Sex Death And Other Strange Ideas Ch 03

SEX, DEATH, AND OTHER STRANGE IDEAS

Sex, Death, and Other Strange Ideas is a steamy supernatural romance novel with multiple chapters. Contains language and situations (utterly) inappropriate for those under 18.

(Chapter 1)

https://www.literotica.com/s/sex-death-and-other-strange-ideas

(Chapter 2)

https://www.literotica.com/s/sex-death-and-other-strange-ideas-ch-02

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CHAPTER 3

"Georgina, would you please go put on a brassiere at least? You look like a harlot." The older heavyset woman sat poised in the breakfast nook with her hands folded primly before her. The modest and proper dress she wore was bright spring yellow and so old school high society that she would have looked more at home in a black and white photo than she did in the modern kitchen. Her short, curly hair was immaculate, her ladled-on makeup was flawless, and the expensive jewelry that adorned her neck, wrists, ears, and fingers was perfection itself. That was Queen Penelope for you, everything was

always

fucking perfect. Except for her daughter of course.

"They're just boobs, Mom," Jo muttered sleepily. "I know you have at least two of them yourself." She managed to locate the coffee pot, give it a rinse, and spoon in a few scoops of her favorite blend. Jo's morning coffee was judged as something important enough to go in her overnight bag. She hadn't gotten dressed yet and was still clad in her sleepwear, partly because she woke up too lethargic to leap into action and partly because it annoyed her mother.

"Georgina, it's the middle of the day and you're still flouncing around in nothing but that silly shirt. It's bad behavior for a..."

"It's not just a shirt, look!" Jo impudently pulled up the hem to expose her not-

nearly

-appropriate black panties and her belly button ring. "See, I'm dressed."

Penelope sighed in exasperation and turned her attention back to the chamomile tea in her cup. Selfless, sacrificing caregiver that she was, she had prepared it herself

after

she let herself past the front gate and into the house while Jo was still sleeping. The younger woman had woken around ten o'clock, her slumber not restless exactly, but full of bizarre dreams. There had been a lot of blood in them for some reason. Jo had wandered down to the kitchen in a half-doze in search of the sacred black bean and found her precious parent on her second cup of that flowery shit she drank.

"Well, you're going to have to put clothes on soon," Penelope said. "I took the initiative and ordered a cleaning crew for you. They should be here about twelve." She sniffed imperiously and took another sip of her tea.

"I'll grab some pants as soon as I get my coffee, okay? Fuck, what a day..." Jo rubbed her eyes and shoved her tangled hair out of her face.

"Language!" came the offended response.

"Sorry," Jo said. "Fuck, what a diurnal course. The realtor is supposed to be here... well,

now,

then the cleaners at noon, the moving van at two or three, and I've still got to get out to the store, grab some essentials, go to the bank, and all that good shit. Aw, c'mon," Jo urged the coffee pot which had just started to dribble. "Go faster, mama needs caffeine before she can handle this shit. I wish I had a little Bailey's to mix in, that would help too."

"Oh no, don't tell me you're drinking again," Penelope mourned. "I thought you stopped when you got into Stanford." She said the name of the world class school in a way that was just sarcastic enough to be noticed, but not quite enough to call her on it.

"I never quit completely," Jo said matter-of-factly. She was unable to lie effectively to her mother, except by omission. "I moderate now, it's not like when I was nineteen so you can chill out." In truth, Chris had been into experimenting with all kinds of substances, be it simple alcohol, some herbal thing he ordered from the other side of the world, or various hard street drugs. They had even tried strychnine once, though Jo didn't remember much about that particular evening. They never did the same thing frequently enough to get addicted, Chris had been very specific about that. As for Jo's drug use these days, there was a small amount of marijuana hidden away in a secret pocket of her travel bag that she would get around to smoking eventually. Maybe for a housewarming party.

As if reading her mind (as she always seemed able to do with alarming accuracy), Penelope suddenly smiled. The smile didn't come close to reaching her eyes and looked as fake as her teeth, but she was pretending to be happy about something. "I'm taking you out shopping," she informed her daughter. It was a statement, not an offer. "You need a new dress. A

proper

dress. And some new shoes and something nice for your neck. I have a surprise for you."

"Mom," Jo said warily as she located her 3D novelty Star Trek mug. It was molded into the shape of Captain Picard cybered up as Locutus of Borg. "No offense, you know I love you, but I've learned not to trust your surprises." She snagged the carafe of the fancy coffee pot so she could pour some of the fragrant beverage into her cup. It was the first to filter through and would be black and bitter as hell, but Jo felt she could use that today. "Tell me what the surprise is, or it's no deal."

"Alright, Georgina, have it your way," Penelope said. "I've planned a housewarming party for Saturday night. And don't you dare try to question me, I've taken care of everything already. The invitations have been sent and RSVP'd, the caterer is going to be the same one that catered your cousin's wedding, and we have a lovely garden band. The weather that evening is going to be warm and dry, I checked before I scheduled anything."

"I see," Jo said flatly, taking a sip of her brutal coffee and grimacing. "So, do I get to have any of

my

friends there? And you want to take me out for new clothes, so I assume this is a fancy dress affair. You know I have my own dresses, I only wear this when nobody can see me."

"Yes dear," Penelope said. "But judging from the pictures you've sent me, none of your clothing is remotely appropriate for a gathering this...

decent

. Georgina, you're home now, you must start dressing according to your station. I've never understood why you insist on pretending to be..."

"Pretending to be what?" Jo demanded, taking a seat in the breakfast nook across from her mother and shrugging off a brief spell of gooseflesh on her bare arms and legs. "Why I insist on pretending to be what? A woman I actually

like

instead of a Gloria Vanderbilt cartoon character you built as a costume for me to wear? And I swear, if you call me 'Georgina' one more time I'm sending you the contents of Jean-Luc's cat box for Christmas."

"I'm not calling you that other thing," Penelope said. "You're not a homosexual. Georgina is a beautiful, proper name. Your father and I named you for your grandfather who was the perfect gentleman, and that's what I'm going to use."

"How do

you

know I'm not a homosexual?" Jo asked, growing more and more irritated. "I've been away in California, for all you know I ate out every pretty girl in the state and loved every second of it."

"Don't bait me,

Georgina

, you're just being vulgar to get me to concede an argument. It's never worked, and it never will." In addition to the intentional stress on Jo's hated given name, Penelope had that flat tone in her voice that announced this part of the conversation was officially over.

Jo grunted and sipped at her bitter coffee. The two women looked quite the pair. One, an elegant mature woman in pricey jewelry and a spring outfit that was Dior if it wasn't Ralph Lauren, sipping daintily at a china teacup. The younger woman (who bore a striking resemblance to her mother that she loathed to acknowledge) was clad only in a faded men's T-shirt that fell to her naked thighs, and her long hair was still a mad tangle from sleep. She was gulping sludge from a 3D mug bearing the face of a man she wanted to know in the biblical sense. Aside from the strong familial resemblance, the only thing they had in common was they both wore earrings. Penelope's were a pair of God-knew-how-expensive diamond floral dangles that matched her outfit, while Jo's ears were meticulously curated to match her personal aesthetic. One look at them as they sat opposite each other in the breakfast nook, and one could discern the wild difference in their value systems.

"All right fine," Jo grumbled. "You can have your housewarming party. I'll even wear girl-drag just to make you happy...

Mommy

. But I get to invite five friends of my own, you don't get to hand pick the whole fucking guest list."

"Please stop using that word around me," Penelope said. "And be honest with me, Georgina, do you

have

five friends?"

"Fucking excuse me?" Jo snapped. "I've got a

million

friends, and if I can't find five for Saturday, I'll make some new ones by then! Holy

shit

, Mom."

"You've been gone a very long time, and I know for a fact you haven't been keeping in touch," Penelope informed her coolly. "I'm your mother, I know these things. Your old friend Iris for example..."

"That snooty bitch?" Jo said. "No wonder you liked her, all she ever cared about was putting on fake beauty pageants that she always won and then trying to guilt me into accepting Jesus as my personal savior. I never could stand the sight of her."

"See?" Penelope said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "How many friends do you have, Georgina? You've alienated them all, and when you let Chris get away..."

"

When I let Chris get away?

" Jo's voice went cold as ice. "Mother, I'm going to say this exactly one more time, and if you throw it in my face again, I'm moving to Europe and cutting you the hell off. I didn't let

shit

get away. Your darling Chris lost his mind and disappeared, and it's

his

fucking loss,

not

mine. I don't give a rancid crap about how many grandchildren you wanted him to give you, I'm not your fucking brood sow for whoever you decide is 'the right kind of man'. You don't know Chris

or

me half as well as you think you do, so quit pretending. Do you get me, or do I need to use smaller words?"

The two women sat motionless staring at each other across the table, each defiant in her own way. Penelope had put on her 'mom' face, clearly the adult in the room enduring a child's tantrum. Jo had her chin upturned and her jaw set as if daring the older woman to try talking back to her. For a moment it was a contest to see who would drop her eyes first, when Penelope said without moving or changing expression, "Well, I can see

you're

in a mood."

"If you tell me I'm on my period, I'll break your nose."

"Please don't threaten your mother," Penelope said in an imperious voice. "But thank you for not using that foul word this time. I know you only use it because you know how I feel about it, so don't think you're fooling anyone with this 'dirty woman' act." She suddenly reached down and hooked the straps of her purse where it sat on the floor beside her. "You had best put some clothing on, you have appointments today and the cleaners will be here soon. I'll come back and check on you when you're feeling better."

"Leave the fucking keys," was all Jo could think of to say that wouldn't burn every bridge she had left.

"No, I'll keep them for now. Have a good day, Georgina. I would recommend a shower at least, your hair is a sight." The woman lifted herself out of the breakfast nook and left the room without a backward glance. Moments later, Jo heard the front door open and close.

Jo had yet to move a muscle, white knuckling her mug in both hands. Then it went flying across the kitchen splattering dregs of dark coffee everywhere and bounced harmlessly off the refrigerator, the mug being made of plastic rather than glass.

"Fuck you," Jo whispered to no one. It was more of a sigh than a heartfelt profanity. Jesus Christ, that woman could insult you without even trying. "

I'll come back and check on you when you're FEELING better,

" Jo sneered in an eerily accurate impression of her mother's voice. "I'll show

you

a dirty woman act, you fucking cunt." Jo personally disliked the C-word and rarely used it save for one big fat maternal exception. Sometimes you encountered someone who could be described no other way, and Jo had been fortunate enough to be birthed by one.

On top of it all, the 'let Chris get away' thing had been too much to tolerate. It wasn't the fucking fifties anymore and a woman didn't have to have a man to serve to be a 'real' woman. Jo had been Chris' slut because she

liked

the role. The fact he vanished without a reason was because he didn't have a reason that involved her at all. '

Let him get away...'

Fuck Chris and fuck Penelope again while she was at it.

Jo knew she was getting angrier than the situation merited, and she also knew she shouldn't let Mother-dear push her buttons. But the woman had a method of jabbing her daughter in the most sensitive places that no one else had ever come close to.

Even the 'harlot' insult bit to the core. Jo had been hearing that her entire life. "Don't play with mommy's makeup, Georgina, you look like a harlot." "Change your skirt, Georgina, you look like a harlot." Any time Jo tried to look like something other than a housewife out of Leave It To Beaver, she looked like a harlot. She swore it was her mother's favorite word, and it got a hundred times worse after Jo started to seriously fill out. The bras her mother insisted on were so thick and rigid you couldn't tell if her boobs were round or square, and if she skipped her top button, guess what she looked like? To this day, you could call Jo a 'slut', a 'whore', or a 'filthy little cumcatcher' and it would slide off her. But call her a 'harlot' and shit was about to go down.

"You want to see a harlot, Mom?" Jo demanded of the empty room. "Check out this shit!" She stood and stripped off her T-shirt leaving her naked save for her lacy panties. "Oh, fuck me,

tits

! Right here in my own house too! Oh, precious me, what shall I do? God damn, these things are

big

too, and I didn't even need a boob job like your precious Iris Rinehart. I don't have my nipples pierced yet, that's for Christmas, but I did learn how to twirl. Want to see?" Jo began to expertly gyrate her shoulders, her generous breasts moving in perfect unison. "Maybe I'll break out my tassels for your fucking housewarming party, that should make for a few good memories!"

"And why the hell stop there?" Jo was on a roll now. "Look what else a harlot's got, Mom!" She stripped off her lacy panties to leave herself nude in the middle of the empty kitchen. Her ginger pubic hair was neatly trimmed and shaved, not quite a landing strip but not a full triangle either. "They call this a pussy! Neat, huh? I know you've never seen one because yours withered away sometime in the eighteenth century, but trust me, they're

awesome

! And you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to go find someone to share it with, because I'm a fucking

harlot

, you goddamn cunt!

Aargh

!" Jo slammed her fist down on the marble counter and instantly regretted it, shaking the pain away. "Screw it, I'm going to go have a bath. Jean-Luc, tell the cleaners I'm naked and if anyone wants to watch, I'll be in the master bathroom jilling off. You know, like a

harlot

." Jo left her discarded clothing on the kitchen floor and strode from the room, her head held high with a fierce expression of pride and defiance.

#####

Well then!

This

day had turned interesting quickly. Alex watched "Georgina's" firm round backside until she disappeared out of view and would have taken a gasp for breath if he had any breath to gasp for.

Alone in the kitchen save for Jean-Luc, Alex was seated in the breakfast nook himself. It was large enough for four and the two women had been sitting far enough apart that there was plenty of room between them. "Mom" appeared to be one of those types who paid him no mind at all, even if he waved a hand in front of her face. "Georgina" (the name in quotes in his mind because it was clear that was NOT what she wanted to be called) had sort of noticed Alex when she first sat down but had forgotten all about him in her anger and resulting strip tease. Alex had sat close to them as an experiment, the look on "Georgina's" face when she saw(?) him in the mirror last night still crystal clear in his memory.

Unexpected and extremely welcome peep shows aside, everything seemed back to normal. Or at least as close to normal as anything got around here. Alex wondered briefly if he himself had been the cause of the women's fight, people who spent too much time around him often got edgy. But he quickly decided that no, "Georgina's" mother was just a bitch.

Alex got up from the breakfast nook and Jean-Luc didn't hiss at his approach, but still scrammed practically leaving a cat-shaped cloud of dust behind. Alex wandered out into the great hall just in time to hear the door to the upstairs bathroom slam shut. He meandered in that direction, climbing the stairs in no particular hurry. The master bath was off to the right, and he stopped at the closed door with a thoughtful expression.

Alex was aware he was worrying about things he didn't really need to worry about. But like his hesitancy to enter her bedroom uninvited on her first night, practicing what he considered polite behavior made him feel... he didn't know, more like a person? Alex wasn't capable of asking permission, nor was Jo capable of giving him consent. But then again, she

had

stripped down in front of God and everybody, leaving instructions that anyone wanting to watch her "jilling off" was welcome to do so. Alex hadn't heard that term for female masturbation before, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out. The glimpse she'd given him in the kitchen had whetted his appetite for her to a razor's edge, and though their relationship was brand new, Alex

really

wanted a closer look at a few things.

Well, whichever path Alex took, it wasn't like anyone would ever know but him. He could be a gentleman or a rake, and either way he was literally incapable of hurting anyone. After a moment more of internal debate, Alex decided he could live with being a rake and walked through the heavy oaken door without opening it.

As opulent and gorgeous as the Cairnwood master bathroom was, it paled in comparison to the sight that met Alex's eyes when he stepped inside. "Georgina" (God, he really wanted to know her preferred name) was filling the luxury whirlpool bath that dominated the marble inlaid room. Her bare ass was pointed right at him, the perfect combination of athletic and bubbly. She had one long and shapely leg propped on the edge of the tub so she could reach the tap, and Alex could see just a hint of what she had between her legs. The skin was smooth down there and what he could see was as perfectly shaped as the rest of her. The surprise view was brief as it was delightful as she got the water running and stood up. Then she turned to face Alex, presenting her full glory.

Don't get Alex wrong, he had never been specifically a breast man, or an ass man, or an anything man. But his new friend was capable of turning him into an

everything

man all at once. Her body was firm and her skin glowed golden, the strikingly rare combination of her hair and eyes accenting her perfectly. Her breasts were full and round, obviously real, and looked like they would be glorious to lavish attention on. Her waist was more flat than slender which prevented the "perfect" hourglass figure, but it enhanced her firm feminine abdominals, and her shapely hips more than made up the difference. She clearly put as much effort into grooming her hair below as her hair above, and the meticulously trimmed result was like an ornament placed on something precious.