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It was Monday morning in America. Reagan was president and I was in Alabama with my Grandparents for the summer with my Grandma Jolene and Grandpa Wayne. He was a total asshole. She was his second wife, a devout Christian, and the best fuck of my life.
On Monday mornings, I was usually pissed off by 9 AM. Why? Because every damn Monday morning Jolene makes a full southern-style breakfast and that piece of Grand-shit-pa has never said thank you or complimented her once. I mean, Fuck! I get pissed again just typing about it! She makes sausage AND bacon, silver dollar pancakes, a sliver of fresh stream-caught trout, homemade grits, red-eye gravy and, then of course, the biscuits! These fucking biscuits were the best things I had ever eaten! And every time she made them they were perfectly flakey with out being crumbly and they tasted like Butter was having an orgasm on your tongue. I mean every bite was a pleasure, a sacrament! It was insulting to put Jelly or Jam or even gold on these biscuits! The first time I ate one of them, a lone tear coursed down my cheek like that Indian in the littering commercial. But Grandpa Wayne just shoveled all that beautiful food into his face like it was nothing, like it was trash. It was the beginning of my true hatred for the man. I knew he and Jolene weren't happy, and I often had to defend her against his petty behavior. But he was still my Grandfather, I owed him respect. That is, until I saw him repeatedly disrespect that amazing cooking. Some kinds of of wrong go beyond blood. Fuck that guy. Fuck that guy into overtime. Sometimes on those mornings I could avoid staring at him with malevolent loathing, sometimes I couldn't. But this Monday, things were a little different...
I came out ready for the worst, with the best smells in my nose. I'm telling you, if heaven smells like Grandma Jolene's cooking, then dip me in the river and call me a Christian! Snnnnnnifffff! Fresh bacon mingling with biscuits nary ten minutes old, warmed maple syrup for the pancakes and then the....hold on. My eyes caught Jolene at the oven as she finished up the eggs. She was not dressed in her usual conservative clothes.
Her dress was higher than it had ever been, just above her knees, and it had a slit that extended up to the middle of her thigh, but only when she moved a certain way. Her blouse was open at the collar, and opened two entire more buttons than usual, and considering her 38D tits, those two buttons meant a lot. Her hair, usually swept up in a plain bun, was hanging free, and combed glamorously down the middle of her back. She was wearing red lipstick and eye makeup and also had found a pair of modern eye glasses to replace the old Cat's eyes glasses that made her look instantly like a school marm. She wasn't just sexy, she was flaunting her sexuality! As she turned and saw me looking at her, she cocked her hip to one side, showing leg all the way up to her crotch. My eyes darted at my Grandfather, who was sitting at the table with his head in the news and his food, oblivious to the show his wife was putting on for me.
What an asshole.
She then slowly turned and set the pan she was holding on the counter by bending over at the waist, thrusting her ass out as she did, just like a Pin-up model. Her lovely full asscheeks strained at the cloth, whose smoothness showed Jolene wasn't wearing any panties. What the hell was she thinking?! Has Grandpa noticed her at all? Or did he just not care? I sat at the table, stumbling a bit as my eyes were glued to Jolene's wide ass swaying and taunting me.
" 'morning." Grandpa said with a grunt, still staring at the Verdanna County Gazette.
"Good morning." I said as flatly as I could manage. Grandma Jolene then came over and served me eggs and in doing so leaned over so her cleavage was only three inches from my face. The scent of her skin made me gulp, and as she spooned the eggs onto my plate, her tits moved and danced inside her open cupped bra. When she turned away, she brushed against me. Grandpa Wayne said and did nothing. When she served the grits, she went to my other side, so I would get a differ view of her cleavage, and continued to brush against me every chance she got. Grandpa Wayne said and did nothing. The entire breakfast became a tease fest, with Jolene finding every excuse to tantalize me by touch and sight. Even just sitting across from me, as she ate her breakfast her large eyes bored into my face, as she delicately ate every morsel like it she was kissing it, caressing it as she consumed it. And Grandpa Wayne said and did nothing.
Finally 8:50 rolled around, and Grandpa Wayne rose from the table, grabbed his hat and left the kitchen. I sat there, staring into Jolene's eyes as we listened for his Chrysler to start up, move out of the garage and driveway, and then into the street and gone. We kept the silence for two minutes, until I broke it with the obvious question.
"Jolene, what the hell do you think you're doing dressed like that?!"
As she rose to clear the table she answered tartly, "What does it matter? My husband didn't even notice that I'm dressed like a slut from one of those Network TV shows."
"Your husband? Fuck your husband!" I yelled, getting up from my chair and rushing over to Jolene. "I'm the one you should be cleaving to! I've bound you to me my the Book!"
She turned to face me, her eyes ablaze. "Oh? Well, he said nothing, so what do you say about it? Huh?" Her voice was ringing with a schoolgirl's disrespect. I grabbed her shirt and ripped it off her body in one fuck-fueled grab! She screamed and leaned back against the counter. Her bra was a pink lacy creation, and though I had given her lingerie for my amusement, this bra was not one of them. I reached behind her to grab a knife, and she did not flinch from my sudden movements.
"You do not wear these clothes without my approval." I said in a low growl, my lips an inch from her ear. I then pulled the material of the bra straps away from her skin and slashed it in two with the knife, repeating the slashing three more times, and then throwing the tatters to the floor. Putting down the knife, I used both hands to rip her skirt off, and her shoes and stockings, making her completely naked in the kitchen. I then bent her over the kitchen sink and grabbed a wooden spoon, and began to beat her ass with it. I started harder than usual, as she needed to be punished, and I needed to leave a good groundwork for her coming lesson. I went back and forth from cheek to cheek, the light wood giving her a sting rather than a 'whack', which, as I started to pick up the pace, made her begin to twitch and howl. Her ass cheeks were getting redder and redder, and I made sure to get that spoon on every little bit of those sweet, round buttocks! After several minutes, I had her ass glowing cherry red, without a blister or a bruise. Jolene was gasping and hopping from foot to foot.
I spun her around and held her close to me.
"Go and dress. Your old clothes. Your old glasses. Your old hair. Then return. Do. Not. Be. Slow." She scrambled off to her bedroom as I started to clean up the kitchen, struggling not to focus on the raging hard-on in my pants. When she returned, she was in her usual gear; long sleeved white blouse buttoned up the the neck, ankle length dress, hair swept up in a plain bun, sensible shoes, and her everyday cats-eye-glasses. My eyes boring into hers, I sat down at the table.
"You were dressed like a nasty tart this morning."
Grandma Jolene held her chin in the air and was silent.
"You were displaying yourself to a man, who was not me."
