Rex Taylor: Mother lover

Jesus Christ! she fumed inside her brain. This bastard must be into yoga or something. It seemed as if she'd been sucking his cock for half an hour and it was still rigid and hard and he appeared totally calm and collected. The impassive look on his face belonged to a proctor monitoring a classroom exam, not to a guy getting his cock sucked! Hurry up, she prayed, hurry up and shoot your snot!

There was a rattling sound at the front of the ferryboat. Good God, Cathy told herself, we're pulling up at the pier in New Gloater! She began to suck harder, to no more evident effect, and she started to panic at the futility of it all.

Quickly she pulled her head back, till only the point of his prick was between her lips, and she began to rub her hands up and down his shaft, shucking the skin covering of his rod. That was better, she knew at once. His hips began to move as he sat upon the lid of the john and she could feel him squirming more and more as she gave him a. combination of handjob and knob-nibbling.

He put his hands on her head again, stroking and twining in her blonde hair, and then he lifted his ass slightly and she felt his cock give an unmistakable jolt of release. The head seemed to swell to double its normal size, and it burst open in the cuddle of her lips.

His first squirt of cum hit her hard, in the back of the throat, and she swallowed it quickly, but the next burst arrived on the heels of. the other and some of it dribbled onto her lips, making them slick, and his prick slid out of her careful mouth grip. Her hands were still jerking him off, but everything was happening too fast. The ferry had stopped definitely, she could hear the clinging of chains as the crew began to make ready for disembarkation of the boat's load of cars, and she knew that theirs was the third car in line, that unless they hurried traffic would be bottled up and horns would be blowing and-oh, shit!

Cathy took his sperm full in her face, not even trying to get his cock back into her mouth. He drenched her with his fuck juice, spraying her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, and she masturbated him until his balls were drained.

"Come along," he told her, standing up and reinserting his cock within his pants. "We'll have to be leaving the boat now." She followed him out the door, no longer giving a rat's ass who saw her, not even caring that his globby cum was all over her face, dripping from her lips, plain as day to anyone who might look. She wiped the back of her hand across her eyelids and brows, mopping at the jizz which clung there, and she got into the turquoise Pontiac with him, feeling cheap and slutty. Sex could never be the same again, now that she'd met Chris, but this was the price she must pay if she wanted to be free of Gwen, if she wanted the chance to start a life of her own, one that she could share with Chris.

The first car had already begun to move off the ramp when Cathy's pickup started his engine.

They drove off the dock, turning onto the main drag of the sleepy little village, and Cathy saw a service station ahead. "Look," she told the guy, "can you stop there a minute, so I can wipe my face? I won't be long."

"Oh, sure," he'd said, giving her a pearly-toothed smile. "Take as long as you need."

She hadn't wasted a minute, either, soaking some towels and washing her face clean, but when she'd come out of the ladies' room, the turquoise Pontiac was nowhere in sight and the pump jockey told her the car had zoomed away after the driver

let her out. Cathy fumed a moment, her mind stringing a series of redoubtable curses, but what was the use? She had some money and she was hungry, so she went into the nearest restaurant and ordered up a seafood dinner.

Afterwards she'd wandered around New Gloster for what must have been hours, going nowhere, doing nothing. She wondered if it might not be better to go back to the island, to face Gwen, to tell her mother that little Cathy was no longer a baby, that it was time for the bird to leave the nest.

Oh, it wasn't Gwen's fault-not entirely. She knew what a shock it must have, been for her mother to catch them on the bed, fucking doggie-style, no less, but at the same time it was Gwen's fault, too. Cathy had gown into a young woman almost unobserved, while her mother had been away in southeast Asia or Africa or God knows where else, interviewing Henry Kissinger and Arafat and anyone else who happened to be in the news, and Gwen didn't seem to have caught onto that fact yet. Cathy couldn't be a baby forever. She was eighteen, she was not a virgin, and she knew what she wanted for the rest of her life-to make love with Chris Robinson. Gwen would simply have to accept that, to live with the knowledge that Cathy was a person in her own right and not merely an extension of the glamorous lady journalist.

And then she thought of the ludicrous way Gwen had reacted-the panicky "let's get out of here" commandments, the assumption that if she took Cathy away from Chris, the entire affair would pass into forgotten history. The facile and flawed judgment her mother had made infuriated Cathy nearly as much now as it had at the time, and it sealed her decision. She would leave, by God! She really would! In the fading light of early evening she had gone determinedly to the highway to hitch another ride.

"First," Don was saying, "I want to call your mother, and then we're going back to the island."

Cathy sighed. She was trapped. She was not only trapped, she was strapped, into the seatbelt of the Mercedes, and she couldn't even jump out of the car to prevent the enactment of Don's intentions. Besides, he'd find her quickly and easily, unless she went into the water and swam to New York. She eased back in the seat and let fate take its course.

Don stopped at a service station to use the phone booth. Cathy noted with some interest that it was the same station where she had gone to clean her face, but beyond that she had no other thought.

Gwen jumped when the phone rang, and she picked it up before it had sounded a second time. "Oh, my God," she said, "is that you, Don?"

"It is, and Cathy's in the car. I think I drove every back road within twenty miles, trailing that turquoise Pontiac, and she was in New Gloster all the time."

"Is she all right?" Gwen asked hesitantly.

"She seems to be fine. A little upset, but that's all. We'll be over as soon as the ferry comes in."

"Oh, no!" Gwen wailed. "It stops running at seven and it's-oh, I thought so!-it's almost eight."

"Don't worry, then," Don assured her. "I'll find someplace for us to stay till morning and we'll come back then. There must be a motel around somewhere."

"I suppose so," Gwen agreed. "And maybe by morning Cathy will have calmed down enough to

talk to me. Don, I'm afraid we're going to be forced into having a long, four-way explanation session tomorrow, too. We can't put it off any more."

"You're right," he said. "You're absolutely right. Tell you what-I'll take Cathy to dinner and then we'll find ourselves a couple of rooms. See you first thing in the morning."

"I'll be at the landing when the first ferry unloads. And Don-thank you very much."

"You don't have to thank me," he said. "After all, she's my daughter, too."

Don led Cathy into the room. "I'm sorry," he told her, "but this is the only one they have; It's the tourist season and both motels are almost filled up. Counting us, they are filled up. So-you get some sleep. I'll wait out in the car."

"In the car?" Cathy giggled. "There're two beds in here. You can't sleep in a car when you've already paid for a bed. That's silly."

"It wouldn't look good," he protested.

"Bullshit," Cathy sneered. "It'll look worse if you park me here and then sack out in the Mercedes. Besides-how do you know I won't run away in the night? Qh, come on, Mr. Robinson!" She sat down on the edge of the bed, then flopped on her back, raising her feet from the floor to bicycle them in the air.