Chapter 5
(MMMMg, Mg, MFg, Fg, oral, inc)
Detective Flores is a bit uncomfortable when he learns that Phil is Billie Jean's husband...
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Wednesday was composing day. Noon Tuesday was the advertising deadline, and the ads had to be laid out Tuesday evening. We had to get the news pages pasted up before 5 o'clock Wednesday, so the paper could be taken to Pecos for printing. The finished product would be distributed early Thursday morning. Both Billie Jean and I hated paste-up, but the paper couldn't afford to hire a compositor, so we were stuck with the job.
Helen watched us for a while, and asked if she could help. She was good. She was fast. And, she enjoyed it. "Like a big puzzle with several pages."
She became our compositor on Wednesdays while Billie Jean manned (womanned?) the phones, and I wandered around the county aimlessly in search of photos and stories for next week's Gazette. I went to the sheriff's office and asked if they had a deputy who specialized in domestic violence cases. They did not. Sheriff Dee invited me into his office and regaled me with his experiences in responding to family disturbance calls over the years. The six homicides in the county in the past 16 years were all domestic violence cases. Three were husbands fatally assaulting their wives, two were wives shooting their abusive husbands, and one was a father protecting his daughter. He radioed his patrol deputies, and told them to cooperate with me. Dee's chief deputy, Ernesto Hernandez, shared his experiences.
Over the next four hours I interviewed six patrol deputies. Three deputies each on the day and evening shifts. I called Rudy's Butte Store, informed them I would be down there late the next morning, and to ask Deputy Buddy to meet me, so I could get his views on family violence. All the other deputies were homegrown. Buddy had served on the Fort Worth PD until retirement, then was police chief of some podunk town in the east Texas Piney Woods before retiring again and moving to Montenegro County.
Almost without exception, alcohol was involved in family violence. The few exceptions were tee-totalling fundamentalist protestant preachers, and fundamentalist Islamic wackos committing honor killings. Abusers never quit, and the violence invariably escalates. There had been a couple of occasions during my first marriage when I was tempted to slap my wife. But I was raised to be a Southern Gentleman, and gentlemen did not abuse womenfolk. It was unchivalrous. It was unmanly.
In my brief stint as a cop, I responded to several family disturbance calls. On two occasions, abusive husbands took a swing at me. I took great pleasure in humiliating them while their wives watched. The men were drunk, and easily subdued. I later fucked one of the wives while hubby was incarcerated.
I went to the DownTown Diner for coffee. I had gone too long without a caffeine fix. Det. Flores walked in as I was being served, and ordered the beef enchilada platter.
"You're the newspaper's photographer," he said.
"I am?" I asked, feigning surprise. I looked down at the Press Pass dangling from my breast pocket. "Yeah, I guess I am."
"Billie Jean said you'd sell me photos of the burglary bust. How much?"
"You get a public servant's discount. First print's free."
"When would be a good time to get them?"
"How about after you finish your meal?"
"Great!" he said, then lowered his voice and asked, "Is your boss married?"
"Yes, she is."
"What's her husband like?"
"Good guy with a great sense of humor. And handsome too."
"What does he do for a living?"
"He's the reporter and photographer for the Montenegro County Gazette," I said, grinning and taking a sip of the not bad coffee.
"Oh." He looked like he had been slapped in the face.
"Not to worry. Her husband isn't the jealous type," I said. "I'll get to work on those prints for you. Come to the newsroom when you're finished here."
Billie Jean cracked up when I described my encounter with her lover. "I told you he wasn't the newspaper reading type."
He showed up two hours later, saying he had to interview a robbery victim.
"Hello, Stud," Billie Jean greeted as he entered.
He shot me a worried glance.
"Phil told you that he's not the jealous type. And I am not the cheating type. I don't do anything behind my husband's back. I told him about your stakeout ploy, and he told me to go for it."
"That's weird," he said.
"You want to call off the Thursday nooners?"
"Well... uh…"
"Yes or no? Are we going to do it or not?"
"Yeah. I guess so." he said, obviously uncomfortable with the situation.
"Here are the prints," I said. "And a set for Deputy Givens."
"Thanks. I have to get going. I have some reports to write."
"Y'all are swingers?" Helen asked. She had come out of the composing room unnoticed.
"I guess you could say that," Billie Jean said. "This is my first extramarital experiment. I'm enjoying it so far. What about you, Phil?"
"I'm enjoying it."
"I've never known any swingers," the 18-year-old said. "There are a few married men who hit on me. There are two women who I'm pretty sure are cheating on their husbands."
"Monday was my first tryst," Billie Jean said.
We told her about Flores' stakeout ruse, and me telling my wife to go for it.
Helen giggled, "He told me that I could go on a stakeout with him sometime. Momma heard me telling a friend about it, and she told me that it was too dangerous, and that she didn't trust Flores. She didn't like the way he looked at me."
"I'm sure he wouldn't go any further than you'd allow him to go," Billie Jean said.
"I don't like him."
"Neither do I," my wife laughed.
"What!?! Why do you...?"
"I knew he wanted to fuck me. Phil made me admit that I wanted him to fuck me." Billie Jean explained. She told Helen about the DownTown Diner meeting, and the phone call. She left out Filly's involvement.
Helen stared at me. "You *wanted* your wife to do it with another man?"
"If Billie Jean wants to fuck, I want her to fuck. I have never known another woman who loves fucking and sucking cock as much as she does. No one does it better."
"You're not afraid that she might leave you for another man?"
"Phil has absolutely nothing to worry about. I can't imagine another man giving me the freedom he gives me, or loving me as much as he does. He knows what I want in bed, and he gives it to me. He eats pussy like a lesbian."
"And he can do it with other women?"
"Of course."
"I don't need other women. I don't want another woman."
"That doesn't seem fair."
"I think it is," I replied. "Billie Jean is always ready to do whatever I want to do, whenever and wherever I want to do it. I want to be there for her whenever she needs it. She can fuck all night long and still be ready to do whatever I want her to do. After two or three orgasms, I need some time to recuperate."
Billie Jean said, "It's not like we're old pros at this. Right now, I don't know how far we'll go with it. Flores might turn out to be my one and only affair, or I may become a fucking slut, taking on all cummers. I don't know. We'll see how it goes."
"I'm having an affair with my high school English teacher," Helen whispered. "He's married."
"Did he tell you he's going to leave his wife?" Billie Jean asked.
"No. They've got two kids. He said that they're staying together for the kids' sake. Devin's 10 and Dakota's 7. He said that they fell out of love a long time ago."
How long has this been going on?" I asked.
"Since my freshman year. I think he's trying to end the affair. Since September, he's been busy, and we've only had a couple of quickies. We haven't done it at all since New Years."
"You're legal now," Billie Jean chuckled. "The thrill has gone. He's probably found another freshman, or fresh girl."
"That's okay..," Helen laughed. "I had gotten bored with him. Everything he said and did seemed rehearsed. Like he was in a play. Like he was an actor, and an amateur at that."
"What about boys your age?" I asked.
"Too immature. In middle school, I let a boy feel my boobs and pussy. He bragged about it to his friends. I called him a liar. By the end of the year, no one believed him. Puberty seemed to make them even stupider. Me and Uncle Mike, my mother's brother, fool around when he visits on leave from the Air Force. He's married too. I seem to attract married men. Frank Bradley at the savings and loan is making moves on me. I'm seriously considering becoming his mistress."
Bradley was Blackrock Savings & Loan's president and chairman of the board of directors, in addition to being Montenegro's longtime mayor.
"What about his wife?" Billie Jean asked.
"That snooty bitch snubbed me at city hall's new year's party."
"Let's call it a day, Babe," I said. "Let's go home."
"I never dreamed that I'd be calling a hotel room 'home'."
"Hotel suite," I corrected. "Our Home 'Suite' Home."
Billie Jean shook her head. "I had to marry a fucking punster."
When we got to our room, we heard Felicia's giggling and men's voices. We found her naked on her bed, surrounded by Charles, Harris, Ronald and Trevor Parsley, Harris' 30-year-old son and the hotel's front desk manager. Filly had Trevor's cock in her mouth while masturbating Harris' and Ronald's. Charles supervised and pleasured himself.
"Young lady?" Billie Jean inquired. "Have you done your homework?"
"Yes, ma'am. Charlie won't let me do anything until I've finished it, and he's checked it."
"Charlie?" I asked.
"They're all Mr. Parsley. So they let me call them Charlie and Ronnie and Harry and Trev," she explained. "Harry isn't very hairy. He shaves his head because he thinks completely bald looks better than just the top of his head being bald."
"Don't let us interrupt your fun and games," I said, quickly stripping and stroking my rock hard cock. Billie Jean disrobed (she wore only a blouse and skirt). Her left hand pinched and twisted her right nipple while her right middle finger massaged her prominent clit.
"Holy shit!" Trevor exclaimed, staring saucer-eyed at my manly appendage.
"I told you his phallus was enormous," Charles said. "And you know I am not one prone to exaggeration."
"I think Trev likes your big cock, Daddy. I think he likes it a lot!"
"My son is bisexual," Harris explained. "With a strong homosexual predilection. He was barely five when I awoke one morning to find him playing with my penis. Of course, I did nothing to discourage him, and neither did my brothers."
"Trevor was an adept fellationist by the age of seven," Charles added. "And, an irresistible pedophile magnet, and crotch watcher."
"Well into my teens, I could smile at a man and watch a bulge grow," Trevor chuckled. "And my father and uncles took advantage of my homosexual predilection."
"They made you suck their dicks?" Filly asked.
He laughed, "They never 'Made' me do anything. They 'Let' me do anything."
"He's also a cross dresser," Harris said. "He's absolutely gorgeous as a she. Trevor began wearing dresses and putting on makeup when he was 5 years old."
"He/she dresses up on Saturday nights and hangs out in the Back Door Saloon. He has a couple of macho cowboy boyfriends who are aware of his actual gender, but don't care. They love his back door."
"They're real cowboys," Trevor boasted. "Not guys who just wear the regalia. They work on an actual cattle ranch."
"Do you wear western clothes?" Billie Jean asked.
"No! Tacky, tacky, tacky. I wear sophisticated evening dresses. I watch the soaps to keep up with the latest fashion. My cowboys love it!"
"What do you think of my daughter's oral skills?" I asked.
"Superb!" Harris exclaimed.
"She is amazing!" Trevor gushed. "And I don't mean amazing for a child. I mean amazing by any standard."
"I will never doubt Charles' word ever again," Ronald stated. "I couldn't believe an 8-year-old child could be so incredibly talented. And, rest assured, she is far from being my first pedophilic experience."
"It must be an inherited trait," I said.
Filly resumed sucking and stroking.
"I'm cumming!" Trevor exclaimed, grasping our daughter's head and pulling it into his crotch.
Trevor withdrew, and his father immediately took his place, immediately ejaculating. Ronald also came quickly. Charles lasted a little longer.
Filly turned to us, grinning naughtily. Semen dribbled from the left corner of her mouth.
"I'm going to cum," I said.
Filly scrambled out of the bed, and took nearly four inches of my cock into her mouth a half second before the cum eruption.
Billie Jean dropped to her knees, and passionately kissed our daughter.
Filly's phone rang. Charles picked it up. He listened for a moment, "We're on our way. The tour bus arrived. Let's go greet them."
"Tour bus?" Filly asked.
"The Big Bend Historical Society conducts irregular group tours of Montenegro and Quicksilver City. They spend a night here and a night down there. It's advertized in their tourist brochures."
"This group is blue hairs from the DOTDAWDATA," Trevor said.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Daughters of the Dumb Asses Who Died At The Alamo."
"Really?" Billie Jean asked.
"Daughters of the Republic of Texas," Charles said.
"A lily white group, even though the majority of the Texicans were Mexican," Trevor said. "Most of them are also Daughters of Dixie; bigoted rich bitches."
The Parsleys dressed and left.
"That was fun while it lasted," Filly giggled. "Are you going to let Detective Flores fuck you tomorrow?"
"That's the plan."
"What are you doing tomorrow, Dad?"
"Going down south to find something to write about for next week's edition."
"I like it down there," Filly said. "The people are so different. So cool. Weird, but a cool kind of weird."
"Fugitives from civilization," I said. "They certainly march to a different drummer. There's no commune down there, but there's a sense of community that has a definite communal feel."
Billie Jean shook her head, "A lot of people in Montenegro have warned me not to go down there. They say it's dangerous; full of drug smugglers, drug addicts, fugitives from justice, and Mexican bandits."
"White uptight judgmental hypocritical middle class conformists with their heads stuck in 1950s neoVictorian morality."
"That sounded rehearsed," Billie Jean said.
"I wrote it in my journal a couple of weeks ago. This was my first opportunity to say it aloud."
"You keep a diary, Dad?"
"Not really. Just occasional thoughts and ideas. Sometimes, it's things I should have said or could have said."
"I'm told that the Diner has excellent chicken fried steak," Billie Jean said. "It's not the frozen pre-breaded crap. They also make their biscuits and sausage gravy from scratch."
As soon as we were seated in a corner booth, a woman approached, and introduced herself, "I'm Loreen MacMichaels, executive director of the Big Bend Women's Center. I'm told y'all are doing a story on domestic violence."
"Yes," Billie Jean said. "We are. I'd love to interview you, and some of your clients, if that would be possible."
"Noon tomorrow?"
"Where?"
"Mom? Detective Flores?"
"Right," Billie Jean said, blushing slightly. "I have a noon interview already scheduled."
"Friday morning? Nine-ish?"
"Where?"
"I would like to pick you up at your office and take you to one of our safe houses. You cannot reveal the location to anyone. Not your husband. Not your best friend."
"Agreed."
She left, and we were served. Most of the Diner's menu was basic fast food fare, the southern and Tex-Mex offerings were authentic.
We had finished our meals and were being served fresh apple pie al la mode when Flores entered.
"Hi, Detective Flores!" Filly shouted.
He looked at Filly and me and Billie Jean questioningly.
"You came to our school and told us about drugs and stuff," Filly explained.
"Yes. I remember," he said.
"Is our 'Interview' still on for noon tomorrow ?" Billie Jean asked.
"Interview?" he asked momentarily confused. "Yes. Yes, it is."
"I'll see you then, Detective."
After we finished, Filly and I went to the cash register to pay, while Billie Jean went to Flores, and whispered in his ear.
She rejoined us in the parking lot, chuckling.
"What did you say to him? Mom?"
"You thought my 8-year-old daughter knew about us fucking. Didn't you? Is that what caused the lump in your pants?"
"What did he say?"
"He denied it a bit too adamantly. He assured me that I was the sole cause of his erection."
"Let's get on home," I said. "It's somebody's bedtime."
"Are y'all going to fuck."
"I was planning on it," I said. "If there are no objections."
"Can I... I mean, May I watch? Y'all watched me. It's only fair."
"I'll not let anyone accuse me of being unfair," I replied.
"As soon as we finish, you go to bed," Billie Jean said.
"Yes, Ma'am."
"How do you want us to do it?" I asked when we returned to our suite.
"Doggy. No, cowgirl."
We got naked, got in bed, and positioned ourselves. Filly held my cock and guided it into her mother's cunt.
"Daddy's cock is so big, Momma. Doesn't it hurt?"
"No, Baby. It feels wonderful. I love your Daddy's big hard cock. I love the way he fucks me."
Billie Jean moved slowly at first, gradually picking up speed. Soon, she was bouncing and I as bucking. Her vocalizations were unintelligible babble as she approached orgasm. "Oh god yess! Oh fuuuuck!"
I rolled her over onto her back to finish in missionary position, pounding her pussy unmercifully until I ejaculated. I started to go down on her when Filly pushed me out of her way.
"Let me do it, Daddy."
The 8-year-old went down on her mother, who gasped in surprise.
"Felicia!?!" Billie Jean gasped. A moment later, she grasped her daughter's head and pulled the little girl's face hard into her sopping vagina.
Filly gave her mother two intense orgasms before she was pushed away.
"Oh my God, Baby! Where did you learn to do that?"
"Mrs. Spenser. My dance teacher. When I was five, she caught me and another girl touching each other, and taught us how to make each other feel really really good."
"That was wonderful, Felicia. I'll do the same for you whenever you want."
"Whenever?" Filly giggled naughtily.
"When we're alone. We can't have any witnesses other than your father."
"And Charlie and Ronnie and Harry and Trev?"
Billie Jean let out a little whine-gasp.
"Mommy loves that idea," I said.
"It sounded like she was hurt."
"That was the sound of a spontaneous mini-orgasm," I laughed.
"Now, clean up and go to bed," Billie Jean said. "You have school tomorrow."
n Chapter 6 Phil finds a friend for a threesome...