IX.
FILE “PJ”
Sun., 20th. 12:32.
She went to bed early tonight. Didn’t even stay up to wait for Lara.
Maybe she had extra energy or something. She was beautiful tonight. Not as intense as the other night, but still very sexy.
She actually left the bedside lamp on tonight — couldn’t believe my luck! Mostly she fingered herself under the covers, but she did get her tits out. WOW! Her tits and nips are simply gorgeous! Really, really big and plump. Her nips stick way out, like big stalks. She pinched them while she played with herself.
Shot my load while I was watching her. Working up another one now:)
***
Sunday the twentieth. Nine forty-five P. M.
She got through the lock easier this time.
No time to listen to the tape. It had definitely recorded something, though. Hurriedly, before Mark missed her, she turned it over again. In an hour or two she’d start on side two. Then she could listen to the tape tomorrow and then . . . well, then she could decide how to confront Mark.
***
Lara Dehner got out of the Mustang a block away from her house, like she always did. Jesus Christ, it was almost two-thirty in the morning. Her mother would be waiting to kill her.
“Hey, you little bitch!” came a voice from the grumbling car. “Come back and kiss me bye.”
Lara grinned and leaned in to kiss the man’s hungry lips, felt his rough unshaven face against her chin. She grinned even broader when she noticed his face reeked of her pussy.
“You smell like a whore,” she said to him.
“You are a whore.”
“You’re a little pussy-sucker, aren’t you?”
“You know I am, you slut.”
“Mmmm,” she moaned, kissing him again, deep. “See you soon, baby. Gotta get home and face the fucking music.”
“She gives you any trouble, tell her I said fuck off.”
“Oh yeah, that’s helpful. Bye.”
“Bye, baby.”
A cloud of smoke, and the Mustang disappeared. Lara took tentative steps all the way to the side door, unlocked it gingerly, and found herself in an empty kitchen. Up the stairs, to her room, into bed — and no one said a word to her.
The next day at breakfast, her mother said “Oh by the way, ma’am — what time did you get in last night?”
“I don’t know — about twelve-thirty or one, I guess,” she lied.
“Good. Keep it that way.”
Her mother vanished. Lara just stared at the place where she’d been.
X.
Monday morning, the twenty-first.
Melinda slipped on her stockings absently, listening intently to the morning noises downstairs. Lara had already gone; Mark couldn’t be long after her. Yes, there he was.
“‘Bye, Mom!” he called up the stairs.
“‘Bye, honey! See you tonight!”
Amazing how normal it all sounded. Just like every other workday morning. But she was burning up inside to get into his room, to hear that tape. The thought of closure — of hearing her son spying on her, of confronting him with the proof, of accusing. All of these thoughts she pushed away. Frankly they scared her to death.
No, what she wanted now — in some sort of morbid way — was to actually hear her carefully won “evidence.” It was curiosity, surely — morbid curiosity.
There. The slamming door below; he was going. She watched him from the landing window, just to be sure. She was through the door in less than a minute.
Downstairs, putting toast in, pouring coffee, she sat down at the bar and pressed play.
Empty, hollow sounds for a long while. She scanned forward slightly.
A single sharp, slapping sound. That had been her, smacking her book on the table. Her signal to herself that she was about to begin.
A minute, maybe a minute-and-a-half of silence. She took a sip of coffee. Had she done it all for nothing? Had he not come up to watch her?
No, wait. The sound of his door rattling, the lock snicked into place. A few muffled sounds, and then, her son’s heavy breathing.
Melinda sat up straight on the stool.
More sounds of breathing — now he would have been looking through the peephole . . .
“Ooooh yeeeahhh . . .” came a low whisper.
She set down her cup and stared at the little black box. That was Mark, all right. Oh my God. There was no doubt about it.
“Oooh yeeahh . . . Oh God yeah . . . Oh baby . . .”
Melinda bit her lip, her heart triphammering in her chest. She hadn’t been prepared for this reaction — the whispered voice electrified her. Just hissing words and muffled breathing — like a cheesy obscene caller. But it was Mark.
It was Mark.
“Play with that pussy baby yeeahh . . . go on play with it . . . oh fuck yes!”
Melinda leaned forward, then leaned back again in her chair — she pulled the strap of her slip up beneath her clothes.
It was far more personal than she’d imagined it would be. She could picture him, his eye glued to the tiny peephole. His body pressed against the wall. His hand . . .
Was he naked at the time? Did he get naked for her?
“Oh my God yes . . . that’s right get those tits out . . . ooooh yeeahh . . . mmm baby –”
Her toast was burning, filling the kitchen with smoke. When she jumped up to get it, her legs nearly buckled under her.
Oh my God, she thought. Oh dear Jesus. I’m soaking wet.
“Come on, come on . . . pull those sheets away . . . let me see that pussy . . . please let me see it baby . . .”
I’m soaking wet. It’s my son and I’m soaking wet.
It was true. She could see her nipples through her blouse — hard little points. She touched one lightly and gasped.
“Yeah baby pinch those nipples . . . pinch ’em for me . . . ooooh God . . .”
The voice was more erratic now — jerkier. He was stroking himself. Hard. Her ass was warming up like a hotplate.
She plunked down the two blackened slices of toast, reached out to stop the tape. For several seconds there was no sound in the kitchen but her own labored breathing.
“Dr. Malone’s office.”
“Peggy?”
“Hey Mindy — you okay? You don’t sound so good.”
“I’m not. I think I’m . . . I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Uh oh. Flu?”
“Might be,” she sighed into the receiver. “I’m running a fever.”
“Okay, hon. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him. Get some rest, plenty of fluids — you know the drill.”
“Yeah — thanks sweetie,” said Melinda, greatly relieved.
She swooped up her hose, panties, and the tape recorder and headed upstairs.
XI.
FILE “PJ”
Wed, 23rd. 11:47 P. M.
She keeps going to bed early, and she keeps getting wilder. Light on again, third night in a row!! Tonight she used the dildo — didn’t see everything, but God, what I saw was good. Her pussy looks big and hairy and wet. Good enough to eat!! She was fucking herself like she meant it, making all kinds of noise . . .
Thurs, 24th. 11:36 P. M.
I think my mom’s a fucking slut! Seriously, I think she’s sex mad! I don’t know what is going on, but it’s awesome to watch.
TONIGHT I SAW IT ALL. I mean everything. She used the dildo again, but this time, on the corner of the bed, near the peephole. She was completely naked. I saw her pussy, saw into her pussy, saw her sliding the dildo in and out. Her tits were flopping around, she was moaning and crying.
My cock and balls are sore from wanking. My wrist is about to fall off. Do mothers get in heat or something? Is there something I should do?
Sat, 26th. 1:02.
Don’t know how much longer I can stand this. I can barely look her in the eye anymore. She acts all sweet and innocent all day, and then at night she turns into some kind of self-sex machine. My stupid fucking dad does not know what he’s missing! No way could I leave this woman, for anything!
Know what she did tonight? After she came — hard, I might add, and loud — she actually wiped up her pussy with her panties and flung them across the room. Oh God, I’ve got to get hold of those tomorrow.
She’s been like this for about a week now. If she keeps it up I’ll wank myself to death.
XII.
Saturday, the twenty-sixth of April.
Four forty-one P. M.
It had to be tonight. Oh God, she thought, God help her she knew she was going to hell but it had to be tonight. Lara would be gone. It would just be them. For . . . for how long? Three hours? Two? Maybe if she started early —
Melinda held her head in her hands, pulled at her hair. Oh God, what was she doing? What was she contemplating? How the hell did things get this far?
Right now he was downstairs, trimming the hedges for her. She had requested that, ever so sweetly — not because they needed it but to get him out of the house. She didn’t trust herself with him inside, not in broad daylight. Her thoughts were too wild, too out of control. Besides, Lara might be home soon.