Mrs Harts Ache Ch 03 Int 7

Author’s note: see the Index of Terms for the definition of any word with which you are not familiar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is a simple tale of retribution, wherein the young hero teaches the mother of his newest girlfriend a few manners while enjoying a few adventures – sexual and otherwise – along the way.

James Mark Masterson.

Just your typical teenager. Smart… sexy… sophisticated… and always horny. With the time and bank to do pretty much what he wants to do.

And to do who he wants to do.

In this interlude we take up again with Erin, the one-time surprise guest at the birthday party thrown by Margot (see ch III interlude I & IA).

James is scheduled to attend his High School Prom. Not that he particularly wants to, but it is a command performance being that he is the Student Body President.

Erin had been bitterly disappointed with the outcome of her Prom. James needs a date. One plus one equals…

…three?!?

Tune in. You’ll see. James rides again...!

Or rather, the ladies do.

Happy reading.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Hart’s Ache

III The Ladies in My Life

“…Made dinner a couple of times. Took Erin to the Prom. Erin did me…”

Interlude VII: Erin

Next up is one of the latest of the ladies in my life Erin. You remember Erin, don’t you: Margot’s birthday surprise for me? The young lady that I rescued from attack in the college parking lot one evening?

Time out.

Three not-so-handsome gents out on a big night were intent on, if not changing her religion, at least proselytizing the shit out of Erin over the hood of her car. Forcefully proselytizing her. I happened by and stepped in to have a few words with the guys.

Very few words. Mostly fists. The sides of my hands. My heel. Oh, and the ball of my right foot.

I don’t think they ever did get Moe’s kneecap back in the original position. I hear that the other cons call him ‘gimpy’. Larry wore a neck brace for about two months. Stupid had a shoulder reconstructed, as well as a number of stitches in his ass. That must have hurt like hell.

The ER docs had to take their time getting Stupid’s knife out of his buttcheek. It was buried hilt deep. Razor edge. Sharp point. He managed to drive it in pretty hard. Into the bone actually. That was the problem: the bone locked on the knife when he stabbed himself. With my assistance, of course.

You know me: anything I can do to help a guy learn the errors of his ways.

Anyway, you can read about it in the first chapter of this Magnum Opus.

Time in.

Just to refresh your memory a bit, Erin is a small lady, about 5’3” and maybe 110 pounds. She’s 22, though she looks much younger. Dark blond hair, cut short and streaked by the sun. Slight build. A 34C, her tits almost look too big for her body.

Prior to our scene with Margot, Erin played strictly for the other team. Her few lovers had been of the female persuasion. I know that true, because Mr Snake was the first visitor to make it past the entry of her little puss. Hymen intactus.

Erin was a virgin until about midway through our three-some. I took her cherry with her enthusiastic assistance. I can say that with all honesty, because Erin was on top, riding cowgirl.

Not Little House on the Prairie either. More like Calamity Jane.

Calamity Jane on a cocaine.

It’s ironic that because of the attempted rape, Erin… well, Erin didn’t ‘change her religion’, but you could say she did go from ‘Orthodox’ to ‘Reformed’. After our scene with Margot, I’d have to say that Erin is bisexual, rather than strictly lesbian.

We had a

very

good time together. All three of us actually. Margot was sitting on my face at the time. Sweet pussy! Very juicy!

A few days after our date with Margot, I called Erin just to check in with her.

Time out.

Guys, have some class. It’s only good manners to call a girl sometime shortly after you’ve had sex with her. Particularly if yours was her first cock. Check in. It’s the polite thing to do, and after all, it could lead to more adventures of a sexual nature.

Time in.

Erin and I talked about this and that. She was sore for the first couple of days, but was back to normal by the time I called her. She seemed happy that I was keeping tabs.

Somewhere in there I mentioned that I had a few functions left at school before graduation. Chief among those was the Prom. I wasn’t all that interested, but as President of the Student Body, I had no choice. I

had

to attend.

Erin turned wistful. She told me the story of her Prom experience.

Time out.

Apparently she and her date, Jolene, had planned the whole thing down to the last detail. They spent every dime they had for clothes, a limo, dinner and a room at a nice hotel after the party. Everything was set. They were some kind of excited.

Dinner was excellent; the limo a Rolls, with an illicit bottle of champagne, decadent; the Prom itself magical…

…until the chaperones escorted them out the door.

The biddy responsible was married to the Chairman of the local School Board – and was Erin’s mother’s rival for Secretary of the Garden Club. She quite enjoyed booting Erin and Jolene from the Prom. She also did her best to have the two expelled.

That two girls were coming to the dance as dates was bad enough. That one of them was dressed as a man was too much. Particularly since the girl wore the black tuxedo

à la Flashdance

.

Jolene’s tits were a touch large for the outfit. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except that she was showing a whole lot of skin when her jacket came off. Her nipples were hidden, but pretty much the whole of her breasts were on display from certain angles. From the rear, she looked to be completely topless, but for the shirt collar and a thin black band stretched across her lower back. She looked

all

good. Maybe too good for Prom night in a small town.

There were other young ladies showing just as much of their nubile flesh, but none was dressed as a man. Nor were any so obviously intimate with another girl.

Erin looked golden herself in a midnight blue chiffon evening gown. From the front, the gown appeared conservative: long sleeves covering her arms and a turtleneck brushing her earlobes.

From the back, well, there was no back. From her neck down to skirting the edge of legal, Erin’s gown showed nothing but skin tanned a golden brown. No bikini line. Obviously no bra.

That gown and the tux made for a whole lot of hard dicks that night. Lots of other girls reaped the benefit, while Jo and Erin were sent away; one fuming, the other in tears, both furious.

Erin and Jo were lucky to graduate. They were banned from any further school activities. Their diplomas came in the mail.

Erin’s parents were stunned. They had no idea that their daughter was gay. She had never been close to her mother, but any relationship they’d had ended with that. Erin left home soon after, within a week of her eighteenth birthday.

Time in.

Erin fell silent after finishing the story.

Good job James! Call a girl to chat and before the end of the conversation, she’s almost in tears, ready to jump off a bridge. Smooth!

About then something clicked. I had one of my brain storms. Well, more like a brain fart, though it did turn out phat. A phat fart. (Yeah, I know.)

“Erin, let’s recreate your Prom night.” I said, suddenly interested in the possibilities.

“No strings attached. You ask anyone you want. You and your friend will go as my ‘dates’. I’m thinkin’ it would be a trip!”

“James, are you smoking crack?” Erin asked in astonishment. “You don’t want to take two… girls… as dates to your Prom! Your mother would lose it all over both of us! Remember, I know all about that broom handle! I don’t want her mad at

me

!”

Time out.

After the incident with Larry, Moe and Stupid, Erin had occasion to meet my parents. More about that episode later. Don’t want to give away too much too soon. Besides, it’s an integral part of another lady’s story.

Too bad. You’re just gonna hafta wait.

Time in.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch Erin.” I said laughing. “Mom will think it’s a great idea, trust me. She likes you. I know she likes me. She isn’t going to be mad. She knows that I haven’t asked anyone yet.”

“Think of it this way: you’re doing me a favor by agreeing to be my date. Besides, you watch. I bet that she’ll want to come too, just to see. She’ll volunteer to be a chaperone just to be part of it.”

Erin started warming up to the idea. The more she thought about it, the more excited she became.

“Okay. Look. Here’s the deal. You clear it with your mom, and I’m in. Otherwise…” Her voice changed, a tinge of yearning creeping in

“Shit. I really want to go now… Do y…”

“Erin,” I interrupted. “Chill out. If it makes you feel better, I’ll have mom call you. Believe me, she’s gonna be cool with it.”

Then I turned serious.

“By the way – and I want no argument; there is absolutely no room for negotiation on this one – this party is on me. You and your friend pick out your outfits, and make whatever post-dance reservations you want. Dinner reservations are my job.”

“But here’s the hard part: I’ll pick up the whole tab. It’s my party. I have the cash. So shut up and enjoy! If you give me any shit, the whole thing is off, and I’ll sic mom on you.”

Silence.

Then Erin started to cry.

“You big jerk!” She whispered through a sob. “You’re making me cry! No one… you… Oh shit!… Now I can’t even talk…”

She was silent for a few moments, then took a deep cleansing breath.

“Okay! I’m okay… Look. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, well, to get so upset. You just caught me by surprise is all.”

She took a few more deep breaths.

“Look… Okay… It’s like this… Oh hell! This is gonna be so much fun. Who can I… Pat! Patrice would love to go with us! This is just her kind of kinky scene. You’ll love her!”

Can’t say that it was love, but we did grow on one another. Lust maybe. Lust! That’s the ticket! Definitely lust.

Erin and I discussed the details for a bit, then said our goodbyes. Later that evening I gave mom the scoop. She called Erin.

I was right by the way. On all counts. In fact, she gave Erin a bit of a lecture. Something about having more faith in her…

Aaahhh! There’s nothing like a little Mother Guilt! They’re so good at it! The gene for it must be in that other X chromosome.

The limousine was sumptuous. The driver and I came to an arrangement, so the champagne was soon chilling nicely. We were precisely on time at Erin’s door. She and Pat were waiting.

Patrice turned out to be slender, sharp-featured girl with chestnut red hair, cut short. An auburn helmet. For the Prom, she’d had it curled and teased to a soft halo about her lively face. She wore a minimum of makeup though the red lipstick somehow made her thin lips strangely inviting. Her cool green eyes were of a woman mature beyond her years, one that had seen much but retained her humor.

Though four years younger, Patrice seemed older than Erin; wiser somehow. Definitely the dominant of the two. Or so I thought.

While Erin wore an elegant evening gown, Patrice was every bit as elegant in a black tuxedo, cut and styled to match mine, but fitted to her stretched body.

Slender to the point of thin, she wore the tuxedo with the ease of a man. Her shirt was a froth of snow white ruffles upon her chest, hiding all but a hint of her small breasts. I estimated something like 34A. Found out later that I was right on. Cute tits; bursting pink nipples.

Her one concession to her sex other than makeup appeared to be her shoes: 3” heels; black patent leather straps. Maybe 5’6”, one-twenty in her bare feet, the heels gave her stature over Erin. Her finger and toe nails were painted blood red.

Erin introduced us at the door. Patrice and I shook hands, very much in the masculine manner. I got the first hint of the possibilities of the night then.

Patrice held my hand for an instant longer than necessary, running her forefinger lightly along my wrist. That fingernail gently scraping sent a jolt up my arm, straight to my nuts. I blinked, then saw the hint of a smile feather her lips. Her smile showed in her eyes, along with a challenge.

Oh baby! This might be better than I thought! A competition! Let’s see who can turn the other on more! Better yet, we’d do it subtly, in front of everyone at the dance, but the rules were no one else was to know. Erin was right. Patrice is kinky. My kind of lady.

Dinner was excellent. French cuisine at a little place in the Northwest Hills just off downtown. Ask for Maurice. We were seated in the back at one of the more private tables. The two ladies were dazzled with the service, as well as the food. Erin was entranced and entrancing; Patrice, engaging.

Our conversation was light. Easy. No heavy double entendres allowed. That would have been gauche, not in keeping with the game. I don’t think either of us knew where it might end up. Or for that matter, what was the prize at stake. For the moment, it was a game, one that we were both enjoying.

Erin was beaming. That her two ‘dates’ were getting along so well made the night complete for her. She seemed yet unaware of the currents running between Patrice and I.

The humor welled behind Patrice’s eyes, along with the challenge. She was definitely getting to me. Worse, she knew it and was having fun letting me know that she knew.

I gave as good as I got, once brushing my fingertip along the palm of her open hand. I felt the quickly- suppressed shudder run through her as she diverted Erin’s attention to another couple seated nearby.

Patrice got me back almost immediately by running her foot along my calf. Erin didn’t help. She ran her foot along my other leg at the same time. One was a challenge; the other a promise.

My nuts were starting to ache. Mr Snake was getting very interested. I adjusted my napkin, shifting him a bit. Good thing my pants are cut loose. He was needing the room.

The smile was back on Patrice’s lips; playful; superior; the smile of the one confident of winning. Patrice was points ahead, but I had my own plans for evening the score.

I must say that we made a striking trio when we stood up to leave. I draped Erin’s wrap around her shoulders, then she slipped her arms in ours: Patrice on her left; me on her right.

The background murmur disappeared as the other patrons turned to watch. More than one startled gasp sounded behind as we walked out. Maurice, as urbane as ever, winked surreptitiously, only for me as he held the door.

The Prom was a Prom. What can I say. The theme was The Forties. Lots of set decorations to make the hall look like Rick’s Café Americain straight out of

Casablanca

.

The girls were all showing off their formals while pretending to be ladies. For the moment, I guess they all were. Lots of bare shoulders and tight bodices. Padded bras and mountains of tissue stuffing. Some real sweet babes. Some not so sweet, but lovely all the same. Happy to be there. All were having a good time.

Magic time for teenage girls.

The guys all stood around preening, most looking self-conscious in their tuxedos. A couple of them trying to be original in top hats and tails; walking sticks and hightop Converse. There’s nothing new under the sun, but when you’re young, you think it is. Oh well, you

are

only young once.

Once they had made their appearance, most were eager to bail, having made plans that did not involve chaperones.

We had a table with my closest homies Justin, Dan, Eric as well as their dates Mare, Deirdre and Dana, respectively. All six of them were in on the scam, and were cool about it.

I had fun. Erin was starry-eyed. Patrice has a wicked sense of humor. She fit right in.

To Erin’s complete delight, we three were chosen ‘Best Dressed Couple’. I swear she almost climaxed when the spotlight hit us. But she floated, head high, her hand light on our arms, with a dazzling smile for the cameras as we swept up to accept the prize.

She was stunning in a Prada evening gown made of sky blue silk chiffon. Backless, down to the flair of her gorgeous little ass, the halter gown also featured a deep decolletage, leaving the inner curves of Erin’s breasts on display. The hem of the gown brushed the floor. It was definitely worth the bank I’d spent.

Her stockings had to be thigh-high stay-ups. Pantyhose or a garterbelt would have shown through the chiffon. Her strappy sandals were Gucci. Three, maybe 3-1/2” heels. Erin was too small to wear anything higher. She may have been wearing a thong or v-string, but definitely no bra. Anyone could see her breasts bobbing as she moved. She had the attention of every guy in the place; not a few of the girls too. Margot would have been proud.

Anyone could also see that Erin was excited. Silk chiffon is a delicate fabric. Erin’s headlights were on highbeam all night.

Me? I wore my tuxedo. Armani. I found it on eBay last year; nice price. Found another for Patrice there too; then had the tux tailored to fit her perfectly.

We danced and mingled and talked and danced some more. Erin was in heaven. Patrice and I took turns leading Erin out. We each got our share of the slow songs. Patrice knew well how to lead. I must admit they looked good breast to breast. Almost as good as Erin and I. While they were dancing cheek to cheek, I took the opportunity to relieve myself.

I got relieved alright.

The men’s room off the hall was full, or rather, full enough for me to seek another. Some kid had tried scotch for the first time. Big mistake. His homies were trying to help, but he was selling buicks in the sink. No thanks. Been there, done that – when I was about ten. Cheap scotch will come back to haunt you quicker than anything else you can drink. Well, ouzo maybe. I stepped upstairs to find another facility.

Found one back in a corner, down a dark hallway. After taking care of business, I started back to the dance. Suddenly a voice came out of a doorway beside.

“Just where do you think you’re going, young man!?”

Oh shit.

I turned. That quick I had my arms full of Lillian.

Dr Lillian Teasley, ED.D, one of the Vice Principals; a good friend of mom’s; and one of the more kinky of my lovers. I read the signs. Before I danced with Erin again, Lillian was determined to get herself fucked silly.

She pulled me in the door and locked it quickly behind. We were in a small office. I took in the furnishings at a glance: desk; filing cabinet; a couple of armchairs; a couch against the far wall. The only light came from a small lamp on the desk.

Lillian’s eyes were gleaming as she threw her arms around my neck. Before I could say “Whoa!”, her tongue was dancing with mine. My hands fell naturally to her petite ass. Nice ass. I gave it a squeeze. Not much fabric there between my palms and her bare butt. Mr Snake came to attention.

Her gown was relatively conservative, in keeping with her postion as VP in charge of discipline. Conservative, but pricey. Black crepe cascading to the floor; a bolero jacket, held closed with a single large button between her breasts.

While we kissed, I gathered her gown behind until I felt snaps beneath my fingers. I gave a tug and felt one separate. Lillian moaned as she felt the rest give way, one after another down from her the small of her back.

I pulled the crepe to either side, then slipped my hands to cover her asscheeks beneath. She was wearing panties; v-strings with a narrow strip of floss running down the furrow of her ass. Those little panties left bare two firm mounds of her flesh to mold and fondle as we kissed. Garters attached to wide bands of elastic lace held her stockings high on her thighs.

She whimpered through the kiss as I smacked her bare bottom a couple of times. Lillian likes that. A lot. A whole lot. Spanking makes her hot and very juicy. Mr Snake approves.