Wilma Crane - Family bride

"Well," she said simply, "I'm not Frances. And Jim's not you. Things are different with us." She thought it extremely curious that he could be chastising her and examining her legs with such obvious interest. Casually, she pulled the hem of her housecoat down around her knees. "Please," she said. "I'd really just rather not talk about it, please."

"So you're already going to bed with someone else then," he said.

"Mr. Davis!" she said, setting down her drink on the glass and chrome coffee table. "How much have you had to drink?" She pushed down the paper on the liquor bottle and saw that it was full.

"I had a few beers at work," he confessed. "Fuckworth? Is that his name?"

Valerie giggled despite herself. "Duckworth," she said. "Mike Duckworth. He was at the wedding. You remember him. My old boss? The music teacher?"

"Kind of a fairy-looking red-headed dude?"

Valerie didn't like the description, but she had to admit that Richard had remembered him, which surprised her, since her mother had invited nearly four hundred guests to the reception.

"What do you want to fuck around with him for?" Richard demanded. "He's old enough to be your father, isn't he?"

"I'm not 'fucking around' with him," she said beginning to get a little angry. "And he's only thirty-two, and…"

"Christ, he's practically as old as I am!"

Valerie picked up her drink. "Don't you ever 'fuck around'?" she asked him. She had decided that the best thing to do was to fight fire with fire; if he wanted to embarrass her into a position where he could question her about Jim, she wasn't going to let him.

"You shouldn't talk like that," he said, looking into his glass.

"Well," she said, feeling a little smug, "you started it."

"That's different," he said. "You're a girl."

"Girls are different now," she said, sipping on her drink.

"I don't want to talk about it, either," he said. He poured himself another drink from the bottle, then leaned back on the couch. "You able to do all right?" he asked. "I mean, about money and all."

Valerie smiled at him. He really didn't know much. "I do all right," she said. "As a matter of fact, I was a little worried about Jim. I make more money than he does being a teaching assistant, you know."

"No," he said, "I didn't know. Jim doesn't talk to me much. He's doing all right, though, I guess."

"And how are you doing?" she asked, feeling impish. "Financially, I mean."

Richard looked up at her in surprise. "I'm doing all right, too, I guess."

"Well, I guess we're all doing all right then."

"Why don't you come sit over here?" he asked, patting the couch beside him. "I can't see you very well for the light in my eyes." He made a gesture as if to ward off the light.

He had jokingly used that ploy to tease her often enough before. "You can see me fine," she said, "just where I am." But she got up and walked over to the window shade. "There," she said, dropping the yellow bamboo sun screen. "Is that better?" She sat down in the bright green love seat, nearer to him, but not yet in touching distance.

"I guess so," he said, looking sadly at his glass.

They sat in silence for several minutes, Richard studying his fingers on the rim of the glass, his daughter-in-law studying him. He's so pitiful, she thought.

"Look," she said, startling him a little as she slipped over beside him on the couch. She put her hands on his shoulders and made him look at her. "You're a sweetheart for wanting to help me and Jim out, but there's just nothing anyone can do now." She gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "That's for being so sweet," she said.

But Richard threw his arms around her and, before she knew quite what was happening, her father-in-law had thrown her over backward and pressed himself over her, his bristly beard scratching her face as he tried to kiss her.

"Mr. Davis!" she gasped, trying to push him away.

"Don't fight me, please!" he gasped, his mouth hot against the delicate skin of her throat. His hands kneaded and squeezed at her breasts through the housecoat.

"Mr. Davis!" she cried, once again trying to rise. "What do you…"

But he cut her off with a kiss. She tried to keep her mouth closed, but his hot tongue speared through her lips and pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She could smell the car oil in his matted hair.

She pushed up at his chest, but he had caught her by surprise and she couldn't get enough leverage to force him away. Her bare ankle kicked against the chrome edge of the coffee table.

"Mmmfff!" she moaned against his bristly lips.

"You're putting out for everyone else," he growled, only inches from her face. "You can damn well throw a little of that cunt in my direction!"

"No!" she cried. "No! Mr. Davis! No!"

But already he had ripped off the top button to her pink housecoat, his coarse hands diving to embrace the white flesh of her nearly crushed breasts.

"You've got beautiful tits, honey," he said gutturally. "I've always wanted to get a little taste of them!"

He was trying to nuzzle his mouth into her cleavage, but her struggles effectively prevented him from mouthing her breasts in any but the most cursory manner. But she could feel the bristles of his beard scraping over her nipples, a sensation which was not quite like either a tickle or an itch.

"Stop!" she implored him. "This is ridiculous! A joke's a joke, but this has gone far enough!"

"I'm going to fuck you, honey," he said. "Don't say anything. If what you said about that music teacher is true, and you haven't been fucking around, then you must be just as hot for it as I am."

"No! Mr. Davis, no!"

"I'll make it good for you, sweetheart! I promise I will. I'll make you come like you've never had it before. Shit, I know Jim ain't no good when it comes to sex, but…"

Valerie's hand slipped off his shoulder, her fist striking him square on the jaw. "Oh!" she cried. "Oh, please let me up. This is wrong! It's crazy!"

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, pinning her arms down on the couch. "But I'm going to fuck you, whether you want it or not. I don't care about the consequences."

"I'll call the police!" she threatened, looking up at his hard blue eyes. "I'll…"

"Yeah, maybe. Only first you're going to get fucked." He licked his lips, his meaty red tongue flicking the corners of his mouth. "Take your pick. Lay back and enjoy it, or fight me and wind up tied up to this pretty little coffee table."

"You're really crazy!" she spat at him. "You know that, don't you? You think you can get away with this? You can't."

"Maybe not," he said, rubbing his chin over her breasts, "but it's going to be a lot of fun trying."

He caught the edge of her housecoat with one hand, holding her wrists with the other. When he had jerked the buttons away, her thighs lay exposed to his animalistic gaze, the dark wedge of her cunt ineffectively concealed by her partially crossed thighs.

"Don't touch me!" she cried. "Don't look at me like that! Please! I won't say anything to anyone, only let me go!"

"Not on your life," he said.

And she felt the thickness of his coarse fingers gently part the hair of her cunt as he gazed over his shoulder at the sensitive, pomegranate-colored outer folds of her cunt.

Her cunt seemed to be stretched wide-open by the tension of her widespread thighs. With the quilted satin belt of her housecoat, he had tied her ankles to the legs of the coffee table. Her wrists, bound with his wide leather belt, were pulled behind her and tied in a similar manner. Her head and shoulders rested on nothing, and her efforts to keep her head up so that she could see what he was doing only served to make the muscles of her abdomen shudder as they tensed. Her heavy breasts shook with her vain efforts to free herself.