"Anything. If I don't like your question I might smack you though."
"We were both there on our knees. Why did you fuck Horace? Is my bottom so fat and repulsive?"
"He fucked over Irving, He had to get it. His ass was hairy and ugly, but I closed my eyes and imagined and it kept me hard."
"You like my ass?" She paused, a little excited. Jesus liked her ass, it wasn't so much flattering as the tiniest window of rescue from her hell. If the boy likes her ass, then she has a little something to work with, to suck up to her new owner, to make her new life bearable. "Your prison girlfriend - was his ass ugly?"
"His ass was waxed. But it was still a boy's ass, there just wasn't anything else in there. Yours is big. Wide and soft and dimpled. I haven't fucked a real woman yet - so you'll be my first. Are you happy now?"
"No, not now you said my butt is big" she thought. She slid off the bed, with heels she was now taller by a full head, she thrust her chest out enough to overwhelm without betraying her intent and told him "Jesus get in the bed. Our bed now. I'll bring dinner, dressed for service, really dressed for service, with the right attitude for our new life. And nobody needs to learn anything new." Jesus looked relieved.
On the way downstairs her mind raced ahead of her. She would get him to do it eventually. She needed to be dominated, maybe have him hurt her body a little. Her nipples hardened under her lace top, it had too long since a man used her coarsely, really made her squirm under him, pulling her hair and digging his fingers in her while he fucked.
Jesus showered in Horace's attached bathroom and, ignoring the bed, sat naked in Horace's favorite easy chair, his feet up on the ottoman and looked at pictures in a restaurant supply trade magazine.
Mrs O'Hare knocked on the bedroom door an hour later, the room was now half-lit. She carried a cheeseburger, coke, beer and whiskey on a tray with short legs. Her dark hair was brushed out all glossy and pushed back by a hairband, She wore stockings, high heels, black lace panties and still the dog collar. She put his dinner on the side table and knelt at his feet with her elbows on the ottoman while he ate. "Music, please." said Jesus, and she scurried to the computer and selected a soft jazz collection. It was new to Jesus, but it fit the room and the woman and he didn't ask her to change it.
She eyed his naked body. "He's muscled like a greyhound" she thought. Light boned, small and brown, with no trace of fat anywhere. He was chilly, like her, and slumped down in the chair so his organ was on the front of the cushion. Jesus was shaved under his arms and his groin. His cock was erect, jutting up above his sack, the torpedo shape ominous.
Jesus ignored her while he ate. A real cheeseburger he had not had in five years, it was like tasting the world again. Finished with the food, he moved his beer to one hand and the whiskey to another. The scotch, like the music, was new to Jesus, smooth, earthy and delicious. Horace apparently liked nice things, things Jesus could now enjoy. He eyed Madeline again. She pulled the chain out from between her breasts and draped it over them, dangling the little cast silver crucified Jesus in the shadow of her fat catholic tits. She lifted her shoulders erect and kept her eyes down. She had very pale skin padded with a light fat undercoat that left her smooth all over with no tan. Her ankles and feet were small, it was surprising they could carry such a large body. Her hands were small also and had a babyish quality to them. Her ass and thighs were broad and deep, and without clothes she was cold, shivering a little, which put a jiggle in, and gave her skin a goose-bump texture.
White moisture seeped from the tip of his cock. Jesus pointed at it with his drink. Mrs O'Hare slid the ottoman gently out of the way, crawled between his knees, and pushed her dark hair behind her ears with her fingers. She leaned her head above Jesus's erection, and salivated. Jesus sipped his whiskey and then let his head fall back. She slid her lips and tongue over the skin of his organ, around the knob, down to the base and back up. Her hand slid behind his ball-sack and gently pulled it to her, stroking with the tips of her fingers.
In the Youth Authority Jesus kept his guard up. Now his fantasy woman was sucking his cock. "Can I close my eyes?" he thought "She has submitted, kneeling and sucking like Samantha used to. Only this one is so beautiful." Her glossy dark brown hair, split by a salmon hair band, bobbed over his hips. He stroked her hair, which felt as smooth and soft as it looked. His hips needed to thrust, so he dug his fingers in her hair, gripped her head and crammed his cock as deep into her face as he could. Her child-like hands dropped his balls and popped up on the ends of the armrests, clutching the upholstery. Her body jerked, but she stayed on her knees. She let her jaw slack and the thick center of his cock slid inside, the knob probing her throat. He could see her eyes now, closed and repainted with black liner, there were tears forming, sliding from them.
Maddie relaxed her throat and his stiff organ slid down her neck, choking her off. Her nose pressed in his groin and she buried her face in his flesh, blocking out the light, she was gagging violently, her torso twisting, but she would not back herself off to let his cock out. Jesus pressed her head in between his wide-spread legs and let loose, pumping his nuts into Mrs O'Hare. He closed his eyes and prison drained from him in a loud groan. He didn't even feel her slide off his cock and slump to the floor, gasping for air and then rubbing her pubic mound with her fingers, desperate for release, unable to get it.
Maddie woke up twenty minutes later on the floor, shivering. Jesus was asleep in the chair, nodded foreword with his chin on his shoulder. She crawled to Horace's bathroom, ran warm water over a washcloth and kneeling between Jesus's legs, cleaned his equipment and inner thighs. She wasn't sure if she was cleaning him as a slave, or if it was maternal instinct, or maybe one enabled the other. She turned down the covers of the great mahogany bed Horace had been so happy about in the old days, and, pulling Jesus foreword by a wrist, scooped him up. The boy didn't weigh much more than a hundred pounds and she was amazed again that he killed Horace so easily. She placed him carefully on the bed, rolled him on his side, and pulled the covers over him. Then she scurried around to her side, now very cold, her nipples hard and goosebumps all over her soft skin. She knelt at the side of the bed, put her hands together with her silver crucifix in them, kissed the cross and prayed for Alan's safety, she prayed Jesus enjoyed her efforts, and that he would take charge of her. Then she climbed in herself, scooting her voluptuous rump back until it rubbed against Jesus' groin. When he woke her bottom would be there on offer, and perhaps she would get it.
Instead Madeline stayed awake all night, weeping as quietly as she could. Partly she cried because Horace was dead, and partly because he had ruined them both for that stupid whore, Snoopy. The stab of guilt and weight of shame ruled her night as it had for months now, since Dollard refused her. It was maddening that she had a new owner, the answer to her anguish but he slept through her agony. Right there, breathing in the bed behind her, ready to take her pain away, but she didn't dare wake him, didn't know if he boy could master her in any case. Too many more months like this and her body would collapse. Jesus just slept on and on, and it never occurred to Maddie that a boy who had not had a drink in five years might be knocked out by beer and whiskey.
