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.. And don't come here again." Now mister. That's not very neighborly of you. We just wanna see our daughter, this bein' Thanksgiving. Isn't that what parents are for?" Not in your case-and you're not neighbors. If you're not out of here right now, my wife will be on the phone to the sheriff. You can spend the rest of the weekend elsewhere, or in jail. I really don't give a damn, as long as it is away from here." You'll regret this," the man blustered, as he and the woman retreated from the porch."I don't see how," Ad retorted, closing and latching the door.While Ad had been dealing with them, and Hazel packing food, Adoré had gone to Denise's room."Are they still here?" she asked, fearfully."Yes, but Ad won't let them in." I hope not. They're evil, Dory. Evil... Mom held me down... while he raped me... when I was a virgin. Two nights later, I lay awake listening to the screams while he did the same to my sister. He's never worked a day since he moved in with mom. He lives on. By this time I had no idea if I had an audience or not. I could not take it any longer. My pussy was buzzing with desire. My bed was soaked with juices. I opened my eyes and glanced out the window, into the street below. Business as usual. Taxi cabs, busses, pedestrians. No one looked up to see me in all my glory. It was time. I shoved the vibrator up to the hilt and put it on the highest setting. Pulling it in and out with one hand, I played with my clit with the other. My nerve endings were entirely raw from a day of teasing and feeling myself. I was on the verge of a huge orgasm. It started building up from the tips of my toes. I started moaning out loud, once again oblivious to the street below me. I felt the tickle, the buildup, the anticipation coming up my body, taking over my mind and my senses. I opened my eyes. I was going to cum. I was so close and it was so strong that I couldn’t stop it if I tried. I glanced down at my hand playing with my clit, and out of the corner.
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~~~~At the inn, Mrs. James greeted us with a bruised forehead and her arm in a sling.“Are you all right?” I asked. “What happened?”“Just a little tumble dear. While I was getting groceries. It’s only bruises and a strained arm. The doctor said I’ll be fine.”“That’s terrible. Is there anything I can do for you?”“No dear. But I’m afraid I can’t cook tonight. Maybe for the rest of the week. But don’t worry. There’s a lovely restaurant in town. You can eat there.”“But it is forty-five minutes each direction,” said Charlotte. “Inacceptable.”I said, “Mrs. James, did you get all your groceries?”“Oh yes. They’re in my van.”“Then why don’t we cook? You show us where everything is. I’ll bring in the groceries.”“No, dear. You’re guests. I can’t make you cook.”“Oh, I want to. I cook for myself at home. And what else is there to do here at night?”In horrendous French, I said to Charlotte, “Est-ce acceptable pour vous?”She protested that we were not licensed food service workers.“Who’s gonna know?.

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