Gloria's Daughter Ch. 01

"I want to feel you throbbing big spouts of jizz into me."

"Okay," I said, smiling. "I can probably manage that. But what happened to making it last so long that I'd go crazy?"

"I'll do that on our second go."

I kissed her again, then drew further back and put a little more vim in my next thrust. Her cunt muscles came back to life, squeezing down around my penetration and sucking at me on my next slide out.

"Ooh," I said. "Nice."

Gloria licked her lips. "Do it like you mean it."

"Hey, I meant that."

"Mean it harder, lover."

We accelerated quickly then, working up our heat and speed. She kept her eyes fixed on mine, even as exertion started to rush her breathing, quiver her nostrils, force open her mouth in a pant. The flickering musculature of her vagina electrified each stroke I made into her, let loose a volcanic heat to seep out from the root of my cock, through my balls, up into my belly and down into my thighs. Sweat rolled and dripped from me, spattering her throat and then one cheek. I rose up, pushing, pumping, shoulders and head back for fear I'd sweat into her eyes. Orgasm barreled toward me, urgent and animalistic, wrenching a grunt from my throat as I hammered into her - then another, then another.

"Ah! Ah! Yes ..."

Her face lit up as she watched mine.

"Yes ... here it is ..."

Thrustthroughsqueezingcuntflesh, thrustthrust, thrust -

"AH! FUCK!"

Climax exploded through my body, across all my senses, out from my head to scatter my brain across continents. Distantly, I felt Gloria's heels hooked beneath my ass, pulling me tighter. Everything shimmered in time to the disgorging spout of my orgasm. My eyes shut, blinked open, shut, blinked open ...

Then the fresh, smooth face of Gloria's daughter swam across my vision in time to an ebbing gush, superimposed itself over her older, wiser features. My eyes squinched tight, and I was coming into that young woman's pussy, filling her womb with my seed.

"UHHH!"

I collapsed, and the image vanished, and there was only Gloria, soft and welcoming beneath me, legs relaxing, feet brushing their way gently down my thighs and then my calves, hands at the nape of my neck and teasing the hair on one arm.

"There you go, darling," she whispered. I lay still, considering whether to feel guilty about that sudden fantasy of her troublesome, lush teenager. But the orgasm had been too good, and I felt so close to Gloria now, and so at peace; the guilt couldn't work up the nerve to show its face.

"Woosh," I said at last. "I guess I should get off and uncrush you now."

Her fingers curled until the knuckles rubbed lightly from the base of my skull down the curve of my neck. "I can be crushed a little longer. I don't want you out yet."

"Mmm." Lifting up, I watched her face a moment and decided that when she said she didn't want me out, she was expressing a need, not a mere desire. The usual hierarchy of concern for Gloria, when we were together, went from my needs to my desires to her desires to her needs. She didn't reveal the last very often. "So what's wrong? You seemed really stressed before we got that wine in you."

She wiggled her hips. "You mean before we got you in me."

"Stop, I'm being serious. You looked ... tired. And you're smoking again."

"Shit." Her nose wrinkled. "I fooled myself into thinking the mouth rinse and wine would hide it. What a dodo."

"You can have one if you want. I don't mind." I said it with my thumb idly stroking the hollow above her collarbone. But she shook her head.

"I've already had two today, and I'm trying to hold it to that. Plus, some of my other regulars hate it, and I don't want to stink up the linens and mattress for them."

"You could get one of those e-cigarettes."

She rolled her eyes. "What, and turn myself into even more of a nicotine fiend? Are you trying to be a bad influence?"

"No." When the eye-roll finished, I kept my gaze on hers, which was blue and deep and completely lacking in any inquisitorial curiosity. She wasn't trying to figure me out. As far as I could tell, her gaze held nothing but appreciation. "I just don't like seeing you unhappy. But I won't pry if you don't want to talk about it."

Sighing, she put a hand in her hair and fluffed it out across the pillow under her head. Then she shrugged. "You know. Sometimes this is the best job ..." Her other hand moved up my arm to rest on my shoulder. "... but sometimes it's not. And for some reason it's harder with ... her home for the summer. Harder than when she lived here full-time. I think going away to school let her put this out of her mind. Maybe she got used to going weeks or months without having to remember her mother's a whore."

"Don't use that word."

She laughed. "It's just a word, Denny. All the words for it sound the same to me anymore. Except 'whore' sounds a little more honest, I think."

"Well, it sounds to me like you're running yourself down, and you've got no reason to do that."

Her hand came round to my chest, one fingertip circling to curl the chest hair around itself. She said nothing, but her smile thanked me. Then she looked past me to the ceiling, expression neutral and contemplative. I waited, felt her chest emptying and filling beneath mine through several deep breaths. The last one went out decisively.

"I had to tell a regular I couldn't see him anymore."

Her eyes came back to mine, serious.

"Did he do something?"

"Yeah."

A few seconds passed. Her hand dropped away from my chest and came to rest on the pillow next to her head.

"He's a choker. He likes me to say no and push at him a little when we're getting started, and then he puts his hands around my neck and tells me to be still. It's always been harmless - he doesn't use much pressure, and he's always nice when he's getting dressed afterwards. Complimentary."

I stroked her hair, soft and clean, though not as silky as when I'd first met her and we were both still young.

"So ... this time he's fucking me with his pants on and just pulled down. And he keeps getting almost there but not quite, and I can tell he's frustrated. His fingers start squeezing tighter than normal, but I don't say anything because I don't want to break his concentration and blow the orgasm for him."

A tremor of emotion vibrated through her. Most of my weight was on my elbows, so I couldn't really hug her. But I brought my arms into closer contact.

"And then suddenly he just stops and lets go. I ask him what's wrong, but he doesn't say anything. He's reaching down and tugging at his pants or something and I ask him what he's doing and he says, 'I'm gonna put my belt around your neck.' I tell him no, I'm not doing that, but by this time he's got the belt loose and he's bringing it up and I try to block it with my hands, but he's a big guy, really strong - so I have to say my safe word.

"And he ignores it."

"Jesus, Gloria ..."

"He's looping the belt around my neck and I say it again and by now I'm actually fighting him and he's panting and he starts to pull the belt tight and I scream it, one last time. And he goes still and looks at me and starts crying. He says, 'Oh my god, Lola' - that's what he calls me, Lola, 'you don't think I'd really hurt you, do you?' And I say, 'I never thought so before, but I had to say the safe word three fucking times and now I don't know, Harry.' I don't tell him my hand was already going up here ..." She patted the top edge of the mattress where I knew she had a couple of hanging pouches with things to protect herself. "... and I definitely don't tell him I was thinking about skipping the mace and going straight for the gun. So he lets go of the belt and says, 'Can I just finish? I won't even pull on it. I think I can get there just looking at it and pretending.' Anyway, his tears are dripping down all over me and for some reason I believe him and I say okay.

"He was right, it was over pretty quick from there, just a couple of minutes of him pumping and red-faced and staring at the belt around my neck. I could see his mouth moving, but he wasn't saying anything out loud, and I'm probably glad, because from the look on his face whatever he was saying in his head was pretty ugly. Then he looked away and shoved in hard and grunted and came and we were done. And when he got his clothes on, I told him we were done, done. He apologized again and paid and left."

"Good God. That's awful. I don't know how guys can -"

"And the worst part is ..." She was really shaking now. "...while he was there on top of me, grimacing and humping and imagining how it would feel to strangle me with a belt, I was thinking, 'Shit, this is eight hundred bucks a month I'm about to lose.'"

I tried to think of something to say. What a bastard didn't cut it. Well, keeping yourself safe is the most important thing might be true, but wouldn't pay any bills. And I for damn sure couldn't say, I have plenty of money. Pencil me in for all his appointments. It would sound like I was taking advantage of the fact that this guy basically strangle-raped her. Not that she would call him a rapist, I thought. She consented to everything but the belt around her neck, and he stopped that after the third 'no.'

What finally came out was, "You should cut my discount."

"What? No, that's - I can make it up with other clients, maybe some more online stuff - I wasn't fishing for anything, I'm not going to -"

I put my forehead down against hers. "At least until you fill up your schedule. It's not like it would break the bank, and it's not like I'm volunteering to make up the whole eight hundred." Which I would totally do if I thought you'd take it. "You can't tell me something like that and then not let me help."

With a peck on my lips, she told me, "You are helping. You're listening. Who else am I going to tell this to? My friends don't know what I do. My daughter? That's going to get me some sympathy. And I cut my therapist out when the tuition bills started coming in. Shit, I shouldn't be taking back your discount, I should be paying you the therapy fee. Or at least the copay."

I smiled a little but couldn't quite laugh. Okay, well if you won't cut my discount, why don't I come another time or two a month? Come on, have the balls and say it.

"What if -"

"Denny."

"Yeah?"

"You have been a stable spot in my life and a shining light in my schedule three times a month for twelve years. And I'm pretty sure I could get you to do any goddamn thing I wanted if I asked. I could wrap you so tight around my little finger that I'd get gangrene, and then I could get you to give me one of your fingers for a transplant."

I felt my face go red and fall into a stupid look. She completely had my number.

Putting a hand up to my cheek, she went on, "I didn't tell you so you could do something. I told you so you would feel something, and I would see you feel it, and I would know that Harry and his belt didn't matter. And now they don't. So you're going to keep getting your discount and I'm going to figure out how to make up the eight hundred bucks - and you're going to trust me that if I can't do it, if I'm stuck and desperate and there's no other way, I'll ask you to help. Okay? If I need to, I will ask."

Whatever the orgasm had done to my body and brain a few minutes earlier, those words put it to shame. I couldn't even speak.

Gloria patted both my shoulders simultaneously.

"Now get off of me and I'll get up and pee, and then I can come back and suck this beautiful cock back to life so I can keep that promise about making you crazy."

* * *

By the end of my two-hour time-slot, she'd made good on her prediction and then some. I lay blissfully on my back with her astride me and pressed flat to my chest, head beside mine on the pillow.

"Almost time," she sighed. The quarter-hour chime had sounded just before she finally let me come.

I opened my mouth to say maybe I should upgrade to three-hour sessions. But then I shut it again, not wanting to get back into the debate from our between-fucks interlude. Instead I slid my hand all the way down her spine, from between the shoulder-blades to just above her tailbone, where I gave her a little pat.

"Look at it this way," I said. "'Almost time' means 'almost time to start looking forward to next week.'"

She kissed my cheek. "Is that how you look at it?"

"Three Mondays a month when eight o'clock closes in."

Her head came up, chin balancing on her knuckles where her hand cupped my shoulder. "What can I do special next time? Something I can spend the week thinking about and getting ready for."

Oh fuck.

"I don't know. I think ... uh ... I mean there's not really -"

She started laughing, just a low giggle at first, but growing and persistent enough to make both of our bodies shake before she got it under control.

"Oh, ha, this is going to be good. What has that naughty brain of yours cooked up that you're too embarrassed to tell me, after all this time?"

I frowned as if I didn't like being teased, but in reality that was the perfect response to free me up from my nerves and make me think I could actually ask her.

"All right, there's something. I'm just worried it will cross a line."

Patting my cheek, she said. "Honey, I don't think you have it in you to cross my lines - or even figure out how far out they are. Tell me. Whatever it is, we're going to have a great time with it."

So I told her.

* * *

The following Monday I got off work a few minutes earlier than normal, and traffic moved remarkably smoothly, and I found myself approaching Gloria's neighborhood at twenty to six instead of my normal five till. So I did what I normally do when I'm early and went to the corner gas station to blow a little time. I knew from casual conversation that Gloria always kept an hour's buffer between appointments, to get the sheets changed, tidy the room, shower and freshen herself up - and especially, to make sure her clients didn't cross paths. Even so, I always worried about the possibility of pulling up through the alley behind her street and finding some other car in the driveway, a guy with his seat leaned a little back and his eyes closed, afterglowing from an hour or two or three of what I was about to enjoy. The image made my stomach flip - and worse yet was the idea that he'd notice me, lift his head and give a grin and a thumbs-up before pulling away. More realistically, though less disturbing, I didn't want to risk her hearing my car roll up and feeling like she had to rush to let me in early.

For peace of mind, then, and out of simple courtesy, I stopped and topped off my tank (which didn't need it), checked all my tires and fluids, and then headed into the station's convenience store, meaning to clean the car-grime off my hands in the restroom.

But as I reached for the door handle, it swung out at me instead, and I had to jump back to keep from getting hit.

And there she was.

She looked up from fumbling the keys out of her purse, opened her mouth reflexively to apologize, and then froze when she recognized who she'd almost conked with the door.

Crap. What do I say? Duh, asshole, you say you're sorry like you told Gloria you wanted to last week.

"Look," I said, raising my hands in what I hoped was a conciliatory gesture, "I apologize for the other day. You were nice to let me in, and I should have just left it at that."

She made a sound in her throat. I couldn't tell if it was a grunt of acceptance or a growl. Her face looked resentful. "I wasn't being nice. I was just letting my mom push me around. You could have waited."

"I could have, and I'm -"

Another customer approached the store, and she stepped out to let the woman pass. When the door swung shut again, a little of the harsh edge had left her expression.

"Just - let's drop it, okay? Mom was really mad at how I acted. She guilt-tripped me all through dinner about you being one of the good ones, and if that's true then maybe I shouldn't have been such a bitch - whether or not I believe there's such a thing as a 'good one.'"

"You should believe it," I said. Hearing that Gloria had talked about me warmed something up in my chest, and made me want even more to make her daughter shed some of this disgust and judgment. "I'm not going to speak for myself, but she's told me before she has a lot of clients she actually likes. She says she'd have to change jobs if she didn't."

"Whatever. Anyway, if she's right then I'm sorry. Shit, you guys are paying for my college education, so I guess I ought to be sorry regardless. I just can't stand the idea of her being used like that."

The door jingled behind her again, someone coming out this time. I moved farther to the side. She stepped that way too, but looked as though she meant to cut things off and duck away to her car. For some reason, I didn't want to let her.

"You go to a hair stylist, don't you?" I asked. "Does it feel like you're using her? Him?"

"What? Are you seriously saying getting my hair done is like -"

"How about a pedicure? Have you had one of those? Someone having to touch your feet, trim and buff all the calluses and crap off them?"

A little doubt crept into her face.

"Do you think there aren't people who go to your pedicurist with their feet all sweaty, smelly, lint between the toes?"

"That's ..." But she just let it trail off.

"And if you find a stylist you like, a manicurist or a pedicurist who's really good, don't you want to stick with them? Don't you talk to them, get to know them, at least a little? Don't you think of them as people? Maybe even friends after you've been going long enough?"

These were Gloria's metaphors, but I could see from her expression that she hadn't heard them before.

"That's fucked up. That's a fucked up comparison."

I shrugged. "Maybe it is for girls, and maybe even for most guys, but it's not for me. It's not fucked up at all. Your mom does something wonderful for me, and it's something she enjoys. And it could be just a transaction for either one of us or both, but that's not who we are. You don't really think that's who she is, do you?"

"No, because I don't think ... what she does, is who she is. And -" She drew herself up. "- sooner or later, if I had a hair stylist who was as great a person as my mom is, I'd start dropping hints for him to ask me out. I mean, if he wasn't gay. But I bet asking her for a date isn't high on your list of things to do with Gloria."

That face, so beautiful, so like her mother's, so full of challenge, made me want to say more - to prove something to her, to soften that look of cold triumph and maybe even warm the atmosphere between the two of them. There was only one thing I could think of to do that, though, and if it had just been about me, I probably would have dropped it and let her walk off feeling victorious. But it wasn't just about me.

So I said, very quietly, "How afraid would you be that your stylist wouldn't end up asking you, and then if you asked he'd say no, and you'd feel rejected, and you'd never be able to look at that salon as a wonderful, comfortable, welcoming part of your routine again? How afraid would you be that every time you got your hair cut after that, you'd be reminded about blowing your ability to regularly laugh and chat and share things with this terrific person while they did something nice for you?"

Her brows furrowed, disbelieving. "Are you telling me you'd actually consider - that you could pay her money, know about other guys paying her, and you'd still -"