Chapter 10

Sometime later, Charlene knew, she must have awakened sufficiently to climb the stairs to her room. She hadn't come to consciousness with enough certainty to draw the bedcovers and get beneath them. She was sure of that, because when she woke up later -- much later, and she never knew for certain what had done it -- she was lying naked on top of the spread.

Spread on the spread. The phrase came to mind unbidden. She smiled, shifted slightly on the bed -- and then groaned softly at the dull pains coursing through her anal region.

I must be red as a tomato back there. To make matters worse, looking in retrospect at her ass-fucking, she couldn't imagine or remember the sheer intensity of the moment's pleasure. It didn't seem worth it.

Though she knew it had been.

Damn!

Gingerly, long legs moving with slow, careful grace, she got to her feet. Her eyes went to the clock: four-ten a.m. And then she heard a noise.

It was muted, barely audible. Charlene strained, concentrated on picking it out. It seemed to be coming from downstairs. Quickly, she pulled on her robe and loosely belted it, then went down the steps as rapidly as she could -- considering her delicate ache.

The sound was much clearer at the bottom of the steps. It was coming from her mother's room, from the other side of the closed door.

Is she in there fucking him right now? No! Even Derek can't be that insatiable!

She knew he could be.

Charlene paused outside her mother's door, pressed her ear close... and then froze. What she was hearing was not the sound of passionate lovemaking.

What she was hearing was the sound of sadness.

Her mother was crying.

"Mom?" She tapped lightly on the door.

The weeping continued. A thought whisked over the periphery of her awareness: perhaps her mother had seen Derek and perhaps he'd told her of the afternoon fuck session they'd enjoyed.

But surely her mother wouldn't be broken up over that. After all, they'd both shared a single man simultaneously. Neither had been particularly broken up about it; quite the contrary -- her mother had seemed all the more turned on for the experience.

"Mom?" She knocked again, a little harder.

No sign of awareness. The sad sound continued.

Charlene made her decision. She gripped the door knob, turned it, pushed the door inward, saw her mother.

Liz stood with her back to the door, facing the big dresser and the mirror above it. She stood there, unmoving except for the shuddering and sagging of her shoulders as she sobbed. She stood there, naked as a jaybird.

Charlene pulled up short, unnerved. "Mom?"

Her mother seemed unaware of her presence, staring at her own voluptuously nude reflection through puffy, bloodshot eyes and crying. Her magnificent breasts heaved and bobbled with her weeping. Charlene couldn't help noticing that her mother's nipples were, stiffened, fully swollen. "Are you all right, Mom?"

Slowly, she crossed the room towards her mother, bare feet sinking into the plush softness of the carpeting with each step. She stopped behind her mother, staring into her mother's eyes' reflection of Liz's shoulder. "Mom?" she repeated, this time the syllable little more than a whisper to her mother's ear. "What is it?"

"H-he doesn't want me any-anymore," her mother sobbed without turning.

"Who doesn't -- " And then she cursed herself for being dense. Derek, of course.

Had he told Liz of the afternoon tryst? "Why not, Mom?" she asked uncertainly, half-afraid of the answer.

"H-he says I'm old and sagging and -- Oh, Charly!"

And suddenly her mother had turned, almost falling into Charlene's arms. She felt momentary relief: obvious she didn't know. But then that relief was immediately supplanted with sympathy, tenderness -- and all of it augmented by her own guilty conscience. Charlene tightened her arms about her mother's heaving back, holding her tightly to herself, unable not to be aware of the liquid pressure of her mother's firm, strong breasts against her own taut tits. She could smell liquor on her mother's breath and knew that Liz was more than half potted.

After a few minutes, the racking sobs quieted some. Charlene patted her mother's tousled hair gently, soothing. "It's all right, Mom," she said. "Who made him the expert all of a sudden, any --"

"But it's true, Charly, it's true!" her mother gasped out as the weeping renewed itself. "I am old and I am sagging and I am ugly and -- "

"No!"

Suddenly fierce, Liz gripped her daughter's shoulders, pushed herself back and free of Charlene's arms. She stood there before her daughter as her arms fell to her sides. "Look!" she hissed. "Just look at me! I'm old, Charlene. Men don't want me anymore!"

"But that's not -- that can't be -- why?" Charlene stammered. "You're still beautiful and --"

"Because they want -- this!" And with sudden strength, her mother reached out with both hands, gripped the material of Charlene's flimsy robe and tore it open -- revealing the teenager's gorgeous charms. "They want breasts that are firm and smooth like yours, a waist tiny enough to cover with two hands, slim hips that never carried a child --"

And as she spoke, Liz was moving her hands lightly over the attributes she described.

"-- legs that are long and lean and smooth, a tiny little ass as hard as a rubber ball. They want girls, Charly, like you -- not mature women like me!" And again, the sobbing was renewed.

Charlene reached out with both hands and gathered her mother into her arms again. This time she felt Liz's mountainous naked breasts pressing directly against her own uncovered tits. She could somehow feel heat radiating from her mother's cunt to her own sweet, tight, fiery-furred little nooky hole.