Chapter 6

It took her several trips to transfer Lester's clothes back into their bedroom but Bette Jean worked feverishly. Everything had to be in order, put away in its proper place before time to start dinner.

She'd never known such a nightmare in her whole life as she'd lived through today. For the first time in their married life she'd lain in bed and let her husband make his own breakfast. The moment her eyes had opened this morning the horror of last night had hit like a hammer striking her right between the eyes. Drunken and weakened, she'd committed the unforgivable... an act so horrible that it had been forbidden by every savage tribe as well as by all the civilizations since man began. With her own son!!!!! It was monstrous, evil and so hideous that she finally went into the bathroom and retched, great dry sobbing heaves wrenching her belly, as the full memory came back to her.

Lester had poked his head in the door as she'd shakily climbed back into bed. "What's the matter? Got the flu? I gotta get to work. Where's breakfast?"

She shook her head weakly. "I can't, Lester. I... I feel awful."

"You're pretty white. Been throwing up?"

Her eyes fluttered closed as she nodded her head.

"Well... stay in bed. I'll get some coffee and toast."

"Get Wanda to make..." but he was gone then. Gratefully she sank back. She couldn't face Lester. She couldn't face anyone again. Couldn't even call Dr. Madson. How did you tell your doctor you were ill with guilt... the most terrifying guilt the world had ever known... It was no use... the word wouldn't even pronounce inside her own skull. Her Gary... a modern teen age Oedipus... doomed by copulating with his own mother. She burrowed down in the covers, flinging herself over on her stomach to bury her face and head with pillows to smother the moving playing screen in her head that brought it all back in moving color.

Somehow the day had worn on. All the tears had been cried. All the filthy epithets had been hurled at herself... all the nightmare played out over and over until she remembered every grisly detail and remembered how it came about. The worst thing to bear had been the sure knowledge that she had reveled in it. That filthy perverted act with her own boy. She'd loved it... some unknown secret part of herself had relished and loved every depraved minute of it. The waves of pleasure had roared through her body like a tidal flood. And it had been her son who had taken her to such heights... her son! For the first time in her life she'd known why Lester had nagged her so tiresomely about sex all the time. This was what he felt... or very like it... and he'd felt it over and over and over. But it had been the first time in her life she had ever truly enjoyed and attained this particular incredible peak of passion and lust. And it had to be at the hands of her own son. It was unthinkable that he had turned her on to bodily pleasure and not Lester, her husband!

Finally, after all the solutions had been proposed and discarded in her mind, she'd resolved that the only penance she could make that might expiate the terrible transgression, would be to live out the rest of her life in the same room with Lester. Try to be a good wife to him. Try to make it up... and never let Gary know what she hoped his youth might help him forget. As soon as she could she'd send Gary away... to boarding school or military school... anywhere where she wouldn't have to see him and be reminded... where he might forget... think it was a nightmare, unreal and therefore without influence.

As Bette Jean hung Lester's sport coat in the closet in their bedroom she could almost feel the strong arms pinning her down. The empty sleeves reminded her just how big a man he was, how demanding, how brutal. Well no matter how brutal he was now, she deserved worse. He couldn't punish her enough.

Wanda would have to go. She couldn't be allowed to disrupt this household any more. Since she had come their whole world had turned inside out. Somehow, some way... get rid of her. Then, perhaps, there might be a way she could straighten out the terrible mess.

Dinner was very silent, the tensions so thick they hung palpable in the air, smothering their desultory attempts at small talk. Lester wolfed his food silently. Wanda kept a mocking smile on her face. Gary looked wounded and ill. Bette Jean wondered if her own face showed such illness.

For the fourth time that day, Bette Jean bathed her body that she'd come to think of as a traitor, the villainous traitor of herself. It was as if the constant bathing might speed the forgetfulness and absolution she needed so desperately. The sheets felt cool and icy against her naked skin. Lester would be coming to bed and he hated nightgowns. She would submit to whatever he wanted, willingly. He'd looked startled and displeased when she'd whispered to him that his things were back in their room... that she didn't want separate bedrooms anymore... in fact, he'd looked almost guilty. But his guilt, whatever it might be, could not compare with hers. She waited almost eagerly, the cold sheet hardening her nipples.

The neighborhood noises had stopped altogether and a pervading stillness enclosed the house. She lay rigid, naked and still, a small lamp making a pool of light to guide Lester to bed. Her eyes were open and staring, waiting. Time had no meaning now. It could have been minutes or days that she lay like a statue awaiting expiation or execution. It did not seem to matter which.

Slowly the knob of the door turned and she looked up to see Lester tiptoe quietly in. He saw her staring and silent. She watched as he turned his back and began to undress, hanging his clothes neatly in the closet.

"Feel any better?"

"Yes... I'm fine now." She heard a shoe drop with a muffled thud onto the carpet. "Lester... ?... I'll be a good wife to you from now on... forgive me... for being... the way I was..." She couldn't keep the note of hysteria from her voice and she saw that he reacted to it, turning to look at her curiously. He sat on the other side of the bed, his back to her while he removed the other shoe and sock. The muscles in his naked back were strong and she watched them move smoothly, marveling at their effortless working.

"Maybe you ought to go see that doctor. You looked awful peaked today."

"No... I told you... I'll be... a good wife now... you'll see... just... please... let me try!!!" Her voice rose shrilly as she flung the covers back to reveal her nakedness. Lester turned his head and she could see his amazement and then confusion and then something else... a rising passion and deep seated contempt.

"I didn't put on a nightgown..." she offered inanely as she spread her legs in silent invitation. Her eyes were on his, locked in silent stalemate.

Lester looked at her, spread out like a damned sacrifice for him. Jesus Christ! What the hell had happened to her? She looked wild eyed and hysterical. God knows he didn't want to move back in here now. Shit! Wanda was available any time, any way he wanted her. He'd begun to like the arrangement. Had Bette Jean somehow found out? Was she making the big sacrifice to save her "happy home"? He felt the anger rise in him in a fiery streak but it was tempered with a stiffing in his loins despite himself. Jesus, but she was a delectable woman. He could see the sleek white thighs open to him, the sparsely haired triangle between them that ovaled around the warmly pink cuntal mouth. There was a faint gleam of moisture on the pussy lips as though they'd been licked with a tongue. He watched in amazement as her hands slid up her satiny sides and cupped the full blown snowy breasts in offering.

His cock jerked involuntarily, fired by his balls that had begun to churn and steam. God damned crazy woman! How long he'd dreamed of her offering herself to him willingly and now that she had, he felt guilty as hell. Bette Jean's fingers thumbed her own breasts until the nipples were fire red points of rigidly erect yearning. A tiny whimper came out her mouth... a plea she couldn't voice.

"All right, you frigid bitch, you want to make the big sacrifice, you want to fuck, by God you're going to get fucked till it comes out the back of your throat!"

His tender solicitousness of moments before seemed to have completely faded, and though Bette Jean did not understand what had caused the sudden anger in his face, she could not help but react to the abrupt change in his attitude. The cruel, masterful tone of her husband's voice sent tremors of excitement up and down her spine, and she felt a strange masochistic thrill of pleasure as she tried to imagine what he would do.

Lester held himself back for a short time, purposely torturing both of them in expectation. He'd fuck her all right. He would shove his long thick cock between the full white moons of her proud little white ass. He wanted nothing in the world more than to see her uncontrollably wriggling before the attack of his throbbing cock as it plunged deep into her inviolate little asshole, completing his conquest of the arrogant bitch. Though he had to admit he had felt an unexpected tenderness toward her earlier, her casual assumption that he wanted nothing more than to fuck her any time she wanted him had filled him with anger. Now, they would see who held the power in this situation, he thought. He would laugh out loud when she suddenly turned complete animal and lost all control over herself, ignoring everything but her over-powering need to be fucked in a way that would repulse and disgust her. The sadistic idea ran through his loins like wildfire.

Bette Jean was lying back on the bed, her mouth lolling open in a daze of anticipation when Lester lowered his dark head over her smooth ivory belly. His darting tongue flicked teasingly into her navel, then traced a path down the soft flat skin until his face was a few scant inches from the wispy tendrils of pubic hair that bordered the tender sensitive ridges of her pussy.

She could feel his moist warm breath beating down on the naked hair-lined flanges of her cunt as his fingers gently pressed apart the soft folds, exposing her hardening clitoris to the cool air and bringing it to thrusting erection. A slight moisture glistened on the outer lips as he pulled the soft pink cleft completely open. Suddenly, his long dripping wet tongue snaked forward, burying itself in the exposed slit with a wet, sucking sound.

Bette Jean was amazed at her own reaction to the maddening assault of his tongue and fingers. She felt as though she had changed into some kind of wild animal, driven by a powerful instinct to accept and need his lascivious ministrations. Yesterday, she might have been repulsed by the strange, lewd sensations that pounded through her body and mind, but now she wanted more, as much as she could possibly stand. Tangling her fingers in his black hair, she strained his face tighter to her crotch and swiveled her pelvis in pulsating rhythm with the warm, wet spear that probed into her wide-split cunt. She felt a primitive need pounding through her as her mind erupted with new, alien, wanton thoughts.

Her vaginal passage contracted, opening and closing tightly around the long smooth lance of flesh worming deep inside her. Her muscles strained, the cords of her thighs standing out tautly as she ground her back down into the mattress and heaved her pelvis up against the sudden curling and flicking of his tongue up inside her cunt. Fighting the iron-like grip she held on his head, the boiler maker began to work his thick, drooling lips over the whole area of her upturned pelvis, sucking and licking crazily from the swollen pea-like nodule of her clitoris to the tight puckered hole of her anus. Then, his pointed tongue slowly rounded the tightly constricted opening and probed gently at the light brown puckered flesh.

"Noooo, not there," she moaned breathlessly as awareness of his depraved assault filtered through her daze of wild, abandoned sexuality. This was not the normal, healthy eroticism she had finally accepted as something she needed and wanted, but an unnatural defilement of her body.

Lester rasped harshly. "On your knees with your ass high and shoved back here!"

Dear... dear God! What did he mean? Why... ? She was going to be a good wife to him... she'd told him so. What was he trying to do... ? She thought these things as she assumed the instructed position, ashamed now as she nakedly spread her knees and opened herself to him.

"You want to be a good wife to me... at least you said so. Is that true, baby?"

"Y--Yes."

"Well you're going to prove it, bitch!"

"Lester... darling, I want it to be whatever you want!" Bette Jean said, holding her position, but looking back toward him. "I don't care about... anything else..."

"Right now, baby, you don't know what you care about! Tomorrow, you'll wake up with a different head! And I don't want any fucking frigid hypochondriac for a wife, either... I want a woman! You ready for that?"

"Y-Y-Yes... yes... honest, darling, I'm ready... !"

"Good. Then, you won't have too much trouble with the test! Baby... I'm going to fuck your asshole... sodomize you to seal and forever enjoin our love! If you want out, get up and run... and I promise you, I'll walk out of here!"

"And I'm not going to do it until you tell me to, baby!" Lester said suddenly. "You're going to make the decision... whether you want to give yourself to me all the way or not! This fucking night has been too much for me already! If you want it in your ass, say so, because that will be our true marriage! Forever, baby! Forever... now... decide... right now!"