John Palcewski (forioscribe) wrote,
John Palcewski

I Couldn't Speak

Carla had a very curious mannerism. When she talked to me, she’d smile, and turn her head slightly, and look down to the right. It was as if she needed to keep me at a distance. And I felt distanced even when I was violently thrusting my cock deep inside her, as deep as I could get. Christ! Did she have any idea how erotic it was to hear her whisper, “Do me any way you want, John. I don’t mind.”

She didn’t mind, but she wasn’t ever fully into it either. I never saw her break a sweat, I never heard her breathing hard, or whimpering, or anything like that. She may have wanted some kind of a relationship with me, but then at the same time she never actually defined it. She never said we were going steady. Or that we’ve got something going here. No, none of that. So I just took it one day at a time.

I liked it when she’d strut around the living room in her flimsy see-through shortie nightgown, black silk hose,  and Beth’s red come-fuck-me-pumps, and strike provocative poses by the piano. Like she saw in the magazines.

“Do you think I’m sexy?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” I replied. “I like it very much. Now come here you little Jezabel!”

Around midnight I’d walk from the barracks over to the base housing area, and creep in the back door, and slip into her bedroom, and she’d be there under the covers, ready for me. Naked, moist, and fragrant from one of her long hot baths. And I’d lie beside her and caress her small, firm breasts, and slip my fingers into her tight little cunt, and then I’d enter her and quietly pound away, not wanting Leon or Beth to hear. I never took any of this for granted. I was always aware of how lucky I was to have stumbled into this….situation.

Then one afternoon out of the blue Leon announced he had some important news. About Carla and one Captain Jack Murphy, a friend of his from back in his cadet days at Lackland AFB. A few weeks ago by coincidence Murphy showed up at The Embers in Amarillo, and of course Leon invited him to join them at dinner. The Captain was utterly captivated by Carla, no big surprise there, eh? They met again for drinks at the club, and one thing led to another.

Just two dates later Captain Murphy formally asked Leon for Carla’s hand in marriage. Leon said he’d be delighted to have him join his family, although considering his age it would be kind of ridiculous to call him “son.”

Having gotten Leon’s blessing, Captain Murphy then put the issue to Carla. He explained he was in the position to provide her a very comfortable life, inasmuch as he intended to resign his commission and take over his ailing father’s lucrative high-end real estate business in Kalamazoo, Michigan.

After thinking it over for a half hour, Carla accepted.

Leon told me that he liked Captain Murphy’s old fashioned approach in seeking his permission before formally proposing to Carla. Leon also appreciated the Captain’s frankness.

“I am drawn to your daughter because she’s beautiful,” Murphy told Leon, “but most especially because I have been looking all my life for a girl who is….shall we say, malleable.”

Leon grinned. “Now that’s a particularly astute choice of words, don’t you think, John?”

What a crock of shit! I thought. But I nodded. “Yes, sir, it sure is.”

Carla was scheduled to pack her bags and catch a flight to join the Captain in Kalamazoo at the end of the month. But, she informed me, that did not mean I should stop coming to the house, as usual. “I like you a lot,” she said. “Let’s just pretend that I’m not leaving. Let’s just pretend things are just like they were before. Okay?”

What could I say?

We had the house to ourselves for the weekend. Leon and Beth were in Dallas for something or other. “Let’s party,” Carla said. She poured us half glasses of Smirnoff Blue Label, straight up, no ice.

“You’re way too tense, John. Relax for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m trying,” I said.

She put her drink on the coffee table. Reached over and unzipped my fly. Bent down and took me deep into her mouth. In half a minute I was swooning, groaning, falling backward off a mile high cliff.

Carla wiped her mouth with my shirt tail, and laughed. “Men,” she said, then took my glass and rose. I pulled her back. “I’ll pour the drinks this time.”

“Let’s get shitfaced,” she said.
“Whatever you say, babe.”
“I’ve got something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” she said. “A terrible secret.”
“NO, I mean a really terrible secret.”
“Can’t be that bad.”
“You have no fucking clue, John.”
“Let’s fuck.”
“No. Let’s talk first.”

You think the world of Mr. Fancypants, don’t you, she said. He’s your big hero. Your commanding officer. Big-shot navigator. But I’ve got some news for you, cowboy. When I was 10 he came into my bedroom in the middle of the night. He said it was time for me to learn about the birds and the bees. And the best way was not to tell me, but to SHOW me. He took my hand and put it on his cock. His big stiff cock. Don’t look so shocked, John. He showed me how to stroke his big stiff cock, faster and faster, until he came. Then he rubbed his goo on my cunt. Slipped his gooey fingers into my cunt. He got hard again. Slipped that big hard cock into my little cunt. He’s been fucking me for the past six years.

“That can’t be.”
“You’re callng me a liar?”
“I can’t imagine you lying, and at the same time I can’t imagine him doing that to you. I just can’t wrap my mind around this. It’s too much.”
“Wake up, John. Your hero, my so-called father, is a sick, twisted pervert. Guess why my sister Karen is in a fucking mental hospital.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“That’s right. He began fucking her on her 10th birthday. More of his educational program. Karen was fragile, so she snapped. I didn’t.”

I said nothing. I couldn’t comprehend it.

“Why do you think I’m gonna marry that asshole Captain Murphy? Come on, genius. Just guess.”

I shook my head.

“He’s rich. My ticket out of here and away from the pervert, forever.”

I couldn’t speak.

“By the way, I know all about that malleable thing, too. I heard the pervert telling you. We’ll see who’s malleable. They’ll both find out soon enough, the bastards.”

“I don’t know what to say.”
“Fuck you. Don’t say anything, you sorry sack of shit.”

She drained her glass, then stumbled to the liquor cabinet and brought the vodka bottle. We drank. And drank.

A blur of slurred words, shouts. I don’t know what I said that set her off. She hauled off and slapped me, hard. “You fucking hypocrite,” she hissed. Flecks of spit came flying out of her mouth. “You aren’t any better than he is.” She slapped me again. I grabbed her wrists. She struggled. She kicked my shins. I pushed her back, pinned her beneath me. She squirmed, pushed, growled fiercely like an animal.

It just happened. Automatically. I reached down, and literally ripped off her thin cotton panties, and I mounted her, and fucked her, fucked her, fucked her. I kept fucking her, I couldn’t stop. Her hair was tangled and her face was smudged lipstick red, and wet with tears and spit.

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