Gynophagia Chronicles: Samantha
Wednesday, September 16, 2218, 5pm
1967 Chestnut St. Brentwood, CA
Narative Reconstructed by Peter Howard
Glen Carrington slapped down the folder he had brought onto the small table next to the Mother's favourite lounge chair and sipped the tall glass of iced tea Esmeralda, Mother's servant girl, had just poured him. He stood over Mother like the perfect geek demigod in pleated shorts and a polo shirt.
“You have a very frustrated look on your face,” said Martha Carrington. Glen's mother lounged next to him in her favourite red bikini and wearing a thick sheen of tan guard lotion over her still svelte form “working on perfecting her tan lines” she told him, so that her body would be properly presentable when she stripped off at the Jackson fund raiser next month. Marcus Jackson meant the world to Glen's mother. The promise to decriminalize “feminine intimacy” and allow it to come out from the shadows had been her entire mission in life for the two past years since Jackson had made it.
“That's for you,” he said. It was the only reason he'd come here. He certainly was not planning on being here this evening, of all evenings. It was Wednesday, and if she held to her custom, Mother would be spending the evening in her beloved gallery with close, very intimate lady friends here, tonight.
“What's this?” Mother picked up the mysterious folder and opened it. “Why are you giving me this? Kenneth Garvey?”
“It's a gift from a mutual friend,” Glen said. “He said you might take it to your people, have them check it for legitimacy and feed it to someone in the media... someone you trust.”
“A mutual friend?”
“That's right.”
“You won't tell me who?”
“No.”
“What kind of trouble will this bring, Glen? Have you read this?”
“Three times. Even I can't believe it. But if it's true, Mother, it'll break Garvey's hand selected candidate.”
“A secret estate in... Sierra Leon? That's in Africa!” Mother sat up suddenly, an expression of astonishment on her face.
“Yep. I don't buy it, Mother. I really do not. But I accepted it on the off chance there might be some substance there. I know how much this means to you.”
“Did you just print this up? Why...”
“Because I didn't want it traced back to me,” Glen said. “And I strongly suggest you keep it off the internet.” That was almost a verbatim quote from Michael. Delete the emails after printing the documents. Do not forward any to anyone. Delete them and forget them after you've given it to your mother. By the time it's traced back to her, she'll have already had her fund raiser, and won't be available to disclose her source.
“And who are you suggesting I give this to once it's confirmed?”
“Oh, I don't know... how about your little friend Samantha Wells? The one you keep talking about.” Glen mused. Mother had spoken of her. Incessantly. She was the daughter of Mother's good friend Jessica Wells, who frequented Mother's little Wednesday Night Adventures. Glen had never actually met them, but Mother would speak of them frequently enough. Dad wouldn't, but Mother? She was nothing if not a creature of gossip.
“My friends Matthew and Jessica are coming early for dinner this evening. Won't you join us?”
“I don't think so, Mother. I'm really not interested in your sexual conquests.”
“Jessica is not simply a sexual conquest to me, my love. Once a week she's utterly mine, a gift from her own husband.”
“Do you tie her up and whip her?” Glen asked. He had never witnessed his mother's sexual dominance over her willing sex slaves. She, herself, was quite submissive when she was with a man, Glen knew quite well. He had not wanted to witness that world of hers for a variety of reasons. Not the least of which being that it could land him in jail.
“Sometimes,” Mother said. “But I have other reasons for wanting you to stay... I want you to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“Kelly Rotterdam.”
“Who's that?”
“A very nice girl,” Mother said. “She'd make you an excellent wife.”
“I'm not interested in getting married, Mother.”
“You're depriving me of the one pleasure in life I looked forward to for years... being at your wedding...”
“I have three concubines, Mother. I don't need a wife. Concubines are so much less intrusive.”
“And expensive! But I do understand,” Martha sighed. “At least humour me and meet her. Esmeralda's making us a nice rump roast for dinner, and I know how you love her cooking. She's very offended you don't come around so often anymore.”
“I'll make it up to her.”
“Why not do so tonight, my love? It would mean the world to me, you know. I'm not long for this world and the idea that I annoy you so much hurts terribly.”
Glen thought about it. Mother had always got her way with him, it was just who she was. Of course, she was incredibly beautiful to everyone, including him. She wore her sexuality on her sleeve and had with both himself and with Astrid. If it had been legal at the time, she would have had him pose with her and Astrid in the Playmates Revisited feature done when he was just eleven years old. Astrid had been four. She was a promising young thing at the time and Mother had high hopes that Astrid would follow Mother's lead and become a raving beauty Playpen Magazine would beat down the door to feature. But no such luck. Astrid's self indulgent nature had seen her become less than personable and less attractive than any other girl Glen had ever met. At this very moment, he was certain, she was up in her room, masturbating with one of her many toys over pictures in some magazine. It's all she ever did anymore, ever since the boy who'd deigned to date her left for greener pastures. At least the girl had not ballooned into a fat, ugly mass of lard. That would have been horrific. Glen was certain Astrid would be culled immediately following the fund raiser and Dad would look to marry his favourite concubine, Paula? Polina? What was her name again? Mother hated the woman, so Glen had only met her once. On evenings when Dad was not home it was highly likely he could be found with 'That Woman' as Mother called her.
“So who's this girl?” Glen said.
“The one I want you to meet? She's a very sweet thing,” Mother said. “She loves her family very much and is very, very loyal. She's fifteen, a high school senior in Livermore. You know Harry and Zoe Rotterdam, don't you?”
“The ones who make Rotterdam Private Reserve Wine?” Glen said. “Of course. Since I was... God, I can't remember that far back.”
“Zoe's only thirty four, Glen. So it could not have been long. She had her daughters two by two and produced one son for her husband. Poor Kelly is alone because she's the only one of her first four sisters to make it to twelfth grade. They kept getting caught, you see.”
“Caught?”
“Kissing other girls. Kelly alone had enough sense not to engage in such silliness. Tonight she's coming here to enjoy privacy she can count on.”
“With her mother.”
“With her mother Zoe, yes. And, Kramer, her father,” Mother said. She stood up and checked the ties on her bikini. “You've met Kramer and Zoe, you do remember them, don't you?”
“Yeah. They're always bringing bottles of their private reserve.”
“I should take a shower and ready myself for tonight. Why don't you go in and keep Esmeralda company for a little while. When Matthew and Jessica Wells arrive, entertain them for me so that I may make a grand entrance.”
“Where's Dad?”
“Your father is with That Woman right now,” Mother snorted. “Please don't speak of it. I'd like to have some dignity tonight with my friends. We'll tell them he's on a short business trip. You can be my escort tonight, and make me very, very happy.”
Glen smirked. God, why did I come here? Oh yeah, to do something nice for Mother... I keep forgetting... and why is it I feel like I'm being punished every time I try this? Mother... I've found you completely annoying ever since I was ten... when we first fucked... And you'll probably expect sex from me tonight since Dad's with 'That Woman...'
Glen looked at the pool, the one he lived in all year during his years growing up, even in the dead of winter. It was hot. Typical California Central Valley fall... it was Fall now, wasn't it? No, not yet. One more week.
Glen stood, discarding the notion of stripping off and having a quick dip. Screw it. Instead, he did as Mother suggested, and moseyed into the kitchen where Esmeralda's very pregnant self bustled about working on dinner. Mother would be lost without her little Mexican import, and Dad, well, Dad liked her as well, and Mother didn't seemed to mind the nights he spent with the short, stocky, busty Azteca.
“Hola, Don Glen,” Esmeralda greeted him with a big smile on her brown face. As was her habit, she wore an empire cut sun dress with nothing underneath to support the weight of her impressive chest. The skirt hung from just below her breasts and made more than enough room for her heavy belly, which, he was told, carried three girls. Her second litter.
“Como esta tu hermana?” How is your sister? Glen asked.
“Esta bien,” Esmeralda replied. “Llevo las niñas a la casa de mi padre en Guadalupe por una semana. Jamas les han visto. No puede sacar visa para venir a California.” She's okay, she took our the girls to our father's home in Guadalupe. He can't get a visa to come to California.
“Quando llegaran estas tres?” Glen said, indicating her belly: When do these three arrive?
“Quando sea. Dentro de dos semanas, pienso.” Whenever. Within two weeks, I think.
“So,” Glen said, sicking with Spanish. “What are you making?”
“Frijoles,” Esmeralda said. “So that your madre's friends will have enough gas to fill their little room with the smell of good food.” Esmeralda laughed, and Glen laughed with her. They both knew that Mother did not like passing gas, and went to great pains to avoid suffering from it. She was constantly researching remedies so that Esmeralda's cooking would have less of an effect upon her. “Mrs. Wells is a vegetarian,” Esmeralda added. “And I promise I am no so cruel to her. She is a very nice lady. She haff always been kind to me.”
“Really! You don't say that about many of my mother's friends.”
“I never say that about your madre's friends, Don Glen. Mrs. Wells is no so much your madre's friend as she is her eslave when she is here, she act like she is servant to your madre.”
“That's interesting. My mother seems to think the world of her.”
“She does? She does no treat Mrs. Wells as if she does. She beats her.”
“Ah...” Glen said. “That's part of their play, I'm sure.”
“Are you estaying for dinner tonight?”
“I think I was tricked into agreeing to by Mother, so yes.”
“You are a good son.”
“I try to be.”
“And when are you getting married? Have you no found a girlfriend yet?”
“Now you sound like my mother.”
“Hah!” Esmeralda giggled. “I should be so lucky. Perhaps Señor Carrington will give me a son someday, or perhaps you will.”
“I might,” Glen said. “All you have to do is ask. I'm your friend, so I would be very happy to help you.”
“It would be nice to haff a son,” Esmeralda said. “A child no one is going to make into frijoles con carne.”
“Yes. I know that's always hard to see your daughters taken away.”
“I will see that someday,” Esmeralda said. “But so long as I am no in Mexico, they will be well treated.”
“You told me about your sister.”
“My sister was raped till she died. Then they ate her. A very bad man bought her, and gave her to his men to use for their pleasure. This does no happen here so often. My girls will be well treated when it is their time.”
“That's good,” Glen said. “How have my parents been getting along?”
“They argue sometime,” Esmeralda said. “But Don Sylvestre is always very kind to her. She, I think, makes him crazy.” She pronounced Sylvester's name “Silvestray” as she always did. “But he love her very much and would do anyting for her. I think he will be relieved after she is made into a meal for her friend the Senador.”
“That is the most important thing in her life. Does my father ever speak with you of his concubines?”
“Yes. He speaks of Doña Paula and how he thinks I will like working for her when she comes. He tells me she is looking forward to serving me in the kitchen! Serving me! How strange for a white woman to serve an immigrant. Do you think this is correct?”
“If he says it, it might be. I don't know this woman. All I know is that Mother hates her.”
“She spit when she speak of her.”
“And does she speak to you of Johnny DeSilva?”
“The man who is partnered to Don Silvestre? The one who own a fancy club?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, yes. Very often. Why?”
“What does she say of him?”
“That he is her confidant. She can speak with him of anything and he hold her secret close. She ivery enamored of Don Johnny, I think. Perhap she haff an affair with him. She very certainly speak of him as if he es her lover.”
Glen gritted his teeth. If Esmeralda thought something to be true, it often was. In spite of everything, he still wanted Johnny out of their lives, especially Mother's. That would, of course, be impossible now that her end was scheduled. There had to be some way... but there was not. His only choice would be to continue courting an alliance with Johnny, no matter how much they hated each other. Eventually, he'd get the goods that Michael could not deliver. He owed Michael, too, for his deception. That was a debt he'd not soon forget.
“What time is it?” Glen looked at the clock. “Almost six. I wonder when...” The front doorbell rang as if on queue, and Glen mozied over to answer it. Mr. and Mrs. Wells, he presumed, ready to say such as he pulled the door open. The pair he opened for were a man, six one, one ninety, works with his hands and could hit hard. The woman was small, slender, stunning with luminous eyes and fair skin.
“Oh!” Said Mrs. Wells. She stood 5'3” if his ability to judge height was still good, and he was no longer sure as her presence was clouding his senses. Dark hair with eyes that were somewhere between turquoise and sapphire blue with fair skin that had a natural blush on her cheeks. What was more, her sun dress was cut low enough around her chest to make it clear that her perfect, if small, breasts were unsupported by an under garment. Glen instantly wanted her, his erection already strained his pleated shorts. If she bent over, he might get a nice view. He must have been staring, because Mr. Wells cleared his throat.
“Hi!” Glen said after what must have been a long, uncomfortable moment for them. “I'm Glen! Martha's my mother. Come in! You're Mr. and Mrs. Wells, am I right?”
“Matthew,” said the man, whose forced smile and grit teeth under tight lips seemed to suit his ruggedly handsome face. He was strongly built, but wiry, slender. He was a man built for both endurance and speed. Strong arms as well. Dunno about the legs under those slacks, but probably good Quarter Back material at six foot one inch. About one eighty, no more. He could sprint, but he could also jog for miles. When he offered his hand Glen took it in his own powerful paw and forced himself not to squeeze hard. But the man could probably have endured it. The hand in his was calloused and strong with fingers suited for fine work or piano playing. “This is my wife, Jessica.”
“My mother talks about you both quite a bit,” Glen said. “It's nice to finally meet you.”
“I'm surprised we haven't met before now,” Matthew said.
“Well,” Glen said. “When I was young I was never allowed to be bother my mother's Wednesday night guests. And then I went to school...”
“You were a professional in the NFL, right?” Matthew asked. And that got the two started on sports talk about Matthew's favourite team: the Oakland Raiders and Glen's assessment of their worse than pathetic prospects for the year. Glen was somewhat proud of the fact that he made his denunciation of the local team as politically palatable as possible. His success was visible in the way Matthew seemed to take all Glen's opinions with equal politeness.
“There's always next year,” Matthew said. “Maybe we can get out from under that idiotic contract they gave to Josh Macon.”
“That was pretty stupid on their part,” Glen said. “The guy can only throw if he's got no pressure. He's useless in a tight pocket, not to mention a blitz! I don't know how they didn't see that before. It was pretty obvious to anyone who paid attention.”
“First Round pick... five million Euros a year... it sucks.”
Jessica, who had remained silent and very comfortably under the protective arm over her shoulder simply smiled and made sure she was paying attention to which ever of the two men was flapping his lips. The woman was obviously in love with her husband. She was the one Mother had tried to convince to join her on the menu at Tropicana Blue, Glen suddenly remembered. She looked far too young to even consider it. She could not be more than thirty years old. He decided to change the subject in that direction.
“I can see why Mother wanted you with her next month,” Glen said. “But I have to appologize for her. She lets her exhuberance for whatever cause get away from her sometimes.”
“Well,” Jessica said. “I'm very fond of her... but...”
“We had other plans,” Matthew said.
“I'm sure. You're way too young, anyway.”
“You're so sweet!” Jessica giggled. “But, actually, I'm not. I'm thirty two.”
“Really! I would have thought you were still in your twenties!”
“I have a son that's in College Prep. He's seventeen.”
“Congratulations.”
“We're very proud of him,” Jessica said. “He's already an inventor, with our other son.”
“You have two sons?” Glen said, surprised. “If you had the normal eight girls... that's ten kids! You look like you've never had one!”
“Yes!” Matthew said, grinning. “I know exactly what you mean! Sometimes I have to pinch myself about it!”
“About what?” Jessica asked, a genuinely oblivious expression on her amazing face.
“Wow!” Glen marvelled out loud. She has no clue how beautiful she is. No clue at all.
“I know!” Matthew was smiling broadly.
“What?” Jessica was smiling at her husband but had leaned forward and obviously annoyed at his and Glen's private joke.
“Matthew! Jessica! You're early!” Mother arrived barefoot in the flimsiest silk robe that barely came past her bottom. All else she wore was a towel around her head. She was probably hoping the robe would fall off and Matthew would be inspired to ravish her right on the coffee table.
Matthew and Jessica stood as Mother approached, and Glen followed suit as if it were normal for him to pay Mother that kind of respect. Who were these people? Dad had helped them out, he remembered, and Mother had pleaded their case to him.
“It's so good of you to come,” Mother kissed both her guests on the cheek, a hand feeling up Jessica's breast as she did so. With Matthew she was far more paltonic. Jessica slipped back into Matthew's protective embrace as everyone retook their seats.
“Esmaralda will have dinner served shortly. Where was it you usually dine on Wednesday?”
“At the Patio,” Jessica said. “It's a little bistro in Danville.”
“Oh,” Mother said. “I'll have to try it. Have you ever been there, Glen?”
“Once, I think,” Glen said, trying not to be sarcastic at Mother's little deception. “It's good food.”
“They have good Spanish Rioja,” Matthew said. “Duero, too, but we can't afford it.”
“Duero! Ah! I'll remember that,” Mother said. “So, how is young Samantha doing?”
“She's hoping to get some word from Senator Jackson,” Jessica said. “I promised to ask you about that.”
“Yes,” Mother said mysteriously. “He received her message. Everything is fine. Oh, did I tell you? Zoe and Kramer are bringing their eldest with them tonight.”
“You mean Kelly? Isn't she... how old is she, again?” Jessica said.
“She's fifteen, why?” Mother said and responded to the look on Jessica's face. “Why should that be a problem?”
“Well...” Jessica repeated. “She's only fifteen!”
“She's quite old enough,” Mother said. “She's at the age when she can sign away her own life, I think she should be allowed to make certain choices about who she is, don't you think?”
“I...”
“It would be so very nice if you could follow her example, Jessica,” Mother said. “I'm sure Samantha would find our little gatherings very enjoyable.”
“I'm not... I really don't think that's a good idea, Martha,” Jessica said.
“Truly, Matthew, don't you agree with me on that note?”
“My wife is protective of our girls,” Matthew said as he squeezed Jessica's shoulder protectively. “And I've always supported that. She's never been wrong, so I don't argue.”
“Such a shame,” Mother said. “Still, I'd love to introduce her to Glen. You know he's still single!”
“Mother!” Glen protested. “Jesus!”
“She's beautiful!” Mother said. “She could be Jessica's twin! Except she has these eyes that are so green you'd think you were looking into some lush tropical jungle.”
“All my girls have beautiful eyes,” Jessica said. “Gracie and Jenna both have the same colour eyes as mine.”
“Yes, they do! It's astonishing how one family could be so blessed with so many strikingly beautiful children. Even James is beautiful.”
“Eric takes after his father,” Jessica said. “Ruggedly handsome and with a personality to match.” She had taken Matthew's hand and kissed his palm. “Oh, where's Sylvester?”
“Oh,” Mother snorted. “He's out tonight. Glen will be my date for the evening.”
“Your son?” Jessica asked with raised brow. She obviously did not know Mother as well as she might have thought. Glen wondered at that. The Wells' had been coming to these gatherings for years, and had no idea of Mother's hyper sexuality. What else were they oblivious to? A lot, probably.
“Well, I can't very well be here by myself with all those wanton women coming to visit, now, can I? You never show up without Matthew, after all!” Mother said with the most ridiculous logic Glen had ever heard. But then, that was Mother. Non Sequiturs were her forte.
“Doña Marta,” Esmeralda made her presence known. “Supper is served.”
“Thank you, Esmeralda,” Mother said. “Shall we? I believe we have Duero to sip tonight...”
Dinner, which turned out to be stew and dumplings rather than frijoles, was mostly pleasant with Mother bantering about this and that to the very gracious Mrs. Wells. Matthew contented himself with telling Glen about his sons and the new roasting cradle that Tucker-Kline now had a contract to mass produce. The boys were set for life, according to Matthew. Glen told him of his own job with the United States Olympic Team.
“I already did visit Franklin High,” Glen said. “We placed a new swim coach there. Ever heard of Jane Bettencourt?”
“Yeah! Olympic Medallist in the last games, bronzed in the 100 meter crawl, I think,” Matthew said.
“She's your girl's new coach at Franklin.”
“You're kidding! Nobody told me!”
“It probably won't affect your girls,” Glen said. “She told me the prospects she's got her eye on are in the sixth and seventh grade. Not so much at the high school level. But she's really enjoying her job. She says the senior girls are the most fun she's had since before she started her Olympic training.”
“How old was she when she started that?”
“Nine, I think,” Glen said. “Sports is grueling, Matt,” he added to Matt's surprised look. “You put everything into it, and one little injury ends your career. Been there, done that!”
“Does it still bother you that you had to turn away from it?”
“Every damn day,” Glen admitted.
Mother had, as promised, procured a case of Duero wine from Spain. Both Matthew and Jessica savoured it as if it were liquid heaven and showered Glen's beaming mother with appreciation. For his part, Glen could take wine or leave it. Beer was his drink as was his father's. Esmeralda was kind enough to bring him a cold bottle of his father's Henry Weinhardt's before he had to ask her. Yes, he'd fuck her just because of that favour.
But he kept looking at Jessica. The woman made every other woman look ugly just by being herself. In the arms of her husband, however, gave Glen something he'd not experienced before. It was desire that had a wall in front of it. It hurt. He was envious of the man. Was this jealousy? Fucking A, it sucked. It sucked!
“Anyway,” Glen said, after stealing another glance at Jessica. “I think it'll be Greenbay and Denver at the Superbowl. That's where my money is.”
“You usually right?”
“I have been three years in a row,” Glen bragged. “Season's just two weeks in. Eighteen Game season, thirty four teams. Those two are the only two with the stamina to last that long.”
“Okay,” Matthew said. “I'll have to put some money on it. Know a good bookie?”
“As a matter of fact, I do!” Glen said. “I'll hook you up.”'
“You see, my love,” Mother was saying to Jessica. “The men are such a bore. Instead of paying attention to us, they have to talk about rough and tumble sports. I wonder what it was like before women were abundant and men actually had to work for a woman's affection...”
Jessica laughed. “I'll bet it was amazing,” she put a smile that was all big with sunshine.
“Of course it was, my sweet. It's such a shame we can't live in so romantic a time... but our lot is what it is...”
“I'm pretty happy with what I have,” Jessica said, glancing toward her husband.
“So you're not ready to go yet?” Martha asked.
“I've planned for thanksgiving,” Jessica said. “That cradle, the one that Eric and Jimmy designed, they did it for me! Samantha tested it!”
“She did?” Mother asked, suddenly flushed. “My God! I wish I could have seen that!”
“She lost her virginity to it,” Jessica said, her own cheeks flushing noticeably, but with an expression of sadness on her face. “I was shocked. We all were. I was surprised she was actually a virgin! I mean, I'd never seen her with a boy, of course, but that doesn't mean she didn't have one... and apparently, she's never so much as been asked out on a date.”
“Except for Michael Gianni,” Mother said, and Glen felt his brows raise.
“Michael?” Glen asked. “You're kidding, right?”
“No, love,” Mother said. “Michael brought Samantha to the club with Johnny that night. It was quite the experience. I actually saw them kiss on the dance floor. I must say, I was quite happy for him. Samantha is... to say she is beautiful is to understate the case. She's simply breathtaking!”
“Even more than Jessica?” Glen blurted, regretting it instantly.
“Samantha and Jessica could be twin sisters,” Mother said. “I thought innitially that it was, in fact, Jessica when I first saw her. Forgive me, Jessica, please. I was completely shocked to see you dancing with Michael Gianni, and then kissing him with the passion of a schoolgirl! Little did I know it was actually Samantha! I did not realize it till I saw her green eyes... Did she tell you I delivered her to your home?”
“She did,” Jessica said. “And I'm very grateful, Martha. Thank you so much for taking care of her!”
“I do what I can. Astrid made an ever loving fool of herself, and embarrassed me to no end, but what else is new? You should bring Samantha out on a Wednesday sometime before I go...”
“Bring her here?” Matthew and Jessica chorussed.
“Of course,” Mother said. “Why not?”
“She's just a baby!” Jessica said.
“She's fifteen, Jessica!” Mother said. “And she wants you as much as you want her... oh, don't look at me like that, Jessica. I watched how you looked at her at that little dinner party we had, and how she looked at you. Don't tell me you didn't know this, Matthew. Samantha is as in lust with Jessica as I am. If I had a daughter as lovely as she, I'd never let her out of my bed...”
“I'm not you, Martha,” Jessica's cheeks flushed with more than annoyance. There was anger there. “And Samantha is not me. We're not the same person, as much as we may look alike.”
“I daresay you're not!” Mother said. “She's a lot more adventurous, I think. I wouldn't be at all surprised if she beds you at some point. If I were you, I'd make sure it was under the right circumstances.”
“Moving on,” Matthew said. “Who's coming tonight?”
Glen brooded through the exchange and thought about Michael and this girl, Samantha. Samantha Wells. Wells, the family Michael was so very interested in. Why? Was this the crack Glen needed to get back at Michael? And was it one that would give him a shot at Johnny? Glen decided at that moment that he would meet little Miss Samantha Wells. He'd visit Franklin High and check in on Jane Bettencourt. Samantha was a budding reporter... maybe, just maybe, he'd give her some juice to swallow.
At eight the rest of tonight's guests began to arrive.
First came the Marches. Oliver, typical of the husbands in the group, was nearly sixty and with his second wife with graying hair that had severely receded and a very well tailored suit over his unfit form. Betty, by contrast, was a fleshy faced woman of thirty seven who's equally fleshy body would have got any high school girl culled. She was not fat so much as plump in all the right places but with a rounding belly that might have been in her first trimester of pregnancy if Glen didn't know better.
Will and Stevie Sutton arrived shortly thereafter. He, like Oliver March, was near sixty but taller and less fat with the thin face of a nerdy collegiate. She, like him, was tall and slender brunette with a build that was nicely proportional to her height. Thirty nine years old, and by the way Betty took charge of her, Glen knew instinctively that Betty was the dominant, and Stevie the submissive.
Eric and Erica Brill were an odd pair. She was tall, not quite as tall as Stevie Sutton, but tall, with blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin and the perky breasts of a runway model. He, by contrast, was short, stocky and would be the eldest one here at sixty six. She was only twenty five and Eric Brill's third wife.
While all waited for the promised arrival of Harry, Zoe and Kelly Rotterdam, the party moved to the gallery.
The Gallery was what Dad had named it. Eight easy chairs, each with it's own side table were lined up along an arcing black papered wall with very low lighting and separated from the rest of the room by a short wall, two and a half feet tall that arced with the main wall and was carpetted black on one inside, and had green marble facing out. Looking in from the other side of the room, those sitting there would be mostly unrecognizable in the gloom. Air flow allowed those sitting there to smoke cigars or cigarettes and not bother the women in the room, who's place was opposite that wall of chairs.
The main part of the room, the main gallery, was quite a contrast in that it was very well lit. Green Marble floor tiles reached a third of the way up the walls giving way to off white paint. A semi-circular couch upholstered in waterproof, but soft and comfortable dark green fabric was the main feature. It could have easily accommodated twelve, or perhaps more, women comfortably. Above it was the stage whose floor was at the same level as the top of the couch's backrest with steps leading up to it on either side. Four pillars, painted green, which happened to be Mother's favourite colour, rose to the ceiling apparently for ornament. What differed were the stainless steel eyes screwed into each of them, four on each side, two high, two low. On the walls themselves were gray tone drawings of various bondage rites collected by Mother over the years.
“We are at Erica's next week, are we not?” asked Betty March as the four guests led their husbands in. “I do so love that wonderful hot tub...”
“Yes,” Erica said in her cold manner. “Everything will be ready. Jessica, did you ever get on that cradle your boys made?”
“No,” Jessica said. “Not yet. I'm not supposed to know about it at all... it was supposed to be a surprise. But they used it at the Tucker wedding.”
“You should invite your Indian friend, Jessica,” Betty said. “The one you told us about. What was her name?”
“Fatima. She's actually Egyptian...”
“I thought you said she was from India.”
“She is, her husband is Indian, and that's where they live. But she was born in Egypt.”
“My,” Erica said icily. “Aren't we getting worldly...”
“She had no friends here,” Jessica replied in earnest. “When my daughter went to work for her daughter, we sort of hit it off...”
“You should invite her,” Betty repeated. “I'd love to meet her. It's always fun to meet people from other cultures. But don't do it next week. I won't be here.”
“Where are you going?” Erica asked.
“We're going back to Boston for a week. My niece is being sacrificed to Gaia at the New World Henge. We were thinking of donating one of our daughters...”
“Are you and Will going along, Stevie?” asked Mother.
“We're talking about it. Betty's been trying to get us into the whole Natural Temple of Gaia for a while now... I'm not sure I could surrender a daughter to sacrifice, however...”
“You can always sacrifice your son at the solstice, Stevie,” Betty informed.
“I doubt William would appreciate that. A daughter is one thing...” Stevie said.
Glen retrieved his father's box of Cuban Cigars from the humidor and offered them out to the five husbands as they took their seats. Each man took one, as well as a glass of the same Duero that Esmeralda had served for dinner.
“Mr. March,” Glen asked in the appropriate whisper. Mother had made it clear, earlier, that it would be impolite for the men to interrupt the 'girl's night.' “What's New World Henge?”
“It's basically a replica of what Stone Henge in England had been,” said Oliver March. “It was built as a temple for worship to Gaia about ten years ago. It's still the only one in the country, but they're planning to build one outside Boulder in Colorado hopefully before Betty's forty fourth birthday...”
“She keeps residency in Massachusetts?”
“We both do, actually. Same with Will and Stevie.”
“You know each other from there?”
“No, we met here, actually. Stevie was Will's concubine before they married, and Betty was mine. They lived in the same apartment together with our first sets of children.”
“To be fair,” said Matthew, “Zoe was also Harry's concubine before they were married and the same is true of Eric and Erica. That seems to be a pattern in this group.”
“It is,” Oliver said. “But that's neither here, nor there. How many concubines do you have, Matthew?”
“One,” Matthew said. “Only one. Can't afford more.”
“Matthew is the poor man of the group,” Oliver told Glen. “Funny, he's the only one who's managed to raise eight girls without a single cull as yet. All the rest of us have seen two or more in each of our marriages.”
“What about with your concubines?” Glen asked.
“Who counts those?” Oliver asked. “I don't. I have ten concubines I support. Eric has more than that. They're nothing more than a tax write off once they get to their four girl quota. Didn't you tell me, Matthew that you have a son by you're concubine?”
“Yeah,” Matthew said. “Fraternal twins with Julia's first pregnancy. Sean and Lucille. They're both hoping to become chefs some day.”
“Only you would bother paying that kind of attention, Matthew,” Eric Brill noted. “I swear, why bother? Unless you intend to marry Julia, which I know you won't, what good could possibly come out of paying attention to her kids' lives?”
“They're my kids too,” Matthew said. “And Julia is Jessica's older sister.”
“There's yet another mistake,” Eric said to Glen. “Never get involved with sisters. You're asking for trouble. The kids still don't even know they're more than cousins, do they, Matt?”
Matthew's pained expression told Glen there was some truth in Mr. Brill's admonition. But the youngest husband in the room lit his cigar and puffed, turning his attention back to the women who's activities, verbal and physical, would become tonight's entertainment.
“We get pretty quiet in here,” Oliver said in the room's customary low voice. “This is the place where our wives forget we're here and speak very freely. You'd be amazed what kind of things we've found out over the years.”
“Like what?”
“Well, there was one incident where one of the wives began talking about her illicit lover... she just forgot herself. Her husband wasn't the forgiving type, however. He drove her to Safeway the very next morning.”
“That was Jennifer Capriotta,” said Oliver. “Funny thing about it, my wife had an affair with the same guy...”
“She did?” Eric asked.
“Yeah,” Oliver said. “She told me about it right after Vern took Jennifer to Safeway. She was pretty scared.”
“And you let her get away with it?”
“Sure,” Oliver said. “She knows what'll happen if she ever goes there again. She'll watch all our daughters go with her.”
“Oh,” said Eric. “That's harsh!”
“Is it?” Oliver asked. “I don't think so. They catch her here, and all our girls get culled. Look at Matthew! If you turn any whiter, you'll be a ghost!”
“Oh,” Eric said. “Don't tease Matt. He's in love with his wife and he really loves his girls. God help him.”
“Hear that, Matt?” said Harry Rotterdam with a grin. “They think you're the only one in love with his wife... funny how they all get weepy when they send one off...”
“We know otherwise,” said Matt, solemnly.
Matthew, to Glen's eyes, looked a little queasy, as if the whole discussion were making him ill. Glen would have mocked him had Matthew been a close friend. Falling in love with women, he knew from his time in the NFL, was tantamount to surrendering one's testicles. You simply did not do it. You fucked and forgot until you needed to fuck again.
But Matthew's attention was now completely on the scene before the five of men. Jessica was dancing nude for her four friends and the Zoe Rotterdam's young daughter. The look on Kelly Rotterdam's face was of wonder and lust as Jessica's luminous skin seemed to glow. She danced with her captivating eyes closed or nearly so apparently completely lost in the simple flute and drums playing over the speakers. There was nothing overtly sexual about Jessica's understated motion motion or presentation of her nude form save that she was nude. But as the music played, Mother joined her, and slipped a collar around Jessica's neck to which she secured Jessica's wrists. Jessica continued to dance with her wrists fastened to her neck and her elbows pointed forward. From a ring on the front of the thick leather collar hung a leash which Mother held in her hand and occasionally tugged on it making Jessica whirl and Mother would expertly ripple the leash so it would travel over Jessica's head as she did so.
The mistress and slave relationship brought Glen's manhood to attention. Jessica seemed the lamb and Mother the executioner. Jessica was the toy, and Mother the child at Christmas. Jessica's face was one of utter serenity, and Mother's one of joyous lust.
Glen glanced over to see Matthew, who's eyes were locked on his wife. He sat unrelaxed, coiled like a tight spring or a cheetah, ready to burst into full speed. What was his was in peril. Glen took his sweet time to realize he felt the same. Jessica was Matthews. But when Glen looked upon the naked woman, he saw a jewel he wanted, something he might pay a very high price to have.
Jessica was soon cuddled helpless in Mother's arms as the rest of the women undressed Kelly Rotterdam. The girl was pretty enough, certainly. But next to Jessica she looked plain. Her still forming breasts held no promise of beauty and her boyish hips moved without grace as she tried to dance. She seemed even less attractive than his sister Astrid, if that were possible. Kelly took the collar with a look of utter terror as her mother put her in she same type of collar Jessica wore.
For her part, Jessica, cradled in Mother's arms, accepted Mother's caresses with the same grace she'd displayed dancing. Glen could see why his Mother enjoyed this time so much, the bliss filled smile on Mother's face said everything that needed to be said. Glen's desire burned. His jealousy smouldered. When Mother's fingers stroked Jessica's exposed sex and Jessica reacted as if it were a tender kiss, he very nearly climaxed in his own shorts.
But the night was not over. Jessica served as the model for Kelly's fate. Between the columns Mother bound her plaything by wrist and ankle. Erica Brill sat below Jessica's spread legs with her hand completely embedded inside Jessica as Mother whipped her and Erica, with her free hand, fiddled mercilessly with Jessica's clitoris. The cat o nine tails mother slapped Jessica's thighs, buttocks and back with left angry welts on her fair skin and drew a river of tears down Jessica's face as she whimpered brethily with each blow. By this time, mother had divested herself of her own garments and touched herself as she whipped her prize. When Jessica was finally allowed to climax, she hung her bonds like death might claim her. Mother released her, and with Erica, brought her back down to the couch below, lay Jessica on her belly, and soothed Jessica's welts with wash cloths dipped in ice water. It was Kelly's turn.
The girl was hysterical. She'd sat on the sidelines whimpering as Jessica was whipped. It took all three of the other women to secure Kelly, her mother, Zoe, would man the whip while Stevie Sutton and Betty March fondled and teased the front of the girl's body. Her screams were so overwhelming Kelly's mother gagged the girl after the third slap of the cat-o-nine-tails. She endured not a third of the abuse Jessica had, but was as languid and spent as Jessica after so short a time.
In the mean time, Erica and Mother had impaled themselves on glass phalluses which penetrated both anally and vaginally, securing a long, thick glass phallus which protruded form between their legs as if there naturally. Jessica endured penetration fore from Erica and rear from Mother, accepting it like a rag doll, completely submissive. Mother and Erica grunted and groaned as their hips gyrated while any sound Jessica made was drown out by her abusers.
The evening seemed interminable. Glen agonized over every minute. Sex was not a spectator sport. Like football, it was meant to be played. He felt as he did every time he watched Football on television, useless and crippled. His erection strained at his shorts as he longed to plunge it into one of Jessica's orifaces. But it was not to be. By one in the morning, all had left. The women had had their fun, and the men took their wives home, undoubtedly to take their restrained pleasure with them. Mother was insatiable as she enthusastically accepted Glen's penis in her mouth, her rosebud and her vagina. Five times he spent himself and five times he instantly came back and needed more.
Glen thrusted his hips, impaling his mother for the last time, climaxing painfully till he was completely spent. His sweat coated body fell back into the plush pillow next to Mother panting as if he'd been chased seventy yards to the in-zone by a fast line backer. Mother panted next to him, coated in a sheen of her own oily sweat.
“Oh, God!” Mother had squealed. “Oh God,” she panted now. “Oh... God, Glen! I've never... you've never had me like that before!”
No, Glen thought. I haven't. I was never this hard before... well, maybe the first time I fucked Astrid, but not since. The fat little fuck couldn't turn on a Russian Royal Mastiff if she tried she'd become so lumpy.
“What came over you?”
Glen had no intention of spilling his thoughts, but he did anyway.
“Tell me about Jessica Wells...”
“Oh! Of course..,” Mother mused, propping herself up on her side on her elbow. “I should have known. Pity you missed your opportunity with Samantha.”
“Who?”
“Jessica's daughter, silly boy!” Mother said. “Samantha looks so much like her mother she could be Jessica's twin. But your friend Michael got her first! Sorry, Glen. What did you think of Kelly?”
“Not much,” Glen said.
“Yes,” Mother said. “Oh, well. I had hopes. Pity she proved to be such a disappointment. Forget I said anything.”
“Michael,” Glen spat.
“I thought he was your friend?”
“Friend? He's his own friend.”
“Is that so,” Mother smiled. “So you have no reservation about competing for something that's ostensibly his?”
“No.”
“Good!” Mother said. “I'll see you meet her. I suppose I should have introduced you to Samantha... are you free this weekend?”
Glen smiled. If Samantha was anything like her mother, that was one thing. But it was the thought of taking something away from Michael that pleased him even more.