Uncnown - The Widow_s Companion

For a long time nothing seemed to happen, and then at last the man rolled off of the older woman and got up, going over to some clothes that were slung over a chair.

"I've got to go, Mrs. Winthrop," came the boyish tenor, "or my mother will give me hell. I'm supposed to be playing basketball at St.

Ignatius."

Ellen started, her eyes wide. Oh no! No! She could swear that the "man" was Billy Erpsamer, the fourteen year old boy from next door!

But could it be? She watched his huge limp penis dangling as he got into his clothes. With the two of them on the bed, it was impossible exactly to tell just what the size of the man was. Billy was certainly much shorter than her statuesque mother, although he was quite hairy for his age. But could that be his enormous penis, swinging so evilly like an Arabian scimitar?

Her mother got up from the bed, wrapping a robe around her lushly proportioned body, a lazy smile on her lovely face. "And how much do you want this time, you wonderful brute?" she asked.

Billy Erspamer – she was certain it was him now – grinned. "Ten dollars," he said with a smirk.

Ellen watched unbelievingly as her mother went to her purse on the vanity, took out a roll of bills and handed it to him. "There's fifteen," she said, and then she put her arms around the boy and kissed him, obviously working her tongue around inside his cheeks. When the kiss broke, she whispered huskily, "You're sure you wouldn't like me to suck your cock, darling?" and reached down to stroke the thick bulge in his Levi's.

Billy shook his head. "No thanks, Mrs. Winthrop. I'd like to, but my mother'll kill me if I'm late. No fooling! Maybe next time." And then he picked up his jacket and went for the door.

Her mother tailed after him, grabbing him one more time before he could get away, by the neck this time. "You do respect me, don't you, darling?" she asked.

"Sure, sure I do, Mrs. Winthrop. You know I do. Now come on, I've really got to get going. My mother'll kill me."

The older woman shrugged. "All right," she said, letting him out into the corridor, and then as an afterthought, whispered, "But use the back stairs. My daughter's asleep. Good night, dear."

Crawling through the darkness on all fours, slinking across the floor like the snake she felt like, Ellen finally managed to make it back to her own bedroom. She flopped down into her bed with tears of uncertainty rolling down her cheeks like beads of glass. The troubled young girl was almost glad that her father wasn't alive; for she knew now that her mother had been carrying on like this even before he died.

She could remember how the older woman had often stayed out late in the evening during his lengthy illness, pleading PTA, or other charitable work. Well, she certainly seemed to be practicing charity now, thought Ellen, choking on her futile tears.

How could she ever face her mother again, after what she had witnessed?

And after what she had done with herself while she witnessed it? How could she look at her mother in the morning over their usual breakfast together?

But what could she do? Where could she go? She was too young by far to run away from home.

Maxwell and Dominique Carter were her only real friends. She resolved to see as much of them as possible from now on. They were understanding, worldly people, and would make good substitute parents … she could trust them!

In the weeks that followed, the Carters were quite pleased to find Ellen visiting them with increasing frequency. Often she stopped by on her way home from school, then lingered over a glass of soda pop and some ice cream for the longest time. In the evenings she would come by again and they would watch TV, films or play scrabble or go to driveins for milk shakes.

Several times they took her ice skating at the big rink in Northfield, and despite her voluptuousness Ellen proved to be surprisingly graceful on the ice. In the short-short skating skirt her gorgeous long, muscular legs were shown off to exciting advantage, and her long blonde hair swirled gorgeously on every turn. Maxwell Carter could barely wait to sink his teeth into her.

His favorite game, however, was taking Ellen downstairs to shoot pool in their game room. For when she leaned over the billiards table he was often afforded an intoxicating viewing of her massively swelling young breasts as they swayed within her clinging tight sweaters. When she was around, his mouth was continually watering and his nostrils flaring.

Not that he wasn't prepared to let his own sexual interests take a back seat to the economic concerns of Midwest Films, Inc.

Consequently it was eventually decided between himself and Dominique that the time had become ripe and that they could afford to wait no longer. Ellen was frequently affectionate, giving both of them hugs and kisses on the check before going home, and she had also taken quite a fancy to Handsome, their powerful German shepherd. All they needed was to time her initiation properly and they felt sure that there would be no fuss whatever.

But the timing was, nonetheless, important.

They decided, finally, to pursue her in a manner that had been successful with numerous other reluctant conquests. A combination of preying on her immaturity and the natural wish of every over-developed teenager to appear older than her years, and sophisticated, and the use of drugs and lewd motion pictures as well. Eventually she would become so aroused that she would no longer be able to control herself. At least, that was the plan.

Meanwhile the virginal golden Ellen suspected nothing. She felt affectionate towards the Carters, and she dearly loved Handsome, but she hadn't even fingered again since the evil night she had caught her mother with Billy Erspamer… not that the thirteen year old hadn't been tempted! She had resolved that she would struggle to retain her purity in order to counterbalance her mother's fall from grace. The Winthrop family of Kenwood Lane would at least have her balancing it in a world that was too evil to survive much longer.

By visiting the Carters frequently, she seemed to acquire some of their strength of personality. They were so good – if worldly – that she came to believe that she could rely upon their judgment utterly. Surely they hadn't become so rich by not having any sense. So she studied everything Dominique Carter did, and Maxwell Carter, too. She wanted to be just like them. Her mother she merely tolerated. The chasm between then widened daily.

It was this innocent trust that prevented Ellen from developing any inkling or suspicion of what fate the Carters really had in mind for her. As a result, she accepted with alacrity when they suggested one evening that she spend the weekend at their house. They had plenty of room, and they did have such fun together. It would be lovely fun.

Her mother agreed with what Ellen considered to be uncharacteristic alacrity, and the young girl readied herself. She got a little bag of her things and toilet articles together, and went over to the Carters almost immediately after coming home from school on Friday.

The afternoon seemed to go along in a relatively mild, innocuous fashion. At dinner they explained to her that they were celebrating Maxwell's birthday with champagne.

Ellen had never drunk champagne before, nor for that matter any alcoholic beverage, but she didn't want to offend her two good friends, and in particular she didn't want to seem childish and immature. For if she refused to drink she knew they would seize upon that to make light fun of her in a good-natured way, and she didn't want that. She wanted to live up to their sophisticated company in every way.

So she drank. And the bubbles went right to her head, making her cough and sputter. What a good laugh they all had over that.