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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Mistress {Kellis} (Fb oral fist) [4/4]
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Date: Mon, 26 Feb 2007 21:10:04 -0500
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The Mistress
by Kellis


Part 4 of 4


Mom wasn't in her room so I went down to the kitchen.  As always, Hazel
was stirring something on the stove.  She looked up and smiled.

"Ah, Frank!  Just now back from school?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Have you had lunch?"

I knew better than to admit it.  "I was supposed to eat when I got back
here."

"All right.  I can feed you lunch but now it'll spoil your supper.  How
about some more peach cobbler?"

"Oh, yeah!"

She smiled and went to the refrigerator.  "I saved you the last 
serving."

I hovered while she dumped congealed glop into a saucepan, set it on the
stove and stirred it languidly.  "It will take awhile for everyone to 
include you in their plans, Frank.  No one your age has lived here in 
several years."

"Who _does_ live here, Hazel?"

"Besides the mistress?  No one, really, except us servants.  She moved 
her base here from Chicago only last fall.  Before that we had me, one 
housemaid and Jimpson.  Now the place is humming.  She brought several 
of her Chicago staff, though a lot of them have quit.  Too quiet around
here.  Because they quit is why your mother was hired.  She just 
reopened the landing field north of the town, but the airplane mechanics 
don't stay here.  The pilots do sometimes."

"Are there many servants?"

"Your mother is the fifth maid."  She said _maid_ funny and added dryly,
"Though I doubt she'll be dusting shelves very long.  What was her old 
job?"

I shrugged.  "I don't think she had a job.  She stayed home.  Do you 
mean she won't pass the probation?"

"I don't think you have to worry about that.  Your father's dead, isn't
he?"

"He was killed in the war."

"I'm sorry."  She took a breath.  "Frank, you may have trouble here with
no father.  Pay attention to me: you don't have to do anything personal
you don't want to.  No matter who asks you, but especially not Jimpson 
or Rev. Grant.  Do you understand?"

"Nothing _personal_?"

She poured the stuff out of the saucepan into a bowl, set it on the 
table along with a spoon, poured a glass of milk from the fridge and sat
across the corner from me while I ate.  It was just as tasty as 
yesterday, but I wondered if she would explain.

She did after thinking about it.  "What I mean is you don't have to let
anybody touch you, and you don't have to touch them."

No one had touched me except Mom.  Well, Vernon and Joy.  I liked 
_their_ touch.  Then I remembered.  "Rev. Grant hugs me sometimes."

"You know him?  Oh, yes, you have to go to his school since the 
so-called town is too cheap for one.  Has he done more than hug you?"

"Kissed me."

She nodded.  "I'm sure.  He thinks he can get away with it.  Do you like
his hugging and kissing?"

"No!" I declared definitely.

"Then don't let him get close.  You're at the dangerous age.  I'm 
surprised he hasn't ...  Well, if he hasn't, best let it lie."

"Hasn't what?"

She smiled and shook her head.  "Let it lie."  I resolved to ask Joy.

Then I remembered another question.  "Hazel, what's happened to my 
mother?"

"Happened?  Nothing she didn't like, I'm sure."

"I mean where is she?"

"Still with Cole, last I heard."  Hazel got up and started back to the 
stove.

"Giving personal service?"

She stopped and turned back around.  Her eyes were thoughtful.  After a
moment she said, "I expect so ... after this long.  Molly is in there 
with her."

"Molly?"

"One of the girls from Chicago.  I don't suppose you've met her."

"I haven't met anybody but you and Jimpson.  And Tate."

"You will."

She went on to the stove.  I finished the food and carried bowl and 
glass to the sink before sidling up to the woman, now stirring her 
original pot.

"Thank you, Hazel.  That cobbler was really good!"

She smiled and tousled my hair.  I didn't believe that was the kind of 
touching she meant, though what else was there?  Punching?  Hitting?  If
that's what she meant, why didn't she say it?  Food for further thought.

I asked, "What is it you do when you give personal service?"

She turned to look at me again.  "Whatever the guests want."

"What do they want?"

She took a deep breath.  "Frank, are you old enough ...  Have you heard
about the special thing that men and women do together?"

I was surprised and blurted, "_That's_ personal service?"  Though in the
next second I realized I should have known.  Personal service -- very 
personal -- was exactly what Joy and I had been giving each other.

"Yes, it is," she said solemnly.

"Golly!"  Mom was sucking Cole's dick?  I wished I could see her do it.
Another picture struck my fancy: that dick sliding between her legs, big
enough to fill her up and fuck her properly.

"I know what you're thinking," said Hazel sternly.  "Keep one thing in 
mind: she's still your mother."

"But how can _two_ women ..." I began.  _Fuck him together?_ I wanted to
ask -- but not with that word.

She said dryly, "I think you can guess how.  I sure hope you don't plan
to accuse her of anything.  She's getting your living the best way she 
can."

What could he do with two women?  Suddenly I wanted two women too but 
immediately knew it was silly: I couldn't even fuck one properly.

"What are you going to say to her?" Hazel demanded.

I looked up.  "Say to her?  I'm going to tell her she ought to learn how
to make peach cobbler."

Hazel laughed and hugged me against her plump side.  "I think you're 
smarter than you look."  I agreed but wondered how she defined _touch_.


* * *


Back in my room I had thought to jack off over the photos again but the
balcony beckoned.  The door was a little hard to unlock but when I 
finally figured it out, it opened easily.  The balcony held a glider 
with cushions: a nice place to rest, shaded by the north side of the big
house.  Other rooms on the second floor had balconies, including Mom's,
but the third floor above me had none.  Bushes and lawn grew up to the 
house.  A thick stand of trees began 50 yards away.

I heard the whirr of a lawn mower and Jimpson came around the corner of
the house pushing one, grass clippings flying behind him.  Maybe that's
why he was unhappy.  I didn't like lawn mowing either.

I wanted to explore those woods and remembered an outside door at this 
end of the garage passageway.  They turned out to be just woods, nothing 
remarkable except being deeper than I wished to go.  The sun had nearly
lowered to the western trees when I came back inside.  I had to pause 
and get beggar-lice off my britches.

In my room I heard Mom's shower running.  Suddenly I wanted to see her 
naked again.  She had showered with me until I was about six but I had 
hardly paid attention to her body, except to note the round shape of her
tits and the clump of hair between her legs.  I remember watching her 
shave under her arms and asking her why she didn't shave the lower bush
too.  I don't recall her answer, but she never let me use the bathroom 
with her again.

So I went through the connecting door into her room and was surprised to
find her bathroom door standing open.  I peeked in and saw the shower 
curtain bulge when she bumped against it.  My curiosity peaked, but the
bathroom had no place to hide.

I looked around her bedroom.  The closet?  She would go there first.  
The curtains at her balcony windows were pulled back.  That would do it!
I started to hurry back to my own balcony, having already determined you
could jump from one rail to the next, which would avoid any questions 
about an unlocked door, when I realized what I was seeing.  Her maid's 
dress and apron were thrown on the floor first, followed by shoes, 
panties, stockings, garter belt and brassiere, in a line to the 
bathroom.  They had an odor of whisky and something else I recognized 
from Joy's breath: spunk.  Quickly I sniffed down the line.  The dress 
was strongest of whisky, the panties of spunk.  I snatched them up.  The
crotch was soaking and smelled of spunk and woman, almost but not quite
exactly like Joy's quim after I fucked her oyster.  My dick was hard in
an instant.

At that moment the shower quit.  I hurried back to my room, carrying 
Mom's wet panties in my hand.  My instinct was to strip naked and jack 
off into them, but it was almost suppertime and I knew she'd come after
me soon.  I dithered for a moment, finally stuffed the panties under my
mattress and went back into her bedroom just as she came out of the 
bathroom.

I got a good glimpse of Mom's body.  She was turned partly away so that
I saw the curve of her breast, which though smaller rode a lot higher 
than Joy's.  Mom's waistline and hips were slimmer too, and the shape of 
her legs would have made my mouth water if I had time.  Her groin bush 
was the same dark brown as her hair.

She whirled around and snatched a housecoat out of her closet.  "Frank!"
Her eyes flashed.  "Why didn't you knock?"

"You don't knock when you come to my room."

She sat down suddenly on the bed.  Her housecoat, which had only been 
draped before her, slid partly off her lap and exposed half her bush.  
She didn't seem to notice.  Slowly she smiled at me.  "Maybe we ought to
start knocking."  Her eyes had a strange look.  "My little Frank is 
beginning to grow up."

"Yes, I am.  Where were you this afternoon?"

She actually giggled.  I didn't recall hearing her giggle before, not 
since Dad left the last time.  "I was busy, Frank.  You wouldn't believe
how busy I was."

"Dusting the library?"

"Oh, no."  She gave out a peal of laughter.  "Something a lot more fun.
God, I didn't remember how much fun it could be!"  She flung out her 
arms, letting the housecoat fall into her lap.  Her titties were 
beautiful.  "Come and give me a hug, Frank.  I found out how much I need
hugs."

Why not?  She had just bathed herself.  I sat on the bed beside her and
she pulled me tight against her naked body, smelling of soap, and kissed
me on the mouth.  Now the whisky odor was overpowering.  I felt her 
tongue but after one touch she withdrew it.  "Oh, Frank, I love you so,"
she declared when our lips parted.

"I love you too, Mom."

"I know you do."  She sighed and stood up.  "I have to get dressed."  
She glanced at the clock on her desk.  "I'm supposed to help Daphne 
serve Jeremy.  You'll have to eat without me tonight.  Hazel will take 
care of you."  Suddenly she clutched my shoulder.  "I made $50 this 
afternoon.  Can you believe it?"

My eyes widened.  "Fifty?  Are you sure?"

"Tate said so herself."  Still naked, she sprang to her feet, tits 
bouncing, and gathered up the fallen garments.  "What happened to my 
panties?  That devil!  I'll bet he kept them."  But I heard pleasure in
her voice.  Why would she believe Cole kept them?  Would he keep them 
any faster than I?

She stuffed the soiled clothing into the hamper and went to her dresser,
pulling out underwear.  She started to step into her panties when, I 
guess, she finally realized the circumstances.

She looked at me.  "Frank, a boy your age shouldn't watch his mother 
dress."

"Why not?  I'll bet Cole watched you."

"But I'm not his mother.  How did you know about Cole?"

I shrugged.  "Everybody knows."

She nodded slowly, as if the idea had just come to her, shook her head 
and said glumly, "Well, I certainly answered my question."

"About whether you could really do it?"

Her eyes sharpened.  "Go to your room, please."

So I did.  She followed me a little later and wearing a fresh maid's 
uniform, regarded me solemnly from the doorway.

"Frank, I'm a little wobbly...  I've drunk too much to talk to you now.
I'll explain when I take you to school tomorrow."

"Okay, Mom.  Will you be serving late?"

"I don't know.  Probably not.  Jeremy is over sixty."

I didn't know what that meant.  I thought of asking Hazel.

"Will you kiss me when you come ho-- to your room?"

"If it's not too late."  She grinned wryly.  "If I can still walk.  Oh,
I'm going to be so _sore_!"

I remembered Grant's word.  "With a hangover?"

"That too.  Enjoy your supper."

"I will.  Hazel's a good cook."  I wanted to say, _Enjoy your fuck_, but
didn't, of course.


* * *


I heard the voices as I went down to hall to the kitchen, so I paused at
the doorway.  Several people sat at the long table.  Jimpson and Tate I
knew.  Two men and a woman were strangers.  A second woman, also a 
stranger, was bent over the table head down, face turned toward me.  She
had hair black as coal in a tangle about her head.

Hazel spotted me and beckoned to herself.  The conversation died away as
I entered the room.

"Who's this?" asked a tall, skinny guy with a crooked grin.  "Friend of
yours, Jimpson?"

"Might be," said Jimpson.  "His mother's the new maid."

"The one that went with Molly here?"

"Her name's Ethel."

"Then she must've fucked while Molly drank."

Tate and the upright woman laughed but Jimpson glared.  "Watch your 
mouth!"

The lean man looked surprised but said no more.  He watched me cross the
room.

Hazel put her arm around my shoulders and smiled reassuringly.  "Pay 
them no attention."

She spoke softly, so I did too.  "Is one of them Molly?"

"Yeah.  The sleeping one."

"She's asleep?"

"In fact she's drunk."

I'd heard talk of people drinking so much whisky they couldn't stay 
awake but never seen it before.

Hazel continued, "You were supposed to wait until I called you.  Did you
see your mother?"

"Yeah.  She took a shower and changed clothes and went to ... help 
somebody named Jeremy.  I don't think she ate."

"Don't worry.  I sent supper up for her."

"Who's Jeremy?"

"Jeremy Banlon, the mistress's uncle -- uncle-in-law, maybe.  He flew in
with her this morning."

"Flew in?"

"Oh, yes.  We own two DC-3s, what my son calls fancy Gooney Birds.  
Those two guys you don't know are some of the pilots.  Uh, how did your
mother seem?"

"Gay.  High spirited.  She said she was a little wobbly."

"I guess so!  But she jumped on it when Tate offered her Jeremy.  She's
a strong one."

Hazel spoke with conviction.  I had never thought of Mom as strong.

I recalled my question.  "I asked her if she'd be late and she said 
probably not, that Jeremy was over sixty.  What did she mean?"

Hazel grinned wryly.  "Old men don't have much stamina.  They talk a 
good show but can't keep it up."

"Keep what up?"

She cleaned close to my ear and whispered.  "Their willies."  In a 
normal voice she added, "Of course you don't know what I'm talking 
about."

"I think I do."

She shook her head.  "Jeremy may surprise her if he doesn't get drunk."
She looked back at the table, where the conversation had resumed.  "Why
don't you come back when that crowd takes off?  I'll give you a call."

"They don't scare me, Hazel.  Besides, I'm hungry."

"O-kay," she agreed reluctantly.  "I think Jimpson might take up for 
you."

She set a plate, silverware and glass of milk on the table before an 
empty chair and motioned me into it.  Spooning stew onto my plate and 
glaring around at the other diners, she said, "You people understand the
expression, _tender ears_?"

The skinny man grinned at me.  "Your ears tender, kid?"

Jimpson hit the table with the butt of his fork.  "Morrisey, do you know
anything at all about polite company?"

Morrisey said coldly, "Yeah, a lot more than a worn out queer knows."

"God damn it!" cried Jimpson, shoving back his chair.

"Boys!" warned Tate.

The skinny guy held up a peaceful hand.  "I'm just asking the lad a 
civil question.  What's your name, son?"  Before I could answer he 
lowered his voice and said to Jimpson, "If you want to dispute what I 
called you, I'll step outside with you anytime."

He turned back to me.  Quickly I said, "Frank Cronin."

"Okay, Frank.  I'm John Morrisey."  He held out a big, bony hand which I
shook gently.

"Pleased to meet you," I said.

"Me too.  Your mother's the new maid, right, named Ethel?"

"That's her name."

"Well, I'd really like to meet her.  Will you introduce us when you get
the chance?"

Nobody would call him handsome, but I liked his manner.  "I sure will."

He grinned at me.  "That all right with you, Jimpson?"

Jimpson looked away without answering.

Morrisey tilted his head toward the stocky guy beside him.  "This is my
co-pilot, Al Flinders.  He and I help fly the mistress's aircraft.  If 
you'll come out to the field, I'll take you up."

"Don't believe him," interjected the upright woman.  "He told me that a
month ago."

Morrisey grinned.  "Notice I said, 'Come out to the field.'  Daphne, I 
think you're afraid to put anything in the air but your heels."

She chuckled.  "You say the sweetest things sometimes."

"Not that I could ever fault a woman for being chicken."

Swallowing a half-chewed mouthful, I asked, "You're Daphne?"

"That's me, kid, raised heels and all."

"Oh, she's got a lot more than heels!" declared Morrisey with a big-eyed
grin I later learned is called a leer.

"Hear, hear!" called stocky Flinders, raising a glass with a sudsy 
yellow liquid that splashed.  Beer, I realized.  They were all drinking
beer, except for Tate.  She had a slender glass with a stem, half full 
of pale red liquid with a few bubbles in it.

But this was Daphne.  "Mom said she was going to help you," I said to 
her.

Tate, sitting slightly apart, said, "The mistress overruled me."

They were all silent, watching me.  I blinked.  "Is it any harder for 
just one?"

Now they all laughed.  Morrisey called over the sound, "What do you say,
Jimpson?  Does it get harder for two than one?"

Jimpson glared but kept silent.  Flinders said, "Might _stay_ hard 
longer for two."  That drew a mild chuckle.

Tate said, "Jeremy is supposed to inspect a property in town first thing
tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah?" said Flinders.  "What's the mistress up to now?"

Tate shook her head.

He added with a frown, "What's she doing out here in the boondocks 
anyway?"

"Enjoying the fresh air," muttered Jimpson grumpily.

"Did you ever see the place she left on Lakeshore Drive?  It was at 
least as big as this and in the city too."

"You didn't work for her there!" declared Tate.

"Well, no, but I went by her place to see who I was going to work for."

Jimpson said, "We lived on Lakeshore Drive before the war, but I ain't 
been there since it started."

"I'm surprised to hear that," said Morrisey with a sneer.  "Lot more 
chickens in Chicago."

"Just keep on!" said Jimpson, gritting his teeth.

They argued back and forth, frowning and grimacing at each other, about
chicken-hawks and other subjects that didn't make a lot of sense to me,
but even I could see they wouldn't fight.  When I finished my stew, I 
went around the table and leaned next to Daphne.  "Will Molly be all 
right?"

The woman shrugged, leaned across the table and rocked the sleeper's 
shoulder.  Molly struck feebly at the worrying hand.  "Lemme be!"

But Daphne pushed harder.  "Get up and go to bed, silly.  Sleeping on 
this hard table will give you a bruise over half your face."

Mollie raised up and squinted at us blearily.  She was almost pretty.  I
whispered to Daphne, "What's that black stuff under her eyes?"

"Mascara.  Mollie, you'll need help getting upstairs.  Here's two pilots
to fly you."

"Been flown too much already."

But the two men were instantly at her side.  "Ready to go, Mollie?" 
asked Flinders.

She eyed them.  "Long as you keep your peckers in your pockets."

"But Mollie," protested the skinny one, "your pockets are so much 
nicer!"

The woman's eyes softened.  "Now I remember.  Last month.  Both of you!
Hey, can we do that again?"

"You bet!" they declared in chorus, grinning at each other.

They helped her stand up but Daphne caught her hand.  "This time don't 
forget your Vaseline."

"We'll grease her up," Morrisey said reassuringly.

"It's in the bathroom."

The three figures pivoted together and left the kitchen, laughing and 
lurching.

I asked Daphne, "What are they going to do to her?"

She sniffed.  "If you don't know, I'm not the one to tell you."

"I know they mean to ... _do_ her.  But ... _how_?"  I almost said fuck.
I needn't have worried.

"'Do her?'  They're gonna fuck the shit out of her, kid: all the way to
the brown."

I blinked in shock.  "In her ... bum?"

"Along with her pussy, both at the same time.  That's Mollie's weakness.
She was trained to it by queer brothers and cousins.  It's hard to find
two regular guys who'll do it.  Of course, those pilots may not be as 
regular as they look."  Daphne gave me a lopsided grin.  "We all come 
from corkscrewed families, kid."

"Yours too?"

"You know it.  My mother had me out on the street corner sucking up the
bacon when I was fourteen.  You mark my words: every gal that takes up 
whoring was showed how at a very early age."  She blinked.  "My dear old
mother!  She caught me fucking the priest and said I might as well get 
paid for it."

Suddenly her hand dropped to the front of my pants and squeezed my dick.
She laughed.  "For sure you know what I mean.  Go to bed, kid, while you
still can."

Her eyes were harder than my dick.  I left after thanking Hazel and 
returning her hug.  While climbing the stairs I tried pronouncing under
my breath all the new words I had heard.  I pitied the man who tried to
fuck Mollie's cat.

And then I had the greatest shock of my life.


* * *


My first surprise was the lamp on my desk, which I'd left turned off.  
Now it was pitch dark outside and the lamp was on.  A big woman in a 
housecoat sat at the desk, scanning the magazines.  She looked up.  I 
caught my breath, completely flabbergasted.

It was Joy!

She had started to smile but her face went solemn.  "Aren't you pleased
to see me, Narcy?"

I'm sure my chin was sagging toward my belly.  But I knew the answer was
_yes_, whatever hazard she faced.

"Joy!" I cried, dashing to her.  She pivoted toward me as I ran.  I fell
into her lap and threw my arms around her.  We kissed long and deeply as
she had taught me.

When we broke her fingers pressed my dick through the pants.  A smile 
formed on her wet lips.  "Isn't a bedroom as exciting as a hilltop, 
Narcy?  Oho!  Already I can tell it's feeling better."

I stared at her with great concern.  "What'll Tate say when she finds 
you here?  How'd you get in here anyway?"

She pointed to the door that wouldn't open, now thrown wide.  A dark 
space with different carpet was beyond it.  "Through there.  As to what
Miss Tate says, I'd like to hear that myself."

"But ... but ..."

She laughed.  "Oh, Narcy, I wish you could've seen your face."

I got up and stood beside her.  "I don't understand."

"But you can guess, can't you?"

"Are you the fifth maid?  How do you get from here to the hilltop?"

"By car, of course.  The Braswells own Cardiff Hill nowadays.  They know
I love the view and let me park next to their tennis court."  Her green
eyes twinkled.  "You look so deliciously puzzled.  Let's see if we can 
figure it out."

I waited while she grinned at my expression.

She said, "I couldn't believe it when I saw you in the party room with 
your mother.  Though I'd seen you dressed and in the buff, you'd never 
worn a jacket, white shirt and necktie before.  And Miss Tate was about 
to let that delectable vision get away!"

I suddenly made the connection.  "You were on the balcony over the 
pictures!"

She looked surprised.  "You saw me?"

"I heard the door click when you left."

"For a moment I was afraid you're a better actor than I!  Anyway, that's
why your mother got an offer she wouldn't refuse."

"You mean ..."

"This afternoon who do you think sent Jimpson to Akron on an errand 
that would keep the Ford missing till three o'clock?  I hoped it would 
quit raining and it did.  Then I wondered if you'd come up the hill and
you did, you sweetheart.  And tonight: who would make one girl alone 
serve old hard-to-pop Jeremy so as to tie her up most of the evening?"

"You're the mistress."

Her eyes were searching.  "Did you expect gray hair and lots of 
wrinkles?  Well, I'm starting to get them.  What have they told you 
about me?"

I blinked and shook my head.  "Everyone talks about what you _do_, not 
the way you look."

"_Doing_ is the important part.  I am Mary Laville, a very wealthy woman
who was careful in her choice of husbands, at your service, Frank.  You
might want to consider what that can mean to you."

I blinked.  "What?"

She chuckled softly.  "Because in private you're Narcy, my fister and 
young love reborn, and I'm Joy, your cocksucker and first love.  Now 
give me another kiss, this time like you really mean it."


END Part 4 of 4
Contact kellis@dhp.com

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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