Chapter 4

All the way back to the lodge, mother and son were silent, but for very different reasons. Vince was thinking blissfully of the days ahead, when the day’s pleasure might be repeated, and wondering how soon he dared ask his mother to end his unwanted state of virginity. Tara was consumed with guilt, for having given way to her impulses again and for possibly corrupting Vince, and she was determined never to have a repetition of today’s events.

It was Tara’s judgment which won out, at least temporarily. After dinner she went to say goodnight to Vince, but his eager pleas for her to lie down with him for a while were rejected.

“Aw, please, Mother,” the boy begged, “just stay with me till I go to sleep! We don’t have to DO anything!”

Keeping a safe distance from the bed, Tara shook her head and replied, “No, Vince, we’ve gone too far already. I just won’t risk having it happen again. You don’t seem to understand how wrong it is. What we did is a crime, Vince, a very serious crime. If anybody found out what we’d done, we could both be arrested. So we have to stop. And that’s my last word on the subject. Good night, Vince.”

He started to protest, but she had already left the room. Vince pounded his pillow in helpless anger. What was he going to do, how was he going to change her mind? Because he just had to change her mind, otherwise, he felt, he couldn’t survive. Leaving his foster parents, the critical and straitlaced Beechers, and coming to Tara, so unexpectedly sexy and loving—all this had been like escaping from prison to paradise. He couldn’t let it be spoiled by her silly hang-ups or by some ridiculous law!

Well, obviously he couldn’t accomplish anything more that night. Tara was clearly in a grim mood. But tomorrow ... Maybe he could get her to take another walk around the lake, where they’d be alone, get her to take another nude swim. Somehow he was going to change her mind.

Proud of her firmness, Tara returned to her room, thinking that after a few days of consistent refusal on her part, Vince would give up his attempts to continue their evil pleasures. Yes, this was definitely the way to handle it: by firmly controlling herself, she could control the boy. Perhaps it would all turn out well, after all...

Tara opened her bedroom door, stepped inside, and found herself confronting the leering figure of Clyde Simmons. The nerve of the man! He was naked, lying in her bed smoking a cigarette, as if he had every right to be there! Tara reddened with anger.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing,” she hissed, “but I’m telling you to get out of my bed, and out of this lodge, right now! If you don’t, I’ll phone for help and get you thrown out. You’re not welcome here any longer.”

Clyde only grinned. He had the covers pulled up only to his waist, so that his broad sunburned chest, covered with reddish hairs, was displayed. “Now, now, sweetheart,” he said and chuckled, “just simmer down. I got something to tell you, something you better hear, before you start callin’ in the Mounties.” His watery blue eyes narrowed to evil slits, and his voice was full of leering triumph: “I seen you and your kid today. You know what I’m talkin’ about, out there by the lake. I figure you’re gonna have to be nice to me, real nice.”

Tara felt her heart stop, felt the blood drain from her face. Fortunately she was incapable of speech for the moment, and that gave her time to think. Clyde might be lying. His accusation might be just a lucky shot. Even if that seemed unlikely—for he probably didn’t have the imagination to concoct such a bizarre story—he still had no proof of what he had seen, and it was very unlikely that anyone would believe him. Tara was a Canadian citizen by now and had a very high reputation with her neighbors. They wouldn’t credit Clyde’s lurid tale. Yes, she was sure she could brazen it out. That was her only choice, unless she wanted to go to bed with Clyde, and the very thought of that made her shudder.

Smiling calmly, Tara said, “Nonsense, Mr. Simmons! I’ll certainly deny anything you say.”

Clyde gawked at her a moment, and then his surprise turned to anger. “You got nerve, I’ll say that for you! I seen you, seen everything you done, sucking that boy’s cock, lettin’ him eat your pussy! I heard you, heard how much you liked it! And you tried to pretend you were frigid! Well, I’m not fooled any more, baby, and I intend to get some of that good stuff for myself! So take your choice, either put out for me, or I’ll go to the Mounties!”

Tara couldn’t help blushing as he spoke. Dear God, he was telling the truth. He really had seen her and Vince this afternoon! She felt deeply humiliated to know that this evil, leering man had watched her in her most intimate moments. But she would never give in to him, never let him touch her! The very sight of him—paunchy, red-faced, filthy minded—repelled her.

“Go ahead and call the Mounties,” she said coldly. “They’ll never believe you. But while you’re on the phone, make reservations for you and your wife somewhere else. I want you out of here by tomorrow morning. And I want you out of my bed right now.”

To reinforce her demands, Tara walked to her dresser, opened a drawer, and took out a small automatic pistol. Being alone much of the time, she kept the gun for emergencies, but in her twenty years at the lodge, she’d only had to use it once, to scare away a bear who’d been tipping over the garbage cans. She hoped the gun still worked, but she also hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. She didn’t really want to hurt Clyde, only wanted him to go away and leave her alone. As she inspected the gun, she heard him getting out of bed, and she prayed that he’d just get dressed and leave without further argument.

Clyde sensed that he was beaten, that his seemingly brilliant plan of blackmail hadn’t worked. Tara Johnson had more guts than he’d imagined. More than guts—gall. It took gall to deny the kind of thing she’d done, rolling around in the grass sucking off her own son. Although completely amoral himself, Clyde was nevertheless shocked at her behavior.

He slipped out from beneath the covers and dressed and left the room.

It was after nine o’clock, and Becky wondered where her husband was. Not that she wanted him with her-it was incredibly pleasant to have the bed to herself, a nice surprise when Clyde hadn’t shown up to fuck her like he’d threatened. But it was quite dark out already and getting cold—where was he? Moved by curiosity, she put on her robe and slippers and went down to the main room of the lodge.

There was nobody there but Harold Davis, who was sitting by the fireplace reading a novel. He blushed deeply when Becky appeared and said timidly, “Oh, good evening, Mrs. Simmons.”

Becky couldn’t help smiling. How could such a big guy be so bashful? She sneaked a glance at his crotch, wondering if he was well hung. She had always wondered if height and build had anything to do with the size of the penis. All her life she’d had only one man, Clyde, and over the years her curiosity had grown to a fever pitch—what were other men like in bed? She felt a wicked urge to seduce Harold Davis—he looked like he’d be easy, and certainly SHE was ready. But it would be smart to find out where Clyde was first. If he should catch her with another man, he’d kill her.

“Hi, Mr. Davis,” she said pleasantly. “Have you seen my husband around anywhere?”

“Why, no, I haven’t,” said Harold. “Could he be doing some night fishing?”

“Uh-uh,” replied Becky, “at least not that I know of. Well, I’ll have a look around.”

Reluctantly she left Harold Davis. Why did she have this hunch that he had an enormous cock? Was it just wishful thinking? She realized how ripe she was for her first affair, and she regretted having to pass up the opportunity to seduce Harold, but she just couldn’t take any chances. Clyde had a vicious temper, and she shuddered to think what he’d do if he caught her being unfaithful. Damn him anyhow, where was he? If she could just locate him, be sure he was occupied somewhere else, then she might be able to get back to Harold Davis tonight.

Becky looked in the kitchen and the billiard room, found no one, and proceeded upstairs. There was a possibility she hadn’t considered, that he might be with Tara Johnson. She hadn’t considered it because it seem so unlikely. Certainly Clyde had the hots for Tara, a four-year-old could see that, but it was equally clear that Tara wasn’t at all attracted to Clyde. Becky had noticed how her hostess shuddered every time Clyde got near her or attempted to flirt with her. And so Becky hadn’t really thought much about it, assuming that her husband didn’t stand a chance with the beautiful owner of the lodge. But now she was having second thoughts. After all, where else could he be? He was too fond of his own comfort to go fishing or walking on a cold night.

Quietly Becky made her way down the second floor hall to Tara’s room. She was surprised to see her husband come out of Tara’s room. Any other woman would have misunderstood the situation, but not Becky Simmons. She noticed the annoyed expression in her husband’s face and understood what had happened. He had come on to Tara, but Tara had turned him down.

“I’m going for a walk, don’t expect me back for a couple of hours,” Clyde muttered to Becky brusquely.

Becky wanted to laugh at the embarrassed expression on his face. After Clyde left the lodge, she went searching for Harold.

Harold Davis had read the same sentence at least ten times without comprehending it. Damn it all, couldn’t he ever get his mind off sex? When Mrs. Simmons had spoken to him a few moments ago, he’d noticed the peculiar gleam in her eye and the way her glance darted secretively to his crotch. Inexperienced as he was, he couldn’t help believing that if she’d had the chance, she would have made a play for him. If he’d been just a little bolder, he could’ve been in bed with her right now, getting the vigorous fuck he so desperately needed. Now he was getting a stiff erection just thinking about it. Damn his timidity! Why had he passed up such a golden opportunity to get laid?

Of course he wasn’t wildly attracted to Mrs. Simmons. He didn’t see how any man could be. She was certainly pleasant enough, and she must have been quite attractive at one time, but now she was definitely over the hill. Her dark blonde hair was thin and frowzy, her tits beginning to sag, and she was overweight and wore far too much make-up. She didn’t arouse him in-the hot eager way that Tara did. Nevertheless, he would not have turned her down. He was horny enough to fuck his own grandmother right now.

Sighing, Harold tossed aside his book and got up to pace the floor. Really, this was too much. His whole life was becoming subordinated to his obsession with sex. He ought to marry, but who would have him? He shuddered as he answered the question. In the small Idaho town where he taught school, there was a middle-aged spinster, Miss Tate, who’d been after him for years. He had no doubt that Miss Tate would marry him in a second—but, God, could he even get it up for a woman like her? Excruciatingly thin, she had no hips and no tits that he could discern, and she had a face like a horse’s ass. Equally repulsive was her manner, mincing, shrill, and nauseatingly cute. No, he could never marry Miss Tate, no matter how horny he was.

He HAD to do better than that! If he was to marry, he wanted a beautiful sexy woman like Tara Johnson.

Fat chance, Harold thought ruefully. And in the meantime he had this aching horniness to cope with. Better give in to it, go upstairs to his room and jack off. When he entered his room, he was in for a surprise.

Becky Simmons was on his bed, naked, on all fours and inviting him to fuck her from behind. She was feverishly frigging herself, her fingers playing rapidly with her clit.

He saw that glint in her eyes again, the same lusty look she’d given him downstairs. She winked at him. Harold was dumbfounded. Did she mean to seduce him here and now?

She did. She knelt there, awaiting him, and Harold saw that he had only to kneel behind her to obtain relief from the fierce erection which threatened to burst his pants. Yet he hesitated.

Certainly he wanted to fuck her.

“Come on!” Becky whispered urgently. “What’re you waiting for?”

A great stream of pussy juice flowed down her inner thighs, testifying to her readiness, and Harold lost all control of himself. He just had to get laid, it had been so damned long! Fumbling at his fly, he drew out his painfully stiff penis, long and thick and menacing, then knelt between her legs, steadying himself by grasping her fat buttocks. With a deep sigh and a profound shudder, he wedged the creaming tip of his huge cock into the flooded hot mouth of her cunt, then pushed. He and Becky groaned in unison. Harold whined softly as he felt his stiff meat enveloped by her juicy sheath, and Becky grimaced with joyful lust as he penetrated her. God, his cock was even bigger than she’d dreamed, a real stud! She began moving her hips to the rhythm of his deep thrusts.