Chapter 12

The Babcocks were a more traditional family--a mommy, a daddy, and five children all living in a single family dwelling of modest standards. Jerry Babcock worked for Brother James at his auto accessory plant. Martha, his wife, was a secretary at a trucking company not affiliated with the church. Together, they made a decent living, enough to support a family with five teenagers, all boys except for thirteen-year-old Darlene who had a twin brother, Ray. Jerry Jr. (Jer) was the oldest at seventeen. Carl came next at fifteen. Andy was fourteen.

With males outnumbering females by almost three to one, sexual tension in the Babcock home had always been high, but when Darlene entered puberty and was snatched shortly thereafter, the tension became as thick as molten lead. Though no male in her household could legally have a piece off the pretty girl, Darlene drew male attention from outside like a female dog in heat. Now six months pregnant, she rode her bike to the Hardwick's School for Unwed Church Mothers, two miles each way, and more often than not, she and her bicycle were home delivered by a member of the priesthood who just happened to be going that way, usually thirty minutes to several hours late, and there were times when she'd be delivered well after dark, disheveled and walking funny.

Martha didn't like the situation one damn bit, but her spiritual leader benefited from the sordid degeneracy that was now their church. Though he couldn't poke his own daughter, he could poke plenty of others. He, too, gave rides to unwed mothers-to-be and sometimes arrived home behind someone else who had just finished with Darlene. They were always cordial to each other even with Martha fuming at the door, often ushering in a daughter who had cum runs running down her young legs.

Martha's sons found it all very amusing. One day, they'd be members of the priesthood, and they didn't have to wait for manhood and the priesthood being bestowed on them. They loved the church and all its odd customs. They had all scored pussy off the preggos. All they had to do was get one preggo alone and hold her down. There wasn't a damn thing she could do about it and few resisted. Working as a team, they had nailed all but three of Sister Kay's girls and all but one of Sister Gail's--Darlene. The only person not getting any was Martha, and after seven months, lackadick was beginning to take its toll. She was hornier than a three-cunted wildebeest during a herd rut and the boys found that very amusing.

Poor Martha, an attractive woman in her sexual prime, she had to work all day around very sexy men and then came home to sexier young men who eyed her exactly the way the truckers did--like meat on a hook. That any one would jump her full-figured bones in a heartbeat was quite apparent--sometimes too apparent--and more often than not, she dealt with more than one as they grew courage in numbers--the truckers and the boys.

Lately, the boys were worse than the truckers. The more there were without their father around, the bolder they were, and being alone with all four was horrific, an ordeal almost as bad as Darlene's Sunday ordeal that Martha suffered through with a slobbery cunt between her long, sexy legs.

Martha had masturbation to quell her vaginal fires, but she dared not keep a dildoe in her house or try to do it anywhere but in the shower behind a locked bathroom door. Those boys had every sanctuary peppered with peep holes. Her bedroom was like a sieve, though, for a while, she plastered over holes whenever a new one appeared. Finding them all was the problem, and she never could feel secure enough to masturbate in her bedroom. Eventually, she stopped plastering or bitching about the holes the boys drilled. Jerry was amused and thought spying was healthy curiosity. He told her she should let them look.

That didn't surprise her one bit. He also told her not to make a fuss when they goosed her or squeezed a tit. Boys who grow up in a home where the mother has big tits, bigger than average, often develop a fixation on the female breast. Martha's kids had always been fixated, but now they were fixated and grabby. All four would sneak a feel and then dodge the counterattack swing. Guarding her prize hooters became a tiresome ordeal.

Her only sanctuary was the shower stall as even the bathroom had eyes too numerous to keep up with. And then holes began appearing in her shower where grout lines came together in a cross. All intersections at waist and chest level had holes. From somewhere, they had scored a masonry bit--Jerry, no doubt. At first, she tried plugging the holes with bar soap, but she'd see the plugs being pushed out by straws from a broom almost as fast as she could plug them. She fought a losing battle, and now, due to persistent effort, they were seeing her naked every time she took a shower, seeing everything. It was all so degrading and frustrating for a modest woman whose only vice was that she occasionally had to masturbate in the shower to get by.

Martha got used to showering in front of her sons who spied on her from inside a utility closet. As a consequence, she returned to dressing and undressing in her bedroom and doing her potty without a towel across her lap, sometimes totally nude. She pissed, shit, changed tampons, and trimmed her pubic bush all under close scrutiny. There was no hiding, anywhere, and she learned to simply go about her business doing her best to ignore them and the crude comments she could often hear.

Her little sex fiends had stolen all her intimate secrets, all but one, and that one she could not bring herself to do with anyone watching. Not only was she suffering from lackadick, she suffered from lackafingers, lackasoap bar, and lackaback-scrubber-handle all at a time when her little one was scoring cock on a daily basis.

To compound matters, her little Darlene was having great sex at every turn. No elder had to lure her into a car with candy. No boys had to hold her down. She did a great deal of short-time baby-sitting, sometimes no longer than it would take for a man to drive her a few blocks, get fucked or sucked, and drive back. Recently, there were times they never left the driveway. After she scored herself some cock, you could see it in her demeanor if not running down her legs. She walked around with a perpetual satisfied look on her face.

Martha was at her absolute limit when she received a call at work from her very best friend, Betty Hardwick. Betty received a call from Shauna and called Martha right away--Karen did it, boy did she do it. The two talked for hours--five, ten, fifteen minutes at a time. At two that afternoon, Betty talked Martha into doing something she had threatened to do for months--give the boss what he wanted, all he wanted.

She said, "Screw it! I'm going to do it, Betty. He's alone in his office right now, and I have papers to file. I'm taking off my pantyhose and panties right here at my desk, and then I'm going to march right in there and file everything in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, the one he keeps right beside his desk so he can check out my legs when I do my filing."

"Do it, Martha. If you don't, you'll hate yourself. And if you don't do it right, you don't deserve to get laid."

"Just a minute [a few seconds later] They're off and in my drawer. I'm putting my heels back on."

"Atta girl. How long is your dress?"

"It's a skirt and blouse combination. The skirt is fairly modest, knee-length, but I can hike the waist up a bit. Hold on. [a few more seconds] That's better, but not much better. Now I'm showing three inches above the knee, but it looks right."

"Can't you fold the waist in and get it up higher, say mid thigh or better?"

"I suppose I could, but that wouldn't look right. I would never wear a skirt that short."

"You're on the prowl. You're trolling for cock, girl. Why be subtle? You want it. Act like you want it. When you bend over, he should get a good look at your pussy, and that pussy should be crying for his one-eyed wonder worm."

"Oh, Betty, you slut. I could never."

"Are you going in there to get fucked or not?"

"Yes, but..."

"Will it make any difference how you looked beforehand when you're lying naked in a sprawl across his desk with his spent dick in your twat?"

"No, but he'll go after it regardless. He always does. This time, I won't object. I want to be the seduced, not the seducer. He can feel how much I want his one-eyed python. He doesn't pack a wonder worm, I know that much. "

"Do it your way, then, but if you don't get laid, I'll be very disappointed."

"You'll be disappointed! I'll get laid. That, I promise. Well, here goes. I'll call you at three and tell you how it went. Clear your schedule."

At five till three, Betty received a call from Martha:

"Betty, I couldn't wait."

"I can tell you've been laid. Details, girl, details."

"I go in, as usual, and as usual, he checks me out and notices I'm showing more leg than usual. I come up to the filing cabinet, ignoring him, as usual. He compliments my legs before I have even bent over. I usually ignore inappropriate compliments, but this time, I smile and thank him, then I tell him that I'm thinking about hemming up my skirts. This makes him take interest, because he has never gotten a response like that before. He stops working and spins the chair to face me as I ask his opinion, wanting to know what length would look stylish for an office."

"I like the way this is starting."

"So did he. He looks at my hemline. I'm now facing him with his knees maybe a foot from mine. He says, 'In this office, you'd have to hem them much higher.' I say, 'Really!' and then I pinch material on both sides and lift an inch higher, saying, 'What, here?' He says, 'No, I said much higher. This is a trucking company, Martha. We don't deal with the general public.' I smile and raise up another inch, maybe two. I'm showing a lot of leg, now, and he can see I'm in the mood to play, or be teased, or seduced. I get the impression he thinks he might get laid if he plays me right. I was acting playfully sexy, so I gave him that impression."

"I'm sure you did. Do go on."

"He smiles and says, 'Much better, but the hem should be above mid thigh for a woman with legs as sexy as yours.' This was a challenge. I took it and moved the hem to what I figured was mid thigh, which wasn't much higher than I had it. He reached into his desk and pulls out a wooden ruler which he boldly sends up my skirt. The edge scraped along my inner thigh on its way up, but gets in the center as it approached my pussy, and the damn thing got right in the groove without feeling around for it. I don't think he was trying to get it in my slit. I'm sure he expected panties, but he scored a direct hit with pussy lips on both sides of the ruler, right at my hole. If he pushed, the damn thing might go in. It would have hurt, but I wasn't about to stop or yell out or even flinch."

"Did he push?"

"No, but he didn't keep it still, either. He used that ruler to feel-up my pussy, all over, and then he has to feel around to get it back where it started out. He looked amazed that I'd permit that and just stand still for it. The other end of the ruler is just above my knee. He tells me my thighs are exactly twelve inches long and that mid thigh would place the hem at six inches, so I lift to the six-inch mark which was actually four and a half inches from my pussy lips, about nine from my knees. Now, I'm showing him lots of leg and he now knows I want to play. He knows I'm not wearing panties. He'd have to know, and he's all smiles because I'm letting him do something very vulgar with that ruler. He still held it up me long after it was needed, and I had no objection even when he began exploring me with it again. It was all very crude but the crudest part was me letting him do it."

"You slut!"

"I'm sure he was thinking the same thing--that, or this is one horny bitch. I said, 'You honestly think I should hem all my skirts and dresses this high to work around all these horny men? I'd never get my work done.' 'Then you'll work overtime, ' he says. I say, 'But you won't pay overtime.' He says, 'If you wear your skirts this short, I'll pay all the overtime you need. Wear them higher, and I'll even throw in a sizable raise, say a dollar an hour.'"

"So, he wants a hooker secretary. Way to go, Martha."

"I'm thinking the same thing, so I say, 'How much higher would I need to go to earn a dollar an hour more?' He smiles big and says, 'Keep lifting until I say stop.' I know where this is headed, but I'm ready to drag that hemline to my belly button if need be. Inch by inch I bring it up until he can see my pussy lips wrapped around that ruler with the one-inch mark buried. He still hasn't said stop, so I'm still inching it up. I get up to my hip bones with my entire pussy exposed before I say, 'Isn't this high enough?' He draws the ruler out and looks at the wet end, saying, 'You're a quart low, Martha. I'm going to have to add some oil to your crankcase.'"

"Shop talk, right."

"It is a trucking company and he is a trucker. I trust them in these matters, so I let him lay me on the lube rack and insert his lubricating python. God, Betty, he has a magnificent cock, ten inches long if it's an inch and as thick as a baby's arm. I was in Heaven, committing adultery. I can't wait to tell Pastor John so I can compare the two. I have news for Jerry, too. I am not on the pill. I have no intention of getting on the pill, and my hemlines are going way up. We finally came to agree on two inches below my cunt lips, and I'll be subjected to surprise inspections by anyone in his employ."

"How many truckers does he employ?"

"Fourteen drivers and eight mechanics, and one driver is a female, a dyke."

"Will you service her, too?"

"They service me. I'm the one getting lube jobs, and yes, she is more than welcome. I'm a company whore, Betty. He came right out and put it to me that way. I came right out and agreed. Of course, he was fucking the shit out of me at the time, and he had me completely naked. What else could I say. I felt like a company whore, and it felt damn good."

"Well, welcome to the club. Have the truckers started lining up, yet?"

"No, they're all out. Tomorrow is my first day. He'll have the word out by then."

"How do you feel about it, now?"

"Are you kidding. I got a dollar an hour raise along with all the overtime I want to put in. I'm putting this neglected pussy of mine to work. I may be late for church service."