AS WITH MOST DAYS
by Luis Cypher

Part 1

WEDNESSDAY, October 4, 2219

As with most days, Martha Cokely slid from her husband’s embrace at five thirty, doffed her nightgown and shuffled into the shower. Her 5’6” frame was still lithe and slender even after three pregnancies, eight daughters and thirty six years. The shower took only moments to begin steaming. She slid in, allowing the hot water to stream over her slender back and gently flared loins. She luxuriated under it for only five minutes; washing away the salty perspiration from last night’s ravishing.

Before she dried herself, Martha applied generous amounts of her home-made lemon-rind mineral oil to her entire body, taking note that she needed to wax. She took an enema; and evacuated her bowels and bladder. In front of the mirror, she blow dried and combed her lush light brown hair as jutting, pink tipped pointy breasts bobbed in creamy splendor, offset by the light tan lines she’d carefully allowed herself over the last few years. Only after all this did she use a towel to dry herself, and the tiled floor. The end of the morning ritual favored a critical assessment of her laugh lines and smile lines as seen through hazel eyes.

“Hideous!” Martha snorted a whisper to herself. But, no time to fret longer, the morning’s tasks would not wait.

Panties, Bra, Slippers and her pink polyester snap front house dress went on in moments, leaving her legs bare almost to her hips. Tomorrow was Thursday. Tomorrow she’d treat herself to a professional waxing rather than the agony of doing it herself.

Back in the master bedroom, Don was leaning up on an elbow, his sleep puffed eyes barely open.
“Hiya Legs,” He purred.

“Morning Honey,” She smiled at the pet name he’d used since they’d first met.
She had been a freshman, barely sixteen at the University of Nevada at Elko. She’d favored short skirts and high cut blouses with a very bare midriff. It had all been a rebellious statement to her parents. She’d been accepted there as a tagged student. That meant a free education so long as she wore a hunting tag that made her fair game for the jocks and high achieving students that made up hunters in most universities these days.

“Nice Legs,” came a cooing male voice. The source of that voice was a bear of a young man standing six foot three, with sandy blonde hair and a big grin. He looked like a jock, and dressed as he was in the slate gray and gold school cardigan, dressed like one too.

Martha’s hand had gone instantly to her precious tag, knowing a hunter would have taken it on that day if he could. Even though the boy made no moves to get close enough to take it, Martha remained on her guard.

“Shouldn’t’ you be chasing cheerleaders, Mr. Jock?”

He laughed heartily in a manner that infuriated her. “I’m not a jock,” he said, then approached, and offered a meaty hand. “Name’s Don. I’m not a hunter either.”

He’d been gentlemanly. The Arizona native was a junior mechanical engineering major and by the end of that week, Don had charmed Martha out of her cloths, and her virginity. Two years later, Martha Rene Finney became Mrs. Donald Cokely, and ten months after that, she delivered Linda, Mary and Naomi, her first of three litters.

Martha leaned onto the bed and kissed her husband’s cheek. Don, unsatisfied, forced a liplock Martha accepted. His massive hand had Martha’s forearm and was pulling her down.

“Honey,” Martha said as she nibbled on his ear.
“Mmm,” he grunted.

“Brush your teeth.”

“Mm,” he snorted. “Spoiled sport.”

Martha smiled and kissed his nose. “I need to get the girls up.”

Don flopped back onto the bed and threw the covers over his face.

“Tell me when they’re gone.”

“Right,” Martha said. “I guess Tom Harding will be in charge of fixing your precious excavator today.”

“Rrrr!” Don growled from under the blanket, and then threw the covers off. “Damn you! Damn you!”

Martha grinned at him as he pulled himself out of bed, and left the room.

Down the hall were two more doors. One opened to the girls’ bathroom, the other, to the girls’ bedroom. It was quarter of six when Martha opened the bedroom door and flipped the light on. That light revealed three sets of bunk beds, the triples were up against the wall with the double in between them. The triple on Martha’s left was completely vacant.

“Time to get up!” Martha said to a chorus of groans. Four brunette heads and a blonde stirred as Martha crossed the hall to the girls’ bathroom.

Switching on the light, she snorted. Towels on the floor, a tube of toothpaste oozing onto the counter between the two sinks, a puddle next to the commode and a whole lot of hair on the floor of the four head shower.

“Ugh,” Martha sneered, and headed back to her daughters’ room. “That bathroom better be clean before you go to school or you’re all grounded for a week!”

“I’m already grounded,” protested Tina from the bottom middle bunk. Her blonde twin, Dana, was already up and dressed, with a frightened look on her face as she stared incredulously at Tina.

“Don’t get smart with me, young lady!” Martha snapped arms akimbo. “You’ll get an extra week if it’s not clean! Now move!”

Martha strode down the hall and the stairs heavy footed and fuming. Ever since her first litter had gone off to Elko to attend college Tina had grown progressively more rebellious. It had only been a couple of months, and Martha did not want to imagine what antics Tina would come up with next. The latest episode involved Poppyfield High Football team and Principal Daniels. Tina had flashed her pantiless bottom to all of them on Monday. It was the type of thing Martha would have expected of Naomi, youngest of her first litter, but never happened. Naomi was the fun child. She was the one who made everyone laugh and always had the family entertained. Martha missed her terribly. Tina simply couldn’t pull off Naomi’s charm, and Martha wished she’d stop trying.

The stairs dropped Martha directly into the kitchen where the coffee maker was happily percolating and the timed griddle had dutifully preheated. From the refrigerator, Martha retrieved a stick of butter the stainless steel pitcher with the pancake batter she’d mixed last night before bed, and quickly poured her husband’s breakfast onto the griddle. She was standing at the sink, enjoying her first cup of coffee when Don lumbered in wearing his coveralls.

“What was the commotion?” He asked, accepting the cup Martha offered.

“Hmm,” Martha finished swallowing. “The girls left a mess in their bathroom.”

“Oh,” he flipped his own pancakes. “Did I hear Tina giving you lip?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. She’s out of control,” Don said. “You should have let me give her that spanking on Monday.”

“For flashing?”

“No, for being a bitch to you.”

“I was a bitch to my mother as well,” Martha said, half embarrassed and half proud of the memory.
Don shrugged. “I don’t like her mouthing off,” he flipped his pancakes on a plate and set it down on the counter. “Not to my woman.” Don grabbed Martha’s arm and pulled her close. “Now where were we…?”

“Oh!” Martha exclaimed as his enormous hand landed on her rump. He smothered her with a cherry mouthwash flavored kiss that she yielded to with a desperate passion, then drew away as she felt him slip her panties down.

“What are you doing?” Martha half protested.

“You were a bitch to your mother and you need to be punished,” Don smiled as he carved a wedge of butter and lifted the hem of Martha’s pink polyester snap front housedress.

“What? Oh!” Martha exclaimed her sphincter puckering as Don forced the cold butter into her.
“Honey,” Martha protested. “The girls will see!”

“They’re upstairs,” Don countered. He opened the front of her dress roughly and deftly unclasped Martha’s bra, releasing those jutting creamy breasts and caressing the wide cleavage between them. He then ran his hand down her belly to her slightly furry mons, finding her cleft with a finger. A glimpse of Don’s massive erection protruding from his fly was all he allowed her. Don suddenly had her flipped over like a pancake; face down on the kitchen table with her hips at its edge, that stiff member demanding entry into her buttered orifice. Martha forced herself to relax and accept him. She was rewarded with that intense invasion of her body that left no doubt regarding who commanded.
Even as her husband pleasured himself, he again found her swollen clitoris with a finger tip. She instantly climaxed at his touch, as she always did when taken this way. In short order she could feel his seed hot inside her rectum, his fingers attacking her simultaneously causing her to gush.

Suddenly exhausted, Martha laid for a moment on the table till done gathered her into powerful arms and held her. It was this simple thing that told her how much he loved her. Her body was weak and helpless, but he would always protect her. It was as close to being raped as Martha had ever come and it satisfied any fantasies she had along those lines. It also heightened them. She’d have to find time to masturbate at some point today.

Giggles from the stairwell brought Martha to the present. She composed herself quickly and checked to make sure Don had done likewise, noting she’d gushed all over his front. There was no help for it. It was the only set of coveralls he’d brought home this week… he was notoriously bad at that.

“Sit down, Honey,” she ordered her ravisher. When he complied she placed his breakfast before him. “You can come out now.”

Hesitantly, Tina led two of her youngest, Melanie and Corey from behind the wall that hid the stairs from the kitchen.

“Morning Daddy,” cooed Corey and Melanie. Tina went to the refrigerator shaking her head with a Cheshire grin and collected three bowls of sliced fruit.

“Is the bathroom clean?” Martha challenged.

“Sandy kicked us out,” Corey said. “She said she can do it faster by herself.”

Martha served them sweet creamed coffee.

“I guess,” Martha sighed. “Where’s Dana?”

“She’s primping for Bart Haskell,” Tina declared.

“John Haskell’s boy?” asked Don.

“I think so,” Tina said. “He’s quarterback for the football team.”

“One of the guys Tina showed her butt to,” Melanie said through a mouthful of banana. “I think it inspired him.”

“Inspired?” Don asked.

“They won on Monday’s game,” Melanie said.

“Inspired…” Don repeated.

“Hm…” Tina cocked her head, in a gesture of acknowledgement.

“They don’t play on Mondays!”

“It was a makeup game, Dad,” Tina said. “They were supposed to lose. Someone had to give them incentive.”

“Be careful, little girl,” Don smiled. “Or you’ll end up on a stick.”

“I thought football players only ate cheerleaders,” Tina shot back.

“Don’t get smart with me, Tina. I’m not as forgiving as your mother.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means watch your mouth and have some respect,” Don growled. “The only reason you didn’t get a spanking on Monday is because your mother begged me not to.”

Tina’s two younger sisters’ heads were going back and forth between sister and father like windshield wipers as if they watched a tennis match.

Don finished his breakfast just as Sandy and Dana finally made their appearance.

“Morning Daddy,” Dana said through glossy pink lips.

“Morning, sweetheart,” said Don as Dana took her seat and Sandy served her a bowl of fruit.

“So,” Don said. “Dana, what’s this I hear about you and Bart Haskell?”

Dana dropped her spoon with an incredulous expression on her face.

“Tina!” Dana protested. “You promised!”

“I want to meet him before you go out with him,” Don said.

“He hasn’t asked her out, yet,” Tina said.

“Well,” Don said. “If he does, I want to meet him first.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Dana said, brown eyes downcast.

“That goes for the rest of you as well,” Don declared. “If a boy asks you out, I want to meet him.”

“Yes, Daddy,” came the chorus.

“Honey,” Martha said. “It’s quarter of.”

“Right, gotta go,” Don stood, kissed his wife, accepted the travel mug she offered, and bolted out the door.

After he was gone, Martha poured the girls’ pancakes onto the griddle.

“Why were daddy’s coveralls wet?” Sandy asked.

“Uhm…” Martha said as Tina, Melanie and Corey giggled. Martha smirked at them. “It’s my fault,” she said simply. Tina would undoubtedly relay the whole scene to her two absent sisters on the way to school.

“Okay,” Sandy accepted with a shrug.”

“Mom,” Tina asked. “Can we call Naomi and the others today?”

“Sure,” Martha said. “But only after your homework is done and only so long as it’s before seven.”

“I still don’t get the whole hunting tag thing,” said Corey. “Why do they have to wear them again?”

“Because,” Sandy said. “If the hunters take your tag, you’re cooked.”

“I know that!” said Corey. “But why?”

“Because,” Dana said. “College is expensive and boys pay for the sport. Girls that pay don’t wear tags. Girls that don’t pay have to wear them.”

“Mom didn’t wear a tag,” Corey protested.

“Yes I did,” Martha corrected.

“But Gramma and Granpa are rich!” Corey said. “Why didn’t they pay for you?”

“That’s a long, long story, Sweetheart. Maybe I’ll tell you all about it someday.”

“And you made it through…”

“I only actually went two years,” said Martha. “I did get an Associate's in General Education, though. I was married to your father and pregnant after that.”

“Why?” asked Melanie.

“Why what?”

“Why did you marry Daddy?”

“She liked his cock up her ass,” Tina blurted, and Corey spit her coffee.

“Tina!” Martha snapped, glaring. “Corey, go change your blouse.”

“But I’m not done!”

“Now!”

Martha turned back to Tina, still glaring, but not knowing what to do. Instead of talking, she collected empty bowls and plates and went to the sink.

“You're such a bitch,” she heard Dana whisper to. Martha could imagine Tina shrugging at that as Martha briskly washed the dishes.

By seven thirty, the five girls were finally leaving, and Martha managed to get over Tina’s humiliating remark. On the porch, she collected the Poppyfield Press Democrat and waved to Jeanine Phillips next door. Jeanine was sending her youngest brood of three, all high school seniors, off to school. The three joined Martha’s own daughters as they crossed the street clucking like hens… now the neighborhood would know all about Martha’s kitchen table…

“What time should I come over?” Called Jeanine, her top heavy body wrapped in a yellow terrycloth robe.

“Give me an hour,” Martha called back. “Can you call Chelsea?”

“Sure thing,” Jeanine said. “See you then.”

“Hi Martha!” Called Ron, Jeanine’s police officer husband. He wore his beige uniform well in spite of his ample belly. He had a friendly face of Irish extraction under curly red hair with smiling blue eyes. If Martha had not been so in love with her own husband she’d certainly had accepted one of Jeanine’s many invitations to share their bed. Martha watched as Ron drove off in his black and white squad car, then smiled and gave another little wave to Jeanine as she slipped back inside.

The first batch of soiled sheets was in the washing machine and the kitchen was done. Martha sat down with the morning paper, flipping to the entertainment section. “Jenna’s Dish” had become her favorite column. Jenna Wells, Playpen E-Girl, and sister to the last months Playpen Playmate was, once again, dishing on her favorite topic: her overachieving sister Samantha Wells who had become something of a journalistic sensation over the past few months before posing nude for the Playpen centerfold. Martha had only started reading when the phone rang. The caller I.D. identified her last surviving sister Beverly calling from Wildwood, NJ. Martha sighed and picked up.

“Hi, Bev.”

“Hi Marty. Have you talked to Mother since Saturday?”

“Nnno…”

“Mother called me last night. Guess where she was!”

“I give up.”

“Denver!”

Denver?”

“Denver!” Beverly exclaimed. “And guess what she was doing.”

“Why Denver?”

“Mother and Dad are driving cross country, so don’t be surprised if they show up.”

“Awe, shit. You are joking, right?”

“No. Well, I don’t know she’s coming to see you. I didn’t ask, and she didn’t say, but it’s very likely.”

“Why?”

“Because Mother and Dad were shopping for a spit!”

Martha snorted an incredulous laugh. “They went to Denver to buy a spit?”

“Well,” Beverly said breathlessly. “Apparently there is this big catering trade show that’s running this week. I swear, Mother sounded breathlessly orgasmic as she told me.”

“So do you,” Martha observed.

“Shut up! It was really creepy! Can you imagine? Mother getting excited like that?”

“Well,” Martha said. “I guess I can expect them then… you think Dad’s decided to finally pull the trigger on Mother? She’s got at least three years left.”

“Well, I don’t know. But if I were you, I’d expect them to show up and invite you and Don in person. How are the girls?”

To Martha’s own astonishment, she painted a complete word picture of the occurrences this morning.

“Sounds like Tina needs a good ass plugging,” Beverly observed.

“Don isn’t Dad,” Martha said. “I’m not sure he’d have her even if she were culled.”

“Really?” Beverly said. “Leo would be all over that. And don’t forget, Dad will probably be there soon.”

“Bev, c’mon! You still buy that story?”

“All I know is that Sylvie was spitroasted just after she said Dad fucked her ass.”

“Well,” Martha said. “Neither of us was there, so we’ll probably never know. How’re your girls? And how’s Josh?”

The conversation went on for roughly thirty minutes more till the doorbell rang. Martha checked the clock. It was nearly nine thirty already.

“Come in, the door’s open!” Martha called. “Gotta go, sweetie,” she said into the phone. “Love you!”

“Call me if Mother and Dad show…”

“Will do. Kisses.”

Martha turned to see her guests, Jeanine and Chelsea.

Jeanine was a top heavy dark brunette of Italian extraction with straight hips and a generous backside. Her curly dark hair framed a heart shaped face with lustrous dark eyes and full lips. She stood shorter than Martha at 5’4” and much shorter than her companion. Jeanine Philips was thirty eight and had lived in the house next door the entire twelve years since Martha and Don arrived and four before that. Her youngest litter had been born in Poppyfield.

Chelsea, on the other hand, was tall and lanky. Even her neck seemed extra long. At 5’9” with perky little breasts she’d have made a great runway model, especially since she kept her blonde hair very short, almost in a crew cut that left her long neck exposed. Her elongated slender figure was just beginning to show five months of pregnancy, Chelsea’s first. . Her fair skinned face was flushed with maternal warmth. The pregnancy thing obviously agreed with her eighteen year old body. Both Martha and Jeanine suspected she’d do it more than most. She was cousin to Jeanine’s husband and married to one of Don’s co-workers.

“Hi, guys,” Martha breathed, relieved to be off the phone with Bev.

“You okay?” Chelsea asked.

“Yeah,” Martha nodded. “I just found out my parents might show up…”

“What’s your stepmom like?” asked Chelsea.

“Mother. Overbearing.”

“Woah! Your mom is alive?”

“Martha’s from New Jerseay,” Jeanine said.

“So?”

“So, in New Jersey women can live to age sixty if they breed enough girls.”

“Really?”

“My mother had seventeen daughters,” Martha offered. “She’s almost fifty seven.”

“Wow!” Chelsea said. “Can I meet her? I’ve never seen an old woman before.”

“You’ve led such a sheltered life,” Jeanine giggled. “It’s so cute.”

“Right…” Martha looked around. “I’ll go change. Uhm, Cheals, can you grab the magazines off the coffee table? I’ll be down in a minute.”

Martha ran upstairs to change into her beige bikini, grabbed a pair of paper scissors, her little-d tan-guard lotion and joined her friends on the deck behind the house. The yard in back was communal with the neighbors. No fences, and the yard divisions were marked only by concrete walkways that ran up the sides of each property, to the meandering, tree lined path that separated the properties on Rose Avenue from Violet Way.

The three women applied their tan-controlling lotion without ceremony. It would keep them from burning in the hot Arizona sun. Then they began clipping coupons from the stacks of magazines. It was their Wednessday Morning Ritual that culminated in the trip to the supermarket in the afternoon.

“I have to get waxed tomorrow,” Martha said. “I was thinking of going out to have it done.”

“I should too,” said Jeanine. “Celia’s?”

“Celia’s girls are brutes,” Chelsea observed. “I like Yukio’s better.”

“I agree,” said Martha.

“Yukio’s it is, then,” said Jeanine. “Anyone need a Rembrant cherry Mouthwash?”

“We do!” Martha said.

“My fave,” said Chelsea.

“Dipbs.”

“Yech,” Jeanine said. “All yours! I don’t see how you can stand that sickly sweet stuff.”

“Don loves it.”

“So,” Chelsea said. “Did Donald tell you about the new secretary?”

“Nnno…” Martha said.

“No kidding! Frank said she’s a real bitch. Don hates her!”

“Really!”

“Her name is Morgan. Blonde, very pretty, knows it. At least that’s what Frank says. Anyway, she’s tight with Tom Harding.”

“Tom’s tight with anyone in a skirt that will give him the time of day,” Martha said. “His wife pays for it… poor Susan.”

“Yeah,” Chelsea observed. “That’s true. He came on to me last week…”

“Took him that long?” Martha said. “He’s getting lazy.”

“Anyway,” Chelsea ignored Martha. “This Morgan chick has been giving Frank and Don a hard time with Paperwork. Frank said Don thinks she needs a good butt fucking.”

Martha laughed. “Do you know how big Don is?”

“I’ve noticed his package,” smiled Jeanine. “Often.”

Martha smirked. “You can’t be at all uptight and take him in. You really have to relax!”

“Martha!” Jeanine said. “And how would you know?”

Martha smiled and clipped another coupon.

“You tart! You’ve been holding out on me! Oooo, that’s a juicy tidbit to tease Ron with. And I don’t even have to make it up!”

“What have you been making up?”

“Well,” Jeanine grinned. “Last week I told him we watched his Playpen Playmates in Peril DVD and we all masturbated each other.”

“You did not!” Martha flared.

“I did!”

“What’s ‘Playpen Playmates in Peril’?”

“You know Playpen Magazine, right?” Jeanine asked.

“Yeah. The one with all the naked women in it.”

“Right. They Playmates are their uber-models. The top of the top…”

“Yeah, I’m not completely ignorant…”

“Anyway. They rape them, film it, and one of them gets spitted on the DVD”

“Oooo!” Chelsea said, an excited expression on her face. “I’d like to see that.”

“Really?” Martha asked. “They actually rape these women for entertainment?”

“Not only that, but they all agree to it in advance.”

“Wow…”

“Every time Ron watches it, he promises that I’ll get spitroasted. I’d hate to just go down to the butcher shop. I wish we lived in California where the license is less expensive.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Maybe next year,” Jeanine said. “You’re both invited, by the way.”

“Or you could move to Jersey,” said Chelsea.

“No,” Martha said. “You have to be born there and birth all your children there to qualify for extended life. I don’t even qualify.”

“How many sisters do you have left, Martha?” asked Chelsea.

“Just one. Beverly is a year older than me and has ten girls. She gets to live to age forty four if she likes.”

The doorbell rang.

“Oh god!” Martha said. “Not already.”

“Your folks?” Jeanine asked.

“I hope not!”

Martha felt her heart flutter as she stood and entered the house. At the front door, Martha looked through the peephole to see two figures she dreaded seeing.

“Oh damn,” she cursed, then opened the door.

Before her stood a balding man, about sixty who was just her height. He had a very large nose, cauliflower ears and a slight pudge in the gut. He wore a white shirt, brown old-man pants, a bowtie and thick, thick glasses. The only things he had in common with Martha’s husband were his enormous hands. The woman at his side wore a simple, but obviously high quality navy blue dress with a string of pearls and pearl earrings. She still had that slight figure Martha had inherited, but the dark hair was going gray, much grayer than the last time Martha had seen her, and the lines in the woman’s face had become just that much more pronounced. But her ice blue eyes were still sharp and steady, and were drinking in everything she saw.

“Surprise,” the pair chorused.

“Mother! Dad!” Martha forced a cheerful smile. “What a surprise!”

Mrs. Finney stepped up and offered Martha her cheek which Martha dutifully kissed before the older woman pushed past her daughter. Mr. Finney hugged his daughter and kissed her cheek.

“Well,” said Chester Finney. “I had better find us a hotel to stay at. You obviously don’t have room for us here.”

“You have to do that now?” Mrs. Finney asked, obviously annoyed.

“You and Marty have things to discuss,” said Mr. Finney. “I’ll be back later.”

“Okay,” Martha said… wishing to herself he’d take Mother with him.

Mrs Finney watched him as he returned to his antique Jaguar, then turned to Martha.

“You’re all greasy,” she said.

“I was, uhm, sunbathing.”

“Really?” Mrs. Finney said. “Then let’s repair to the back yard so you can continue your efforts.”
Martha started to protest, but thought better of it.

“Alright.”

Martha led her mother to the back deck where her two friends continued to clip coupons.

“Jeanine, Chelsea, this is my mother, Mrs. Finney.”

Jeanine raised a brow at the “Mrs. Finney” name, as Martha left out her mother’s first name.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Finney,” Jeanine said. “Won’t you join us?”

“How thoughtful, dear. Martha, won’t you fetch me a chair?”

“Certainly,” said Martha.

When she returned with a folding lawn chair, Martha found her mother chatting cordially with her two guests.

“I was just telling your friends how quaint a place for a garden party this yard would be,” said Mrs. Finney.

“I’ve never seen one here,” Martha said.

“When Ron and I moved in we had a couple.” Jeanine remembered. “Then they raised the license fee, so it’s been a long time.”

“That’s a pity,” said Mrs. Finney. “This is ideal. I rather like the tree lined path.”

“How was Denver?” Martha asked, amused that her mother flinched at its mention.

“Cold,” Mrs. Finney said. “I was unimpressed. I hear Aspen is nice, but we came straight here.”

“I heard you went shopping.”

“Yes, we did,” Mrs. Finney said stiffly.

“Buy anything?”

“As a matter of fact, we did,” Mrs. Finney said. “You know how your father loves gadgets.”

“Does Denver have good shopping?” asked Chelsea.

“Mr. Finney thinks so,” said Mrs. Finney.

“My father’s a sucker for the latest toy,” Martha observed. “Beverly called and told me about the trade show.”

Mrs. Finney laughed nervously, her face reddening a bit. “Oh, yes. That.”

“Well,” Jeanine said gathering her cache of coupons and magazines. “I have to make up my shopping list.”

“Me too,” said Chelsea. She stood and hugged Martha. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yes… my cupboard’s empty. I need to shop.”

Jeanine moved in, putting an arm over Martha’s shoulder.

“Call me if you need rescuing,” Jeanine whispered in Martha’s ear, the fingers of her free hand brushing Martha’s mound, sending a shocking thrill through Martha’s body as Mrs. Finney looked on in shock.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Finney,” Chelsea offered her hand, oblivious to the spectacle.
Mrs. Finney, still sitting in the lawn chair was slack jawed, eyes darting from Jeanine to her daughter.

“What? Oh, yes, nice to meet you as well, Chelsea. Jeanine.”

As her friends were leaving, Martha gathered her own things with a sense of foreboding as her mother stood.

“I need to powder my nose,” said Mrs. Finney.

“Alright,” said Martha nonchalantly. “Oh, uh,” she added when her mother moved not at all. “Inside to the left.”

Martha put on her pink polyester snap front housedress, parked her things on the kitchen table and went to the cupboard for tea. By the time her mother reappeared she had the kettle on the stove and two cups and saucers from the never used Wedgewood tea service Mrs. Finney had sent as a wedding gift.

“Such a quaint little house you have dear,” observed Mrs. Finney, waiting for Martha’s invitation to sit. “Your manners are slipping.”

Martha sighed, but extended no invitation, and continued to slice lemon wedges. Mrs. Finney finally sat.

“Two lumps?”

“You remembered,” Mrs. Finney smiled. “Your neighbors are nice enough.”

“Chelsea just moved in next door six months ago. She’s a newlywed. And yes, Jeanine and I love her to death. Jeanine was here when we arrived. That was when my youngest were a couple of years old.”

“Yes, I know that,” said Mrs. Finney, accepting the offered tea. “The setting has a certain appeal. I can see why you’re so comfortable here.” Then the older woman sighed. “That dress, however, must go.”

“It’s comfortable.”

“I can see that.”

Martha sighed again, and sat.

“How are your friends at the bridge club?”

“The same, mostly. They’re having a competition.”

“Oh?”

“Well, the senior members are. Last round is on Sunday.”

“So you’ll be heading back soon?”

“I had not planned on it.”

“But you love playing…”

“True,” Mrs. Finney said. “But I’d rather be here.”

“Mother, you’ve avoided visiting us since I was married.”

“Things change.”

Martha smirked. “Time heals?”

“In part. I’ve long since forgiven you for running off to Nevada.”

“I wanted to see what I could do on my own.”

“You risked getting spitroasted by strangers.”

“I was old enough to make that choice.”

“Benjamin would have married you.”

“Oh, yes. Didn’t he cull Delia before their children turned ten? So he could marry his secretary? Then he did her. Bev told me the whole story. He always had a roving eye, Mother. He had no love for anyone but his own pleasure.”

“Your father and I went to Delia’s barbeque. She seemed very happy.”

“Mother, you’ve lived longer than I will. I have four years, on the outside. Delia only got twenty seven. You’ve met all nineteen of your grandchildren. Iwon’t meet one unless my girls get busy very quickly.”

“And you resent me for it?”

“No!” Martha shook her head. “I honestly don’t resent that at all. I love my husband and if he decided to cull me tomorrow, I’d go happily. We can’t afford it, but I’d still be happy about it.”

“I understand most women in Poppyfield simply go to the butchers.”

“It’s a lower middle class neighborhood. I haven’t ever seen a roast done here, as I said before.”

“So one might not go over well?”

“Are you volunteering?”

Mrs. Finney was silent for a moment.

Martha came slowly to the realization of why her mother was here. “Are you serious?”

“Well, your father would like to fly your sister out. Assuming it’s alright with your husband, of course.”

“I don’t understand. Why here?”

“Beverly’s mother in law is still alive. She’s even a bit younger than I am. Her children will have a grandmother still even after I’m gone. And I rather enjoy the company of your children.”

“So dad went gadget shopping in Denver.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bet he bought a very fancy new spit.”

“He bought three.”

“Three!”

“It’s a large neighborhood. You have a lot of friends. He assumed we’d need three roasts to feed them all.”

“Three!”

“Your father is buying licenses for Saturday as we speak.”

“Saturday!”

“Yes.”

“Mother, I strongly doubt any of our neighbors would volunteer on such short notice.”

“Well, then we’ll make due.”

Martha couldn’t help but suspect what her mother intended. She thought about a sly method of getting Mrs. Finney to admit it, but her mother’s ability to avoid blurting out her true feelings was simply beyond Martha’s ability to navigate. There was no help for it.

“Do you expect me to volunteer?” Martha asked bluntly, terrified of the forthcoming answer.

“That would be very thoughtful, dear.”

“Oh, God!” Martha breathed an exclamation. The sensations of thrilling horror charged through her body like a freight train, touching every nerve and leaving her belly tingling. Martha stood and went to the cupboard looking for something, anything to hide her embarrassment. She retrieved a mixing bowl.

“I thought I might make some coffee cake,” Martha said.

“That would please your father greatly, dear.”

Martha began collecting the ingredients with quaking hands.

“Would you like some help dear?” asked Mrs. Finney.

“Uhm… yeah,” said Martha. She slid the bowl to her mother and set the oven to three fifty. “I have to get ready to go shopping anyway.”

“I should stay, then,” said Mrs. Finney. “Your father’s new toys should be arriving any time.”

“What? You don’t have the spits with you?”

“Oh, he couldn’t just buy spits, dear. He bought special roasting oven/barbeque units. He couldn’t stop once he got started. You know how he is.”

“Did you schedule a butcher too?”

“Oh no,” Mrs. Finney said. “Your father and I have been taking classes with one of the best chefs on the eastern seaboard.”

Martha’s tremors came now in intense waves.

“So Dad’s going to gut me?”

“Of course, dear.”

Martha retried the bunt mold.

“Are you alright, dear?”

Martha shook her head.

“No, Mother. I am not alright. You came here, drop this bombshell on me and expect us not only to accommodate you, but for me to be a garnish to you as the main course!”

“Don’t be silly, dear. I’d never think of you as a garnish.”

Martha snorted. “I still haven’t volunteered, Mother.” She took the cake batter and poured it into the mold. “I don’t know if this will work out. Maybe some other time.”

Martha took the cake to the oven and slid it in, setting the timer. She turned back to her mother and noted the woman’s eyes were tearing up.

“I have to go get ready,” Martha said, leaving her mother as tear ran down the older woman’s cheek.
Upstairs, Martha stripped off, grabbed her vibrator from the nightstand drawer and sat on the shower pan under a scalding stream of water. As she slid the vibrator inside, she remembered Sylvie’s last call.

“Daddy fucked me,” Sylvie had said.

Martha was fat with her second litter, holding Naomi as Linda and Mary napped.

“What?”

“Daddy fucked me,” Sylvie had repeated. She said it in a tone that seemed somehow both satisfied and humiliated. Martha couldn’t help but imagine it. Her father was half bald, even back then, and never what a woman might call physically attractive.

“He has a really huge cock! He fucked my ass too!”

“He raped you?” Martha asked with incredulity.

“Yes,” Silvie had said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m getting roasted anyway. Mother is having me cooked at the bridge club... I guess she lost a bet, or something.”

“So tell me what happened with Dad!”

“What’s to tell? He fucked me!”

Martha hadn’t believed her. Silvie had always made things up from the time she could talk. But when she had indeed been spitroasted at the bridge club, it caused Martha to question her own instinct.
Beverly, however, had bought the story whole, painting a picture of impish little Silvie being ravished by conservative Chester Finney. But Martha’s instinct still told her no, it never happened. Martha’s body convulsed at the thought of it, however. And the thought of her father would send her off in the same fashion. She couldn’t count the orgasms that gushed through her till there was simply no more to give.

“Mother,” Martha said later as she came downstairs. “Can you call Bev and let her know you’re here?”

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Finney said. Martha could see her mother had been crying. She’d deal with it later, Martha thought, and gathered her things to go.

“So are you going to do it?” Jeanine asked as Martha and Chelsea pushed shopping carts alongside her.

“That’s up to Don,” Martha said evenly.“I know that! But are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Your’ mom seems stuck up,” Chelsea observed. “You look alike, but how come you’re so nice?”

“You know,” Jeanine said with a smirk. “You ought to set it up as a tenderizing party.”

“What’s that?” Chelsea asked.

Jeanine laughed. “It’s where the meat gets tied down and takes all comers…”

“I guess I should buy invitations,” Martha said absently, her head in a fog. “How many should I get?

By the time Martha arrived home, the roasters were indeed being delivered by a semi tractor and trailer parked in front of the house. Mrs. Finney was directing the delivery women to bring the stainless steel monstrosities to the back yard. Three wooden tables, which seemed more like long cutting boards with legs than tables came with them, as did three boxes, the spits, and enough propane to power a much larger roast.

Many of the neighborhood women and girls had come out to gaze at the sight. Jeanine’s remaining litter was there as were Tina and Dana.

“Wow,” Chelsea said. “Your folks went all out!”

“Mmmm,” Jeanine said, her hand patting Martha’s bottom. “It’s making me horny!”

Mrs. Finney turned to Jeanine with a smile. “Perhaps you would consider volunteering.”

“Oh!” Jeanine flushed.

“Yeah, Mom!” said Lorrie Philips. “You’d look hot on a spit!” Lorrie had her mother’s ample rump and her father’s strawberry hair. She was Tina’s best friend.

“Careful, sweetheart,” said Jeanine. “I might take you with me!”

Lorrie swallowed hard, Martha mused. Jeanine was deadly serious. Mrs. Finney chuckled.

“Do tell your teachers they’re invited,” said Mrs. Finney to Lorrie. “Especially Mr. Daniels. I’m told Tina has a special affection for him!” Mrs. Finney left them then, leading the delivery women with the last of their burden. Jeanine and Martha ordered their daughters to unload Chelsea’s van and the three friends went into their respective homes.

In back of the Cokely home, Mrs. Finney was entertaining questions by the gaggle of neighbors. When Martha saw Helen Blakely among them, she knew she wouldn’t need to send out invitations at all.

Helen lived opposite the Cokely’s back yard on Violet. She was a human soapbox. If Helen knew it, everyone did. Martha sighed and busied herself with the groceries.

As Dana came in with the last bag of canned goods it split and dropped them on the floor. As Dana went to pick them up, Martha saw she wore no panties.

“Dana! What happened to your underwear?”

Dana shot up to stand straight, hazel eyes wide.

“Uhm…”

“Dana was flashing Bart Haskell,” Tina injected. “So Lorrie dared her to give him her panties, and she did!”

Martha folded her arms. “Is this true, Dana?”

Dana bit her lip, and nodded.

“I’m surprised at you! Your’ grounded for the rest of the week. And you’ll be explaining this to your father! Now get these groceries put away!”

Martha took the Thigh roast she’d purchased and began preparing dinner for the evening. It wasn’t long before the phone rang and Helen Blakely began firing questions about Saturday. Would it be a potluck? What about tables? What time? How many roasters? Was Martha going to roast? Martha tried to be gracious to the neighborhood’s most notorious gossip, but she was fast losing patience.

“And is it a casual gathering, or is there a dress code?”

“Come naked if you like,” Martha said exasperated.

“Oh!” said Helen, offering a rare moment speechlessness. “Well I... uh.. oh no, I couldn’t. That's silly, Martha! Lingerie then? Or Bikinis?”

As usual, Don was home at six, just as dinner was ready. He bound into the kitchen, picked up his wife and smothered her with kisses.

“What did I do to deserve the affection?” Martha giggled.

“Chester told me everything!” Don said breathlessly. “God,” he kissed her again. “I can’t wait!”

“Dad talked to you?”

“He came to work at lunch. He should be here any minute. What’s wrong?”
Martha stared at her husband wide eyed. She wanted to cry.

“Honey, what is it?”

“I…” Martha started. “I hope I taste good…”

“Honey,” Don grinned. “You’ll be delicious!”

At Dinner, Martha was in a complete fog. In bed, Don was insatiable taking her more times than he’d ever taken her before. She awoke the next morning sore and stiff but somehow happier than ever before.