Inspired by Paul.
The chauffeur touched his hat respectfully as he opened the rear door of the big black limousine. My elder brother, Frankie, climbed into the back seat first, followed by Mom and then me. Fifty yards away and six feet below us, our father, Mom’s husband, was in his final resting place. Dead at the age of 41 through a lifetime of heavy drinking, smoking and eating. As we drove slowly to my Dad’s brother’s place for a wake, Mom, Frankie and I sat silently. The black veil that entirely covered Mom’s face obscured what everyone thought were tears of sadness and grief for the loss of a man she had been married to for nineteen years, since she had given birth to Frankie, at the age of twenty. Only the three of us knew that what Mom was hiding were tears of joy and an upturned mouth fixed in a permanent smile.
There may have been men more cruel than my Dad; I just never met any of them, that’s all. He beat us boys for the slightest little excuse, and used Mom as a slave. I remember an instance some years ago that will probably cost me thousands of dollars in shrink’s fees for the rest of my life. Dad had just watched some old sitcom where the wife implored her husband to have a talk with their son about the facts of life. He turned around to Frankie and me at the dinner table, as Mom took away our empty plates:
‘Boys, I want to tell you something that will stand you in good stead for the rest of your lives. Women are only good for three things; cookin’, cleanin’ and fuckin’. Now you’ve seen your ma do the first two, I think its about time she showed you the third.’
Mom’s face betrayed her horror. But to say anything would have brought her a severe beating, so as Dad pushed her upstairs to their bedroom, Frankie and I followed as ordered.
Dad boomed at us to hurry into the room and sit on the floor by the wall. We rushed in quickly, not wishing to feel his wrath. Then he told Mom to move around to the side of the bed where we sat and take off her dress. Mom tried to hide her tears of shame as she undid the zipper of her short, white summer dress and let it fall to the floor. At first Frankie and me were crying too. But as we looked at Dad unfastening Mom’s bra, and as her boobies fell out to our gaze, our tears dried up. Still standing behind Mom, Dad cupped her melons and then began to squeeze them hard until we noticed that her nipples were standing out proud. Then his fat fingers were inside the thin material of her white panties, and he began sliding them down over Mom’s shapely legs. He ordered her to kick them away, bend over and spread her legs. Dad positioned Mom so that she was sideways on to Frankie’s and my view. Then we stared, mesmerised, as he undid his belt and withdrew his long, stiff prick. Without any gentleness, he wet his palm with spit to lubricate his knob, and lunged it into Mom’s ass. Dad forced Mom’s head around to the left so that she was looking straight into our eyes. I couldn’t speak for Frankie, but to my eternal discredit, I had a raging hard-on. Dad continued to pound Mom’s ass as we sat and gaped at the spectacle before us. I could see his nails gouging Mom’s hips as his passion rose.
After about five minutes of slapping into her, he began to shout that he was coming. Suddenly, he yanked back a handful of Mom’s long, dark hair, which caused her head to snap back abruptly. Then he pulled his cock out of her ass and a jet of spunk shot up Mom’s back and into her hair. Dad casually flicked the last dregs of his semen over Mom’s ass cheeks and rubbed it into her with his big hands until her skin glistened. Then, as his cock became limp, he put it back into his pants and suggested we go downstairs to watch the football game, as if nothing extraordinary had just happened. I looked at Mom as we stood up. What I mean is, I looked at her body. She always wore heels. I had never, ever seen her in flat shoes; Dad wouldn’t allow it. From sideways on, and still bent over, she looked very sexy, her legs slim and shapely, encased in sheer nylons. I almost forgot who she was until Frankie, in a whisper that I knew she would hear, told me to cover my bulge and get the hell downstairs.
In my uncle’s house, Mom really let rip with the drinks, telling everyone that this was the only way she could handle the grief of the moment. In reality, Mom’s celebratory drinking was causing her to wobble slightly on her tall, black patent pumps. After about an hour, the taxi I had ordered to take us home pulled up outside the door. With insincere thanks, Mom said goodbye to our relations and walked unsteadily down the garden path, supported on each side by Frankie and me.
None of us said a word in the cab. It was only when we were all inside our house, with the front door securely bolted, that Mom slowly took off her veil, unfastened her long, black coat, and told me to get the champagne from the refrigerator.
‘It’s party time, boys.’ Mom said, enthusiastically.
By the time I returned with the bubbly and three glasses, Mom was sitting on the couch, laughing her head off. She, more than anyone, knew Dad’s cruelty, and we both understood that she deserved this triumphal moment.
I gave a full glass each to Frankie, who stood at the fireplace, and to Mom, who remained seated on the couch. I took mine and sat on the far side of the room in an easy chair. Mom quickly gulped down her first glass, which was then replenished by Frankie with great haste. The second went down just as fast, and before I knew it, I was getting the next bottle of champagne from the icebox. I had never seen Mom drink so much, and although she was tipsy, she was handling it very well. Having said that, it came to my attention that she was becoming a little careless with her demeanour. Try as I might not to look, my eyes just could not avert themselves from the expanse of nylon covered thigh that Mom was inadvertently showing. Dad had always insisted that Mom dress sexy at all times, and I suppose she hadn’t had the time or the money yet to renew her wardrobe. But her already short dress was now way up her thigh, revealing the darker material at the top of her hose, which signified that they were either stockings or hold-ups. As if that wasn’t enough, one of the slender straps that held up the loose fitting top part of her dress had fallen from her shoulders, threatening to release one of her beautiful tits. Now I don’t know about you, but a woman who lets her straps fall from her shoulders is one sexy looking piece. And when I turned away and glanced up at Frankie, I could see that he, too, had been impressed by Mom’s display
I first became alerted to my brother’s intentions when we were halfway through that second bottle. Although at that point in time, I would never have believed what was to come. As soon as Mom’s glass became empty, Frankie would race across and fill it up. Before too long, he was actually tipping the glass up to her mouth to make her drink even more quickly. I noticed also that he hadn’t even finished his first glass, yet was laughing and giggling with Mom as though he were as drunk as she. It wasn’t long before he took a seat next to Mom on the couch. From there, it was easy for him to touch her playfully in the course of their childish antics. He began rubbing her bare arm gently with the back of his hand, and once or twice he managed to brush her thigh, all the time keeping her glass topped up.
When the second bottle ran dry, Frankie got up with a speed unusual to him, announcing that he would get a third bottle. As he did so, I clearly saw the bulge in his pants that gave credence to my suspicions. But I stayed in my chair and said nothing. Just as he returned with the fresh bottle, Mom said she had to go to the bathroom. As she tried to get up from the couch, the effect of the alcohol hit her. Suddenly, in a fit of laughter, she collapsed in a heap on the floor, and in so doing, her dress fell right up to her hips, confirming that it was a pair of stockings that she was wearing. I got up and walked over to stand beside Frankie. We were both looking down on the sexy bits of white flesh between the tops of her stockings and her high riding dress. We must have stood there silently for over a minute whilst Mom laughed herself silly. Eventually, with no concern for her revealing attire, she looked up at us like we were stupid, and asked for a hand up. As we pulled her to her feet, Mom cursed the high heels she was wearing and stated that she was going to take them off before she broke her neck. At the exact second that she finished that statement, Frankie nervously butted in and advised her to keep them on, as he intended dancing with her when she came back downstairs and she knew how clumsy his feet were. Mom thought for a second and then nodded her agreement, saying as how she didn’t want broken toes from Frankie’s great big size tens. As Mom turned her back on us and teetered towards the stairs, I looked into Frankie’s eyes. They stared back at me, daring me to say something. But, for the first time in my life, at that precise moment, I suddenly became very afraid of him, and walked back to my seat in silence.
By the time Mom returned, Frankie had put on some Barry White. As Mom swayed to the music, my brother grabbed the, as yet, unopened bottle of bubbly and gave it a shake. To answer Mom’s unspoken question, Frankie volunteered that no celebration is complete without the customary champagne shower, like the winners do at major sporting events. Mom giggled as the cork flew across the room, and Frankie directed the spray of booze directly at her. He had a good aim. He completely soaked Mom’s face, neck, shoulders and the tops of her arms. As she laughed innocently, I could tell what she couldn’t; that Frankie was getting himself really worked up.
