The Hive Expands Ch. 04

We looked like exactly what we were as we headed downtown that night.

Mom looked like a hooker if we're being honest here. Her hair ws slicked back, I think she had used Vaseline to get that look. Her face was over-made up, especially the bright blue eyeshadow and the scarlet lipstick. Big hoop earrings and a jangly bracelet I had never seen before completed the image. Her blouse was very sheer making the fact that she seemed to have forgotten her bra obvious. Her skirt ended in the middle of her thighs, showing some of the dark at the top of her nylons. When she moved quickly and it swung a little you could see the hooks of her garter belt. Stiletto heels with ankle straps, classic "fuck me' shoes in other words, completed her image of MILF on the make.

For me, it was more the preppy college Senior look. I had on a blue button-down, Oxford cloth shirt, khaki pants, black loafers, and, yes, white socks. I looked like I had just stepped off of the campus quad. I shaved carefully and got into my drawer for my horn-rimmed glasses. I figured out, young, that they gave me an enhanced nerdy look that, combined with my ability to be kind of clumsy appealed to a certain kind of woman. Okay, it was my cougar hunting outfit.

We grinned at each other, looking each other up and down. No words were necessary, of course. The Hive had placed the knowledge of what we were to do directly into our minds.

She drove of course. Her Prius was one of her little treasures. The radio played that classical music she liked so much and that sounded to me like, well, I'm not sure what it sounded like. I just knew I didn't like it.

We were in the outskirts of town and I had no idea where we were going. But my Rider was happy and so was I.

When she pulled into a parking spot I looked at the sign and saw we were at a place I had seen advertised. Crickets was advertised heavily on television as a "fun for all ages" dance club. The television ads made it look like a cross between the sort of supper club you might see in one of those movies from the 1940s or 1950s, something with, maybe, Cab Calloway leading the band in front of a big dance floor, or maybe that club where Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye met Rosemary Clooney and Vera Ellen in White Christmas.

Inside, it lived up to the hype. It was an interesting crowd too. We sat and just people-watched for a while, she drank her screwdriver, and I my beer. Over there, a young couple looking like a high school couple having their after-the-prom dinner were almost pornographic the way they were necking. At the other extreme, another table held a couple I guessed to be in their 70s. Both were good-looking in that silver-haired, well-tended, well-manicured way older wealthy people can be.

It was that kind of a place.

And yes, there was a live band playing dance music.

Our first night of deliberately spreading The Hive went well.

We would approach a table with a couple and mom would approach the man, saying the little speech she had worked out.

"My son is off to college and I want him to dance with other partners so he'll be ready for the college girls," she would say, "so may we have this dance?"

When she was working it out I had thought it was pretty, well, that old word "hokey" fits.

But the thing is, it worked.

The first couple we approached was, I swear, Ward and June Cleaver. They just exuded that prosperous, suburban, two kids, two cars, backyard barbecues, and mowing the grass on the weekend level of comfort. When he looked mom up and down he drew a frown from his wife but then she looked up at me, took my offered hand, and said, "let's dance, handsome."

On the floor, the band was playing something I vaguely recognized but couldn't name. It had a nice 3/4 beat, though, waltz time, and I picked up the beat, stepped off on the "one," and had her going in a passable box step in a few steps. I was a much better dancer than she was.

But I enjoyed it. She was, well, matronly is a good word. Those two kids playing in the backyard showed in her hips and missing waist. The bit of cleavage on decorous display and the pearls at her throat added to the image of a soccer mom on date night. Don't get me wrong, she wasn't fat, just, well, that silly made-up word "mombod" fits.

She was obviously enjoying the attention as I made my silly small talk.

I faked a sneeze and when I put my hand back on her waist the worm of a germinal Rider started up the material of her dress. It had disappeared into her hair before the music ended.

Before the night was over I had started 27 new Riders on their way.

In the Prius, I was surprised when I realized where she was going.

We pulled up at my grandmother's house.

I knew that mom and gramma had a, well, let's say a complicated relationship but I hadn't expected this.

It was late by then, a little after two in the morning. We had closed Crickets down. I knew mom had a key to gramma's house. But she didn't use it. Instead, she rang the doorbell over and over and actually "pounded" on the door with a closed fist.

Finally, the door opened and gramma stood there.

If you Google "images of gramma" you'll see my grandmother there. She's the prototype, I swear she is. About five-foot nuthin' and about 250 pounds, she's as wide as she is tall and I always thought that old phrase "cute as a button" fit her perfectly. Grey hair was going everywhere this morning, and she looked exactly like what she was, a 60-something woman just awakened from a sound sleep.

And there was one of those thoughts, not mine but mine.

I didn't say anything, I just stepped behind her while she and mom were bitching at each other, and pulled the top of her robe down her arms to about the elbows, effectively pinning her.

"DAVID!!!" she yelled, the shock obvious in her voice.

I didn't do anything, just stood and held her like that.

And watched as mom took one of the baby Riders out of her nose and held it for gramma to see. It was like watching one of those cheap horror movies. On the script, it might have read something like Natalie shrinks back.

Gramma shrank back, her eyes wide as mom slowly reached out.

"Tomorrow," mom said, and the look on her face was so, well, "savage" it kind of scared me.

She slowly reached further and I watched, fascinated as the worm disappeared into gramma's hair.

"Tomorrow," mom started again, "you are going to beg your grandson to fuck you and if you're a very good girl I just might let him."

And we left. Just like that. We left gramma standing there in her front room. The human part of me felt sorry for her but The Hive was happy that mom was happy.

Mom was laughing. Actually, I thought mom was a little hysterical.

"That pays for every time she called me a slut or a whore when I was in school," she said and I realized she was crying.

"Do I need to drive?" I asked and she laughed again.

"No, David," she said, turning to look at me, "you need to take me home an fuck me like a cheap whore."

"How about I take you home and make love to you?" I asked.

And there was that sudden flash of pain telling me I had offended my Rider.

Her eyes got big and I knew, well, The Hive told me, that she had exactly the same image.

And we both knew there was no avoiding it.

It was a silent ride home. I knew it was my Rider, but my erection was almost painful I was so hard and I was excited knowing what was coming.

Our Riders were in control now and we both understood, there was no avoiding it.

What I needed to do was clear in my mind. I could see in her eyes that she knew too.

I kicked off my loafers and pulled off my socks. She stood passively, her mouth open, as I stuffed my sock into it. Her Rider left all of her nerve endings working. I knew, in that way of knowing without being taught, that it wanted to experience what was coming.

The first punch was to her breast. I hit her hard and fast, those hours in a karate dojo paying off.

Her eyes went wide and her lips went white with the pain.

I grabbed her by the hair and this punch was to the solar plexus, leaving her breathless and trying to double over but I held her up by the hair.

The punch to her thigh with my second knuckles extended made her try to scream but the sock in her mouth muffled it.

I knew, my Rider made it clear, that I was not allowed to bruise her where it could be seen but I also knew that her Rider and mine craved the sensations I was giving them.

I rabbit-punched her three quick times. The blows right on her kidney, making her gasp in a breath and then blow out a gout of snot as her sinuses were swollen with her crying.

For me, the pleasure my Rider was giving me was beyond sexual, it was so pure it defies explanation.

Suddenly she got onto her hands and knees and lifted her skirt, offering that pretty ass to me.

"Fuck me like a whore," she had said.

I hit her again, this time right to the meat of her big gluteus Maximus muscle of her ass, as I had on the thigh, my second knuckles extended, and enjoyed the way she slumped. Then I got my belt undone, my zipper down, and shoved my pants and shorts down far enough to free my erection, harder and bigger than I had ever been before.

I took her anally, dry, with no lubricant, and the scent of her excitement urged me on. I fucked her up the ass, like a whore, until her blood provided the lubricant she needed.

When I started to tire, to slow down, my Rider gave me pain and I renewed my efforts.

My Rider wouldn't let me finish and if I slowed there was that skin-flaying pain again.

The bruise on her ass was already spreading and her blood was smearing where I was fucking her.

Finally, utterly exhausted, my Rider gave me that ejaculation men only dream of. I came in wave after wave, that burning itching pleasure/pain only a man can know lasted as I had never imagined.

By then I was exhausted.

But I stayed hard and I couldn't stop or that pain would hit me.

I don't remember passing out but eventually, I was so exhausted even the pain couldn't keep me awake.