Chapter 13

Good old video surveillance... I had webcams everywhere, including the basement -- and they'd already gotten me some juicy blackmail material. I went through the bathroom to the master bedroom and closed the door and fired up the system there to take a look. It wasn't as good as my command station in the office, but it would do to let me see just about any camera set; I triggered the basement camera.

"You don't have to," were Michael's first words after the audio came up. They were sitting side-by-side on the couch, jacking each other off.

"I know," Pete replied, not looking away from the video they were playing. "It's okay, though, since there aren't any girls around, right? It doesn't mean anything -- it's just better than beating off..."

"Yeah, okay." You could almost see Michael's thought process -- 'It's not like we haven't done it before...'

Pete leaned over and took Michael's cock in his mouth and Michael arched himself and threw his head back, hissing in pleasure. I don't think he lasted ten seconds before grunting "Shit! Shit! Shit!" and grabbing Pete's head so he didn't go anywhere while he shot off in his mouth. I waited to see if Michael would return the favor -- and he did, albeit reluctantly; Pete was even quicker to get off, probably due to the excitement. I shut things down and went off to shower.

When I came out, kids were scattered everywhere. Michael was out at the pool splashing around with Kate and Pete was downstairs. Karen was working on the rug in the living room. I went into the TV room and plopped down for a moment to see if anything worth watching was on before heading back to my office.

Frankly, there wasn't squat -- but before I could get up, Heather came in with a twisted expression on her face. "Can we talk?"

"Sure."

"I talked to Kate's mom. She says you're not forcing her to do anything."

"I'm not," I confirmed.

"I just watched you tell her what to do and I watched her act like she was a total slave!" Heather retorted. "Is what you have on her so bad she'll lie about it?"

I sighed. "I guess that's a simpler explanation than the truth... Look, Honey, you may not be able to understand this, but some people LIKE to be bossed around. It takes the load off their shoulders. They do as their told, and they don't worry about the consequences -- it's all in the boss man's hands. If they're told to do something exciting that they would never have the guts to do on their own, that's even better. That's where Karen is. She does what I tell her -- willingly -- in return for my protection and some excitement. If I tell her to do wild and crazy things, it's a test -- a test she passes by doing what she's told without regard for the consequences, trusting that I won't put her in harm's way. She gets pride out of it -- pride in her obedience and service. She gets to bask in the glow of my regard."

"What about the cage stuff and the spankings?" Heather asked.

"There has to be a stick to go with the carrot, Hon," I told her. "It isn't enough to deal only in the positive. For one thing, it helps her to focus if the only consequence she needs to worry about is how I'll punish her if she fails. If whatever it is I want from her seems to be a bit out there, she can fall back on the idea that I'll punish her -- severely -- if she gets chicken or lazy or fucks up. In some ways, it's the simple life."

"It's crazy!"

"It's definitely not mainstream," I agreed. "But you know what? I'll bet she told you she is EXTREMELY happy today."

"She didn't."

"Go ask her."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Do you remember that little incident with the tea in the kitchen?" I asked.

"Do I!? That's why I'm here!" Heather burst out.

"What caused that was Karen deciding to show me a new level of respect. I don't ask her to kneel up to me like that. That meant I had to accept it on the fly, so to speak, and integrate it into what we're doing. I was taken by surprise -- and we got into this dance while we got organized," I explained. "She didn't HAVE to do that -- but now she does. The point is, she GAVE me that service -- and that means I'm doing right by her."

"You acted like it was nothing..." Heather mused.

"That's one of the weird quirks of the situation. I can't act all thankful that she offers me her service -- I have to take it as my due. That, in turn, impels her to continue. If I made a fuss about it, it would sound like I didn't deserve it -- and ultimately, she would withdraw it -- and the respect that goes with it," I explained. "It's complicated."

"I'll say!" Heather rubbed her face. "What about Mom?"

"Your mother couldn't be more different," I told her. "Your mother pushes and complains and spins things her direction and argues -- until she's pressed directly. Then she goes on the defensive, but it's a delaying action. Basically, she breaks, but doesn't bend. She lets you win the battle, but then tries to pretend it never happened, as if that will get her the war. That, well, doesn't make her prime submissive material."

"So what are you doing?" Heather asked.

"Eventually, she stops arguing," I replied. "Of course, it goes faster if you have a bigger hammer. That's why I have the blackmail material -- it shortens the timeline."

"What do you want?"

"Your mother," I replied. "A more or less committed relationship -- as much as either of us can stand."

"But, don't you have Karen?" Heather blurted.

"Sooner or later, Karen will get tired of playing -- or I will -- or both. Dom/sub relationships tend to be unstable," I explained.

"Oh."

"Frankly, they're a little draining," I added. "I'll need something more normal to fall back on. Besides, Karen needs something to compare her status to, so she can judge whether she's being treated -- or mistreated -- properly."

"But, mom?"

"It works -- and she knows it. That's one reason she's ducking so hard -- she KNOWS it will work, for both of us! If I let her, she'll run for the nearest closet -- and hide there, hurting, wishing she had the guts to put herself out there and reap the rewards," I told her. "That's why I'm not letting her. Worst case, she can blame the whole thing on me, which absolves her of responsibility for having to put herself out there. In the end, if it makes it easier on her, it's worth it."

"What about other women?"

"What about them?" I replied. "I don't think I can be in Jean's face twenty-four by seven. If I do other shit, she has a chance to distance herself and feel like she has more control. Besides, I like variety."

"Like me," Heather accused.

"Or not," I countered. "Hon, I don't see us dating. I don't see me turning up in your bedroom unannounced twice a week. All I'm offering is something you might call a service -- a fairly comfortable and pleasurable defloration. You can do what you like about this -- it's an offer, not a demand. But given the number of quirks your mother has, making your initiation into sex as smooth as possible probably has a LOT of long-term benefits." I eyed her. "I don't think I'll ever bring this up again -- it seems to raise your hackles too much. You can talk to Kate about it -- or her mother -- or, of course, yours. The offer is out there, but I'm not going to go into it again -- I'm tired of justifying it. If you come see me because you have a real interest in the idea, we'll discuss it again -- but I'm not going to try to sell you on it and I'm not going to justify it. Until and unless you bring it up again, the subject is closed."

Heather blinked and recoiled a bit -- I guess I got vehement. "Okay."

"So, are there any other subjects you would like to go into?" I asked.

"Um, not right now..."

"Sorry," I apologized -- more for form than anything else. "The door is always open -- that subject has just gotten to be tiresome." I got up and she took her cue and headed off -- and I headed on into my office and spent the next couple of hours working. I called a contractor I knew to have him come in to give me a quote on subdividing the basement further for Pete, among other things. He said he would stop around on Wednesday.

About three, Karen stuck her head in the door diffidently. "Can I get you anything?"

"Yeah, come here a minute." It was best not to dismiss her out of hand, so I had her kneel up beside me so I could fondle a tit while I worked. "Do you need a nap or anything before you go to work? Your home life isn't to get in the way of your livelihood."

"No, I'm fine..." Karen paused a moment before venturing, "Master."

"Be careful what you commit yourself to," I warned her. "Do you want to have to call me that in public? Under any circumstances whatever?"

"Yes," Karen replied, nodding.

"You know that I know that you're willing to take the risks involved," I chuckled. "You had a good time, didn't you? What was the best part?"

"Riding in the car, Master."

"Ignacio wasn't a good fuck?"

"That was good -- REALLY good -- but not because Ignacio was good."

"No," I agreed, "It was all about having to be a slut on command, wasn't it?"

"Uh huh."

"That will happen again," I told her. "Run along and make sure you're ready for work."

"Yes, Master!" She hopped up and toddled off happy, knowing I knew what got her juices flowing.

Karen sent Kate in about five to ask me about dinner; I told Kate that if her mother wanted to make herself indispensible around here, she could start by removing any requirement for me to think about where my next meal was coming from. That seemed to work for her.

Jean collected her brood at five-thirty without my noticing; they were gone when I sat down to dinner with my new family at quarter to six. Karen put it on the table and hit the door, headed for work. Pete and I hit the pool at seven-thirty; Kate had apparently had her fill earlier. But a few minutes later, Heather and Jean trooped in across the back yard wearing beach towels -- and nothing else, it turned out. Pete and I mixed the qualities of a pleasant host with decorum, letting them settle in without embarrassment. After a few minutes, Jean swam over to where I was farting around with a noodle -- one those colored foam floaters that look sort of like Technicolor pipe wrap. I was trying to do pushups against the buoyancy of one, held under water, if you must know... "Heather says you told her I'm a head case," she announced.

"Heather needs to discover what is and is not a privileged conversation," I retorted.

"Maybe." She dog-paddled a bit in place, then added, "Cletus, it's not going to work."

"Okay," I replied, shrugging.

"Okay?"

"I don't feel like arguing," I told her. "We can fight about it later when I do."

"What?" Her face screwed up. "You can't just walk away and then come back later and say things haven't changed!"

"Why not?" I asked. "You do."

"I DO NOT!"

"Oh? Do I own your ass?"

"NO!"

"Odd," I argued, "That's a totally different answer than the one you gave in the basement a couple of days ago."

"That was under duress!" Jean retorted.

"The situation has NOT changed!" I retorted, moving to trap her between myself and the pool edge. "Not one bit! If you think it has, you're mistaken!"

"Cletus! No!" Seeing the danger, she made to escape. "I'll scream!"

"I'll dunk you and you won't have the air to!" By then, I had her. She wriggled in my grasp, but she wasn't going anywhere. I leaned in and put my lips on her neck while simultaneously putting my hand under her butt and pulling it toward me -- and the little idiot wrapped her legs around me, trapping my cock against her vulva!

"Cletus..."

"Lie to me and tell me this doesn't feel good."

"It's rape, Cletus!"

"It is not! There is no penetration and those are your legs around me, not vice-versa! Assault, maybe..." I argued. "Besides, you avoided answering the question."

She sighed. "Is there any getting around you?"

"No. How long is it going to take you to discover that on your own, do you figure?"

"I don't understand what you think we have in common..."

"Our parts fit together -- want me to prove it?" I replied.

"Be serious!"

"I AM!" I replied, aggrieved. "Nothing less than my kind of bastard is going to get through that wall you have around you -- nice, non-persistent guys back off. That doesn't keep you from NEEDING someone in there -- even though you're scared of the consequences, and therefore don't WANT anyone. Besides, you have a weakness for my kind of bastard -- you know we can make you happy."

"Your kind of bastard also HURTS me -- terribly!" Jean countered. "I don't want that!"

"Then we work at arm's length," I argued, "and don't get all wrapped up in one another. You keep some independence, and I keep some independence and we just lean on one another occasionally to stay happy and balanced."

"You make it all seem so simple..."

"Work with me." She already was; she'd stopped fighting. We were holding each other. "You need a man for regular physical release and to rely on when shit gets too deep -- someone who doesn't insist that you bow the head. I ALREADY have a woman who bows the head -- I need something more conventional."

"Heather said something like that."

Things had settled down to the pair of us hanging off one another and talking -- and that's where I wanted it for now. I generated a non-threatening answer. "Karen is a special case -- she's not a love interest. In fact, that would fuck us up. She needs for me to be uncompromising."

"THAT shouldn't be hard!" Jean snorted.

"You might be surprised," I replied. "In any case, it's better if I don't get all gushy with her. That being the case, I need someone I don't have to crack the whip over."

"That's not me, apparently," Jean smiled crookedly.

"It isn't yet, but it CAN be," I argued, "once you get it through your stubborn head that the wall is down already and Humpty Dumpty isn't going to get put back together."

"I can't just... let you in..." Jean said quietly, looking away.

I shrugged. "Then don't. Use me for sex. We'll be friends -- fuck buddies."

"It's not just about sex!" Jean complained, aggrieved.

I sighed. "It never is, with a woman. That's the buddy part. Friends. Boon companions. You'll have someone to help you out with complicated shit like keeping your car running and raising your daughter not to fear men."

"Dammit, Cletus!"

"Sorry," I grinned. "I couldn't resist. Lucky you -- I don't beat around the bush."

"No, you beat the bush!" Jean rasped. "You just want in Heather's panties!"

"That's YOUR opinion," I argued. "I made an offer to help her through what COULD be a traumatic experience. It's gotten blown up out of proportion. I've decided not to ever bring it up again."

"Good!"

"In any case, the choice was always hers to make," I continued, "and it still is. I'm not withdrawing the offer -- I'm just not going to listen to irritating accusations regarding my motivations."

"Cletus, this altruism is just a cover for you seeing an opportunity to put another notch on your gun belt. I won't have it!" Jean insisted.

"You don't get a vote," I retorted blandly. "Frankly, young pussy is cute, but older women know what they're looking for -- AND how the equipment works. I told her and I'm telling you -- there was never any plan for Heather to decorate my bed on anything resembling a regular basis. I have plenty of willing pussy to handle that -- and even one piece who CLAIMS to be unwilling!"

"Just claims?" Jean raised an eyebrow.

"Yep. Claims. Gimme a break -- you've ridden the pony before and you do NOT complain while you're doing it!"

"I was bowing to the inevitable."

"Something you should practice, regularly," I grinned, then deliberately slid her up and down against my erection.

She tensed. "Don't do that!"

"Why? Because it feels good?" I pulled her up for another cycle. "This is the root of our problem," I continued, doing it yet a third time. "You piss and moan, bitch and complain -- but you need a dick -- and you know it!"

"It doesn't have to be yours!"

"Yes, it does," I argued, "because nobody else is ever going to figure out how to get past your defenses!" I was a half-dozen strokes in; her little puss was wide open, and I was sliding up and down the hot pink groove between her inner lips and rolling over her clit.

"Cletus, stop!" she gasped. "Not here!"

"I note that the bone of contention is no longer 'if,' but 'when' and 'where.' What's wrong with here?"

"Heather... Peter..."

"Pete's HAD you, remember? He knows you're a hot number. As for Heather, what's the matter? Afraid that if she sees us fucking like bunnies, it might undermine all of those cautions about the evil male?"

"You're a bastard!"

"And you're a bitch!" I retorted, "And I'm going to treat you like one!" I raised her up over my knob and dropped her on it. I wedged about two inches in; don't let anyone tell you that pool water is a good sexual lubricant, because it isn't -- it tends to wash away the REAL lubricants and leaves things less than slippery. Jean lurched and struggled -- and sank another two inches onto my bone. "That's working real well," I observed. "Wiggle some more, why don't you?"

Jean leaned back and pummeled my chest a couple of times, "Damn you! DAMN you!" I snapped my hips and was buried to the root in her. "Fine! Have it your way!" she sulked -- but she leaned in and put her head on my shoulder.

I backed away from the pool's edge, lifting and lowering her gently and she started posting, riding my cock. I backed for a bit, then turned around and moved slowly toward the ladder, integrating the movement into my stroke; Jean, with her head down, didn't really notice for a bit -- she was too busy pumping water out of her pussy using my plunger. In a moment, though, she looked up, "What are you doing?"

"Ruining your reputation," I replied. I was three-quarters of the way to the ladder.

She raised her head; I didn't see what she saw -- or even the look on her face -- but she wailed, "Oh, Gawd, Cletus!" and buried her face in my shoulder as I hauled us up out of the pool. Then I turned around and made sure Heather and Pete got an eyeful as I asked, "Could someone get us a towel?" While Pete scooted up the ladder, I deliberately left nothing to Heather's imagination as I pumped her mother up and down on my erection. Jean stayed tucked; she did NOT want to look at anybody! "Wipe us down, willya?" I asked Pete. "My hands are full." I continued to haul Jean up and down my cock -- something that wouldn't have been possible with Karen -- while Pete gently wiped us off. Heather came over to the near edge of the pool and I deliberately moved to a location where she had an uninterrupted view of my cock sliding slowly in and out of her mother's snatch. Jean was crying silently, utterly humiliated; it was going to be a bitch rescuing this fuck, but as psych warfare, it was a stroke of genius. "Thanks, Pete," I waved him off, then headed for the slider. Pete raced ahead and opened it. Kate looked up and froze as I strode through the kitchen, but didn't follow or say anything. I went straight back to my bedroom, crawled up on the bed, and put Jean down gently. "There!" I grunted. "That's fixed. You don't have to pretend to anybody that you're as pure as the driven snow or that you're terribly abused, since EVERYBODY has seen you with my dick in you."

"I HATE YOU!" Jean snarled.

"I didn't figure you would be pleased," I replied heavily, "but sweet reason wasn't working and I'm not known for my patience."

"Fuck me, then!" she spat. "That's what you want, right? To fuck me whenever you want? Let's do it, then -- now that you've convinced everybody that I'm a slut!"

Have you ever fucked mad? I mean, not when one of you is, but when both of you are. When one of you is, it's usually rape, but when both are, it's just angry sex. The thing about angry sex is you get yours and FUCK the other person! That means it tends to get wild and woolly, because by God BOTH of you are gonna get off -- hopefully at the expense of the other person! I kicked off and Jean jumped me, instantly, ranting, "Let's go! Where's all this hot sex you're so anxious to show me? This is it?"

I jacked it up a notch while rasping, "I thought I'd stop and check to see if you had a pulse!" THAT got HER ass moving!

"Fuck you, you sonofabitch!"

"I'm waiting, any time you want to start!"

At that point, we both had something to prove -- and we went totally nuts on each other. She'd lubed and I'd lubed or we probably would have set fire to one another from the friction.

A big chunk of sex is between the ears -- and when you want it like we wanted it, orgasms are easily attainable. Because Jean was working at it, she started hitting her mark in only ninety seconds, maybe, jeering, "I'm gonna cum! Don't you DARE fuck up on me, you bastard!"

"What are you gonna do if I stop?" I puffed -- but she was already there!

"Auuugghhh! AAAAHHHHH!!! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" Jean shrieked. Mad, she was letting go like she probably would never think to under normal conditions -- her inhibitions were totally off-line. "FUCK ME! HAAAARD!!!" she wailed, and I tried to find another gear. She humped herself up at me, bashing her clit against my pubic bone and I could see her stomach muscles ripple and feel the result as her inner lining clutched and grabbed and massaged my cock. She panted and whined and was deep into it for about ten seconds; when she fell back, panting, I goaded her with, "Not bad -- who knows what you'll do if you learn to fuck without getting all wrapped around the axle!"

That roused her! "Shut up and FUUUCK!" she shrieked, and we went looking for two. I set up what I like to call my stutter-stroke -- a long deep shot followed by a short poke -- and she really got into it. Pretty soon she was arching and grunting and when she got close-in I shifted back to a long power-stroke -- and she seized up and wailed and creamed big time, flooding my dick with twat oil. If she hadn't been so into things, I would probably have blown my load -- but she was all over the place and it seemed like no two strokes went to the same place, which kept me sane until she crashed after Big O Number Two.

After that, though, she didn't have it in her to go nuts any more. Big O Number Three was going to be dependent upon me -- and she wanted it -- so it was time for a rapprochement. She got soft and urgent and pliant and started rubbing my arms and chest and shoulders while I went back to the stutter-stroke. "Still mad?" I puffed.

"You're still a bastard," she gasped, "but you're a sweet bastard."

"I grow on you, if you let me," I puffed.

"Yeah..." she smiled dreamily, "Where did you learn that thing you're doing?"

"Gigolo school," I puffed.

"It's sure good!" I think she was planning to say something a little more sophisticated, but she was getting real pink about the neck and shoulders. In a second or two, she started clutching me, "Don't stop!"

"Say pretty please!" I puffed.

"Pretty please! Oh, pretty, pretty please! Oh! OH OOHH!!!" Her eyes rolled up and her pussy started clutching me and I shifted to short strokes through her pulsing opening, three or four of which brought ME off; I went digging for her cervix and gooped it up good with a good, solid, five-shot nut.

We rested there, me still propped up on my arms, bolt-upright. "Did you HAVE to do that?" Jean asked.

"What?"

"Make me look like that in front of the kids?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "You'd have kept denying and pretending unless I fixed it so it was a waste of time. You know that."

"Was Michael there?"

"Michael has watched you fuck, Hon. And Pete has fucked you, remember? How is it you manage to block out that stuff?"

"I don't know -- it's like there are two of me. One doesn't like to admit that the other exists."

"Well, it's that hot little number with the snappy pussy I want to talk to," I told her, "the other one is all bitchy from doing without."

"Yeah, well..." She grimaced.

"I'm gonna back out now." I went vertical and pulled free, leaving a runny creampie pouring from her well-fucked little muff. Jean watched me back off, then shifted her glance to her left -- and froze. I looked behind me; Heather was standing there, leaning against the door facing. "How long have you been there, Hon?" I asked.

"Pretty much from the start," Heather admitted. I was a little way up the hall until it became clear that you guys were too busy to notice me." She shifted her gaze to her mother. "Cletus is right, you know. You need to quit lying to people -- starting with yourself." She turned and walked out, leaving me with a mess on my hands as Jean lit off crying.

Time flies when you're handling hysterics; it took a good hour before Jean was ready to head home and tackle her daughter. Ninety minutes later, she was back. "I'm a two-faced bitch and not welcome in my own home," she announced.

"Let's go sit in the Jacuzzi and drink a little wine and see if the whole thing won't go away, eventually," I suggested, picking up a bottle of merlot from the counter in the kitchen and herding her outside.

Jean helped me remove the cover, muttering, "If my head goes under the water, promise me you'll leave it there."

I thought about it. "You'll have to bribe me by giving head."

"Cletus! Haven't you had enough?"

"Well, yeah -- but I always haggle; you can't win if you don't play."

Jean shook her head, smiling crookedly, and climbed in. "Isn't wine bad for you in one of these?"

"Do you have a heart condition?"

Jean looked off toward her house. "Broken, maybe."

"Despite rumors to the contrary," I replied, "that's not a functional issue."

"I was only trying..."

"To protect them," I finished, pouring wine into her glass. "I know. But you can't, in some areas. You were doing more damage than good where Heather is concerned. Michael, fortunately, wasn't a primary focus -- and he's stubborn, anyway."

"What do I do?"

"You lay off," I advised. "Let her make a few mistakes on her own. Someday -- around the time she's in her late twenties -- your stock will go back up. Between now and then, forget about it. That's a standard teen thing, by the way, not something peculiar to Heather. If you push her now, though, you'll have a revolution on your hands because you have no credibility -- and that IS a Heather situation."

"What do I do tonight?"

"You sleep in my bed," I told her. "Anything less is an indication that you're still a liar."

"Do you ALWAYS win?"

"No, but I try to be in the right place at the right time."

We hung out in the tub until Jean couldn't walk and I could barely carry her, then went to bed. Sex wasn't on the agenda. Karen, when she came in, slept across the foot of the bed.