(Author's Note: Although this is a sequel to my story 'Gangbang Chaperone', I've tried to write it so it can be enjoyed without having read the previous tale. Of course, I'm fully in favor of you reading Patty and Jane's first smutty adventure. The decision, however, is entirely your own. Enjoy!
Update: November 30, 2013: This version corrects some embarrassing continuity errors in the originally posted story. Thanks to everyone who alerted me to the issue.)
***
I was at my "other" job. It was slow, as it usually was on a Wednesday afternoon, but my tip jar was looking pretty encouraging. Surveying it with a practiced eye I reckoned there was probably just a little less than three hundred dollars in that oversized brandy snifter; three hundred dollars I had accumulated for doing nothing more than pouring shots, serving beers and barely wearing my teeny-tiny bustier that showed quite a bit of areola pink over its crest of black lacy cleavage. Actually, that's exactly why I liked working afternoons. Most of the dancers who worked the early shift weren't much to look at, so a lot of the customers were content to hang on the bar and nurse beers while watching me scoot around in my ridiculously short and tight skirt while my D cup boobs threatened to pop out of my C cup lingerie. Consequently, even on slow days, I made pretty good money bartending at Tiggle Jitz.
And that was pretty much all there was to what I considered my "other" job.
My main job was teaching classes at the spa most mornings and a couple of nights a week - step aerobics, jazzercise, hip-hop aerobics, and a couple of spin classes - but that didn't pay much. Most of my income came straight from my tip jar at TJs. Usually that didn't bother me but recent events between me and my daughter, Janie, had me worried. The reminder that I was earning most of my income by bouncing around barely clothed behind a bar at a strip club was not helping my moral freak-out.
Anyway, I was so lost in my uneasy thoughts I didn't even see my boss, Caesar, come lumbering up behind me. "Christ, Patty, how long are you going to clean that one fucking glass?" he boomed over the thump of 'My Humps' on the club's sound system.
When you are privately worrying you may have turned your daughter into an unrepentant whore, it doesn't take much to startle you. The shot glass popped from between my fingers and clattered across the bar.
"Go... sh darn it, Caesar! You scared me!"
Caesar laughed. "Careful Pat. Now I'll have to take that glass outta your pay."
"YOU made me drop it," I growled at him as I picked it up. "Besides it isn't even broken, you cheap jerk." I turned it this way and that in front of him, displaying its lack of flaws. He wasn't even looking at me. His eyes were sliding up and down along the contours of my ass and boobs, as usual.
"If you're bored back here I can schedule you some time on the stage."
"We've been over this, Caesar. I don't peel any more."
"That's a goddamned fuckin' pity, Patty. You still got a smokin' bod, especially for a thirty five year old bitch."
"Thirty-four," I corrected him. "And the answer is still no. And also, don't call me a bitch."
He started to open his mouth to press his argument but I was saved by the approach of a customer, a balding cop named Evans who dropped by a couple of times a week or so. Caesar retreated to allow me to the chance to milk the guy for more tips.
"Howdy Officer," I said, flashing my hazel eyes and a cute smile. I gave my curly, dirty blonde locks a sassy toss.
"Hello darlin'," he said to my boobs. "After the shift I've just had, you're a sight for sore eyes."
I arched my back slightly and gave my chest a subtle bounce as I waited for him to get to the point, "Hard day, huh? Did you have to shoot lots of bad guys?"
"Naw, nothing like that... just a lot of administrative bullshit. I woulda rather have been wasting scumbags instead of dealing with a fuckin' fagot cop."
I laughed, thinking he was just badmouthing one of his patrol mates, but he didn't join in. He just shook his head as I placed an open Coors Lite longneck in front of him.
"Seriously, beautiful, we got fagot cops now. Can you fucking believe it?" He took a long, sad pull on his beer.
"What? You mean like a meter maid?"
"No, real cops. We wanted to get rid of 'em but the lawyers told us we'd have every fucking fagot-liberal-hippy lawyer in the state up our asses if we did. So we decided to make them take an AIDS test; you know, so at least we know we ain't gonna catch nothing off the water fountain or whatever. But the lawyers didn't like that either... they say we can't single them out just 'cause they're gay. So we ALL had to get AIDS tests: every single person in the department, even the janitors. Cost you tax payers quite a bit of money too. Goddamn fagots"
"I bet it did," I said. I'd got tested pretty frequently myself - just in case - so I was well aware of how much those blood tests ran.
"The good news, however, is that I'm clean," he indicated his ample body with a flourish. "We all are; the whole department is disease free. Even the fag."
"Good for you Officer Evans," I raised my glass of water and he clinked against it with the base of his beer bottle. I took a sip and he chugged his bottle dry. "Another?" I asked.
Evans leaned in conspiratorially, spoke in a low tone, "Say... how about you and I celebrate, seeing as how I'm as clean as a virgin. Maybe a little bare-back, huh?"
I pretended to think it over but I knew I was going to turn him down. Ordinarily bare-back sex was a special treat - the feel of skin penetrating skin, the gush of semen filling me, the deliciously sick feeling on the way home as it slowly oozed from between my lips and down my thigh - but that evening I had too much on my mind. Besides only a week previously I'd had plenty of bare-back; over a dozen guys at once, actually; me AND Janie, my daughter. And now the man who'd tempted us both into that fevered orgy - Janie's
"friend"
Tom - was gone, leaving my little girl feeling devastated and abandoned. And she was at home now, all alone. Well, all alone except for the big double headed toy we'd "borrowed" from Tom's penthouse, now sitting in the bottom drawer of our china hutch, calling to us both, tempting us into yet another lapse of judgment and morals.
"I'm sorry, I have plans tonight," I said.
"Break them. I can get you off any tickets..." he pleaded pathetically before lapsing into a crooked smile. "And I bet I can get you off... period."
I smiled. "Sorry, I've plans with my daughter. Maybe some other time?"
Evans slouched into his stool and turned towards the stage. Bonnie - Lady Nympho, as she called herself - was dancing, her blurry lower abdomen tattoo calling attention to her caesarian scar rather than hiding it. Evans turned back to the bar and guzzled the rest of his beer.
"Oh well," he said. "Maybe I should go on home and see if the wife is interested."
"Yeah," I said. "It's family night tonight."
***
As I drove home I told myself I'd be strong. I'd comfort Janie, commiserate with her about the undependable nature of men, maybe take her out for some Chinese food and a movie. And that'd be it. I'd keep it strictly mother-daughter. Maybe I'd hold her if she wanted to cry, but I wouldn't let my hands explore her firm young flesh, I wouldn't let the smell of her silky, sable hair tempt me into kissing down her neck, I wouldn't let the gentle pressure of her breasts against mine provoke me into freeing them from the confines of our blouses and bras so our nipples may more easily slide and prod against each other. And, most of all, we would not use Tom's double headed dildo tonight. Sure, we had lapsed almost every night since our double gangbang with Tom and all his friends... but tonight would be different.
I couldn't believe that when all this started I had thought I was being so darned clever. After generations of women in my family - all of us with big boobs and even bigger libidos - falling victim to early, unwed motherhood I thought I'd found the key to breaking that sad cycle by letting my Janie be as sexually active as she chose as long as she remained safe and protected. And it had worked! She reached her eighteenth birthday without an unwanted pregnancy, the first in I don't know how many generations of Graham girls. However, without an infant to hold her back, and with the full support of her stupid, stupid mother (i.e.
me
), her unrestrained sexual appetite had flowered into something close to nymphomania. And then, when she told me about Tom's proposed "party" with her and several of his male friends I let her convince me to go along! Why didn't I put my foot down? How could I have been so dumb?
Once again, I was wishing it had never happened: that I'd never agreed to escort her to Tom's to "keep her safe"; that I hadn't let myself get willingly drawn into the action; that I hadn't let my lips find Janie's semen drenched pussy; that I never discovered the feeling of my daughter's body climaxing to my touch.
But even as I wished my memories were fictional, they tempted me as they drifted through my brain: the sight of my own child with nameless, horny men jockeying for position to thrust into her pussy, butt and mouth; her skin awash with sweat and sperm; her vulva inches from my face, a huge cock slowly being fed into her trembling body as I worked her clit with my tongue.
Stopped at a light, I shifted in the seat of my Toyota. I could feel the growing dampness of my own sex just as I could feel the shame swirling though my mind. I only wanted to be a good mother. I had become a monster.
It was dark when I got home. From the parking lot of our apartment I could see from the waxing and waning blue glow in the front window of our apartment that Janie was home and watching television. I sat in the car for ten minutes before going in.
I opened the front door slowly and quietly. Janie was sprawled on the couch in a pink tank top and a black pair of my short, stretchy, work-out shorts. She was watching one of those reality shows I hated as she absently twisted small braids into her long, lustrous, dark brown hair.
"Hey," she greeted me, not taking her eyes off the TV.
"Hi honey," I said, feeling awkward. I wanted to ask her how she was, if she was feeling blue, heartbroken, abandoned, used. But she seemed untroubled other than being a little bored by the horrible people on television complaining about each other.
"Oh..." she said. "Tom wanted me to tell you he said 'hi'."
"What!? You saw Tom?"
"Yeah, he dropped by on his way to the airport."
I'd thought he'd already left the country. I felt suddenly annoyed he didn't wait until later so he could have seen me too. Maybe the three of us... No. I had to stop thinking like that.
"
Just
Tom?" I asked, unable to help myself.
Janie threw me an exasperated look and rolled her dark eyes. "It's not all gangbangs with him,
Mother
. Sometimes he likes me for himself."
I felt suddenly irritable. I turned down a chance at no-strings-attached bare-back sex so I could comfort my daughter; meanwhile she had been screwing Tom back at our apartment. I pushed my mass of curly, dirty blonde hair out of my face to glower at her more expressively but she was totally wrapped up in her TV show again. Feeling pent up and over-horny, I turned and marched towards the dining room. Apparently I'd have to attend to my own needs.
I had my hand on the bottom drawer of the china hutch when Janie's voice called out from the other room: "Oh, Tom took his dildo back."
"What?" I asked, more disappointment in my voice that was seemly. I pulled the drawer open. The now familiar double-headed, yellowed plastic phallus was gone.
"He apologized for 'denying us our fun'," she said, mimicking Tom's Italian accent. "But he said it's a priceless artifact. He said Vikings carved that thing out of a big chunk of amber. Can you believe it? We've been using a thousand year old dildo to fuck each other..."
"Please Janie, watch your language."
"Oh... Sorry mom."
"Honestly, how many times must I remind you?"
