"You need coolin',
baby, I'm not foolin',
I'm gonna send you back to schoolin'. . ."
Led Zeppelin, "Whole Lotta Love"
Mary straddled Jacque's head, and glued her own pussy's ample lips to the young woman's mouth. "Run your tongue inside. Deep," she ordered the sweating 18-year-old.
She pulled Jacque's legs back and spread them so the girl would be wide open to Jim's assault on the sweet pussy snuggled between their niece's thighs. Jim grasped his cock, slick from visits to Jacque's mouth, rubbed the head along the slit to part the deep blond pubic hair. He teased her pearl with it, and then wedged its tip into the slowly yielding opening.
Jacque's saliva mixed with juices seeping from her channel, and he worked his cock in with little back-and-forth thrusts, a meaty burglar breaking into her tight pussy. She was tight as hell, but her young cunt burned with a desire stoked by heat on her very red and sore fanny.
"Well, Jacque dear," he said, almost conversationally. "We warned you and warned you to straighten out, move out, or take the consequences. We'll go into details later, but let me sum up the consequences: You misbehaved; you're being punished. You've been a defiant brat; we'll teach obedience. You refused to get a job; you'll work for us.
"And since you decided not to go to college, we're going to school you right here at home. Science and math, literature and social studies--and some hands-on tutoring to satisfy your new obsession with sex," Jim said and pressed the last point home against her painfully unyielding hymen.
They had taken Jacque in after Jim's brother died and his sister-in-law drank herself into oblivion, giving her a solid home in upper-middle-class suburbs. The first dozen years had been wonderful, unmarred even by typical teen outbursts.
Then she turned 18, and it all went to hell in a hurry.
Within weeks after high school graduation, Jacque the good girl mysteriously morphed into a raging, foul-mouthed bitch, her bouts of sulking interrupted only by screaming, door-slamming furies. Inexplicably, outrageously rebellious, she left history trails of porn on her computer, the stench of spilled beer on her carpet and snuffed-out doobies in her car's ashtray.
They tried grounding her; she slammed out the door. They set curfews; she broke them. They yanked her phone; she got a mobile. They took her computer; she used a friend's. They took her car; she peeled out in Jim's. At each encounter, she simply grew more sullen or screamed louder. Each time, each one warned her that they believed in progressive discipline, and that they would really up the ante if she didn't shape up or ship out.
She simply blew them off. She swore she wouldn't go to college, shrugging off full-ride scholarships. And she sure as hell wouldn't schlep burgers to rent some dump. 'Fuck that,' she thought. 'I've been Miss Goody Two Shoes too long, and I've got some fun coming.'
That's basically what she told the psychiatrist they made her see. "Don't look for any deep psychological trauma or big-fucking-deal disorder. I'm fed up with being the good little girl and doing nothing but homework. It's my turn to party. I'll drink. I'll blow dope. I'll go to raves and rub my ass all over guys. And if I want to screw some dude, I'll screw him," she blurted to end her single short visit with the shrink.
"So deal with it," she snapped at Jim and Mary, convinced they were bluffing.
Just rarely, she felt a little twinge that something might go amiss. For instance, a friend's dad hinted there was more to Jim and Mary than she knew about. "They have another side to them, that's all," he said, clamming up when pressed for details. She never saw them throw a cocktail party. Yet some mornings she could sense that something was different, that they seemed tired and hung over, but quietly content.
Then there was the mysteriously off-limits addition on the north side of the house, its single, steel door guarded by a touchpad combination lock. But, she reasoned, it wasn't really sinister, just unusual.
"Uncle Jim's a science nerd," she explained to friends. "He has a lab with dangerous chemicals, and some of his government contracts are top secret. Anyway, that's what Aunt Mary told me."
And what about Aunt Mary? She was to all appearances a lit professor who wore sensible suits and went to book clubs where people actually read books. She always seemed so calm and sweet, but a few times Jacque had seen her totally blister people with acidic tongue-lashings—usually someone who had done something really stupid.
In spite of the signals, Jacque always circled back to the same conclusion: 'They're softies, and I'll damn well do as I please.
'Besides,' she asked herself, 'what can they do about it? Spank me?' She giggled at that absurd notion.
So she ignored their latest warning, and tonight she'd slipped through her bedroom window to see a 32-year-old man she met online. As she clambered back into the darkened room, her nipples still tingled from Rod's touch; her pussy ached with pleasure where he had fingered her. She had used her hands on his cock and balls, excitedly sucked him off. They hadn't quite fucked yet, but he had promised to bring rubbers next time and teach her how to ride his cock. It looked huge, but she promised herself she would squeeze it in.
Jacque shut the window behind her, gloating over her escape, on being 'way too cool for them.
They flicked on the lights, froze her in place. Her clothes were wrinkled, hair mussed, lipstick smeared, eyes wide and jaw dropped.
"So, did you fuck him?" Mary demanded.
Jacque had never seen such a look on Mary's face or even heard her say "fuck," but recovered enough to be a smart ass.
"None of your fucking business," she yelled.
"Wrong answer," Jim grunted.
He folded Jacque at the waist and pinned her facedown on the bed, feet on the floor, ass presented. Mary lifted the girl's short, tight skirt, startled to expose only naked cheeks, with Jacque's bare pussy peeking out below.
"Where are your panties?"
"None of your fucking business," Jacque yelled into the bedspread, although much less sure of herself than she had been just seconds ago.
Ka-wham! Mary swung a hard, open-palmed right across both the girl's bared cheeks, and followed up with a dozen more. Jacque squalled, wriggling fruitlessly against her uncle's iron grip.
She was sniffling when Mary stopped. She was also feeling something besides pain, something that surprised her. She felt warmth and moisture inside her pussy, like when Rod finger-fucked her.
"Start over. Where are your panties?"
"Rod. Rod kept them. He said he liked them 'cause they smell like, uh, like me." She was mad as hell but felt like she'd better cooperate for now.
"You mean, 'Because they smell like pussy,'" Mary corrected her. A shocked Jacque mumbled assent.
"And my original question: Did you fuck him?"
"No, no, no. No, we didn't fuck. Not really," Jacque protested.
"And what, 'really,' did you do, then?" The question came from Jim.
Jacque suffered four more hard swats before she would answer.
"My boobs. He petted them a little, that's all," she lied.
Smack! "Now the rest. What else did he do with your titties?" That was Mary. Smack! Smack!
Ker-schmaaack!
That last one, from Jim's big hand, ripped a yelp from Jacque. He was much stronger than Mary and it hurt like hell. . He issued instructions: "We want details--and skip the euphemisms. The words you're looking for are 'fuck,' 'pussy,' 'cunt,' 'cock,' 'tit.' Get it?"
She answered quickly. "He kissed my boobies--tits, I mean," she corrected when he raised his hand.
"And he sucked my nipples. He teased me 'cause they got real hard, and then he pinched them and squeezed my boobs--tits--hard enough to hurt, but it felt good, too. Then he kissed and sucked them some more. That's it. Really! Please don't spank me any more." She was finally pleading.
Ker-schmaaack! But just twice; pleading helped.
"Okay, so what did you do? You didn't lose your thong having a Coke at the drive-in. What did he do between your legs?" Mary again. She swung a palm low across the cheeks to sting the pouting organ there.
"His hand. 'Petting the bunny' he called it. And his finger. He rubbed me down there with his finger," Jacque blubbered.
"In my pussy, in my pussy," she squalled when Jim's hard palm reminded her about euphemisms. She was leaving out big-picture items like the blowjob.
"So he finger-fucked you. How?" Jim's hand was poised but Jacque answered fast. With details.