I awakened a little after 9 a.m. to my mother crawling over me to get out of bed. She shuffled off to the bathroom, groggy, hand pressed to her belly. Mehmaw lay asleep on her belly, dead to the world.
Two or three hours later, all the men were up and demanding breakfast. I later found out Jared had had at two of them taking turns in shifts standing guard over us all night. I'd never seen the sneaky bastards.
Jared shook Mehmaw awake. She looked up at him, bleary-eyed, and then slowly forced herself out of bed. She appeared completely subdued, with no vestige of her former regal bearing. She pulled the coverlet around her like a shawl and went upstairs to shower and dress.
The instant she and Jared left the room, I hurried over to the bed to check out the sheets. It lookedlike the NFL had fucked in it for a week. There were several stiff-as-starch patches of dried cum, and some other patches still damp and sticky. In the right hand corner at the head of the bed was a mixture of what looked like dried cum and bile. They'd made Mehmaw swallow so much semen, I suppose, that it'd made her vomit. The odor of sex and sweat clung to the sheets. It was something I'd never smelled before; it made my head swim.
Mehmaw served my mother and me breakfast first. She avoided eye contact with us as she set the food in front of us, as though she were concealing a terrible, shameful secret -- which, of course, I knew she was. When my mother asked her how she'd slept, Mehmaw just sort of muttered, "Not so well", and quickly changed the subject.
I later watched from the living room as my grandmother went around the dining room table, dishing out eggs and sausage to the cons. Whenever one of them would squeeze her ass or try putting his hand up her skirt, she'd give him a vicious swat. They just sniggered. I couldn't get over the nerve of these guys: they were, like, twenty to forty years younger than she was, but they treated her so crudely, like she was their private whore. I'm ashamed now to admit that it both sickened and excited me.
In less than a day my whole world had been turned upside down.
I couldn't reconcile the grandmother I'd known for the past eighteen years with everything I'd witnessed during the night. Mehmaw was the family matriarch. She was the one who presided over all our family gatherings, all the holidays and special occasions. She was our Queen Mother. But while she could be imposing, formidable and reserved, she also had her warm side. I remembered how on weekends my cousins and I would beg our folks to let us sleep over at Mehmaw and Paw-Paw's. I remembered the big Sunday breakfasts she'd fix. Then we'd all go to church and listen to her play the organ for the choir. As far as we were concerned, she was the star, the main attraction. Then after Paw-Paw passed away, it was Mehmah who'd held us all together with her stoic grace.
Now these mental images of my grandmother were clashing chaotically with the images I now had of all that bestial tit pulling, cock jerking, sucking and fucking.
How could I ever look at Mehmaw the same way? The truth was, I never could.
The men spent most of the day flipping channels on the radio and television, checking for any news of their escape. By now, the authorities knew there'd been a breakout. A couple of times a lookout by the dining room window would report cop cars cruising the neighborhood, but none ever stopped. There were discussions among the men about when it would be safe for them to try to leave. Jared thought they wouldn't be able to budge for at least two or three more days.
They left my mother and me pretty much to ourselves. Mom wasn't used to taking so much pain medication, so she stayed pretty sedated. I spent my time reading and napping; after all, I'd been up all night, too. For her part, Mehmaw tried to keep her distance from the men, washing dishes, doing loads of wash, stuff like that.
After she'd gotten everyone their lunch, she headed upstairs to put away the fresh linen. I noticed three of the men look around for Jared, then slyly follow her upstairs. I looked over at my mother who was dosing on the sofa.
I was getting that nervous, excited feeling again. I went to the foot of the stairs. I couldn't see anything, so I went quietly as I could halfway up the stairs for a look.
Mehmaw had finished putting away the linen in the hall closet and turned around to find the three guys in a semi-circle around her. One of them was a tall, skinny black guy, one a medium-sized white guy with slicked back red hair, and the other was a short, stocky Mexican with a bunch of tattoos on his arms and neck.
The Mexican said, "Hey, we need to talk to you a minute, okay?" Before she could say anything, they herded Mehmaw into one of the guest bedrooms and closed the door. I took the stairs two at a time and put my ear against the door, but I could barely make out their voices. I went into the adjoining bedroom where I used to spend the night when I was younger. There was an old knothole in the closet wall, which looked into the next bedroom. When we were little kids I used to use it to spy on my cousins when we'd play hide-and-seek. Someone had wallpapered over the knothole from the other side, but I found a pen in the nightstand and used it to gently poke a hole through the paper, then ran it around and around to widen the hole. Fortunately, the closet door in the other bedroom was open. There was nothing hanging in the closet, so I had a mostly unobstructed view through the knothole of Mehmaw and the three men.
She was standing in the middle of the bedroom, trying to look stern and unafraid. The bed lay lengthwise against the wall behind her. The Mexican came up to her, real friendly like, and put a hand on her shoulder. I couldn't hear perfectly, but I make out most of what they were saying.
"That was some good shit you give us last night, Mama, y'know?" His hand caressed her throat. She started looking real nervous. "First time any of us had a woman in a long time." His fingers moved down to the sweeping curves of her breasts. He undid the top two buttons of her blouse and spread the collar, revealing her bosom overflowing her brassiere. She started breathing faster out of fear; you could see the quickening rise and fall of her voluminous tits.
"We'd like to sample a little more of that hospitality. Have us a little party, just the four of us." Mehmaw bolted for the door, but the other guys cut her off.
"No please," she begged. "I have things to do downstairs. I --"
"Later," the Mexican guy said. He unbuttoned the rest of her blouse and pushed it back, baring her shoulders. The white guy meanwhile had gotten behind her and was unzipping her skirt. She tried to twist around to stop him, but the Mexican and the black guy held her as the white guy pulled her skirt down around her ankles. Mehmaw was now standing in her bra, half-slip, shoes and stockings. The Mexican caressed her bra-covered tits with both hands. Mehmaw was stiff with fright.
"Let me go, please," she pleaded. "My daughter and grandson will be wondering where I am --"
"You ain't gotta go nowhere, Mehmaw-sita," the Mexican crooned, then started slowly kissing her neck, working his way to her shoulder. The white guy, meanwhile, unhooked her brassiere, and the Mexican yanked it away. My grandmother quickly tried covering herself with her arms, but the white guy jerked her arms back, her huge tits jutting out. The Mexican fastened his lips over a nipple and began to suck and lick. Mehmaw watched with an expression of sheer disgust.
The black guy pulled her slip down from around her waist to her feet. He knelt and lifted each foot clear, running his hands slowly up the inside of her hose-covered legs, then to the naked flesh of her plump thighs above the hose, then to her crotch. He slipped a couple of fingers inside the cut-outs of her panties to invade her thick, hairy cunt lips.
"Don't do that," she snapped, as he finger fucked her
The black guy looked up at her with a sneer, then kissed the inside of her thigh where it joined her belly. When he started tugging her panties down, she tried bringing her knees together, but he wedged himself between her thighs and finally worked her panties all the way off, leaving her standing now just in her stockings, garter belt and shoes. I could see her chubby mons, covered by a bush of silver and brown pubic hair.
"Everything's gonna be okay," the Mexican said, "but you gotta do us right. You gotta be a good -- whatchoo call it? -- hostess."
He pushed Mehmaw down on the bed, quickly unzipped his pants, and pulled out a long, thick, uncircumcised cock that had some sort of blue tattoo on the shaft.
"Now look what we got here," he said, as he moved closer to my grandmother. "You see that?" He held the tip of his cock near her tightly pursed lips. "Pancho wants to say hello. C'mon," he coaxed. She turned her head away. "Ain't no way to behave," he said. "C'mon. You gonna hurt Pancho's feelin's."
"We could always get the other lady," the white guy. "I mean, if you'd druther."
"Yeah," the black guy said, "Get us some younger pussy."
