What Are You Doing New Year's...

"New Year's Eve?"

The question had to have been rhetorical as it popped, unbidden, into his mind. After more than ten hours driving along mountain highways, even rhetorical questions commanded his attention.

The radio sidetracked his thought train with a weather warning. "An unexpected snow and ice storm is moving rapidly this way. If you are driving south you may expect hazardous driving within the hour. Major highways, including the interstates, south from Georgia and the Carolinas are already closed. Stay tuned to this station for..."

(Click) -- Irritated, Will snapped off the radio. "Damn weather. I'll never leave the friggin' snow and ice!"

* * *

Not ten minutes later, Will suddenly found himself driving through the advancing storm. He had almost decided to pull over and take his chances when he made out the flashing red glow of a neon sign: "MOTEL" above " VACANCY".

He guided his van into the nearly full parking lot, shut down the vehicle, gathered his meager belongings and hurled himself out into the blowing storm. His slow, determined trek through the freezing weather was rewarded as he opened the door and barely stumbled into the warmth of the motel's well-appointed lobby.

"Room for the night, Sir? Or, for the duration?" The smarmy little clerk chuckled under his breath. Paying for two nights, Will picked up the key and his bags and climbed the stairs, looking for number 215.

By the time Will had unpacked, surveyed the room and took a shower, it was only six o'clock. Dressed in a white turtle-necked sweater, gray slacks and a Navy blazer Will descended the stairs and re-entered the lobby. The smarmy clerk greeted him once more. "Oh, Mister'Wilson.'" Will could hear the clerk's disbelief at his name: Will Wilson. And, yes, that was his "real" name. "You'll find a New Year's Eve buffet and dance in our Pioneer Room. I'm sure you'll be able -- heh, heh -- to satisfy your appetites there."

Without acknowledgement, Will strode into the recommended room. A roaring fire, a smooth 'Fifties band and a heavily laden buffet provided warmth and amazing smells, Will filled a plate, two as a matter of fact, and settled himself at a small table in the far corner of the room, The waiter brought a complimentary carafe of red wine and poured Will a glass. For the first time since leaving Fort Wayne, Will relaxed, sipping the wine and gazing into the tire across the room. With the wine and the food and the fire--well, Will felt complete. Almost.

* * *

She was a vision--an absolute vision. Tall. Slender. Leggy. Sensuous. Desirable! Smooth white skin and jet-black hair. The whole "package" wrapped in silky red satin. She must have felt Will's eyes on her for she turned towards him, the fire at her back silhouetting her curvaceous form against her dress, and smiled. Will held his breath as she approached his table.

As she neared, Will could see she was maybe ten years older than he, probably near his mother's age when ... With an effort he shut off his maudlin thoughts and returned to the joy of watching her approach.

"Are you going to ask me to dance? Or, are you just going to look at me all night, and regret what might have happened?"

Will couldn't breathe let alone answer. "Unh. Ah. Um."

"Well, if that's your answer." Will just stared and nodded, "Okay. Then stand up and dance with me!"

Will struggled to his feet. And just stood there.

"What's the matter, Will? Don't you care for older women? Well. We don't bite. Unless you ask... We don't break, either. And I'm very attracted to fine, handsome young men. They give me life and joy and peace. C'mon, Will. Willy. Willy-Boy. Hold me. Dance with me, Will. I've waited so long for this."

He opened his arms and stepped towards her. She in turn extended her arms. As he willingly imprisoned himself in her embrace, she stroked his face with her fingertips. Dropping one arm about his neck, she fitted her body against his. Will's hands touched her waist, pulling her even closer; he felt an almost electric shock, as they swayed together in time with the band's soft music.

"That's it, Lover. Hold me tighter, Hold Margaret closer, my sweet Willy-Boy. Oh, yesss . . ."

* * *

It was one in the morning when Will took Margaret by the hand and led her to the stairs. He stood to the side, giving her the opportunity of returning to her own room, or ascending to the next floor and his room. Will glanced at the desk clerk, "I certainly hope you've no objection!"

"No, Sir. I see nothing. Enjoy your night."

Will followed the swaying hips in tight red satin as Margaret led the way. Arriving at Will's room, she didn't wait for him. Opening the door, she strode into the room. Seating herself on the couch, she leaned back and patted the cushion next to her. "Here, Will. Take off that hot coat and sit next to me." Will shed his blazer, sat next to Margaret and kicked off his shoes.

Margaret turned slightly and leaned in to kiss him. A soft, feathery kiss on his temple as she raised her hand to brush his sandy hair out of his eyes. Then, another on his cheek. More kisses traced his jaw line. Will slid an arm around her shoulders and took her lips in his.

As his tongue parted her lips seeking her tongue, he slid his free hand down her shoulder and to her breast. Through the satin, he could feel her brassiere-covered breast. As he caressed her breasts, her nipples hardened and thrust outward. Her soft moans grew louder as their tongues dueled. His questing hand slipped through the neckline of her dress, as hers slipped under his sweater, mimicking his actions. He cupped her breast through her brassiere, feeling the soft silk and lace. As her nipples responded to his touch, and her moans intensified, she toyed with his nipples drawing accompanying moans from Will.

Without breaking his kiss, Will sought, found and opened the fastener in the front of her bra. He spread the cups to either side of her smallish breasts. "As my daddy always said, 'Anything over a mouthful's wasted.'" He bent to take her nipple into his mouth. His mouth and tongue paid homage to her other breast forcing Margaret to forget everything and focus on long forgotten feelings surging through her.

"Stand up, Margaret," he ordered. As she complied, Will swept both brassiere and dress from her shoulders, to fall at her feet. Margaret kicked the discarded clothing aside and stepped back. She looked at Will through slitted eyes as she stood before him in a white satin half-slip, thigh high black stockings, and black strapped stiletto heels. "Damn, Margaret, you are absolutely gorgeous. I thought ..."

"Women didn't wear slips and stockings anymore," she finished for him. "Well, in my day, a lady always wore a slip when she dressed up. And, most of us wore stockings." She turned slowly in place as she continued, "Some of us even wore stockings with seams!"

Grasping Margaret by the hips Will pulled her closer until her satin-covered ass pressed into his crotch. He moved gently against her buttocks allowing his erect cock to caress the cleft between her rounded cheeks. Will slid his right hand from Margaret's hip to her soft belly and then down until he was able to stroke and cup her pubic mound. He pulled her body closer as his mouth trailed kisses from her ear to the junction of neck and shoulder.

"Oh, God. Willy. Sweet Willy-Boy," Margaret moaned. Briefly stopping Will pulled back, looking up to see Margaret--head thrust back, eyes closed, mouth open. Her arms hung loosely beside her body. "Damn it, Will! Don't stop now. I've waited for this for so long," as she tried to force herself back onto his cock.

Will slipped to his knees. He turned his willing partner until her silken loveliness was before him. He pressed forward gently kissing his way from her waist to her crotch. He pushed her slip to her waist and paid lusty attention to her pussy through her soaking panties. Her knees no longer supported her. Will was forced to support her body to keep her from falling. With a hand on her breast and an arm about her waist,

Will laid Margaret's limp body onto the couch behind her. He arranged the compliant woman for his pleasure. First, he slid her panties down her stocking-clad legs, and off her feet. He left the slip on and above her hips. He rearranged her arms above her head and her legs extended along the couch--one against the couch back, bent at the knee. Her other leg was on the floor, spreading them and making her pussy fully accessible. Will removed the remainder of his clothing and knelt, nude, beside Margaret's face.

He leaned forward and pressed his cock against her lips. As he moved his rigid sperm pole from side to side, he pressed forward into her mouth until he felt his glans enter her throat. Moving in and out with increasing speed, Will fucked Margaret's unresisting face. Margaret's eyes opened just before Will tensed. She didn't try to avoid him as he began to cum forcefully into her mouth. With neither hesitation nor resistance, Margaret took all Will had to offer.

"Umm. Yes. Oh, yesss!" Will screamed his passion. "Take it all, Margaret, my sweet cock-sucking slut! Oh, God, yesss. Argh..." With her head held tightly, Will moved it from side to side, back and forth on his spewing cock. "God, yesss."

As he finished and Margaret begged him, "Please, Baby. Put it in me. Fuck me Sweet Willy, Put it in me. Put it in me. Put that cock into my pussy. Fuck me, Will. Fuck your sweet cock-sucking slut."

Will never really noticed what Margaret was saying. He only knew he was fucking a sexy woman. A sexy passive woman. A sexy passive woman who wanted him to fuck her and fuck her deep and hard. He didn't care who she was, or who she claimed to be. He wanted her; he wanted to fuck this slut. Will wanted the three of them-- New Year's Day, Margaret, and him--to cum at the same time.

Some time later, as Will lay satiated, atop Margaret’s well-fucked body, he asked her, “Now, tell me Margaret, who are you?"

"Well, ten years ago I left my family after years of abuse. I just couldn't--wouldn't--take it any more. My husband began hitting and kicking me. He even offered my body to his drinking buddies. Then, when even my son William turned against me..."

It dawned on him. "Mother? You're my Mother?"

"Yes, Sweet Willy. My sweet, sweet son."

"But.. I thought... I thought you were dead. When you left us, I thought you... I mean... I was told you had died."

"Do I look dead to you, Baby? I've waited so long for you to come to me," she chuckled at her own pun. "Come to me. Cum to me."

With the awareness of what he had done drilled through his brain, Will fainted into a dreamless sleep. He thought he heard Margaret whisper, "Good night, Will. My sweet Will-Son. I'll be here when you waken. Right here in your arms."

* * *

"Hey, Joey. There's the motel."

"Sure enough. Good ol' Hilltop Hotel. Don't they usually close this time of year?"

After parking the cruiser, the two troopers entered the motel lobby. The same clerk that greeted Will several nights ago was again on duty.

"Hi, guys. What's up?"

"Just stopped for coffee and to make sure all's well."

"Right, George." said Joey. Then, to Lem, the clerk: "Everythin’ ‘s Okay, Lem. Ain't it? Nothin' out the ever day shit?"

"Don't know about that. We gots a live one up in 215. Checked in New Year's Eve. Partied some at the buffet/dance. Wandered upstairs sometime around midnight. Ain't seen him since."

"Damn! 'S three days ago. Room 215, then. You checked it out, Lem?"

"Nope. 'S long he's not causin' a fuss, I don't care if’n he never come out. Credit card's good. Fer a whiles more. M'be 'nother day nor two, anyhow."

"Phone calls? Visitors?"

"He don’t get no calls. Don’t make no calls. And no visitors neither. Know what I mean?"

"Damn it, Lem; get your keys an let's see."

The brothers, George and Joey Gregg, followed Lem to the second floor. "Here 't is. Good ol' 215. Y'all goin' in?"

"Bet your ass, Bubba." Joey took the key and unlocked the door. George listened intently. A low moaning could be heard. "Joey, on three"

George held up a fist. He raised three fingers as he mouthed "One. Two. Three." and pointed to the door. Joey kicked it open. George, pistol drawn, rolled into the room. Coming to his knees, George took in the scene in a single sweeping glance.

“Gaaahhh," Joey almost lost his breakfast.

“What the fuck..." was Lem's comment as he stood in the hall outside the open door. Paralyzed.

In one corner of the room was a pale, staring Will Wilson. Dragging down his pale face were the bleeding marks of his own fingernails. His once sandy hair had turned stone white. With bulging, bloodshot eyes he was staring, unseeing, at the occupied bed. The corpse, for corpse long dead it was, lay desiccated and shrunken, wrapped in red satin rags--legs spread obscenely.

Will was softly keening, over and over, "Ohhh, Mommy I'm sorry. So sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Oooohhhh. God. GOD. GGGGOOOOOODDDDDDD!"