An unexpected arrival.
Just moments after that personal invitation by Sheila for Peter to make love to her, Mrs. Wheatley drove up and parked by the house in her usual place. She was a full day earlier than expected, totally unaware of what was happening to her daughter, but worrying, as she had for the last two days, that she would be too late to stop anything, and that it already must have happened. No truer concern could any mother feel.
There were no lights on, and the house was quiet; not a good sign for a mother to see. They were already in bed! But whose bed?
As she walked up to the front door, her eyes soon adjusted from driving, and she could just see that there was a flickering fire in the front parlor. They were downstairs.
She let herself into the house, waiting for the door to shriek its usual welcome and give warning of her approach, but it moved easily without complaint. The hinges and lock had been oiled, and there had been other things done to it. It opened and closed easily, silently. The constructive, as well as the devastating hand of a man had done that.
She listened, not sure what she would be walking into after what she’d learned from Annie and from talking to Sheila; progressively learning enough from those conversations to disturb her, but this was her home. She belonged here, even if it had suffered an earth-shaking upheaval in her absence.
The ball clock released another steel ball.
She heard that sound, and wondered why Sheila had started that clock to keep everyone awake at night.
There were other noises coming from the parlor. Low noises, but urgent noises. Intimate noises that she recognized, telling a specific story that she well remembered.
She knew what she was walking into hearing those sounds, and had been afraid of it.
That man staying here was already taking advantage of her daughter, fucking her in both front parlors; her daughter’s front parlor, and that of her home; defiling both places.
She resisted storming in upon them and creating an uproar that might never subside in her lifetime, as had happened to Annie, and to a lesser extent to her with their mothers.
She listened to her suddenly beating heart rate resounding and reverberating between her ears, thumping in her chest, with her brain and heart threatening to explode, and counted slowly to ten as she listened.
From what she could hear, Sheila didn’t seem to be complaining about what he was doing to her but was making approving noises; noises of compliance and even of excitement.
It brought back too many memories of her own from earlier days in that front parlor when the family had visited with her aunt, and she had retired early, leaving Brenda and her husband alone together. She closed off those sweet memories. This was not her life under examination, but that of her innocent daughter.
They were too tied up in themselves to notice anything else, and were just approaching that most crucial moment between two people if the moans and groans, and increasingly heavy breathing were any indication, where nothing around them would register; not even an earthquake, a gunshot, or the roof falling in on them.
Brenda paused. How should she handle this? She had to get it right.
She crept along the dark hallway and looked in on them, seeing them both naked on the rug in front of the fire; bodies glistening in the firelight, clothes strewn around where they had been dropped; him lying on top of her daughter and in the last moments of violating her.
They were too engrossed to notice anything. She knew those sounds. He was not only on top of her daughter, but deep into her, and Sheila was not complaining but was moving with him, encouraging verbally and with her touching him, pulling at him, urging him on—as if he would need any urging—and they were both breathing heavily.
It was obvious what he was doing to Sheila with her legs far apart, him between them with them waving in the air on either side of him; her knees bent and her arms around him, kissing, pulling him into her; lost in another dimension.
They had not heard her drive up or enter the house, or they would not be so involved doing this but would be sitting guiltily on the settee, trying to hide all of the evidence of what they had been doing and covering themselves. The memories flooded back.
She stood there frozen with concern at what they were doing; just completing it. She knew those sounds and what that activity with his bare buttocks pushing and tensing between her daughter’s legs meant; his toes digging into the carpet and with them kissing each other in an ever more passionate way, groaning and moaning, oblivious to the world around them.
How she held back from wading in and not beating them both as her motherly instinct demanded, she did not know.
She’d caught them at the most critical time.
He was coming; ejaculating into Sheila even then, and not for the first time. Once that began, it happened with disturbing regularity. They could have fucked twenty times, or more, already, since she had last spoken to Sheila.
She could not suppress a momentary stab of envy. Sheila approved of what he was doing to her and she was not being hurt. She was damn-well enjoying it! As her mother once had!
They relaxed amidst sighs, deep breathing and even laughter.
Sheila sighed, kissed that man on top of her as she stroked his cheek, opening her eyes at that moment to look up at him in the firelight, and caught a glimpse of her mother in the doorway as she moved to step back.
She shouldn't have moved!
Mrs. Wheatley caused an undoubted surprise for them both in what they were still completing doing, but he couldn’t stop at that moment, didn’t stop, and the damage had already been done; was being done, still pushing deep into her daughter.
She wanted to scream out in frustration with them both, with him, but held back, becoming suddenly calm instead. There was no putting that genie back into the bottle.
She hadn’t believed Annie at first, as the news progressed. She’d learned everything she knew from Annie; her only source of real information as her daughter was providing nothing but one evasion after another. Not an outright lie, but blowing smoke around. Annie had filled in some gaps, telling Brenda some of what she knew, but not all of it, about how things were progressing. But that had been two days ago.
Had she been able to get away from the conference she would have been home mid-week, but couldn’t get a flight.
Frustrated, she decided to come home by the first flight that Friday instead of late on Saturday or early Sunday.
“Mom, are you alright?” Sheila was concerned for her?
Her mother could not speak for a minute or two, wondering how she would deal with this. He'd gone still on her daughter, but was still deep in her.
“I could ask the same thing of you, Sheila.”
Sheila laughed nervously but neither of them moved. They couldn’t. He was still coming? Or she'd constricted around him and he couldn't get out.
Two red-faced individuals, not blushing out of embarrassment, if they could be embarrassed, but because of the strenuous things they were still doing with each other; neither of them with a stitch of clothing on them anywhere.
“Mom?” Sheila would like an answer.
Her mother took a few deep breaths and counted to five.
“I’ll go and put the kettle on while you two…” She waved her hand as though brushing something away.
“Join me when you can, after you’ve managed to make yourselves presentable, and then we’ll talk.”
She sounded too calm even to herself as she backed away to think about how she would handle this, but she didn’t feel calm. She retreated into the darker hallway, though still able to see them, unable to turn away, seeing Peter kiss her daughter, and even seeing that kiss eagerly returned. It was obvious that the pair of them felt no shame over being caught!
“Don’t worry, my love. Your mother was going to find out soon enough. If not tonight, then tomorrow, and this is as good a time as any to get any difficulties out of the way.”
There would be difficulties!
Sheila returned his kiss. “I’m not worried for us, Peter. I’m worried for her. I was afraid of how she would respond when she found out. And now she’s found out.”
She waited patiently for Peter to withdraw from her—a delicate operation for him—before they could do anything else. He couldn’t move immediately, still coming down from that high.
They thought she had gone, but Brenda had merely kicked off her shoes in frustration and annoyance toward the kitchen, imagining how she would like to be kicking him, and her daughter.
She picked up one of her bags from inside the front door before heading to the kitchen where she could simmer slowly, going over in her mind, what to say when they joined her.
She looked in on them again as she passed the doorway, ready to say something more to them.
He’d just raised himself from her daughter and was coming out of her.
Brenda was rooted to the spot, frozen at what she saw in the firelight.
‘Oh god, poor girl! And all of that had been in her, was still in her?’ In fact, he slowly went back into her, as though unable to leave her. Brenda was spellbound.
He was enormous in every way, still hard and glistening in the firelight from what her daughter had left on him when he did eventually leave her! How had Sheila not been screaming in agony with all of that, and as big as it was, in her?
Her mouth went dry and she almost cried out in sympathy, wondering if she should rush over, push him off her, and check that her daughter was still alive, still breathing, after that weapon had been…!
She could scarce breathe, seeing the size of him, and her daughter had not been complaining about any of it; about all of it being in her! Sheila had even been enjoying it.
So soon? It had taken her weeks to get used to her husband doing that to her, going into her, and he had been smaller than that, but she had also been younger; sixteen. But she had been ready. So very ready for what happened.
How long had they been doing this for her to be so used to something that size? And he’d had all of it into her, no doubt about that from what she’d seen of his muscles tensing and his closeness to her, and the firelight, directly behind him, showing everything.
Eight inches, at least! Poor Sheila!
He was sitting back on his heels between Sheila’s legs. Brenda watched as he pulled a couple of tissues from the box beside them and pushed them into Sheila between her legs. Sheila took another one and wiped at him, as he held there for her; her holding him gently, even reverently doing that for him. She wasn’t shy to touch him, to do that for him, then she leaned in to kiss him there.
Brenda almost wet herself.
He looked around, found Sheila's panties somewhere in all of the pile of clothes and began to put them on her as she leaned forward and kissed him again on that… that enormous thing…holding it, not caring, not knowing that her mother was still watching them from the dark hallway. He leaned over her again and kissed her, with them both laughing, having forgotten about her mother already.
But for those tissues, and her panties, he would have been going into her again with that… that… fascinating weapon.
They were far too relaxed at being caught doing that, than she had ever been when she and her boyfriend had been caught like that just a few weeks before they were to marry.
She wanted to scream in frustration to bring them back to her being there, watching them.
She’d forgotten what it was like to have a man sexually attentive to her, almost crying out in her frustration, and feeling it so intensely, that she could almost taste it.
It would be better if they didn’t know what she had seen.
She retreated quietly to the kitchen, her mind rumbling, confused, occupied with deciding what she would say to them; what she should say to them, or dared say to them when they joined her.