Chapter 11

Stace had said the ‘movers’ called Terry, “Mr. Drangren.” When she returned from school, she found me at her desk searching online for that name.

“Mom, I need the computer for school.”

I erased the URL history before getting up. “I’ll be gone for supper. Do take care of your dad.”

“I can’t stand him!” She admitted.

“Well, don’t cut yourself over it. Now that you’re signed on to be Terry’s whore, any marks will drop your price.”

She gave me the finger. I exited and closed the door. My searches had been a tedious pain but ultimately successful. I found an archived page for Terry’s law practice. Court records from his trial gave an address. I checked the housing market for the place I found on a maps site. It was a two bedroom, one bath, 70’s cookie cutter design that hadn’t been sold since before Terry’s arrest. County records revealed its title was in the name of a Marlee Jackson. I looked up her name but found only BS pages.

I donned a headscarf and sunglasses and went out into the overcast but dry streets. It took two hours to walk to the address. I spent another thirty minutes looking it over from a distance. The place was a dump on an untended small plot. Nobody had given it any love for years. This had been a nice neighborhood twenty years ago, but the LINK rail had sent those who could afford to move, miles closer to it. Still Marlee Jackson’s home stuck out like a sore thumb from its neighbors.

I found a way to creep into the lot unobserved. The sun was still hovering over the horizon. I heard a woman shout.

“ ... those fancy clothes don’t make you any less a fool, Terrance. Nobody is gonna be looking at your whitey threads when you’re the ugliest nigger alive!”

“Yes, Momma.”

“Don’t you stop sucking, Boy. Momma’s got a lot more to feed you.”

I found a window near the sound. A woman, half the size of Terry, her face shining, sat naked on a sturdy kitchen table with plates of food piled behind her. A black head shook between her thighs. Terry was sucking his mother’s cunt! Half his size, yet fat by most standards, Mrs. Jackson might have been pretty in her youth. Her hair dangled wildly, stricken with gray. It was an unkempt mane, that hid her ears and neck. Her breasts drooped almost flat but they must have been large once. They hung down her chest like elephant ears. For some reason, her fat grew only around her belly and across her ass.

Mrs. Jackson reached behind her and grabbed a handful of mashed potatoes. “Momma won’t let her ugly, nigger boy starve, un-uh.”

It was a signal for Terry to pull away. As soon as his face cleared her pussy, she plastered it with mashed potatoes. “Don’t get any on the floor. You know I hate cleaning up after you.

“Yes, Momma.” He stuck out his tongue and lapped everything that might drip from between his mother’s thighs. Then he ducked deeper between them, and his mother moaned. She hung on to his head. “You ain’t good for nothing but sucking your old lady’s puss, Terrance. You know I love you, but this love has to be mean. You did wrong, getting caught with drugs. At least you ain’t one of them addict niggers.”

His head shook, no.

“Suck me baby. Momma’s gonna cum again.” She reached this time for a butter slathered ear of corn. It almost flew out of her hand, when she yelled. “MYYYYY BOOOOYYY!” Her other hand held her son’s head to her cunt while she shuddered bodily on the table.

When that hand leg go of him, he pulled back breathing heavily as if she had been smothering him. His mouth was spattered with white mash. Mrs. Jackson stuffed the corn up her hole. “Now you take your time and chew well, Nigger.”

In this case, ‘chewing’, had a double meaning. Terry bit kernels from the buttered ear as he slowly fucked it in and out of his mother’s cunt.

I had never seen anything so disgusting. Sadly, I reached into my pants and panties. I was just as much an addict as my husband. Instead of a horrible drug, I got off on horrible sex. I made myself cum about the time his mother wailed again.

Terry pulled the chewed cob out of his mother’s pussy and set it beside him. “I got a job, Momma.”

“Don’t lie to me, Boy. This here is your job, between your Momma’s fat thighs. Nobody’d gonna hire an ugly nigger like you with your crimes. Just like no lady is gonna let you touch her like your Momma lets you.

“No, Momma. I made my own job. I’m advising an office worker, and I’m managing a young entertainer.”

“No more lies, Son. Momma’s ears hurt when you lie. Now eat your meat, you foolish nigger.” Mrs. Jackson dug a handful of meatloaf and pushed it up her cunt. “Nobody has meat as good as your Momma makes.

He nodded respectfully and fell to the task, mouth wide, tongue lapping, eyes glazed over. He was numb. I’d seen him like that a couple times, after we’d fucked for several hours. The skies weren’t even dark yet, but the giant bowls of food behind Mrs. Jackson were only half empty.

After cumming into my hand, I retreated. They would be at it for hours. I walked home in a daze. The piteous sight hadn’t made me hate Terry any less. He was as weak as my husband, in his mother’s presence. She had every reason to call him a fool. I despised him harder. I despised myself more.

Returning home, I undressed and lay down on the couch. I clung to Terry’s rags, rubbed their foulness over my body and sniffed them. I wondered how many nights I would have to masturbate with them, before my evil lover filled my empty, longing hole again.

Notes from Stace’s teachers fawned over her next report card. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give her an ‘A’ this semester. Next time I’m sure I will. She has really turned her scholastic efforts around!” One apologized for giving her a B+.

Reading it gave me a lift after my day at work. I had snapped angrily at Melissa, my boss, that day. She said I would regret it, but the cunt had deserved to be called, “Cunt!” She kept increasing my paperwork after I had told her, “No more late hours unless you let me mark them on the time sheet!”

I smiled at my daughter, waving the report card appreciatively in one hand. My other hand fondled a dozen, twenty dollar bills, my share.” The couch had been paid for a month ago. I counted out six twenties and handed them to Terry. His suit was looking pretty shabby, especially at the knees. “Thank you for managing my daughter, Nigger.”