has this been going on?"
"Not very long," Sean whispered apologetically. "Really. Not very long."
"And how did it start in the first place?" his mother demanded. "You – your sister?" Tears welled in her eyes and she was being as brave as she could manage to be under the circumstances. "This just breaks my heart," she added. "To see something like that."
"You do it, don't you?" Jamie asked. "With Daddy?"
Laurel's hand raised, as if she meant to slap her daughter, but she couldn't do it. Violence accomplished nothing. "Daddy isn't my brother," she said. "It isn't right for brothers and sisters to do such intimate things together." A sudden fear crept across her mind. "Is that the only kind of thing you've done?"
"Yes," Sean tried to lie, but Jamie's voice drowned his.
"We do all kinds of sexy things," she said.
"Such as?"
Jamie petted her brother's band. "I'm not ashamed," she told him. "Sometimes we lie down in bed and I spread my legs and Sean puts his."
"STOP IT!" Laurel barked. "Jamie are you a virgin?"
"Not any more," her daughter giggled.
Laurel sank into a chair, her hands covering her eyes. After what seemed hours she looked up at her children. "How did this start?"
Jamie shrugged. "I don't know," she said.
"It had to have some kind of impetus. Something, or someone, gave you the idea. Who? One of the kids at school? Television? A movie? What?"
Sean withered under the ice other glare. "It was the other night," he said. "When you were away."
"And Robin was here!" Laurel deduced instantly. She saw Sean's face twitch at the mention of the blonde girl's name, and she saw a sudden look of pain as his sister kicked him savagely beneath the table.
"Tattletale," Jamie grumbled.
"And that's enough from you, young lady," Laurel said firmly. The shame of it was almost too much to bear. She wanted to scream, to hide, to go into the darkness and never come out. But she couldn't break down in front of the kids. She couldn't let them know how much they'd hurt her, disappointed her. And why didn't they have the decency to be ashamed of themselves, for Christ's sake? Why did Jamie have to be so cocksure now, so arrogant? Why that smug expression on her cute girl face?
But at least Laurel had some answers now. It was Robin Mackenzie, the perverted babysitter, that mask of innocence covering a bodyful of teenage evil, who had ruined her life. Seduced her husband, corrupted her children. She'd not confront Sam now. How could she tell him about the children, what she'd seen, what they'd told her? For all his sins, he didn't deserve to bear that shame.
No! She'd go right to the source. This afternoon she'd send them all three packing. Sean and Jamie could go to a movie. Could they get into trouble there? Dear God, surely they'd know enough to keep their hands off each other in a public place! And Sam, he'd been hinting about a bush-league game in Marietta. Let him spend the afternoon drinking beer and watching baseball. Laurel wanted to talk to that teenaged slut, and she needed privacy for what she was going to say. And if she still felt this angry when Robin arrived, it would be better if there were no witnesses. She could always try a claim of self-defense.
Robin always slept till noon on Sundays, and so she'd only been up long enough to drink a cup of tea and eat a bit of yogurt when Laurel Willis called. She couldn't quite place the tone of Laurel's voice, though. It was nice, as usual, but with a steeliness on the edges that Robin had never noticed before. Mrs. Willis sounded as if she were just a bit upset about something, and Robin couldn't help wondering what that had to do with her and why she should be summoned to the Willis house this early afternoon.
Unless – oh, shit! Had Mr. Willis gotten a wild hair up his ass and spilled the beans? Well, if that was it, Robin was made in the shade. She'd just tell the God's truth. She'd been scared and shaken from being attacked, and it had just… happened. Nothing personal at all.
She got the car keys from the end table. As she started to the door, her mother came into the room. Robin steeled herself for a lecture on how much nicer that green shirt would look if there were a bra underneath.
"Dear," said Mrs. Mackenzie, "I forgot to tell you. Dennis called last night. Just after you and Bonnie left."
Robin turned, heart skipping two beats. "Honest?" she asked, wondering why she should be so excited. Hadn't she broken with Dennis forever? Hadn't she sworn off men for good? Then why was she standing there by the door, about to wet her panties with excitement? "What did he say?"
Mrs. Mackenzie shrugged. "Not much, really. I think he said he'd call again today. Or maybe come over."
Robin sighed. She didn't know any more than she had before. "If he should call or come by, tell him to wait. I'll be back soon as I can," she said, silently cursing herself for her lack of resolution.
She thought of nothing but Dennis as she strolled out to the waiting Pinto, sat behind the wheel, and took off from the curb. The car whirred around the corner and was gone.
Spider Schroeder fiddled with the visor of his Castro cap. "There she went," he said. "In the fuckin' car. But she's gotta get out of it somewhere, and when she does – good-bye, ass!"
Timmy was uneasy. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe we ought to forget all about it. I mean, she can't be that good a piece of ass. Betcha we could do better'n her if we tried."
"She owes us," the Spider replied firmly. "If we let her get away with all she's done to us, everybody in town will be laughing our asses off. We gotta stand up for ourselves. Show people we can't be pushed around."
"I'm not so fuckin' sure," Punch cut in. "You act like you're in love with her or something. She don't mean shit to me."
"And you're a piss-ass," Spider rejoined wittily. "If she'd kicked you in the nuts, you'd be as worked up as I am. Now get started. And don't follow too fuckin' close. We can find that Pinto soon as she parks it, and we don't want her to see us."
"I know that," Punch growled, shoving the '58 into forward. If Robin knew they were tailing her, she didn't show any sign. Just like on TV, Punch thought proudly.