Smuggling Raisins Ch. 04

**** Thursday August 5, Jesus and Horace

At her house, in the Inner Richmond, near the Presidio, Jesus carried his bag to the cottage out back. He dropped it on the bed and looked around. The cottage reminded him of a cell, it crammed everything needed to live in a small footprint, but real. Real oven, real bathroom, real bed. He still could not believe he was out. He looked at Mrs O'Hare.

"I'm hungry, Mrs O'Hare."

It was a command. She felt like she should curtsey or something to acknowledge his authority, maybe salute? Instead she lowered her gaze to his feet. "What can I get you?"

"Cheeseburger. Coke. Something chocolate too. Bring it here." He took his shoes off and sat on the bed with the TV remote in his hand. "And Mrs O'hare... Dress like I own you, Like a whore.

Maddie scurried off to her room and dug through her clothes. She shed her pants suit and chose nylons and heels, a middle length skirt that fell sheer and a lacy tank top that revealed half her breasts.

Horace came home while she was in the kitchen watching cheese melt on the hamburger. He looked angry from the start. "You're back. Is he here? Are you really making him dinner? You haven't done that kind of thing since Alan left, not for me anyway." Horace paused, thinking out loud, very loud. "You haven't been very warm toward me in other ways also you know...The way you're dressed..."

Maddie looked down at her bosom and her face went red. "I have no choice, I saved Alan, Horace." She said, hoping he would share her priority.

Horace was visibly upset, but his voice was low and dominant, one of the traits that had attracted her to him so long ago. "Honey, I can't let you do that. The police can help us. I'll take care of this gangster and we'll get help for Alan." He hugged her. "Maddie, darling. I can't let them make you a whore."

"Solve this Horace, I can be warm. You can have anything..." She sank to her knees and looked down, but she didn't feel submissive. Horace was going to go fight for her, apparently he still wanted her.

He smiled and stormed off to the cottage, shouting. "I'll call the cops for Alan, your gangster is leaving!" Maddie got up and followed.

Horace was six foot three inches, beefy and strong from wrestling with crates of restaurant supplies all day, so when he found Jesus he moved in fast and physical. Mrs O'Hare watched the man and boy fight over her from the hallway, terrified and aroused. Jesus backed up and Horace stopped, leaning against the wall holding his midsection. Maddie saw the knife in the boy's hand, the one she gave him from the Cook. She didn't understand why Horace was so disabled by one poke. Jesus helped Horace to the bathroom, the fight seemingly over already. Jesus made him kneel in the shower stall.

"Don't kill me, don't kill me." Horace pleaded, his voice still low, but his body slumped over, holding his midsection.

Jesus snarled at him, his adrenaline up. "You fucking never went to Irving and made right."

"I'll do it, I'll go see the Cook, please."

"I'm here now. I'm shot caller and that window closed. Pull you pants down."

Madeline expected Horace to refuse, but he didn't say a word, just unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants, his boxers as well without being asked.

"Mrs O'Hare." Jesus barked. "Get in here. Down. Get down on the floor next to your husband."

She knelt with her head down like Horace, the two of the them crammed in the shower stall together, husband and wife.

"Like two pigs in a pen. Look at this Mr Horace O'Hare. You need to see this." Jesus pulled Madeline back so she sat erect, lifted her thick brown hair and buckled a leather dog collar around her neck, snapped a leash on it and tied the leash to the shower head. He hooked his thumbs in her tank-top and pushed it down so her breasts fell out.

"Oh God." Said Mr O'Hare. Blood was draining on the tiles from between his fingers. There were tears on his wife's cheeks. Jesus pushed her down again. The silver chain with the other Jesus on it swung out to hang down from her neck, glinting, swinging. He flipped her skirt up, slid her panties down.

"Now look in her eyes."

His wife was crying, which made her breasts waggle, and her fingers fiddled with the collar, as though she could not believe she was wearing it. Her eyes popped wide with big whites and her mouth gaped involuntarily, she made a long hissing sound.

"That's what she looks like with my finger up her ass, Image what she'll look like when I stick my cock in?" The brown boy got up and rattled around in the medicine cabinet for a moment.

While his back was turned Madeline whispered "Horace... can't you stop him?"

"No, I can't fight with this wound. We'll be ok."

"He's going to make me his sex slave."

"Don't panic Honey. All he wants is control. We'll get out of this after..."

"...after I get raped!" she sobbed, "You're my husband; you're supposed to protect me!"

"Fuck. You brought the bastard here! I've been stabbed."

A squelching sound came from behind them and Madeline craned her collared neck.

"He's covering his... with vaseline!"

Horace washed over with relief. "He's going to sodomize Maddie." He thought, he watched her, large eyed and panting with terror and thought "She's beautiful; rich glossy hair, large breasts jiggling under her on all fours. I should have fucked her more, no reason I couldn't keep her busy even with Snoopy to attend to. I should be pissed the boy is going to screw my woman, but it means we live. It's woman's special gift she can be assaulted and not only live through it, but prosper. It's Maddie's job. The boy is right; it will be interesting to see the look on her face when he forces his way up her ass. Madeline's always been such a tight ass. It might do her some good, maybe I should thank the boy. Definitely try out her ass myself..."

"This is from The Cook" the brown skinned boy said, and forced Horace's pants down, his boxers, caught up in the trousers, dropped as well. Horace moaned in despair and fell sideways in the shower stall like a tipped cow with a hairy ass.

Madeline squealed, stood, yanked her leash free, lurched toward the door to call the police, tripping on her panties still wrapped around her ankles. She tread them down over her heels, kicked free. She begged Jesus to stop.

His head turned toward her then he also stood erect, faced her, his organ now shiny over the brown skin, the gothic lettered tattoo under the grease. He put his hands on his hips and she understood. She understood. He didn't need to say anything.

Mrs O'Hare backed out of the bathroom, put her breasts back in the lace tank top, blubbered like a baby in her lace top and high heels, stumbling down the hall toward the main house. Then she ran.