Chapter 17

The Woodrows were always early risers, and Sunday was no exception. While others were about to head off to church, they had already attended the early morning service and were finishing up breakfast. Diane's mother Janet collected her daughter's plate and paused when she peered down at it. "Are you done, honey?"

Diane nodded, too distracted to bother with words.

"Are you sure? You've hardly touched your breakfast."

Diane was forced to break out of her reverie, just barely suppressing a sigh. "I'm fine, mother. I just wasn't that hungry. Here, I'll help you clean up."

Janet nodded, but kept a wary eye on her daughter as Diane stood up and followed her into the kitchen. "Something you need to tell me?" she asked as she scraped off the remains of Diane's meal into the garbage.

Diane was not sure how to answer, as it was not straight in her own head. She felt the urge to leave the house, but not for the sake of going outside. It had come over her the moment she had awoken that morning, and going to church had failed to ease it.

"Diane?"

"I'm not sure," Diane replied in all honesty as she placed some cutlery into the dishwasher.

Janet handed Diane the now empty plate. "Is this about Heather again?"

"I'm not sure."

Janet straightened and put her hands on her hips. "I wish you wouldn't be so cryptic about these things."

"Mother, if I really knew what was wrong, I would tell you," Diane said, an exasperated edge to her voice as she set the plate in the dishwasher.

"I had a feeling something was going on. You were rather subdued all morning."

"I don't talk a lot when we go to church."

"I mean more so than usual." Janet kicked the dishwasher door up and closed it. "Is there anything I can do? Especially if it would help Heather in some way."

"I don't ... I mean, I suppose it could, yes."

Janet tilted her head, giving her daughter a dubious look.

"Mother, all I need right now is to go take a walk. It will help me think."

"It will have to wait until this afternoon, as your cousin Jill may be coming over."

"When is she supposed to get here?" Diane said, trying to hide the impatience in her voice.

"She didn't say when. It also depends on--"

"Mother, I see Jill all the time. I think I can stand to miss her once."

Janet looked askance at Diane. "I really wish you would tell me what's going on in your head lately."

Diane realized it would make no sense to her mother even if she did try to explain it. She saw herself taking a very specific path when she left the house. If it were going to lead her to where she thought, she was going to force a diversion. "I have to get it straight in my own head first."

"All right. You can go for your walk, but I expect to hear what's on your mind once you do get it straight. I hate to pry like this, Diane, but ... well, I'm a little worried for you."

Diane gave her mother a surprised look. "Worried? Me? Why?"

Janet hesitated, her eyes anxious.

"Is this about my relationship with Heather?"

"You could say that, yes."

Diane noticed the uncertainty in her mother's voice and understood. She had inadvertently backed her mother into a corner, forcing her into a situation where she could not explain her feelings, either. By mentioning Heather, Diane had given her an escape.

"I'm being careful," Diane said in a low voice. "And not just my relationship with her. I'm being really careful about everything."

Janet's eyes shimmered as she nodded. "All right, dear. Please, try to be back by early afternoon."

Diane was surprised. That was a lot more leeway than she thought her mother would give her. "Of course, Mother. Thanks." She gave her mother a quick hug and fled.

She dashed to the hall closet and grabbed her coat. She was still putting it on when she barreled out the front door and trotted down the steps. At the end of the walk, she paused and looked down the street.

She saw the path she was prompted to take. She still could not trust it was all her own doing. Even if it were, she did not want to go through it alone again. She sprinted across the street and down the other way.

Melinda stared at herself in the mirror and frowned. Her mother had done nothing to update her wardrobe in the past month, and each Sunday it became ever more apparent. Every intake of breath made her chest feel tight, her blouse stretching across more cleavage than it had been designed to handle. The dress was also tight around the hips, clinging to her new curves. She felt more like she was going to be prostituted rather than attend church.

"Like I haven't already?" she muttered under her breath.

She would not have the recourse of covering up with a coat despite the subfreezing chill. The church was always overheated to the point where it felt like the middle of August despite the actual season. Considering what she knew of the church's pastor and his involvement with her mother and the Inn, she suspected he did it on purpose just for the unobstructed view of his female parishioners.

"Melinda, come down here if you're ready," came her mother's voice. "I don't want to be late."

Melinda rolled her eyes and yelled back, "We've got another ten minutes before we have to leave, Mom!"

"Your Aunt Jo wants a look at you before we go. Get down here now, young lady."

Melinda shuddered. She had heard Aunt Jo arrive just as she finished her shower. Fuck, if she wanted to go all perv on me, why didn't she do it then? Why in hell am I being made to wear white?

Melinda stepped out of the bathroom. Her bra felt too tight as well, as she had to opt for a smaller one to hold her breasts in check, or the blouse would never have contained them. The white lace of her panties felt uncomfortable. The pair matched to her Sunday finery were designed for modesty, and such a thing was becoming an alien concept.

She slipped her white-stocking clad feet into her shoes, took a deep breath to steel herself, and marched out of the room and down the stairs. Her mother and Aunt Jo were seated on the sofa, talking softly to one another. One of the stairs creaked under Melinda's foot, and both looked up.

Melinda clenched her jaw and tried to ignore their gaze. She set in her mind the idea she was wearing nothing the least provocative. Nevertheless, her aunt's eyes glittered with excitement and roamed over Melinda's body as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Her mother smiled faintly in approval, her eyes sweeping her daughter once from feet to bosom.

"Why, you look so pretty all dressed up for church, my dear," Jo said.

Melinda shivered. Beneath the facade of a respectable comment she heard an undertone of lust, becoming more apparent in her aunt's dark and sultry eyes as Melinda drew near. She wanted to pause to reestablish some resistance, but her feet drew her forward anyway.

"Here, stand in front of me so I can get a better look at you."

Melinda briefly clenched a hand into a fist as her pussy buzzed at the prospect of an older woman's scrutiny. She stepped before her aunt and was subjected to Jo's now openly lascivious gaze.

"Turn around once slowly," Jo said.

Melinda swallowed and obeyed, her skin flushing with delight.

"My, you fill out that dress quite well."

Melinda let out a ragged sigh of both exasperation and desire.

"Melinda, what do you say?" Penny said.

Melinda finished her turn and faced her aunt again, gazing at the woman's lustful eyes and struggling not to stare at the rest of her. "Um, thank you, Aunt Jo."

Jo smiled. "And so well-mannered. Come here."

Melinda's heart pounded as she took a shaky step forward. She gasped and nearly flinched when Jo lay her hands along the outside of Melinda's calves. Her hands slid slowly up the white stockings, gathering and pushing up the dress. Melinda shivered, her nipples tingling as her body flushed hot.

"Mmm, such pretty stockings and wonderfully sexy legs," Jo purred.

Melinda bit her lip to suppress a moan. Her hips swayed as the slow slide of her aunt's fingertips continued past her knees and up her thighs. Jo reached the top of Melinda's stockings and spread her fingers over bare skin, eliciting a husky sigh and squirming hips. Jo lifted the dress until she exposed Melinda's panties, which swayed as her pussy buzzed with warm arousal.

"That just completes the picture," Jo said. "Such modest panties. But we know the truth, don't we?"

Jo let the dress drop. Melinda swallowed and stepped back. She saw her aunt's gaze linger on her bosom, and she leaned forward as if in unconscious desire to bring attention to the raised bumps of her erect nipples. She whimpered and shivered when Jo brushed her fingertips once against each.

"We better get to church, Jo," she heard her mother suddenly declare in a loud voice behind her.

Jo stood. Melinda's gaze lingered on her breasts as they bounced. "Of course. Oh, and Melinda, when we get home, don't get undressed yourself. I would like the honor myself."

"Yes, Aunt Jo," Melinda said in a husky voice. She followed the others to the car, her pussy already warm and damp, her panties confining and uncomfortable. Her mind's eye conjured the image despite her best efforts, and she saw herself squirming in escalating sexual heat as her Sunday clothes were slowly stripped from her.

She quelled the growing desire as much as she could, or she would be a complete wet mess by the time church was over. She seized the link and held onto it like a drowning person to a rope. If any energy was to be had, she was going to get it and at least stop her from being humiliated through the Mass.

It would be a small victory, but she could use even that, for otherwise she was a step away from sinking into a total despair out of which she feared she would never climb again.

Richie spent no more time in front of the mirror than it took to give his hair a few cursory swipes of the comb. He glared at himself just before turning away, jamming the comb into his pocket.

He glanced at the clothes hamper as he exited the bathroom. He was tempted to rummage through it and wear the dirtiest clothing he could find. "Sunday finery" in the Gardner household was defined as anything reasonably clean with no obvious holes. That was the rule for Richie at least, arrived at years ago after much stubbornness and yelling on his part.

Her mother still gussied herself up for Sunday, wearing slinky dresses better suited for a bar or a downtown street corner. Her Aura spun and churned as if in anticipation of seducing more men for an afternoon of quick-and-dirty sex. Sandra usually sent him out of the house for that, and he was more than happy to oblige, but wondered now if the game plan had changed.

He left his bedroom and peered over the railing. Cathy was seated on the sofa, looking all soft and demure in her white blouse and gray skirt, hands folded in her lap. She occasionally leaned forward, bosom bulging against the blouse, her hips writhing.

Richie heard banging in the kitchen as her mother finished cleaning up after breakfast. Sandra had wanted to pick up Cathy on the way to church, but Richie had no intention of going anywhere near the Inn, thus forcing the change of plans. The volume at which she rattled items suggested she was still angry with him. Yeah, hope you stay fucking pissed at me all day, Richie thought.

Richie bounded down the stairs. Cathy raised her eyes and smiled as Richie approached. "Hello, Richie, it's so good to see you again," she gushed as she stood.

The blouse was tight around her bosom, and from the peek of bare cleavage Richie spied between the stretched buttons, she was bra-less. Her pleated skirt covered only the upper half of her thighs. Her legs were bare, save for short white stockings and five-inch heels.

Her Aura was still ever-present, and Richie did not dwell too much on her body. "Yeah, fine," Richie muttered.

"Aunt Sandra told me I'm going to be living here for awhile," Cathy continued, her voice husky. "Will I be staying with you in your room?"

Richie frowned. "You think I got space for all your crap in that dinky room?"

"Oh no, I didn't bring anything, really. Just some clothes. But ... I figured I wouldn't be wearing very much around here."

Richie clenched his jaw as his cock twitched.

"Or ... I could wear what you want me too," Cathy said in a soft voice as her Aura churned. "Maybe some lacy underwear. Or a teddy. Or--"

"Look, shut up, okay?" Richie snapped as his cock expanded.

Cathy nodded, looking mildly hurt, yet her hips did not stop their sensual sway, her nipples rising as two hard bumps on her blouse.

Richie sighed. "We'll figure out all that shit later."

"Yes, Richie, of course. I'll do whatever you want."

Richie wanted to throw another sharp retort, but it would have felt hypocritical in light of his solid erection. With an annoyed grunt he tugged his belt so it would sit somewhat more comfortably under his briefs.

He saw her gaze flick downward, and she licked her lips. Her eyes held dark desire and promise. Her Aura roiled, and Richie resisted the urge to order her on her knees.

Cathy drew in her breath and let it go as a lusty sigh. Her eyes flicked down to his crotch again with a hungry look. "Richie, would you like me to--?"

"No," Richie lied. "Not now, we're going to freaking church for Christ's sake." He turned away from her and called out, "Mom, what the fuck are you doing, cleaning the whole goddamn kitchen?!"

Sandra burst out of the kitchen, her body wrapped in a dress of a shade of red several levels too garish for church. "I wasn't cleaning, I was putting the pots and pans away, which I seemed to remember asking you to do."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I forgot."

Sandra sighed. "Head like a fucking sieve."

Richie could not tell anymore how much direct control the Darkness was exercising over her. Her Aura was almost constantly active now, so he could not trust anything she said. She sounded like herself, but the Darkness could have easily told her "act like a mother today," just to mess with Richie's head.

"You look wonderful this morning, Aunt Sandra," Cathy said.

"Suck up," Richie muttered.