Chapter 21: The Glassners

"I shot him."

Silence filled the car. Mary's hand was holding mine, gently squeezing. Her hand was warm and comforting. My dad was dead. My mom shot him. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. I opened my mouth, worked my jaw, but nothing came out. What could I say? What should I do? My dad was dead. The bastard was dead.

A ragged sob came over the speakers of my Mustang, my phone synced up to the car stereo via bluetooth. "Mark, I don't know what to do," sobbed my mom over the phone. There was a muffled banging and shouts in the background. "The police are here, Mark. I ... I got to."

"Wait, mom!" I shouted hoarsely, finally finding my voice but the line was dead.

Mary reached over and hugged me tight. "I'm so sorry, Mark," she whispered.

"I'm fine," I muttered. I had felt nothing when mom said dad was dead. Hearing the shouts, the bangs, fear was gripping my heart, now. My mom, my sweet, patient, saint of a mom was in trouble. She's never done a wrong thing in her life. Dad probably had it coming. He used to beat my mom all the time when I was a kid. Fuck, he'd beat me, too. God, I should have done something to my dad, earlier. Why didn't I?

Fuck, I was going to tell him off tomorrow, when my parents came over for dinner. I was going to make him feel as powerless and helpless as I had. He was going to suffer, to crawl and grovel at my feet. He was going to pay for all the beatings he gave me. All the bruises he gave my mom. And now he was dead. And my mom was in trouble.

"Let's go," Mary said, calmly. "Put your cock away, and lets go help you mom."

I pulled out my Nextel, pushed the call button. The Nextel chirped, connecting me to the network. "Master to 23," I calmly said, holding the Nextel a few inches form my mouth.

"23," a female voice answered back. 23 was one of our twelve cops I turned into bodyguards today. 24 and her were our guards this evening, sitting in a cop car just a few parking spots down from us.

"We're going to 1414 S. Alaska St, in Parkland," I said. "It's an emergency. We'll follow you."

"10-4, 23 out."

We raced behind the DuPont Cruiser. 23 had the sirens and lights blaring, weaving through traffic as I tailgated her. We got on 512, flying west towards Parkland. In no time we were exiting onto Steele St at the Parkland-Lakewood boundary, turning left and in two minutes we were pulling up at my parents house.

Four Pierce County Sheriffs and a Lakewood patrol car were on the scene, along with a Medic One ambulance. Neighbors were milling about. The only one I recognized was Betty Cooley. She was my age and lived a few houses down when we were kids. Concern painted her light, mocha-skinned face. She was half Black and half White, and had vivid, blue eyes. I vaguely remembered my mom mentioning she had to move back in with her parents a few years ago. The memory of the time I asked her out some school dance was flashing in my mind. The one time I worked up the courage to do so and after she laughed in my face, I never had the courage to ask another girl out.

I wasn't sure why I was thinking about all of this. I had bigger things to worry about then some stupid high school crush. My dad was dead. My mom killed him. Betty Cooley hardly mattered at all. She still looked pretty, thin and with that beautiful skin. If I didn't have bigger problems I probably would bend her over the car and fuck her raw while she ate out Mary's cunt.

"It's alright," Mary whispered, touching my arm. "We'll face it together."

I don't remember what I said to the cops outside to get us into the house. I was like a robot, not in control of my body, as I walked up to the door. Inside my dad was dead. My mom killed him. That was all that rattled about in my head. I gripped the brass handle of the door knob. My dad installed this handle when I was seven or eight. I helped him out, handing him his tools. He told me I was good son and ruffled my hair with his hand. Mary reached out and placed her hand over mine.

"We'll face it together," she whispered. God, she was the best. I pushed down on the handle and the door opened.

Inside, my mom was handcuffed, sitting on the couch, sobbing softly. Two Sheriff Deputies were talking to her. Her brunette hair was a mess, tousled and tangled like she just woke up. But it was nearly eight o'clock at night. She wouldn't have gone to bed that earlier. But then why is she wearing her pink, frayed housecoat? Her beautiful face was puffy from her tears, her eyes bloodshot.

"Take off the handcuffs," I barked at the two deputies. "It was clearly self defense and that's how you'll right it up in your reports. My dad was abusive and my mom had to defend herself."

One of the deputies started uncuffing my mom, who blinked at me. "Mark," she croaked. "I shot him in the back."

"He was beating you, wasn't he," I asked.

"He..." she broke off. "I just had to stop him, Mark."

"It was clearly self defense, mam," one of the deputies said. "I think we have all we need. You're free to go." He handed her a card. "Here is the name of a grief counselor."

"But..." my mom started to protest, confused by the sudden change of behavior of the cops, clutching the white card in her hands

"He deserved it," I said, sitting down next to my mom and putting a comforting arm about her shoulders.

"No one deserves to die," she muttered, miserably. "I ... I just had to stop him."

"From what, mom?" I asked, but she just sobbed again. The demon, Lilith, had told me that the only person my powers couldn't work on were my mom and it looked like she was right. For Mary, it would be her father, if she had any powers that worked on a man, that is. "Okay, mom, you don't have to tell me."

"You don't hate me, do you, Mark?" she whispered, plaintively.

"No, mom," I said, hugging her tighter. "I could never hate you, mom. Dad was a bastard, anyways. He deserved it. And now you're free of him. Free to be happy, to not live in fear."

"I don't deserve to be happy," she bitterly whispered.

My mom sniffed, then noticed Mary in her purple blouse trimmed in white and her short jean skirt. My mom's eyes lighted up with emotion for the first time as she looked Mary up and down. My powers may not work on my mom, but Mary's did. When Mary and my mom had spoken on the phone a few days ago, my mom had gotten so horny we were pretty sure she was masturbating as Mary described herself.

"You must be Mary," my mom said, giving her a wan smile. "I'm sorry we couldn't meet under better circumstances."

"It's okay, Sandy," Mary said and bent down and hugged my mother and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "We're going to take you home, okay. Things will get better, okay."

"I ... I guess you're right," my mom said, looking around at a loss. "I don't think I can stay here."

No one objected as we led my mom out of the house. My dad was dead in the hallway leading to the bedrooms and the crime scene guys were going over it. None of us wanted to go back to her bedroom to get her some clothes, so my mom walked out only in her housecoat. I was starting to think that my mom was naked underneath there. And why was dad home on a Saturday evening. That's his poker night. I glanced at my mom, a sudden thought flashed through my mind. Was she having an affair? No, that couldn't be. She went to church twice every Sunday and on Wednesday evenings. I had begged my mom to leave dad for years and she said she loved him, that Christians shouldn't get divorced.

"Mrs. Glassner, I hope you are okay," Betty said, coming over and hugging my mom.

"Its fine," I told her. "My dad was being abusive and my mom had to defend herself."

"Oh," Betty said, looking confused. "And that's what the police think?"

"Of course, that's what happened," I said.

"Right," she said. "Call me if you need anything, Mrs. Glassner."

"I will, sweetie," my mom said, fondly. "I ... I'll call in a few days."

"Sure," Betty said. "You take care, okay."

"You too, Betty," replied mom, squeezing her hand.

That nagging thought that my mom was having an affair wouldn't go away. I noticed that she had lipstick on, smudged, and mascara ran down her face from her tears. Why would she have makeup on if she was just hanging out in the house on a Saturday night. I wondered who she could be having an affair with. It was mindboggling. My mom was so straitlaced, I just couldn't believe that she'd cheat on my dad. Not that I'd blame her, my dad was an asshole.

I pulled out my cell phone and called the house. "Glassner residence," a bored Allison answered. Allison was one of our sex slaves, our first actually, a sexy teenage nympho.

"Get all the sluts out of the house," I ordered. "Go next door."

"Yes, Master," Allison quickly answered. "Is everything all right, we heard from the bodyguards that something wrong?"

"Just clear the house," I ordered, suddenly angry. I wasn't even sure what I was angry about.

"Sorry for questioning you, Master," Allison apologized. "The house will be emptied."

I hung up and saw Mary was helping my mom into the back seat of the Mustang. My mom sat in the back, quiet. Her face was blank, her eyes dead, as she stared down at her open hands. 23 followed in her patrol car as we headed home. The entire drive was filled with uncomfortable silence. Mary kept opening her mouth, wanting to say something, but just couldn't seem to find the words, and would close her lips.

"Should we order a pizza, or something?" Mary asked as we pulled into the driveway. "I mean..." she trailed off. Her stomach gave a guilty rumble and she flushed.

We had been on our way to dinner when my mom called and I shrugged. "I guess. And a bottle of wine or three." Then I caught Mary's hand and kissed her palm. "I love you," I whispered. "We'll go out to dinner Monday night, okay."

"Oh, it's alright," Mary said with a shrug.

"We have to go to Seattle anyways," I said. "To buy the land." We were planning on building a mansion on the giant, empty lot behind our house. It was supposed to be a housing development before the housing bubble burst. It had a magnificent view of Mount Rainier.

"Sure," Mary said, smiling.

Mary led my mom up into the house. She seemed lost, not aware of her surroundings. I found a bottle of red wine, probably a good vintage. Brandon Fitzsimmons, the original owner of the house, seemed to have good taste in wines. I took his house and made his wife, Desiree, our sex slave. Brandon, however, seemed to be fighting back against my orders. He sent the FBI to raid my house on Thursday. I would need to track him down.

I called Pizza Hut and ordered a couple of pizzas, meat lover for me and a half Hawaiian (for Mary) and half Veggie Lover (for my mom). I gave them Brandon's credit card to pay for the order. While I had a lot of money in the basements from my bank robberies, it amused me to make Brandon pay for things.

"I'm sorry, sir, the card came back declined," the bored teenager on the line said. I guess Brandon finally canceled his cards.

"Cash then," I said and hung up.

Mary had my mom seated on the couch and I handed mom a wine glass. She stared at it for a moment and then downed it in a single gulp. My mom wasn't one for drinking. Maybe a glass of wine when she saw my aunts once a year, at most. I poured her a second and she sipped it.

Mary was sitting next to her, a supporting arm around my mom. I sat down on the other side and took my mom's hand, squeezing it. "It's okay," I told her. "Everything's going to be fine."

She looked up at me and I saw some life in her dead eyes. "I killed him, Mark. I shot him in the back. How's that going to be okay."

"Why, mom? Why did you shot him?" I asked, squeezing her hand. "I'll still love you, no matter why. Even if he wasn't trying to hurt you. He was a bastard."

"He was," she whispered. "I ... I was..." her voice quivered. "I ... I..."

"You were with someone else," I said, carefully. Part of me hoped it wasn't true. My mom couldn't be having an affair. She was too nice, too wholesome, to do something as sordid as that.

"Yes," she said. "I ... I had been seeing someone for a few years."

Her confusion rocked my foundations. My mother was so straitlaced. So good and proper. To find out she'd been having an affair, for years, was so surprising. My mom refused to leave my dad. She loved him, she was a good Christian, all the excuses she gave, and then to find out she was cheating on him. Wow.

I studied my mother. At forty-three she had a great body. She was short, petite. She had always exercised everyday, keeping in shape, and it paid off. Her figure was as fit as any twenty year old. Her face had transformed from her pretty and youthful face she had when I was a child into the mature and beautiful face she had now, only slightly marred by a few wrinkles.

"You don't hate me, do yo Mark?" my mom asked. "B-because I'm a ch-cheating whore." She started sobbing again.

I brushed a strand of brown hair from her face. "It's okay. You're not a cheating whore," I told her. "Dad was pig. He didn't deserve you. You deserved some happiness, mom. So he caught you and your ... uh ... boyfriend?"

My mom wiped at her tears, an almost grateful smile on her face, for a moment. "Yeah, my b-boyfriend," she nodded, flushing, the almost smile gone. "We were in bed. He was supposed to be playing poker all night with his friends. He was so angry when he caught us. My lover fled and I locked myself in the bathroom. He pounded on the door and then he said something about teaching a lesson. I thought he was going after ... after my lover. So, I left the bathroom, grabbed the shotgun in the closet and shot him in the back as he stumbled down the hallway."

"So it was self-defense," I said. "Or at least, you stopped him from hurting someone. So don't feel guilty."

"Was he going to hurt my lover?" my mom asked, desperately. "What if he was just storming off, disgusted with me. There was so much pain in his eyes when he saw us. I never wanted to hurt him. I was just lonely ... and my lover was there for me. And I just panicked." She started sobbing and in embraced her and held her as she sobbed incoherently.

Mary paid for the pizza when it arrived, and it sat on the coffee table, growing colder and colder, as I held my mother. Mary was crying, as well, tears running down her face as she watched us. Finally, my mom's sobs decreased into tiny hiccups and then she pushed away from me and wiped at her tears.

She saw the pizzas. "It's okay, if you want eat," she said. "I ... I..." She took another sip of her wine. "He was going to do something," she whispered to herself, trying to convince herself that she was right to shoot him. She took another sip of wine. "He was a bastard. He's never going to hurt me again."

I squeezed her hand. "I love you, mom," I told her.

"Thank you, Mark." She ruffled my hair, a tremulous smile on her face. "You always were a good boy."

The pizza was cold, but I was starving, so I didn't care. My mom nibbled at a slice, and looked at Mary. "That's a lovely top, dear," she said, stroking the fabric of Mary's blouse. "I like the feel of it."

"Thank you, Sandy," Mary replied, smiling flirtily. "I like the color of your robe."

"This old thing," my mom dismissed with a flush. "You are quite beautiful, Mark's a lucky guy. I hope he treats you right."

"Oh, he does, Sandy," Mary said, archly. "I have no complaints."

"Good," Sandy said. "A pretty little thing like you deserves to be treated right. I enjoyed talking to you on the phone the other day. It was so stimulating."

I bet it was stimulating, mom, I thought with a smile. Mary's had made a wish with the Devil to have all women desire her, and it worked over the phone, apparently. My mom had gotten so horny talking to Mary, she started masturbating. It had been hot, realizing my mom was masturbating while on speaker phone with me and my fiancee.

"I enjoyed it too," Mary said with a wicked smile. Mary had started rubbing her cunt when she had realized what my mom had been doing. "It was a very pleasurable conversation. I couldn't wait for you to come over. I hope you can come over and over ... to our house."

"Hmm, I would love to come again," my mom purred. "I want to know every thing about you, cutie."

My mom hugged my fiancee, rubbing her body against her. Mary smiled and hugged her back, stroking her back. My mom was nuzzling at her neck, whispering, "You smell so lovely."

Mary smiled happily and when they broke the hug, my mom's nipples could be seen pressing hard against her housecoat. Mary made eye contact with me and motioned for me to leave. To make my sex slaves immune to a nuns control, I needed to fuck my mom and have the slave drink our combined cum from her pussy. The only problem was, my powers didn't work on my mom.

Luckily, Mary's did. We planned on having Mary seduce my mother tomorrow night when she came over for dinner. Once Mary got her in bed and horny, she'd convince my mom to fuck me. With her wish, Mary could get any woman to do any sex act, no matter how depraved. I just needed to give them some privacy and let Mary do her thing.

"Shit," I said, pulling out my phone. My mom jumped, seemingly forgetting that I was there and flushing in embarrassment. "There's an emergency at my rental property," I lied.

"You have a rental property," my mom asked, surprised.

"I invested in real estate with some of my poker winnings," I lied. I was telling our families I won money in a poker tournament. "There's a burst pipe. I got to take care of this. I'm really sorry."

"Oh, okay," my mom said, then placed her hand on Mary's thigh, rubbing it. "I'm sure Mary and I will find something pleasant to do."

"I'm sure we will, Sandy," Mary said with a throaty laugh.

My cock was painfully hard as I walked out of the living room. Outside, red-head 09, the bodyguard watching the house, leaned against her Milton Police Department patrol car. She had a nice pair of tits that filled out her half open blouse. Her legs looked beautiful, clad in thigh-high, black boots and barely covered by her short skirt. Leaning against the car, you could almost see her pussy, and her parted thighs looked so inviting.

"I'm sorry to hear about your father, sir," 09 consoled.

I wasn't. "He was a bastard," I spat and walked up to her. My cock needed relief and 09 would be wet and willing for me.

She smiled when I unzipped my fly and pulled out my cock, spreading her legs wider. "Hmm, let me make you feel all better," she purred, lifting up her skirt to expose her fiery-red bush.

I shoved up against her and thrust into her cunt, angrily. I fucked her hard, pounding her dirty cunt. Anger was boiling through me. The bastard went and died before I could tell him how I felt. "You are a fucking asshole!" I shouted at my dad as I fucked 09, my eyes squeezed shut. "You're a worm. A goddamn coward who could only feel like a big man when beating his tiny wife or his kid! And now you are fucking dead! Too scared to face your son grown as a man! To afraid of what I'd do to you." I wasn't making sense, a tiny part of me realized, just ranting. Letting all the anger and hurt pour out of me as I pounded 09's cunt. "I wanted to crush you. To strangle you. To feel your life pulse beneath my fingers!"

I could feel it, I realized, that frantic pulse of life in my hands. The beating of a heart as blood pumped through tiny arteries. That flutter of life being slowly squeezed out. I fucked faster and harder at 09. I squeezed harder and tighter at my dad's throat. I had to kill him. Why didn't I do it earlier. Why didn't I confront my father sooner. Then my mom wouldn't be wracked by the guilt of doing it herself. I had the power. For a week, I could have marched in and protected my mom. But I left her, abandon her to my dad while I enjoyed myself. Why didn't I step in sooner.

Because you're the coward, a voice whispered back. You're still that cowardly little boy, deep inside, scared of your father.

The cunt I was in spasmed hard on my cock as the slut came, milking my cock for my seed. I exploded. My cum out of my cock, painting the sluts insides with sticky cum, and my emotions out of my soul, as tears poured out my eyes, running wet down my cheeks...

I was the coward. It was my fault. Sobs were rocking my body. I could have stopped all this, but I was still scared of my dad. I was still that little boy, deep inside. I looked at 09 through blurry eyes, her face purple as she struggled to breath. My hands were at her throat, squeezing her. When did that happen?

I let go and stumbled back. 09 fell to her knees, coughing, struggling to breathe. Guilt and shame burned inside me. What was happening? I could of killed her. I cried into my hands. My dad was dead. My dad was dead and I would never get to see him again. I don't even remember the last time I saw him, or what he said to me. My emotions were all mixed up, anger, hatred, love, grief.

A woman hugged me, her red hair silk against my face. "Shh, it's okay," 09 cooed, her voice raspy. Even after I strangled her, she still loved me. What choice did she have, I made her love me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to her. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"It's okay, sir," she whispered. "It was so exciting. I came so hard when you were choking me. You could do it again, if you want." I had heard being strangled makes sex more intense. I guess it was true. "I'm yours to do with as you please, sir."

"No, forget that it happened," I told her. "We just had regular sex."

"Thank you for fucking me, sir," she said, wiping at my tears. "I'm glad my slutty cunt satisfied you, sir."

"Yeah, it did," I said, standing up. I breathed in deeply, regaining control of my emotions. Dad was dead. I had arrangements to make.

The ringing phone woke me up.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. It was two in the morning. After last night I needed to get some sleep. Antsy and I had taken this guy back to our motel room from some bar to fuck. I figured, let a guy get Antsy all hot and bothered and then I could have an easy time fucking her so I could perform the Prayer of Avvah on her.

It worked.

And while Travis and Antsy both passed out after they came, they eventually woke up, horny, finding me masturbating away. I fucked Travis and then I went down on Antsy, licking up the sloppy mess Travis left in her cunt. I was looking forward to her going down on me. She had a tongue piercing and I always heard that it made cunnilingus feel so much better. But Antsy had sobered up to much and would just finger me.

So when Antsy wanted to go out, I pleaded exhaustion. I may look eighteen, but I was feeling all of my forty-four years. So I crawled into bed and fell asleep. And I was enjoying that sleep before the phone rang.

"Sorry," Antsy said. She was walking across the room. The bathroom light was on and I could see that her clothes were mused. She's just been fucked, I realized. Antsy came to Miami to party and she had been thoroughly enjoying herself. "It's my stupid brother. Ugg, I don't want to talk to him."

Her finger was moving to hang up. "Wait!" I shouted. I needed her to get together with her brother. This seemed so wrong, I was supposed to stop Warlocks, not serve people up to them. But, Ramiel said this was the only way. I just needed to have faith in God's plan.

"What?" Antsy asked, her finger stopped above the phone.

"It's late," I said, trying to think of a reason to get her to answer the phone. "It ... it ... must be important."

"I guess," Antsy said, rolling her eyes. "Hey bro." A look of stunned disbelief crossed Antsy's face. And then, in the quavering voice of a little girl, she whispered, "He's dead?"

Her legs seemed to give out underneath her and she stumbled, sitting heavily on the bed. Her eyes were wide with pain, a tear started trickling down her cheek. She saw me looking at her and she turned away, trying to hide as her brother talked to her. I watched her aura go from silver to black. Her brother gave her a command, exerting control over her. It wasn't much control, his hold wouldn't last long. Odds are, she'd have done it without him controlling her. Her aura would be silver by tomorrow afternoon, I judge.

"I'll be on the plane," Antsy said. "Tomorrow morning at 7:55 AM, American Airlines," Antsy was repeating into the phone. "Mark, how's mom." She paused, listening. "Okay, okay, we'll talk when I get in." Another pause. "I love you, too Mark." And then she hung up.

"My daddy's dead," Antsy said in her quivering, little girl's voice. Her face contorted in pain and then the sobs overtook her. I held the girl to my chest and rocked her gently as she sobbed her heart out.

"Shit," Mark said, and I jumped.

I was so enchanted by my son's fiancee, I forgot Mark was sitting next to me. What was wrong with me. Ever since Betty, I was starting to wonder if I was a lesbian. And here I was panting after my future daughter-in-law. The fact I just killed my abusive husband barely register in my mind. All that seemed to matter was Mary and her beautiful, wicked smile. "There's an emergency at my rental property," Mark said.

"You have a rental property," I asked, confused. He was a vacuum-cleaner salesman. Since when did he own a rental property.

"I invested in real estate with some of my poker winnings," Mark answered. He did mention that in the phone call. Those darn FBI agents almost had me believing my good boy was a bank robber and a rapist. My eyes were drawn back Mary. She had the deepest, green eyes that twinkled naughtily. Get a hold of yourself, Sandy. But she's just so desirable. I wanted to kiss her lips so badly. "There's a burst pipe. I got to take care of this. I'm really sorry," Mark finished.

"Oh, okay," I absently said, staring into Mary's eyes. I felt something warm on my hand and realized I was rubbing Mary's beautiful thigh. Her jean skirt was so short, so inviting. This was just like when I talked to Mary on the phone. I couldn't believe that I started masturbating. "I'm sure Mary and I will find something pleasant to do." Why did I say that. I needed to take a cold shower. I needed to get out of this itchy housecoat and show Mary my body.

"I'm sure we will, Sandy," Mary said with a throaty laugh. Was she flirting back.

How did this happen to me. I must be a lesbian. When I started the affair with Betty a few year ago, I thought it was just a fluke. David may have always been an abusive prick, but he was a passionate lover. And I enjoyed our lovemaking. But his drinking had grown so much, he had trouble getting erect anymore. I had gotten so horny and then Betty showed back up.

She was so beautiful, with that mocha-cream skin and her enchanting, blue eyes. It was so exotic. Her father was half-black himself, and her mom was a Norwegian beauty, and the combination produced a stunningly beautiful girl. And that day that I realized Betty was flirting with me, it had been months since I had been with David. I was so lustful, masturbation wasn't cutting it anymore. I had even considered taking a lover, but I just couldn't bring myself to break my marriage vows. But she was a woman. It wasn't really cheating. I didn't even think I was a lesbian, afterwards. It was pleasant, not as good as a man, but fun. And I felt I had kept my vows.

It's only sex if a man's penis goes up your vagina. President Clinton had said. So, you couldn't really have sex with a woman. Therefore it was just fun, not adultery. Maybe homosexuality is a sin, but I wasn't an adulteress. That's how what I told myself. Mark and Samantha always wanted me to leave David, but I swore a vow before god. Until death I swore, and that's how it ended. I could still feel the shotgun in my hands, how hard I had to squeeze the trigger, the roar it made and how much it hurt when the stock bucked into my shoulder.

Mary's enchanting presence was drowning out the guilt over killing David. When I shot him, I was sure he was going to go kill Betty. The sweet girl had fled when David caught us in bed and this mad thought entered my mind that he was going to hurt her. I couldn't let him do that. And ... and it was easy. He had treated me so badly, I didn't even hesitate.

"What should we do?" Mary asked, scooting a little closer. Her flowery perfume was filling my nose, an intoxicating fragrance.

I found myself sliding my hand higher up her thigh, nearing that short, enticing skirt and what was hiding underneath. I was such a horrible mother, thinking about seducing my son's fiancee. But that didn't stop me from sliding my hand higher and higher. Her thigh was silky smooth and warm.

"I would like to get to know my future daughter-in-law better," I husked, like wanton trollop. You are a good, god-fearing woman so why are you doing this. Betty was bad enough, but she's almost your daughter.

Is that why I'm so wet? I wondered. She's the same age as Samantha. No, that couldn't be it. Mary and Samantha were so different. Samantha had raven black hair, not the enticing auburn of Mary, nor did she have Mary's enchanting green eyes. Our her delicious lips.