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Betsy & the McBrides Ch. 01

By: Egmont Grigor



Four-fifteen on a lightly raining morning marked what appeared to be the start of social disintegration in the life of Betsy Milton-Stewart.

Betsy awoke to hear her husband Royce cry, "I don't feel well." He coughed and gurgled, starved for air, dying of a massive coronary at 4:15.

A former star athlete and regional Young Businessman of the Year winner, Royce (40) was publisher of The Sentinel, the morning newspaper for Milton Falls and outlying settlements. 

Regrettably for Betsy, that business also was dying so the pickings for the widow (29) would be lean, and virtually the whole town would learn about that simply because Milton Falls was an isolated community of barely 15,000 people. 

The problem for Betsy was she was an outsider and had hurt the second oldest family in town, the Kennedys, by coming in and winning the heart of Royce when he was thirty-three days from wedding Mae Kennedy.

There was no Kennedy at the funeral and in fact the only person from the A-list in town society was the wealthy and pugnacious widow Matilda McBride, who'd not missed a christening, wedding, funeral or post-divorce party in town since returning to the town fifteen years ago when newly widowed.

Most women at the funeral, and many men, wore black. Matilda was dressed in cobalt blue while Betsy wore the recently purchased dress Royce had adored; it was blue, white and orange – and very low cut. The whisperings and the hostile eyes of women at the funeral service said it all: Betsy was finished in this community.

Of course, most mourners – and they truly mourned the passing of the lovable Royce – paid their respects to Betsy as they filed from the church. But just the like men, the women shook Betsy by the hand or simply didn't touch her at all, rather than kissing her as women tend to do at weddings and funerals. 

Matilda was the exception to this indifference: she hugged and kissed Betsy and was heard to say, "Come and see me dear if you get lonely or troubled."

Only two weeks after the funeral, Betsy was lonely and troubled and needed someone in who she could confide. That afternoon she'd gone to the bank to meet the loans manager, at his request. 

He advised Betsy that the board had decided to call in the mortgage advanced to The Sentinel, now owned outright by Betsy, in sixty days and no extension was possible.

"Who is the bank's managing director?," Betsy asked. "I wish to seek to overturn that decision."

"My father, Reginald Kennedy," said the loans manager, Reginald's son Ross.

"Well then, who is the president of the bank?"

"My grandfather, Silas Kennedy."

Leaving her coffee untouched, Betsy stood up and smiling at Ross Kennedy, uttered her brief farewell with dignity and walked out.

Round fucking one to the Kennedys, snorted Betsy as she walked up the street to where she'd parked her car, but the space was empty.

Mary-Lou the florist came out on to the sidewalk and said: "I'm sorry to have to advise you Betsy but your car has been repossessed by Kennedy Motors. The talkative tow truck driver told me he understood that the lease term expired on the vehicle yesterday and it is not being renewed."

"Thank you, Mary-Lou. Would you kindly call me a cab?"

While waiting for the cab to arrive the two women chatted. Mary-Lou picked out a selection of her best-grade flowers, wrapped them and handed them to Betsy, kissing her. Mary-Lou, since remarried, had been a young widow herself and she and Betsy were members of the same book discussion group.

The cab driver Mike Street, who'd been a regular drinking mate of Royce's, was friendly and talkative. As he stopped to let Betsy out at her home he said, "No charge and some free advice: Watch the Kennedy clan, they may try to squeeze you as a revenge thing. Call me if you need help."

I need help, thought Betsy as she unlocked the door of the house. The property had been registered just in Royce's name was unencumbered and the transfer to her of the clean title was currently going through the system as part of estate tidying up, being undertaken by her solicitor, Megan Ryan. 

Everyone who had a complaint against a Kennedy hired Meg to fight his or her case. Not everyone in town was in the pocket of the Kennedys, not be a long shot. Meg had been jilted by Ross Kennedy when they were in their late teens, the next night after Meg had allowed him to take her virginity one holiday weekend when she was home from law school.

Well, what now? Betsy asked herself. No answer was forthcoming but while making a cup of coffee Betsy recalled that friendly offer made at the funeral. Betsy phoned Matilda McBride and disclosed she was in trouble, giving brief details.

"Come now, right away," instructed Matilda. Betsy was not expecting a miracle but being in need a sympathetic ear, she thought perhaps Matilda might have some useful advice. Older women were supposed to be good at that.

Matilda hugged Betsy warmly, which rather got to Betsy and she'd been feeling rather out on a limb. Inside the house Betsy was introduced to a lean man, probably in his early thirties, with the coldest blue eyes she'd ever seen. But not only that: he had a hooked nose, a scar down the side of his face and a very square jaw. 

As he moved towards Betsy a ridiculous thought came to her – he moves like a cat. He did move rather stealth-like. It must be his dark expression and his black clothing, she thought while deciding she wouldn't wish to meet him in the dark.

Betsy shook hands with Kenny, introduced as Matilda's younger son. The grip was powerful, the hand surprisingly warm. Well, at least blood flows through him, she mused.

They sat down, and when Matilda asked for full details of the problems, Betsy flashed a look at Kenny.

"Don't mind him, dear, he's probably going to be assigned to help you. My guess is you're having Kennedy problems. I was born Matilda Kennedy – not many people around here baring the Kennedy's know that. I was banished from the family by my father Silas when I became pregnant to Father McBride. Danny left the church and we married. 

"I came back here to live with my children, being the sole survivor of an air crash which took the lives of my husband, his parents and sister and older brother who owned and was piloting the aircraft. That's when, sadly, I got my inheritance. Danny's folk were quite wealthy. Fortunately our two children were staying that weekend with friends of Danny. That tragedy left us three as the surviving members of that branch of the McBrides."

Betsy was shocked by those revelations and expressed her sympathy. Matilda nodded in response but Kenny just stared at Betsy, obviously waiting for her to explain her problems in detail.

Half an hour later when leaving, Betsy accepted an offer by Kenny to drive her home. The fact that his car was black, with darkened windows and was without any shiny metal at all on its exterior did not surprise her – it was the sort of vehicle a man like Kenny would mate with.

"What line of business are you in, Kenny?"

"Was in Special Ops in the military then have just finished working for almost four years helping a loans company find clients who had disappeared owing big money. Now my mother wants me to troubleshoot for her. She's decided the time has come to deal with Kennedy problems."

"Oh heavens, here was I downloading my problems on to her when she's got problems of her own. I must go back and apologise."

"It's cool, Betsy. My mother thrives on being in the middle of problem-solving business. She should have been in Special Ops herself." 

As they drove to Betsy's front door she had the ridiculous image of Kenny bending over her as she went to get out of the vehicle and kissing her. She blushed and was relieved that he didn't do that. Nor did he lean across and open her door for her or walk around and gallantly open and hold the door ajar, politely adverting his eyes as she struggled to keep her short skirt from revealing stocking tops and panties.

My God, why am I thinking these things of Mr Debt Collector Man in Black? His heart would have been extracted by the military.

But Kenny had a most unusual farewell message. As Kristy leaned forward to say thank you and goodnight as she closed the car door, he said, "Your car will be back later tonight."

Back where? What an odd thing for him to say. Betsy shrugged and unlocked the front door. As she entered the house the deep throbbing purr of the car motor increased in volume slightly and the mysterious Mr McBride drove away, very quietly. At least he'd shown an indication of having being properly trained by his mother and waited until his lady passenger had entered her home.

Your car will be back later tonight? Okay, Mr McBride – impress me; find it and drive it back here.

A little more than an hour after midnight there was an explosion at the rear of the premises of Kennedy Motors. Emergency and security services rushed to the premises, alerted by relayed alarm messages and blaring sirens on-site. 

Within fifteen minutes it was concluded that the damage was confirmed to a steel door being blown off its hinges and wrecked and only one vehicle was missing, a white Ford that had been repossessed earlier that afternoon.

A short time later two policemen and the general manager and vehicle service manager of Kennedy Motors arrived at Betsy's home. They found Betsy (wearin only her dressing gown) leaning against her car that had been returned so dramatically; she was flabbergasted. A man dressed in black stood alongside her. 

"That's our car," shouted the general manager.

"It's my friend's car and this lease document proves it," said the man in black.

"We did not renew the lease," said the general manager.

"You might not have, but Bette Rowlands, you leasing manager did two days ago and since no conditions of lease have been contravened, good night to you gentlemen."

"They broke into our storage shed and stole the fucking car," shouted the service manager. "Arrest them, sergeant."

"Sergeant, please ask that lout if he'd got proof of that allegation, otherwise he's in danger of being cited for defamation."

"I'm sorry, son, but this vehicle is being impounded until its ownership is sorted out. Get the keys, Stevens."

As the police officer moved forward, Kenny moved to meet him. 

"Betsy has done nothing wrong. She is exercising her right to defend her property using any legitimate means at her disposal. I'm her legitimate means, so the choice is yours."

Kenny then dropped into a crouch as the police office said nervously, "Serg?"

"What do you want us to do, son? You look to be a fine upstanding fellow; we have no wish to crack your skull or put a bullet through your shoulder."

"Call out one of your legal guys."

"Christ, son. It's almost 3:00 in the morning."

"Do it, or face a much bigger problem with perhaps severe legal consequences for you and Kennedy Motors."

Twenty minutes later the police legal adviser confirmed that the lease document was correctly stamped and dated. It seemed in order. He conferred in private with the police sergeant who returned and advised the Kennedy Motors representative to leave the property or else risk the owner declaring they were on her property illegally.

Kenny whispered to Betsy, "By chance I'd entered the building through Bette Rowland's' office in administration and was going around her desk by torchlight when I noticed leasing agreements in her basket. Don't ask my why but I flicked through them and one was your renewal. It had been signed but attached to it was an instruction calling for it to be cancelled."

"Chance? I think that was absolutely amazing – my office accountant must have sent the renewal application through as she'd paid to do, any way. You took a risk, you could have been arrested for stealing a document."

"And a car and for other offences including wrecking their security door," Kenny grinned.

After everyone had left Kenny garaged the car and went inside for late supper – very late supper. Kenny had cold pizza and coffee; Betsy had a glass of warm milk.

"Thank your for getting my car back, that was very heroic of you."

"Aw, that was nothing," said Kenny, looking at the floor.

A few minutes later, as Kenny stood up to leave, Betsy said: "It's late, stay here. Come to bed."

She didn't realise her clanger: no mention had been made of the spare bedroom.

It was only when Kenny asked was she sure that the penny dropped for Betsy. She flushed. 

Betsy found herself holding her ground; in a completely uncharacteristic immoral decision for her since her marriage, she took a risk. She knew nothing about this man, whether he was married, diseased or kind or rough to women in bed. What she did know was she'd been deeply lonely in her bed in recent nights and here was the chance to fix that need.

Holding out her hand, Betsy began walking from the room. Kenny slipped his hand into hers. In passage, they turned to Betsy's bedroom where the light had been left on.

As soon as they were in the bedroom Kenny reached across and taking her by the right hip spun her into a half turn right against him, placing them belly-to-belly. Cupping her left breast (Betsy feeling it beginning to swell into his hand), Kenny's face dropped down towards hers and he initiated a soft and lingering kiss.

He's not a quick bang man, Betsy thought happily, hoping that she was not jumping to a wrong conclusion. She could not feel his stiffness against her but was confident something would be there. 

Dropping a hand she found a penis at half-mast that because of her touch, was probably being provoked to stiffen rapidly. Betsy pulled her hand away, wondering what on earth he would be thinking of her – a cock hungry wench in a hurry to be dicked, perhaps?

Betsy broke away from their embrace and pushed Kenny towards the bathroom. She told him to take a quick shower, use any toothbrush and come to bed, nude and ready. He grabbed one more kiss while juggling her left breast as if trying to assess poundage, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

Come to bed nude and ready? God, I'm a slut saying that, she giggled and then worried about having mentioned a toothbrush. The poor man would be thinking he had bad-breath. Oh no, nothing of the sort!

Betsy turned off the ceiling light. The bedside lamp provided a good level of background lighting. The decision was to leave it on or not? 

Royce had been a man who'd preferred it off, as apparently many men and women did. But Royce was no longer in the frame.

Betsy decided she wanted the light on – this was probably a oncer and he would be away by daylight. At some stage she'd like to examine his dick out of curriosity. His physique looked awesome, so why waste one of the important senses by turning out the light and having to limit exploration, especially of his penis, to touch and smell? She wanted to look at it. 

God, she was feeling as if she were on fire. Dipping her fingers she sucked them, not having done that since pre-marriage days when being concerned that she might not be wet enough for the cock that was being nervously directed at her. A lot of fucking had passed under the bridge since those days.

Kenny came bouncing out of the bathroom, leaping at her, pinning Betsy on to the bed before she had time to react. She screamed – though not loudly enough to wake the neighbourhood – and felt herself dripping down below. They began tonguing and in her mind was the fleeting glance she'd had of his erect penis as he jumped her – what a beauty!

That left breast was under attack again – didn't he realise she had two? Oh, he does she thought happily as his noisy sucking of her left nipple ceased and his teeth bit into her right nipple, making her yelp. That reaction was more one of surprise as the pain was really about the level of stubbing a toe. 

Sensual triggerings swept through her; Betsy knew she was ready to be fucked, requiring no more foreplay.

If he wasn't ready, well there was always next time for him to mess around. She pushed against him and Kenny cooperated, rolling on to his back. 

Betsy straddled him and he reached up and began playing with her breasts as she positioned herself and then began to press down on to his cock. It was thick but her vagina was well lubed so in it went without fuss, feeling its way through the tube to set off lovely sensations. Betsy was leaning forward a bit to ensure this down stroke was dragging across the vicinity of her clit.

Good boy, he'd done this before! Kenny's hands went off her boobs to cup the cheeks of her ass and he began to provide extra lift; they were underway. 

Soon after she orgasmed, but they both ignored it apart from increasing their thrusting. 

After a while as the heavy breathing was accompanied by them both beginning to sweat, his lower body felt suddenly much warmer, indicating to her that his pump was being primed; she had to push down at little harder to maintain pace and friction as he thickened further.

Kenny dropped her ass, grabbed both breasts again and squeezed, making Betsy gasp. She squealed and squealed again as she released fluid whereas Kenny simply sighed. Betsy knew by the pulsations that this fuck was at its climax. 

She dropped down on to his chest, making him grunt in surprise. Feeling the latent power of his hard body, Betsy thought crudely, what a body to fuck. She surprised herself, as she'd not felt this naughty since running amok during college days.

Betsy waddled to the bathroom trying to keep her thighs together but gave up. Little trickles were oozing from her despite her endeavours and anyway sweat and her cunt juices were already transplanted from where they had dripped on to his thighs to be pressed back on to hers. What a fucking mess, grinned Betsy. I love it, aware that this encounter had taken her mind off other things.

Quickly towelling herself dry Betsy returned to the bed with two clean towels.

"What do we want those for?" asked Kenny. "I love being bathed in cunt juices and cum."

"You do?" cried Betsy, happily. "So do I, though in recent years I was with someone who liked to keep clean and dry."

"Ah yes, your husband."

"Are you married?" she asked.

"I was once – from twenty-four till twenty-eight. Military life is very hard on wives."

"How old are you now?"

"Just turned thirty-two. My mother said you are not thirty yet."

"No, not until another three weeks."

"Well have to organise a celebration for you."

Betsy's heart fluttered. He was talking as if they'd be seeing each other again.

"That would be lovely."

"Want to inspect my prick now?"

"What?"

"I guess that's why you left on the light. I've found it's a thing woman do when they get a new lay."

"What, looking or leaving the lights on?"

"Oh Christ. Let's keep it simple. Here is my dick. It doesn't have a name, nor is it diseased, discoloured or carry any shrapnel. The foreskin was removed before I was old enough to know I had a dick. It's been well-used in bed, on bar tops, on beaches and in cars, and I have fought hard to keep it in top shape."

"May I touch it?

"Yes. After where it's been you have licence to do anything you wish with it."

Betsy ended her close inspection with a few licks.

"May I ask you something, Betsy?"

"Yes, after where you've been tonight you have licence to ask me anything you wish."

"Thank you. Do you suck cock, I mean do a thorough job?"

"If you mean long and swallowing, yes, of course."

"Um, do you take it, um…?"

"In the ass?"

The cold blue eyes bored into hers quizzically, as if willing her to say yes.

"No, but I believe I could be persuaded by the right person in the right situation to lose my ass virginity. Do you ass fuck?"

"Oh y-e-e-e-e-s. But listen, I must go now, as I've got a big day ahead of me so need a couple of hours shut-eye. My mother has asked me to work for you but she's going to pay me a salary until we get you producing a good cash flow again."


Betsy & the McBrides Ch. 01



"What? What is it that you and your mother going to do?"

"She is an astute business woman and before coming out of the military I completed a degree in business management. She and I will be begin working today to produce a business plan for you. Over the next week or so we'll need input from you and your senior staff. Providing you are willing and available, we three go out to dinner tomorrow night to discuss concepts."

"You and your mother had come to these decisions already?"

"Yes, she intends injecting development finance into your business but she has no plans to take it over. She offered you help, at the funeral she said, and you've asked for help so you are getting it. My mother is like that."

"This is amazing."

"She asked me to invite you to dinner after we had finished fucking."

"What!"

"Actually, her words were after supper. I said what supper, and my mother said you are the kind of women who will invited me in for supper, grateful for getting your car back. My mother knows a lot about people, how they think, how they act, so the Kennedy's are in for a big shock; their empire is under threat, but please don't mention this to anyone.

"With their appalling actions against you, my mother has decided the time has come to exact her revenge. That's all I have to say, perhaps I have said too much."

"No, that information is safe with me. Matilda will recognise me as being a strong ally. But tell me, if as you say Matilda is astute about knowing what people think and how they act, do you think she would have anticipated you and I, um, well you know?"

"Yes, definitely."

"Kenny!"

"Perhaps possibly."

"Oh, how am I ever going to face her again?"

"Just tell her I'm a good fuck, Betsy. That will make her very happy."

Ends Ch. 01.



Betsy & the McBrides Ch. 02



THREE

Standing in front of her dressing table, toweling dry after a long relax in scented bathwater, Betsy Milton-Stewart relished her post-coitus feeling of fulfillment.

She'd been well-filled without doubt, as Kenny McBride was a very developed man. 

She grinned thinking that if she were to have a permanently stretched mouth and vagina, she'd rather fancy carrying his stretch marks as souvenirs of their rather hot sessions. That reminded her, the bed base needed strengthening.

"Perhaps I'd better replace it with a steel reinforced base," she said aloud. "Now that's not the thought a nice lady should have, is it dear?"

Then, almost as if her life had braked to slow motion, Betsy's gaze fixed on her left breast, the chill of a possible breast cancer scare hitting her belly. She pulled up the somewhat heavy mass and stepped in closer to the mirror for a careful inspection. 

Seconds later Betsy was grinning, and muttering "You bastard, Kenny." 

What had scared her momentarily were his teeth marks!

Brushing her hair Betsy worked out her schedule for the day: Financially ruin a fucking Kennedy or two if the opportunity arises; send a big bouquet of flowers and a thank you card to Kenny's mother for being so supportive and go into the newspaper and find ass to kick. 

The Sentinel looked lousy, it's content was average to put it politely and company profitability had been falling, so kick some ass right out of the door seemed a suitable option. But she modified that rush of adrenalin, conceding she should await the McBrides' recommendations before doing anything extreme.

Betsy wondered what Kenny was doing right now. Probably having mummy fill him up with oat porridge and re-fried beans to boost energy and give his drained balls the message that relief is on the way. 

Kenny had been heroic in getting her car back from the Kennedy gang. But she she'd well-rewarded him – Christ she was having difficulty walking!

Pouring a coffee with a touch of milk and chewing a piece of lightly toasted bread smeared with the faintest trace of oil-based spread, Betsy called Dirk Hamilton, managing-editor of The Sentinel, a fat slob but a very talented journalist. Dirk was married to Mary who was equally fat and worst still was related to the Kenney's; though luckily for Dirk's future on the newspaper, the relationship was fairly remote – second cousins.

"Good morning, Dirk. It's Betsy, nice to find you at work instead of out fishing."

"It's a joke, Dirk. I know you are conscientious and I know you work hard. Yes, and long hours. Yes, and for fuck all. Still playing the old record Dirk, though I suppose these days I should refer to it as a CD.

"Listen, I want a meeting with the company's top ten – and only ten mind you – executives at ten this morning."

Betsy listened to a tirade.

"I know that it's you editorial conference time but 10:00 happens to be convenient for me, Dirk. So reschedule your bloody conference.

"I'm not being abusive Dirk, I just trying to talk in a language you journalists understand. If you get everyone seated and quiet when I walk in on the dot at 10:00, I promise to terminate the meeting fifteen minutes later.

"I know women are always late for appointments Dirk, but they do that because they feel the need to try to hold some power over men. I don't need to do that, do I Dirk? Even supremo jurno Dirk knows that now I am the boss and hold the power. But I won't abuse it, Dirk, at least not with loyal staff. And just to prove I still like you, lose twenty pounds and I'll be really nice to you just like I used to be when you first came on to daddy's newspaper almost eleven years ago.

"How can I remember that so precisely? Oh, I remember men who are exceedingly able with their bodies, Dirk and you were up there with the best.

"Why thank you, Dirk. What a charming thing to say to a lady first thing in the morning. 

"Bye."

Betsy knew she'd trust fat man with her life, as his heart and mind had not changed. He needed a rev up as fat people tend to be lazy because too much of their energy goes into mass maintenance. She'd rattle some stones this morning and some of the problem people might evacuate.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our chairman of the board, Mrs Betsy Milton-Stewart."

"Thank you, Dirk. I'm just Betsy to everyone here. I'd like to thank everyone for supporting my late husband Royce during his time with this company. The Sentinel, sad to say, had gone downhill. I want it rejuvenated which calls for a new approach, and this is the introduction of things to come. The board has to provide more resources – I can say categorically our funding crisis is over, that finance is available to sweep with a new broom. 

"Some sub-performers will go, even if they are senior executives. A strategic plan is being prepared and a management plan will be implemented with your assistance. I'm rushing this through so there won't be weeks of consultation with you, just quick meetings to harmonize on key issues. I want the Sentinel back where it was in my father's day, or near as possible as I know other media provide competition my father didn't face. 

"Any questions?

"We share your loss, Betsy. I for one would like to see The Sentinel regain community respect."

"Thank you Allan, well said."

"What's the timetable?"

"Don't know yet, Ross. Everyone will be advised before the end of this month, I hope."

"Heads will roll you say. Does that include mine?"

"Loyal and effective contributors have nothing to fear, Dirk. We will have to recruit if we start up our own TV station."

"May I quote you on that, Betsy?"

"Yes, Lee-Anne, but attribute nothing in your column to us. Just quote it as a strong rumor that the Kennedy's station KENTV88 may be getting local competition from a new TV station linked to The Sentinel."

That created a buzz and Betsy said that's all she had to say and walked out. Passing Dirk she said, "Buy me lunch at 1:00 Dirk."

"That's prime production time and when I'm preparing to coordinate the handing over to the shift working the morning editions, Betsy."

"I know, but thought you might like to be confidentially briefed."

"I'll be waiting at the front door at 1:00 Betsy."

Betsy called a cab and Mike Street, her late husband's buddy, took the fare.

"Hi, Betsy, I heard about last night's explosion. I'll read about it in The Sentinel this afternoon with interest."

"No you won't be reading a word; I've issued instructions that I want no mention about the Kennedys in our news columns. They can continue advertising if they wish, as to deny them would land us in court over claimed damages and elsewhere in battles over ethical issues. This is war."

"The way to go, Betsy. Half the town will get behind you, believe you me."

"Why should I believe you, Mike?" she laughed. "Your hunk Kenny isn't the only one who's been in the forces."

Betsy frowned, her eyes meeting Mike's in his rear vision mirror. How on earth could Mike know about her relationship with Kenny – he must know the sexy bit to have referred to him as her hunk.

"I worked in intelligence in the Navy for twelve years."

"Then why are you driving a cab?"

"I wanted to take it easy for a while and then it got too easy to move out. I'm slowly buying up shares and ultimately will own the company with a couple of other cabbies."

"Is that want you want?"

"Yes, plus a bit of excitement. I could do things for you on the side."

"Like what?" asked Betsy, having the vague thought he might mean to her body.

"In taking on the Kennedys you'll need intelligence. I hear a lot, find out a lot. I can't help it, it's in my blood. You could put me on a retainer as a strategist with bonuses if I do good."

"Well."

"What do you mean well?"

"You should have said if I do well."

"Fuck grammar," he grinned, their eyes meeting in the mirror again.

"Look, Mike I can't really see how your sitting on your ass in a cab all day you will be able to contribute significantly to my mission."

"Oh yeah," said Mike, drawing up into the circular drive in front of Betsy's home. "Want to hear me make a case? Your hush-hush Army man will verify the soundness of what I say."

"Was Kenny really right in front-line stuff?"

"Yep, explosives expert, sniper, skilled in unarmed combat, hand-trained to seduce ladies and adept in keeping people silenced permanently or bringing them home alive."

"Trained in seduction?"

"I just put that in to grab your full attention."

"Come in for coffee, Mike. We should talk"

Mike left half an hour later, engaged on a retainer.

He'd convinced Betsy that if she wanted to deal with the Kennedys effectively the best way was to do it by stealth. When they were being hit they'd suspect her but without proof there would be some disarray because some of them would not be quite convinced she was the enemy. In fact she should maintain her slender Kennedy links and perhaps develop a major one.

"Who?"

"I'll come back with a suggestion."

On the strength of her growing belief in Mike's wisdom, Betsy phoned Dirk but he was attending to an industrial issue at the printing plant. So she called city editor Shaun Mitchell and advised there had been a change of policy; he was to run anything newsworthy that cropped up about the Kennedys including last night's explosion story and to advise Dirk accordingly.

"Including you being questioned as a possible suspect?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes Shaun, especially that reference though don't let it be used as the lead or incorporated in the heading."

"Good one," was all that Mike said when she came off the phone.

He also suggested she should get her company to offer her car back to the Kennedy Car Leasing.

"I think they will cancel the contract without penalty. If you keep the car it will remain a sore point and they may take a crack at seizing it illegally or even destroying it outside your home."

"But not with me in it?"

"No, I don't think so. Attrition through pressure including mischief is their way; I'm not aware of violence being employed apart from stand-over threats.

When Betsy was walking Mike out to his cab he made a useful suggestion. The company ran a plain car for VIP clients; she should use it.

"Good idea, Mike. I don't really like city driving. Could you phone Michelle my PA to give you an idea of car usage a month as she collects the data, and then negotiate a favorable rate for our company on my behalf – I'll be the only user."

"You trust me to fight to my own company to get you our best deal?"

"You're a bright guy, Mike."

When Betsy booted her laptop, there were four emails awaiting her attention. Three were from Matilda McBride seeking information to supplement information she'd gathered from financial records Betsy had given her. That reminded Betsy she needed to issue authorization for Matilda and Kenny to go anywhere throughout the company they wanted to gather information and for everyone they contacted to cooperate fully.

The fourth message was from Kenny – very brief: "Your room tonight?" She replied: "No, pick me up at nine."

Betsy then phoned Matilda and had a lovely chat as well as exchanging business information.

FOUR

Betsy did some paperwork and at 11.25 a security consultant arrived. 

"Lovely to see you again Trevor," Betsy said, kissing him. They had been an item at college and Trevor was showing a reluctance to let go.

"Okay, Trevor, kiss me as if you mean it." Closing the door with his foot he kissed Betsy passionately and had a boob out of her dress-front with incredible speed and finesse. Obviously making house calls had turned Trevor into an expert not only in security.

"Where do you want it, babe?" he asked, removing their combined saliva off her mouth then his.

"What are the options?" Betsy asked, running her tongue over her lips and staring at him with the sultry look that came so easily.

"Bed if time is reasonably limited, out beside the pool if time is unimportant or over the kitchen bench if you are in a hurry."

"There's enough time for bed but kitchen bench sounds more exciting, breathed Betsy moving forward to take most of his erection in her hand, although it was still zipped up out of sight.

"Jesus, still the full-on babe. Not too many around like you these days, Betsy. They think their cunts are so precious that they expect to be wined and dined with all the trimmings before lifting their skirts.

Betsy kicked a low stool against the kitchen bench, pulled her other boob from her bra and after removing her knickers jumped on to the bench and squatted, presenting a delectable pussy for Trevor to plug.

"Jeeze – you might be a bit too high for me but think of the freedom you have to thrust back."

"Brightness never was your strength, Trevor darling, but you always could please a lady. Hop up on to the stool, sweetie – why the fuck do you think I put it there?"

It was a rather precarious ride, one participant squatting high above the ground, the other with his feet close together on a stool. But there was the added excitement of having to prevent each other from taking a tumble, which required teamwork. They proved themselves to be experts.

Trevor's hunk of meat – the best description for it – went in with a couple of grunts from both sides. 

Betsy balanced not as well as a hen on a perch, but adequately while having one hand working on her clit and the other cupping Trevor's balls.

"My, have your balls grown, darling?" simpered Betsy, having no idea if they had or not. Trevor reacted by pulling her in against him and ramming hard forward, as if trying to get all of his cock plus his balls up her spout.

Betsy shrieked but didn't think she was damaged. 

They advanced into a good rhythm considering they had also to concentrate on staying both connected and upright. She had a wall behind her but the fall sideways in either direction was not a pleasant prospect.

As Trevor grunted away Betsy sighed and thought why she was doing this – it was such an unwholesome act bordering on indecency. She much preferred the candle-light type of seduction but even that was not on the plan for tonight. Gosh, you're awful, Betsy scolded herself; fancy being with a man and thinking about his successor only a few hours' hence. 

Betsy let her clit and Trevor's balls go and quietly worked her beautiful dress up and over her head. She then unclipped her bra and threw them across the room to where her panties lay. She knew Trevor would want to display his manliness by shooting his cum over her and then wanting her to suck him clean, so why let him mess up a lovely bra and beautiful dress? They would clean easy but she didn't want her good clothes defiled.

Good god, thought Betsy. Am I losing my sluttish tolerance now that I'm about to turn thirty. She chose to ignore the inner voice saying that most sluttish young women had gained respectability by their mid-twenties.

Excited, Trevor pulled out, almost over-balancing since he had to lean back so much. Somehow his big tool didn't look quite so large in his huge hands; in hers it looked almost like an offensive weapon.

Red-faced and grunting Trevor leered as he began to spray, not even warning her so she would have time to close her eyes, but she managed to do that – just. 

Sorry, Trevor, this is the last time you'll be over-filling my twat and so arrogantly pasting my skin with your foul syrup.

As soon as she thought that Trevor made his announcement.

"Sorry darling, no more today – I've got one more client to service this afternoon."

Arrogant is right, talking to her about another women as if he were the top stud around. He'd not even bothered to asked if she'd cum. Well, she had intended not to let herself go emotionally or deliver a wet one, but she'd been vibrated with a couple dozen of orgasms in small series during his penile battering of her vagina that she'd let him have the full works and who wouldn't?

Grabbing the kitchen towel she wiped her chest and face and tossed the now soiled towel at him.

"Wipe yourself and pour a beer from the fridge. I'm having a quick shower then will explain what I want, and then I'm off to lunch."

Artless Trevor didn't bother to ask if she meant lunch and a shafting; presumably he'd think she meant both, the artless fornicator that he was. 

Trevor was at Betsy's house, and getting lucky in the process because he was considered to be the best security hardware specialist in town.

They walked around the house inside and out and Trevor said he could make it very secure, but not impregnable. He could install a series of intruder detection units in the two rooms she wanted heavily alarmed – her bedroom and the office – that would almost certainly outwit intruders and snoopers armed with the latest scanning devices.

"But it will cost you, darling."

"Just prepared your quote and I'll get my back-up consultant to check it out. He'll be looking for fair pricing, integrity of system and whether the discount is genuine. That's what he told me."

"Who is he?"

"Confidential information in the interests of security," smiled Betsy. She would be giving the quote to Mike Street to get checked out. She also decided that she and Mike should not be seen together unless he was driving her somewhere.

It was past 1:00 when Betsy entered the restaurant with Dirk. Betsy was therefore able to chose a wine, her rule – rarely broken – being no alcohol after midnight or before midday.

"Dirk, you know more about the day-to-day running of the company than any other two people. I want you to spend an hour each day with Matilda McBride and possibly her son reviewing what they have done since the last review and to answer their questions and deal with any incorrect assumptions. It's essential they have your liaison. When and where you meet is between you and Matilda."

"That's fine, cheers," said Dirk, raising his glass.

"Now for the absolutely confidential bit, Dirk: Matilda is in the processes of taking over the mortgages on the company held by Kennedy's bank and she will also be providing us with megabucks to restructure and kick-start."

"Well, well. Matilda the witch. How did you accomplish that – take her to bed?"

"I've already had enough vulgarity for one day, thank you."

"Oh really? Who has been talking to you?"

"Button it, Dirk. Now this is the basic strategy we're working on. I trust you to accept that what I'm about to tell you is for you ears only at this stage?"

Dirk nodded, and looked very interested.

FIVE

That evening, waiting to go out, Betsy reviewed the people closest to her. There was room for a traitor to be close to her – a Kennedy informant. She'd have to be very careful. She'd also have to consider the possible existence of a deep-seated spy, such as Dirk's wife Mary. 

Potentially it was a knife-edge decision, but Betsy believed without question the three people she could trust were Dirk Hamilton, Matilda McBride and Mike Street. She was tempted to add Kenny McBride but she had the tiniest doubt, she couldn't put a finger on it: ex-soldier or solider of fortune? Perhaps that was it? Kenny had suffered at the hands of the Kennedy's but who hadn't? Some people easily changed allegiances for the color of money.

Betsy heard the car arrive outside the front door and went out to greet the arrival.

She slipped in beside Kenny and he asked directions to their destination.

"The top of Half Bald Mountain."

Kenny shot a surprised look at Betsy but did not question her.

She'd been dismayed he'd not jumped out and opened the car do for her. Taking her for granted already? True, he'd had leaned over and kissed her long and deep as soon as she was strapped in, but he'd not displayed the courtesy of opening the door. Once again Betsy nagged herself that his lack of basic human kindness had disappointed her.




Betsy & the McBrides Ch. 02



As they approached their destination, Kenny turned to her looking perplexed.

"Why up here?" Kenny asked. Betsy knew the question would come eventually; men talked about women being curious as if they never were. Yet another male myth about themselves!

"For some time I use to be brought up Half Bald Mountain by various guys, who excitedly worked a hand under my bra and some of them sweated themselves silly trying to get a finger into my slit. Then next stage was the real thing, so I have special memories for this peak. Did you know that it's one third bare rock and two thirds trees on its summit?"

"I'd heard it was two-thirds rock?"

"Perhaps, but who cares? We weren't up there looking at the rocks – we were in cars trying to look inconspicuous among the trees."

"So I've been invited here tonight to slip a hand under your bra?"

"Among other things," giggled Betsy.

"Your bed would have been much more comfortable."

"Yes, you big hunk – you almost broke my bed into firewood last night as well as waking up the neighbors with your grunting and obscene lapping noises."

"What about your screams?"

"What about them?"

"Crystal glasses were shattering three blocks away."

"Yes, we were rather agile and noisy, weren't we? You have a certain class as a fornicator."

"Class?"

"You are attentive, reasonably considerate, giving a girl - however wrong she is her assumption - that you're not just there for the hump."

Kenny grinned.

"My mother has told me she likes the way you talk and the interesting way you phrase things. I wonder if she'd heard you talking like this?"

"Not yet, she hasn't"

Kenny looked at Betsy and they both laughed, neither quite certain what they were laughing about.

As the powerful black car effortlessly climbed the winding road up the mountain, Betsy continued.

"I thought it would be nice to have some car action again after all these years since I last did in a vehicle other than a RV. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I want."

"The other thing, Kenny, is from tonight I do not wish to be seen socially with you expect on normal business occasions until the Kennedys have been dealt with. If you wish to fuck me after tonight then we will have to meet far away from Milton Falls. Any arrangement will have to be made via encrypted email."

"Ah, you plan to attack by stealth. I can guess who has advised you about that. But that's your business. I can set up deep-encryption communication for you. You must not network it though. One to one links with everyone, all completely different passwords. Understand."

"Not really. You just set it up and train me. In electronic thingies I'm a good copyist."

They parked.

"An excellent spot, Kenny. Here or the back seat?"

Kenny grinned like a kid with a new toy.

"Watch this."

He unscrewed the gear lever between the seats and dropped it on to the floor.

"Reach down beside your seat on the right. Feel that set of buttons. Right, I'm deactivating the master lock – now push the left-hand rear button."

The power operated seat went back, giving more leg room. Betsy was told to hit the back right button and her seat lifted to be level with the height of the storage box and cup holders on the transmission hump between the seats. Kenny's seat had risen to similar height. 

"The brochures call this seat realignment for more comfortable sleeping in case of being trapped on impassable roads, but all owners know what the facility really is for; it's been dubbed 'The babe rack.'

"I'm ready to have my right boob mauled, young man," said the impressed Betsy.

The hand began advancing so slowly. Betsy began getting anxious even though she knew he was doing a slow tease. 

Unwilling to wait, her nipples rose proudly without being caressed. Betsy tried to settle her nerves by massaging her right breast, and it worked. 

After an excruciating wait her bra was lifted and a wet mouth fell on to the centre of her breasts and the tongue slid over the nipple in a tiny tide of saliva.

Betsy juddered, and felt discharge spot her panties. 

She was breathing heavily and at a loss how after all these years of being poked and prodded and penis whipped that a simple titty touch could get her off. For goodness sake, she was an experienced campaigner, almost thirty, not a sweet young think so innocent that she didn't know if fuck had one 'k' or two.

Mouth, cheeks and dribble were now in her cleavage and the licking was splotching one tit and then its companion. Betty had the irrational thought that being equipped with two tits was really great for this sort of activity. Her untouched pussy was now really dripping and she was hot-hot-hot. 

Kenny was really good getting her aroused to this level as she'd already been fucked thoroughly not ten hours ago. But then it always had been said she was a real goer.

Ah, her turn. Kenny had unbuckled and unzipped and was pulling his pants and undies over his knees. She waited patiently, allowing him to pull her by the hair down on to it; she knew men had a power rush doing that.

The cock was dry but she soon changed that and was delighted with the musicality in the confined space of her noisy slurping. His hands grabbed hair over her ears and both little fingers were dancing around her ear lobe almost sending her crazy.

Betsy was now sucking the tip and winking the shaft and feeling the build up of heat from his lap. She could feel the shaft beginning to pulsate so thought she'd try to swallow the lot, allowing none to dribble away to waste. She understood some women – probably prostitutes or those wishing they were – could suck a man and take all that he fired into the mouth down into the gullet as clean as a whistle.

"Oh-oh, she'd been over-ruled. He was pulling away while pushing her head back; he wanted to squirt all over her; she should have known. Another triggering of the ego was needed by his lordship.

Good man, he'd not only shot it everywhere but came back and helped tongue it up, with this clean-up stopping periodically while they entwined tongues. This was absolutely disgusting! Oh yeah? She'd always thought this little piece of playful carry-on one of the best moments in sex action.

They had a little rest, talked a bit and rubbed hands over their bodies like real lovers do. 

Then he got Betsy to roll over and pulled her back to him. She lifted her left leg high and he kindly braced it by grabbing it mid-calf. She then felt his cock entering her channel where nerve ends especially just inside the entrance were waiting to be wowed! 

She loved this position because the angles were good and she didn't have to exhaust herself when contributing. It also allowed him to grab a big bunch of tit and play with it boisterously. 

During sex – and before and after as well – Betsy loved having her tits played with, the more swollen they were the better. 

The car seats were tilted so this was an exceptionally good position for sex on this occasion.

Whoops.

She began panting and the orgasms were coming in waves. But Betsy was waiting for the wet one that she'd only perfected the ability to produce as a gush in the past five or six years.

"I'm about to cum," she gasped.

"I'll try to shoot with you," he said, picking up the pace of thrusting. 

But he came in a little late, but Betsy didn't really mind them missing hitting an emotional peak together. The main aim was having an orgasm or two or more. It was sad to think that some women could not orgasm simply by having a lively cock in their vagina.

"How was that love?"

"Fabulous, I owe you one."

My, what a different to the loutish cunt-bashing she was given just before lunch. This really was sex.

They cleaned up, got the car back into original layout and drove down the mountain.

"How do you figure on dealing severely with the Kennedy clan?" asked Kenny. "Mum and I would like to know."

PART 3 to Come.



Betsy & the McBrides Ch. 03



SIX

Matilda McBride served lunch on the deck of her rough sawn timber-clad home that overlooked the Milton River, only half a mile upstream of the falls that gave the town its name.

Easily the most vivacious widow in Milton Falls over the age of fifty, Matilda was dressed in a wildly splashed pink, yellow and green colored shirt and tight jeans that revealed only an entree of 'dropped' ass.

Matilda had indirectly told her new friend and business associate, Betsy Milton-Stewart her age. In conversation when they'd last met, Matilda that said she was twenty-four when son Kenny was born, and a little later she said he was four when they arrived in Milton Falls. 

Betsy, aware that she required one more figure to arrive at an interesting conclusion, casually asked Matilda how long had she resided in the town and was told twenty-eight years.

Very interesting.

That meant Kenny was thirty-two and he'd told Betsy that the first night he'd fucked her, come to think of it. Yes, that computed: age four when he came to the town twenty-eight years ago totals thirty-two years. Matilda was twenty four when Kenny was born thirty-two years ago which made her fifty-four, give or take a year perhaps. 

Well, here was the fifty-four year old coming to greet her. Betsy watched the way Matilda walked towards the door, the way her hips and shoulders moved and her purposeful stride – she certainly look to be on the low side of fifty-four.

They waved a greeting through the glass and the lovely warm smile Betsy received stimulated a sexy thought: if Matilda smiles at men like that she'll get all the sex she can handle! I could even be interested, smiled Betsy, quite startling herself and thinking that was a somewhat loopy thought as she hadn't had a female lover since college dorm days.

The door opened and Matilda commented innocently, "My, that's a sexy smile."

"Hullo, Matilda. Sorry, had a rogue thought in my mind."

"Care to share it? It had the look of an exciting thought."

"Nah, not at all. I was just reminding myself to buy some fresh flowers," said Betsy, not embarrassed by telling that porky. "How are you, love?"

They kissed, and Matilda held her for a moment longer than perhaps necessary and Betsy was surprised at the strength of the woman. The perfume was strong and sexy – one of the oriental blends and clearly Matilda had chosen a bra to be noticeable. 

Betsy mused, why all this for me? She then dismissed it – almost in a giggle – as an over-reaction because of her own frivolous thinking.

"You look lovely Betsy," Matilda said softly, running the tips of her fingers over Betsy's open back between the crossed straps of her multi-colored sundress. "Fancy matching the lens of your expensive looking Continental sunglasses with the color finish of your sandals."

"Not that clever actually," Betsy said, holding up her left foot and extending the toe of the sandal forward. A shoemaker obligingly made up the right color to re-dye my footwear – these and pair of shoes."

Both women looked at the slender foot so elegantly presented, no doubt thinking different things.

"You look so lovely – you should be busily sorting through available males as suitable escorts for formal functions in your business life – and area where Kenny would prove inadequate."

Betsy thought, what's this? A mother hinting that she knows something has occurred between her son and me, and hinting of a son's inadequacy. Why am I being told this?"

"Does Kenny spill crumbs?" she giggled.

Matilda laughed easily but Betsy could tell that her shoulders did not quite have the relaxed pose of someone laughing fulsomely. 

That was confirmed: "By nature Kenny is a rough and tumble lad; the females that really appeal to him are the sort who live in trailer homes.

Go lightly, was the message Betsy's brain signaled. This is a sensitive area.

"Oh goodness, I'm not Kenny's taste in women because I'm not sophisticated enough and don't live at the right address?"

"Don't joke about it, Betsy. I just don't want to see you hurt, possibly physically. Kenny faced two disciplinary charges in the Army relating to women. He received minor punishment on one charge and on the other loss of promotion along with a severe tongue lashing or whatever they do. Before he went into the Amy I had to use a good attorney holding a fistful of money to deal with two incidents involving very upset women."

"My God, you are warning me, aren't you?"

"Yes dear, but just gently. Socially you are going places beyond the reach of Kenny. Use him as a plaything, but nothing more and remain alert that your toy has sharp edges. 

"I'm setting Kenny up in a business that will exploit his talents – an assets repossession business. The town lacks such a specialist operation; with the region's high population of transients working in seasonal work in forestry, we get many people arriving and leaving this community with possessions not rightfully theirs."

"So there's a gap waiting to be exploited?"

"Yes, a big one according to my investigations – and one that the Kennedys have overlooked."

Both women turned to watch the arrival of Kenny's car, a black beast purring and looking gleaming as if having just been through a vehicle grooming facility.

"We're just purchased O'Reilly's Vehicle Grooming Services going head-to-head with Franco Kennedy who runs the family's business acquisitions and disposals operation. The family was after the land as it's a strategic half-acre of largely undeveloped land near cross-roads. We will development the site for Kenny's repro services while retaining the well-patronized vehicle grooming facility."

As Kenny entered Matilda turned her cheek to be kissed, saying "Hi, Kenny."

He then called "Hi Betsy" and looked at Betsy momentarily through lowered lids but did not move to touch her. "You look pretty."

"Why thank you, Kenny," responded Betsy, doing a mock curtsy. "Matilda says you're starting up in Repo."

"Yeah,"

"Will the name be Kenny Repro Services?"

"Dunno. What do you think?"

"It's your business, my opinion is immaterial."

"I'd like to know what you think as mom and I can't agree. She like's Kenny's Professional Repossessions whereas I like We Get It Back, Inc."

"We would value your opinion, Betsy," encouraged Matilda.

"Right – if you don't mind me saying so Kenny, 'We Get It Back' is more of a company slogan than a company name which means it could be incorporated as an extension of the more formal company name. I would be a little uneasy about the use of 'professional' simply because it may well turn small clients away, yet their money is also good.

"I would tend to go for a generalized name but with a hint of what the company is about: for instance, The Collection Agency or perhaps Blue Bird Recovery Services."

"Really?" commented Kenny. "You think clients prefer a softer kind of name?"

"I do."

"Actually, so do I now that you mention it," said Matilda. "But let's have lunch; wine please, Kenny."

"Right, I favor Blue Bird Repossessions."

"Sound good, Kenny, but the wine, please. Betsy and I need our midday fix."

Caesar salad served with crispy white bread are a wonderful combination on a warn day accompanied by chilled off-dry white wine, and Betsy said that. Matilda looked pleased. That course was followed by a fresh fruit platter with dried figs.

"Little protein for me but this lunch will keep the fat off the hips of you babes," growled Kenny, who was told by his mom to pull his head in.

Kenny served coffee and they got down to business.

"I'd like to be kept informed on the planning of anti-Kennedy operations," said Matilda. "It won't be long before news of my financial involvement with the newspaper is circulated. That means I then become a possible reprisal target."

Betsy looked at Kenny.

"I'm being advised both by Kenny and another former military intelligence specialist Mike Street…"

"What, the taxi driver with the beer belly?" exclaimed Matilda. "I find that difficult to believe, especially when comparing him with Kenny who looks like a mean, well-oiled fighting machine."

"He was a strategist, sitting behind a desk, mom. I worked in the field."

"So that makes him good?"

"Despite his fat gut he probably was an effective spoke in the wheel, mom."

"Right, as I was saying," said Betsy, I have been advised by two former specialists who have advised different strategies."

"I wouldn't trust Mike Street," Kenny said darkly.

Betsy decided this was an appropriate moment to tell an untruth.

"Funny, he said the same thing about you."

Betsy was surprised to see Kenny grin rather than scowl. Why was that?

"So, all they've done is to confuse you?"

"No, not at all, Matilda. There is total agreement that we work cleverly, keeping our heads down that that while we may be suspected, even to the point of being hot suspects, an element of uncertainly remains."

Matilda looked thoughtful, refreshing her lipstick.

"I'd agree with that. Not only would subterfuge be effective in itself, but with the Kennedys having so many enemies or angry people at the end of rough deals, they really wouldn't know what way to look if our battle plan is developed with superior intelligence."

"Our battle plan," grinned Kenny, wolf-like displaying his teeth.

"Oh, yes. I wish to be in this all the way – I have no desire to curl up in afternoons for a nap or watch TV soaps here by myself at midday," said Matilda, attempting to stare her son down.

"Betsy?"

"It's fine by me, Kenny. Your mom is the money bags. She has a right to be in the team."

"Thank you, Betsy. I take it you wish to be commander-in-chief."

"Yes."

"What am I?" asked Kenny.

"Director of manpower and resources."

"What?"

"If this thing gets out of hand we'll need a combat wing."

"You're kidding me. These guys are civilians."

"Kenny, don't underestimate a civilian who is fighting to preserve his family, ego, money and social status – and probably in that order."

"She's right, Kenny, which is why that guy Street will be intelligence officer."

"Is mom correct, Betsy?"

"It's how it has to be, Kenny," said Betsy, placing a hand on his arm. "You can see that, can't you?"

Kenny pulled his hand away abruptly, scowling heavily, and accidentally sending his wineglass crashing to the deck.

"Kenny!" called his mother sharply, and for a moment Betsy thought he was about to be humiliated by being ordered to go to his room. With relief Betsy heard Matilda say he'd find the small broom and dust tray in cleaning cupboard.

With catlike speed Kenny moved off and returned with the broom and tray.

"What will mom's role be?" he asked, while sweeping in quick, efficient strokes.

"Finance and training."

"Training what?" Matilda asked, surprised.

"We're not going to be using explosives or machine guns – sorry Kenny," laughed Betsy. "We're going to search for the sucker element within each Kennedy we go after. Let their own willful passions or outright greed lead to their downfall, though I doubt we'll be able to actually ruin any of them as they're a hardened, resilient breed and will be supportive among themselves."

"I don't understand?" said Kenny, standing with the tray of broken glass in one hand, steady as a rock, and waving the small red-handled broom in the other hand.

"She'd going to attempt to sucker them, using con artists who I'll be expected to train."

"Very good," Matilda. "Very impressive in fact. Yes, Kenny – we are going to try to rip them off through their own greed, but only the family members who have done us harm."

"Let's take out the lot."

"Spoken like a solider, Kenny, but your mom and I are women. We wish only to discipline those who have been naughty."

"I can't see any role in this for me," Kenny said, showing his disappointment.

"Some of our field recruits will be pretty young women, Kenny; no doubt you will find something to do," Betsy said dryly. "They will need to be met off aircraft, taken to their hotel and protected. 

"While not attempting to cheer you up, Kenny it is likely that some covert operations will be necessary in the manipulation of the enemy."

"Thanks, Betsy," Kenny said gratefully. "You guys have my fullest support. I'm off now to learn about the operation of the car grooming facility from Terry O'Reilly as I take over at the end of the month."

Kenny kissed his mom goodbye and then kissed Betsy. As far as Betsy could tell the only differences in the light embraces and kisses were that he kissed his mom on the cheek; while kissing her on the cheek he also pulled her around slightly as he kissed her, presumably to ensure his mom could see his hand cupping Betsy's left breast. 

Betsy looked straight at Matilda as soon as Kenny's head drew away and blushed ever so slightly when Matilda gave her a distinct wink.

They leaned over the deck railing and waved to Kenny and he drove down the tree-lined drive below the house. Betsy reached behind to flatten one of her dress straps and Matilda said she'd do it for her.

Betsy straightened and Matilda came in behind, her perfume still potent. Betsy shivered as she felt the stone in one of Matilda's rings scrape gently across her back. Then the hand flipped and returned across her back, softly.

"My god, what wonderful creamy soft skin – it's practically unblemished. Oh, to be young again."

Was this it, the reason for Matilda's interest in her welfare? Matilda had a reputation for being pugnacious but had shown nothing but softness and kindness towards Betsy ever since they'd met at Royce's funeral. On the other hand, advancing just over two million dollars as first mortgage over Betsy's newspaper offices and printing plant was surely a little over the top for someone desiring a friendly hug?

Matilda had solid features – flesh under her chin, she was well padded across the shoulders, her bust was 38 probably C and she showed early signs of acquiring the belly and ass of an ageing woman, though not yet not pronounced. 

Indeed Matilda's ass was quite attractive as Betsy had already noticed earlier when her hostess was walking to the kitchen. It was probably Matilda had a home gym – of course! Betsy had that question answered: Kenny was bound to have a gym with all the bells and whistles and would be just the kind of guy to urge his mom to keep in shape.

"We all get older Matilda, it's just like the water going down to the falls; it cannot be stopped. Yet if I may be so bold, you are a good looking woman and very trim for a mother of a thirty-plus boy."

"You can be a personal as you wish with me, dear, and thank you for not saying very trim for a woman of your age. You are so considerate, Betsy."

Betsy turned to smile and as she did so noticed Matilda's gaze drop to her lips with noticeable intensity. Betsy lifted her head slightly, closed her eyes and waited. The wait was minuscule, just the time it would take a keen woman to think, "Should I?"

Warm, soft and very tentative lips touched Betsy's.

Betsy swung her left hand up and around, to hold it against the back of Matilda's head as an open invitation to prolong the kiss if she wished. Matilda remained where she was, her softness pressing into Betsy's back.

Betsy was unworried – she would ride with the flow; it Matilda hungered for something she would give it to her, and why not? Matilda had acted as her champion at the funeral and afterwards; she deserved to be rewarded. Whether she wanted a reward in flesh was not yet clear.

"Bee-bop, bee-bop."

Betsy pulled away.

"Excuse me Matilda dear, but this is no ordinary call. It's on my secure phone."

As they broke apart Matilda ran a hand down Betsy's cheek and looked at her extremely affectionately.

God, she wants flesh all right, concluded Betsy, feeling a tiny rush blood to her midsection.

"Betsy," she said, answering the call.

"Right, nice one."

"Wait. I need a ride home. Can you come to Matilda McBride's. Spur Road, number 27; you two should meet. 

"Right."

Betsy went to her handbag and pulled out a comb.

"That was Mike Street. He'll be here in fifteen minutes. You two should meet. As part of my camouflage he had chosen a Kennedy I should try to cultivate indiscreetly so that it's noticed – Casey.'

"Good idea but that choice is ridiculous – Casey Kenney is married to super bitch gold-digger Kelly and they are supposedly the happiest married couple of their era."

"Apparently Mike will reveal why that is not so when he arrives. Let me help you clear away, I've had a lovely time and it's amazing we seem have feelings for one another."

"We do?"

"Oh, yes, Matilda. My motto has been never let a great prospect slip you. Until today that automatically applied only to men but, hey, we're into the twenty-first century and the old mores no longer apply so indiscriminately."

Matilda looked a little rattled.

"But why me, Betsy? I'm almost old enough to be your mother."

Betsy walked over and held Matilda.

"Because you asked, though not verbally, darling, and I found myself reacting with excitement. 

"We'll have to take about it Matilda, because if you want me you'll have to share me and I'm worried about what will happen to the friendship developing between us when the lust dissipates. We must be practical as well as caring."

"You're a smart young lady, Betsy – it's a quality I recognized from the outset. I also feel I shall love you no matter what eventuates. It's as if my soul reaches out to you. 

"Look, I keep a lovely veteran launch in a boatshed below the falls. Let's you and I go for a leisurely cruise together on Sunday – you bring the wine and starters, and I'll take care of everything else."

"That would be wonderful, Matilda. Sunday is the one day in the week I can call my own."

Beer pot notwithstanding, Mike made an impressionable debut into the life and times of multi-millionaire recluse Matilda McBride.

"Here, these are for you," he said, thrusting a big bouquet of cut flowers into the arms of startled Matilda.

"Betsy described you as an attractive fifty-year-old with a big of sting still left in her tail. You look forty-five and that's one awfully well sculptured tail."

Betsy couldn't believe her eyes, watching Mrs Hardnosed McBride's face turn from salmon to pink to lobster: Matilda was virtually overcome with embarrassment.

"Well, nah, um thank you Michael if I may call you Michael."

"Michael is fine, Matilda. You look as if you can handle yourself, which is contrary to what one could say to the majority of women in this world."

Betsy wondered if she should intervene, but the opportunity was snatched from here.

"You have high expectations from women, Michael?"

"That's an awkward question to answer, Matilda. It depends on the purpose of your usage of women – whether a resource for alternative thinking, a receptacle for one's sperm, a Fairy Queen to enhance one's community or a pal to converse with capable of providing thoughts that fly free of the restraints that males encapsulate their thinking."

"Well, what do we have here – a male who acknowledges females as a source of alternative thinking and then capable of soaring behind the male's inbred way of dotting every 'i' and 't'?

"That's about it. Already I have amassed an impossible build up a pressure that must be released, Matilda."

"Oh, what is the problem?

Betsy flushed, very aware that these two people, although not yet in synch, were talking mating talk. She had to end it; they were perfectly capable of continuing when alone in each other's company.

"Casey Kennedy, why him? asked Betsy sternly.

Mike reacted immediately, the verbal sexual foreplay pushed aside.

"Because he personifies the image that the Kennedys romanticize is theirs. He is handsome, articulate, a renowned seducer, intelligent, compassionate and his consummate passion is making money.




Betsy & the McBrides Ch. 03



"In other words, he is everything every Kennedy, young or old, aspires to replicate."

"Exactly," Matilda enunciated.

"Well, dearest Matilda, I must go," said Betsy. "Thank you for the great lunch and the marvelous hospitality but life must go on. I have a business appointment at 3:30."

"Bye, Betsy, contact me if you need anything," Matilda said with a grin. "And let me know how you progress with Casey. Frankly I think with him you're going up the creek without a paddle."

SEVEN

After her business meeting at the offices of The Sentinel, Betsy went into the in-house library and looked up the file of Casey Kennedy, the youngest of the three children of Reginald and Florence Kennedy, known to family and friends as Reggie and Flo.

There were several articles about Casey's romance and marriage to Kelly Coltrane, college beauty queen who went on to become an international model based in Paris. Then the lines appeared on her face and it was all over.

Betsy read and got a clear understanding in her own words of events.

Kelly came home to Milton Falls to lick her wounds, and the next afternoon accepted an invitation to paddle up river beyond the rapids with Casey, her former handsome blond college beau.

They kitted up and downplayed the somewhat ambiguous storm warning that suggested the sleet showers would bypass the region. Anyway, they were warmly clad and well provisioned.

The first storm of the season struck, with sleet showers turning into quite heavy snow showers and Kelly and Casey took refuge in a cabin. There was little to do inside the basic shelter than to sleep and find comfort in each other's arms, so they ended up fucking themselves into exhaustion.

Five hours later they paddled back into the Milton Falls marina. Kelly returned her engagement ring to Harry Kingston and Casey farewelled Mary-Lou Jessup. A month later Kelly and Casey were married.

There were pictured galore in the newspaper file, called a Morgue File (a database for compiling a future obituary or perhaps a backgrounder should the person receive an award or become distinguished in some other arena).

Betsy studied the file and remained apprehensive. In the cab Mike had said that Casey and Kelly were unhappy, their scrapping now visible in the public arena, and it was rumored that Kelly had taken up again with her ex-fiancé, Harry Kingston. 

Looking at a photo of the couple with their two young blonde daughters, Betsy couldn't envisage Casey taking up with herself.

Mike had asked did she wish to arrange a meeting with Casey, and Betsy said yes, knowing it was the right thing to do if they wished to achieve objectives.

Betsy was pushing a trolley through the wine department of the supermarket when a person, head down and moving fast, gave the advancing trolley of another shopper a glancing blow; that shopper's trolley ran into Betsy's trolley with such force she was knocked to the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorry – got bumped by a reckless driver," said the shopper, assisting Betsy to her feet.

Although shaken, she recognized the shopper as Casey Kennedy; this was no accident.

"Are you all right?" Casey asked, showing uncharacteristic Kenney concern.

"I'm shaken, twisted my ankle I think."

"Good god, you're Betsy Milton-Stewart, great-great-great-great-granddaughter of the founder of our town. I've violated a living legend!"

"I'd think I'd know if I'd been violated, in fact that impact would rate fairly low on the Saturday night ratings for seductions," said Betsy, taking her cue although thinking that sounded ridiculous. "Nor does my ancestry entitle me to be called a living legend."

"Come on, I'll help you over to this seat and then we can discuss evacuation options."

Betsy sighed, placing an arm over her forehead.

"I feel a little faint. Do you mind undoing a couple of buttons of my shirt and undoing my constraining bra – it's front fastened?"

"Er, well, if you insist."

"I don't insist but I feel I'm going to faint."

"Right, I'm on the job, Mrs Milton-Stewart. I used to be rather adept at this when I was a young buck.

"Oh my, what beautiful orbs you have, not like…um..."

"Kelly's?"

"Yes, you know my wife?"

"No, I know of her. Females who have those big juicy tits when they young inevitably have problems as they grow older, especially from having children."

"Quite, Kelly is talking about getting breast reductions."

"That's bothersome. It would be best to have them the optimum size from the outset. You can touch mine if you wish. Don't be bashful."

"Um, er, no thank you. A very kind offer, thank you."

"Perhaps some other time?"

"Really?"

"Only if you wish. I'm usually walking at the top of the falls on fine Thursday evenings. Perhaps we could run into each other – you could even bring Kelly if you wish."

"I'll keep that in mind. Are you feeling better?"

"Yes thanks."

Betsy studied his face: sensitively shaped and boned with a scar across his right cheek. His lips were moist and very kissable and his long black eyelashes were adorable below his blond-black mix of eyebrows. 

Interestingly his smile ranged from small boy to manly – Betsy had never seen this trait so pronounced in a adult male before. Physically he was only about the same size as Betsy, but looked very wiry.

"Hand me your phone please."

Casey handed it across and watched Betsy punch in a name – Bra-Front – and then her phone number.

Casey looked at it and grinned.

"You know I'll never phone you."

"I know, but at times we should try something naughty. Please do up my bra, I'm much better."

"Someone will see me."

"That didn't seem to worry you when you were undoing it. You men are all the same: Unbutton, bang and thank you ma'am, I'm off."

Coloring, Casey began fastening the clasps: "I'd never do that."

"We, we'll have to wait and see, won't we."

Casey colored very much darker. 

"You're rather upfront, aren't you? Do you really rate your Saturday night dates?"

"That was years ago, now that I'm a widow no one wants to date me."

"There're mad, they…"

"Please excuse me but I must take this aching body home and place it into a hot bath with fragrant crystals and slowly massage bath oil into where it is bruised. Perhaps I should invite you to phone me tomorrow to enquire about my bruises?"

"I really don't…"

"If you are interested in my body you will phone me. Goodbye, Mr er Kennedy."

Casey Kennedy did not phone Betsy the next day, but Matilda phoned inviting Betsy to go to a movie with her, saying she could not wait until the Sunday boat trip before seeing her again.

They had a lovely evening and when Matilda dropped Betsy off she was invited in for a night cap.

Matilda was leaning back on the sofa when Betsy went to the CD player and bent over to select a cool jazz disk, taking some time to do it. At one stage she turned round and confirmed that Matilda was watching her steadily.

Betsy ran her hands down the backs of her legs: "I love these seamed stockings."

The music began to play and Betsy stood facing Matilda swaying in time with the music. She reached up and undid the top clasps of her black dress; it dropped to the floor and she stepped out of it. 

Betsy walked deliberately at Matilda who finally stirred and held out her arms. The younger woman jumped forward excitedly and fell into those arms which closed around her; small kisses rained on to her bared shoulders and neck.

"Let me at your breasts and you finger me, please darling," urged Betsy, confident such a sweet invitation would not be refused.

They kissed.

Gradually Betsy became aware of the rising passion within Matilda. Why was she so slow from a cold start? Shyness was unlikely as Matilda had originally shown an interest that scarcely could be called modest. It then occurred to Betsy that it was a kind of shyness indicating that Matilda was a little apprehensive at being with a much younger woman. 

Betsy knew how to fix that.

She slithered down, raised Matilda's dress and buried her head under it, hooking a finger under the edge of the panties, releasing a much stronger smell of arousal – so it was there! The odor increased Betsy's own breathing rate as her tongue found a centre of neatly clipped hair. 

Gently she worked a finger to open the slit and heard a loud gasp from Matilda as this was accomplished. Betsy's tongue followed her finger and Matilda's hands thumped on to the side of Betsy's head, almost painfully, and held on tightly.

Betsy went to work.

Initially she used short probing licks and found there was quite a lot of cuntal real estate: Matilda was not small! 

Saliva and a contribution of juice from the host soon added a slopping sound to Betsy's strengthening nasal breathing, providing the appropriate background of simulating sound. 

Matilda gave a single hip thrust as the marauding tongue finally slipped into the hood to connect with a sturdy button.

Ceasing what she was doing, Betsy pulled Matilda to her feet and before her bewildered friend could protest said: "Come on, let's get rid of our clothes – they're an unwelcome hindrance."

As it was early autumn, still warm, and they had gone out informally to a movie, Matilda was not wearing panty hose or stockings. As Betsy had already shed her dress, fancy stockins and slip-on shoes, she only had to remove her bra and panties. She then lay back on the far end of the wide white leather sofa and watched.

When Matilda unclipped her bra and dropped it Betsy felt a surge of blood rush as she saw the heavy hangers swing free. Until the possibility of some sort of sexual mischief between the two of them had emerged, Betsy could not recall ever being so consumed with interest in another woman's breasts. This was unreal; it was exciting.

Matilda leaned forward to pull down her panties and step out one side of them, a movement that engulfed close-watching Betsy in a further rush of blood. The sight of swinging breasts, rounded belly and dark close-cropped bush combined with the act of completely disrobing was erotic to the extreme. Betsy had watched this ultimate in eroticism while dipping two fingers into her own cunt and bringing them back into her mouth; she was so aroused that she raked them with her teeth, almost ripping off her rings, rather than gently sucking them.

The whole movement involving panty removal lasted no longer than six or seven seconds but it would last long in the mind of Betsy. While the sight of a male bringing a fully-primed dick out of his underpants was a sight for hot eyes, it would be totally eclipsed by the titillating sexuality of what she'd just witnessed.

Little wonder the Great Masters had been so fascinated by the undressing women in their lives that they had painted them so lovingly, so divinely. Betsy thought that in a surge of romanticism that completely ignored the fact that some of the Great Masters had also painted their women performing very basic elements of daily toiletry., but she was in no mind to debate with herself a matter of rationality.

Betsy got to her feet.

"Get yourself comfortable on your back, sweetheart, with one leg over the back of the sofa and the other along the back of it."

Matilda appealed with her eyes, saying, "This feels lovely and comfortable but make me cum, I was so close before. Don't leave me a frustrated wreck; I'm not big at releasing but I know when it happens."

"Yes, yes," soothed Betsy, feeling her own excitement building. The sinfulness of the situation appealed to her enormously. Recently she had been on the sofa in this same position when Kenny had tongued her into ecstasy; now she was going to simulate Kenny and doing exactly the same thing to his mother.

"Wild!" chortled Betsy.

"What's that dear?"

But Betsy was oblivious to the question as her head had dropped between the solid thighs; she inhaled the aroma and, spreading the labia with her fingers, she danced her tongue along the very pink flesh to get Matilda re-stimulated. 

The licking around the button produced several tiny jerks from the hips, signaling that Matilda was very stimulated. 

Taking a deep breath, Betsy sunk her tongue into Matilda's cunt (Betsy did not think of it as a vagina at moments like this) and flicked and lapped her tongue into one of its greatest adventures to date.

With the heat building up between them – Betsy realizing it wouldn't take much to get herself away – Matilda's heavier panting turned into moans, indicating that her time was nigh. By this time Betsy had two fingers in beside her hard-working tongue; although she was tiring her heart soared as the thought of the pleasure she must be giving her lover.

Betsy slipped her fingers out and inserted her middle finger gently into Matilda's asshole. The reaction was immediate, the timing perfect. 

Matilda bucked and screamed. Betsy was still licking when a gush of liquid flowed into her mouth. It certainly wasn't urine; Matilda had accomplished a very impressive ejaculation.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" came the finale from Matilda like a death rattle.

Betsy pulled away and glimpsed the astonishing sight of Matilda, very red-faced and slack-jawed with her eyes open but rolled into their sockets. It could be considered a very unflattering look, but Betsy's heart sang to her; she saw it as the beautiful sight of a woman caught in her absolute moment of post-coital bliss. 

PART 4 to Come.