Trailer Park Momma's Gooey CreamPie Pt. 04

"Go on," Jemima said.

Benjamin broke from assessing his wounds and wondered if he had offended her with his unwanted sexual attack.

"Are you telling me to go?" he asked.

"I'm telling you to get down there and lick up the mess you made."

Her wicked smile wrapped his heart in a bow of utter joy. Her hands on his shoulders pushed him down and he kissed her moist skin as he travelled down between her breasts, over her tummy and through her soft bush soaked with the juices of their mutual orgasms. He dropped off the bed, on to his knees, grabbed her legs and dragged her giggling to the edge so he had the best access to her honeyed, sloppy slit. He lowered his face and feasted on her sticky, stinky goo. A flash of inspiration caused his unseeing hands to search the rumpled bedsheets for her discarded sex-toy. He found it, fiddled with it until it had begun to vibrate and then rubbed it over her little jelly-bean as he slurped deeply of her spunk-soaked hole. Within only a few minutes his efforts were rewarded with her quivering convulsions which sent ripples through her spasming pussy and produced, for his gourmet delectation, his own spunky contribution. He'd tasted his own sperm often now, licking it off his fingers, licking it off her dirty panties, but it tasted immeasurably more flavoursome coming fresh from her hot hole after marinating in her musky viscous fluids.

Jemima writhed in sublime and impossible pleasure. The things this boy did to her! Lying on her wrecked bed and feeling the most indulgent happiness she had ever felt... how could she ever again tell Benjamin that they couldn't do this? That they shouldn't do this. Flinging her noble motives to the rubbish heap of other lost personal goals, Jemima pressed her hands on his head, indicating that he ought to head south. Benjamin wondered what the pressure on his scalp meant but her strong hands pressed his face lower and he swiftly deciphered the situation when he crouched and came eye-to-eye with her dark, winking, twitching asshole.

He slid the tip of his tongue against the wrinkled, off-pink sphincter and felt the woman above flinch. He sniffed her like a dog in heat. He heard her laugh. Her fingers guided the dildo he was clutching up inside her pussy and he began to multi-task, poking her with the pulsing plastic cock while licking her dilating butthole. Any pretence at maternal instincts deserted her as she reached under her bumcheeks to spread them apart to permit his lapping tongue deeper entry into her shithole. The sheer filthiness of the moment soon had her grabbing the dildo out of the boy's inexperienced fingers and using it to bring herself off to a sordid, shameful and much-needed orgasm. When she floated back down from Cloud Nine, she lay trembling in his arms, her pussy drooling a cocktail of their cum. Her infatuated lover gently kissing her buttocks.

"Fuck, Benji, what're we gunna do? I was trying to be good."

Benjamin felt suddenly sorrowful that he had caused her to break down all her resolve. He was supposed to support her, not exploit her. He was a beast, an unthinking, selfish beast. A man. A typical man. He wanted it, so he took it. Like all the other bastards out there. He mumbled something like an apology and shuffled out of the room with his jeans around his ankles and his stiff cock bouncing comedically.

*******

Benjamin sat on the sofa in his skin-irritating and spirit-demeaning store uniform, blankly watching teevee and feeling still extremely weighed down by his failure to be a good son, a good person. A showered and cheerful Jemima bounced into the room, humming the riff of a rockabilly song. She was dressed in just a pair of laddered black pantyhose and a CRAMPS tourshirt. She paused and sniffed the air.

"Aww, you sweetheart," she beamed, "You brewed coffee! Smells divine."

She poured a cup, still humming and it was at this moment that she saw his face for the first time, the morning light illuminated the bruises all over him that were turning a darker hue.

"Ohmyfucking- I had no idea it was that bad, Benji!"

She put down her coffee and turned his face this way and that, examining the damage. He waved away her concern.

"We have to call the police," she insisted, "You said you knew them, right? From school?"

"No, Momma Jem. No police."

"But-"

"No."

"Well, fuck it, we gotta do something!"

"Just... just leave it, okay?"

Jemima was clearly unhappy about his determination but said nothing and drank her coffee. She got up went into her bedroom. Benjamin gingerly fingered his bruises. She came back out, doing up the button on her jeans shorts. He switched off the teevee and watched her pull her pair of knee-high boots out of a closet. He liked watching her slide them up her nylon calves. He caught himself perving on her and shook his head at his own pathetic weakness.

"Are you going out too?" he asked as he rummaged in his bag, checking his stuff; he brought out his phone and frowned despondently at the smashed screen.

"I'm going to the store, with you!"

He froze. All thoughts of his broken phone vanished.

"What? Whaddya mean?"

"I'm gunna beat the shit out of that freaky little goth cunt that tricked you into to going to the park."

"What? Mom, no."

She pulled on her jacket, "You ain't gunna do it, you won't hit a girl."

"Neither will you. You ain't coming to work."

"Fucking watch me!"

"Momma, no,"

He stood and held her arms. She was shaking and didn't want any of his infuriating reasonableness getting in the way of her red mist.

"Jem," he said quietly, "When have I ever wanted you to fight my fights for me?"

"Shit, you ain't gunna fight her. And if you say you will, you're a damned liar."

"I'll figure it out my own way."

Jemima looked crestfallen. She had a lot of negative energy flashing through her like lightning and nowhere to channel it. She punched the coffee cup off the table, it broke against the wall.

"Fuckingbullfuckingshit!" she declared and then stormed out of the trailer.

Benjamin ran his hands over his face then regretted it because of his bruises. He laughed ruefully at the crazy woman he loved. He swung his bag on to his shoulder, winced at the pain there then exited. As he walked down the path towards the trailer park entrance he could hear his Momma Jem giving it both barrels to the neighbour with whom she enjoyed a perennial argument.

Benjamin had a pretty good day, despite its weirdly fraught beginnings. He'd spent the bus journey to work ordering his thoughts and made a resolution to try harder to support Momma Jem's attempts to restrict and restrain their enormous and still growing sexual tension. His visible battle scars solicited much sympathy from fellow store workers. He convinced his manager, the middle-aged moaning Maureen, that his leaving an hour after everyone else was the cause of his mugging and she promised to look into giving him a raise to pay for taxi fare. Freyja was apologetic and explained that she barely knew the thugs that had ganged up on him and he (ever the sucker for a pair of innocent eyes) believed her. She'd been texting him all night, she said, so he showed her his destroyed phone. He apologised too, for smashing her beer in a tantrum. On their third and final break of the day, she kissed him by the garbage skips.

Benjamin returned to a deserted trailer. The broken coffee cup had been tidied up but there were no other signs of life. He washed, fed himself then put his wearied bones to bed. Jemima, meanwhile, had spent the day getting messily drunk and was, at the same moment, deep into her groggy tequila fug at Jimmy's Bar, about half a mile down the road from the trailer park. It was a grubby, single room shack with barely enough room to swing a cat. Everyone knew everyone else and everyone knew that Jemima was likely to 'put out' after sinking so many shots of Mexican lubrication. She'd been battering away offers of alfresco liaison for most of the day and was currently defying the attentions of an overweight carpenter called Michel.

"Mish, take it home to your wife!" she snarled at him.

"Awwww, c'mon babygirl, you know my wife ain't in'erested."

"Neither am I, so beat it."

This had been going on for half an hour so Jimmy, the octogenarian bar tender and owner, leaned across the bar and spanked the fat woodworker across the back of his expansive skull.

"Get the fuck outta here, Michel, stop sex-pesting my customers!"

"Aw, go to hell the pair of ya," Michel cursed in French as he waddled away.

"Thanks Jimmy. Gimme another," Jemima wiped her drool-wet lips with the back of her hand and pushed her lank, sweaty hair out of her eyes.

Jimmy poured another dash of tequila into her glass. She reached over and took the pack of cigarettes that was tucked into the front pocket of his stained shirt. She pulled out two, lit both then handed one back to him. They blew smoke at each other in silence for a minute or two.

"I know what it is," Jimmy said, waggling his finger at her.

"What what is what?"

"The reason you've been turning away all romantic invitations from the refined bachelors who make up my clientele. You're saving yourself for me."

Jemima eyed him though the white ashy plumes, taking in his brown teeth, his wrinkled walnut skin, his retreating white hair and his chubby jowls.

"You?"

"Yeah me!" Jimmy jabbed his chest with his thumb, "You've finally seen the light, ain'tcha? You've finally fallen for my charms, after all the years of being blind to my handsomeness."

"Yeaaaah, that must be it."

Jemima drained her shot-glass and tapped it on the bar.

"She's had enough," sniped Jimmy's chubby nineteen year-old grand-daughter who sometimes helped him run the place.

Jimmy, who was fully cognisant of Jemima's Godzilla-like fury when riled, poured her another shot; he saw Jemima squint at the young girl like she about to have an old-fashioned spit and sawdust show-down.

"Jem'll let me know when she's had enough," he said, pouring oil on the troubled waters.

His grand-daughter sniffed audibly and walked away. Jemima was muttering murderously under her breath.

"So how about it, Jem ol' girl, how about you and me?"

Jemima's hazy eyes focussed on the senior barman, an idea was swimming closer in her pool of alcohol-skewed logic.

She slurred, "One day, 'm gunna call your bluff, Jimmy."

"I'll believe that when I see it," he grinned his nicotine-coloured gnashers.

Jemima wouldn't be able to say how or when but sometime later she found herself under the flickering fluorescent light of the bar's backroom, bent over a rickety kitchen table while someone was fucking her from behind. Her jeans shorts and pantyhose were ruffled down by her knees. The hard table-top pressed painfully into her breasts with each manic shunt. She propped herself up on her arms and looked over her shoulder to see a crimson-faced and sweating Jimmy happily plowing her. He was puffing like he was running a marathon. Jemima gathered the scattered thoughts that were skittering through her mind like startled rats and remembered her seedy, sordid plan. Warm feelings of delight washed through her. The old fellah had a decently thick cock and he was certainly not shy about using every trick he knew to entertain a woman. She settled down to enjoy the pleasurable screw but Jimmy's grand-daughter walked in through the backdoor, carrying a large box of chips. They all froze for a second while the strange scene materialised into a semblance of reality then Jimmy, unable to hold himself back, resumed his deep, long plunging penetrations. The disgusted tubby teen put down the box and walked through to the bar, mentioning casually that Jem was a 'skank whore' as she passed.

"Nevermind her," Jimmy gasped.

Jemima was fuming and asked, "You almost done?"

"Nnnngg, getting there, babydoll, getting there."

"Don't pull out, Jimmy," she ordered, "Finish inside me."

"But... I'm not too old to put you in the family way, girl!"

"You don't have to worry 'bout that. S's taken care of, jus..."

She was interrupted by the breathless animalistic grunt of an eighty-something old smoker emptying his wrinkled ball-sack. He took a few minutes to complete his many ejaculations. Jemima backed him off her and he collapsed onto a chair, wiping his brow. She hauled up her tights and shorts and took a bottle of beer from one the shelves. She expertly thwacked the neck on the edge of the table and the cap flew across the room. She took a long draught of the warm fluid then walked into the bar. Jimmy's grand-daughter was carefully arranging drinks on tray. Jemima stepped closer and tipped up the tray, spraying the girl with drink and breaking glass. A tired cheer went up from the watching rabble. Jemima shoved her against the bar, the girl slipped on the spilled liquid and went down like a sack of spuds. Jemima loomed over the spluttering teen.

"Talk to me like that again and I'll kick your piggy face in," she said in her best Clint Eastwood then walked out from behind the bar. Red-faced Jimmy emerged, doing up the belt of his pants.

"What's going on here? What're you doing down there?"

"She, she, are you going to let her, hurt my elbow, she, fucking bitch needs locking up..."

Jemima swirled on her jacket with a flourish, picked up Jimmy's cigarette packet from the bar and waved to the jeering, laughing regulars. On the way home, her centre of gravity left her and she fell into a bush. She lay there, nestled in the nettles for duration before her brain reminded her that she had a plan and needed to get home. She took the moment to have a discreet puke then scrabbled out of the bush and back on to the road just as a police patrol car slowed alongside her. It crawled next to her as she walked and the window wound down.

"Miss Mackenzie, let me get you home safe," the officer called out.

"Ain't no way that's happening," she fixed her aim on the road markings so that she didn't teeter over again, "I know what happens when a girl gets in the back of your car, Officer Dave, and safe izzzn't the word for it."

"Now, you're hardly a girl anymore, Jem. Come on, jump in."

Thankfully the entrance to the trailer park was just up ahead. She sped up her steps.

"I'm already home," she yelled into the car, "So fuck you! Can't you find a runaway to molest or a black prossie to beat up?"

"Who'd want you anyway, you haggard, smack-head old hag!"

The police car wheel-span away and showered her with grit. Jemima sighed with relief.

'He must know Bobby is out of town,' she thought, 'He wouldn't pull that shit if... aha! Home sweet home. Benji baby, here I come. Have I got a treat for you!'

Benjamin was out for the count and didn't hear the crashing jazz-drummer chaos that was his adopted mother's jelly-legged attempt at a covert entrance. She bumped every surface like she was in a pinball machine until she made it to his room and fell through the door and on to his bed. He was shocked awake by the laughing but apologetic intoxicated woman flailing around on top of him. The smell of cigarettes and vomit brought him quickly to his senses. She caught him viciously on his forehead with one of her knees as she tried to stand over him on the unsteady bed. The heels of her knee-high boots trampled on his already bruised torso as she turned herself around above him.

"The fuck is going on?"

"Shhhhh, honey, jus, jus, gimme a minute here, I gotta... fucking thing!"

Jem was struggling to undo the button on her jeans shorts and yelped with triumph when she succeeded but then began to wrestle with them further as they failed to play ball with her intended actions.

"Momma Jem, what are you doing!?"

"I'm trying to give you an early birthday present but tights and Daisy Dukes ain't the best thing to... ah fina-fucking-ly!"

She'd rolled the tangled mess of nylon and denim down to her boots then she crouched over his face and... nothing. Benjamin rubbed his banged forehead and looked up at her bared ass and furry pussy hovering above his face, swaying slightly.

"Is it coming?" Jemima asked.

"Um, Momma, can't you-"

"Ain't it coming out?"

"What?? Ain't what coming out?"

Benjamin's tolerance was reducing to near zero.

"A shpeshial gift, for my shpeshial boy, Momma Jem's gooey cream pie, jusf'you. Hold on, wait a minute, lemme jus..."

"Look, Momma, go to bed, let me sleep." Benjamin's voice had a pleading but angry tone.

There was a trumpet of marsh gas and then a sudden gush of dark, hot piss flooded his face. His hands tried to act as umbrella to this stinking rainstorm. Jem crumpled forwards, still pissing like a cart-horse as her sodden son wrangled himself free and climbed out from under her. He stood in a dejected rage, watching as she rested her face on the bed with her indisputably cute butt pointing up in the air. Her pee drained to a few remaining drops.

"Didn't mean for that to happen," she muttered with a mouth full of blanket.

Her subsequent silence told him she had passed out. He wiped the stinging pee out his eyes and glared at her. Her bare skin in the pale light offering him a target and the clawed, coarse-haired beast dragged its knuckles as it emerged from his subconscious.

'Old, worthless, drunk cunt,' the beast said to him, 'You don't care about me, you selfish slut. Would serve you right if I fucked you in the ass. And pushed my shit-stained cock down your throat. It's the only thing you're good for, you, you fucking...'

Benjamin went into the bathroom and washed his face. He threw off his wet teeshirt then looked into the mirror. The beast's spell was broken by the sight of his own face. He laughed.

"That's not you," he spoke to his reflection, "That's not who you are."

'Yes it is,' slithered the beast.

Benjamin washed himself down then returned to his room and, faced with the prone and vulnerable victim offering herself in an animal genital display, the beast also returned.

'She'll never know, the stupid whore is out of her skull.'

There was a soft poot from her exposed butthole and Benjamin dismissed the beast with a chuckle. This is not a victim, a target, this is the woman I adore. She is a mess, she is a pain in the ass, she is seriously fucked up but I love her. And she loves me. And trusts me. He began to strip off her piss and puke soaked clothes. Then he stripped off his bedding. He washed her down with a damp sponge then carefully walked her to her bedroom and tucked her into bed safely. He kissed her lips then threw all the foully soiled sheets and clothes into a laundry sack. He got dressed and then hauled the sack outside and down to the outhouse that served the trailer park community with a row of washing-dryer machines.

In the morning, Benjamin was pegging out the blankets, pillow cases, sheets and clothes before leaving for work when Jemima stepped down out the trailer. She was wearing only a long nightshirt and a pair of sunglasses. She lit up a cigarette and Benjamin strolled over with the empty laundry basket.

"Momma Jem, you're not wearing any underwear."

"Huh? Oh."

She idly ran her fingers through her blonde muff and looked around.

"Well, I'll only be a minute," she said, coughing and puffing, "You washed all your bedding? I usually have to nag you to do that."

"Um, yeah, I thought it was getting a bit... ripe."

"Wow. In case you bring a girl home, is that it?"

Benjamin blushed, "Not much chance of that, Momma."

"There must be a reason," she stood gazing in a stupor at the full washing line, "Some of these are my clothes."

"I found them, in the bathroom, so I threw them in too."

She stood staring at him, pondering, trying to remember something she couldn't quite latch on to.

"Did I pop in to see you last night?" she asked.