Betsy & the McBrides Ch. 01

Four-fifteen on a lightly raining morning marked what appeared to be the start of social disintegration in the life of Betsy Milton-Stewart.

Betsy awoke to hear her husband Royce cry, "I don't feel well." He coughed and gurgled, starved for air, dying of a massive coronary at 4:15.

A former star athlete and regional Young Businessman of the Year winner, Royce (40) was publisher of The Sentinel, the morning newspaper for Milton Falls and outlying settlements.

Regrettably for Betsy, that business also was dying so the pickings for the widow (29) would be lean, and virtually the whole town would learn about that simply because Milton Falls was an isolated community of barely 15,000 people.

The problem for Betsy was she was an outsider and had hurt the second oldest family in town, the Kennedys, by coming in and winning the heart of Royce when he was thirty-three days from wedding Mae Kennedy.

There was no Kennedy at the funeral and in fact the only person from the A-list in town society was the wealthy and pugnacious widow Matilda McBride, who'd not missed a christening, wedding, funeral or post-divorce party in town since returning to the town fifteen years ago when newly widowed.

Most women at the funeral, and many men, wore black. Matilda was dressed in cobalt blue while Betsy wore the recently purchased dress Royce had adored; it was blue, white and orange – and very low cut. The whisperings and the hostile eyes of women at the funeral service said it all: Betsy was finished in this community.

Of course, most mourners – and they truly mourned the passing of the lovable Royce – paid their respects to Betsy as they filed from the church. But just the like men, the women shook Betsy by the hand or simply didn't touch her at all, rather than kissing her as women tend to do at weddings and funerals.

Matilda was the exception to this indifference: she hugged and kissed Betsy and was heard to say, "Come and see me dear if you get lonely or troubled."

Only two weeks after the funeral, Betsy was lonely and troubled and needed someone in who she could confide. That afternoon she'd gone to the bank to meet the loans manager, at his request.

He advised Betsy that the board had decided to call in the mortgage advanced to The Sentinel, now owned outright by Betsy, in sixty days and no extension was possible.

"Who is the bank's managing director?," Betsy asked. "I wish to seek to overturn that decision."

"My father, Reginald Kennedy," said the loans manager, Reginald's son Ross.

"Well then, who is the president of the bank?"

"My grandfather, Silas Kennedy."

Leaving her coffee untouched, Betsy stood up and smiling at Ross Kennedy, uttered her brief farewell with dignity and walked out.

Round fucking one to the Kennedys, snorted Betsy as she walked up the street to where she'd parked her car, but the space was empty.

Mary-Lou the florist came out on to the sidewalk and said: "I'm sorry to have to advise you Betsy but your car has been repossessed by Kennedy Motors. The talkative tow truck driver told me he understood that the lease term expired on the vehicle yesterday and it is not being renewed."

"Thank you, Mary-Lou. Would you kindly call me a cab?"

While waiting for the cab to arrive the two women chatted. Mary-Lou picked out a selection of her best-grade flowers, wrapped them and handed them to Betsy, kissing her. Mary-Lou, since remarried, had been a young widow herself and she and Betsy were members of the same book discussion group.

The cab driver Mike Street, who'd been a regular drinking mate of Royce's, was friendly and talkative. As he stopped to let Betsy out at her home he said, "No charge and some free advice: Watch the Kennedy clan, they may try to squeeze you as a revenge thing. Call me if you need help."

I need help, thought Betsy as she unlocked the door of the house. The property had been registered just in Royce's name was unencumbered and the transfer to her of the clean title was currently going through the system as part of estate tidying up, being undertaken by her solicitor, Megan Ryan.

Everyone who had a complaint against a Kennedy hired Meg to fight his or her case. Not everyone in town was in the pocket of the Kennedys, not be a long shot. Meg had been jilted by Ross Kennedy when they were in their late teens, the next night after Meg had allowed him to take her virginity one holiday weekend when she was home from law school.

Well, what now? Betsy asked herself. No answer was forthcoming but while making a cup of coffee Betsy recalled that friendly offer made at the funeral. Betsy phoned Matilda McBride and disclosed she was in trouble, giving brief details.

"Come now, right away," instructed Matilda. Betsy was not expecting a miracle but being in need a sympathetic ear, she thought perhaps Matilda might have some useful advice. Older women were supposed to be good at that.

Matilda hugged Betsy warmly, which rather got to Betsy and she'd been feeling rather out on a limb. Inside the house Betsy was introduced to a lean man, probably in his early thirties, with the coldest blue eyes she'd ever seen. But not only that: he had a hooked nose, a scar down the side of his face and a very square jaw.

As he moved towards Betsy a ridiculous thought came to her – he moves like a cat. He did move rather stealth-like. It must be his dark expression and his black clothing, she thought while deciding she wouldn't wish to meet him in the dark.

Betsy shook hands with Kenny, introduced as Matilda's younger son. The grip was powerful, the hand surprisingly warm. Well, at least blood flows through him, she mused.

They sat down, and when Matilda asked for full details of the problems, Betsy flashed a look at Kenny.

"Don't mind him, dear, he's probably going to be assigned to help you. My guess is you're having Kennedy problems. I was born Matilda Kennedy – not many people around here baring the Kennedy's know that. I was banished from the family by my father Silas when I became pregnant to Father McBride. Danny left the church and we married.

"I came back here to live with my children, being the sole survivor of an air crash which took the lives of my husband, his parents and sister and older brother who owned and was piloting the aircraft. That's when, sadly, I got my inheritance. Danny's folk were quite wealthy. Fortunately our two children were staying that weekend with friends of Danny. That tragedy left us three as the surviving members of that branch of the McBrides."

Betsy was shocked by those revelations and expressed her sympathy. Matilda nodded in response but Kenny just stared at Betsy, obviously waiting for her to explain her problems in detail.

Half an hour later when leaving, Betsy accepted an offer by Kenny to drive her home. The fact that his car was black, with darkened windows and was without any shiny metal at all on its exterior did not surprise her – it was the sort of vehicle a man like Kenny would mate with.

"What line of business are you in, Kenny?"

"Was in Special Ops in the military then have just finished working for almost four years helping a loans company find clients who had disappeared owing big money. Now my mother wants me to troubleshoot for her. She's decided the time has come to deal with Kennedy problems."

"Oh heavens, here was I downloading my problems on to her when she's got problems of her own. I must go back and apologise."

"It's cool, Betsy. My mother thrives on being in the middle of problem-solving business. She should have been in Special Ops herself."

As they drove to Betsy's front door she had the ridiculous image of Kenny bending over her as she went to get out of the vehicle and kissing her. She blushed and was relieved that he didn't do that. Nor did he lean across and open her door for her or walk around and gallantly open and hold the door ajar, politely adverting his eyes as she struggled to keep her short skirt from revealing stocking tops and panties.

My God, why am I thinking these things of Mr Debt Collector Man in Black? His heart would have been extracted by the military.

But Kenny had a most unusual farewell message. As Kristy leaned forward to say thank you and goodnight as she closed the car door, he said, "Your car will be back later tonight."

Back where? What an odd thing for him to say. Betsy shrugged and unlocked the front door. As she entered the house the deep throbbing purr of the car motor increased in volume slightly and the mysterious Mr McBride drove away, very quietly. At least he'd shown an indication of having being properly trained by his mother and waited until his lady passenger had entered her home.

Your car will be back later tonight? Okay, Mr McBride – impress me; find it and drive it back here.

A little more than an hour after midnight there was an explosion at the rear of the premises of Kennedy Motors. Emergency and security services rushed to the premises, alerted by relayed alarm messages and blaring sirens on-site.

Within fifteen minutes it was concluded that the damage was confirmed to a steel door being blown off its hinges and wrecked and only one vehicle was missing, a white Ford that had been repossessed earlier that afternoon.

A short time later two policemen and the general manager and vehicle service manager of Kennedy Motors arrived at Betsy's home. They found Betsy (wearin only her dressing gown) leaning against her car that had been returned so dramatically; she was flabbergasted. A man dressed in black stood alongside her.

"That's our car," shouted the general manager.

"It's my friend's car and this lease document proves it," said the man in black.

"We did not renew the lease," said the general manager.

"You might not have, but Bette Rowlands, you leasing manager did two days ago and since no conditions of lease have been contravened, good night to you gentlemen."

"They broke into our storage shed and stole the fucking car," shouted the service manager. "Arrest them, sergeant."

"Sergeant, please ask that lout if he'd got proof of that allegation, otherwise he's in danger of being cited for defamation."

"I'm sorry, son, but this vehicle is being impounded until its ownership is sorted out. Get the keys, Stevens."

As the police officer moved forward, Kenny moved to meet him.

"Betsy has done nothing wrong. She is exercising her right to defend her property using any legitimate means at her disposal. I'm her legitimate means, so the choice is yours."

Kenny then dropped into a crouch as the police office said nervously, "Serg?"

"What do you want us to do, son? You look to be a fine upstanding fellow; we have no wish to crack your skull or put a bullet through your shoulder."

"Call out one of your legal guys."

"Christ, son. It's almost 3:00 in the morning."

"Do it, or face a much bigger problem with perhaps severe legal consequences for you and Kennedy Motors."

Twenty minutes later the police legal adviser confirmed that the lease document was correctly stamped and dated. It seemed in order. He conferred in private with the police sergeant who returned and advised the Kennedy Motors representative to leave the property or else risk the owner declaring they were on her property illegally.

Kenny whispered to Betsy, "By chance I'd entered the building through Bette Rowland's' office in administration and was going around her desk by torchlight when I noticed leasing agreements in her basket. Don't ask my why but I flicked through them and one was your renewal. It had been signed but attached to it was an instruction calling for it to be cancelled."

"Chance? I think that was absolutely amazing – my office accountant must have sent the renewal application through as she'd paid to do, any way. You took a risk, you could have been arrested for stealing a document."

"And a car and for other offences including wrecking their security door," Kenny grinned.

After everyone had left Kenny garaged the car and went inside for late supper – very late supper. Kenny had cold pizza and coffee; Betsy had a glass of warm milk.

"Thank your for getting my car back, that was very heroic of you."

"Aw, that was nothing," said Kenny, looking at the floor.

A few minutes later, as Kenny stood up to leave, Betsy said: "It's late, stay here. Come to bed."

She didn't realise her clanger: no mention had been made of the spare bedroom.

It was only when Kenny asked was she sure that the penny dropped for Betsy. She flushed.

Betsy found herself holding her ground; in a completely uncharacteristic immoral decision for her since her marriage, she took a risk. She knew nothing about this man, whether he was married, diseased or kind or rough to women in bed. What she did know was she'd been deeply lonely in her bed in recent nights and here was the chance to fix that need.

Holding out her hand, Betsy began walking from the room. Kenny slipped his hand into hers. In passage, they turned to Betsy's bedroom where the light had been left on.

As soon as they were in the bedroom Kenny reached across and taking her by the right hip spun her into a half turn right against him, placing them belly-to-belly. Cupping her left breast (Betsy feeling it beginning to swell into his hand), Kenny's face dropped down towards hers and he initiated a soft and lingering kiss.

He's not a quick bang man, Betsy thought happily, hoping that she was not jumping to a wrong conclusion. She could not feel his stiffness against her but was confident something would be there.

Dropping a hand she found a penis at half-mast that because of her touch, was probably being provoked to stiffen rapidly. Betsy pulled her hand away, wondering what on earth he would be thinking of her – a cock hungry wench in a hurry to be dicked, perhaps?

Betsy broke away from their embrace and pushed Kenny towards the bathroom. She told him to take a quick shower, use any toothbrush and come to bed, nude and ready. He grabbed one more kiss while juggling her left breast as if trying to assess poundage, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

Come to bed nude and ready? God, I'm a slut saying that, she giggled and then worried about having mentioned a toothbrush. The poor man would be thinking he had bad-breath. Oh no, nothing of the sort!

Betsy turned off the ceiling light. The bedside lamp provided a good level of background lighting. The decision was to leave it on or not?

Royce had been a man who'd preferred it off, as apparently many men and women did. But Royce was no longer in the frame.

Betsy decided she wanted the light on – this was probably a oncer and he would be away by daylight. At some stage she'd like to examine his dick out of curriosity. His physique looked awesome, so why waste one of the important senses by turning out the light and having to limit exploration, especially of his penis, to touch and smell? She wanted to look at it.

God, she was feeling as if she were on fire. Dipping her fingers she sucked them, not having done that since pre-marriage days when being concerned that she might not be wet enough for the cock that was being nervously directed at her. A lot of fucking had passed under the bridge since those days.

Kenny came bouncing out of the bathroom, leaping at her, pinning Betsy on to the bed before she had time to react. She screamed – though not loudly enough to wake the neighbourhood – and felt herself dripping down below. They began tonguing and in her mind was the fleeting glance she'd had of his erect penis as he jumped her – what a beauty!

That left breast was under attack again – didn't he realise she had two? Oh, he does she thought happily as his noisy sucking of her left nipple ceased and his teeth bit into her right nipple, making her yelp. That reaction was more one of surprise as the pain was really about the level of stubbing a toe.

Sensual triggerings swept through her; Betsy knew she was ready to be fucked, requiring no more foreplay.

If he wasn't ready, well there was always next time for him to mess around. She pushed against him and Kenny cooperated, rolling on to his back.

Betsy straddled him and he reached up and began playing with her breasts as she positioned herself and then began to press down on to his cock. It was thick but her vagina was well lubed so in it went without fuss, feeling its way through the tube to set off lovely sensations. Betsy was leaning forward a bit to ensure this down stroke was dragging across the vicinity of her clit.

Good boy, he'd done this before! Kenny's hands went off her boobs to cup the cheeks of her ass and he began to provide extra lift; they were underway.

Soon after she orgasmed, but they both ignored it apart from increasing their thrusting.

After a while as the heavy breathing was accompanied by them both beginning to sweat, his lower body felt suddenly much warmer, indicating to her that his pump was being primed; she had to push down at little harder to maintain pace and friction as he thickened further.

Kenny dropped her ass, grabbed both breasts again and squeezed, making Betsy gasp. She squealed and squealed again as she released fluid whereas Kenny simply sighed. Betsy knew by the pulsations that this fuck was at its climax.

She dropped down on to his chest, making him grunt in surprise. Feeling the latent power of his hard body, Betsy thought crudely, what a body to fuck. She surprised herself, as she'd not felt this naughty since running amok during college days.

Betsy waddled to the bathroom trying to keep her thighs together but gave up. Little trickles were oozing from her despite her endeavours and anyway sweat and her cunt juices were already transplanted from where they had dripped on to his thighs to be pressed back on to hers. What a fucking mess, grinned Betsy. I love it, aware that this encounter had taken her mind off other things.

Quickly towelling herself dry Betsy returned to the bed with two clean towels.

"What do we want those for?" asked Kenny. "I love being bathed in cunt juices and cum."

"You do?" cried Betsy, happily. "So do I, though in recent years I was with someone who liked to keep clean and dry."

"Ah yes, your husband."

"Are you married?" she asked.

"I was once – from twenty-four till twenty-eight. Military life is very hard on wives."

"How old are you now?"

"Just turned thirty-two. My mother said you are not thirty yet."

"No, not until another three weeks."

"Well have to organise a celebration for you."

Betsy's heart fluttered. He was talking as if they'd be seeing each other again.

"That would be lovely."

"Want to inspect my prick now?"

"What?"

"I guess that's why you left on the light. I've found it's a thing woman do when they get a new lay."

"What, looking or leaving the lights on?"

"Oh Christ. Let's keep it simple. Here is my dick. It doesn't have a name, nor is it diseased, discoloured or carry any shrapnel. The foreskin was removed before I was old enough to know I had a dick. It's been well-used in bed, on bar tops, on beaches and in cars, and I have fought hard to keep it in top shape."

"May I touch it?

"Yes. After where it's been you have licence to do anything you wish with it."

Betsy ended her close inspection with a few licks.

"May I ask you something, Betsy?"

"Yes, after where you've been tonight you have licence to ask me anything you wish."

"Thank you. Do you suck cock, I mean do a thorough job?"

"If you mean long and swallowing, yes, of course."

"Um, do you take it, um…?"

"In the ass?"

The cold blue eyes bored into hers quizzically, as if willing her to say yes.

"No, but I believe I could be persuaded by the right person in the right situation to lose my ass virginity. Do you ass fuck?"

"Oh y-e-e-e-e-s. But listen, I must go now, as I've got a big day ahead of me so need a couple of hours shut-eye. My mother has asked me to work for you but she's going to pay me a salary until we get you producing a good cash flow again."