Now That Daddy's Gone Ch. 03

"Make yourself presentable and I'll see you downstairs mother," Peter said, his voice void of emotion.

He needed to fix his mother and soon, before she descended into a sea of despair, guilt and self-loathing.

Meg came downstairs about an hour later.

She was wearing full makeup, earrings and a necklace and her black hair was worn in a bob with bangs just above her big blue eyes. She was wearing a navy-blue, knee-length pencil-skirt, a white fitted satin blouse, black four-inch high heels and seamed flesh-toned stockings. A miasma of perfume announced her arrival. Meg's pretty face was sullen, set in a grimace.

Peter was sitting at the kitchen table eating a sandwich the size of a doorstep. He was wolfing it down, hungry from the road. Millie sat beside her nephew. She topped up his coffee and poured fresh cream into it and stirred it. Peter reached out and caressed his aunt's cheek in a gesture of gratitude that made Meg instantly jealous.

She had never felt jealous of her sister. Peter loved them both equally and in fact if anything he sometimes favoured his mother.

Meg couldn't sit at the table. Looking at reminded her of the feel of the hard wood on her back as she lay on top of it with her legs wide open, moaning like a whore while Ramon Ruiz stood at the end of the table fucking her with his big cock.

It was the same table that her husband used to bend her over and fuck her when he came home from the fields every day at 6pm. When William Belfour had disappeared and his son Peter had taken over the farm he had taken on all of his father's duties which included fucking his mother every day at 6pm sharp bent over that very table.

Meg shuddered and went over to the breakfast bar and poured herself a cup of coffee and then she leaned back against it, wishing life could return to normal.

She watched Millie fuss around Pete, cleaning up around him, taking his plate and napkin over to the sink. Peter met his mother's gaze and smiled and she couldn't help but smile back. Her son was so handsome and loving. She just wished she could rid herself of the ball of poisonous guilt and shame that was festering inside her.

There was suddenly a commotion: the rattle of gears, the hiss of brakes, the clattering of chains against metal. Millie and Meg raced to the windows and looked outside.

Millie squealed like a schoolgirl and raced over and kissed Peter all over his face.

"You wonderful, thoughtful young man!" she playfully mussed his hair and ran to the door.

Outside in the courtyard a flatbed truck had pulled up. On the tray, tied down with ratchet clamps, was Millie's Chevrolet Impala. It had been cleaned and detailed and the sun glistened off its burgundy body and white roof, twin headlights and chrome trim and wheels.

Millie ran outside to supervise the unloading of her pride and joy. Meg had returned to kitchen and looked at Peter over the rim of her coffee cup.

"You found the Impala," Meg said rhetorically.

"Yes. I had it trucked up from El Paso. I paid to have it cleaned and polished inside and out and had it trucked back up here as soon as possible," Peter rose up from the table.

"So you caught up with them then?" another rhetorical question.

"Come with me," Peter took his mother by the wrist and pulled her after him.

He led her outside past Millie who was harassing the truck driver who was unloading the Impala quite professionally but not to Millie's insistent perfection.

Peter smiled and shook his head and Meg couldn't help but smile with him.

He led Meg across the courtyard to where his olive green pickup sat parked under the carport. Meg noticed the pools of dried blood in the tray and she shivered.

"I hit a deer," Peter said by way of explanation.

"Here. Take this," Peter opened the door of the pickup and handed Meg a sack.

Meg looked inside it and recognised her and Millie's jewellery. Peter put a leather saddlebag over his shoulder and opened the glove compartment and took out his semi-automatic pistol which he tucked in his belt. He took the Winchester rifle out of the rack and kicked the door shut. Meg followed him back to the house.

Peter went straight to the study where he put the weapons on the floor next his gun safe. Meg noted that they had been recently cleaned and she could smell the fresh gun oil on them.

"Put the sack on the desk," Peter said gruffly.

Meg did as she was told and Peter came over with the saddlebag. He opened the saddlebag and shook it. Bundles of cash spilled onto the desktop. He lifted the sack and shook that too and all of Meg's and Millie's jewellery spilled out on top of the cash.

"They fenced the silverware in Oklahoma but we can always buy more. It's only stuff," Peter moved in behind his mother and rested his hands on her shoulders.

"I recovered most of the cash and all of your jewellery," Peter massaged his mother's shoulders.

"We have everything back," Peter whispered in her ear.

"Not everything Petey. There are some things we will never get back. There are some things that they took from us that are irreplaceable. I can picture them sitting in bar somewhere drinking whisky and laughing about what they did to Millie and I," Meg whispered.

Peter gripped his mother's wrist in vice-like grip and began to drag her from the room.

"This has got to stop! Come with me!" Peter dragged his mother behind him.

She stumbled but didn't fall all the way to the floor because Peter was too strong. He continued to drag her to the door and she scrambled on her feet behind him.

"Peter! Stop this! I'm your mother!" Meg wailed.

Peter ignored his mother and dragged her to his pickup. Millie was too busy inspecting her Impala to notice.

Peter pushed Meg into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut and jumped into the truck and fired it up. He over-revved the engine and threw out a plume of dust and gravel as he sped away from the farmhouse.

They drove in silence through fields of corn and down a dusty track until they came to a copse of unworkable land located roughly in the middle of the farm. Meg had never been here before but her late husband had complained to her about the unusable small parcel of arid, scrubby land that was strewn with boulders and knotted Honey Locust.

Peter parked the truck and pulled Meg out of the passenger door and dragged her deep into the centre of the copse. He let go of her and began to madly tug on a pile of weather-beaten branches until he exposed what lay beneath the mound of dried dead vegetation.

Meg gasped when she saw her husband's old pickup, now almost unrecognisable as it lay rusting and slowly disintegrating. Peter pointed to a mound of dirt beside the rusting wreck. The hump of sand and soil had collapsed over the years but it still resembled a grave.

Peter turned and looked at his mother and saw the knowing look on her face.

"William," she whispered.

Meg and always suspected... no deep down she knew that her son had taken care of her violent and abusive alcoholic husband but she would never admit it to herself.

Peter pointed to the two fresh mounds of soil beside it.

"Their days of drinking whiskey and talking abominably about the two women I love more than anything in this world are done," Peter said gruffly.

He gathered up the branches and brushwood and began to cover the rusted remains of the old pickup. Meg bent down and began to gather up mounds of undergrowth to throw on top, oblivious to the damage it was doing to her clothes.

"You don't have to do that mother," Peter tried to take the armload of small branches from her.

She shrugged him off and continued to help cover the old wreck. When they had finished she approached the two fresh graves and stared at them with pure hatred.

Peter was stunned when she squatted, pulled down her underwear and pissed on the graves. She went back to the truck and climbed in without saying a word.

Peter began to drive back to the farmhouse but when they passed a grassy clearing next to a creek bank Meg sidled up to Peter and lifted his hand and put it on her leg. She put her hand down into his crotch and whispered in his ear.

"Pull over," she nipped his earlobe.

Peter stopped the truck next to the creek.

"Come with me. Bring the blanket," Meg opened the door.

Peter followed Meg to the grassy clearing and tossed the throw rug on the soft green grass under the shade of a big tree right beside the creek bank.

"I don't want this to take long son. I want you to take me home and make love to me in our bed and make me feel safe but I need something from you now," Meg sat on the rug and hiked up her skirt

She lay back and opened her legs.

Peter was instantly erect when he saw the tops of his mother's creamy white thighs above the dark bands of her stockings and her pink cunt-lips underneath her translucent white panties.

Peter dropped his jeans and fell on his mother.

His cock probed between her legs jabbing at the diaphanous fabric of her panties as it sought her cunt. Meg gripped her son's cock and eased it inside her panties and nestled it in her swollen wet labia.

"Fuck me son. Fuck the rape out of me," she bit his earlobe and lifted her buttocks, impaling herself on her son's rampant member.

It wasn't lost on Peter that his aunt had used those exact same words.

Peter filled his mother's vagina with his steel-like phallus. He had missed her embrace and the yearning in him ran deep. His mother lifted her legs and wrapped them around his torso, pushing his shirt out of the way so that her silky nylons caressed his bare flesh. She knew that Peter loved the feel of stockings on his skin. She opened her mouth and Peter tasted her lipstick as he kissed his mother deeply, hardly daring to move because he was so close to climax.

Meg could sense her son's heightened sexual arousal but she wanted to feel him seed her. She wanted to feel her son's cock quiver and throb as he ejaculated deep inside his mother.

Meg squeezed her cunt and milked Peter of his seed. She began to cry as she orgasmed and Peter lapped her tears and kissed her again. They were barely moving. Mother and son locked together in a loving embrace. He lying on top of her with her skirt hiked up, she with her legs and arms wrapped around her son's body as she encouraged him to deposit his semen inside her tight wet passage. They kissed softly and lay like that, feeling the afternoon shade cool their bodies, listening to the babbling creek and the hum of the insects, secure in their love for each other.

Peter had fucked the rape out of his mother and his aunt he would do it again and again every day of his life.

The End

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xxx Michele