Unknown - Mom_s hot lips

She felt her spine stiffen warily. She couldn't help it. She looked at him oddly, aware that he had fucked her two days ago. She wondered why. She wondered why she had let him. He was appealing, but he wasn't that appealing to her. The episode seemed a hundred years ago, and that made her feel strange.

"What do you want, Max?" she asked, aware of the curtness of her voice.

"Well, I've already talked to Jack Cutter this morning, and he tells me you haven't been in yet." He smiled quickly. "There's no immediate rush, of course, but I would like to hear something before the meeting next week. I have commitments and schedules to meet, you know."

He glanced at Roger, then back at her. "Roger tells me you're concerned over the image to your husband's chain the Loon Key unit will make. I'd like to take you down to the Key and have you talk to the residents there, just to see what they all think about it."

"I don't think that's at all necessary, Max," she said. "I've pretty well made up my mind."

"That's what Roger was telling me. I'd like you to be open-minded about it, Vera. Just this once. Just do me this one favor, and I won't bother you about it any more, all right?"

"C'mon, Mom-be fair," Roger said.

Vera sighed heavily. Maybe it would be best to keep him guessing. If he were as slick as Thorne said, he might think up something tough to fight if he knew he'd lost. Maybe he'd get to work on gathering up another 3 percent vote against her,

"All right," she said finally.

She made breakfast for herself and Roger. Max had more coffee. He was very amiable. He told good stories that were interesting and entertaining.

On the way to Loon Key, he slid from anecdotes about fishing and boating to Thorne.

"You know, there are two sides to everything, Vera. Thorne was against this unit from the start, but your husband went ahead with it. He was a wise businessman, your husband. Younger men just don't have the experience or foresight to see things we old-timers see. That's not a condemnation of Bundt, exactly-not that by itself."

"What do you mean?" she asked, growing wary.

"Well, there's a case to be made against him. Not just by me, you understand, but by others in the company. Peterson, Harmon-men like that. They say Bundt came up too fast, that he isolated Paul from what was really going on, that he gave advice that would make him look good but wasn't in the best interests of the company."

"Hah!" Roger cackled. "I knew it! Big whiz kid!"

"They say he's trying to gain control. They're afraid he'll even try to marry you to get it." Max shrugged. "That's what they say, Vera. They're a little afraid of his ambition. I think that's why he talks against me so hard. He knows I'll stop him-Roger and I," he added quickly, giving Roger a fatherly punch in the shoulder.

Vera didn't respond. She felt an icy shiver go through her. He was lying, of course. Thorne wasn't like that. Was he? Marry me, Vera-tomorrow…

She shivered again, and her breakfast turned to a strong mixture of bark and lead in her stomach.

They crossed the 'humped, narrow, old bridge onto Loon Key and pulled off the highway at the first tourist shack, the weathered, wind-blown, decrepit crab shack where Nate Mackton lived.

There were barnacled crab and lobster pots piled high, cracking in the sun. An old yellow dog lay in the shade, thumping up little puffs of dust with his tail. Nate turned a leathery, gnarled face toward them and spat into the dust and came over to see if they wanted some crab claws.

The motel was the best damn thing ever happened to Loon Key. He wasn't the only one who said so. They all did. One after the other. It was as if Max had paid them off in advance. There was only one exception.

Her name was Martha. She ran a sundries store, old and neat. She was nut brown from the sun, pushing seventy, scrawny through the face and shoulders but fat in the belly. She wore baggy green pants and a checkered shirt.

"Paul Hanson," she said, her tone oddly soft. "Good man. Came in here regular to drink his tea all the time. Some foreign brand I had to import from Palm Beach-Burmese. Got two boxes left. Drank it by the gallon. His heart, you know. Had to quit coffee. We talked a lot while he drank his tea."

Vera looked at the woman. She felt a sudden lump in her throat. This was the "other woman". The one Paul had confided in the past year. The one who'd heard all she should have heard, the one he'd forsaken her.

She suddenly loved old Martha. There couldn't be any jealousy over this kindly soul. There could only be a feeling of inadequacy in that the woman had offered him more comfort than Vera could have given him-more understanding about the heavy decisions over the motel. Perhaps she had been the one to tell him to sign his stock over before he died. She wanted to ask. One day, she'd come back and talk to Martha and learn what had happened to Paul the past year-what had happened to him inside, the things he couldn't talk to his wife about any more.

"The motel? I told him to burn it down. I came here forty years ago to get away from the damn things and all the people they bring. I don't want Loon Key to become a tourist trap. I want it to stay bare and raw, just the way it was made to be." She went on. Max slid a glance towards Vera and smirked. An old bird-watcher nut who was going senile, that's what he thought of her. And. so what did her opinion matter? In five years, she wouldn't be around any more anyway. A lost soul in the path of progress who cared more for pretty sunrises than money. A nut.

Max drove across the street and down, parking under the motel canopy, out of the hot sun. "Well?" he asked, turning towards her. "One negative out of how many? And a screwball at that?"

"Yes," Vera said, hiding the fact that she thought more of that one nut's opinion than all the money-hungry others.

"I've got to go in a minute. This took longer than I thought it would, and I've got to tell a guy I'm going to be late for a meeting."

"I'm going in, too," Roger said. "I gotta take a leak. You coming, Mom?"

The sun was hot. She sighed and got out. Max went ahead of them. She took a critical look at the lobby this time. It. was attractive and cool. As a building, it wasn't ugly. But the meaning of it was.

She heard them in the office; She went in. They were in a small room off the office. The door was marked with an Authorized Only sign.

Max sat at a console, instructing Roger on something. There was a small TV screen centered at it. There were stacks of videotape canisters in ordered array on shelves and a large bank of numbered lever switches.

"This is what Dancer rigged up," Max said, turning to her, smiling. "When someone registers with the movie option, and pays, of course, we flip the lever for his room, and his TV is cut into the circuit."

"That's not all, Mom," Roger said excitedly. "Check this."

Max started to stop him when he reached for a lever. Then he didn't. Vera felt a sickening premonition. Roger flipped the lever, and the small screen bloomed to life. She stared at it and sucked in her breath and felt her emotions spin.

It was the interior of one of the rooms upstairs. The waterbed was there, the big chairs, the night tables with the control panel. But she wasn't looking at the peripheral images. Her eyes were fixed on the bed, on the unmistakable image of Thorne Bundt-her Thorne. He was lying on his back. He was naked. His head lolled back and forth, and moans came from a speaker below the small monitor.

He wasn't alone. Joyce and Rainey were on the bed with him, and they were doing everything to him Joyce's inventive, cunning mind could dream up.

Her bald pussy gleamed in the screen. She rubbed it while she fucked up and down along Thorne's sturdy, stiff cock, the same one that had been so wonderfully imbedded in her cunt last night, the one that had given her back a sense of meaning to life.