The Stowaway's Keeper
Copyright© 2024 by HppyHrryHrdn
Chapter 59: Waffle House
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 59: Waffle House - In the 80's, John was looking to go some place no one would know him. He was not planning on starting his new life with a 14 year old girl. She and her friends keep his life anything but mundane, despite his best intentions to keep it that way at his new home. Codes will change as story progresses.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft mt/Fa ft/ft Fa/ft Teenagers Coercion Consensual Drunk/Drugged Reluctant Fiction Incest Brother Sister Humiliation Spanking Gang Bang Anal Sex Analingus Double Penetration Oral Sex Pegging Pregnancy Slow
I didn’t catch sight of Mandy and her purple hair for over an hour after taking the video equipment back to the van. The sun was already down, but her hair caught the lamplight like a spotlight shining on her. Her family was just catching up to her and seemed not to know how she had spent her day. They didn’t act like they knew their mother had spent the day getting fucked in every possible way by the whole cast of Snow White instead of spending time with them at the Magic Kingdom.
Her daughter said, “You okay, Mommy?”
She looked down at the girl who would one day be a mini-me of her mother, hopefully only in looks. “I’m fine, Cassy. I just needed some medicine.”
The little girl said, “I don’t like medicine. It always tastes bad or has shots that hurt.”
“Not all medicines taste bad. Some actually taste really good, especially when mixed with something hot and creamy. And the injections only hurt initially. But by the time they are pulled out, the hurt is gone and the injected medicine makes you feel so good you don’t mind,” Mandy explained, not being overly clear with her daughter about her meaning.
Her son jumped into the conversation. “Did you have to get a shot today?”
“Yes, I had several shots, but I really enjoyed the creamy oral medicine. It was thick and warm, and I think I will be fine for the rest of the week. But if not, I can always go back and have Doc give me the treatment again.” I was fairly sure she would be going back to Doc for both the chemical drugs and the injections of biological fluids that acted as her panacea.
Sandy had headed to the bathroom the instant the two kids ran toward their mother, missing the whole double-entendre conversation. It would have been interesting to hear how the conversation would have differed had she been there. Having missed the obfuscated talk, the kids had moved on to the rides they had gone on and how they wanted to come back and have her do all the rides with them.
All Mandy said to the continual requests to return was, “We’ll see how good you are tonight. If you’re good, then we might come back.”
Sandy showed back up and asked, “Do you want to stay a little longer or head back home? We can always come back tomorrow.”
“Let’s go home, and we’ll talk about coming back in the morning. But maybe we’ll do something with a little less walking tomorrow.” Mandy shifted her ass, no longer grimacing when she found a comfortable position. “Can you take the kids to the car? I’m going to get them a little something tonight, in case we don’t come back this trip.”
“Sure. I’ll pull up as close as I can to the gate so we don’t have to wait for you to walk all the way to the car.” Sandy was either being practical or had seen Mandy’s difficulty moving.
“Great, thanks,” Mandy said. “Kids, go with your aunt. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Her future mini-me whined, “I want to stay with you.”
“Remember what I said about being good in order to come back tomorrow? Is this being good?” she asked Cassy.
Cassy huffed but turned and went with her aunt. Mandy had not tried to make a move while her sister could see her. Once the three of them were gone, I decided there would not be a better chance to contact my target. As a thirty-year-old man who had already entered the park alone twice and once with video equipment, I was surely on somebody’s radar. I didn’t want to go for a third time if I didn’t have to.
Dodging people in the crowd, I approached Mandy, who was still walking a bit awkwardly from the day’s activities with the dwarves and Snow White. Intentionally bumping into her and acting as if I had stumbled a bit made knocking her purse from her hand look accidental. She took the purse when it was extended to her with a “Sorry about that.”
She didn’t really look at me as she focused on the purse I handed to her, making sure her wallet was still in it. Not looking at me, she said, “No problem.” It was like she was trying to get rid of me. Bending down as if I were picking up some paper, I palmed the small picture already in my hand. It was of her gangbang at a strip club in South Carolina. On the back, it had a short note: Meet me at 1:00 a.m. at the Waffle House on East Colonial Drive.
“I think this fell out of your purse,” I said, handing her the small photo. As soon as she took it, the swarm of people in the area swallowed me up before she could say anything. From inside the swarm I could see her face while she looked into the setting sun. She turned the picture over and froze. The glossy photo showed her wearing only a black mask, bent over in the middle of the strip club stage. One thick cock was buried deep in her pussy while another was rammed down her throat, making it bulge. Her tits swung heavily beneath her, nipples hard, and her eyes were rolled back in pure slutty bliss as the two men used her holes at the same time. Cum already glistened on her chin and thighs.
The angry look from having her purse knocked to the ground turned to one of shock. Her face went pale. Her lips formed the words, “Oh my God.”
Mandy scanned the crowd for a full minute. Not seeing me, she finally turned the picture over. Again, to herself she said, “What the fuck,” then, “Oh hell no.” Her reactions were not unexpected. Her following the script of reactions made me sure she would meet me while I sat eating my scattered, smothered, covered, and chunked hash browns. The shock on her face told me she needed to know why someone in Florida had pictures of her from South Carolina. She also needed information on what I planned to do with them.
She walked to the exit in a haze, abandoning whatever shopping she had planned. With Mandy leaving the park, I left a few minutes later. There was work that had to be done before our Waffle House meeting.
Back at the hotel there was time for a twenty-minute nap and to transfer some of today’s video to Polaroids. I put the stack of photos in an envelope in the order I would show them to Mandy. I left the hotel at 12:30 for my midnight snack. The local diner in my new hometown did a pretty good job, but there was just something about Waffle House. Living in Montana had its advantages, but not having a Waffle House for hundreds of miles was not one of them. Their eggs, waffles, and hash browns couldn’t be beaten. The meeting with Mandy was just an added benefit.
I sat in the back corner booth, watching the door between bites of my double order of hash browns. Looking over at the clock as it displayed 1:01, I realized there was nothing explicitly stating that not showing up would get the pictures sent to her husband and now her sister. I thought it was fairly clear, or should have been, that not showing up was not an option. No more thought was given to Mandy not showing up when the headlights of an M4 swept through the restaurant windows. It was either someone out for a midnight snack or my requested guest. The car door slam could be heard through those windows before the bell on the entry door tinkled. That let me know it was Mandy before even seeing her.
Mandy came crashing through the door. She was a woman on a mission. She stormed past the empty booths with their red padded seats and white tables. There was anger on her face that even made the two workers behind the counter pause. Coming in hot was one way to play it, but not how I would have done it. Already being over a barrel, a bit of deference to the person who had gotten her out late at night, likely without telling anyone where or why she was leaving at such a late hour, would have made more sense.
Storming across the tile floor toward me, Mandy stopped beside the table where I was calmly sitting. Her attitude didn’t stop me from putting another forkful of hash browns in my mouth. My lack of reaction to her presence only pissed her off more. She slammed the picture I had given her face-down on the table, making my plate rattle. I calmly asked, “Would you like to talk, Mandy?”
Using her name unsettled her for a second. It showed all over her face. When she regained what would have been called control of herself, she pointed at the message I had left on the back of the picture. In a low growl, she asked, “Who the hell are you? And what makes you think you can spy on me?”
I turned the picture over and pointed to the image of her with her throat bulged from the cock wedged in it and her cunt being filled by a thick dick, her tits hanging down. Looking her in the eyes and seeing her fear covered by anger, I said, “I am the guy you now work for.”
I had kept my answer conversational, again raising her hackles. She pointed to the same picture, but her voice and tone were far from calm. “If you think I’m going to do that for you, you’re wrong. I’m not a whore. So get it out of your head. I won’t be your whore despite what you think.” She then said, even more unhinged and louder, “I am not a whore.”
Putting forkfuls of the best thing you can get at Waffle House in my mouth, I waited for Mandy to calm down just a bit. It was like she wanted to pace back and forth like a shark always on the move, but her feet were planted next to the table. It made her sway instead of pace. Tired of looking up at her, I commanded her, “Sit.” I poured her a cup of coffee from the stainless carafe the waitress had left me.
Mandy stared at the coffee, not sitting or reaching for the white cup. She was frozen in place, still swaying nervously. She finally said in a huff, “Fine, what do you want?” Her sliding into the bench across from me was anything but smooth as she continued staring at the coffee cup.
When her ass was on the bench, I nodded to the cup. “It’s not drugged if that is what you are worried about.” She picked up the small cup and took a sip as I continued. “So far I know that you are an educated engineer and a wife to a man who thinks you’re a frigid bitch. You two have two small children, a boy and a girl. Their names are Harrison and Cassy. And you just happen to be a complete and total slut.”
As I spoke to her, I laid the 8x10 black-and-white glossies on the table. One on top of the other, letting her see what I had on her. Again her face went pale and all defiance that I had witnessed earlier vanished as she said, “Please, put those away. Somebody might see them.”
I informed her, “Those are yours. And yes, someone might see them. That’s why you’re going to work for me. Because somebody might see them.”
She looked downtrodden and asked, “So I have to be your whore, just to keep those hidden?”
“I said, those are yours. I have the negatives. The pictures that are much more, shall we call them, revealing about your behavior than those are somewhere safe. And no, you’re not going to be my whore. I’m not going to be paying you.” I took the cup from her hand and took a drink to show her I could do as I liked when it came to her.
Mandy looked relieved for about a second when I said she was not going to be my whore. The relief was short-lived when I alluded to her still needing to act like one without getting paid. And I had no respect for her personal space.
Appearing to understand her position and what I had, she asked, “Oh my God, what do you want me to do to get the negatives back from you? I can’t have these seen by anyone that knows me. Them getting out would ruin my life.”
Putting the coffee cup back down in front of her, I nodded to it. “That and the photos you have in front of you are yours. The negatives are mine. You can forget about getting them from here on out. But they will stay just negatives if, when I need you, you come and do what I say. No questions asked.”
She took a sip of the coffee I had put back on the table and objected a little to my requirements. “But I have a family. I can’t just drop everything just because you need to satisfy some sexual need. And you think I can fulfill it.”
“You think way too much of yourself,” I informed her. “If I want to get laid, there are plenty of women out there who are happy to do so. You just happen to fit a demographic that I need for this particular occasion. So I only need you to come and do as you’re told, no questions asked.”
Again looking relieved, she inquired, “So you’re not going to make me have sex with you?”