Mrs. Hart's Ache

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.

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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.

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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.

• Experienced pussy.

(Funny, isn't it, how for a guy it all comes down to pussy?!?)

Then I considered the down sides:

• Missy would not be amused. If she found out. (The Big If.)

• A cast on my arm for a month or two. Miriam is a stickler for keeping her word. She'd break my arm, and I'd let her (that was our deal), if Missy found out. Oh I think Miriam would be of two minds. On one hand, she would heartily approve of the lessons in humility. But on the other hand, I'd have hurt her baby, and a promise is a promise.

• Mom would be pissed. Dad would shake his head, then turn away from mom to grin. But mom would take after me with a broom handle. She likes Missy.

• Mr. Hart might (would?) take offense.

• Disease? Miniscule chance.

• Pregnancy? At her age and experience, not likely.

• Divorce? Certainly a possibility.

• Arrest for attempted rape, etc.? No way. My sixth sense was rock solid on that one.

So the worst that could happen was that I would probably lose Missy, sport a broken arm for a month or so and be named a correspondent in a divorce suit.

Probably.

Possibly.

Then I realized that I'd take the risk, whatever it might be, just for the opportunity to teach Mrs. Hart some manners. Mr. Snake was wiggling with excitement in anticipation.

Okay, I thought, that decision is made. Now, what is the plan of attack to be. I mulled that over while cruising through traffic. I was still pondering my approach when I parked the car and secured the top.

But I put it in a box and shelved it when I went into the house. Mom was in the kitchen, preparing a Greek salad with Feta and fresh Greek olives. She had two small chicken carcasses laying in a pan marinating, ready for the spit. I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, picked her up and kissed her cheek. She giggled.

Mom is a foot shorter and a little over half my weight. She is an innately happy person. But watch out when there's fire in her eyes! She may be small, but she's fast, she's fearless and she's totally ruthless. She'll take you out in a heartbeat. I know from painful experience. She's taken me out a few times.

Time out.

A young Marine in Guam found out about Mom the hard way. She was on duty at the hospital late one night when the MA's brought him in. He was a big kid, 6'4", 240, drunk and very belligerent. He'd started a fight at the EM Club, and the MA's had been forced to use their nightsticks. It took three of them to get him in the car. He had a couple of good-sized knots on his head, one of which was bleeding profusely and needed stitches.

They had no sooner removed the cuffs, than he smacked one guy in the face with an elbow, and laid the other guy out with a right cross. The kid broke a knuckle on the MA's chin, but as drunk as he was, he was feeling no pain. God knows where the hell he thought he was going. There aren't many places for a guy his size to hide on the whole island, let alone the base, but he was determined to try. Only a little bitty nurse, less than half his size, stood between him and door. He charged.

He'd meant to run right over her, but woke up ten hours later whey-faced and hurting all over. He had a terrific hangover, stitches in his head, two black eyes and a broken nose. One hand was in a cast and the other was cuffed to the bed rail. His groin was packed in ice. His poor coĵones were the size of softballs.

One of the ER Docs saw the whole thing. He said Mom had stood her ground until the Marine was right on top of her. Then she dropped to one knee, reached back, made a fist, took aim and punched upward with all 110 pounds behind the blow. The power of the uppercut, taken with his momentum,

puh-lan-ted

her fist wrist deep in the soft tissue of his groin.

Oooochee!!!

According to the Doc, Mom timed her punch perfectly. The kid stopped cold, poised there with his ass high, arms outstretched and torso folded over Mom's shoulder, like he'd hit a waist high wall with his knees. The power of the blow had lifted him to his tiptoes. The kid's face went white. Instantly sober, he looked down at Mom with a questioning expression, as if asking "Why did you do that?".

Sorrow, horror and agony flickered through his eyes in the instant before they rolled back in his head. He made a high-pitched bleating sort of sound. (The Doc described it as kind of a cross between a calf's cry and a baby's whimper.) Then down he went, just like in the cartoons, face first. Nothing cushioned his fall. Out cold, his nose broke when he hit the floor.

Let's review:

Fast…Yep!

Fearless…Yep!

Ruthless…Yep!

Well that's definitely Mom!

A mean drunk, when sober the Marine was a good kid at heart. He was also some kind of embarrassed when he found out what he'd attempted. Mom gave him a lecture that made his ears burn, then took care of him for three days while the swelling went down. He called her "Ma'am" and was meek as a lamb for the rest of his stay. She got the guards to remove the handcuffs.

She also sent a letter to his CO, requesting leniency. She pointed out that the young man had already paid a painful price for his actions. Duh!

One can only imagine the look on the Colonel's face as he read the letter. Like any guy, I'm sure he winced when he'd heard how his Marine had been taken down. But he must have busted a gut laughing too.

In the end, he agreed with Mom and went easy on the kid. He reduced the assault charges, but busted him to private and had him confined for thirty days. Which is one helluva lot better than a term in Leavenworth and a DD. The kid sent Mom flowers when he got out of the brig. Thereafter I don't think he had as much as one beer.

Word got around his battalion, and the Marines sort of adopted her as an honorary Marine and their resident mother. The number of untoward incidents involving Marines went way down on her watch. If a Marine got in trouble he dreaded the lecture more than the punishment. And woe betide him if he gave her any lip. The other Marines took care of Mom's light work.

Do you know the words 'blanket party'?

Being a Marine means sometimes you don't get to be safe, so the rest of us are. If a Marine got hurt, he wanted her to take care of him. She always did, but she lost a few too. She took those hard. To her, it was almost like losing me.

When Dad was transferred, the Marine contingent threw Mom a surprise farewell party. A two-star presented Mom with a plaque and a pair of silver stars. She cried.

Time in.

I fired up the barbecue and put the chickens on to broast. Dad arrived home about then. He refilled mom's wineglass in exchange for a kiss, then popped beers for the two of us. While the chicken turned, we three sat on the patio in the late afternoon sun and just talked. Dad took mom's hand without even thinking about it. His callused palm dwarfs hers, but always tenderly.

The sight of my parents together makes me smile. There's a lot of love there. I want for me what they've got. Easily said. Tough to find in the real world.

Tougher to hang on to.

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Index of Terms

Blanket Party

– An informal means of discipline carried out by members of a squad or platoon on one of their members. See the movie

Full Metal Jacket

for an enactment.

Auld Sod

– A native's nickname for Ireland.

Coĵones

– testicles.

DD

– Dishonorable Discharge.

EM Club

– Enlisted Men's Club. A club and/or bar located on a base which caters to the lower ranking enlisted. There are other clubs for senior enlisted, and still others for officers.

Firenza

– Florence, Italy.

MA

– Master at Arms, the USN equivalent of a Deputy Sheriff or Police Officer.

Tralee

– A small town in County Kerry on the southwest coast of Ireland.

Two-star

– Major General; his or her rank insignia is two silver stars on either shoulder.