Story: Jenny and Mother


Posted by romantic on November 15, 2000 at 16:49:17:

Jenny and Mother (with apologies to Alfred Hitchcock)

: Rom and his mother ran a motel on the edge of the desert. Rom had never married. Whenever a woman had entered his life, his mother had ruined the relationship with her nastiness and guilt-tripped rom that "she wasn't good enough."
It was a clear summer evening when jenny arrived at the motel after driving south for ten straight hours, fleeing a failed romance. She was tired and vulnerable, but felt suddenly comfortable at hearing Rom's gentle voice and the pleasant smile that spread his dark beard up toward his cheeks. For his part, Rom looked Jenny over, literally from head to toe. Her silky blonde hair, bleached nearly white by the sun framed her tanned face that featured eyes as blue as the desert sky and little-girlish dimples. The straps of her white sun dress hung loosely on golden shoulders, revealing the lacy top of her bra. Rom followed the line with his eye around her small round breasts and lower. Such a slender girl -- perhaps twenty, perhaps still a teenager; what was she doing on the road by herself? Rom's eye travelled lower and saw thick-soled purple thong sandals on her small, perfectly shaped feet. Tiny flakes of purple glitter sparkled on her toenails and a simple silver ring adorned the second toe of her right foot. She was, by all Rom's standards, a beautiful woman. As Rom opened the door of Jenny's room, their eyes met and something unspoken and pre-ordained was made manifest. Mother saw the look as well.
"It's pretty much the middle of nowhere here," Rom said. "Care to join me for supper?"
Jenny didn't think a second before answering. "If it's no trouble. Just let me clean up first."
"I'll run into town and get a bottle of wine. If you need anything, just ask Mother. Don't take it personally if she's not real friendly. She doesn't have much use for lovely young women who distract me." He chuckled and turned toward his car.

Jenny shut the door and drew the blinds. "Lovely young woman...mmmmm" she whispered to herself, kicking off her sandals and unzipping her dress. She removed the dress, her bra and panties and flung herself on the bed. She rolled onto her back and spread her legs wide. Suddenly she knew she would do whatever he wanted of her. After dinner he would walk her back to the room. She would invite him in. She thought of the first moments of intimacy that she always cherished: the first touch of lips, of tongues. The moment when she would undo his pants, slide her hand down them and feel soft, warm flesh turn to hard, hot passion beneath her slender fingers. She rolled over again and raised her ass in the air. "Take me..." she whispered and laughed.
In this frame of mind, Jenny ran the shower. She wanted to feel and smell her sexiest for later that night. She looked at her nude body in the mirror -- a mite scrawny, she thought; but she remebered his gaze.... As the warm water ran over her she soaped her breastes, her ass, between her legs, drifting in an erotic reverie. Suddenly, someone thrust open the shower curtain. Jenny hoped for a second it was Rom come back to surprise her, but she looked up to see an old woman weilding a huge kitchen knife, which immediately flashed downwards into Jenny's right breast. Before she could even scream, the knife rose again and again plunged into the other breast. In rapid succession, two more slashes, one at each breast. Jenny screamed and raised her hands to protect herself. Mother lowered the knife and this time slashed upward, between Jenny's legs. The pain was more searing than any Jenny had ever known and she began to weep. Her attacker continued in earnest, plunging the knife into Jenny's abdomen, ripping her ovaries, destroying her womb. Jenny was sobbing now, wishing each blow could be the last and that death would end her pain. Jenny reached out and grabbed the shower curtain as Mother struck one final blow, upward under Jenny's left breast and into her heart. The force of the blow kept Jenny standing even though she was now dead. The shower washed the oozing blood form her ripped tits as the old woman withdrew the knife and left the room. Jenny's body drooped to its knees, pulling the shower curtain down with her. She slumped forward over the edge of the tub, her tear-stained cheek resting on the cool tiles of the floor, eyes staring, mouth open as if to say "why?" The shower continued to run, washing a torrent of Jenny's life blood from the top of the tub around the feeble dam of her sad, beautiful bare feet and down the drain.
TO BE CONTINUED