The Count of Monte CristoChapter 58 M Noirtier de Villefort
- 2 years ago
- 87
- 0
Recipe For LoveChapter 3 free porn video
Repercussions
Wednesday morning, about 11 am, and it was already 91 degrees.
“Am I ever going to get used to this Florida heat and humidity?” I thought to myself. I grabbed my t-shirt where I had left it beside my garage and started wiping my face and torso.
I was about halfway through with cleaning out my garage. I normally would have done that yesterday (Tuesday), but then had been interrupted by Jenny.
As I recalled our initial conversation, and the incredible request she had made – that I have anal sex with her – I couldn’t help but smile to myself. What an incredible night!
Jenny came back to my house around 9 pm, and we had spent hours having sex, plus some very personal conversations. Those conversations mostly centered on Jenny’s attempt to punish herself for what she believed was her role in making her mother ... well, go off the deep end.
I had also, for the first time, unburdened myself with another person for my feelings of guilt about Angela’s death. It had become a very emotional night for both of us, and left us with plenty of things to think about.
Jenny had left the house about 2 am Tuesday morning, and I had not heard anything from her since then.
When I woke up Wednesday, after sleeping late, I had started working in the garage.
“Hi, Mr. Lynch,” I heard a female voice say, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
I was very startled. I had not heard anyone walk up since I had been deep in thought myself.
I turned around ... and my breath caught in my throat.
Staring at me, with a rather enigmatic smile, was an extraordinarily beautiful woman.
Her blonde hair was cut rather short, just framing an incredible face with deep, deep blue-green eyes. This beauty was wearing a short sundress with two very thin straps over her shoulders. I was amazed to see just how pale her complexion was, and her arms and legs had no trace of any kind of tan. Because of the sundress, I could see a LOT of arms and legs. Very shapely legs!
My first impression was that this must be a snowbird, which is the sometimes derogatory term Floridians use for people who live up north and only come to Florida during winter. “Snowbirds” are usually characterized by their too-white skin which soon burns under the Florida sun. Of course this was the wrong time of year for snowbirds to be flying south, since it was the hottest part of the summer.
My second thought was this young lady must be lost and needs directions. That thought immediately faded as I recalled she had used my name. How would a lost snowbird know my name, since it wasn’t on my mailbox or anything?
“Yes, Miss,” I politely inquired, “can I help you?” I then realized I still had my t-shirt in my hands and quickly slipped it over my head.
By the time the shirt was in its proper place and I looked at the young lady the small smile had been replaced by a much bigger smile.
I immediately had the rather disquieting feeling that I should know her, but I knew if I had ever seen anyone who looked like that I would have NO trouble remembering.
She still hadn’t responded to my query so I tried again: “Miss, can I help you? Do you need directions or something?”
If anything her smile got even bigger, before she finally responded.
“Do I really look that different, Mr. Lynch?” she asked while continuing to smile.
I couldn’t help myself. Just seeing her incredible smile prompted an answering smile of my own.
“I’m sorry, young lady, but I think you’ve may have confused me with someone else. Someone very lucky, I think.”
She laughed. Her laugh somehow reminded me of crystal clear notes of music.
“Perhaps I should try something a little different,” she said. “How about if I say, six years, four months and 23 days ago I was a sinner.”
I could feel the blood drain out of my face and actually felt so light-headed I thought I might pass out. It took me several attempts to even say anything, which came out something like: “Mil ... Mil ... MILDRED?”
She again laughed before answering, “Yes.”
I couldn’t help it. Her smile and laugh were so infectious I found myself smiling and laughing along with her.
“Oh, my God,” I said, then repeated it, “Oh, my God. You’re beautiful. I can’t believe it’s really you.”
Almost immediately I realized just to whom I was talking. The local religious nut. And while I hadn’t exactly cussed, I had used “His” name in a way she probably would not approve of.
I could feel my face turn red with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” I started, “I didn’t mean to say that.”
Mildred laughed again. “Don’t worry about it Mr. Lynch. But we do need to talk and that is one of the things we need to talk about. Along with your relationship with my daughter.”
I could feel the blood drain out of my face again.
What? What did she say? My relationship with her daughter?
Jenny promised me she wasn’t going to tell her mother about us.
I am not sure how long I just stood there staring at Mildred, before I heard her ask, “Do you mind if we sit down while we talk, Mr. Lynch?”
I could feel my face get red again.
“Uhh, sure Millie, let me get a couple of chairs,” I muttered, then had to stop as I saw her face flush.
“What? What did you call me?” she asked in a very low voice.
It took me a few seconds to remember.
“Uhh, Millie, I think,” I said, then started apologizing, “I’m sorry, I know that is probably not appropriate, but it just that ... the way you look ... it seemed to...”
She held up her hand and I stopped talking. I almost thought I could see some tears in her eyes.
“Don’t apologize,” she said. “Mildred is my name, but no one EVER called me that until ... until five years ago. Before that it was always Millie.”
By now it wasn’t a question of just thinking I could see some tears. I could see a couple of big tears rolling down her cheeks. It was almost more than I could do not to reach over to gently wipe the tears away.
I immediately turned around and walked into the garage and came back out with two chairs. It wasn’t until then I realized these were the same two chairs Jenny and I had sat in just the day before.
“Excuse me, Millie,” I said, not quite realizing I had again used the diminutive form of her name. “I am still pretty hot from working in the garage and need to get something to drink. I keep a small refrigerator in the garage.”
“Can you bring me a beer?” she asked.
I was actually standing in front of the refrigerator when I realized what she had asked.
Miss Bible Thumper wanted a beer? Then it hit me. How did she know I kept beer in the refrigerator? I realized the only way she could know that (assuming she didn’t break into my garage) was if Jenny had told her.
And what else might Jenny have told her? I couldn’t help but remember what she had said a few minutes earlier about my “relationship” with her daughter.
Did Millie know?
Did Jenny tell her?
And how MUCH did Jenny tell her?
It actually took me a LOT longer than it should have to return to my driveway. Millie was already sitting down. And had moved the two chairs so close together they were almost touching.
I stood there for at least 30 seconds, looking at Millie, then at the chairs and back at Millie.
This time Millie blushed before motioning towards the chair.
“Please sit down, Mr. Lynch,” she said, “we have a lot we need to talk about.”
I handed Millie a beer and said, “Please call me Alex.”
“Alex is a nice name,” Millie offered, “I assume short for Alexander?”
I gave a somewhat rueful grin.
“Actually the entire name is Alexander Hamilton Washington Jefferson Lynch, Jr.,” I said.
Millie laughed and again her laugh was so infectious I couldn’t help but join her.
“That must have been difficult for you in school,” she grinned, “especially in elementary school.”
“My brother has an even worse name,” I said. “He is Daniel Boone Crockett Bridger Lynch. My grandfather and father both liked early American history.”
“Davy Crockett and Jim Bridger?” Millie asked.
I was somewhat surprised. Most people know the name Davy Crockett, but not that many have ever heard of Jim Bridger.
“And wasn’t one of the original signers of the Declaration of Independence a Thomas Lynch, Jr., from South Carolina?” she added.
Now I was way beyond surprised. No one had ever asked that question before.
“Yes,” I agreed, “we are direct descendants of Thomas Lynch, Jr.”
“My degree is in American history,” Millie explained.
We both took a sip of beer.
“What ... what did you want to talk about, Millie?” I finally asked after several minutes of silence.
“Jenny woke me up about 3 am Tuesday morning,” she started. “Monday had been an awful day at work, then an awful night at home.
“I was so tired, all I wanted to do was sleep, but Jenny kept saying ‘we need to talk, Mom, we need to talk.’ I kept trying to tell her it could wait, but she said it couldn’t wait.
“After about 15 minutes of trying to wake me up, Jenny said something that caused me to jump out of bed.”
“What was that, Millie?” I finally asked, after several more minutes of silence. I started to take a drink of beer.
It was five minutes before I could even take a deep breath without searing pain through my lungs. And that was only after Millie had spent several minutes pounding my back, after taking the beer out of my hand.
When I could finally focus on my surroundings I realized that Millie was practically holding me up, and her body was pressed tightly against mine. I think I could feel a breast pressed against my side.
Inhaling ice cold beer into your lungs wasn’t any more fun the second time it happened than it had been the day before.
When Millie realized our two bodies were pressed tightly together she blushed (I think I did too), then took a step backward. We both, rather awkwardly, sat back down.
What Millie had said, just as I was taking a drink, was: “Mom, Alex Lynch just finished fucking me in the ass, then said you and I need to talk about all this guilt we are both carrying around.”
Millie didn’t say anything, just leaned over and picked up both our beers and handed me mine.
I couldn’t help but look when she leaned over and the loose sundress fell forward, revealing a snow white chest and the upper mounds of her breasts.
As Millie handed me my beer she caught me staring. I think we both blushed again, then each finished what was left of the beers.
“I’ll ... I’ll get us another one,” she finally said, breaking the prolonged silence.
“Did you know I was born on a farm?” she asked, once she returned with two beers.
I shook my head, “No,” not understanding what being born on a farm had to do with the direction our conversation had already taken.
“It wasn’t a huge farm, but my father raised and trained horses,” she continued. “I was the ultimate tomboy. I helped my father do everything around the farm.
“When Jenny ... when Jenny told me about you and her ... my first thought was to find either the sharpest, or maybe the dullest knife I could find and do to you what I had helped my father do many times on the farm.
“And that was to turn a stallion into a gelding!”
I didn’t even realize I had unconsciously, and instinctively, crossed my legs until Millie started laughing, then pointed at my crossed legs and said, “That isn’t necessary. I didn’t bring either a sharp or dull knife with me today.”
Again, her laugh was so infectious I couldn’t help but join her with my own laugh. True, it was a rather subdued laugh, but I still managed a laugh.
I also kept my legs crossed.
“Yesterday morning, as Jenny and I began talking, I cried for only the third time in over 20 years,” Millie said.
“I cried more than I thought it was possible to cry. And Jenny was crying along with me. We talked ... and cried ... for hours and hours.
“I had cried when my father died, back when I was 11. He had a massive heart attack. My mother hired a foreman to help run the farm. Mother was so overwhelmed with the responsibility of running the farm that whenever he asked her to sign some papers she just did. Usually without even reading what she was signing.
“One of those forms was a complete power of attorney, giving him permission to act as her agent.
“The next year we found out he had taken multiple loans, using the horses as collateral. Some of the horses had been used as collateral on as many as five different loans. He had also borrowed money against the farm itself.
“In just a year’s time he had drained every bank account, including all the savings mom and dad had accumulated. Mother owed well over a million dollars by the time she realized what was going on.
“I didn’t cry when we lost the farm. I didn’t cry when they came for my favorite horse. I didn’t cry when we had to move into a cheap apartment in town.
“My mother was used to always having money. I mean we weren’t rich, but we always had enough to never struggle. Now, we had nothing ... and a mountain of debt.
“Mom started drinking. The next year she remarried. Married a guy who drank even more than she did. By then I was 13. I didn’t cry the first time he raped me, just a few months after my 13th birthday. My mother was passed out drunk and didn’t even hear my screams.
“For the next two years I was raped over and over. I didn’t cry when he raped me anally. I mean there were tears because of the incredible pain, but I didn’t cry after.
“Four months after my 15th birthday, when I found out I was pregnant with his child and my mother kicked me out of the house ... I didn’t cry then either.
“She wouldn’t even listen when I tried to tell her it was his child and that he had been raping me for over two years. She called me a slut and a whore.
Marisol
- 16.12.2021
- 19
- 0
The Count of Monte CristoChapter 74 The Villefort Family Vault
- 1 year ago
- 75
- 0
The Real Stepford Wives Lizzie s Story
- 2 years ago
- 116
- 0
