Her vision took it in, her mind absorbed the view, but what happened next came so suddenly as to blot out evaluation other than the immediate one of who and where she was, and who had caught her nakedly entwined with a man like this. Her mother stood up from behind the concealing shrubbery, and a whole new picture of the depraved scene presented itself to shock the teenager almost insensate. Her mother wasn't standing in gaped-eyed horror at her daughter's lewdness, ready to bolt in tear-filled disgust – she was tottering in shame, holding a pair of wet, pink panties in her hand, her face blanched the color of white flour and her expression that of shame and humiliation!
Wendy's whole chest and throat felt as if a steel band was being tightened, for she tried to speak, but couldn't. She was immobile, held rigid by uncomprehending, tormenting, disbelief, but as the bushes parted and her mother started slowly across the small distance of sand to her, she saw for the first time exactly what the whole, filthy situation was like, and, in total disillusionment, the force of pent-up air inside her burst forth: "Mother!"
"Wendy!" The wail sounded as if coming from the death-bed of a terminal patient in the last agonies of pain, and Marleen Franklin crossed toward Wendy and Preston the way a condemned man is led to the gallows – without a choice, but devoutly wishing there was one…
The stunned daughter stared wildly at the rumpled dress and ivory, naked thighs and the long rivulets of sperm which were staining trickles of consummated intercourse down the insides of her legs… and if there had been any doubt in Wendy's mind as to what had been going on, it was dispelled by the naked torso of Clyde Brooks behind her, crouched on the ground, his drained young penis rapidly deflating, but still hard enough and glistening enough to show the traces of what he'd been doing to her mother. In that instant, Wendy realized that her mother had just been fucked by her boyfriend while spying on her and David! It was impossible but true! She couldn't ignore the facts, and the facts made her fling herself from the older man she'd been fucking, her face drained of blood and her soul surging with loathing and horror.
Her own mother! That was the horrible part, for such a decadent act as this was to be expected from such a boy as Clyde – but it was her prudish, Victorian mother, that pillar of do-goodism and purity, that she couldn't control the unreasoning anger which seized her, and emitting an animal-like growl of disgust, and vengeance, she cried out: "Whore!"
Marleen staggered from the blow of castigation, flinging an arm across her eyes. "Wendy, please Wendy…"
"Don't talk to me! Don't say one word of explanation!" the girl shrieked, her emotions swirling in her head, "You're nothing but a nympho!"
"Oh God," Marleen moaned, sinking to the sand, unable to make her feet go a step further to her daughter. This was the final point of no return. No longer could she hope to hold her darling child in her lap and cuddle her, or warmly and tenderly give her advice, or offer her security or mothering; tears flooded down her dress from the soul-sickness and self-loathing with filled her, and she shook as if infected with yellow fever from the knowledge that she had lost her daughter by the betrayal of her body and the moral turpitude that she'd allowed to blank her mind. Her guilt had been bad enough the night before, but then she'd been alone and could make adjustments – but now, this time it wasn't in private, it was in front of two men and Wendy, and she knew that she was sick, no better than the whore her daughter spat as an accusation.
"What the hell are you so upset about, Wendy?" Preston said, still sprawled on the sand and grinning a knowing smirk. At first he'd been as afraid as Wendy, but having adjudged the situation, realized that the mother had been fucking right along with them, he was feeling damned good. He was safe, and perhaps he could turn things around now and score with Marleen, making a mother-daughter combination out of things… "I mean it, little one," he said as Wendy turned to stare incredulously at him. "What was your mother doing that you weren't?"
"That's different!" she yelled hotly, standing naked and wet, but defiantly with her small fists clenched to her firm, smooth hips. For Wendy was being ruled by hurt and pride, determined to believe that what had happened to her was somehow, some way all her mother's fault, refusing to admit to herself in the heat of the moment that any blame could be attached to her or that there was the slightest excuse for her mother's actions. And again, the closeness which had tied her and her mother so strongly since her father's death had instilled an image of her in Wendy's mind that no human being could possibly live up to, and a love which bordered on adoration – the combination once so binding was now reversed, and the girl was enraged and bitter with the feeling of having been betrayed.
"Sure it is," Clyde said snidely, coming over. He, too, was now enjoying the scene. It was the perfect aftermath to his revenge, and after seeing that the older man wasn't the least bit concerned about covering himself or trying to stammer out some stupid reason for having fucked the girl, he saw that where once the two females might have caused him and the man untold damage – legally and socially – now the tables had been turned. And Wendy had been the one to do it, with her stuck-up, snotty bitchiness; he didn't want Mrs. Franklin to suffer however, and only wanted to make things more difficult for the daughter, so he sneered at Wendy, contemptuous of her facade of righteous indignation. He ogled her outrageous stance, the sticky cum from Preston's many orgasms plastered to her pubic curls and alabaster skin, her nipples still hard from their arousal and wet from their many kissings, and her firm, tender body which was covered with the prints of the strong hands which had gripped her.
"You're a fine one to talk, you little prick-teaser," he snarled. "Wouldn't let me fuck you last night, but you sure loved it here with this guy. So what makes you Miss Snow-White when you find out that your mom isn't any saint? It's not different at all."
"You…" Wendy was beside herself with fury. "You bastard! Don't you dare talk to me like that! I could kill you!"
"What for?" Preston asked calmly, looking up. "Why should you want to kill him?"
"For… For…" the girl gasped, choking. She waved her hands at her mother. "For this!"
"Mm," the man said, pursing his lips. "Would this be your boyfriend you were telling me about? Clyde?"
"He's no boyfriend of mine!"
"But he was fucking your mother, and now you want to kill him."
A low moan of agony bubbled from Marleen's lips and she sobbed in a limp heap on the sand in a futile effort to cover her shame.
"Yes!" Wendy snapped at Preston, "for fucking my mother!"
"In that case, doesn't your mother have the right to kill me first? Weren't we fucking before they were? Well? Aren't you naked, caught in the act? You call your mother a whore and a nymphomaniac, but if that's true, aren't you the same?"
"But she's my mother!" Wendy cried out, shaken by the onslaught of the two males. "Was she horrified that her daughter was being practically raped? No! She got turned on and ended up rutting like some beast, like a bitch with your damned dog, only with a boy half her age! That's the difference, Mr. Preston!"