Peter Jensen - The blackmailed mother book I

Cylvia kept on sucking, and then his cock slipped from between her lips, clean of every drop of his orgasm. Her belly felt warm and filled and she smiled like a contented feline after feeding itself to capacity. She lay with her head on his thigh, nibbling gently on the limp, useless penis in front of her. She had the suspicion as her own unfulfillment started gnawing at her insides, that if they made the plane, it was going to be by the skin of their teeth. She hoped that the plane might be delayed somehow. There was still a long and delicious interlude ahead of them, and the rising moisture in her thighs told her it was about to begin. She smiled silently to herself in anticipation.

Lonnie Carmel stared morosely into her coffee cup. The silence of the house was oppressive to her ears, its emptiness a sacrilege to her eyes. It was always thus during the week, in that magical hour or so between the end of the housework chores and the entrance of her daughter, home from school. But with the knowledge that she was without her husband for another fortnight, Lonnie sensed that the house was like a tomb; still as death and just as vacant.

She sighed, wondering whether it was worth saving the special steak fromage she'd prepared for Roger, or if she should throw it away as carelessly as it seemed to her that her errant husband was discarding their marriage. A tear welled in one eye; she blinked rapidly and it rolled down her cheek and poised uncertainly by her trembling jaw.

Her thoughts were stilled when the front door burst open and Jennifer came in. She was a little breathless and her face was a soft crimson. "Hi, Mom," she cried out happily. "I ran from the bus stop because of the rain. Whoo-ee! Anything to eat?"

"I'll fix dinner soon," Lonnie said woodenly.

"You look sad, Mom," the daughter said, frowning slightly. "What's the matter?"

"N-nothing," Lonnie said haltingly. "Nothing at all."

Jennifer, concerned, put her books on the dinette table and sat down beside her mother. "Yes there is, I can tell it."

"It's… it's just that your father had to go on another trip."

"Today?" Jennifer was shocked: her father had just gotten home this morning! "You mean he's left again, today?"

"Yes," came the whisper.

Mother and daughter sat in glum-filled sadness. The pall of quiet engulfed them; a sound-proof cloak effectively sealing their separate thoughts even from being shared between them. After awhile, the daughter said: "I think it's a crime. Daddy's never home."

"It seems that way at times," her mother agreed. "But we have to remember that he's doing it for us."

"You say that, Mom, but you don't believe it."

Lonnie winced inwardly at the telling remark. It was hard to be coldly analytical in a situation as emotion-fraught as this. She had to remember, though, that it wasn't good to display her marital troubles in front of Jennifer. It only hurt the family needlessly, and certainly didn't help solve the problem. She tried to smile, it came out forced and shallow. "Well…" she said, "well, we can't just sit around and cry in our soup, can we?"

Jennifer remained sullen. Mothers were one thing, and she loved hers very much. But Jennifer had always been "Daddy's little girl", and she felt drawn to him strongly. When she worked hard in school, it was to make Dad proud of her; when she had a problem, it was to Dad that she went; when she thought about the man she would marry someday, the image came out to look like Dad. It was the natural, common Oedipus complex in female garb – nothing serious or especially unhealthy – but a source of frustration and anger when Dad was away.

Roger Carmel never dreamed how much his family really loved him. They would do anything for him, and might not have recognized how well he'd succeeded as a mate and parent. The Olisses did. They were counting on it, in fact.

"Tell you what, Jennifer," Lonnie said, a little more sprightly, now that she had something to do to keep her mind occupied, "I'll whip up a batch of pancakes. Norwegian ones; you always like them."

"Sure. Fine." Jennifer remained unmoved.

"Then we'll go to the movies, if you like."

"I don't feel like going out. Thanks anyway."

Lonnie glanced over at her offspring, wondering how to snap her teenage daughter out of the blue funk she was in. She chastised herself again for being as maudlin as she'd been when Jennifer had first come home. Her moroseness has transmitted itself, and she felt, as a mother, the burden of responsibility.

Her considerations were interrupted by the ringing of the door chimes. Now who could that be?

"I'll get it," Jennifer said, and rose. She wasn't overly quick about it, though she wasn't dragging her feet; merely disinterested and sluggish with sadness. She was surprised when she answered the door to find the Oliss women standing on the porch. "Why… Tamera! And Mrs. Oliss!"

"Mind if we visit, Jennifer?" Mrs. Oliss said sweetly. "Tam and I are without our man, just like you two. We thought we'd at least make it a lonesome foursome."

"Of course," Jennifer said, standing back so they could enter. "Come on in. Mom was fixing dinner."

"Oh, well if she's busy…"

"Not at all, Cylvia," Lonnie said, coming out of the kitchen and wiping her hands on a towel. "I hadn't really started yet. Coffee?"

"Sounds wonderful. Unless I can plead for a drink instead."

"Of course. Scotch and ginger? I'll join you."

"Got a Coke, Mrs. Carmel?" Tam said, the picture of adolescent respectability. If only Lonnie and Jennifer could have seen inside the girl's mind, read her evil and depraved thoughts, they wouldn't have been so glad to see her or her mother. But all they saw were the facades, and as a result, Lonnie and Jennifer were pleased and relieved to have them here. It was easier to share the depression with four people than with two, especially when the others were in the same boat.

Jennifer and Tamera went into the teenager's room, and within seconds the house reverberated with the sounds of rock music, the latest "top ten" singles.

Tamera, like her mother, was naturally blonde, but she'd let her hair grow long and combed it in that tangled, careless look as if she'd been in a convertible all day, driving with the top down. She had a little stubby nose, freckles across its bridge, and her greenish eyes were more cat-like and devilish than her mother's. Her pert breasts were twin small, firm cylinders, tapering from their swollen moorings to cherry-nippled crests. They bobbed invitingly as she jumped onto Jennifer's bed, and she purposely sat in such a way that her short skirt hiked past her thighs and Jennifer couldn't help but see the shadowed white band of molded panties between her legs.

A secret tingle went through Tamera's nerves, making her breasts electric and her pubescent vagina secrete little droplets of fluid. Her mother had told her what she wanted done, told her and Vic when he had driven Tam home from school and dropped in for a drink. Get Jennifer Carmel! Get her naked and hungry for her first taste of cock! She shivered with forbidden delight and one area of her mind dwelled on what was in store for her younger friend if everything went right tonight. The other portion of her brain was doing the talking, worming Jennifer around to accepting the initial stage of her seduction…

"I can't stay for long, Jennie," Tamera said, outwardly sad-faced. "Vic's invited me to a party."

"Oh?" Jennifer tried to conceal her obvious disappointment. If it wasn't her father, it was her friend who was deserting her. "Gee, I'd sort of hoped you could stay. I mean, your mom and mine will be talking for hours. I'll have nothing to do." She averted her eyes from the uncovered loins of Tamera's lithe body and changed a record. "What kind of party is it?"