Chapter 7

George couldn't see straight the next morning. All he could think about was his extraordinary good and bad luck the day before. He had been furious with Cindy the night before when he found her fucking around with her brother, Billy. But in the light of morning he was thinking more selfishly about his own needs, and he realized that he didn't really profit any by staying mad at the girl. What he had to do was forgive her and get back on the track he had been on with her when he left the bed they shared a little before her brother climbed into it. He wondered if they had been getting it on for long, Billy and Cindy. Then he told himself to block that out of his mind. All that was important was that he get back to fucking with Cindy. And that was exactly what he did do, when they had a talk and he told her that he would forget what he saw as long as they could continue their relationship. It was a relationship, however, that proved to be doomed. That night while they were fucking, Esther was disturbed from her sleep and went to investigate the noise that was coming from her daughter's room. She found her husband screwing her daughter from behind, his hands around her big tits, as he jammed his dick in and out, in and out. She had screamed in horror. The two guilty parties stared in shock as they realized they had been found out. Esther locked herself in her room that night, while George spent most of it in the hall pleading to be let in. In the morning she threw the both of them out of the house and told them never to come within sight of her again as long as they lived.

Esther had been working on a bottle of Scotch for most of the day. She was pretty well out of it now. She talked to herself, and cursed the rat of a husband she had had the bad luck to marry. She mumbled and shouted, lurching about the house, from one room to another, trying to get the bad feelings out of her brain, but finding no escape from them.

"That bastard, that fucking bastard. How could he do this to me? How could he? After everything I did for you. I gave you everything you wanted, everything you asked for... I denied you nothing, you cheating, lying, fucking bastard! Goddamn you, you prick! You played your little game with my daughter behind my back and thought you could get away with it, but I caught you, I caught you, prick! But maybe that wasn't the first time, huh, George, dear? Maybe you've been doing that all along. If not with my daughter then with some other young chick you charmed into letting you fuck her. Maybe you handed out some of those used vacuum cleaners of yours and got away with it like that, huh? You prick!"

She lurched against a wall, pushed herself back from it, lost her balance and sprawled across the arm of the couch and then straight back across it. She gasped from exertion. She sighed and stretched her legs out. She was wearing only a very thin wrapper, a light blue silk thing that was almost completely transparent. Her tits bounced from side to side as she rolled onto the couch. The nipples were thick and long and almost sticking right through the sheer silk. When she sprawled back on the couch her legs spread. Her left leg went onto the floor. The wrapper opened at her middle and her fat, hairy pussy was left exposed. What difference did it make? she asked herself. Why shouldn't I act like a tramp? Everybody else was doing it for Christ's sake! Her own daughter. Yes, she was guilty as her husband. What had she done wrong to the child, how had she brought her up so badly that she would do something like this to her own mother? Esther asked herself.

She had been privately jealous of her daughter for some time, if the truth be known. Esther knew that it wasn't really fair to feel that way, and there was nothing the child had done in any definite way she could explain to somebody that would account for the way she felt, but she had certainly felt it, jealous and threatened by the gorgeous, voluptuous teenager she had given birth to. And when George had come into the picture, those feelings had increased. After all, George was much younger, and he himself was used to younger women than Esther, certainly. On top of that, Cindy was just naturally a flirt, and she liked to run around the house in various states of undress, including total nudity.

Selfishly, she actually felt good when, after she married George, Cindy proceeded to give her new husband the cold shoulder. That had relieved her somewhat. She didn't want to have to deal with Cindy pouring on the charm with George and possibly making him less happy with his older wife. But Cindy showed herself to be highly unimpressed with George, and while Esther told George that she was annoyed by her daughter's behavior to the new state of affairs, she was inwardly pleased. Then things started to change. She should have sensed the new turn of events would lead to something like this, but she had been lulled into a feeling of false-security and nearly forgot all of her old fears and jealousies about her daughter. She should have known better, she told herself. As soon as Cindy started acting nicer to George she should have realized that things were starting to take their inexorable course that could only lead to the destruction of the marriage.

"Dammit! Fuck them all!" she cried out, bringing her glass back to her lips and sucking the last drops of Scotch out of them. "My husband... ha! He made a mockery of the word. And my daughter... I never want to see her as long as I LIVE! She may think that I'm joking about that, but I'm not. No. Not by a long shot. If she thinks I'm gonna forgive her after a few days and ask her to come back home, then she is in for one fucking big surprise!" Esther shouted, as if there was someone off in the distance, perhaps Cindy herself, who she was trying to let hear these declarations.

She reached over for the bottle she had set down on the coffee table. As she reached for it she dropped her glass with the ice in it, the cubes falling onto the rug.

"Oh fuck!" she exclaimed. She swayed and nearly fell off the edge of the couch. "Ah... who needs a glass. I'm done with being a lady, Goddammit! What's the use? See what it got me to be a nice respectable lady, for God's sake?"

She grabbed hold of the bottle by the neck and brought it to her lips. She burped and then stuck the bottle in her mouth, swigging down a long gulp of whiskey. She coughed and drooled as she brought the bottle away from her mouth. Her eyes looked bleary. She was shaking and moved back against the couch. She heaved a sigh. She lifted a leg up, leaning it against the back of the couch. This left her pussy open even more. She looked down at her cunt. Her plump, gleaming pink pussy certainly showed no signs of age. She was a sexy, desirable woman. She told herself that it was not a rejection of her own worth and desirability as a woman, but just her bad luck to marry a philanderer and have a Quisling of a daughter in her own house. But as much as she told herself that, her drunken pathetic mind kept arguing that it was a personal rejection, that it was her own fault because she could not be enough of a woman to hold her husband's interest. Maybe she wasn't desirable. Maybe she wasn't a good fuck. Maybe no man could keep a sexual interest in her. She became delirious with self-pity.

She became aware of the direction her mind was going but she seemed unable to halt the pitying, destructive movement. No, she didn't see anyway she could do it alone. She needed a second party, another voice to bring her out of it, to show her she was a desirable, sexy woman, someone who could attract a man's interest and not just his mercenary desires for her money. Like George, that bastard. That was all he wanted, just her money and nothing more.

She wanted somebody to come into the living room with her there and love her and be nice to her, and have no motive for that love, only a sincere appreciation of her worth. If only some gentle knight like that could show up she felt that everything would be okay. He could kiss her and hold her... and could make love to her and show her that she was still a desired, sexual being, that a man could get hard for her and enjoy fucking her. She sighed with hunger for such a man. Her fingers found their way to her open pussy and she touched herself. She grazed her finger over the meat and it made her shiver. She smiled. She had always been a responsive woman. The slightest touch on her pussy could make her start to whimper and pulse and drool her sticky love juice. And when a man shoved his cock into her then she went absolutely wild. She could start coming almost from the first minute a man would start fucking her. She loved sex, and that was why she felt such a paranoia about losing her desirability. She loved the idea of a man getting turned on by her, wanting to screw her and enjoying jamming his cock up her pussy and making her come. They always made her come, too. That was one of the things that made her such a good bed companion. No man looked like a bad lover when they were fucking Esther. They could all make her come, whether they were inept or not, big dicked or small.

She laughed. What was the use of dreaming like that. No gentle knight was going to come into the house and take her in his arms and make love to her as she lay there on her couch getting closer and closer to an alcoholic stupor.

"So what!" she called out, and then fell into a coughing fit. She reached for the bottle of Scotch and took another long swig from it. She gasped as she swallowed the whiskey down her throat. She closed her eyes. "So what if no man comes to rescue me... who needs a man. I can make myself happy yes, all by myself. I don't need any goddamned cock to make me feel good. I can just use my fingers. Yeah, that's fine, just fine. I can do all right by myself."

She fingered her pussy. She closed her eyes and moaned. She slid a finger inside her cunt. God, that felt good. She was so horny. It seemed crazy for her to be hot like that, when she felt so bad, her spirits so low. Well, she thought, it just went to show how sensuous she was, that she could still be feeling sexy when she should be cold as a fish.

She continued fondling her cunt. She slid two fingers deep inside her pussy and twirled them around and around. She moaned with rising passion. She jerked the fingers in an out several times. She could hear the squashing sound as her fingers moved through her bubbly, flowing cunt juices.

She shivered from head to toe. She raised a leg against the back of the couch even higher, making her cunt open wider. She pressed four fingers inside and jerked them back and forth, in and out of her quivering, drooling pussy hole.

She couldn't think of anything sexual to concentrate on while she masturbated. The man she had been fucking with for a while was the last man she wanted to think about now in a sexual context, even though they had shared some fabulous nights of love together. At least they had seemed fabulous to Esther. She could no longer vouch for whether he had really enjoyed their lovemaking sessions as much as he had said he did at the time. Back then it was all, "Esther, that was the best fuck I ever had. You are sensational in bed. It's a lucky thing I can keep from coming right from the word go, it feels so good inside that hot pussy of yours." Yes, he had said plenty, and it had all made her tingle and feel that she had made a damned good choice for a husband, and she was sure that they were going to be very happy, despite all her fears and jealousies of other younger women.

But all that was just dirt now, something to cry about or laugh about. She didn't know which to do just then. No, she didn't want to think about it at all. She just wanted to obliterate him from her mind completely. She wanted to put herself in a better mood. She wanted to give herself an orgasm. That would maker her feel good, ready to deal with life again, a nice, sizzling climax to straighten her out.

Concentrate, she told herself. Think sexy. She tried to think back to the lovers she had had before she met George. It seemed so long ago already. But she could remember some of them. She could remember one guy. He was a tall guy with sandy hair and a droopy mustache. Like George, he was several years younger than her. She found that at these singles bars where she bad been going since she became single again, the men who were her own age steered clear of her, as if someone from their own generation brought back too many bad memories or something they didn't want to be reminded of, either a bad marriage or perhaps just their advancing years. Or perhaps they were just more impressed by the young chicks who were so readily available to the older man who had an established job and plenty of money to spend on them. But it worked out all right, because there were all these attractive younger men who were intrigued by an older, wiser, more experienced woman, some of whom were like Esther and also had money to spend on their friends and lovers. It had bothered Esther a little, these dubious motivations she found herself assigning to her young boyfriends, but she didn't pay much attention to them. She was trying to have fun and not think of the implications or consequences. And she did get her kicks out of it. She enjoyed the freedom of being single and being able to have sex without guilt, though she was a little self-conscious about the subject in front of her children and was very cautious about bringing anyone home, making sure they left nice and early in the morning. Once her daughter had seen her bring someone home and Esther felt very strange for days after when she would be around Cindy. Generally, she liked to go to the man's home. That was neater and safer: if the man turned out to be some sort of Mr. Goodbar psychopath then at least she wouldn't be risking her children's lives as well as her own. But she never had anything to fear from the men she went with. They were all just fairly boring, very friendly young men out to get their rocks off and meet women in that order of priority. And most of them were pretty good in bed, or so it seemed to the easily pleasable Esther. She never found anybody that couldn't get it up for her, at least, and that was something. Her first husband had had a major problem in that area and this was probably the major factor in her dissatisfaction with the marriage.