Two years ago that scrawny shit Kevin raped my sister. He is a blond soft-spoken shortie, effeminate and timid, but with women he's entirely different. He was wearing a mask, but she was able to easily recognize him. He hit her a few times until she was too scared to resist, then tied her hands behind her back and raped her repeatedly, and when he was done, he dropped her off in the street, shaken and battered and suicidal. He was found, but due to a procedural error, he wasn't convicted. The procedural error may have not been merely a mistake either. Sadly, it's not impossible to bribe an officer, and it isn't even all that expensive. Regardless, Kevin got completely off the hook. For a while.
A year has passed. I'm sure he's already forgotten about my sister. Kevin has actually offered to buy her a drink at a bar where she accidentally met him last month. Was he really that stupid? Or was he even wore than I thought? I certainly haven't forgotten anything, and I wasn't going to let go.
I could have easily broken every bone in his scrawny body, but then I would go to jail for assault, and I could do better. I looked into his life a bit and found that he had a girlfriend. I also got acquainted with his middle-aged mother. I wasn't going to rape, of course, because I wasn't like him, and because, again, I didn't fancy serving time as a sex offender. But I was hell-bent on breaking him, and finally an opportunity presented itself.
His mother, a woman in her thirties, was apparently in the habit of going to a nearby bar and gradually getting completely shitfaced every couple of months to let off some steam. Sometimes she'd drink with a girlfriend or even a stranger, and drink some more alone when they've left, and then more still, until she had to be driven home in a kind of near-stupor. One guy saw her get driven to a hotel room by a guy she met. In a word, the lady was clearly lots of fun and an enviable target. But I didn't want it to be that simple. Fucking Kevin's mother was no particular punishment. She was not a slut, but certainly not a nun either, and Kevin okay with that. No, my aim was higher.
I kept looking until another one of her binge-drinking sessions came up, which she was in a habit of more or less announcing on Facebook. Her female friend, a tired-looking woman who only drank beer, appeared near her, chat with her for a while, and then left. She stayed, true to her habit, and ordered a whiskey. That's when I appeared and offered to buy her a couple of drinks. The already tipsy woman soon agreed, and in half an hour I was listening to parts of her life-story and having her laugh at my comedic interjections. She was wearing a ruffled blouse and a pair of tight-fitting pants, her blond hair (so similar to her son's) was long and straight, and, sinister plans aside, I might have bed this lady even in my free time.
Talking to her wasn't that fun, though. She had a classless mixture of conservative and wildly radical opinions on politics, race, gender - pro-war, pro-abortion, pro-Buddhism, anti-Islam, all sorts of wild surprising assumptions, beliefs and superstitions (she believed in vaccine, but was also a firm believer in the supernatural and thought that a healer is preferable to a doctor, because 'all doctors are charlatans'). I had no reason to seriously argue with the pretty, but apparently stupid woman. The tipsier she was, the less coherent her opinions got, until her face was stuck at my chest, apparently dozing off, with her arm on my ass and mine on her.
"Shall I take you home?" I said, and she agreed with a giggle.
In the car she tried to start something, but fell asleep before she managed to unzip me. I woke her up every couple of minutes, because the last thing I needed was having her sober up. I put a couple of beers on her lap, and every time she opened her eyes she opened one and then adorably zoned back out again.
When we were there, she reached to ring, mumbling, "Oh, I'm home, huh. Right..."
I kept her hand down. She tried to focus on me.
"Don't you have keys?" I said.
"In my bag."
She stood there as I looked through her bag. Under a pack of some hygienic stuff I found the keys, fished them out and took her into the house.
She switched on the lights and tried taking off her shoes, but almost toppled and burst out laughing. I helped her stay upwards.
"Keep the shoes on, Emma, kitten," I said. She reached up and nibbled at my ear. Perhaps humoring me, or perhaps she'd forgotten all about them, she kept her heels and, dropping her bag awkwardly on the floor, pulled my hand with newfound strength towards the stairs.
Upstairs we stumbled into her bedroom and dropped on it, kissing. I got a good feel of her body through her blouse and pants, and was as eager to get those off her as well. Her breasts squeezed out to freedom as I half-unbuttoned her blouse and pulled down the cups of her bra, while the woman kept groping and petting the bulge in my pants with a drunken, unfocused smile. Kneeling on the bed in front of me, she tried sucking me off, but, unlike all those times in the car, on the stairs and in front of her house, - she was about to succeed. As she worked to free my cock from what apparently must have seemed to her an incomprehensible labyrinth of cloth, I reached over and slipped my hand down her pants.
Finally, there was a voice outside the door. "Mom... are you home?"
With a bland expression Emma looked up.
"Suck me off, kitten," I whispered, and so she did as I played with her ass under the fabric.
"Are you home, mom?" said Kevin somewhere outside our room. "Are you drunk again, you..."
Emma heard nothing. Having finally gotten to my cock, she let out a grateful sound and immediately got to work: I felt her breath on my skin, then a moist kiss, and then she sucked most of my cock into her mouth and started working on it with her tongue. She kept doing it for a little bit, but then stopped almost completely, perhaps falling asleep.
I put my hand in her hair. "Go on, girl, don't sleep," I said and nudged her slightly, rousing another bout of vigorous sucking.
She wasn't at all bad, and I liked her curvy body, too. Her round butt packed tight in her pants, her soft breasts supporting each other like a pair of sisters as their owner crouched on all fours on the bed near me - I was enjoying it all. But of course there was more to it.
"Mom, are you there?" said Kevin, and then there was a knock at the door.
His mother let out a confused "Mhm..?" and looked up from my crotch, but I nudged her face back to my crotch. Without waiting for an answer, though, Kevin, just opened the door. He was wearing that stern, bored expression. For a couple of seconds he stood there at the door. Emma's face was stuck at my crotch, all he could see was her ass as she knelt in front of me.
As he was simply staring, doing nothing, I flipped him off and, pawing his mother's ass, whispered, "Can't you see mommy's busy?"
Emma looked up at me. I blew her a kiss.
Kevin just stood at the door. Anyone would have fought me right then and there, but, apparently, not this piece of shit. By this time, I knew his character well. He was easily intimidated; perhaps that's why he chose rape as a method of getting it on: although he wasn't bad-looking in his own girly way, he was such an obvious wimp.
"Don't do that, Dan," he finally managed to whisper.
