Virgin Sacrifice

Afterwards I was beat and he was all smug satisfaction. It's not fair. Woman have to clean themselves up and get dressed. Men just shove the damn thing in their pants and worry about a shower later on. Mr Henderson was all prepared to be up and gone, business concluded to his satisfaction. It had not, however, been concluded to mine.

"Just a damn moment," I snapped, when he made motions indicative of departing. "You have some unfinished business. Wait there. I'll be back."

I ducked into the bathroom for a quick wash and wipe-down and hastily tossed my clothes back on. That's one advantage of a tracksuit. Seconds pass and you're dressed. Then I returned to Mr Henderson, detouring via the kitchen. I handed him a nice long plastic spoon.

"Ah, what's this?" he asked.

"It's a plastic spoon. Quite strong. Clarice likes cooking and she has some good equipment, like that spoon. Plastic, because it's hard to get decent wooden spoons."

"I see. And you have given me this spoon because???"

"Because Clarissa will probably walk through that door soon and I'm damned if she's getting off scot free. When she comes in you're going to bend her over the couch, drop her panties, and apply that spoon vigorously. It may get the message home that she stuffed up. She'll accept it from you, because you're a man, whereas she'd just laugh at me."

With that I calmly sat on the couch, daring him not to do the same. He gave me an amused look and sat down next to me.

"Oh, and no, you're not fucking her," I added. "She is my mother, sort of."