Paul Gable: Mom and her dog

But another more powerful part of her said he should leave. She needed time to sort all this out, time to figure out if she really enjoyed fucking. The girl propped herself up on her elbows, watching Don dress hurriedly without saying a word.

"You gonna be around the beach much?" he asked, slipping his cock back into his bathing suit.

"Probably," Traci answered blankly, her eyes dropping down to his cock. It rested comfortably against the sheer material of his suit. How odd. It didn't look so big now. And yet moments ago she would have killed to have that cock.

"Well, see you around," Don said, picking up his towel, shrugging his shoulders and slipping out of the room.

Traci felt so cheap. She'd heard that line hundreds of times on television and in the movies. He'd fucked her, popped her cherry, and that was all he could say, see you around? It was as if they'd only shared a hamburger together!

The girl curled her fingers into two fists, pounding them against the mattress. She felt the sweaty sheets clinging to her arms. Anger and disappointment raged through her as she thought about what had just happened. She could still feel his ridged cock plowing through her cunt, stretching those unplowed membranes, forcing them into a tunnel while his balls dragged over her thighs. How good his mouth felt when he sucked and nipped at her nipples while his cock was rubbing up and down over her clit. How she juiced, wetting down his cock and balls while he rubbed the swollen edges of her cuntlips together. And all her could say as he left was see you around.

"Ohhhh!"

Traci groaned aloud, whirling around and burying her face in the pillow. She beat at the mattress again and again with clenched fists, hating herself for having fucked Don. He didn't care about her, about how she felt. Yes, she was cheap, as cheap as her mother had suspected she was. And if Emily ever found out… Oh, she wouldn't be able to stop the gossip, the rumors that would ruin her. She'd have to go find Don, tell him not to say a word, do anything to keep him quiet. Traci knew how boys liked to talk at school, how they liked to pass comments around about which girls were "cinches" and which needed a little more work. Traci could picture all the eyes fastened on her little ass, the men wondering when they could land her in the sack and the girls jealously avoiding her. She'd be friendless and overfucked.

"No, I won't," Traci vowed, gradually losing consciousness. She'd find Don and tell him not to talk, not to spread things around. He seemed decent enough. Surely he'd listen to her.

With these and similar thoughts the girl fell asleep, still feeling the big man's arms curling around her waist while his legs pinned hers to the mattress. She was making tiny, fucking motions, humping against the mattress, thinking Don's prick was inside her again as she finally dropped into slumber.

The following day Traci ate her breakfast silently, glancing up at her mother. She wondered if she suspected. Hilda was awfully quiet, unnaturally quiet. Her mother was usually talkative, going on and on about her job especially when she had to work nights.

"Have you been going out with any boys lately, Traci?" she asked, nibbling at her toast. "It's the usual thing for most girls your age."

Traci frowned. Her mother was sounding formal again. When that happened there was no good to follow. She toyed with her eggs, keeping her eyes lowered, afraid to stare her mother in the face at the moment. She was certain Hilda would read the truth in them.

"No, not really," she said, feeling her face grow hot.

"Well, you know I've talked to you about morals and how things have been changing in the world," her mother went on, pursing her lips and blowing across her coffee. "I think you should watch what you do… I mean," she said, growing suddenly a little more hesitant, "I mean what you do with boys. You don't want to… to get, well in a position where you have to drop out of school. You want to go to college and…"

"And if I get pregnant I wouldn't be able to go, is that it, Mother?" Traci blurted out. Oh, why had she said something like that? She was always so submissive, always listening to her mother without saying a word. Now her rebuttal surprised Hilda. The older woman raised her eyebrows, looking searchingly at her daughter. Traci blushed even deeper. There was a growing tension between mother and daughter. Traci wanted desperately to steer the conversation away from sex, from dating. Surely she'd be giving something away if she said anything more. Hilda was very perceptive.

"No, that isn't it… oh, I just don't know. I don't like the thought of you growing up," Hilda said, putting one hand against her forehead. Why, did things go so wrong when she tried to talk to her daughter? They weren't all that far apart in age. Traci was a teenager, she was thirty-three… well, going on thirty-four, but Hilda didn't like to think about that. She was attractive, always taken for being much younger than she actually was. Her body was smooth, without sags and stretch marks that usually plagued women of her age. Of course she hadn't let a man touch her for years. She had had an illegitimate daughter to raise in the face of a sneering community. Traci had always been such a help… up to now. At this point in life, however, the girl promised to be a liability. Hilda thought of her own experience, of how he left town the moment she told him she was pregnant. Men! How she hated them. How she needed them as well.

"Well, when you date, you've got to be careful… I mean, about what the boys will want to do…" Hilda stopped, feeling her words burning into her brain. This hadn't been easy. All through work last night she thought about Traci. For some reason as she was packing up she felt strangely concerned for her daughter. She couldn't get home quickly enough and felt the strangest apprehension as she approached the darkened house. Of course everything was in order – everything, that is, except Traci's room that was always a mess. But that wasn't unusual. There were shoes and socks and all sorts of things tossed around in wild abandon. Her daughter lay there peacefully, curled up in the twisted sheets. No, nothing untoward had happened… or so it seemed. Still an uneasy feeling clung around her all through the restless night and morning. It had been strong enough to prompt this awkward conversation. Now Hilda wished she could stop it.

"Well, I'm going to to the beach," Traci said, dabbing her lips clean and pushing away from the table. She took another drink of her milk, the liquid leaving a small white mustache on her lip. Hilda sighed. Why couldn't her daughter have stayed six years old?

"Did you feed Rex? I left him out all night," Hilda said, pushing her fork over the dirty plate. She'd bought that Doberman for protection, especially after all the break-ins that had happened during the past few months. Homes had been burgled, even raped several blocks down the way. Hilda had rushed out to purchase the animal in spite of her daughter's protestations. Traci was never comfortable around animals, especially dogs. And Hilda had gone out and bought the most terrifying, formidable animal possible – a large, black Doberman. Traci had nearly fainted when she saw the muscular dog jumping from the parked car.

"You'll think about what I said?" Hilda asked, not giving Traci a chance to answer the first question.

"In the first place, Mother, you know I don't like… him," she said, pointing a finger at the big, black Doberman now half standing, half leaning against the kitchen screen door. He was staring inside, pressing his snout against the screen material while his tongue hung from one corner of his mouth. He was whimpering, his stubby tail wagging quickly back and forth. He scratched at the moulding, trying to get in. "In the second case, I'll be careful. Don't worry, I won't let boys do anything to me," she said, feeling strangely angry. What right did her mother have to pry? For an instant she wanted to tell her everything that had happened right there in her house, in her own damned house, under that moral roof of hers. Thinking twice, Traci turned and stalked out of the kitchen, wondering where she could find Don and beg him not to blab about what had happened. Especially after this conversation with her mother she didn't need any talk going on abut her anywhere.