Chapter 3: Ginger

The best feature of our apartment is that the rent is very low. One of the reasons is that the walls are paper thin. I was therefore able to hear every sound coming from Kate's room, every squeak of the bed, every slap of ham-fisted hand on her young face. Every slurp of her mouth as she sucked Steve's cock assaulted my ears, as did her shrieking 'NO' which told me that he had once again tried to enter her anally. Despite the 'loss' of sex for me that was caused by Steve's useless cock, I gave thanks that he was no longer able to keep it hard.

When I had moved in with Steve, all those years ago, it was with the clear understanding that each of us would be free to do whatever we wanted with whomever we wanted. I knew that he would continue to fuck, which word as use as a generic to include getting blown, every waitress in the restaurant as well as anyone else with a cunt. He knew that I would fuck anyone who got me wet, whether for free or for money.

What was left unsaid was the fact that I didn't expect him to be fucking my daughter. And even that wouldn't have been so bad if he had had the decency to wait until she was old enough to want it, to appreciate it. Which is to say that too young for sex, and in my opinion Kate was still too young, even if she was legal, when she walked out of her bedroom back in Chapter Two.

Many women who have good sex lives at home begin to get suspicious when their Significant Other ceases to be interested in them, sex-wise, and usually with good reason. But as I said, Steve always had carte blanche to fuck at will. My problem was different. Steve's drinking had effectively destroyed or at least weakened his ability to keep his cock hard, and his ignoring my body was logical. But for him to still keep trying with a young teen, his 'lover's' child, really rankled. But what was I to do? What was I to do?

My major talent in life was to show off my tits in the restaurant that Steve managed, to make men horny and sometimes to relieve that need of theirs. The tips were great and the occasional real payment was a bonus. Still, I didn't have the stomach for street walking and didn't really have the special looks needed for doing outcalls. Nor did I have the stomach for either of those choices. If Steve threw me out on my ass, not only would I have no income but also I'd have no place to sleep. What was I going to do, leave Kate in the apartment with him? No fucking way. Could I get another waitressing job? Sure, but not one that would pay such good money in tips. Can you imagine the heading on my resume? 'Tits for Tips' or should it be 'Tips for Tits'?

So I had to put up with it and I had to make sure somehow that Kate's psyche survived the abuse of her body.

When she walked into my room, the 'master bedroom' no less, she was in tears. So was I, from listening to what she had endured. She snuggled her naked body in my bed and I wrapped my arms around her. No words were necessary, nor were they even available. After all, what could I possibly have said to her?

I remembered the night that he took her cherry. For months he had been sticking his cock in her mouth and forcing her to swallow his cum. I had no clue that he was taking advantage of her they way, nor even any suspicion. Back then he was still able to keep it hard enough to fuck me. Plus, he did it to her when I was out of the apartment.

But when he popped open that secret door that we were given by Mother Nature, he'd had a few drinks. I was already asleep when he went into Kate's room. Her scream woke me. I jumped out of bed and ran into her room, ready to comfort her from a bad dream or from the sight of a rat that was really only a mouse. Instead, all I saw was Steve's naked ass on Kate's bed, right over the spot where she would be laying. And that ass was rising up and plunging down just the way it does when he fucks me.

"Get the fuck off of her, you prick!" My yell actually had a bit of incoherent scream built into it, but he got the idea, pausing in mid-stroke.

"Off," I screamed again. Moving slowly, reluctantly, he rose up out of her and rolled onto his back. I saw no faces; my eyes flashed on his cock, shiny from Kate's wetness and to her barely fuzzy pussy, red streaked from the destruction of her maidenhead. I moved to her desk, grabbed a pair of her homework scissors. Racing toward Steve, I raised my hand and swung the weapon towards his throat. Never for a second did it occur to me that I might kill him, nor would I have cared if I had thought of it. It would have seemed like a good idea at the time. But he reached his long arm under my hand and grabbed my wrist. Twisting hard, he made me drop the scissors. He slapped my face hard, twice, and then punched me in the stomach. I fell in tears.

He walked out of Kate's bedroom, leaving the two of us to comfort each other, to wipe away each other's tears.

That was the moment that sealed both our fates, Kate's and mine. I should have picked up a phone and called the Police but I didn't. I wasn't thinking straight, my mind only on fear for my daughter and yes, even fear for myself. Not fear for my job but fear for my life. And by the next morning, I was stuck with my decision – or lack of decision. Never again would I allow him to touch my body but he didn't care. He had Kate as his fuck toy. And I allowed him to use and abuse her at will.

Back now to the night of Chapter Two. Naked, we crawled into my bed and held each other tightly. Kate's nipples were pressing against me as was her groin. Yet I assure you that neither my thoughts nor Kate's were about sex. Hers I don't know about in detail. My own ran the gamut from knife to gun to poison. We slept fitfully, waking about hourly, only to cry and hug and fall asleep again.

I was awakened at six though by the feel of Kate's lips nursing on one of my nipples. Looking down at her, I saw that she was still sound asleep, her body unconsciously seeking nourishment from a long dry fount. By 'long' I meant in time, not in length. And yet, and yet, there was a hint of wetness between my legs and my womanly faucets had indeed begun to grow, to harden. Memories of sex began to flood my brain, those good years with Steve when all we did was work and fuck, at home and in the back room, all those soaking and screaming orgasms.

And all those customers who I allowed to pick me up, to think that they were charming me, charming the pants off me. If only they knew the ego trip I took whenever one of them dared to run a hand lightly across my ass, or to compliment my rack. They would piss and moan about their wives, frigid bitches, dead fish who thought that missionary was the only way to fuck. They sought my sympathy while never knowing that I much preferred a sweating, heaving, grunting body to my own fingers and toys. Poor guys, brought up by mothers who told them that women wanted to be loved, so cautious in hitting on me when all I wanted to do was to fuck and suck.

And so yes, when my baby reacted to being raped by her stepfather by fastening her lips on my nipple, I felt that old familiar wetness in my loins. If only he had chosen me for his lust, it wouldn't have been rape, it would have been my pleasure to satisfy those ancient male urges, to feel his hardness inside me, to welcome the creamy smooth texture of his discharge. But alas, it was Kate, going back to her infancy, to the security a child instinctively feels from a mother.

Just like Steve, my onetime lover, I couldn't control my lust. My hand reached for Kate's naked bottom and I began to rub. I damned myself to hell, realizing that I was not caressing a needy baby but just trying to sneak some pleasure for myself in the touch of a soft body. I knew that my hand was not being maternal but damn you Ginger, I desired to seduce her. And I feared that I might succeed, knowing that she might respond not from lust but from the same childlike submission that allowed Steve to have his way with her.