Aftershocks Ch 08 Intervention

All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old

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Thursday, November 12, 1992

4:47 a.m., Los Angeles, CA

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Mariana Flores de Guerrero languidly reached her left arm out through darkness to the brass-and-wood Westclox Big Ben alarm clock on the bedside table. Feeling its cool metal bells, she stretched her middle finger and locked down the clapper before it could fulfill its sole designed function. Then, with deliberate care not to disturb the sleeping man beside her, she returned her hand to his naked left hip and inched herself closer to him. Even had there been breaking daylight coming through the room's half-shut blinds and open window sheers, there was no space for it between their two bodies.

With her nose nuzzled against Dr. William Carter's neck, she drew in a deep breath and reveled in his unshowered manly scent. As her lungs filled, her expanding breasts pancaked against his hard back muscles. Splaying her right hand on his chest, she gently, inexorably, compressed him in her sweet flesh-and-bone vise. She smiled into his shoulders as she heard him softly groan.

Carter may have yet been in Nyx' powerful grip, but his cock was not. For more than fifty years it had been an early riser under all conditions and this morning was no exception. It did not need inspiration to lengthen, broaden and solidify, but it certainly did not mind Mariana's close presence. As she felt him naturally stir, she moved her left hand and rewarded the prancing prick with a gentle patting stroke, from cleft helmet to hairy root, along its throbbing under-vein.

Mari closed her palm around Carter's nuts. Hefting them, she rolled them within their loose wrinkled sack. As she tactilely assessed their significant weight and size, her heart and soul yearned to release their imprisoned product. Cooperatively, her body began preparing a warm reception.

Rubbing upward again, Mariana enveloped Carter's morning wood and gave it a light test squeeze. No longer spongiform, it rigidly resisted. Indeed, finding its own strength, it swelled harder than ever against her fingers and overfilled her loose fist. A viscous blob oozed at its slit and lubed her extended curled thumb's pad.

Mari hummed low in her throat as she felt her tingling cunny turn on its taps while she micro-massaged Carter's pre-cum at its source. Rousing from sleep, he turned his head on his pillow and rumbled to his thirty-eight-year-old daughter, "Good morning, Little Girl." Then, as if the answer was not self-evident, he asked huskily, "What're you doing?"

Mariana quickly brushed her lips against Carter's and replied quietly, "Something I have not done for nearly twenty years, Papá. Eduardo, at his best, was a once, maybe twice, at bedtime only, lover. And, of course, for the last ten years, even less than that and never satisfying." She sighed, kissed his sandpaper cheek and added, "Thank you for laying with me all night. I know you will not be able to often do that. It is very special."

Carter rolled in Mari's embrace and pulled her into a full face-on hug. Even in the dim, he could see glistening tears threaten at her eyes' corners. His heart ached for the combined joy and sadness he heard. Hoping he was not spouting empty words, he rubbed his nose against hers and replied, "Don't worry, Little Girl, I'll figure out something."

Mariana, sincere in her intention not to intrude on her father's relationship with his teenage consorts, smiled at his kind, if unlikely, promise and burbled, "It is enough that you are here, now, Papá. Make love to me...before the girls get up... Please!"

Spinning with him onto her back, Mari threw her legs wide then interlocked her ankles behind Carter. Well placed and on autopilot, his boner burrowed through her bush and drove its full length into her primed pussy. Tightening her thighs at his waist, she goaded him with her heels as she pulled his hardpan pecs against her soft pillowed breasts. He locked his lips on hers and pierced his tongue past her teeth while he flexed his cock in her contracting cunt.

Unified, father and daughter started a slow, loving, rocking dance. She held him captive and exercised her predetermined rights. Without interest in escape, he moved steadily and surely to serve her need. Their deep full fuck built upon itself and consumed them.

Two hours later, showered and dressed for the day, Mariana, with her twenty-year-old daughter, Luz sat at the pecan breakfast nook table with eighteen-year-old Periwinkle Halstead and nineteen-year-old Patricia Dempsey. As the four women drank their orange juices and ate spooned cereal, they chit-chatted about their plans for the day. Peri and Trish both had classes to attend as well as their regular Thursday yoga session with Ruth Cohen in the late afternoon. Carter, only half-listening as he stood at the glass slider sipping his coffee and staring at the palms, mulled the logistic issues his expanded harem brought.

"... The Citadel is a great place to go, Mari," Peri said.

"Yeah," agreed Trish, quickly. "You guys should go there!"

"But, Mamá," protested Luz. "Pablo is hungry, and I know he misses me. I have to get back home! Besides, I've already missed two days of work. Eduardo will be furious!"

Anxious to keep her daughter away from the desert, but not wanting to say why, Mariana exclaimed, "Pfttt! Let Eduardo be mad! As for your gato, I know you overfeed him. Cats are very independent. He may not even know you are gone yet! Stay and go shopping with your mother for a day. It will be good for you!"

Luz turned in her chair, tugged Carter's sport coat and asked, "What do you think, Yayo? Will Pablo be okay? I did leave him extra kibble and water..."

Finishing his coffee, Carter looked at his granddaughter. "Hmm? Oh... Yes, your mom is right. He'll be fine. Go; shop; have lunch. It's only a couple of hours drive. You can leave after supper and then hug Pablo all night."

Frustrated, Luz wondered how, or if, she was ever going to be able to make love to her grandfather again. The whole world seemed in conspiracy against her. Standing from her chair, she kissed his smooth shaven cheek and acquiesced, "Okay, Yayo. After supper I will drive home." Then, as if she were working at La Familia, she began clearing the table.

While Carter coped with the morning Los Angeles traffic on his way to work at the University Counseling Center, a 1985 International S-1600 refrigerated box van pulled onto the pumps at a Pemex gasolinera two-hundred-and-forty miles southeast, in Mexicali, Mexico. Twenty-something Raúl Diego yawned as he stepped to the pavement and left his fifty-seven-year-old uncle slumped asleep against the cab's passenger door. The weekly nine-hour night drive up México 2 from Hermosillo was a lot less grueling when his talkative younger brother, Fernando, was along to help. Their uncle had offered no reason for his first time ever decision to displace Fernando, but it was clearly as important as it was private.

Raúl nodded politely to the muchacho who already had begun refueling the reefer's near-empty saddle tanks. The grinning kid's white teeth slashed his brown face as he briefly looked up from his work and read the truck's hand-painted signage: "Diego-Flores, Hermosilla, Son. La mejor comercial carne de cerdo y res. Granja fresca." He hoped someday he would get to drive a truck such as this beyond Baja California and Sonora; maybe to Durango, or perhaps even to Oaxaca.

When Raúl climbed back into the cab with bottled water and burritos, Juvenal Diego Flores was awake. Pushing his clutched white vinyl Aeromexico flight bag from his lap to the floor between his boots, he took the breakfast from his nephew and said, "Gracias, sobrino." Then, with a glance at his watch, he rhetorically stated the obvious, "¿Dos horas más, sí?"

"Sí, tío," answered Raúl. "Two more hours... after we get through U.S. Customs. Sometimes that can be awhile, but not usually more than a half-hour at this time of the morning."

Juvenal scuffed his shoes against the white bag and kept his voice nonchalant as he checked back, "That's just waiting in line, though. They don't mess with the meat, do they?"

Raúl laughed, "No, uncle, they don't bother our load. The dogs will give us a sniff for drugs, of course, but the Border Patrol know me and our truck. They're no trouble, really."

Juvenal sipped his water in thoughtful silence, then said evenly, "It will be good to see your cousin, Mari, and Eduardo, after all these years."

Raúl rolled his eyes to the roof, kissed the air and added, "I hope her daughter Luz is working. She is some good looking chica, I can tell you!" Turning over the engine, he put the S-1600 in gear and headed to queue up at the border checkpoint.

At ten o'clock, La Rose Washington knocked on the door to Carter's office on the University campus, then stepped through when he called out, "Come in." He smiled as she entered. Assessing her looks, he said, "You must be Ms. Washington. Please, close the door and have a seat." He gestured to his right to Monstro, his massive brown overstuffed armchair.

Taller by three inches, and twenty pounds lighter, than Trish, the black co-ed wore an electric blue cashmere knit tube dress with a mid-thigh hem and silver metal linked-medallion belt hugging her broad hips. As she turned to shut his door, Carter could see, from the way her white three-button medical jacket shelved over her ass, that she carried her weight piled mostly there. While she completed her profiling pivot and moved to Monstro, he imagined what her bottom-heavy hourglass figure would look like without clothes. Sighing inwardly, he hoped to find out soon enough.

Having seated herself comfortably on the big chair's soft cushion, with her feet on the floor and her legs demurely angled together to her left, the twenty-year-old junior pharmacy major settled against its deep, slightly reclined back. Her large white teeth gleamed like beacons in her round red-brown face as a noncommittal smile split her small tight mouth's medium thick lips. Courteously, but with no nonsense, she informed the Counseling Department Chairman, "I tol' Dexter Harris I would come here, but I'm not sure what good that'll do him."

Carter, not unfamiliar with passive aggressive hostility toward counseling sessions, equably replied, "Well, Ms. Washington, if you are only here as a social obligation to Mr. Harris, perhaps we should just say 'nice to meet you' and go our own ways." Then, using a favorite disarming device, he continued gently, "Do you know how many psychologists it takes to change a light bulb?"

La Rose frowned her perplexion and answered, "Umm, no..."

Carter filled in, "Only one. But, of course, the light bulb has to really want to change." Chuckling, he followed up, "It's an old joke, but there is some truth behind it."

"I get it," La Rose replied easily. "But should'n' Dexter be the one sitting here? He's the one who needs me... or someone... to help him with his schoolwork. Am I right?"

"I'm working with him," Carter assured the co-ed. "Which is a good reason for you to stick around. Help me out... what do you think is up with Dexter?"

La Rose stroked her slightly underslung chin as she mulled the question. Carter fantasized replacing her finger with his prick. He wanted to tap its fat bulb on her moist lower lip until she opened for him. Behind his charcoal worsted wool slacks, the principal actor in his skit prepared for the part.

Unaware what was happening in the counselor's head, or within his desk's kneehole, La Rose looked up at the acoustical ceiling tiles and opined, "I think he just takes a lot of things... and people... for granite. I sure feel he takes ME for granite." As her thoughts turned to herself, her voice lowered and softened. "I mean, like he doesn't axe for anything, so much as he TELLS. But, if I have needs... boy, howdy, is that a different scene altogether!"

"Now, that's what I'm talking about, Ms. Washington," Carter encouraged smoothly. "You have unmet needs. Let's talk about that. Can you give me an example?"

Unhesitating, La Rose said, forcefully, "Yeah! Respect! Would it hurt him to show me a little respect? You know, like I'm important... as a human being?" She hauled herself upright by the chair arms and leaned toward the desk. "I swear to God! It's like all a sudden I'm twelve and watching TV and Daddy comes home after being out doing his thing for a week or more, and he just ignores me and Momma, except to maybe say 'Fetch me a beer,' or something like that... like we don' exist except like servants!"

Perched on Monstro's cushion, La Rose trembled as she shared her sudden flashback. Carter was impressed by the breakthrough moment. He was still more impressed by how her rack shimmied between her jacket's lapels. The cashmere dress' tight tube top conformed to her shaking tits like Saran.

"That's a terrific insight, Ms. Washington," Carter praised, as he appraised her suitability to be controlled. "Something we can work on together, if you want. What do you say we start there?" He smiled across the desktop as he watched the co-ed relax her grip on the big chair. Still sitting upright, she scooted her bottom deeper into the seat and afforded him a split-second view to the mystery hidden in the shadows below her electric blue hemline.

La Rose surprised herself as she answered, "Yeah. Okay. We can do that." She looked at her gold-toned Seiko wristwatch and added, "But, I'm due at Walgreen's at noon. They have a work-study arrangement with the Pharmacy School. You know?"

Carter nodded assurance. "Don't fret about that. But, in the interest of using our time efficiently, I'd like to try hypnotherapy, rather than just discuss your conscious memories. How do you feel about that? Would you agree to me hypnotizing you?"

La Rose grimaced then asked nervously, "Hypnotize me? You mean like in Las Vegas, where the dude makes someone in the audience do all kinds of silly things?"

Carter laughed out loud, "It's like that only insofar as you would be hypnotized. It's not a party game, though. It's serious therapeutic stuff. Probing your inner self... getting to the root... coming to conclusions." His cock stiffened excitedly as he ambiguously forecast, "I can pretty much guarantee things will be different for you after even a single session."

"Huh! Well, seeing is believing, as Momma would say," La Rose declared. "Sure. Give it a go. You got a pocket watch to swing at me, or something?"

Carter laughed again. "Hardly. But I will want you to relax and be as comfortable as possible." Standing, he pulled shut the heavy velvet draperies on the big window behind his desk, then moved around to Monstro. As he walked, he suggested, "Let me take your lab coat and hang it up for you."

Under Carter's watchful gaze, La Rose squirmed, twisted and shook herself free from her starched white cotton jacket then handed it over. Taking it, he quickly turned away to the coat-tree near the office door and, with his back to the big chair, adjusted his growing boner. Less obvious, and more comfortable, he about-faced to see his victim in a sprawled slump between Monstro's great arms with her knees unconsciously apart.

"Perfect," thought Carter, as he surreptitiously surveilled La Rose' spread opaque navy tights from her low-quarter black leather flats to where they disappeared darkly, high on her thighs. Passing between her and his desk's corner, he pulled up a straight chair from the nearby credenza, sat with his shins only inches from hers and exclaimed, while clapping his hands quietly together, "Right! Let's begin by you taking a few really deep breaths, then exhaling fully, to my cadence."

Assumptively, Carter began, "Ready? Inhale. Hold it. Good! Now, exhale." He carefully supervised the exercise with eyes on La Rose's rising and falling chest as he repeated the instructions at a gradually reduced pace and volume. In moments he noticed the particular signals he needed to confidently test her lowered defenses and susceptibility. Calmly, quietly, firmly, he intoned, "Close your eyes. Open the doors in your mind. Hear my voice. Listen to its stories."

La Rose sagged appreciably. Her small chin fell to her suprasternal notch as she tipped her head forward and shut her eyes. Carter spun his practiced artful webs throughout her psyche. More quickly than most, she was his to command.

Constrained by time, Carter was anxious to satisfying his curiosity. His stirred up gonads clamored for their satisfaction, too. Hiking his butt from the straight chair, he unbuckled his slacks then pulled them with his shorts below his knees while he informed his blind recumbent thrall, "The air around you is very warm. Too warm for wool. Push down your dress top. Try to cool off."

Immediately, La Rose lifted her hands from Monstro's arms and hooked her thumbs under the cashmere at her armpits. As she rolled the knit tube over her thirty-seven-inch cones to her midriff, her black Victoria's Secret push-up bandeau bra threatened to fall away. When the stretchy bodice broke free and settled on her smooth stomach, the lingerie recovered its purpose. Her firm molasses colored breasts stood from her chest like shrouded pyramids above the blue Nile.

Meanwhile, taking the dress hem firmly in hand, Carter tugged it toward him. The soft wrinkled material moved easily. As he sawed it, he gathered it like coiled rope, then pulled it to the floor and over her shoes. Sitting back in his chair, he took an extravagant moment to study the menu.

Carter licked his lips as he regarded La Rose's upright satin-wrapped Bosc pears. Above the B-cups' top seams, her half-peeking medium-size areolae looked like Ghirardelli Flicks. Scanning south, he counted a half-dozen rusty-brown strawberry freckles scattered over the bare plateau below the bandeau. Her navy tights' waistband cut slightly into her flesh above her intaglio panty line and navel depression.

La Rose's abdomen bulged provocatively behind its dark cover. At the critical junction between her legs, her camel-toe smiled an invitation. Carter scooted forward to peel the next layer and said, "It's no wonder to me that you're hot! Raise your bottom. I'll get rid of your thick tights for you."

Promptly obedient, La Rose arched her heels, pushed her hands against the big chair's arms and lifted her broad butt off its broader cushion. Carter seized the elastic waists on both her ocelot-patterned rayon bikini panties and the polyester leggings. Swiftly, he skinned her, but left the garments in a bunch at her shoe-tops. Separating her knees as wide as Monstro allowed, he declared, "There! That nice breeze you feel must be refreshing. Tell me you think so!"

La Rose did not open her eyes, but answered her unseen master's voice as if offering her own opinion, "Yes. That's better. Thank you." She gave no thought to why her mind was cloudy while her physical senses were oddly sharpened. A cool draft from the office air conditioner teased her naked thighs. She imagined a Malibu zephyr catching under her beach cover-up and blow drying her wet pussy.

Pleased to note the verbal response, as well as the glistening dew beginning to bead on the exposed shale-colored outer labia, Carter stood up and kicked his straight chair away. He grinned at his swinging springboard dick while he thought, "Not long, Old Son. Hang in!" Then, resting his knees against the armchair between her opened calves, he slid his hands behind La Rose's back and released her bra's clasp. Out loud, he suggestively fibbed, "I see sweat building on your chest. You'll feel even better when I dry you with my towel."

La Rose did not notice Carter whisking away her brassiere, but she definitely felt him rub its soft satin cups in wide pressing swaths across her breasts. Her nipples popped up and sent tingling warm messages through her tummy to her twat. She moaned low in her throat, then murmured, "Oh, yes. I feel sticky-wet, and hot! Rub me more." She groaned anew as invisible hands pulled and palped her aching tits.