Mrs. Reid Ch. 6bychristo©
I woke up a non-virgin the next day, to find that the sun still rose in the east, the skies were still blue, and I still had to take out the Reid's goddamn garbage. I crawled out of bed around seven and took a quick shower to clean out the cobwebs. I pulled on a pair of mesh shorts and a T-shirt and went next door to do my duty.
It was early, and even with the shower my mind was still a bit fuzzed. So while I noticed the shiny black 2002 Lexus parked across the street, I didn't think anything of it. Maybe the Johnson's had splurged, or they had rich early-morning guests. I just wanted to take out the trash and retire to the kitchen to enjoy a bowl of cereal.
There were three trash cans and a number of boxes to toss, so I got to work, dragging and toting. It took me five trips to get it all out. As I walked into the garage for the last time, debating the merits of Lucky Charms versus Cheerios for my breakfast, I saw nothing else that needed pitched. I decided on Cheerios (a more mature cereal, as befitting my new manly status), and headed out the door.
Then it hit me, like a hammer to the pinky finger. I hadn't opened the garage door. Hadn't gone to the mailbox to get the opener. I'd walked straight to the garage and found it open.
I skulked out of the garage and headed down the driveway to the mailbox. The garage door opener should have been inside. I pulled open the black metal door. No opener.
No opener. Door open. And that equaled...what?
I went back into the garage. I still didn't know what to do. If there was someone in the house, he must have heard me dragging the cans and boxes out to the curb. So now what? Maybe Mr. Reid forgot to leave the opener in the mailbox. Maybe the door just opened...on its own.
I didn't buy it either.
I waited, but I didn't hear anything. I decided to try a ruse. I hit the garage door opener on the wall, the motor whirred, and the big door slid down. I hoped the intruder would think that I'd shrugged my shoulders in confusion and left. I closed my eyes and listened hard, listened for any sign that someone was in the house.
That's when I heard it. A soft, but quite distinct, "Creak."
I froze. The sound came from inside the house. I was sure of it. What was more, I knew that the middle of the Reid's kitchen floor had a dead spot that always creaked. I'd just heard someone step on that dead spot.
I was glued in place. I listened, hard, but heard nothing more. I strained my ears, counting off the seconds. Five seconds, nothing. Ten seconds, zilch. Fifteen...twenty...
And then, as I counted "twenty-three", I heard the faint sound of a door slamming shut. It was an oddly muffled "THUD", and I realized that whoever it was had just slammed the Reid's refrigerator shut. I stopped breathing. I heard another groan from upstairs. And I heard a rhythmic "thump-thump-thump-thump-thump", each beat fainter than the one before. The sound of feet mounting the steps to the second floor.
Someone was definitely in the house.
What to do. The obvious choice-get out of the house and call the cops-appealed to me immensely. Why I didn't do that, why I instead pulled a 4-iron out of a bag of Dan's old clubs and headed for the door leading into the basement, I can't say, not even now. I must have been out of my goddam mind. Or, maybe my subconscious had already solved the mystery, and knew who the intruder was. If so, it didn't do my courage any good. I was scared to death as I opened the door and peered into the pitch-black basement.
I read in a Tom Clancy novel that if you're trying to sneak around without making noise, you're best bet is to go barefoot. So I kicked off my sandals and mounted the stairs without a making a sound. I opened the door leading from the basement to the kitchen and carefully avoided the creaking spot on the floor that first alerted me. I paused to listen. I heard squeaking and thumping noises coming from above. The intruder wasn't trying to be quiet now. I heard a loud bang, like a drawer slamming shut.
I tip-toed up the stairs leading to the second floor. My bare feet on the thick carpet made no noise at all. What exactly I planned to do when I confronted this burglar, I couldn't say. Order the person to leave? Run away screaming? Whomp 'em with the 4-iron? It was funny, the reason I'd picked the 4-iron out of the bag because that's the club I hit best out on the course. I almost burst into hysterical laughter at the absurdity of it all.
The ruckus was coming from the Reid's former bedroom. I walked slowly down the hall, stopping just outside the door. I held my breath, waiting, for what I wasn't sure. A signal for action, my cue to come on stage.
It finally came, when I heard a familiar voice say a familiar word. "Fuck!"
I couldn't believe my ears. I set the club on the floor and stuck my head around the corner, so my eyes could confirm what my ears were telling me. And there was the prowler, clad in a black t-shirt and black shorts, rummaging through a closet, shoving hangers from side to side, looking for something or other in the empty space. All the clothes were gone, gone with everything else, to Arizona with Dan and Jackie. And the prowler seemed quite agitated at the absence of, well, everything.
It was time for the intruder to know that the house was brimming with uninvited guests this day. I concentrated on making my voice as calm, cool, and collected as possible.
I said, "Hello, Beverly."
I should have expected her reaction, but if I HAD expected it, I would've called the cops instead of playing Boy Detective. Beverly shrieked and whirled around and stumbled back until her tight little buns bounced off a dresser. She looked shocked and scared and it took her a good three seconds to get her wits about her. But when she did, when she saw it was ME, of all people on Earth, who'd just scared her half to death, she acted without hesitation.
To be charitable, she went stark raving bonkers.
She came at me, keening a bloodthirsty screech of rage, her inch-long nails extended like talons, reaching out for my face. I like my face, and since I knew from the healing wounds on my back and stomach what those long, sharp, sexy nails could do to soft flesh, I wasn't about to take it easy on her.
She slashed at my cheek and I leaned back and seized her wrist. I jerked her off balance and spun her left, so that she fell against me, her back to my chest. I wrapped both arms around her in a bearhug, pinning her arms at her side. I had her under control. For the moment.
She screamed, SCREAMED, she let loose a torrent of profanity that would have made a prison guard cringe. She thrashed and kicked and it was like holding on to a Tasmanian Devil. "Fuck this," I snarled and I manhandled her to the bed. I toppled on the mattress with her underneath me, my weight bearing down on her. I threw my right leg over her thighs to keep her a bit under control.
"Let me go, you goddam motherfucking thumbdick BASTARD!!"
I gritted my teeth, she was sweating and was getting a bit slippery. "Now now, you of all people know that my dick is bigger than a thumb."
She went on for a minute about how I was a failure as a man and I couldn't please a gerbil in bed and how I love getting fucked up the ass by sailors in the back alleys of bars down at the wharves. Stuff like that.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" she said.
"I live next door. I was taking out the garbage and I noticed the garage door was open. That's your Lexus out front, isn't it? You traded in the old one?" She snarled what I took as a yes. "And I bet you found the garage door opener and let yourself in. You aren't much of a burglar, leaving the door open like that."
"You aren't much of a man, beating up on a woman. Do you feel strong, do you feel tough?"
"Tough enough, after what you did to my back." I relaxed my arms a tiny bit, and Beverly didn't try to corkscrew out of my grip. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see that's bastard's wife. I wanted to tell her what her shit husband did behind her back."
"She knows. He told her. I told her. That's why Dan told Suzie he couldn't see her anymore. He didn't want to lie to his wife anymore."
"Yeah, he's a fucking hero."
"He's not a hero. He acted like a jerk. I told him so. But he did care about Suzie, very much. And you playing the doting mother hen is all bullshit. You're just pissed because Dan got one over on you, when you thought you were giving him the business. This is all about your wounded pride."
Another minute of cursing and thrashing ensued. Her body twisted and turned in my embrace, and damn it if I didn't get a hard-on. She was an exceptionally beautiful woman, even if she was a total loon. I couldn't help it. My erection rubbed against her ass and Beverly stopped her histrionics. "Ooh, I felt that," she said, her voice changing from a shriek to a turtledove's coo in a split-second. "If you let me go, maybe we could have some fun."
"No way," I said, involuntarily humping against her ass.
"Come on. We had fun last time, until I found out you were lying to me. You might be a pretty good fuck, with a little instruction. From a woman like me, who can show you things you can't even imagine." She slowly licked her lips, her wet tongue glistening. "I know you loved screwing me."
I had, a lot. I also knew Beverly was dangerous as a Tasmanian Devil. "I didn't love running for my life down the steps with my back looking like I'd been flogged with a cat o' nine tails, but the fucking was nice. Then again, you were looking for your gun when I beat it. So you'll forgive me if I don't get all nostalgic about our night together."
"Oh, come on. I don't have a gun."
"Of course not. I was angry, I wanted to scare you."
"You did. Scared the shit out of me."
"I fucked the shit out of you too, didn't I?" She rotated her ass against my groin. "You didn't get to finish. I didn't get to feel you come in me. Oh, I wanted to feel that so much, to feel your cock twitch and shiver inside me. That's the part I love best, when I feel my lover come in me, feel him come, all hard inside me."
I couldn't help myself, she felt so good and smelled so good and remembering that night, how it felt to be inside her...I thrust against her, and let myself smell her hair.
"Come on, baby. Let's call a truce and have some fun. Like you said, Dan isn't here, this shouldn't be a totally wasted trip for me."
She ground her ass against me pelvis. Oh God, did she feel good. My arms were circled around her breasts, and I fought the urge to slide my hand over and squeeze her goodies.
"You do smell nice," I admitted.
"You feel nice," she said. "You'd feel better in my mouth."
Jesus. I thrust myself hard against her ass. She arched her back and sighed. What self-control I had was slipping away fast. Come on, I'm an 18-year-old boy, she's a 40-something sexpot who looks like she belongs on a strip-club stage, climbing up and down a pole. I didn't have a chance. I wanted her, badly. So badly that I made three mistakes.
The first mistake was kissing her neck, which, along with the hungry moan that escaped Beverly's lips, eliminated all resistance to her charms. This led to my second mistake, relaxing my iron grip around Beverly's chest and letting her turn and lay on top of me. She took my face in her hands and smiled down at me, then she lowered her face to mine and she kissed me, her moist tongue teasing the roof of my mouth. She ground herself against me, I put my hands on her ass and forced her against my erection, and that's when I made my third, and most serious, mistake. I spread my legs, letting her settle against me. Beverly's thigh pressed against mine, forcing my legs wider, wider, wider...
I thought I knew what pain was. When I was in sixth grade I broke my arm when I fell out of a tree, and that hurt pretty bad. I knocked heads with a kid playing soccer when I was a sophomore and I saw stars for a few hours. My dog ran away once and the heartache was so bad I thought I might die. But I didn't really appreciate what pain was, how overwhelming it can be, until that moment when Beverly drove her cocked knee square into my groin, where my throbbing erection desperately awaited her soft touch.
I swear I heard a crunching noise as her knee struck home. I tried to scream, but the pain paralyzed my lungs and larynx. My muscles spasmed, my body clenched into a tight fetal position, my gastrointestinal system went in reverse, I got the dry heaves so bad I thought I might pass out. The pain, the pain!
"How does that feel, you little shit!" Beverly crowed. I sensed that she was circling the bed, but I couldn't get my eyes to focus. I tried to breathe, tried to stand, so I could get my hands on Beverly's lovely neck and squeeze until she turned blue. But I wasn't in any condition for revenge. I thought I was dying.
I heard Beverly circle the bed. Cool fingers circled my wrist and dragged my arm away from my groin. A cold metal collar circled my wrist, and I heard a metallic "click-click-click.". I managed to turn far enough to see that my left wrist was now accessorized with a metal bracelet. Beverly knelt on my chest and forced me on my back. Her scrambling fingers caught my right wrist, and she managed to force both my arms above my head and threaded the chain of the cuffs through the wrought-iron headboard. A second later my right wrist was shackled, and I was trapped. Under Beverly's control. Doomed.
"Poor baby, still horny? Still want to fuck my hot bod?" Beverly said, wiggling her hips.
"Let me go." I croaked.
"Oh no, I'm not done with you yet. If I can't have my revenge on Dan, I'll take it out on you. That little love tap I gave you, that was for Dan, for what he did to my little girl. But I still haven't decided what to do with you. But give me time, I'll think of something."
She hopped off the bed and left the room. I was able to breathe now without gagging, but I was afraid that I was seriously damaged down there, that I might be bleeding internally, that I might not be able to have children, to have sex! To go with my excruciating pain a rising panic took hold of my mind.
Beverly was gone for about ten minutes. When I heard her footsteps coming back upstairs I cringed, not knowing what she might do to me.
She brought a bottle of champagne in a metal bowl filled with ice and two glasses. "This is good stuff!" she said, wagging the bottle. "Dom Perignon, very nice." She poured two glasses, set them down on the dresser, and took a sip. "Oh, I'm sorry, you're a bit tied up, aren't you. Here..." she tilted the glass above my head and poured the champagne into my gaping mouth. I wasn't quite yet ready to swallow anything and the sweet bubbly liquid set me to gasping and coughing.
"Didn't care for it?" she asked. "Maybe you'll like this instead." And she tipped the steel bowl over my lap and showered my aching groin with a pint of freezing water.
I screamed now, my voice came back in force. I called her every name in the book and I even invented a few. I described in graphic detail what I would do to her when I got loose. I ranted and raved and Beverly just sat there, sipping champagne, a satisfied smile on her dark lips.
When I finished barking she drained her glass and went to the bathroom, coming back with a towel. I winced as she approached my groin, but she gently sopped up the icy water and dabbed at my balls until I was relatively dry.
"I need to see a doctor. You seriously hurt me."
She rolled her eyes. "You're a pussy. Don't worry, you're not the first man I've kicked in the groin."
"I fucking believe that."
She kept drying my throbbing loins. "They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Well, you want to get a man under your thumb, go right for his balls. Either with a caress," she let her nails tickle my balls, "or a crunch," she gave me a tiny squeeze.
"Is that why you carry handcuffs with you?"
"When I'm thinking about revenge I do."
I tried pleading with her. "Please, please, let me go."
She kept her hand down around my groin, gently playing with my flaccid penis. "No, I've decided what I'm going to do with you."
"Let me go."
"No." She got up and poured herself half a glass of Dom. She went to the bathroom again, I heard cabinet doors opening and closing. What could she be looking for? Scissors? Tweezers? Razor blades? My imagination created a terrible pictures before my eyes, Beverly mutilating me to her heart's content.
I was hyperventilating when she walked back in the bedroom. But she didn't have a weapon in her hand. She had a bottle of suntan lotion. It was, in fact, the same bottle that Mrs. Reid used to lubricate my cock when she jerked me off at the start of the summer. I felt my cock twitch a wee bit, and I almost cried with relief.
Until Beverly slithered on the bed and set up shop between my legs. "I think you've had enough time to recover," she said.
"Beverly, please, don't do...whatever you're going to do to me. Let me go."
"How about, in a minute, if you want me to stop, I'll stop," she smirked.
She pushed my legs together, leaving enough room for her to get at my cock and balls, and then she sat, with her back to me, on my pelvis, her weight immobilizing my hips. I could look to my left and see her in the big mirror the Reids had on their dresser, and Beverly was looking straight back at me.
"Let me tell you a story," she said.
"Once upon a time there was a girl named Beverly, and when she was younger she had a huge crush on a friend of her Daddy's." She paused long enough to pick up the bottle of lotion and squeeze a pearl-sized dab on her finger. "His name was Marc. With a c, not a k. And he was gorgeous. Tall, dark hair, broad shoulders, a bushy mustache. He was all man." Beverly lifted my erection and smeared the head with the lotion. I let out a sharp breath. Beverly used her finger to inscribe slow circles on the head of my cock, the sweet friction sending shivers down my spine. With Beverly sitting on me I couldn't move my hips at all, making the pleasure even more exquisite and excruciating. I forced my head back against the pillow and tried not to moan.
"I loved this man," she said. "I threw myself at him like a little slut. I would stick my tits in his face, I'd wear these short, short skirts when he'd come over, and you'd be surprised how often I'd drop things and have to bend over to pick them up." She was still fingering my glans and I would have crawled the walls had I not been cuffed to the bed. "He never looked at me twice. True, I was only fifteen or so but I was a already a total piece of ass. Can you imagine what a little hottie I was back then?"
"Yes!" I groaned.
"Three years I did everything but stick my hand down his pants. Nothing. I saved myself for him, can you believe it? Every football jock in school tried to pick my lock, and I blew them off. Saving myself for a man who never gave me the fucking time of day."
My helmet had absorbed all the lotion now, it was silky smooth and Beverly's fingers were lubricated by the pre-come oozing from my tip. I was almost jumping out of my skin now, seeing this gorgeous older woman toying with my penis was a fantasy and a nightmare come true. She lifted the bottle of suntan lotion and, with a loud SPLOOOORT filled her hand with a huge dollop of the white creamy stuff. I could smell the coconuts.
Beverly wrapped her gooey palm around my shaft and started pumping. Not fast, just smearing it all over me, but it felt so good that I moaned like a steer. Beverly ignored my distress and kept talking. "On my 18th birthday Marc didn't send a card, or a present, nothing. I was crushed. I cried myself to sleep. Me, that upset about a man." She was jerking me faster now, the slippery "thwock-thwock-thwock" sounds of her pumping hands driving me insane, the sight of her glittering blood-red nails gliding up and down my dick almost enough to make me come.