Chapter 38

"Pass me the apple."
- A. to E.

"Where's the Chinese food?" my girlfriend greeted Marge and me as we stepped through the front door.

" 'Welcome back, Mom. Welcome back, Chad, ' " Marge chided her youngest daughter.

Traci's bottom lip curled slightly, but she apologized. "Sorry. Welcome back. Where's the food? Lori said that you were going to pick up some."

In our haste to get to the post office, Marge had scribbled out a note for Lori, explaining where we went. "Afraid we got sidetracked. Why don't you go ahead and order it for us, though I am not that hungry," Marge told Traci.

Asking Traci to use the phone was the same as inviting an alcoholic to an open bar. She spun to comply with her mom's request, only to spin back around after taking a couple of steps. "Where's Rose?"

"She's spending the night at Pollyanna's," Marge answered.

A grin spread across Traci's face and she asked, "Oh? Does that mean I should be ordering for Slave instead of Lori?"

Shaking my head, I said, "No. I don't think your mom and I are in the mood for a repeat of last Friday." Glancing over at Marge, I saw her nodding in agreement.

The grin began to fade as Traci asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Not really. I mean, there is, but there's nothing we can do about it. Tell you what, why don't you go ahead and place the order, and then I'll explain everything once Lori joins us," I told Traci.

While Traci placed the order, Marge went upstairs to retrieve her eldest daughter. Marge and I then told the girls what had happened that afternoon regarding Rose. To Traci's credit, she waited until we finished before she began peppering us with questions.

"Who were the letters from?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. I only saw them for a few seconds, but I did notice that they were prepaid envelopes, though the address was handwritten."

Marge, who could have easily read the letters while she had been comforting Rose, either had not or figured it was none of her daughter's business, because she claimed ignorance as well.

"She didn't say anything when you dropped her off at Pollyanna's?"

"Not really. She just told us that she wanted to spend the night with her girlfriend." Marge's voice had a twinge of hurtfulness in it; perhaps it was because her newest ward felt that she needed to seek comfort from someone other than her.

Lori cut off Traci's next question by asking, "Are you going to need me to pick her up tomorrow?"

Shaking her head, Marge answered, "No, Irene will bring her and Pollyanna over tomorrow morning."

As Traci began to speculate about the letters, I stood up and went out to the backyard. While I did not need to have the cigarette, the smoke break did provide me some peace as I began to work out my feelings.

I was rather unique in the CYA, in that I had grown up devoid of emotions. Perhaps it was because of my specialization, but I had resisted developing them. The first few batches of agents were raised almost clinically; interaction between the instructors had been limited to training. While we had learned at a much faster pace, it was not until the first batch was eight that they realized their mistake; our social retardation made it difficult for us to blend in with others. They rectified the situation by changing the type of contact that they had with us to more of a parental one. For some reason, though, I had found it difficult to come to grips with the new feelings that I was being exposed to and had found it easier to detach myself and mimic them, instead.

When I had left the Compound and begun my new life, I had finally felt safe enough to let myself experience the wide range of human emotions. It was ironic, since it was also the time that I was in the most danger; gone was the protection that I had grown up with. I had discovered that I could still slip in to 'agent mode', wiping all emotions from me, but it was something that I tried to avoid at all costs.

The day's events made me question if emotions were something that I wanted. When I had seen Chuck and Fran arguing, I had been worried that they would say something that they both would regret. The easiest move would to have been to have left them alone, but instead I had stuck my nose where it did not belong. My friendship to them had overridden the logical choice, so I had meddled in their affair. Why was Chuck my friend? Unlike the contacts that I had with the various subcultures at school, he being my friend served no practical purpose. He, David, Mike, John, and Bill were all guys whose company I enjoyed despite any difficulties that they brought.

Seeing Rose suffer had upset me. Anger, frustration, pain, and worry were all emotions that I had experienced when I had seen Rose crying in the backseat. It had been aggravating that I had been stuck behind the wheel and was unable to comfort my friend. At least Marge had had the foresight to sit in back with Rose.

If allowing myself to become close to others meant that I would also feel their pain, was it worth it? Would it not be better in the long run to resort to my previous state: detached and empty of emotions?

"Chad?"

Besides dropping my emotional guard, I had also learned to drop my physical one, as well. I had not even noticed Traci until she said my name. I looked up at my girlfriend.

"Dinner's here."

I blinked in surprise; Rose's situation had not taken too long to explain. My gaze fell upon the ashtray, which was on the patio table that I was sitting at; I realized I had been chain-smoking and that a lot of time had elapsed. Looking back up at Traci, I gave her an apologetic smile.

My doubts about emotions quickly left me as I saw the love in Traci's eyes. The negative emotions were a small price to pay if it meant that I could experience the joy I felt from being with Traci. We accepted each other completely, flaws and all. I could only hope that my eyes reflected as much love for her as hers did for me. I suppressed the urge to stand up, take her in my arms, and give her a soulful kiss -- her tolerance for my smoking could only go so far. Instead, I settled for something equally as important.

"I love you," I said to the most important person in my life.

Ever since Marge had suggested Chinese food, I had been looking forward to it. Perhaps it was because I was still preoccupied with Rose, but the food did not seem to taste as good as it should have. The meal was eaten in silence -- a rare occurrence, indeed -- and I washed the small amount of dishes we had used. After I had dried and put them away, I went into the living room to join the women, who were watching a situation comedy on the plasma; by their expressions, if I asked them what they were watching, they might have been hard-pressed to tell me.

The day had been a rather tolling one, so I decided to call it an evening rather early. As I stood up, the Caspars' phone rang, and despite Lori being closer, Traci was able to grab it first.

"It's Pollyanna," Traci informed us, pausing her conversation just long enough to let us know whom she was talking to. Since she was on the cordless one, she went over to her father's chair; the position she got in told me it was for the long haul. Marge had been amused when I had voiced my concern about the amount of time that her youngest would sometimes be on the phone. She told me that Traci's behavior was normal for the typical teenaged girl, and that Lori had even gone through the same phase. There had been a few occasions when Marge had discovered Traci asleep in bed; the phone still pressed to her ear. It had been a dark day, indeed, in the Caspar household when they had had to go down to one telephone line and limit the amount of time per phone call.

When I left the living room, I kissed Traci on the top of the head and gave Marge and Lori hugs. I opted for a shower instead of a bath and made sure to spend extra time brushing my teeth. While sex might be out of the question that evening, I still wanted to give my love the tender kissing she deserved.

I was in bed when Traci came into the room. Reaching over, I turned on the bedside light as Traci walked over towards me. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she said, "Rose is fine. She and Pollyanna will be coming over around ten tomorrow. Also, I know who the letters are from."

I remained silent and gave her a look. She seemed to read it well, because she rolled her eyes and explained, "Rose told Pollyanna that she could tell me and that I could tell you, Sis, and Mom. Pollyanna is calling Michelle to let her know what is going on."

Traci had been on the phone for a little more than an hour; a short conversation, indeed. Pollyanna calling Michelle explained how she was able to end the chat session so easily. Then again, there was a look of excitement in Traci's eyes, one that I had seen on many occasions. My curious girlfriend thrived on gossip, but she seemed to have learned that I respected other people's privacy. Since Rose had given her blessing, I nodded my head to indicate to Traci that she should continue.

"They were from Rose's dad!"

Of Traci's closest friends' parents, Errol Goodwin was the most enigmatic. I had only found a couple of documents relating to him: Rose's birth certificate and his marriage certificate. Errol did not seem to possess a California driver's license, and any work he did, it seemed to be done under the table. One factor that I found interesting was the difference in age between Errol and Violet. He was eighteen when he married Violet, whereas she was thirty-two. Rose was born just over a year after they wed.

"You know that he walked out on them..."

Traci's voice trailed off when she noticed me shaking my head. While I had been able to deduce that was the most likely explanation, no one had told me outright. Perhaps it was because we had spent so much time together, it was easy to forget that I had only entered their lives less than a half a year ago. Often, it was assumed that I knew stuff, and I had to be careful to remember if it was something that I had been told or something I had turned up in my research.

Undaunted, Traci quickly explained, "Rose and her dad were very close; I mean, they pretty much did everything together. One day, Rose came home from school and discovered her dad gone. Her mom told her that he had walked out on them and had said that he would never see them again. Well, Rose could not believe it, at first, but as time went by and she did not hear anything from him, she slowly began to accept it."

"Anyway, the letters that Rose got were from him. She's not positive, but from what she read, it sounds like he tries to write to her at least once a week. Each letter starts with an apology for not being strong enough to continue living with her mom. Also, from the tone of the letters, it seems like he is pretty much resigned to Rose hating him, since she has not written back to him. He writes what he has been doing and ends each letter saying that he hopes that Rose will forgive him, and that he will always love her."

Traci's eyes began to moisten and she said, "Oh Chad, it is so sad! For the past four years, he must have been writing to her and thinking that the reason why she has not responded was because she hated him."

Sitting up, I reached out, took Traci into my arms, and hugged her. My sign of affection seemed to stave off any tears, because after she broke the embrace, she gave me a loving smile. She stood up and headed to the bathroom to begin her nightly routine. I let my head fall back into the pillow, and I began to review the day's events. When Traci joined me in the bed, I gave her a goodnight kiss, and she rested her head on my shoulder as she snuggled up to me. When she drifted off to sleep, I followed her shortly.

It was just after seven when I woke up the next morning. Thankfully, Traci was a sound sleeper, so she did not wake up when I untangled myself from her. When I got to my feet, I debated about wearing something, since the only other people in the house were my lovers. However, I decided that I wanted to do something that I had not done for a long time: make breakfast for everyone. The idea of being around hot grease without any protection did not seem prudent, so I donned my robe. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I slipped my cigarette case and lighter into the robe's pocket, then left the bedroom.

I was glad that I had decided to wear something when I stepped out into the backyard; it was a chilly morning. I had marveled at the warm days a month prior, but that was before the winter storms began to blow in. It had been a few days since it had last rained and the ground was still wet, which seemed to be the source for the low temperatures. One cigarette later, I was back inside the warm house.

It seemed that I was not the only one taking advantage of the absence of Rose; Marge was at the counter, slicing something. She had her back to me, so I stealthily approached her, careful to stay out of her reach until she set down the knife. Once she did, I moved up, wrapped my arms around her waist, and began to nuzzle her neck.

"Mmm. Good morning, Chad."

I was now able to see that Marge had been slicing a peeled banana; various fruit were set about the counter, and it appeared that she was preparing a fruit salad. As my mouth began to work up from her neck to her earlobe, my right hand began to work its way underneath her terrycloth robe.

"Stop that," Marge protested lightly, giving my arm a playful slap.

"But you just look so sexy when you wear this," I murmured softly.

Marge let out a snort of disbelief regarding her attire. The yellow terrycloth robe that she wore was old, tattered, and had a few faded stains. Despite numerous attempts by her daughters to give her newer nightwear as gifts, she more often than not wore the yellow robe. Marge had confided in me that the robe had once belonged to her sister, Melody.

My hand had been successful in finding its way underneath the robe, and I began to fondle her left breast. Marge flinched slightly when my cold hands made contact with her flesh, but she let out an appreciative moan when my thumb made contact with her sensitive nipple. Thrusting her hips back, she began to grind against my hardening cock. While the previous afternoon's events had been emotionally draining, I seemed to have recovered and was rather randy.

After Marge had untied her robe, she turned around and wrapped her arms around my neck. When she pulled me into a kiss, my lips remained closed. I had skipped brushing my teeth, since I had planned to have a few cigarettes before Traci woke up. Marge's prodding tongue made its way past my lips and into my mouth. As our tongues dueled, my hands cupped her firm buttocks and began to knead them.

When we broke our kiss, I gave Marge an apologetic smile, which she dismissed with a roll of her eyes. Reaching down, she began to untie my robe. When she finished, she let her robe drop to the floor, and I followed suit. Our hands began to freely roam over each other's bodies, and it appeared that we both had the same idea, as our kisses began to make to make their way south. Marge thought she had me beat when she suddenly sank to her knees and gave me a triumphant grin. Her victory was only transitory, because I reached down and easily lifted her into the air. A squeal of surprise escaped from Marge as I set her down on a clear section of the counter.

Before Marge had the chance to escape, my lips latched upon her right nipple. My teeth lightly nipped at it, while my tongue quickly brushed back and forth over the tip. Placing my hands on the countertop, I essentially pinned her in. Marge removed my hair tie and began to run her fingers through my hair. Unlike her youngest daughter, she did not criticize my choice of letting my hair grow out.

After I gave Marge's left nipple the same treatment, I began to trail kisses down her abdomen. Marge parting her thighs signaled me that she was content where she was and no longer a flight risk. My hands went to her kneecaps as I bent my knees, drawing my head level with her delightful sex. Her swollen lips and the dampness that had begun to creep out told me that she was aroused. While there had been times in the past that her wetness had been much greater, she was excited nevertheless.

My tongue encircled her outer lips a few times, and I watched as her inner lips began to unfold. I helped matters along as I parted her lips with my tongue and swiped the tip up through the center to her clit, savoring the sweet nectar that I collected. Inspiration hit me, so I looked up and asked, "Do you have a douche?"

Marge had her head back, but it suddenly snapped forward, her eyes wide in alarm. "Yes, why?!?" she responded, the worry in her voice highly noticeable.

Stront vir breins! Asking a woman if she had a feminine hygiene product, especially after I had begun cunnilingus, had to be one of the dumbest moves that I had made. It ranked right up there among my teasing Traci about Fran. I tried to comfort Marge with a reassuring smile as I replied, "I was just checking." I think that my resumption of eating out her pussy seemed to put her mind at ease that I did not find her scent or taste offensive.

Once Marge's inner lips seemed fully parted, I withdrew my face from her pussy and looked at the collection of fruit that was beside her on the counter. Grabbing a couple of grapes, I inserted them into Marge's opening before lowering my head and biting into them. As the juices from the grapes and Marge intermingled, I slurped it up and used my tongue to gather up any remains of the fruit. I repeated the process a few times before moving on to the honeydew.

Marge had only used half of the melon for the fruit salad, so she watched with an amused grin as I grabbed a knife and chopped off a slice. After I peeled off the skin, I took the honeydew, brought it to her pussy, and began to draw the tip through her folds. I had made sure the slice was somewhat thick so I was able to insert it partly into her vagina. I took a few strokes inside her pussy before Marge reached down, took ahold of my hand, and brought the honeydew up to her lips. Giving me a wink, she stuck out her tongue and began to lick around the tip. Following a few swipes with her tongue, she brought the melon into her mouth and began to suck on it as if she was giving it a blowjob. The fellatio that the honeydew received ended abruptly as Marge brought her teeth down and bit off a sizeable chunk of the melon. A small giggle escaped through Marge's closed lips as I gave a mock shutter over the demise of the poor honeydew. Marge chewed the fruit a few times until I leaned in and gave her a kiss. It was a unique experience to have our tongues duel among the juice and chunks of the melon. When we broke the kiss, I chewed the remnants of melon that had migrated to my mouth; swallowing, I licked up a trail of juice that had escaped from Marge's lips.

Taking the remaining section of the honeydew slice, I slid it as far as I dared into Marge's pussy. Pressing my face against her sex, I took the melon into my mouth and began to consume the fruit, slowly withdrawing it from her vaginal opening. While I did swallow most of the melon, I did keep some in my mouth and repeated the kiss with Marge, this time passing some of the fruit to her.

I was peeling a banana when Marge let out an audible gasp. I turned my head to her and saw that she had a look of surprise on her face. Following her gaze, I turned to see Slave at the entrance of the kitchen in first position. It appeared that Lori was the one that had come downstairs and stumbled across her mom and me, because I spotted her jeans and shirt folded neatly besides Slave. When I looked back at Marge, I saw that a mischievous grin had replaced her previous expression.

It was interesting, the nonverbal communication that Slave and I had developed in a relativity short amount of time. It only took a couple of hand signals to have her stand up, walk across the floor to join us, and have her resume first position. I then resumed peeling the banana and -- after tossing aside the skin -- brought the fruit to Slave's mouth. When she parted her lips, I slid in the banana into her mouth, upon which she proceeded to give the fruit a mini-blowjob as Marge had done earlier to the honeydew. Once I was satisfied that the banana was coated with enough of Slave's saliva, I took the end of the banana from Slave's mouth and transferred it to Marge's pussy. Since it was less rigid than the honeydew, I did not insert it as far as I had done with the previous fruit. When I ate the banana, I swallowed the section that had stuck out from her. Marge's vaginal control was evident, as the portion that had been inserted into her was pretty well mashed. After using my finger to scrape out any leftovers I could find and transferring them to my mouth, I turned and squatted further down to kiss Slave. Slave appeared hungry, since her tongue scooped a majority of the banana from my mouth to hers.

Breaking the kiss with Slave, I turned my attention back to Marge's pussy. As I positioned my head between her thighs, I took my hands and guided her legs over my shoulders. I do not think Marge suspected anything until she felt my hands began to slide around to her buttocks.

"Oh shiiiiiiit!" Marge squealed when I quickly hoisted her into the air; my face pressed against her pussy. She flailed slightly at the sudden shift of positions, but steadied herself when she reached down and grabbed ahold of my head. Once I felt certain that she had settled down, I pivoted around until I was facing towards Slave. Marge's pulling of my hair provided a good distraction as Slave resumed her oral ministrations, this time upon my manhood.

As confident as I was in my physical capabilities, Marge's tension from fear of falling was a huge hurtle to overcome to bring her to orgasm. Nevertheless, I ate her out for a good eight minutes before turning back around and setting her down. One of the reasons why it took so long was that I had to wait until my cock was not encircled by Slave's lips; a shift in her technique, where she began to tongue my balls while pumping her fist on my cock, provided me the opportunity to move.

"Bastard!" Marge called me with humor in her voice and a grin, as she hopped down from the counter. She was somewhat breathless, but it was difficult to tell how much was from me eating her pussy or the perceived risk she had been in. She then looked down at Slave and commanded, "Slave, get up on the counter."

"Yes, Master's Lover," Slave answered after her eyes darted over to me and I had given her a barely noticeable nod of my head. Marge did not appear to mind that Slave deferred to me before answering; she had heard about rule number eight, which stated that 'Slave shall submit only to Master or those whom he explicitly designates'. I helped Slave up onto the counter -- a task that was much easier than with Marge, since she was a willing participant and upright. Marge moved to beside Slave and began preparing the fruit that she would need. In addition to the grapes, honeydew, and bananas, Marge grabbed an apple, cinnamon, and a bottle of honey. While Marge was busy slicing the apple, I moved between Slave's legs and proceeded to make out with her. The experience was interesting, to say the least; I tasted my precum in her mouth while she tasted Marge's secretions intermixed with a jubilee of fruit -- and possibly the faint aftereffects of my morning cigarette. It seemed that we lost track of time while we explored each other's mouths, since it was not until Marge cleared her throat that we broke our kiss.

I gave Marge an apologetic smile as I stepped aside and she resumed my place. Marge then proceeded to mimic what I had done to her earlier on Slave. When Marge's lips wrapped around Slave's right nipple, I was tempted to do the same to her left, but I decided to concentrate on Marge, instead. Brushing her hair to one side, I began to trail small kisses from the nape of her neck down the center of her back. My hands caressed along her back, as well, though with each pass, they slowly worked their way towards her front. By the time my lips had reached the small of her back, my hands had found their way to Marge's breasts and had begun to fondle them. They were only there for a short while, because I moved them down to her buttocks when my lips reached the crack of her ass.

"Stop, Chad! I didn't have an enema," Marge said somewhat worriedly as I spread her asscheeks and had begun to worm my tongue towards her sphincter.

"You showered this morning, right?"

"Yes, but--"

"No buts except for this one," I replied, giving Marge's cute ass a light spank to accent my point.

Marge let out a groan, though I think it had less to do with my pun and more to the fact that my tongue snaked out and brushed against her rosebud. I probed Marge's asshole firmly with my tongue, careful not to penetrate it. After a minute or so of doing that, I removed my face and stood up.

It appeared that Marge had inserted a slice of honeydew into Slave and had begun the process of eating it. I used Marge's preoccupation with the melon to slip over to the refrigerator. Vegetables should be included in a well-balanced diet, so I retrieved a cucumber from the vegetable drawer. I was able to select one whose circumference was only a tad thicker than my cock. Marge's face was still between Slave's thighs, so I stealthily made my way over to the microwave. I placed the cucumber inside the microwave and set the timer for ten seconds. I figured it was better to check the temperature after a short interval and repeat the process instead of risking overheating it. It took only a few times until I got the cucumber to just above body temperature. By now, Marge knew that I was up to something, but her fixation of licking up the honey that she had drizzled upon Slave's patch of pubic hair kept her distracted.

As I made my approach towards Marge, I made a quick stop at the counter by the stove to retrieve the small bottle of olive oil that was kept there. I removed the bottle's cap and left it on the counter, since I knew that my hands would be full with the cucumber and oil. It was uncertain if Marge was deliberately ignoring what I was up to or not, but when I resumed my place behind her, it seemed that she was none the wiser as to what I had in store for her.

I started off by pouring a tablespoon of oil at the crack of her butt and watched as it worked its way down to her asshole. Transferring the cucumber from my left hand to my right (so that I was holding both the cucumber and oil in my right), I took the forefinger of my now-free hand and inserted it between Marge's ass cheeks and allowed the oil to pool around her rosebud. When I began to massage her anus, I was careful not to penetrate her delicate little flower. The task was made easier to complete when Marge widened her stance.

Satisfied that I had lubricated Marge's sphincter the best I could externally, I began to work on the instrument that was going to be inside of her. Fortunately, I was dexterous enough to coat three-fourths of the cucumber with the olive oil without getting any on my right. When I was finished with the oil, I set the bottle down beside me and began the process of introducing the cucumber to Marge's asshole.

While the olive oil might have been extra-virgin, Marge's asshole was far from it; the tip of the cucumber slid into her without too much pressure. The moan that Marge let out was muffled slightly as she continued eating Slave's pussy. Marge's moans intensified as I began to work the cucumber deeper into Marge's asshole; the circumference quickly surpassed the size of my cock.

"Can I come, Master?"

I was surprised that Slave had reached the point of orgasm so quickly. Since she was forbidden from pleasuring herself without my permission, I knew that she had not been manipulating herself while she had been sucking my cock. The fact that I had felt her using both of her hands on me reinforced that point. Still, it was quite a feat for Marge to bring Slave to the edge of ecstasy faster than I had done for her. Then again, she had not ruined the mood by asking Slave if she had a douche.

"Not yet. You shall wait until Marge comes, then you are free to come as often as you want."

"Yes, Master," Slave panted, unsuccessful in her attempt to hide her disappointment. Slave's knuckles began to turn white as she gripped the countertop tightly, trying to hold off her orgasm the best she could. Marge did not help Slave prolong her orgasm, as she began lap at Slave's pussy in earnest.

In the past, Slave had always been successful in postponing her orgasm until instructed. I wanted her to keep her perfect record intact, so I focused on getting Marge off. The fingers on my left hand were still slick with oil -- not that it was needed, as I discovered Marge's clit was already wet. My fingers rubbed Marge's clit more or less in the same tempo as I fucked Marge's ass with the cucumber. It only took a couple of minutes for Marge to come, whereas Slave followed her less than half a minute later.