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Old 05-03-2009, 12:05 PM   #2
Cedar
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PART TWO

The house was a ways out of town and less upscale than I’d expected. A moment after I rang the doorbell, Mary let me in, dressed pretty much as she had been in my office. She led me to the living room.

Kathryn looked like a 19-year-old version of her mother, except that her dark-blond hair was cut considerably shorter. She was wearing flip-flops instead of sneakers, and her T-shirt bore what I took to be the name of some militant lesbian campus newsrag. She looked quizzical at the unexpected visitation, but not nervous. An unopened suitcase suggested that she had only just arrived.

“Kathryn, this is Mr. Jones,” Mary said breezily. “I mentioned he was interested in the house. He asked to stop by for another quick look at the upstairs room to make sure his daughter would like it.”

Kathryn stood up; I guessed she didn’t want a stranger in her bedroom without being there herself. The three of us went upstairs. The bedroom door was quite sturdy and I, having an eye for such things, noticed that the doorknob had been reversed so that it locked from the outside.

Once in the room, we moved. Mary grabbed Kathryn and hurled her onto the bed, leaping onto it by the headboard and pinning down her daughter’s wrists with a firm grip. I jumped on the girl’s legs and unfastened her jeans. Shock at the unexpected attack cost our victim precious seconds, but by the time I had her jeans halfway down she had begun struggling and thrashing like a hellion. “Mom! Let go! What the fuck –=" I got her jeans off, sending her sandals flying, and tossed them away. She wasn’t wearing underwear. I threw myself on her frantically-kicking legs, got my knees between hers, and spread them; she kept kicking on both sides of me, but to little effect now. I dug my tube of lube out of my pocket, squeezed some out onto a fingertip, and applied it to her slit.

Her thrashing went into overdrive and her protests escalated to screeching profanity. Thanks goodness the house was so isolated. I looked up at Mary to make sure she wasn’t having second thoughts, but the gleam in her eyes and the half-smile on her lips looked half-crazed, enthusiastic, and her grip on her daughter’s wrists was firm. I wondered if she were drunk or high on something. Not that it mattered. I shoved my trousers down, got into position on top of Kathryn, and rammed it home, all the way in with a couple of hard lunges.

Kathryn screamed. “Mom! Mom! Help me! What are you doing! What the fuck!” The words dissolved into incoherent shrieks as I started thrusting. She bucked and twisted and flailed her long bare legs in thin air, desperately trying to throw me off, but her energy was no match for my experience at this. I kept thrusting inside her, panting in her red and contorted face. I clamped my mouth over hers to muffle the annoying noise she was making, but she thrashed her head to the side away from me. Her cries were losing force anyway; she must have screamed her throat and lungs raw. Her arms were yanking frantically, trying to get free, but against her mother’s grip and superior leverage she didn’t have a chance.

I was getting there. As I speeded up, Kathryn’s cries subsided into whimpers of despair and her struggles grew weaker. The rage was fading from her face, giving way to numb disbelief at what was happening to her.

I drove all the way in, hard, and kept it there as my semen gushed deep inside her. She gave vent to a low, quavering, almost inhuman groan of misery and horror, like a wounded animal gasping its last. I let my trembling weight rest on her, pumping the stuff into her, until it was over and the blissful, satisfied serenity that follows the act settled over me.

I slowly climbed off her and Mary tentatively relaxed her grip. Kathryn jerked her arms free and curled up into a fetal position on her side on the bed, her back to us. At first she was silent; then she began to sob.

Mary reached out to comfort her daughter. “Hall closet, top shelf,” she said to me in a low voice. “I’ll call you.” She took her trembling, quietly-crying daughter in her arms as I left.

I found an envelope on the indicated shelf and quickly counted the bills. The agreed-upon first portion of the fee was there. I could hear nothing from upstairs as I left the house.
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