Claire's Cunt Kitchen

Alison dares say no more, but she gestures, her hands reaching back and forth towards her mother, as if pleading, as if trying to pull her closer, to show that they share a bond -- that Bond which, in the world of the Enlightenment, has been declared unspeakable. "Mommy," she whimpers. "Mommy..."

Jill sits, trembling, as tears again start to leak down her face. "Oh God, Al... All I want is for you to be happy."

"I know, Mommy. So will you trust me to do that?"

There is a long pause, during which the only sounds are the clattering of pans and dishes in the kitchen, and the banter of Claire's staff as they prepare for their day's work. "Ooh, taste this bread, Claire," calls Riley: "It's so fuckin' good!"

"'Course it is, Riley: I know where you put it!" giggles Claire -- whilst the rest of her coterie screech with delight.

In the front room, Jill and Alison can't help but laugh again -- and Alison makes the most of their new moment of levity: "Mommy, do you remember when I won the school fuck-talk bee? Do you remember my winning neologism?"

"Oh yes, what was it?" laughs Jill. "'Shitcuntfuck...' -- something like that?"

"'Shitcuntfuckwhoreslutfuckgangbang'!" grins Alison. You were so proud of me you booked me my first ever anal gangbang in celebration! And how totally fucking that was! Six guys, remember?!"

Jill chuckles, her face joyfully nostalgic. "My point exactly, Al. Would you turn your back on all that now? I mean, really? Monogamy, fidelity, pregnancy, childbirth -- and from your cunt, for God's sake! Have you any idea of the pain?! Women of my generation fought to be free of all that oppression!"

"No, Mommy, no!" replies Alison. "Everything I learnt then, everything you brought me up to be -- I am still that person, Mommy. Remember when you gave me my tits for my eighteenth, and Hortense spent, like, the whole fucking night sucking them for me? And when I took my first simultaneous double anal creampie at the senior prom -- remember?! And remember when I was accepted into the RAF, and we had that orgy in the garden with the Joneses to celebrate?! Those were the happiest days of my life, Mommy! And you know what made me so happy? That you were proud of me -- you and Daddy were so proud of me. I want you still to be proud of me -- because everything I am, everything I know, I learnt from you..."

"Teresa," calls Claire's voice from within the kitchen, "have you squirted on the tuna mayo yet?"

"Oops, I forgot, sorry -- I'll do that now!" screeches Teresa.

"Mommy," continues Alison, reaching down her cleavage to retrieve a wooden rosary from round her neck. "Do you remember this?" She dangles it in front of the screen to display the glimmering solid silver cock which forms the pendant.

"Oh!" gasps Jill. "I got that for you when you left home!"

"And it is still my most precious belonging, Mommy. I wear it here, over my heart, still..."

Jill's lips tremble, as tears leak down her cheeks again.

From within the kitchen, Claire's voice interrupts their silence: "Amber, have all those sausages been up your cunt yet?"

"The plain ones, yeah," replies Amber. "But Riley, can ya fit the Cumberlands up yer arse?"

"'Ow many at once?" quips Riley -- sending the entire staff into raucous laughter.

Jill opens her mouth to form a sentence, but pauses.

"What is it, Mommy?" says Alison.

"You pleasure me, my little fuckslut," says Jill, her eyes wet.

"You pleasure me too, Mommy. And more..."

"Gary, can ya squirt some o' yer cum in this milkshake?" calls Belle from the kitchen.

"'Ey guys, try one o' these pulled pork and pussy sausages!" calls Amber.

"Alison..." ventures Jill softly. "I..."

Alison waits, her eyes glistening with tears.

Jill knows what she wants to say, but can't bring herself to do so. "I miss you so much, sweet cunt," she says instead, allowing her tears to flow unstaunched down her cheeks.

"I miss you too, Mommy," replies her daughter.

"Brad," calls Claire from the kitchen, "lick this sugar off my tits, will you?"

"'Ere, Riley," calls Teresa, "will ya fart some coronation chicken onto some white sliced for me?"

"'Ang on a bit," replies the girl. "Lemme get this cucumber out me khyber first."

Jill and Alison are listening from the front room, shaking with laughter and tears, delight and pain. "Alison..." says Jill.

"Yes, Mommy?"

"I..."

Alison waits.

"I... I..."

Alison waits.

"Fuck it, Alison, don't you fucking dare tell your dad I said this, but..." Jill checks around her to make sure no one is listening, before blurting: "I love you too!" She involuntarily clenches and unclenches her fists in displeasure and discomfort at her own words. "My crazy, treacherous, fat, pregnant, monogamous, Undesirable-fucking, unfuckable ex-fuckwhore daughter, goddamn it, you have hurt me so, you have betrayed everything I ever believed in, but -- OK, if I understand what you mean, then -- I fucking 'love' you too. So there!" Her jaw juts defensively.

Alison's wet eyes light up with joy. But Jill hasn't finished: "But you tell that disreputable, Unenlightened scoundrel lurking by your shoulder there, that he may have led you astray, but he's still got to deal with Jill Bates. He'd better fucking 'love' you for the rest of his fucking life, and stick by you and that mongrel kid of yours, or your dad is going to personally come and chop his fucking black dick off and feed it to him inch by inch -- you hear?"

Alison laughs. "Mommy, I --" She pauses, wondering whether to dare to say what she wants to.

"Go on, cunty-pie, out with it," prompts Jill.

"OK," nods Alison. "Mommy -- I won't tell Rob that: you tell him yourself!" She pushes her chair back, and pulls her husband into the screen, so that Jill can see all three of them -- Alison, Rob, and the bump.

The mother-in-law flinches instinctively, her eyes flitting from her daughter's face, to Rob, then to the bump, an involuntary grimace of distaste disfiguring her face. "Oh God..." she groans.

She means to say more, but never finishes her sentence, for at that moment the front door of the café bursts open again, and Jill and Alison hear a voice screeching: "YOU!!!" They turn to see a woman dressed in a red leather cat-suit standing in the doorway, her tits bulging against her bodice, auburn hair blowing in the damp wind, her trembling index finger graced by a glimmering ruby ring, now pointing at the screen. "YOU!!!" she screams again. "YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED MY HILDY! YOU MURDERER!!!" The woman's eyes blaze with fury, as she advances towards the screen.

Neither Alison nor Jill nor Rob knows who the interloper is -- though Jill is sure she has met her before: inchoate images of a red dress, champagne flutes and a thick gnarled spurting cock swim into and out of her consciousness. Alison also has a vague feeling that she remembers that face, that head of red-brown hair gracing a latex fetish nurse outfit, its wearer bearing a tray with a carafe of green liquid on it...

The woman's screaming, however, has brought the kitchen staff running, and they all crowd, shocked, bewildered, and mainly naked, into the doorway behind the café counter. Claire and Bradley draw breath, as does Alison on the screen, as simultaneously they realise who it is. But it is Gaz who exclaims first: "Nurse Datchet!" he gasps.

Dolores turns. "Eccles?" she intones indignantly. "Garibaldi, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I help out here at weekends," says Gaz. "You know, when I'm not needed at the Hospice..."

"The Hospice -- ha!" sneers Dolores. "You all became traitors when Hildegard was no longer there to lead you -- didn't you? Quislings, consorting with the Undesirable-loving softy do-gooders, like the unprincipled opportunists you are!" She spits at Gaz, a large gob of saliva landing in his eye, and a thick spray of phlegm spattering over the rest of the assembled crew.

"Hang on a minute!" shouts Claire, pushing herself forward and squaring off against the interloper. "Who do you think you are, barging in here? I remember you, Nurse Datchet -- oh so eager to poison people with your fucklock drafts, looking on whilst that mad bitch boss of yours mowed down innocent people. Well, no longer. GET OUT OF MY CAFÉ NOW!!!"

"'MAD BITCH'?!" screams Dolores Datchet. "HOW DARE YOU?! HILDEGARD WAS ONE OF THE GREATEST WOMEN EVER TO LIVE! SHE WAS A PILLAR OF THE ENLIGHTENMENT, A TRUE VISIONARY: SHE WAS CREATING A NEW WORLD, A BETTER WORLD, A WORLD OF PLEASURE, OF BEAUTY, OF PERFECTION! SHE WAS MY MENTOR, MY LEADER, MY FUCKER..." Dolores turns away from Claire and points again at the screen, from which Alison and Rob are watching, horrified. "AND YOU MURDERED HER!!!" she screams. "YOU FILTHY BLACK BASTARD, YOU SHIT-FACED N--"

"NO!" shouts Alison, wrapping her arms around Rob. "No, Nurse Datchet, you have it all wrong. Rob would have saved her! He grabbed onto her arm to stop her falling. But she hit him with her night-stick: that's why she fell! Rob tried to saved Hildegard's life -- EVEN THOUGH SHE HAD KILLED HIS FATHER! I WAS THERE: I SAW IT!"

There is stunned silence in the room. Jill clasps her hand over her mouth in realisation. Dolores pauses, as if listening on repeat to the echo of Alison's words, painfully digesting their meaning, her body shaking spasmodically as she passes from unbridled rage to belated realisation, her face grimacing, twisting uncontrollably as the agony of too many emotions wash over her.

Her trembling arm, hitherto pointing accusingly at Rob, curls, shakes and collapses by her side. And then she wails -- no longer a scream of rage, but a cry of desolation, of bereavement. "Oh God, Hildy, you were my life!" she keens, as tears pour down her face and she collapses to her knees, curled up like a foetus, rocking back and forth in anguish. "You meant everything to me, and now you're gone, and you will never come back... Oh God, what shall I do?!" Her sobs are hard and dry, as if echoing forth from a wound in her heart so painful and gaping it threatens to swallow her whole.

Jill has been sitting watching this in silence: at first terrified, then bewildered, then realising where she has met this woman before, and piecing together her fragmentary memory of last night's events: the Cock Tail Bar at the Titz, the phallic champagne fountain, the woman in the red dress, the semen frosting her champagne flute, the truth-and-amnesia drug slipped surreptitiously into her glass from the carnelian ring, and then little snatches of conversation --"my daughter Alison"..."yes, left the Union to marry an Undesirable"..."secret screen network"..."Claire's Cunt Kitchen"..."Rob Daniels"..."Daniels, yes"..."yes, he had a father, culled at a hospice in London"..."oh yes, Doctor Fotzenficker, died in a fall, didn't she?"..."an accident, they say -- but I don't believe that, do you?"..."well, you know what his kind are like, so full of vengeance and violence..."

And so now Jill rises from her seat, looks down at the woman weeping pathetically at her feet, and considers how ill Dolores has used her.Such deception, such manipulation, such trickery. She is tempted to pounce on her in revenge, to kick, to scratch, to pummel her into the ground where she kneels. But then she realises how eagerly she too has bought into the narrative -- of the vengeful Savage, out of control, leading the fine daughters of the Enlightenment astray...

She looks up at the screen, sees Alison's pleading tearful face; and Rob's, full of fear and horror and pity. And she remembers looking down into Alison's wide-eyed adoring features years before, and saying: "Remember, true fuckers want nothing more than to give pleasure. In this Enlightened world we live in, there is to be no more jealousy, or possessiveness, or revenge..."

And so Jill Bates bends down, kneels on the ground next to the weeping Dolores Datchet, and strokes her long auburn hair. Dolores looks up. "I know how you feel, Dolores," says Jill tenderly. "It is so hard to lose someone you love. I know." She puts her arms around her, and Dolores weeps uncontrollably into her breast.

As Nurse Datchet's sobs subside, Riley, who has hitherto been standing silently behind the café counter, gives Gaz a little nudge and urges him forward. He understands, and walks forward, his cock -- still huge, though flaccid -- dangling from his open fly, bread dough and anal lube glistening from its head. Kneeling down, he gently touches Dolores' shoulder, saying softly, "Come, Nurse Datchet, let me take you home."

She nods, and stands. Gaz puts his arm gently around her and guides her out the door. "It's gonna be all right, Nurse Datchet, it's gonna be all right..." he says, as he softly shuts the front door, and the rest of the assembled crew quietly retreat into the kitchen.

Jill is left alone, kneeling on the café floor. She lifts her head and looks at Rob and Alison on the screen.

"Mrs Bates..." Rob's voice is solemn. "I promise you I will stand by your daughter, and be faithful to her, forever."

Jill stands. Her eyes and Rob's meet. Barely noticeably, she nods. In silence and stillness, they understand each other -- but she is not quite ready to admit it to Alison: "Tell him to turn around slowly," she smirks.

"Mommy, he's not a circus animal. At least, you can speak to him directly!"

"It's OK, Al," says Rob, doing as ordered, then smirking back at Jill.

"He's quite handsome, actually," says Jill in a mock jaded tone. "And a nice body." She ponders again. "Fuckable, definitely."

Alison giggles in relief. "Thank you, Mrs Bates," says Rob, bowing exaggeratedly.

"Does he have a nice dick?" she asks, maintaining the pretence.

Rob grins, and Alison, warming up to her mother's subterfuge, nods enthusiastically. "He's got a wonderful dick. Huge and stiff and throbbing -- and he totally knows what to do with it!"

"I guess I'll have to take your word for it, will I?" asks Jill wryly.

"Yes, Mommy, you will," affirms Alison.

Jill makes a show of considering the situation carefully. "Hmph," she grunts in an off-hand manner. "Well, OK then."

Mother and daughter look at each other across the divide, eyes gleaming with that strange mixture of pain and rapture, sacrifice and joy, debt and gratuity which are the marks of true love. And then, from inside the kitchen comes Riley's voice: "Mrs Bates, can I get ya some breakfast? Eggs? Crumpets? Pancakes?"

Jill chuckles. "That would be lovely, Riley," she calls back. "Though, if you're serving it 'special' -- how about...grapefruit?!"

Riley cackles with delight. "Fuck yeah! Comin' up!"

Alison and Rob laugh. Alison takes one of Rob's hands and rests it on her precious bump. "Feel that!" she says, as Rob nods and grins.

Jill's smile reaches all the way to her eyes now, and she nods with what is evident approval. "Rob," she says at last, "I never thought I would ever say this to someone like... well, like you... but... you're a good man. And if in your primitive Unenlightened world, Alison is only allowed to fuck one man for the rest of her life, well then, let that man be a good man..." Jill pauses, before continuing with a trembling voice: "Rob... My daughter means more to me than anyone else in this world. Take care of her, and you will have my respect, and my appreciation, and my honour." She is shaking all over now, and her voice cracks as she says: "Rob -- God bless you, and God keep you -- all three of you..."

Jill stumbles, as if wanting to say more, but not knowing how. But then, the screen flickers and goes blank. A couple of seconds later, the double-blowjob test card returns, andGood King Wankerslas tinkles from the speakers. Jill's face crumples, and she weeps into her hands.

Claire and her colleagues quietly file out into the café, all naked except for their company aprons adorned with Claire's cunt-likeness. Brad opens the blinds, changes the sign on the pink cunt-painted door to "open", and welcomes in the first couple of customers of the morning. The girls lay out the bread, cakes and sandwich fillings at the food counter. Teresa feeds a frankfurter into Amber's cunt, and Belle licks chocolate sauce off her own bulging boobs, whilst taking the first customers' order. Riley waddles over to Jill and announces, "Your breakfast, marm!" in an exaggeratedly posh voice as she squats over her table.

Bradley gently, solicitously fucks his beloved Claire as she sits on the counter, buttering breakfast buns with her naked tits. But soon she gives him a nudge, pointing at Jill, who is alone again, tucking into her pungently flavoured grapefruit. He nods, slips his cock out of Claire's cunt, and approaches their guest, his glistening erection waggling modestly in front of him. In his best customer-service voice he asks, "Would you like me to eat your pussy, Mrs Bates?"

"Oh, that would be so nice, Bradley," she sniffs, wiping away her tears and smiling.

Outside, the mist has cleared, and sun streams in through the windows of Claire's Cunt Kitchen.

THE END