The Predator Ch. 09

Chapter Nine

I was grinning all the way back to Doris's place. Damn, I AM good.

And then my good mood got ruined.

As I walked up the steps to the front door she opened it and started in on me.

"Where have you been," she started.

The first thing I noticed was that she had disobeyed. She had obviously showered and cleaned up. AND she was dressed.

She was still yapping at me as I moved past her and shut the door behind me.

She was STILL yapping when I turned to face her.

So I slapped her across the face hard enough to make her head snap around and make her take a step back. I followed, my hand reaching out, my fingers entwining in her hair, and yanked hard enough to make her yell.

"SHUT," another slap in the same place, "THE," SLAP, "FUCK," SLAP, "UP," SLAP.

By that last slap, my face about two inches from hers, my voice loud, she was clearly broken. She was sobbing and not even attempting to stop me.

I jerked on her hair, forcing her to look up at me. She was a mess. Apparently, she had made herself up during the day but now her mascara was black streaks, her cheek was red and already swelling, I expected it would bruise, I had hit pretty damn hard. Her nose was running, strings of snot connecting her chin and the blouse on the shelf of her boobs. Her mouth was open a little with her crying and thick ropes of saliva connected her upper and lower lip.

"Now," I said, well, I snapped, "are you ready to calm the fuck down?"

"Y-y-y-yes," she managed, still sobbing pretty hard.

"Then go wash your fucking face and get your ass back in here," I said, giving her a shove.

I HATE to have my good mood ruined like that.

I grabbed a beer and went in to the front room, turned on the TV, and found Fox News. I wasn't really watching, just thinking, planning, okay, plotting if you will, my takeover of the senior center girls. And I was thinking it was going to be a very enjoyable month or so. Before I left, and I would be leaving, of course, I figured I could have Doris fixed up with a selection of keys from every one of those broads. She would be sitting at the head of the table. What the hell, why not.

Speaking of whom, she came in just as I was finishing my beer so I held it out and said, "get us a beer, baby."

She didn't say anything, just took the empty and walked into the kitchen. She had washed her face and wore only her Depends. I liked that.

She brought back the beers, handed me one, took a drink from the other, put it on the coffee table, and got to her knees before me. She took my hand and used it to brush her cheek. Her cheek was swollen, giving her face a bit of an asymmetrical look, and a bruise was forming running from just below her eye back to her ear and down her jawline. It was a pretty damn spectacular bruise.

"Take me to dinner, David," she said softly, her eyes meeting mine.

I said nothing.

"Please," she said softly, "let me show how completely you have claimed me," and she brushed her swollen cheek again.

I smiled. "You're sure?" I asked.

"Please," she said again, softly.

"I'll be proud to show you off," I said.

She let out a long breath and laid her unbruised cheek on my knee.

"Thank you," she said softly.

It was early so I said, "how about I show you your latest pictures, and then we make love."

She giggled and said, "show me."

So I reached into my pocket and pulled out the cell phone.

She must have said, "oh my God," fifty times as she flipped through the pictures. She couldn't look away. Her nipples got hard and I could smell her excited womanscent. I liked it.

When she reached the end she looked up at me and said, very breathily, "oh my Goddddddd."

I patted her where her cheek was swollen making her wince but she didn't flinch away.

"See," I said, "I was taking care of you."

She giggled and said, "looked like she was taking care of YOU."

I smiled and said, "well, that too."

"Hey," I said, a thought striking me, "did you get to the doctor?"

She giggled again and said, "yes David, I did. And now I have a half dozen pills to take on a weird schedule and I'll have to pump every few hours."

I smiled.

"But yes," she went on, "I'll be giving you my milk."

"Good girl," I said, patting her head.

She lifted her breasts, tugging her nipples. "I can't wait," she said.

I stood and offered her my hand and helped her stand. I bent and kissed her cheek where she was swollen and bruised. She smiled and said, "I love my new look."

"I do too," I said.

I led her into the bedroom, tossed back the covers, peeled off her Depends, and helped her into bed. I went into the bedroom, grabbed the tube of Desitin, and then back to bed. I kicked off my shoes but other than that I was fully clothed. There's nothing quite like being naked while another is dressed to emphasize the relative positions.

I kissed her softly and said, "relax Doris, let me check you over."

She giggled softly and closed her eyes.

I started at her neck, gently spreading the skin at each of her three chins, inspecting her then kissing where I found her rash-free. I worked my way down her body like that. Lifting each breast, checking for any redness where they hung, finding them clear. I did her armpits and the fold at her elbow, kissing each square inch of skin as I inspected. At the first fold of her belly, I found a hint of redness right at the bottom of the roll and carefully smeared the white soothing ointment there. The deep crease of her belly button was an angry red and I applied the Desitin liberally there.

When I had her on all fours, her ass up and her knees slightly parted I saw that I needed to change her Depends more regularly. The wrinkled lips of her labia were a bright red, clearly diaper rash. The rash ran down the wrinkles of her upper thighs as well. By the time I had everything covered with Desitin, it looked like she had sat in a puddle of white paint.

I liked it.

One of the rolls of her backfat showed a bit of red at the bottom and I took care of that too.

All done, I took off my clothes and climbed into bed with her again.

"I'm sorry honey," I said, putting on my best innocent face.

"Why?" she asked, smiling, still on her back, looking up at the ceiling, obviously enjoying the attention.

"I need to change you more often," I said, being serious, "you're getting diaper rash."

"Oh God," she said, blushing and closing her eyes.

"It's okay," I said, leaning over and kissing her softly, "don't you dare be embarrassed. I LOVE your body, all of it."

She giggled and said, very quietly, "what did I do to deserve you?"

I kissed her again and said, "be the cutest girl at the table."

My hand was roaming over her belly, lightly rubbing and squeezing. I DO like a fat girl, so much soft warmth.

"Relax now," I said, "don't move or I'll stop."

She just sighed and I felt her relax.

I moved my hand and used my fingertip to just touch her clitoris, very lightly, the only point of contact between us was my fingertip and her love button.

"Relax," I said in my best calming-the-frightened-deer voice and put the slightest pressure where I was touching her.

"Now," I said, my lips touching her ear so my breath would be warm as I spoke, "the rules are this. If you move, I stop what I'm doing. The first time for exactly one minute and trust me, it will seem like longer. The second for two minutes. And so on. So learn your control, Doris."

She whispered back, her lips barely moving, her voice so soft I could barely hear, "I understand."

The pressure I applied to that hard little bump increased slightly and I started making little circles while covering her face with soft kisses.

It was almost ten minutes into the lesson, my finger was still making those light little circles and my lips were busy at her nipple, very hard on a cone of the tightened areola, when her hips twitched.

I pulled my finger away and pointedly looked at my watch. Try it. Try waiting for one minute to pass while doing nothing. In Doris's case, not even moving. It seems like a VERY long time.

When her minute was up I returned to exactly what I was doing. I suckled and played, not actually masturbating her, rather, just very gently playing. Slow, very light circles. My tongue was very busy though, with ears and cheeks and nipples and lips.

I had been bringing her along so slowly, so gently, for almost a half-hour when she shuddered again and I pulled away, looking at my watch again. Two minutes this time while I watched her breathing in little pants.

I barely touched her when she came. But she didn't move. Rather than the hard muscular contractions I associated with her orgasms she just drew a deep breath and her pussy started flowing, her release thick and warm, like vaseline being extruded from her.

"Don't move, honey," I said as I increased the pressure a bit, still not quite masturbating her but getting closer.

Her flow continued, leaving a cone of her thick nectar on the sheet where her ass lay.

I kept her going like that until her control failed but even then, as she wet the bed, she didn't move.

Finally, I masturbated her, my finger moving fast and hard and when she came again she did a half sit up but his time I didn't stop her. I supported her, my hand on her back, as she grunted and came and grunted and came and grunted and came four times quickly before flopping back onto the pillow.

"Oh God, oh Jesus," she was whispering over and over as she lay there, afterward.

"Good girl," I said, kissing her face.

We laid like that as she relaxed, still whispering, "oh God, oh Jesus," over and over.

"You're beautiful," I said, my fingertips brushing where her cheek was bruised and swollen, "do you know that?"

She giggled softly and said, "right now I can believe you."

She surprised me then by throwing her arms around me, kissing me, and then whispering, "Thank you, thank you, David, thank you," over and over.

"What about you?" she said, reaching for my dick.

I laughed and slapped her hand.

"Later wench, first, we need to get you cleaned up and then you wanted me to take you out and show you off," I said, rolling out of bed.

We showered together and I enjoyed doing her face, hair, and body almost as much as she did. She was a delightfully fat granny and it was fun going over her body.

Dry and in her Depends and nothing else, I didn't want accidents messing up the furniture, I sat her at her little makeup table and did her face. I left the swollen, bruised cheek alone but did a good job on the rest of her face.

I rummaged through her closet, promising myself that we would visit a place I knew in Pueblo soon to get something to show her off more. I settled for a skirt and blouse combination. The blouse was of a white, fairly thin material. It wasn't transparent or anything, but the material was thin enough that it would be very obvious she didn't have a bra on, and I did not intend to allow her a bra. The skirt was navy blue and would be slightly above her knee. Pantyhose and high heels would complete her outfit.

"Get dressed, baby," I said.

I ran a brush through my hair, pulled on my khakis and a button-down shirt, my version of "dressed up."

When I stood she was standing in front of her full-length mirror, looking at herself.

I went behind her, reached around, lifted her breasts while nuzzling her neck, and said, "You're beautiful."

She closed her eyes and said, in that very soft voice, "thank you, David. Right now I do believe you."

"Sooooooooooooo," I said, releasing her tits and taking her hand, "ready to be shown off?"

"God help me, yes," she said, smiling at me.

Once again we walked, holding hands like teenagers, to the little downtown area. It was a pleasant two-block walk. Doris is really a bright woman, fun to talk to out of bed as well as in a bed.

I opened the door to the restaurant for her, said "head high, be proud," and ushered her in.

She took a deep breath, said, "I am proud, baby," and in we went.

It was something out of a movie when we went in. The place wasn't crowded, but there were a couple of dozen people, mostly in groups of four at four-top tables. What was so movie-like, though, was the reaction of everyone when we walked in. In a movie script, it probably would have been written as - "a hush fell over the room."

"You're beautiful," I leaned over and whispered into her ear.

Donna, the waitress I had met before, did a bit of a double-take but then said, "Hi Doris, David," surprising me by remembering my name, "take any table and I'll be right with you," and she was off to a full table, order pad in hand.

Another movie script line, "all eyes were on us" sprung to mind.

I wasn't what you'd call "nervous," but I was aware that this could easily be what might be called "the moment of truth," when some local decided to defend the local girl.

And once again, it seemed that Doris knew everyone in the damn room. Although, when I thought about it, she probably did. Hell, she'd probably known most of them all of her life. Small town living, God love it.

She said "hi" to pretty much everyone we passed. It was interesting watching reactions. The women tended to carefully look away from her face while the men tended to glare at me in a challenge. I hung back, smiling neutrally to all. After all, they were her friends and acquaintances, not mine.

I held her chair and seated her at the two-top near the back but, I noticed, she had not chosen one of the most, well, "discrete" tables. She was a little breathless, a little flushed, and I realized she was right, she was loving being the center of attention, no matter how she had achieved it. I filed that little tidbit away for future reference.

We both had the meatloaf, VERY good here. And we talked, amiably. It was a date, and we were both enjoying it.

I tend to notice little things. I guess that's what makes me good at being a gigolo. Anyway, I noticed that she did not order her usual diet coke, but specified a regular coke. When dinner was done she surprised me by ordering chocolate cake and ice cream for dessert. She had definitely quit dieting.

I reached across the table and covered her hand with mine.

"Done dieting then?" I asked, smiling at her.

She giggled and said, "you DID say women are supposed to be soft and round."

About then a young man came over to the table.

"Are you all right Mrs. Phillips?" he asked, pointedly looking at her face.

"Oh Rodney," she said, and again the difference in the way they referred to each other made me wonder about their history. Teacher? Babysitter? Neighbor?

"I'm just fine, dear," she said, "thank you."

Now he stared openly at her face.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She smiled and touched her cheek where he was staring.

"I have never been surer of anything, dear," she said, "but thank you for your concern."

He flashed a glare at me and I thought, "junior if you insist on making something here you may be walking with a cane for the rest of your life." He was a big guy, young, I guessed him at 19 or 20, with that look of the high school athlete who had his glory days when he was the linebacker on the football team. I figured if it came to it I'd kick that knee out from under him, but I really didn't want to.

"Rodney," she said, surprising me this time, "meet David, my," and here she hesitated and giggled, "friend."

Well, she had started this so I stood and offered my hand. "David Morgan," I said. He glared at me but took my hand.

"Oh God," she said after he went back to his own table, "oh God," she said again.

"What?" I asked.

"David," she said, gulped, took another drink from her water, and started again.

"David," she said, reaching across the table and touching my hand, "That is the first time in my life a man ever seemed ready to fight for me."

"I see," I said, "and it turned you on?"

She giggled again and blushed.

"I wet myself a little," she said which made me laugh.

"Would you like to know what would have happened if it had actually come to a fight?" I asked.

Her eyes were shiny when she said, "yes."

"You horny little slut you," I said and she giggled again.

"Tell me what would have happened," she said, a little breathless.

"Okay," I said.

I gathered my thoughts, she was obviously wanting some drama so I wanted to make it good for her. I put myself into Jack Reacher's head.

"Your friend Rodney there is young," I started, "and he's obviously an athlete. Football. Track? At his size maybe even some wrestling or something like that?"

She smiled, and said, "very observant. Yes, football and baseball actually."

"Okay," I said, "so he's into team sports and sportsmanship. And as a fighter, he'd want to work into it. He'd want to talk, to tell me what a dirty bastard I was, shit like that." I let my language coarsen as I talked and she was leaning forward, obviously getting excited.

"And I would have let him intimidate me with his size. He IS a pretty big guy," I went on. "I'd have moved back a step, letting him think I was scared of him, afraid to let him get those big hands on me."

I paused for dramatic effect, took a drink from my Coke, watching her eyes, shiny now with her excitement. Her breathing was actually a little labored.

"I'd watch him, very closely," I went on, "but mostly I'd be keeping track of my distance, wanting exactly the right spacing. Eventually, he'd get himself worked up enough to actually start the fight."

Okay, telling it like this was getting to me too. My hand shook just a bit as I took another drink from my Coke. Visualization is a technique I had been taught in one of my various martial arts classes and it was working here.

"But," I said, smiling at her, "it would never really start. It's called something in Korean, and something in Chinese, and something in Japanese, all of which I've learned over the years but couldn't repeat for you now. But in English, it's just a sidekick. And as soon as his weight came forward on his left leg, I'm assuming he'd lead with his left because he's probably right-handed, as soon as his weight was on his left leg, locking his knee to support it, I would kick him, right on the kneecap, and my target would be about six inches past that spot."

I paused, again for dramatic effect. I had told this in one form or another a few times.

I covered her hand and ended with the punch line.

"And there you have it, Doris. The whole fucking fight would have been one second. And your friend would be laying on the ground, bent double, crying. Making a kind of high-pitched keening sound. Maybe he'd puke from the pain. Maybe he'd shit himself. But he wouldn't get any relief until the paramedics arrived and hit him with some morphine," I finished.

Another dramatic pause.

"If you want," I said, "I can slap you, right now, and you can watch it in real life."

Her eyes got big and she shook her head quickly.

Which made me happy. I mean, the fight would have gone pretty much as I described, I was confident of that. But there would have been a crowd and as soon as the hometown hero was down I'd have been swarmed and in trouble myself.

She covered my hand with hers and said, "take me for a drink and a dance, David," she said, "and then take me home and do anything you want to me."

I grinned, the full-on million-watt boyish grin, stood, and offered my hand.

I paid, using her credit card, of course, leaving a nice tip, and we walked down the street to the neighborhood bar. I liked the place. You almost wanted to sing the "Cheers" theme as you walked in and expected to see Norm and Cliff sitting at the end.

I led her to a booth and seated her then went to the bar and got a pitcher of beer.

I fed a five-dollar bill into the jukebox and took her to the dance floor when Roy Orbison started in on "Crying." It was that kind of a place.