Here is the second chapter of
Mrs. Hart's Ache
.
Please include it under the category
Novels and Novellas
. For the sake of the readers, I've included an index which defines some of the more obscure terms.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is a simple tale of retribution, wherein the young hero teaches the mother of his girlfriend a few manners while enjoying a few adventures – sexual and otherwise – along the way.
Here we meet Mrs. Hart for the first time, as well as the Hart residence Housekeeper Miriam. We also learn a bit more about our hero's family, specifically his mother, but also he himself and about how his parents get along together.
Here too our hero first begins to think about teaching Mrs. Hart a few manners. Planning is the most important step, and our hero is nothing if not thorough.
Thanks, and happy reading.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mrs. Hart's Ache
II First Impressions
"She also has the kind of shy, sweet demeanor that makes this guy's heart pound, most definitely. There's not a jealous or bitchy bone in her body."
I just figured it out.
Missy is the way she is because her mother is the complete opposite: demanding, sarcastic, definitely jealous and as bitchy as they come.
Mrs. Hart, the bitch-girlfriend's-mother-from-hell, is so selfish that she kept all those parts for herself.
It makes so much sense when you think about it. All that remained for Missy were the best of the feminine qualities. There is also the fact that the Housekeeper, Miriam, essentially raised Missy.
My mother is the sweetest, kindest, most generous person I know, no doubt. Ask anyone who knows her. They'll tell you the same thing.
Miriam runs a close second. We understood each other, and hit it off from the first moment. She is one wise lady. She's also hell on wheels when she's pissed. Just like Mom.
Missy introduced us, then went put some things in her room. Miriam took one look at me and sat me right down on a stool at the island in the kitchen. Even sitting, I'm taller. She looked up at me with a fierce scowl, shaking her pointed finger in my face. She told me that if I did anything to hurt her baby, she'd break my arm. Then she grinned.
Missy returned about then. Miriam eyed Missy, then squeezed my hand and told me that, if she were only ten years younger, she'd give her baby a run for her money. Missy blushed, and told her to stop teasing me.
Miriam is close to sixty, tough as an old tree root and built like a fireplug. But there's life yet in them old bones. I could see that special twinkle in her eyes and knew that she wasn't teasing. She knew I knew too. Just beneath the aged surface is the merry young Irish lass that has enjoyed many a hearty romp in the hay over the years. She knows well the feeling of a virile man moving between her naked thighs.
She gave me that measuring look that means only one thing when one person gives it to another:
…Oh baybay! I'd love to take you to my bed and fuck your lights out tonight...
. I'm betting that she and Williams, the butler, are on very friendly terms.
Miriam knows her baby better than anyone, including Missy's parents, and has no illusions. She sees Missy as she is: a beautiful young lady with normal appetites, but also with the brains and self-respect to be choosy about her partners. Miriam apparently sees me as a worthy candidate for her baby's favors. She's always slipping rubbers in my pocket.
Mrs. Hart on the other hand rates me somewhere south of the doggy-bombs her three yapping ankle-biters leave behind as traps for the unwary.
The first time we met, she began the conversation by berating me about the leaves in the swimming pool. It took me all of a millisecond to catch on. What a witch!
Missy and I were standing out by the cabaña talking.
Got my soda!
Mrs. Hart came marching out of the house in search of her daughter. She spied us standing out by the cabaña, and started toward us. Before she was halfway across the lawn, she was bitching at me about the condition of the pool. I glanced over my shoulder at her, but didn't react. Missy looked bewildered for a moment, then blushed. I just stared at her mother. I wouldn't give the bitch the satisfaction.
Obviously irritated, Missy cut her off and introduced me as a friend from school. The invective stopped, but her mother didn't look at all abashed. She had known it all along that I wasn't the poolboy. She just wanted to ping me; to see if I could take it. And she wanted to put me on the defensive right away. Oh, you bet I could see where this was going from the first moment we met.
I must admit, Mrs. Hart does look good at forty-something. She is a mature version of her daughter: the same long, slender legs; the same willowy body; the same curved hips, tight waist and full bust. Only more so.
Her hair is darker: a lustrous brown with red-highlights. She is an inch taller than Missy. More in the heels she was wearing that day. And her tits looked just that much bigger. She has taken very good care of herself over the years. I could feel my cock stirring just looking at her.
I may not like her, but Mr. Snake has no allegiance.
As would be expected of the publisher of a major fashion magazine, Mrs. Hart was wearing a designer dress with a matching shirt coat of light grey silk. The color matched her eyes. No severe business suits for this lady. The dress was a wraparound, showing definite cleavage and a lot of leg. Nice tits. Very nice calves.
Mr. Snake sat up a bit more.
What did surprise me slightly was that she flirting with me at the same time that she was trying to intimidate me. Brushing her hand along her breast lightly; smoothing the dress along her thigh; Running her fingers through her loose hair; tracing one finger along the corner of her mouth; wetting her lips.
Every once in a while she would glance down to my package to see the effect her performance was having on me. All this in the five minutes we standing together. Interesting. The crotch of my jeans got tight.
Time out.
I believe that Mrs. Hart was and is completely aware of her provocative behavior. She is beautiful, intelligent, powerful and very rich. She knows how to use those things to get her way. She is also a tease, and revels in it. And she's a control freak. The question is, does she also know beneath it all she is a nasty little girl yearning to be disciplined?
Time in.
That sixth sense of mine was humming. I had Mrs. Hart figured out within a minute of meeting her. Here was a woman desperately seeking a strong someone to take her in hand. My first reaction was to take her into the cabaña, pull her over my knee, flip up her dress and give her tight ass a few good whacks. If Missy hadn't been there, I might have done just that.
As it was, Mrs. Hart soon strode back to the house with her nose in the air. I guess she got tired of her little game when she couldn't get a rise out of me. I think it pissed her off a little. I'm certain she gave a little extra roll to her hips for my benefit as she walked away. Mr. Snake was more than half awake and starting to sniff for pussy.
Missy apologized, but I just grinned and waved it away. I had the feeling that Missy spent a lot of time apologizing to people for her mother's behavior.
About then an idea began niggling in a distant corner of my mind. It always begins this way for me: my dick gets half-hard for pussy that it can't reach, and it gets my mind working on closing the gap.
• Missy was scheduled to leave on an internship at the end of the term. She was traveling to Firenza for the summer to study Italian art and assist in cataloging at one of the museums. Hmmm.
• Miriam was taking that opportunity for a trip to the Auld Sod on an extended vacation. She hadn't been back to Tralee since before Missy was born. Hmmm.
• Mr. Hart was in New York, on his way to Frankfurt, on his way to…. Hmmm.
• The rest of the household staff: Williams, Jessica the cook, Bentley the chauffeur, Peters the gardener, and the maids Gina and Cynthia all liked me. They were my friends, and very discreet. And they had been suffering through Mrs. Hart's juvenile temper tantrums for a number of years. Double Hmmm.
I had nothing more interesting scheduled for the summer. I cover expenses as a consultant to a computer games company. I don't have much to do, but it's money well spent for them: I'm under an exclusive contract, written to keep me away from the competition.
I day trade too. Even with the downturn, there is money to be made in the market, if one is careful. I'm very careful. Intuitive too. What with my portfolio, a healthy trust fund from mom's parents and various academic scholarships, my college fund is bulging.
No doubt. This is definitely the kind of project that makes my dick hard. And teaching Veronica manners would benefit everyone. Oh, Mrs. Hart might shed a few tears, but it would be good for her. Besides, I knew she'd get her YaYa's out too.
Missy walked me out to my car, pausing under the portico to give me a lingering kiss. Even clad in tight white shorts, her pert little asscheeks fit ever so nicely in my hands. I hopped in my vintage Miata. (1991; British Racing Green; 76,000 plus miles; CD controller; an amp, sub and a 10-disc changer in the trunk; extra speakers set flush in the headrests; immaculate engine; new brakes and clutch. I prefer to wear a car.)
Missy leaned over the door to give me a smooch and to tease me with a glimpse of her breasts down the scoop neckline of her top. (Lace demi-bra; yellow to match the silk shell; the color compliments the tan of her skin; very nice tits – but I repeat myself.)
As I motored home with the wind ruffling my hair, I began to examine my idea seriously. The bass was bumpin', but I needed to think. So I switched to the third disc, a selection of songs from the 40's. Lena Horne began crooning Stormy Weather in my ears. A woman singing as sexily as that always helps me think.
The up sides were many:
• Pussy.
• A new woman to get to know with a nice body to explore.
• Fresh pussy.
• An opportunity to indulge in my penchant for domination.
• Submissive pussy.
• An opportunity to teach a rich-bitch lessons in humility.
• Choice pussy.
• The heady spice of an illicit affair with an older woman.