Return

THIRTEEN

'Return'

I come in the door and there are two suitcases sitting on a trunk in the entryway.

"Mel? Mel!"

"Oh, uh..."

You sound nervous. I worry you're leaving me. I can not imagine why you would.

"Mel?"

"I'm... uh... I'm in the kitchen, Dad."

I swing in through the door and stop - dumbfounded.

You're wearing your short denim wrap-around skirt and a halter-top with straps that tie in a bow in the front under your boobs after crossing in the back. I'm so used to see you naked for over a year that I'm startled.

Are you getting ready to go?

Is that what you're going to tell me now?

"Mel?"

You're standing straight and nervous with one hand on the open pantry door.

"Uh... Dad... I... well..."

I take a deep breath, prepared for the devastating news that I will never recover from.

"Sweet, just tell me."

You, very nervous, look into the pantry and take a couple of steps away.

"You used to call ME, 'Sweet'."

My heart stops.

My breath stops.

My brain stops.

Mel's mother steps out from behind the door.

"What the FUCK?!! Why the fuck... What are you doing here?"

She stood there, deflated.

Her fantastic body refused to submit to be hidden by her outfit.

She wore a loose light blue blouse, a navy skirt just past her knees, hose and a solid pair of black sensible shoes.

Her hair was cut to look like a helmet, straight cut bangs, straight cut just off shoulders. It was black, died from flaxen to black, cut from the ass long it had been when she left.

"Hair?"

"He told me -"

"I don't give a damn what he - what ANYONE 'told you'.

'Why the hell are you here? What do you expect?"

"I want to come back, to sta- YAaahhhaa!!"

I slap her face as hard as I can - harder - it is totally instinctive and contains all the frustrated anger that's built up since she left.

She stumbles back to bang against the wall.

Mel gasps in shock. She has had no idea what would happen - but this wasn't expected. She takes a step back and watches wide-eyed.

"YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS! WHAT THAT WOULD MEAN!"

Leaning against the wall, her hand to her already red cheek, she makes a small meek nod.

Mel is watching, clueless.

And frightened.

She has never seen me angry.

She has been slapped, spanked, whipped and cropped by me - she's never seen me angry - she has never seen this volcano.

[I will refrain from putting the rest of this rant in CAPITAL letters, but understand, this was all delivered with fire coming out of my eyes and ears, just a bit louder than a klaxon. Neighborhood dogs joined in.]

"You come back here expecting to fucking stay you bring your shit and dump it in my door and fucking talk to my daughter and stand around in my kitchen fuckin' hiding behind the pantry [I slam the door shut, so hard, it bounces back and hits my hand. I slam it again and it sticks.] and what the fuck did you do to your hair and what the fuck's up with that PTA make-up [I slap her again - this is the second time I've hit anyone in anger] get your damn ass out of here now and never even fucking THINK of being anywhere I might [I draw back to strike in anger for the third time] see your stinking ass or..."

"DAD! Stop!"

I freeze. I had forgotten you was there. I'd forgotten where I was. I'd forgotten everything except my frenzy rage against this piece of crap shit whore.

I am embarrassed.

Particularly to have behaved this way in front of my daughter.

"Mel, I'm sorry. Sorry to you. But this bitch is..."

"Dad. Calm down. Sit down. Let's have tea."

I sit, glaring at the bitch, who stands, still leaning against the wall, her hand to her left cheek where I'd just slapped her. My hand is between my thighs - damn it stings. And my bones hurt.

Neither of us move, we might have been a photograph except you keep shuffling around making tea.

The flames aren't shooting out of my ears anymore, but I'm no less hot.

You set the tea down in front of me. You sit at the end of the island counter and set a cup for her across from me.

She doesn't move from the wall.

You look back and forth between us getting more anxious.

I know you do not know what is behind what is happening.

And I know you want THIS to stop.

"Mom, sit here," you indicate the chair

She look at me with fear, afraid to move, afraid to...

I nod towards the stool and she moves to sit, both hands around the cup.

We sit in silence for a very long time, maybe a year, maybe two minutes.

"You want to come back here?" [stern]

"Y-yes." [timid]

"And you want me to just let you the fuck do that?"

"Yes." scarcely a whisper, scarcely a breath.

"I didn't hear that."

"Yes."

"'Yes' what?"

"Yes, I want you to let me come back."

Was that a decade that just passed or a second?

"Dad..." I have never heard you plead, but now... "Dad. Please can she stay. For a while."

I look at you, considering.

"You want her to be here?"

"I don't want you to throw her out on the street tonight."

"What do you think can happen?"

"I don't know. Not this."

I look back at her mother.

"You know what this means."

"Yes, an-..."

I smack her - no where near as hard, but firmly. Not in a rage, but calm.

"You want to come back?"

She nods.

"And you know what it means."

"I --- YAAaaah"

Yeah, I slapped the bitch again. More like a love tap. 'Cept harder.

"You know what it means."

She nods, tears welling over.

You are shaking your head, shivering, nothing makes sense to you.

I know that.

I know it never will.

"You want this, Mel?"

"I don't want you to kick her out. Or beat her up."

I look at her appraisingly. Considering.

"Strip."

She gets off the stool and starts to unbutton her blouse.

I slam my hand down on the counter.

"I didn't say 'undress' I said 'STRIP'!"

She starts to sway, twisting at the waist, leaning to the side with her hands at her top button. Well, the third, she'd already unbuttoned the first two.

She turns away slowly with her eyes fixed to mine.

In profile, I remember my longing.

In the past.

Now, my temper seems more brittle than I can recall.

You come around the island and stand beside me, pressing your side to mine, taking my left hand in both of yours. You say nothing, but I feel a flood of questions flowing through your skin.

I know the deepest of those questions will remain mysteries to you.

Her head snaps around to continue her eye contact with me. Her right hand holds the unbuttoned blouse out as a curtain, teasing us. She thrusts her hips a few pumps - like she's fucking some absurdly long cock.

She drops the shirt and... OK, what can I say, she's got the best rac-... before yours came along. So, second best rack. Her nipples stand out, big as the first joint of my pinky.

My mouth waters at the memories.

She snaps suddenly and spreads the blouse out like wings and starts dipping and swooping side to side. Her tits, much looser than yours, nearly two decades older, are still perfect as they sway with her winged-snake dance.

She's been practicing.

As she rises in a spiral, she lifts the blouse over her head, and tosses it to fall in a light blue pile by the refrigerator.

I'm used to seeing bruises.

She's been being punched hard enough to break the skin.

So... went too far did he?

You stupid sow.

I shake my head, looking at my lap.

Her hands rise from her ankles to her hips, smoothing over her fantastic legs like a lover's - like mine had in the before.

She catches the hem of her skirt and lifts it to her waist. In one motion she runs the side-zipper down and drops her skirt's hem. She snaps her legs apart to catch her skirt with her thighs, revealing the top of her boy's briefs.

I laugh at her.

She reaches up between her thighs and pulls the dumb briefs down

Twirling around, her back to us, she lifts her right leg high, to free her foot from the briefs. She holds that leg out, toe pointed across the room and the briefs fall to her ankle at the floor.

She hops up, catches her skirt in one hand, kicks the briefs off her left foot and lands gracefully on her right.

Strong and supple. Still.

She hugs her knee to her breast, mashing her tit. Her toes point to the ceiling and she makes the slight turn to display her gash, her right foot tiptoe on the ground, en pointe, her left leg straight up, legs a vertical line, stretching her cunt open.

You gasp.

She does some kind of twisting lay-over gymnast what's-it and her feet are planted together and her skirt is held by her pressed-together thighs.

She turns her back to us. Her skirt is bunched up above her knees, exposing her nearly flawless ass cheeks.

Each a little larger than one of my giant hands.

Perfect for gripping, spanking - they took a whip or crop exceedingly well.

And they were great bumpers when slamming into her.

I prefer yours.

She turns 'round again and starts making deep pendulum moves, at the nadir, her crotch is below her knees, on the peaks, her legs are fully stretched.

She leaps into the air, leaving the skirt to fall to the floor.

She lands in a splits and start humping the floor.

She swings one leg around and spins on her ass.

She brings herself up to sit on her heels, back erect, arms behind her neck, thrusting her tits out, her head thrown back, exposing her throat.

I like the pose, my mind races, still...

"Done? That it?"

"Ye----"

I'm up and headed out the door.

"Sweet, you don't move."

Turning on your mother, "You. Not a word."

As I come back down with one of the bullwhips, I hear your voice.

"... and I don't know.

"I've never seen him like this.

"Is this right?

"What's going on?

"Why DID you come back?

"What DO you want?

Wh-..."

I stept into the room just as I heard the woman take in a breath - sounded like the beginning of a word.

Her piercing scream shocked her and startled, even scared, you

And made me feel so good I did it again.

Hit the heavy mass of her perfect tit with the snapping tip of the bullwhip. Immediately, two small red medallions appeared on her left tit.

"What the hell? Dad!"

"It was necessary. She was about to speak. Right, slut?

She nods sheepishly.

"She is never to speak, Sweet. Never. Never again."

"What? Why?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes."

"That's your answer."

"But, wh-"

"That's your answer."

"Ok. I just..."

I know you are confused and don't know what's going on between your mother and me.

I know that.

You will never know what this is or how it came to be.

We need to talk.

"Come here. Sit. We'll talk."

You come and sit on the stool beside me. Your back is to your mother as you sit around the corner of the island on my right. I rest my right arm across your back, my right hand on your shoulder, the bullwhip dangling from my wrist by its loop.

"If your mother stays, it will be very harsh for her. She knows this.

"She may not speak or attempt any other communication - writing, texting - that sort of stuff. Can't do it."

"Bu- YEEahAhoww!"

I flick my wrist and the tip of the bullwhip reminded her to be silent.

"Grunts, moans, barking, humming... that sort of sounds are ok. And she can attempt to convey her message through gesture and faces, but no language.

"She will not wear any clothes until she leaves. Or if I specifically instruct her to wear a specific set of clothes."

"She will not interfere with any of our activites. Or any of those of our guests.

"She will eat and drink what we give her, when we give it to her...

"You want her here? She's your pet - you must take care of her.

"You will never interfere with... you will not complain about... anything I do to her.

"You will do as I say, whipping her if I say, fucking her, eating her... anything I say - understand?"

"Yes, Dad, I understand your rules. I don't understand why you..."

"No need, Sweet. No need. You must accept it.

"You still want her to stay?"

You consider for quite a while.

I watch you. And past you, I watch her.

She is so incredibly beautiful. Gotta wash that goo off her face and... what the fuck with her hair... that's obscene.

Very quietly, almost sneaking in like fog, "yes".

"What, Sweet, I didn't hear that."

"Yes, Dad. I want Mom to stay."

"No matter what? You'll be good with it."

"You will do what you do. She has agreed.

Nobody asked me about it, I'll avoid having an opinion."

"Sweet, I asked you if you wanted her to stay, I told you what that would mean.... Some of it anyway."

"Fine. Whatever. You'll do what you do."

"I will."

"Yes, I want her to stay under whatever crap you two have going on."

"Ok.

"Bitch, pick up your clothes and put them on your baggage. And leave the shoes and hose there, too.

Sweet, take her up and give her a good scrub down bath - scrub hard. And get that crap off her face.

And do what you can about that hair - it's really the same color as yours."

"Ok."

You lead her out and, as you pass the door she drops her clothes on the pile of crap she just tossed on my floor.

We can burn it all in the morning.

*****

The two of you come down the stairs, both naked and shiny with the sheen of cleanliness. You must have joined her in the shower.

Her makeup in gone, revealing that naturally modeled face that paint only obscures, never enhances.

Her jet-colored hair looks even more like a helmet now that is wet and shapes to her skull.

Your hair is wrapped in a towel, sitting like a fat turban on your head.

She glances around warily, looking for me.

When she finds me, sitting on the couch, her eyes lock on mine and she shivers.

I like that.

"Stand her in the middle, here by the coffee table."

You lead her to the spot.

I watch the two of you standing together, you the younger, tighter, trimmer, more beautiful near-twin.

Before she left, she was The One.

She's not now.

*****

I walk to stand before the pair of you.

I stroke your cheek with my right hand, tracing your orbits, your jaw, your chin, your lips.

When I begin to do the same to your mother, she flinches. She whimpers as I trace her lines.

This pleases me.

I cup your tit, lifting it with my right hand. I tap your nipple with my thumb, press it into your perfect softness.

You make the sound I love.

I pinch the nipple and give it a quarter turn. I lift your tit, stretching high, then release and delight as it bounces and jiggles to settle in its wanted high place.

You watch as I grip her left tit, digging deep and lifting her off her heels.

When she opens her mouth to speak, my left hand slams into the right side of her head.

"NO! Not a fucking word. YOU know."

She hangs her head and nods, her chin on her chest.

You are startled, turn to look. When I pivot to look at you, my glare causes you to turn away.

I return to her and lift her higher by her tit, off her left foot, onto her right toes alone

Her whimper is only half-suppressed, and is cut short by another slap to the side of her head.

I sweep her foot out from under her and throw her to the floor. Her head thumps like a cantaloupe hitting the floor. Her tears roll freely from her eyes to pool in her ears.

I turn to you, "Sweet, hold her legs apart."

You kneel down and, gripping each ankle, spread your mother's legs wide.

I kneel down straddling her, my ankles pinning her shoulders, my ass on her neck. I snuggle down onto her, her throat separating my cheeks.

I spank her cunt with a full-armed blow. Her scream is cut short as I lower my weight to cut off her breath.

I raise up a bit then spank again. Again, her scream is cut short.

I repeat this until my hand is soaked and stinging.

"Sweet, kiss her."

You look up at me, your eyes moist with sympathy for the slut, your mother.

"Kiss her cunt, Sweet."

You nod and lean down, kissing the opening from which you emerged.

"Kiss, lick, suck - do your best."

I watch with awe as you work on your mother.

The movement of your head marked by the center part between your still wet hair.

I stiffen more, my breath short and shallow.

I drag my ass up over her chin, wipe my ass up over her nose and rest my cockhead on her lips. I reach down and pinch both nipples. I give a full 180 twist to each, then pull quick and hard.

Released, her flesh-mound snaps back.

She opens her mouth to scream and I plunge in fast and hard, my spongy head squeezing into her throat, the stiff thickness of my rod preventing deeper penetration.

I hold there, my asshole smashing her nose.

She is pinned to the carpet by my cock deep in her throat, you are between her thighs eating her cunt.

I like this.

You seem to like it as well.

I grip her calves and bend her up, lifting her onto her shoulders, lifting her crotch to you

You loop your elbows behind her knees and hold her

"Bite her."

You look up to me, unsure.

"Bite her."

Taking my cue you take her in your mouth.

Her scream around my cock opens her throat and my pubic bone cracks against her chin, my cock thrust deep into her throat.

"Bite her. Chew her. Make her bleed."

My assault on your mother's throat absorbs all my attention. I draw back just free of her throat and jam in deep.

Repeatedly.

The sound of her gagging and choking fires me to pound harder.

I can feel the bruising caused by my slamming against her chin, inflaming me to faster, deeper, harder thrusting.

My balls bouncing over her nose. I feel the gusting of her nasal exhaust behind my balls.

Inflaming me further.

I jam faster, faster.

As I feel the come building, I pull up and shoot a few streams onto one of her tits.

I rest back, sitting on her forehead.

Her gasping attracts your attention and you look up.

I release her legs and grip your hair, pulling you off her cunt.

You look at me irritated, I jam your face against her ass and you tongue her gleefully.

I nibble on her cuntlips and we both go to town on her lower openings.

As she gushes in orgasm, I reposition and piston into her mouth - penetrating her throat more than once.

You sit back on your heels and slap her ass cheeks, causing her to flinch.

I rear up, jam down into her throat and hold there. I join you in spanking - ass, thighs, pussy.

I feel her screams, totally prevented from assailing our ears by my cock rammed down her throat, cutting off her breath.

We beat syncopated multi-rythms, smiling and laughing.

I delight in her struggles on my choking cock.

We begin singing together in time to our pounding.

I feel her go limp beneath me and figure she's lost consciousness.

I pull out, check and she's breathing fine, just passed out.

I indicate the sperm on her tits, "Clean the bitch up."

You crawl up to lick and suck your mother's tits clean of your father's come.

I leave you to it and walk to the kitchen to quench my thirst.

I sit at the counter and swirl gulps of kefir around in my mouth.

Thinking - maybe fuming is the more accurate term.

The cunt-ass bitch coming back here.

Fuck.

And I'm listening. Listening for - actually hoping for her to speak a single word.

I heard nothing.

I return to find you sitting on your heels between your mother's splayed legs, your hands resting on your thighs, upright as an idol. You are looking at her, studying her. Dispassionate, curious.

She lays flat on her back, one arm stetched to the side, the other over her face, elbow covering her eyes. Her tits, still firm, perch over her ribs, nipples flaming red.

Your saliva has left a sheen over everywhere you have cleaned the bitch using your tongue.

I like the way this looks and turn to get the phone to take a photo.

My movement disturbs you and you look up to me.