15 comments/ 110671 views/ 78 favorites Vengeance Is Mine By: kicky1000 I was standing over my father's grave at Sunnycrest Cemetery as the cleric spouted empty words and prayers, and as my mother wept crocodile tears into her lace hankie. "Be strong, Lucinda," said my Great Aunt Martha, patting my mother's shoulder. Aunt Martha was my father's mother's sister. My mother sobbed even more energetically into the damp embroidered rag, and her shoulders shook with false emotion. "Now, now, dear," said Aunt Martha. "You'll make yourself sick. You've got to be strong now, dear. Strong for you and Phillip (I was Phillip.) You know Norton would have wanted that. Don't you?" My mother nodded her head in agreement, as she again began to weep uncontrollably. What an act! I knew how much she missed my father. I knew exactly how much she had loved him. Not very much. The fact that my father had had a fatal coronary and was now lying at my feet in his coffin, was not entirely due to high cholesterol. My mother had hounded him to death. Nag. Nag. Nag. Pick. Pick. Pick. Hound. Hound. Hound. What a bitch! My father had finally found peace.... In the next world. My mother had killed him. I knew that. I had loved my father so much. What a kind sweet man he had been. Warm, loving, gentle. But my mother had never appreciated him. Nothing he ever did was good enough. He snored. He wore mismatched socks. His table manners were atrocious. He smoked stinky cigars. Nag. Nag. Nag. Pick. Pick. Pick. Hound. Hound. Hound. My girlfriend, Joanne, took my hand and squeezed it. She was trying to comfort me. Nothing was going to comfort me. I had lost my dearest parent and best friend. My father, Norton Hormquist. Now, my late father. But more than grief for my dear father, I felt another emotion. I felt glacial hatred. Hatred toward my mother who had driven my father into his grave. Somehow I would avenge his death. I didn't know how, but somehow, someday, somewhere. Vengeance would be mine. We got into the limousine and they chauffeured us back to our house. Aunt Martha had come in from Cincinnati and was staying in the spare bedroom. And yes, I was still living at home. I was 23 years old, and had been out of college for two years, but was unable to find a job. I was still living in the family manse. A prisoner of the?booming? economy. We had a light supper, Aunt Martha, my mother, Joanne, and I. Later in the evening some people stopped by to offer their condolences. Harry Milbard, my father's lawyer drove over and sat down in the library with my mother and me. He had some documents in his briefcase. He took out the papers, and after clearing his throat gave us the news. "I don't understand," said my mother. "It's very simple. He left you fifty thousand dollars. Everything else: the house, the stocks, the bonds, the bank accounts. All the assets. Everything goes to Phillip." "But I was his wife," protested my mother. "And Phillip was his son. He chose to leave his entire estate to Phillip." My mother's face went white. Her mouth was working silently. Her jaw was moving, but no words were coming out. She had thought she was going to be sitting pretty, living in my father's house, spending my father's money. But all that was going to me. Nice. Thank you, dad. Already I was tasting the sweetness of my revenge. Maybe I should just kick my mother out of the house. Make her get a job, rent an apartment. That would be nasty. But not nasty enough. But everybody would think I was a cruel son. No. I had to come up with something better to punish her with. I would ruin her life forever. I would make her sorry for the way she had treated my father. At eleven o'clock Joanne left to go home. We would not be fucking tonight. I was in mourning. I had to exercise some proprieties. I had to make some sacrifices. And giving up fucking Joanne for a few nights was not such a great sacrifice. We would probably end up getting married, but I was not deliriously excited with the prospect. I had a feeling there was an incipient 'mother' buried deep inside her female heart. After a few days, Aunt Martha flew back to Cincinnati, and I was alone in the house with my mother. She had regained her equilibrium. She figured, after all, I was her son, and she was my mother. So what if I had control of the purse strings. She could still do as she wished. After all, I certainly loved my mother. She thought. She wished. For the next two weeks, my mother moped around the house, eating cookies, candy, putting on weight. Her ass was getting rounder and rounder. Her tits were getting bigger and bigger. She was developing an hourglass figure. She would have been really in style in the 1890's. She drove down to the department stores and shopped a couple of times. She came back with expensive new dresses. I was not happy about that. I was the one who was going to have to pay the credit card bill. But I decided to say nothing. Not yet. This was all new territory for me. I had to feel my way. A few days later, Margo Spillinglass, my mother's best friend, insisted that my mother come down to the club. It would be good for her to get out of the house. We were members of the exclusive Sunnycrest Country Club, but we didn't really take advantage of our membership, other than to dine in the fancy clubhouse restaurant once a week. Occasionally, my father had gone to the club to play tennis or squash, but my mother was not athletic. She even hated the pool. She said pools were unsanitary. "Do you want to come with me?" she asked me. "No. I'll stay home. I'm reading Crime and Punishment. I don't know what you're going to do at the club." "Margo and I are going to play canasta with two of the other women, and we've signed up for golf lessons. Margo says there's a new golf pro down at the club, and that he's a very good teacher." "You? Play golf?" I gave a really nasty laugh. "Just you wait. I could turn out to be another Martina," my mother said. "She doesn't play golf," I corrected her. "I'm determined to get a hole in one," she insisted. And then she left for the club. I picked up my book, and worked my way from the crime to the punishment. When she got home from the club, she was all a twitter. I had never seen her in such a good mood. "He's wonderful," she enthused. "Who's wonderful?" I asked. "Glen," said my mother. "Who's Glen?" I pursued. "The new golf pro," said my mother, who looked at me like I was an idiot. "He's so handsome. Tall. Big muscles. Black wavy hair. Dimples in his cheeks. A cleft in his chin." She went on and on. I had never seen her so excited. The next morning, she drove down to the club. Early. Very early. She had signed up for golf lessons. A lot of golf lessons. From Glen, the golf pro. Glen, the handsome, muscular, sexy, dimpled, clefted, new golf pro. I wanted to remind her that she was a recent widow. That she had only three weeks ago lost her husband. My words would have floated, unheard, through the empty air, and drifted up into the sky. She was besotted with Glen, the golf pro. She was like a high school girl having a first crush. I was totally disgusted. I said nothing. Then one afternoon, she didn't come home from the club. She called me and told me to take a hamburger out of the freezer and put it in the microwave. Glen was taking her out to dinner and to the movies. She had lost her husband five weeks ago, and she was going out on a dinner/movie date??? I said nothing. I took the hamburger out of the freezer. I defrosted the hamburger. I broiled the hamburger. But I, myself, was stewing. Wait. It gets worse. She started coming home late. A lot. Like ten or eleven p.m. She was dating the golf pro. And when she got home, she would tell me how wonderful he was. How handsome. How funny. How she loved to see his dimples when he laughed, which was all the time. I wondered if my recently widowed mother was screwing the golf pro. Actually, I was sure she was screwing the golf pro. I just didn't want to think about it. I, myself, was not having sex, and I wasn't even the widow. Joanne kept begging me to sleep with her, but I said 'no' I wasn't in the mood. And I wasn't. I was still in mourning. And although my mother was wearing black, she, apparently, was not still in mourning. And on the golf course, she was not wearing black. She was wearing white. A fashionable, expensive, white, linen pants suit for lady golfers, which I had just been billed for. Nice. "Come down to the club with me today," said my mother. "I don't want to go to the club," I resisted. "I have to finish Middlemarch." "But I want you to meet Glen," she pouted. "I have to finish my book." "But you've never even met him. I've told him all about you." "Not today, mother." I was firm. And I remained firm. I did not go down to the club. I did not meet Glen. Mother continued to get home very late. It had gotten to be such a regular occurrence that she no longer bothered to call me to get something out of the freezer. And then one night, the rest of my world came crashing down. It was about three months after my father had died. About two months since she had started taking golf lessons. I heard the car in the driveway around ten o'clock at night. I was on the last paragraph of Finnegan's Wake, but I heard talking out on the porch and shut the book. She hadn't brought him to the house, I hoped. The key turned in the door. The door opened. My mother entered the house. Following her was a man carrying two heavy suitcases. A tall, handsome, smiling man with black curly hair, ruddy skin, dimples in his cheeks and a cleft in his chin. I had no doubt that this was Glen. Glen, the golf pro. "Darling," said my mother, rushing up to me, and throwing her arms around me. "What a surprise I have for you. This is Glen. My husband. Glen this is Phillip, my son." "Your husband?" My voice quivered. "Yes, darling. Glen and I eloped today. We were married at City Hall. Look at my beautiful ring." She flashed a diamond-encrusted wedding band before my eyes. Where was the plain gold one my father had given her? I didn't speak. I couldn't speak. I was stunned. My mother, the grieving widow, had married the golf pro, three months after she had buried my father? Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, dad. Thank god you aren't here to see this. "Glad to meet you, Phillip," said Glen, the golf pro, dropping the suitcase in his right hand on the living room carpet, and reaching out his right hand to shake mine. I think I shook his hand. I'm not sure. I was in a total daze. "He's staying here?" I asked. "Of course, darling. He's my husband. We're married now. And that's exactly why we decided to get married today. The lease on Glen's apartment was up, and he would have gone back to Buffalo. He would have left the club. I couldn't let that happen, now could I, sweetheart?" The sweetheart she was referring to was him. "No, baby, you couldn't let that happen," Glen told her. And then they gave each other a cute, little, sickening kiss right in front of me. I was appalled. "So at last you get to meet Glen," said my mother. "Yes," I said stonily. "And I get to meet you," said Phillip. "At last I have what I always wanted. A son." A son? His son? Was he crazy? "Come, baby. Let's get your stuff up to the bedroom," said my mother to her new husband. He picked up the suitcases and followed her up the stairs. They were going to the bedroom. To my mother's bedroom. To my father's bedroom. He was going to sleep in my father's bed. He was going to fuck my mother. Oh, hideous, hideous deed. Can such torment be endured? I pushed Finnegan's Wake onto the floor, and slumped back into my armchair, where I buried my face in my hands, and wept bitterly. After an hour, I went up the stairs, and as I passed the closed door of the master bedroom on the way to my own room, I heard giggling from behind the door. Giggling. And noises. I knew those noises. Fucking noises. They were having their wedding night fuck. They were on their fucking honeymoon. In my house. Oh, hideous, hideous deed. Torment. My mother, my torment. Oh, god. When I finally fell into a fitful troubled sleep, my brain spilled with images of iron-maidens, bullwhips, chains, padlocks. Torture chamber goodies. But there wasn't a torture in this world sufficiently gruesome for my mother. Cold, faithless whore. At breakfast the next morning, Glen tried to make chitchat with me, but I was having none of it. I was cold, distant, and barely polite. "We're gonna be good friends," he assured me, ruffling my hair, when he got up from the table. Good friends. Yeah. Sure. "You'll see," he added. Then he and my mother went out to the car and she drove him down to the club. When they had gone, I went up to the master bedroom and stared down at the defiled sheets in pure disgust. They had rutted in this bed. In my father's bed. He had slept on my father's side of the bed. He had stuck his golf-pro cock into my mother's cunt, which had until very recently been occupied by my father. He had taken everything. I bent down to sniff the sheets. I wanted the full impact of the horror. Everything was peachy-dandy, lovey-dovey for a few days. And then one evening I heard loud voices coming from behind the master bedroom door. They were arguing. They were having a fight. I planted my ear against the door, trying to get the gist of the disagreement. "Come on, Lucinda, honey. Please." "I said 'no'." "But it's my favorite thing. You said you would, after we got married." "I changed my mind. I don't want to do it. It's dirty." "It's not dirty, Lucinda. It's beautiful." "No. Absolutely not. No anal intercourse. And that's final," my mother said. Ah, so that was it. He wanted anal intercourse. "You promised," he said. "Bitch," he muttered. "You'll just have to do it the old-fashioned way," my mother said tightly. They were still arguing when I walked down the hall to my room, and shut the door. An idea was beginning to form in my fevered brain. Just the germ of an idea for a possible punishment. I suddenly got deliriously hopeful and happy. I laughed, and I laughed. If I could pull it off, vengeance would, at last, be mine. The next morning, at breakfast, they had apparently made up. They were kissing and nuzzling each other between sips of orange juice. Her hands were tangling through his thick black curly hair. I could even see his tongue snake out between his lips, between her lips, into her mouth. At the breakfast table. Disgusting. Disgusting. My mother was enchanted with her handsome, athletic, new male-toy. Her sexual motor was running in ways that it had never run when my father was sitting across the breakfast table. Bitch. Cunt. Whore. I made an unanticipated announcement. "I want to go down to the club today," I said. They both looked at me in shocked surprise. "You want to go to the club?" asked my mother in disbelief. "Yes. I want to take golf lessons. I want to learn how to play golf. Will you teach me to play golf, Glen?" "Sure," said Glen. "Be glad to." He was absolutely delighted. This was his chance to bond with his new son. He gave me a wide, wide smile, and his dimples disappeared into creases. Yes. I was going to take golf lessons from my mother's new husband, Glen, the golf pro. My mother dropped us at the club and went on to Margo Spillinglass' house. They were going to have a shopping day. I was still in mourning, and wearing black pants, and a white shirt, with a gray tie, but I noticed all the golfers at the club were wearing whites and yellows. I was the only one with a tie. I would have to get myself some club clothing. Glen took me out on the green. We were at the first hole. Glen stuck a little white peg in the ground, which he said was a 'tee.' Then he took a little hard white dimpled ball---I knew that that was a golf ball. I had seen golf balls before. He took it, and placed it on the tee. Then he handed me a wooden club from his golf bag. Actually, the clubs weren't his. They belonged to the country club, and were used by members who had left their clubs at home. They were also used for lessons. I was now getting my first lesson. "Now, you see the hole over there?" Glen asked me. "What hole?" I asked. I was trying to follow his pointing finger. "That one. Over there. Where the flag says '1'. " He pointed again. I saw it. "It's so far away," I complained. "Well that's the game. To get the ball from here, way over into that hole. Do you know how to hold the club?" he asked me. "No. Is there a special way?" "Yes," he answered, in forced cheerfulness. He hadn't realized that I was so stupid. This was not going to be the fun day that he had expected. "I'll show you how to hold it," he said. "You stand next to the tee, like this," and he positioned me. Then he walked around and stood behind me, and reached his arms around my waist, and positioned my hands on the handle of the golf club. The two of us got used to swinging it in a six-inch arc next to the tee. His hands were over mine. He was tight against my back. Yes. This was what I had wanted. The fly of his pants was barely grazing the seat of my pants. As we practiced our mini-swings, I twisted my body slightly. I bent a wee bit more at the waste, until my bottom had made the intended contact. He was explaining the dynamics of the swing, when the contact occurred, and his voice began to get a little funny. I just acted as if I didn't notice anything. I continued to swing the club. With each swing, I kind of twisted my bottom so that it moved against him. I turned my face to ask him a question, and I noticed that his face was ruddier than usual. He was a little embarrassed. But he was not backing away. With his hands over mine, we were continuing to swing, and I was continuing to tease. This was my plan. This was the diabolic scheme I had devised to destroy my mother. She was so proud and happy about having a rugged, handsome, athletic, new husband. She was strutting around. Showing her great catch off to all the other women. Suppose she were to lose him? Lose him to someone else. And not just someone else. Not even to another woman. Suppose she were to lose him to her son? To her own son. To me....... HAH! Yes. I had decided that that would be my revenge. I would alienate Glen's affections. My mother would lose her exciting new husband. She would lose him to me. I had now taken the first step. Step number one. But other events would unfold in an orderly course. Glen stepped back. It had been decided that I would actually take my first swing. I would whack the ball, and send it flying hundreds of yards onto the far green where the '1' flagpole was. I swung. I missed. Glen moved back behind me, and we again practiced swinging together, as he explained what I was to do. I'm afraid I was concentrating more on gluteus-genital contact than on golf. When he stepped back, I tried again. I gave a great swing. The ball went only about ten feet. And also it went way to the left. Not at all straight ahead, where I had been aiming. But Glen was very patient. He worked with me, and worked with me, and instructed me in the gentlest fashion. Never once did he raise his voice in total exasperation. I finally took my final putt and sent the ball skimming nervously on the edge of the hole before it finally gave up and dropped in. Par on the hole was seven strokes. I got it in sixty-one. We only got to play three holes that day, because it was taking me so long to sink the ball, and because Glen had other people to teach. I went back to the clubhouse and nursed a coke, waiting for the day to end. I would do better tomorrow. As I sipped my coke, I reminisced about our ever-so-slight gluteus-genital contact. I couldn't be sure, but I think I was having an effect on Glen. I don't think I imagined the hardness I was beginning to feel against my buttocks. A hardness, decorously packed inside his white trousers. I had learned that Glen was a devotee of anal intercourse. My mother was not permitting him to indulge his dearest fantasy. Silly woman. What a man can't get in one place, he'll find in another. I was another. Inexperienced as I was, and even though the thought of guy/guy sex had always repelled me, I would do anything to destroy my mother's life, as she had destroyed my father's and thus my own. I would not deny Glen his deepest desire, anal intercourse, if the occasion should arise. Vengeance is Mine Authors note: Special thanks to Renee H. for her editing assistance. * Lara sat in the living room of her spacious house sipping a wine cooler and doing some internet shopping. Outside, the rushing of wind signaled an approaching storm. Leaves rustled and an occasional twig or branch would strike the side of the house as it was blown amidst the gathering tempest. The 38-year-old had recently divorced and was living by herself in the rural home she had shared with her husband. He was a successful lawyer who had been caught cheating on her with a secretary at his law firm. The divorce settlement gave Lara the house and a tidy financial sum. Having no children, she relished the idyllic rural setting; a pleasant change of pace from the hectic rush of the big city, where she worked as an investment banker. Strikingly beautiful, Lara had shoulder length black hair and brilliant blue eyes. She jogged regularly and her body was still fit and trim. Her 36C breasts were firm and fulsome and she sported the perfect hourglass figure. In the background, the TV news was announcing the escape of two female inmates from the women's prison about 35 miles from her home. She was not overly concerned, as her sister, Donna was the head of the work detail at the prison and Sandy, the warden at the facility, was one of her clients whom she had helped with some financial matters. They would certainly contact her if there was any danger. Bursts of lightning signaled the storm was getting closer and Lara lit some candles just in case power was lost. She watched a movie and decided to call it a night when she heard a loud noise, followed by the sound of breaking glass coming from the kitchen area. Her heart raced nervously as she slowly made her way into the kitchen. There was a rifle in the living room closet, but she was too terrified to retrieve it. Her trembling hand slipped behind the refrigerator to find the light socket and flipped the switch to illuminate the kitchen. She shrieked in horror as two figures stood in front of the sliding glass door, its glass lying shattered on the kitchen floor. She turned to run, but they quickly overpowered her, dragging her into the living room and tossing her on the couch. In the light of the living room she could see two females towering over her. The hooded sweatshirts they wore made them appear menacing as Lara gazed upward, fearful of their intent. While one of the women stood guard with Lara, the other one searched the house, returning with duct tape, rope, nylons, and the rifle that Lara had hidden. As they removed the hooded jackets, the tacky orange prison outfits confirmed what Lara had feared; these were the two women that had escaped from prison a short time earlier. The taller woman had brunette hair, cut short, she was medium built, not fat, but stocky, a rather menacing look. She also had a noticeable tattoo on her right arm. The other female was slightly smaller with shoulder length blonde hair. She was stout with almond-shaped eyes. Both women were attractive in their own way. She knew them from somewhere; she had seen them before but simply could not place it right now. It was not until one of them spoke that the mystery began to unfold. "You don't remember us do you?" The taller woman asked. As Lara listened, the woman indicated that they were freshmen when Lara was a senior. Lara had been in charge of their initiation. She remembered now; remembered making them walk down the hallway in only their bra and panties, and forcing them to stand naked outside the showers with their hands on their heads while the football team went by. "That was a long time ago. It was just silly pranks," Lara remarked, a hint of nervous caution on her lips. "Yea, maybe so, but you have to love the irony. Of all the houses we break into, it is yours." The shorter one said meanacingly. "Make us something to eat," The tall blonde ordered as she pointed the gun at Lara. Lara was marched into the kitchen at gunpoint and fixed some eggs, bacon and toast and as the two women sat down and engulfed the meal, Lara stood nearby. With the rifle at the side of the taller girl, she knew that trying to run would be foolish, so she stood shivering with dread. When the women had finished eating, they returned to the living room, where they forced Lara to sit on the couch once again. "Here is the deal sweetheart. We have busted out of the prison and need to lay low till morning. Sheriff will probably be coming by soon. You say you have not seen us or that pretty little ass of yours will be buried in your back yard," The taller blonde remarked. Lara spoke nothing but nodded that she understood the threat. For a couple of hours they sat watching TV. When the bulletins announcing their escape would play, the two would become agitated and pace the floors. The news brodcast relayed their identies as well. Nadine Prichard, and Carla Malone. Lara had forgotten their names. Forcing Lara to lead them to the closets, the two women picked out a pair of sweat pants and tops that fit well enough for the occasion. They then forced Lara to follow them to the bathroom as they prepared to take a shower. While one girl held the gun on Lara, the other would use the toilet, then climb into the shower and bathe. Lara could not help but notice that both women had ample breasts, and definitive pear shaped butts. They both were completely shaven in the crotch, and they both sported "tramp stamps" on their lower back, just above the ass. Nadine's was in the shape of a dragon, while Carla's was a wilted rose. The phone rang and Lara was walked to it by Carla, the gun stuck in her side. It was her sister, Donna, checking up on her. Lara told her that she was fine, and Carla told her she would relay that to the patrol cars out scouring the area. Back in the living room, the women turned off the TV and turned on a stereo, lowering the volume to prevent it from being beard outside. Nadine looked at Carla and grinned. "We need some entertainment. Start dancing Lara," Nadine ordered, as the girls both laughed. "I..I can't dance," Lara replied hastily. "Wrong answer, bitch!" Nadine remarked as she pointed the gun at Lara. Lara was paralyzed with fear, but knew she had no choice but to do as the two said. The TV indicated that they were considered dangerous criminals and not to engage them. A song with a pulsating rhythm began playing and Lara began moving her body awkwardly to the beat while the two females looked on in amusement. Lara felt humiliated and flushed with embarrassment as her body swayed to the rhythm. "I think we should make her strip while she dances," Carla remarked while sipping a cold beer. "Pay her back for making us get butt naked at school." "That is an excellent idea. You heard her, start stripping," Nadine commanded. "Please, I can't do that," Lara pleaded as she gyrated and moved around slowly to the beat of the music. "You don't have a choice bitch. Get naked or I will pull this trigger. You can start with the tennis shoes and socks," Nadine huffed. Lara bent down and removed her shoes and socks, then continued moving her body in slow circular motions as she began pulling the top over her head. Nadine and Carla stared lustfully as Lara's bare tummy came into view. Lara was wearing a low cut lacy bra and both girls whistled teasingly as Lara reached back to undo it. "Yea, show us those tits," Nadine remarked in a cruel tone. A tear formed in Lara's eyes as she removed her bra and let her breasts fall free for the amusement of her sadistic captors. Strangely, Lara's nipples began to harden; a fact not lost on either Nadine or Carla, as they both took in the sensuous sight. Lara felt as if her own body was betraying her. The adrenalin began pumping as she reached down to unbuckle the small belt of the jeans she was wearing. Unzipping the pants she began lowering them downward until she finally stepped out of them, and brushed them aside with her feet. Clad only in a pair of light blue frilly panties, the girls motioned Lara to turn in circles as she danced. She slipped her fingers into the elastic bands and slowly began sliding the last vesture of clothing from her body. The eyes of both women were fixed on Lara's crotch as the panties fell to the floor. "Please let me stop now," Lara pleaded through tearful eyes. "Keep dancing slut," Nadine ordered. "Now turn around, bend over and spread those ass cheeks apart. Let's teach you some humiliation. "Oh god, please don't make me do that," Lara pleaded, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Lara felt faint as she turned her back to the females and bent over. Taking both hands, she pried her ass apart for them to see. She could feel their stares gazing at her nether region, as her body trembled in shame and humiliation. "Move your ass around like a whore," Carla uttered in a lust filled voice. Lara could only comply as she shamefully moved her ass around for their perverse pleasure. She felt like a cheap whore on public display as the tears flowed down her face. When satisfied with Lara's performance, Nadine ordered Carla to ensure that the doors were locked and they marched Lara into the bedroom. Taking the small ropes they bound her hands to the headboard, and spread her legs, securing them to the foot of the bed. "Look at that pussy, it is already damp. What a shameless slut," Nadine teased as both girls began stripping naked, while ogling Lara spread eagle on the bed. Once naked, both women climbed in the bed on each side of Lara, and began rubbing their hands over her naked body. "You know what is it is like to be locked up in prison with no outlet for sexual frustration?" Nadine spoke in a menacing tone. "Please, don't do this," Lara pleaded Trembling from their touches and hating her own response, she was helpless to avoid their caresses in any way. Both girls leaned over and each took one of Lara's' nipples into their mouth, teasing it to full hardness, while their hands moved slowly up and down Lara's trembling stomach. "We have our own little sex slave tonight," Carla teased. Lara's body was shamelessly burning with desire. She could feel the juices of her pussy flowing uncontrollably. She both hated it and loved it. The wetness oozed down the valley of her ass and pooled onto the sheets beneath her as the females continued slowly taking Lara to the edge of passion. Nadine let her fingers slip down to Lara's damp mound and began tracing the puffy lips of her drenched sex. Lara's chest began to heave and her breathing became erratic as the sexual arousal climbed to the point of no return. Nadine slipped two fingers into Lara's drenched pussy and began finger fucking her, while Carla rose and lowered herself onto Lara's face. "Lick my cunt whore. Lick it good. "Carla ordered as she rubbed her damp and musty smelling pussy over Lara's face and mouth. Lust craved passion now consumed Lara as her tongue flickered over Carla's sex. She could taste the girl's juices as they oozed into her mouth; coating her face as Carla writhed in sexual abandon. Nadine furiously fingered Lara's pussy as the first wave of orgasm began building from deep inside. Like an active volcano, she erupted, squiring a thick stream of female ejaculate onto the already dampened sheets, drenching Nadine's hand in the process. Carla soon shuddered and drenched Lara's face with cum as she came from Lara's tonguing. Not to be left out, Nadine rose and straddled Lara's face as Carla moved off it. "My turn bitch, make me cum, or you will be sorry," She threatened as she lowered her crotch to Lara's drenched face. Carla snaked her way down to Lara's flooded sex and began licking her swollen pussy lips, drinking in the spent female passion as Nadine ground her body into Lara's face while clutching Lara's tits. Lara's mind was numb, and her body enslaved to the depraved lust that now held it in its grip as she moved her tongue furiously over Nadine's pussy and clit. Nadine soon let out a guttural moan and convulsed as a powerful orgasm consumed her body. She slumped to the side of Lara and lay there catching her breath. Nadine and Carla crawled on each side of Lara and they all drifted to sleep. All through the night, Lara would be awakened to the feeling of one of the girls fingering her pussy to another orgasm. Her body was drained and weakened as if sexual vampires had drained every ounce of energy from her body, leaving her enslaved to their sadistic whims. Her head was spinning as the morning light shone through the window. At the foot of the bed she could see Nadine and Carla standing naked, ready to put on the sweat pants and shirts to make a quick getaway. The bedroom smelled of stale sex, and the sheets were blotted with dried stains. Lara's bladder was clamoring for release, yet she feared the two would leave her there tied up. "I need to pee," Lara whispered, almost too weak to speak. Both girls looked in amusement at Lara's stretched and bound body, glistening in the juices of last night's sex. "Sorry sweetie, got to make a run for it, can't let you up," Nadine remarked as she pulled a pair of panties up her legs. "Please. Untie me, I have to go really badly," Lara pleaded as she tried to squirm in her bonds. "Well don't mind us darling, go ahead and piss," Carla giggled as she pulled a sweatshirt top over her arms. Nadine finished dressing and walked over to the squirming Lara. "I guess you don't want me to do this then, do you." She remarked as she took her palm and pressed down firmly on Lara's stomach, sending her swollen bladder into overdrive. "Noooooooo," Lara pleaded as she began pissing uncontrollably onto the bed. A thick stream of hot pee arched into the air and landed onto the bed, drenching it as the girls laughed hysterically. Nadine and Carla came over and kissed Lara on the lips and turned to leave. "The bindings are made so that you can free yourself, but it will take a while," Nadine remarked. The two women left the house and disappeared into the wooded area of the surrounding forest, leaving Lara alone in the house, trying frantically to free herself. Two hours later, Lara made it to the phone and called her sister, Donna. Reporting all the details a manhunt was immediately assembled for the two escapees. Donna rushed over and talked to Lara while she soaked in the tub. "Don't worry, we will get these two bitches and they will pay dearly, I can promise you that," Donna remarked as she consoled Lara. No matter how many times Lara washed herself, she could still smell Nadine's and Carla's scent on her. Three days later. Lara was in the backyard watering her flowers when the phone rang. Picking it up, she was met by the excited voice of Donna on the other end. "Hey, got something for you. You know the old Brewer farm. I have a work detail here. Gotta couple of naked chicks down here you should see," she remarked. Lara hung up the phone and drove to the old plantation that had been overgrown. As she walked down the path she could see the women out cutting shrubbery and limbs, and then saw Donna coming towards her. "Follow me," Donna remarked and Lara followed her to a patch on the opposite side of the road. There was Nadine and Carla laboring naked in the hot sun. "Disciplinary rules," Donna remarked grinning. "Lara scanned their naked bodies, glistening with sweat. She could not help but savor the moment as she watched them work. "I called you down here because I know you need some payback. Don't worry, no one will know and no one will believe them if they do say anything," Donna whispered. "What do you mean?" Lara asked inquisitively, her interest peaked. "There is a secluded area over there. I will handcuff them to a tree and you can switch their bare asses and pussies till they bleed if you want," Donna remarked. Lara simply could not resist the temptation and nodded her approval. Donna walked over and forced Nadine and Carla into the secluded woods and cuffed their hands to a limb above their heads. She returned and told Lara that they were all hers. Lara picked up the leather crop that Donna had brought and walked triumphantly into the seclusion of the woods. She stared at the sight of the two women with glee. "Well fancy meeting you two here. Payback is a bitch, and so am I," Lara groaned as she began laying lash after lash to their naked asses. She purposely let the crop find its way between their legs, striking their sensitive pussy lips, as the two squirmed and moaned in their gags. Walking in front of them, she took the crop to their bare tits, turning them crimson red, and watched in delight as the tears flowed down their faces. Once again, she spread their legs apart and lashed their exposed pussies, loving the feeling of power and revenge she had over the two. They were now as helpless as she was. She stepped back and watched the two naked women wriggle in their bonds and grinned in sadistic delight at the sight before her. She spent over 30 minutes lashing them, and then walked out of the woods to meet Donna. "You can undo them now, I am done." Lara grinned as she handed Donna the riding crop. "Oh let's leave them there a couple of hours and go grab a beer," Donna grinned and the two got into the pickup truck and headed down the road. Justice had been served, country style. Vengeance Is Mine The day that Barbara didn't feel well, and the Canasta game broke up early. My mother came home at an inopportune and unexpected hour. I guess, even from downstairs, she must have heard the sound of the bedsprings, and also the sound of my head, rhythmically pushing the headboard against the wall. She came up the stairs silently to see what was going on. She was standing in the door, her mouth agape, watching her husband pound his meat into her son's ass. She dropped her purse on the floor, and just stood there. "Lucinda," said Glen, turning his head and seeing her now. He did not stop plowing me. "What are you doing?" She screamed. "We're fucking," said Glen, quite simply, as he continued fucking me. "I've got my hard cock ten inches up into your son's hot ass, and it's fabulous." "My god," wailed my mother. "Remember when you refused me anal intercourse? She nodded silently. "I love anal intercourse. I love fucking a tight asshole. Your son has the best asshole in the world. I love it beyond anything you can imagine. I love your son's asshole, and I love your son." He turned his face toward me again, and we proceeded to suck/kiss as we fucked. "Your ass is so tight, baby. Squeeze my dick. Yeah. Squeeze my thick dick," cried Glen. He didn't even care that my mother was standing in the door. Neither did I. "Fuck me. Fuck your big cock into me," I screamed Then Glen started to roar, and I knew he was coming, and I was so incredibly turned on, that I whipped my hand over to my own cock, and pulled myself off while his cock was still moving back and forth against my prostate. I came all over his pubic hairs. My ass contractions really sent him over the edge, and he went "CCCHHHAAA" as his cum spurted deep into my gut. My mother watched his sculpted ass gradually come to rest after the stupendous hammering it had been doing. Soon the two of us were just lying there, cuddling and kissing. We were so into each other, we stopped noticing my mother. Out of the corner of my eye, I sort of saw her walk down the hall to the master bedroom. Glen and I finally separated our damp spent bodies. Naked, we walked down the hall to the master bedroom. My mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, in a stunned state. Her back was erect, but it was trembling a little. She was staring straight ahead, and seemed to be only half-conscious. As if she were in a semi-coma. Finally she spoke. "I don't know how to deal with this. What are we going to do?" she asked. Her face was a perfect blank. She had just gone through the kind of trauma that most people do not experience in their whole lives. She had lost her handsome new husband to her own son. I knew what we were going to do. It was the only thing to do. And since the house was mine, I could make it happen. "We're going to go on living almost as we were before. The outside world will never know what happens in this house. But there will be one change." I decided. "Yes?" She looked at me expectantly. Waiting for me to explain. "I am moving into the master bedroom here, with Glen. From now on we will sleep together always, as a loving couple should." "And I?" asked my mother. "Are you throwing me out of your house?" "Not at all, mother," I laughed at her. "I told you. To the outside world it will seem as if nothing has happened. As if nothing has changed. You will merely gather your things and move down the hall into the spare room. That is where you will sleep from now on." "I see," she nodded. She got up and went to her closet, and began taking out dresses, to move them down the hall. She didn't look at either Glen or myself. I almost felt sorry for the woman. Poor, displaced, rejected creature. And now my mission was complete. More than complete. Even though I had ceased to desire it, vengeance was finally mine. But better than that, I had found my lifetime love, the handsome, manly, Glen, with his muscles, and his dimples, and his cleft, and his warm heart, and his ten-inch dick. Glen, the golf pro. My mother's husband. And mine.