242 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
242 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
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| *** DISCLAIMER *** |
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| This is a story of pure fiction. Any resemblance to persons |
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| living or dead, incidents real or imagined, places real or |
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| imagined, is purely coincidental. |
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| IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, DO NOT READ FURTHER. |
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| No part of this story may be reproduced on any media of any |
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| kind without the written permission of the author. |
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- 6 -
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Steven was certainly not a five-star chef. Maybe three.
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Definitely two. But the roast chicken was tender and moist and the
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vegetables were... Well, it was a delicious meal. We all sat around
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the same table, but we were all in our separate, protected worlds. It
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was hard for me to reconcile my feelings of dislike for the demure
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little 12-year-old boy who kept trying to force himself on Zoe.
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Zoe. She scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes and held it in
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front of her face. She studied the billowy white mound the same way
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we used to look at clouds and find the shapes of things in them. She
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parted her lips and allowed her tongue to worm its way out. It
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caressed the top of the potatoes. She looked at me. Why was she
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always so curious to know if I was watching her?
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"I'm done," proclaimed Peter. "I'm going to my room."
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"Peter. Wait 'til..." But Steven's words were lost as Peter
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jumped up and raced out. Zoe didn't even glance in his direction.
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Still locked on to my eyes, she let her tongue scoop up a tiny glob of
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potato. She drew it part way into her mouth. Her tongue pressed the
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little white bump against the bottom of her upper lip. She rubbed the
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potatoes back and forth until they became creamy and wet. She pulled
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her tongue all the way in and now rubbed her lips together. The
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potatoes became wetter and creamier and they started to drip from her
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mouth.
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Suddenly, she came to and scooped the wet mess around her lips into
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her mouth. She smacked her lips loudly.
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"Zoe," exclaimed Steven. "Manners."
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Her eyes darted to Steven for an instant, then back to me. She
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swept the remaining potatoes from the fork with her lips.
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"Eat the lima beans."
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"I hate them."
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"They're good for you."
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"They taste... weird."
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"I'll get more milk," said Steven. He tossed his napkin on the
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table and headed for the kitchen.
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I looked at Zoe. She stared at her plate. She poked at the lima
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beans with her fork. She started to arrange them in little rows. I
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felt sorry for her. Sorry in so many ways. I reached out my hand
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toward her.
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"Give me your plate," I urged. She looked at me like I had two
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asparagus stalks sticking out of my nostrils. "C'mon. I'll help."
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So she passed me her plate, still not certain what I intended. I
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heard the refrigerator door slam in the kitchen. Zoe looked quickly
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in that direction. I scraped all but two beans onto my plate then
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handed back her plate. She adjusted its position and stabbed one of
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the limas with her fork just as Steven returned with a glass of cold
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milk.
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Steven set the glass in front of Zoe. He looked at her plate and
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smiled. "See. That wasn't so bad now. Was it?"
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As Steven took his seat, Zoe held up her fork. The little green
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lima perched on the end of it. Steven sighed. "All right. You don't
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have to finish them. You did fine."
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I started to eat Zoe's lima beans. She watched me. I held up each
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forkful for her to appreciate and she smiled at every one. She
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giggled silently each time I slipped my fork into my mouth and
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withdrew it clean. Watching her reaction, the way she pulled her
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shoulders up to her neck, the knowing twinkle in her eyes, made the
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beans the best I'd ever eaten.
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-+-
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Steven stirred the fire to life again. The heat from the fireplace
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radiated into the room making everything warm. It was quite dark now
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and I was beginning to wonder what was going to happen next. Steven
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turned my way and pointed the poker at me.
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"Zoe invited you, so you're welcome to stay."
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"Thank you," I managed. I looked around. "If it's not a bother.
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Is there enough room? I mean, bedrooms. Are there enough bedrooms?"
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"We'll manage. We always do."
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We always do. What did that mean? Steven hadn't smiled when he
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confirmed Zoe's invitation. Was I no longer welcome? Had I somehow
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behaved inappropriately? Were they, was he, expecting me to be a
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certain kind of person? I wasn't sure what to say. But just then it
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didn't matter any more. The slapping sound of tiny feet on wood grew
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louder and louder. Zoe breezed in.
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She wore frilly panties and a hip-length nightgown that was nicely
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translucent. She danced around the room, arms outstretched. She
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twirled around and around.
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"Someone catch me. Hurry." And she started to fall backwards. I
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got to my feet and was about to run to her, but Steven was there and
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caught her just before she hit the floor. How could she be that
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confident, that trusting? Steven hugged her and swung her around.
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Her legs flew out. She squealed with delight. He set her down and
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she walked like a drunken sailor over to the sofa where I was sitting.
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She came around behind me and threw her arms around my neck.
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"Can I call you Uncle Alan?"
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I was surprised. I looked at Steven. He sat in what seemed to be
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his chair and read a newspaper. He smiled and didn't seem to mind.
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"That would be nice," I was able to choke out. Zoe squeezed my
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neck harder and kissed the back of my head. Then she let go and
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climbed onto the back of the sofa. She rode it like a horse.
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"Is it time yet," Zoe asked Steven?
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Steven looked at his watch. "Five minutes. I'll turn it on."
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Steven walked to the TV set and brought it to life. Zoe turned to
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me. "Wilson vs. Jones. Featherweight. I like featherweight the
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best."
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"What?"
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"Featherweight. Boxing. Don't you like boxing? I absolutely
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adore boxing."
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So, did I tell her that violence was not particularly appealing to
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me? Especially after watching the way Peter treated her. How could
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this delicate, ethereal thing adore, she said adore, anything like
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boxing.
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Zoe lay down along the top of the sofa, her head just touching my
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shoulder. She turned so her cheek rested on the fabric and she could
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see the TV screen.
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"Where's Peter," asked Steven?
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"Upstairs. Sulking. As usual," answered Zoe.
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But now the TV screen flickered and the announcers and logos
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confirmed what Zoe had said. This was the fight. A cable exclusive.
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How exciting. The introductions, the cheers and boos, the
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instructions, and the fight was underway. Zoe watched with a strange
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fascination. Her eyes widened each time a punch landed on somebody.
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I kept shifting my gaze from her, to the fight, and back to her.
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Steven could have cared less. He was engrossed in his paper.
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"Three fifty. How can they sell a lens like that for only three
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fifty? I paid sixteen hundred for the same thing."
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"What," I managed?
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"Three fifty. Third-world manufacturing. Nowhere near the quality
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but a quarter of the price. And no one knows any better. 'Til they
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see the prints." And he read on, flipping to a new page.
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On the TV, the fight continued. It was getting brutal. One
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of the opponents was taking a real beating. But now my attention was
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drawn to Zoe again. She was breathing hard. Her little ass was
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squirming around. She had slipped her hand under her and down into
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her panties. She was fingering herself as she watched the fight. The
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fighting was turning her on. Really turning her on. She began to
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moan lightly.
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A round ended. She seemed disappointed. She would have been happy
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to see the fight go on and on until one or both contenders collapsed.
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I felt a mixture of anger and disappointment. Why was this beautiful
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child so wrapped up in violence? Where did it come from? I wanted to
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take her in my arms and kiss all the hate away.
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Then he came downstairs. He wore only pajama bottoms. Dinner and
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a brief rest did nothing to change Peter. He was still the same
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arrogant little kid who first burst into the living room this
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afternoon. He strode right over to Zoe as another round started on
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the TV. He grabbed her legs and pulled her down the top of the sofa
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toward him.
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"Quit it!"
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"Quit it. Quit it. Quit it," mimicked Peter. He thrust his hand
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up under one of Zoe's panty legs, pushing her hand out of the way.
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He began to finger her. She tried to pull away.
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"Stop it!"
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"Peter. Don't bug your cousin."
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"You were waiting for me to come down. I know it."
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"You don't know anything."
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I inhaled to speak, but I had no idea what I was going to say.
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But then Peter swung his leg over Zoe and, in an instant, was on top
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of her. She squealed. She tried to buck him off but it only served
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to get him even more excited. She tried to reach behind her and hit
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him but couldn't turn far enough. Every move she made turned him on.
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And once again I was powerless. Steven just sat there and read his
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paper. I watched the fights. The one on TV. The one between Zoe
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and Peter. Even through his pajamas, I could see that Peter had quite
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an erection. He was rubbing himself along the tight crack in Zoe's
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little ass, just like he did in the water. This time he made no
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attempt at subtlety. Steven didn't seem to mind. I was confused.
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I decided right then that I would somehow get her away from this
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place. No matter what. I lived alone. I wasn't responsible to
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anyone. I had nothing to lose, and Zoe had everything to gain.
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"Yes!" I yelled and pounded the sofa with my fist. Peter,
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startled, fell off Zoe and onto the sofa cushions. Everyone stopped
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and looked at me. I was embarrassed. Zoe propped herself up on her
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elbows. Her little nightgown had been pushed halfway up her back.
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Her panties were damp from Peter's rubbing and clung to her ass. Yes,
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I would rescue Zoe. I just had to pick my moment.
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* * *
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------------------------- (End of Chapter 6) -------------------------
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------------ (Comments, pro or con, are always welcome) --------------
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