Legalese: Contains adult material. Anyone under age 18 must leave now. Anyone that might be offended by sexy or sexually explicit material or strong language must leave now. The activities in this story may be unrealistic, unethical and/or illegal, and they ignore the reality of sexually transmitted diseases – this is fiction, do not try any of this at home. All characters are over age 18, proof of age on file.
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Madolyn Caldwell knows first-hand how much it cost to raise her children – from college tuition, to her daughter's recent wedding.
Still, she's about to learn the true value of a dollar ...
Madolyn sat at the kitchen table, her eight bills in front of her.
Mr. Caldwell had been true to his word and allowed her to go free after she completed the twenty minutes of necking, the ... terms of her dollar payment. She'd been ... a little dazed as she stepped out of his room – okay, yes, she'd had to grab the doorframe as she almost lost her balance at his door. He'd chuckled, and she'd colored in shame that she was so dazed. From necking. With her own son.
But not too dazed to blush hard in shame.
She stared at her stash.
So these damned things did not work on Mr. Caldwell. He could offer them to her, and she was making a fool of herself, doing things to earn them. But he was immune to that.
But they WEREN'T just simple regular dollar bills! She held one to the side and gazed at it at the corner of her vision. It was red ink, she was sure of it. And it was scribbled cursive writing on it, rather than Washington's portrait.
She moved it back to the center of her vision, and a typical green George looked back up at her.
These dollar bills he had were just wrong. Like magically counterfeit or something. And ... she didn't use the word often, but ... evil or something.
She got a regular dollar bill from her purse and held it at the edge of her vision. It was out of focus over there, but it was definitely green. With an oval in the center for George's portrait. She held one of the damned bills up to the side, and again it looked more like red cursive writing there than George's green face.
And they didn't work on Mr. Caldwell, just on her. And she'd ... DO things ... to earn them. Things like traipsing around in the house in her bra in front of her son. Things like making out with her son until she was so aroused she could hardly keep her balance. Things like that.
How many of these damned bills did he have?
That ... that would tell her how far he might take things with her, what things he might ... make ... her do for him, until he ran out of the damned things.
She could– if she could get her hands on his wallet, she could count them. Maybe even ... steal them. And render the little bastard powerless.
"Hey, Bob–" she started to call, then corrected herself, "Mr. Caldwell? Could I get you to do me a favor, please, sweetie?"
She gathered her stash and stuffed it back into her bra cup, and few moments later, he appeared in the doorway.
He grinned and shook his head when he looked at her still in her bra. "God, you are gorgeous, Madolyn."
"Thank you, darling." It was a little less demeaning to call him 'darling' or 'sweetie' than 'Mr. Caldwell' or 'sir', and he didn't seem to be protesting. "Sweetie, could you run out to the shed – here's the key – and get me a can of ant poison? I've seen a couple of the little buggers here by the sink, and I should spray for them."
"Ant poison?"
"Mm-hmm," she nodded sweetly. "It should be on the countertop, or under the counter down there, or somewhere – just look around until you find it."
"But you–"
"I'm clad in just my bra, sweetie," she gestured breastally. "I can't go out there like this. But if you could get that for me, I'll be waiting here for you when you get back, in ... just my bra. For you." She put a sweet smile on her face.
Mr. Caldwell took the key, grumbling slightly, and headed out the back door.
Good – she'd gotten rid of him. As soon as she saw him enter the shed, she hurried back to his room.
His wallet was still on the nightstand, and she fished in it, pulling all the bills out of both compartments of it, keeping them separate. One set of bills had twenties and fives and a couple ones. The other set of bills was all ones – and there were five of these.
She suspected which was which, but held them at the edge of her vision and confirmed – the twenties and fives and ones were regular currency. The five single-dollar bills had that creepy red scrawl on them when she held them to the side.
Five more damned dollars, then. Including the eight she had stashed in her bra cup, that was thirteen. Probably just a coincidence, but the bad luck number thirteen might be appropriate if the dollar bills really WERE damned or something.
Could she–
Could she just–
No. Even contemplating stealing the bills was ... repugnant. Wrong. Nauseating.
As much as she wanted, needed, those bills whenever Mr. Caldwell offered her one to do something – as much as that, she felt uneasy, wrong, to take one that hadn't been offered to her, almost like she'd be ... courting doom or something equally horrible.
Okay, she simply could not bring herself to steal them. So she put both sets of currency back in their correct compartment in the wallet, and returned the wallet to the nightstand.
Five more damned bills. Five more deals to make with the devil. If she could keep these wrong things that her son was bartering for her to do for him – if she could keep them from escalating during the next five deals, he'd run out of power over her.
And she'd be safe then.
She just had to survive five more.
She headed back out to the kitchen and waited for Mr. Caldwell to come back empty-handed. There wasn't any ant spray in the shed, but at least she'd gotten him out of the house long enough to count the number of additional times he could ... make her do things.
Make her ... want ... to do things, she guessed. He wasn't FORCING her, just offering her a dollar to do them. And she "voluntarily" did accept the terms of the deal each time. But she didn't WANT to want those damned dollar bills. And if she didn't WANT them so bad, she wouldn't be doing all these demeaning things for him.
Like necking with him – her OWN SON! – while she was shirtless.
God, she was going to be glad when this was over!
Her son had been irritated he'd gone in search of nothing, but Madolyn brushed it off that she must have used the ant spray up and forgotten to replace it.
He looked at his watch and thought a minute, then headed back to his room.
And reappeared holding up one of those damned bills. "Madolyn, I'll give you a dollar if you'll be my date tonight."
"Yeah, right," she scoffed, pointing to her bra-clad breasts. "I'm not leaving the house like this."
"And you don't have to. The deal was just to leave your shirt off while you were in the house here. For the date, you can wear a blouse. But I'll expect you to be braless underneath it."
"Bob–?! Mr. Caldwell?! You can't be serious!"
"Yeah, I am. But you don't have to take me up on the deal. You know, if you don't want the dollar." He waved the dollar slightly side to side.
Goddammit! "What, uhm ... would this date ... entail?"
"Oh, we'd just go out to dinner and a movie." He grinned, "Probably an action movie – sorry."
