Chapter 32: Eve Castilian Was Growing Closer...

Eve Castilian was growing closer to her two daughters. They’d never been estranged, but they typically guarded their privacy and withheld secrets such as the handjobs Janie and Susie had been providing around town. But now ... well, there was no longer any need for concealment.

Eve told them, “Look, I’m committed to working for Kate. You girls think you are too, but you’re not, not yet. You’re at a crossroads, and you can decide to work at the Double-D or not.”

The girls looked at her solemnly.

“I’m gonna be a whore — fuck men, and I guess some women, for money. You girls can follow my path or go back to a normal life.”

They looked thoughtful.

“Look, it sounds glamorous, and maybe it will be. But make no mistake, you’re just pussy to Kate. No more special than all those blowjob women at Miss Kitty’s.”

Janie said, “We’d just be eye candy.”

Susie, “At first.”

Janie, “Then blowjobs.”

Susie, “Then fucking.”

Eve, “That’s right, then fucking. Once she’s sold your cherries, your value goes downhill every day.”

Janie, “We’ll make good bank.”

Eve, “Yeah, you’ll be more in demand than I will. But you’re still so young. You wanna ask yourselves — do I really want to be a whore?”

Susie, “Do you?”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t hate it here in Sausalito, but this isn’t the life I wanted.” She gestured at her body, “I’m gonna use this while I still can. Save every penny I can.”

Janie, “Are you gonna leave Daddy?”

“Eventually.”

Susie, “Then we better start saving too.”

Eve, “Okay. It doesn’t surprise me. I’d probably do the same thing, I was your age.” She shrugged, “Back then I was giving it away; you might as well get paid for it.”

Janie and Susie, always polite, never condescending, continued quietly asserting their sway over the Dirty Dozen mothers. Testing limits, experimenting with this woman, then that woman.

This evening they went over to Fifi Dubois’s house. Without having discussed it, they addressed Paulie, not his mother.

Susie, “Paulie, is she sleeping in your bed?”

“Yes ma’am, whenever Daddy’s offshore.”

Fifi blushed, not quite understanding why it felt naughtier to her to sleep in his bed rather than her own.

Janie, “Is she giving you all the pussy you want?”

“Oh, yes ma’am!” He grinned, “Morning, noon, and night.”

Fifi wanted to speak up, to explain. To say, yeah, he could fuck her whenever he wanted, but that didn’t mean ... that didn’t mean ... what?

Susie, “At school tomorrow spread the word — tell your friends they can come by for some pussy. Any time your daddy isn’t home.”

Janie, “But they have to ask you for permission.”

Fifi’s heart started racing. Feelings, thoughts, she couldn’t articulate. What did that even mean? Paulie could decide who could fuck her? And when? And how many at a time? It had been one thing when Janie and Susie had her gang-banged. That was almost the same as if Kate had told her to. But this ... this was an entirely different matter. Her own son controlling her sex life?

Fifi didn’t know what to think of the idea. Was it some sort of demotion? Should she feel resentful? While crazy thoughts bounced back and forth, there was an underlying acceptance. She had never once even considered contesting the new edict.

Susie smiled at Paulie, “Keep a ... a chart, a calendar. No, Fifi, you do it. Keep track of who all those he has you fuck.”

Fifi’s voice was small, childlike, “Yes ma’am.”

The two-inch party seemed just a distant memory. A more innocent time, quaint even. But deeper down, Fifi felt a small stirring, a spark of interest, of anticipation. The Castilian girls had basically announced that the eleven other Dirty Dozen boys could fuck her just so long as Paulie okayed it. Hmm.

In Denise’s bedroom, Ray-Ray explained to Jill what he expected. “I’ll have Dany Boy fuck you in a lot of different positions. I want a variety so when I edit the video, you’ll be more interesting. Don’t worry about cumming — it’s fine if you do, fine if you don’t.”

Small voice, “Okay.”

“But when I’m finished with that, then all I want to see is you climaxing. I already tole him what to do to you. You just let yourself go — the only thing I want is to see you cum.”

She nodded, “I understand, Ray-Ray. I’ll do my best.”

“Good girl. Now we’ll start with Danny Boy lying on his back. You straddle him, work to get all of him in.”

A moment later, Ray-Ray spoke kindly, “Jill.”

She looked over her shoulder, “Huh?”

“Turn around, I want your face in the camera at all times.”

“Oh, sorry. What was I thinking? Sorry, Ray-Ray.”

She managed to pivot around while keeping Danny Boy firmly embedded. Her face was a mask of concentration. She leaned back on her hands, her face flushed from the fullness.

Ray-Ray said, “Denise, I like this angle. Her little pussy is so stuffed. Make her cum and keep her cumming until I tell you to stop.”

Huge grin, “Aye-aye, mon capitan.”

Denise used her slender middle finger to find Jill’s clit. Ginny stared at the tableau, fascinated. A little wistful.

It was a minute or so before Jill felt it build. She was so ... so ... so ... close. “YES!”

Denise winked at Danny Boy; she worked on Jill for another four minutes In that same position.

Jill, thighs splayed, pussy stuffed, leaning back on her hands as she straddled Danny Boy ... she was feeling her cares, her worries, slip away. Ray-Ray was telling her what to do. Denise and Danny Boy were making her the center of attention. Her best friend, Ginny, was there for support. Jill, in one tiny corner of her mind, was trying to identify what she was feeling. It was arousal, of course. Pleasure, even some pride. Happiness, yes. But something more ... ah, availability, that was it.

How delicious! She felt almost giddy at the realization. She was pussy — everyone in the room could do whatever they wanted with her. To her. She would be 40 in a couple of years and had never felt so... alive.

Ray-Ray wanted her to cum for the camera. Denise and Danny Boy wanted her to cum. Ginny did. And nobody — nobody wanted it more than Jill did.

Down in the Cajun Bayous, the Allard and Richard families adapted smoothly to the new living arrangements. Household fluidity was common down in the bayous. Women kicked husbands out for one reason or another. Found new lovers; the children generally stayed with their mothers.

Caroline made no secret of how much she loved the sex from Oliver and Baptiste. The boys of course were in pussy heaven. But Caroline took her little Jon boat to see her daughters almost every day; her mother’s house was just a few minutes away.

She decided not to worry about the girls despite the nudity. They stayed naked 24/7, as did their grandmother, Faye. Faye’s new husband, Maurice, wore shorts when he took his little fishing boat out on the Gulf, but was nude at home.

Caroline told Bernadette, “He’s got hisself a big cock, Maurice, one of the biggest I seen, me.”

Her friend smiled, “Faye must be happy ‘bout that.”

“Yeah, she is real pleased. But in this weather, she has him jacking off, she don’ want no sweaty man flopping down on her.”

“He leavin’ your sweet babies alone, Maurice?”

Caroline smiled grimly, “The first day, I grab him by the balls, me. Tell him I rip ‘em off he lays one finger on them girls. Mama right there beside me, held up a butcher knife, tell him balls ain’t the only thing he’s gonna lose.”

“Good.”

As for Bernadette, while she didn’t much miss her older sons all that much, she was glad that they were right next door. It was only about a minute by Jon boat and she and Caroline visited back and forth almost daily.

Bernadette had enjoyed watching Oliver and Baptiste fuck her friend the first couple of times. She reached down and treated herself to a couple of orgasms. But it was just so fucking hot, too hot to enjoy the show all that much.

Caroline’s mother, Faye, didn’t feel that way. She not only enjoyed watching, she invited herself into bed. Thus, Bernadette ended up watching Caroline’s daughters over at Faye’s house two or three times a week while Faye was enjoying the boys at Caroline’s. None of the three women thought the rotating sex visits were the least bit odd. They had needs; they were pragmatic. The boys, although not Alain, did as they were told.

Bernadette didn’t mind; the girls were pleasant company and had always adored ‘Auntie Bern’. They probably knew their grandmother was getting fucked by Olive and Baptiste, but that was her business. Cajun girls learned to accept life at an early age.

Because it was the Cajun Bayous, everyone soon knew about the new living arrangements. That Bernadette had ended up alone with Alain surprised no one. It was assumed that he was fucking her, although Bernadette hadn’t acknowledged it yet.

That Caroline had sent her daughters off to live with grandma so she could fuck Oliver and Baptiste also surprised no one.

The Allard boys were known horndogs, and both Caroline and her mother had long shared their favors with men and boys across the bayous.

The only concern, which was voicde by several women — “Faye and Caroline better keep a sharp eye on that Maurice.”

Several women nodded. “He got that big cock and a roving eye, Maurice.”

One morning seemed especially boiling, although Bernadette and Caroline no longer bothered to check their back-deck thermometers. There was never any good news, never any relief.

For the first time in weeks, the two friends skipped breakfast and left their chores behind. Bernadette told Oliver, and Baptiste, “You’re on your own. Patch them fishing nets, fix them loose boards on the pier, catch us some fish for supper.”

Caroline winked, “We’re going to Cunts Corner, you may not see us for a few days.”

Then Bernadette dropped her brave front for a moment, “That okay, Alain?”

“Have fun, Mama.”

Neither woman bothered to take panties.

As they lay back in Cunts Corner sipping breakfast Dixies, Pussy and Swallow used a sprinkling can to wet down their bodies. The two friends were aware, even before 7 in the morning, of the dozen or so men and boys behind the rope-line gawking at them. The younger boys were openly masturbating. What else was new? No school; their mothers had probably sent them out of the house — “Take them boners outa here.”

It was too fucking hot to fucking care about an audience. Besides, neither woman really minded.

Over by the bar, the Babineaux twins, Debbie and Doris, were naked, hoping to earn a few dollars for Mr. Romero, giving some early-morning, one-dollar blow jobs. No takers so far.

After the pussy wax, the attendants used the garden hose to not only wet their hair, but to soak their bodies completely. Bernadette and Caroline sighed in contentment.

Sinéad brought over two more icy cans of beer. She gently rubbed them on the girls’ chest, down their tummies, then sat them between their still-sweaty thighs. Sinéad smiled understandingly as she slowly rotated the cans against their newly bald pussies. Bernadette and Caroline moaned with pleasure.

No one paid any attention to the rope-line murmurs of excitement. A couple of moments later, sipping the beers, Bernadette said,, “Well, I asked him to, Alain. That first time he fucked me.”

Caroline sat up, startled, “To cum in your pussy?”

“Yes ma’am.” She smiled ruefully, “I tole myself after, that it was ‘cause he got me so hot an’ bothered. You know how I get, Alain.”

“He does bring out your full slut, that boy.”

“Yeah, it was our first time? An’ he got me so hungry for it I was begging him to fuck me.”

Swallow and Pussy continued shampooing their hair. Sinéad looked on with interest.

Caroline regarded her friend with sympathy, “I seen how he gets you, Bern, you ain’t got no controls left.”

“Yes ma’am. Anyway, I got my knees back by my shoulders, what boy can resist that?”

“Alain?”

Bernadette nodded, traces of wonder at the memory still on her face. “I’m begging an’ begging him to fuck me, tears running down my cheeks.”

“Oh, hon.”

“You know how calm he kin get, Alain? He jess smiling real nice at me, like he’s waiting for a sign, a signal? Something?”

“And?”

“Suddenly I realize what he wants? An’ so I give it to him? I’m crying an’ sobbing and I beg him to cum in me.”

Caroline nodded understandingly. “That’s what he wanted, all right. Wasn’t enough you beggin’ him to fuck you.” She nodded again, “He wanted you to give him the last thing you had.”

Bernadette took a large swallow of Dixie, “Cee?”

“Yeah, babe?”. “By then, that was what I wanted too. I wanted it more than him. I wanted it more than anything in the world.”

Caroline blew her breath out, “Whew! That boy done got your number, babe. Most boys be delighted they get to fuck they mama. But he held back even when you beggin’ him. Whew.” She looked off into the distance, thinking, considering.

Then she reached for Bernadette’s hand, held it lovingly, “He got hisself some smarts, your Alain. Ain’t enough you beg him to fuck you, he makes you go that one step further.”

Bernadette squeezed her friend’s hand, “Made me beg him to cum in my pussy. After all them weeks asking him not to.”

Caroline nodded, “That the most intimate gift you could ever give him, an’ somehow he knew it. More sexual than fucking. Yet, more ... um, romantic at the same time. In fact, it’s about the most loving thing I ever heard, me.”

Bernadette looked relieved.

Caroline remained fascinated, “How you feel, babe, Alain makes you beg for it?”

Joy spread across Bernadette’s face, “I feel blessed. Like he loved me enough to force me to ... I dunno, to admit how much I wanted him, needed him.” She pushed ahead earnestly, “See, once I figured out what he wanted, besides pussy I mean ... well, that became what I wanted. I think I wanted it even more than him.”

Caroline spoke in admiration, “You know, Bern, it was like he raped you. A loving rape, but rape all the same.”

Bernadette frowned in confusion.

Caroline said, “He raped your mind, babe, that’s what I mean. You wasn’t quite getting there, so he mind-fucked you into doing, into saying ... fuck, into begging for what he wanted from you.”

Bernadette smiled, “Mind-fuck, I like that, me. I mean I loved he fucked my pussy, but it’s even better he did my brain too. Ain’t it?”

“Absolutely. We all knew — you, me, Alain — he was gonna be fucking you. But that wasn’t enough, not for Mr. Alain Adam Allard, no ma’am. He wanted all of you, ever’ last atom — your body, your mind.”

Swallow and Pussy were now massaging their neck and shoulders. Heaven.

Caroline smiled happily at her friend, “He owns you now, babe. You ain’t got no more say in it — that boy owns Bernadette Diane Allard. Lock, stock, an’ barrel.”

Bernadette sighed in contentment, closed her eyes, and reached down between her thighs,”I know, Cee, I know.” As she stroked herself, she said, “It was jess that one time. He don’ cum in my pussy no more.”

Caroline thought about that, nodded, “He got what he wanted, Alain. Total surrender. And now he don’ wanna knock you up.” She squeezed her friend’s hand, “How you feel ‘bout that, babe?”

Bernadette shuddered to a small orgasm, “Oh, I’m fine with that. Whatever he wants.”

“Acourse it’s whatever he wants, Alain. Everyone knows that now.”

Caroline reached down between her own thighs. Pussy and Swallow sprinkled more water on the two of them as they lay back in the heat, sweating, thinking about Alain, cuming.

“Do you know what a tree marker is?”

Because it was Chase Windsor asking the question, Eulalie Guidry bit back the first smartass answer that popped into her mind — ‘Little boys peeing on a tree’ — and considered the possibilities.

“Some ecology thing? A scientist going around marking ... um, endangered forests?”

“Not bad, but no. The answer lies in the commercial arena. Eulalie, consider America’s last frontier — in the continental United States, that is.”

“A desert? Like Death Valley?”

“The other side of the country. The North Maine Woods.”

Eulalie pictured a map, “Canada and the Atlantic Ocean.”

“That’s right. Over three million acres of timberland with not one town, not even a paved road. Imagine an area the size of three, maybe four, Rhode Islands with a population of ... zero.”

“Zero! No one, not one single person?”

“According to every census ever taken. The land has private and corporate owners, a few state agencies. What hardscrabble activity there is involves harvesting timber for pulp and lumber.”

“Okay. So, a tree marker.”

“We’ll come back to that. There’s also smuggling — Canadian whiskey during prohibition, but now it’s methamphetamine, heroin, fentanyl, military-grade weapons, Asian women and also children. No government official on the American side nor the Canadian side can tell for certain how many miles of the border are under outlaw control. But it’s like an unguarded pipeline between Boston and Montreal.”

“Huh.”

“Okay, a vast wilderness with bush camps for timber harvesting. Rough men, living off the grid, doing rough work. Meth labs on the side, camouflaged marijuana fields, whores kept like prisoners. Ever-evolving pacts with biker gangs — it’s as gangster as you can imagine. Infiltration is almost impossible. Snitches don’t get stitches — the bosses use chainsaws as object lessons.”

“Jesus.”

“But timber is still a legitimate crop and that’s where a tree marker comes in. It’s his responsibility to identify which trees to harvest and which ones to not waste any time on.”

“Okay.”

“It’s an art form ... an innate talent. If the inside of a tree is diseased or bug-infested, well, the company loses money and time and confidence in the tree marker.”