“Sit over there,” the redhead told the little girl, who Rock assumed to be her sister. They didn’t look alike, though. Milky white cleavage matched the equally white skin on the redhead’s arms and legs whereas the little girl sported unruly dark hair and a less glaring complexion.
“Yes, kitty,” the child said.
“Kitty,” Rock said. “I’m talking to you.”
“I heard you. The name is Kat. The girl just refers to me as kitty.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
Kat looked up at Rock with a sparkle in her emerald eyes. A beautifully seductive smile spread across her face. She reached out to touch his arm. Fingertips drew lines from bicep to wrist, tracing hot rod flames.
“Sexy tats,” she said. “I want one.”
Rock sighed in frustration. “What would mommy and daddy think?”
“Mommy and Daddy don’t give a fuck.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
Her fingertips returned to his bicep, slipped under his Social Distortion T-shirt, and squeezed.
“Nice canvas,” Kat said.
The comment reminded him how much he enjoyed spreading colorful ink across pale young flesh. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d made an exception to his rule not to tattoo anyone underage.
“I’ll think about it. Come back after we open—if you don’t change your mind.”
“I’ll never change my mind. Besides …”
“Jesus Christ. Besides what?” Rock didn’t care for this teen bitch pulling his strings, but god damn it, he didn’t mind looking at her. She was built like a brick shithouse. He bet she could take a pounding and love every minute of it. Those damn nails clawing up and down his arms were getting to him …
“Besides, you wouldn’t want anyone stopping in while you’re tattooing my hip. I’ll need to lift my skirt, and I’m not wearing panties.”
Rock couldn’t believe the situation unfolding before him.
“How goddamned old are you anyway?”
“Old enough to know better, too young to care.”
At least she wanted a tat in an easy to conceal location.
“Can you pay? Tats don’t come cheap, you know.”
“No problem, big boy.”
“There are a couple stations in back, for tattooing and piercing in discreet locations.”
“Don’t want anyone else seeing my pussy, huh?”
Rock pointed in the direction of a black-curtained area.
“Just go.”
“Gladly.” Kat flashed a smile over a shoulder as she headed that way.
Rock followed and slid the curtain closed. “Now, what specifically do you want on your hip?”
“I want Lucifer’s Whore in cursive, right here.” She lifted her skirt to expose a nicely-trimmed thatch of burning red bush. She had a nice gap where her thighs didn’t touch and Rock wondered what it would be like to hop in her saddle.
“Lucifer’s Whore, huh? Ink doesn’t come off easy, you know.” He almost called her “little girl”, but this teen radiated “woman” like a bitch in heat releases a scent. He figured any woman who would get such a tattoo might be into a lot of fun fucking things. He said, “Black ink, I assume. Seventy-five bucks.” He’d typically do it for fifty but he’d feel better for trying to dissuade her on price.
“I don’t plan to pay with money,” she said with a smile, dropping to her knees.
“You can’t be serious.”
Her smile told him differently.
“I could be thrown in jail.”
She responded by unzipping his fly.
“What if your sister wanders back here?”
Kat flipped hair over her shoulder and shrugged and unfastened the button on his jeans.
“Damn, if you don’t want a tattoo really bad.”
She tugged down his jeans, along with the boxer briefs he wore, springing free his semi-erect cock.
“Nice,” she finally spoke. It was the first genuine thing to pass her flippant lips since walking through the door. The way she ran her tongue along its growing length seemed steeped in admiration but he didn’t buy it. Not with this bitch, but he succumbed to the fantasy.
Once slicked, his angled member slipped past her lips into her wet, wonderfully warm womanly oral entrance. He almost exploded instantly. Almost. But he longed to see what this chick could do. He soon discovered she could accommodate its entirety without shedding a tear. She sucked it while fondling his scrotum with magical fingertips before repeating the process with a tongue-teasingly new sensation. She sucked one testicle into her mouth, then the other, then both at once. For a brief time she stroked the shaft while sucking the head, but then opened her blouse to expose ripe, creamy melons. Not that they were large. They weren’t. But what they lacked in size they made up for in teenage perfection. Rock couldn’t help but touch them to test their firmness, and he couldn’t recall ever feeling a pair as nice as hers.
“Give it to me, stud. Give me your creamy fucking load.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. He spewed a mouthful and then she milked his cock until his come dribbled out over her lips. Somehow she managed to blow bubbles without spilling any more before swallowing the mouthful in one gulp. Then she licked clean her lips.
“Now, do me.”
She hiked up her skirt before slinking onto the tattoo chair. For a moment he thought she wanted him to eat her pussy—a very appealing thought. Would she taste like strawberries? She certainly smelled of them.
“Right here,” she reminded him with a black-painted fingernail to her hip.
He tucked his softening penis into his jeans, zipped up, and got down to business. After her approval of the stencil on her hip he started with the ink. The small tattoo wouldn’t take long. Staying focused, though, proved tough. His eyes kept wandering to her pretty pubic bush, blushing pussy lips, the sweet, sweet fold. How good might it taste? How wonderfully tight might it be if he buried himself inside her? He finished with the tattoo and instructed her on how to care for it during the healing process.
“You do excellent work,” Kat said.
Rock simply nodded his thanks.
“I’ll be stopping by for more ink.”
“Whatever,” he said, believing her parents might kill her before that happened.
She ignored the comment and instead pressed her supple body against his. Those breasts of hers felt sexy as hell against his body. Her hands grabbed his ass as she rose up on tippy-toes for a kiss. His response surprised him. He leaned into the kiss, and when her tongue pushed into his mouth, his own danced along with it.
“You should be leaving,” Rock said, ending the kiss.
Kat, whipping her hair, slung back the curtain. When she strutted toward the waiting room her buttocks made the short, tight schoolgirl uniform skirt do very interesting things.
“Meow,” the child greeted Kat. “Can I pet the kitty?”
“Time to leave. Take that doll out of your twat.”
“Yes, kitty.”
The front door opened as Kat and the child were leaving. Harvey, a biker who rented one of the tattooing stations from Rock, allowed the pair to exit before flipping the sign to Open.
Harvey said, “Who was that?”
“Hands off. If she comes in again, I’m the only one slinging ink on her canvas. Dig?”
“You got it, hoss.”
CHAPTER NINE
The folder containing Amanda’s algebra homework slipped into her backpack. The assignment, which she didn’t find difficult, had taken about twenty-five minutes to complete. Before that she had read a chapter in the Healthy Living textbook for health class. Now all that remained was to double-check her assignments online, an entirely compulsive habit she had formed, but also an excuse to check for messages on the Monarch Prep portal. There was only one problem. The thought of using the computer made Amanda anxious. What if another pornographic image popped up on screen? The image from the night before, st
ill seared on her retinas, flashed before her eyes: a girl not more than a year older than her, legs split open as she sat atop one faceless man, another faceless man wedging his penis along with the other man’s into her vagina. The sight, to Amanda, defied physics, caused imagined physical and obvious mental anguish to her.
What if a similar image sprang up while checking messages? Amanda didn’t want to see such filth, and feared if caught by Mr. or Mrs. Henning with such an image on the screen … Well, she didn’t want to take that risk.
But she really wanted to check her inbox. And besides, eventually she would need to go online. Amanda knew if she didn’t face her fears they would simply fester into something much worse.
So, after taking a deep breath, she forced leaden feet to carry her into the study, where she brought the computer to life with a sweep of the mouse. She logged in and sent a reply to Pammy about needing bus fare for their trip the following day, without incident. Amanda was logging off when Mrs. Henning came into the room.
“Amanda, I need you downstairs to help with dinner.”
“Yes, Mrs. Henning.”
“You too, Amy,” she said, loud enough for Amy to hear her in the next room.
“Aw, Mom.”
“Now, please.”
“Oh, okay.”
Amanda reminded Amy to wash her hands first, and then they went downstairs to the kitchen. A variety of vegetables filled a colander.
“Amanda,” Mrs. Henning said, “we’ll be having meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and salad for dinner. You can manage with Amy helping you, correct? You’ve helped me cook meatloaf dinner before.”
“Yes, ma’am, we have. No worries, we can do it.”
“Wonderful. Amy, you wash the vegetables. Listen to what Amanda tells you. She will be in charge.”
“Can I squish the meatloaf with my fingers?”
“Yes, but you must pay special attention not to cross-contaminate the other food. Be mindful of the counter tops. Amanda, make sure she doesn’t contaminate the salad.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Henning. We’ll be very sanitary.”
“You’re such a blessing, child.” Mrs. Henning took a drink of her red wine, then refilled it. She removed her apron, folded it, and set it aside. “I’m expecting visitors and I want no disruptions. Understood?”
“Understood. No disruptions. We can handle dinner, right, Amy?”
Amy’s pigtails bounced as she nodded enthusiastically. She began washing vegetables in the sink while Amanda got the ingredients for meatloaf from the refrigerator. Mrs. Henning was sitting at the breakfast nook drinking wine when the doorbell rang.
“No disruptions,” Mrs. Henning reminded them on her way to answer the door. Her wine glass went with her.
Amanda, intent on the task at hand, didn’t pay much attention to the voices coming from the foyer, but could tell it was two males.
A few minutes later the voices went silent, followed by the sound of footsteps going up stairs. A little odd, yes, but Amanda didn’t think much of it. Amy started to hum as she worked and Amanda focused on adding an egg to the mix. She set a pot of water on the stove to boil for the potatoes, when she heard sounds emanating from upstairs.
Although Amanda had never heard such sounds before, she knew immediately what they were. Sex. Amanda couldn’t believe her ears. Mrs. Henning was upstairs having sex with two men? One of the male voices sounded younger than the other. Very young, actually. And they hadn’t wasted any time getting down to business.
Amanda nervously attempted to conceal the sounds from Amy by starting conversation.
“How was school today?”
“You know. School is school.”
Shucks. The one time Amy chose not to be talkative.
“Okay, shut off the water, let’s switch,” Amanda told Amy. “I’ll chop veggies.”
“Okay.”
The upstairs voices weren’t loud, but in addition to the sound of slapping bodies and a creaking bed, Amanda heard the following:
“Suck it, bitch.”
“Watch that nasty slut go.”
“Shut up and fuck me.”
Was one man copulating with Mrs. Henning while she orally pleased the other? A reasonable assumption. As if that didn’t make Amanda queasy enough, the thought of the two switching positions made her ill. And what about Mr. Henning? A glance at the microwave clock revealed a half hour remained before he typically arrived home from work. Goodness gracious, why was she concerned about the potential discovery of Mrs. Henning’s promiscuity? Why would her foster mother do such a thing in the first place? And who were these men, anyway? Imagine, to do such a thing when you are married to a handsome, successful man such as Mr. Henning, and right under his nose. Under her own daughter’s nose, who, thank goodness, hadn’t noticed what was going on.
The whole situation made Amanda sick to her stomach. She started to talk to Amy just to block out the sounds from upstairs but couldn’t.
“Give it to me, stud. Give it to me.”
Amy humming.
Chop, chop, chop.
“Want me to drop potatoes into the water?”
“No, the water is hot. I’ll do it. Wash your hands.”
Amanda’s own hands trembled slightly and her eyes kept cutting to the clock. She wished the men upstairs would finish.
“We should have something for dessert,” Amy said. “I’ll go ask Mom.”
“No. You will do no such thing.”
“But I want …”
“There is plenty of time to ask later.” Or so she hoped. “Besides, there’s ice cream in the freezer.”
Amy smiled.
“Set the table, please,” Amanda said, knowing that Amy always made a lot of noise when she set the table. Amanda formed the meatloaf in a pan and placed it in the preheated oven. Then she dropped diced potatoes into boiling water. She didn’t want to screw up dinner, not with tomorrow’s plans with Pammy hanging in the balance. So far, so good. Now all she needed to do was wait.
“Can I go play now?” Amy asked.
“No, you may not.”
Amy huffed. “What’s left?”
Amanda thought of a few things to occupy Amy. The last thing she wanted was Amy going upstairs and finding out what her mother was doing. She also didn’t want her throwing a wrench in her plans. Ten minutes later Amanda, helping Amy empty the kitchen wastebasket, heard footsteps descending the stairs.
“Take this to the garage and put it in the garbage can,” Amanda told Amy.
“Aw.”
Amanda, pretending to busy herself around the dining room table, spied Mrs. Henning’s visitors. A balding business man carrying a suit jacket and a guy not much older than herself. The younger guy, combing fingers through damp hair, wore black nylon shorts and gray T-shirt. Mrs. Henning straightened her dress before saying, “Later, boys. It’s been fun.”
Amanda dry heaved and returned to the kitchen.
“Job well done, girls,” Mrs. Henning said, her cue to dismiss Amy and Amanda. She fanned her flushed face with a hand. “I’ll call you when the potatoes are ready, Amanda.”
“Yes, Mrs. Henning,” Amanda said, rushing out of the room nearly as fast as Amy. She doubted she would be able to eat a bite of dinner.
* * *
Amanda placed a dollop of mashed potatoes on her plate beside a thin slice of meatloaf, planning to skip the gravy.
“Go ahead, Amanda,” Mr. Henning said, “have more mashed potatoes. There are plenty.”
“No, thank you. I’m not very hungry.” She stared at the unappetizing food, unable to look anyone in the eye. She didn’t know how she would manage to clear her plate.
“Are you feeling well? You aren’t catching a cold, are you?”
“If you miss school,” Mrs. Henning added, “you won’t be allowed to go with your friend tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Amy, smothering her food in brown gravy, said, “Maybe she’s catching the flu.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Amanda said, wishing for a change of topic.
“Are you sure you want a part-time job?” Mr. Henning asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“You could attend college. A smart girl such as yourself wouldn’t have a problem being accepted to State.”
“Or elsewhere, for that matter,” Mrs. Henning added.
Amanda imagined another two to four years of ties to the Henning family if she followed a path to college. She said, “I’ll probably attend college in a couple of years.” And she probably would. “But I don’t know yet what I want to do, what I should study. I think I should experience the real world first.”
“Understood,” Mr. Henning said.
Amanda picked at her food while Amy shared an anecdote about school. Amanda’s stomach protested against every bite. A quick glance up from her plate showed Mr. Henning oblivious to the indiscretion of his wife, and Mrs. Henning sickeningly carrying on as if nothing had happened. She’d had sex with two men. One, a boy nearly Amanda’s age. Gross!
“Where do you plan to job hunt?” Mr. Henning asked, drawing Amanda back into the conversation.
“Pammy—she’s the one I’m going with—Pammy said she was taking me to old downtown Overland Park. She says there are always places hiring there. Plus, it’s not far. Or so Pammy says.”
“Pammy says.” Mr. Henning smiled.
Amanda glanced down at her plate and then back up again. “Yes. Pamela. She’s all right.”
“She wears a black dress, doesn’t she?”
“Yes she does.”
Amanda feared the conversation might lead into Pammy is a bad influence territory but Mr. Henning didn’t go there.
“No, it isn’t far. But how do you plan to get there?”
“Pammy said we can take the bus.”
“The Jo stops there. Do you have bus fare?”
“Yes, sir.” Amanda paused. “I … I have the money but …”
“But you wanted your allowance early, right?” Mr. Henning typically paid allowance on Friday, after work.
“Um … Is that okay?”
“Sure. You’ve been doing a great job around the house. We’re very proud of you. I’ll give it to you after dinner.”
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