Uncnown - The Widow_s Companion

Everything he wore looked custom made just for him – from the belted Austrian hunting jackets to his Charles III buckled boots. He was mature, worldly, sophisticated. Dominique Carter was a lucky woman.

And their wealth, while obvious, was always in good taste in a similar vein. In addition to their white Cadillac convertible they also kept the classic Lamborghini, a Rolls-Royce, and a battered old Ford station wagon. While Mrs. Carter, in addition to her minks, also wore leopard and silver fox with some frequency. Her clothes were beautiful and in good taste. Everything seemed to be an original from somewhere or other, or ready-made from Saks or Marshall Field. "Oh, just some little thing Christian Dior made up for me, darling," Dominique Carter would say casually. "He's such a dear."

Now as she sat on the couch in front of the movie screen, Mrs. Carter's hand slipped casually out of hers and rested just as casually on Ellen's full firm thigh. Ellen didn't mind. Dominique was like a secondary mother to her, or a fairy aunt. And she was a perfectly normal girl in that her primitive, vague and immature yearnings were oriented only towards the male sex. At the tender age of thirteen, while of womanly proportions already, Ellen still knew nothing at all of lesbianism, and scarcely much more about ordinary sex.

The innocent young girl glanced across at Maxwell Carter, who was sitting sidewise across from them, on the other long black leather couch, apparently deep in thought, his usual urbane and distant self as the motion pictured droned on.

But why had they picked her upon which to lavish all this attention and praise? Dominique Carter was constantly buying her "some little thing;" her mother didn't seem to mind. Perhaps it was all due to the fact that the Carters had no children of their own.

But that didn't seem quite right, either. Dominique Carter was certainly young enough to have children, even though she was too svelte and sophisticated to seem exactly the motherly type. And with a gorgeous statuesque figure like hers, Ellen imagined that her husband probably found no end of excuse to do with her what it was that men did with women for the purpose of impregnating them. She certainly could not believe that the Carters were anything less than normal. Mr.

Carter's virility was a palpable flavor in the air, while Dominique had an aura of such worldly sensuality that Ellen only hoped that some day she could equal that masterful air of feminine confidence which suffused everything Dominique did. If only…

"Look at this," Maxwell whispered across to them. Handsome stepped over to Ellen and laid his furry snout in her lap, gazing up at her with what appeared to be adoring eyes. It was not in her youthful innocence to perceive any sensuality in the handsome brute's face. Handsome was, after all, just a dog.

"Terrific," Maxwell muttered.

Ellen blinked and she struggled to focus. As usual, the surroundings in the Carters' enormous den were so restful that she had quite drifted off with her pubescent daydreaming. She realized now that she had been paying scarcely any attention at all to the movie, although it appeared to be an interesting one. The mood of decor in the Carters' library-den as usual, had tended to act as a mild soporific on her teenage sensibilities. The ancient prints on the walls, the long hanging red tapestries, the abundance of leather, wood, and fine Mediterranean tooling workmanship in everything – from mantel piece to chair arm to carpeting to bookcase – the high covered windows, everything gave one a feeling of having settled into a warmish, quiet cocoon conducive to thoughtful meditation. Then the incense that the Carters were so fond of lighting was another factor. She invariably found herself becoming slow and lazy in this room, in particular when they showed films. Her mind just seemed to drift off.

But now Mr. Carter's verbal notations had served to waken her observation, and what she observed was more than she bargained for.

The sort of films the Carters usually showed her were Mary Poppins' sort of things, with the occasional violent western thrown in for good measure. They had never shown her anything even the most wee bit sexy.

And yet she realized now that what she was seeing in Straw Dogs had some very strong sexual overtones. In particular where the young man's wife – the American man's wife – appears at the window with her healthy young breasts showing, before the trio of workmen working on the garage roof of her husband's new house.

And what Mr. Carter was now pointing out was apparently a rape scene, for the big blond man was in the American's house while he was away, and he was slapping his pretty blonde wife and making her take her clothes off.

Ellen started as she realized what was happening to herself right here in this room. Mrs. Carter was gently stroking her skirted thigh with her thumb, and Handsome had nuzzled his nose deeply in her lap, almost brushing her panty-covered loins, but she didn't notice any of that.

What really set her mind and her loins aglow was the realization that the big young man in the film had actually put his penis into the beautiful blonde young housewife!

Ellen gasped and put her hand to her sultry red mouth. She couldn't really believe this was happening, before her very eyes! For the pretty housewife, the nipples of her breasts showing in the most blatant way, seemed actually to be undergoing sex as the handsome man stuffed his long thick thing up inside of her belly, working it around with agonizing slowness. And a few seconds later, when the housewife obviously came, it was the most intoxicating experience Ellen had ever witnessed in her entire young life!

"She seemed to enjoy that, didn't she?" Dominique asked silkily, her voice a soft essence wafted against Ellen's shell-like smooth ear.

"Well – I -" stammered Ellen, unable to know what to say, at a total loss. She had never before ever actually seen anyone having sex. Her loins seemed to be full of butterflies. The man in the film had obviously made love to the beautiful blonde housewife in the film, and clearly she had enjoyed it.

"Don't be pushy, Dom," came Maxwell Carter's understanding baritone from the other couch. "After all, Ellen's only thirteen years old.

She's just a child."

Exactly the sort of statement calculated to put any teenager on the defensive and eager to prove that she could be as sexy as any grown woman.

Ellen rose to the bait. Smarting under Mr. Carter's patronizing tone, she instinctively sat up straighter in order to thrust out her proudly uplifted breasts. Her long blonde curls danced in back of her shoulders. "I am not such a child as all that, Mr. Carter," she insisted through her sensuously pouting lips. "I know all about sex, you know."

Carter could not repress a faint little smirk at their perty prey's behavior. "From biology books in school, no doubt," he said wryly, clinking his ice around in his highball glass as he goaded her still further. "And I thought we agreed that you would call me Maxwell, Ellen."

"Maxwell, then," she stammered, flustered. "Well, no, not from biology books – that is…"

"Where then, dear?" asked Dominique, pressing her hand affectionately around Ellen's.

"Well, I – that is… the girls at school… my mother… oohhhhh …" Her voice trailed off as she focused again on the sexual action on the screen. Something had happened! A second man had appeared with a knife and had forced the first man to force the housewife to submit to something else. It appeared as if the second man was doing something behind her. But what? It was all so confused. She wasn't sure if she could make out anything very clearly, really.

"Looks like he's sodomizing her," Maxwell Carter said casually.

"He's what?" Ellen asked, mystified.