Teresa’s Torture!

This is about the strange incident which began Mum’s continued cuckoldry. I’d like to write and tell you the story of her first prostitution, which will be mentioned in other stories. This is when she originally committed adultery, by selling herself sexually, in the 80’s. It is about a certain underground film that was made. I can describe it, now I’ve seen it, and I’d like to tell you all about it.

When I was just 18, Dad was in heavy debt through his own mismanagement of his business; and it turned out after a while that he had gone to a business associate of his, an Arabian named Kabul.

I guess we all knew from the start that Kabul was a bit of a shady character, and had his fingers in various slightly criminal pies. Dad said he’d had no choice, the way things were, but to get a large loan from Kabul, and intended to pay it back when he could. However, we also knew that Kabul fancied my Mum. This may have been the main reason Kabul ever bothered doing business with Dad in the first place, i.e. so he could get close to my Mum. [She at the time often accompanied Dad to business functions and “Deal-meals” as they were known.]

Mum seemed to enjoy the flirtation and attention from other men she’d get; both my parents must have realized this helped Dad’s business along, and as Mum was [up until this point] a completely faithful, dutiful wife to Dad, there seemed no undue worry on his part that she may ever go further than verbal flirtation and dancing with his associates at functions.

However, as the months went on, Dad got more and more hassle from Kabul about the loan payments. Some were being missed, plus Kabul hadn’t been totally honest about things. It turned out he was a right gangster and heavy loan shark, and ran a plethora of seedy sex clubs and brothels. Dad had given the house and business as security for the loan; perhaps a naive move, but we didn’t know about Kabul’s true intent to us when Dad had initially signed for the loan.

Soon, we were being threatened, first subtly then more boldly, with repossession and bankruptcy, while Kabul mounted more and more interest on the loan repayments. Dad now could never pay it all back. We were in the shit big time, you could say, with no real way out.

At this point, I had come home after college one early evening, and found Mum and Dad sitting opposite each other in the lounge, in the presence of Kabul’s two big heavies, Abdul and Karim, who were sitting on our sofa. Obviously some sort of heated discussion had been taking place, because the room suddenly went silent as I came in. The tension between the four seated people was so thick it made the hairs raise on the back of my neck.

Dad was very tense indeed, his face like a thunderstorm. Although the two big heavies seemed more comfortable, even smirking occasionally. The conversation [because of my sudden presence] turned to lighter matters, and idle chit-chat even.

As I looked at Mum, she seemed almost totally at ease sitting there in her nightgown, smoking elegantly and chatting to the foreigners as if she was among old friends! Dad sharply told me to make coffee for them all and as I brought it in, I noticed the Arabs looking more directly at Mum. This was because Mum slowly slipped off first one of her slippers, then the other, after having dangled them from her feet for ages. Now she made a point of turning her left bare sole toward the men, and slowly turning her toes up, so that she exposed the underside of her sexy, shapely foot to them and showed the prominent ball of her foot to their gaze! Now, everyone who’s ever had a woman deliberately bare her feet and casually flex them toward you, in any social situation, knows what it means. The woman wants to bare more of herself for you, and she’s teasing and provoking your interest! It made me feel deeply disturbed yet oddly aroused, to see her flirting with them.

Dad sent me round to the shop to get some smokes for him then. Obviously to get me out of the way awhile! When I returned, the guys were just leaving in their car, smirking back at Mum and Dad, and hissing, “Ssso…you will give usss a call,yessss???”

The men waggled their tongues horribly at Mum as they drove off, causing Dad to flush in anger and mutter, “Dirty bastards!”

Nothing about whatever was going on was told to me so at bedtime, I crept along the landing ,and listened at my parents’ closed bedroom door.

I found silence at first, then Dad said quietly, “You want to do it…Don’t you? I can tell, Teresa!”

Mum was evasive, replying, “That’s not the point. The thing is, we’ve GOT to do it, or else be bankrupt and living like tramps! Oh come on, love. Look, you can just go out and get drunk while I’m there, and forget it’s happening.”

Dad replied, “But Teresa, what about afterwards? When I know it’s happened? I’d be wondering about it. What they did to you, and… Well, whether they were better than me, and if you reached any orgasms. Like you don’t often with me anymore. God, you’re my wife, for fuck’s sake! How would I COPE?”

Mum soothed him, going, “Well, let’s just pretend it’s one of those lurid adulterous housewife or bondage fantasies you and I used to like reading, and watching on video. They used to turn you on! Let’s pretend it’s one of those fantasies except this time it’s ME, and it’s REAL!”

She continued, “Okay, tell you what. As a condition I do it, I’ll ask that he makes it up before I come home. I’ll bring one back, and leave it out for you. Then you can see all that happened! You can have a good WANK to it, love, it’ll make you feel more acceptant of it. That way, you can know everything, and we’ll never have to speak about it again!”

There was a very long silence. Finally Dad relented, and guardedly agreed to let Mum do it. Whatever this mysterious IT was!

Mum said, “I’ll call him tomorrow. We’ll get it arranged. Then everything will be fine, love we’ll be saved from trouble then!”

The next day, which was Saturday, Mum went upstairs to make a private phone call, while I and Dad were working in the garden. Later, when she came down, I could partly overhear what they said in the kitchen, as I dug the soil.

Mum went, “Oohhh, darling! They really want their money’s worth!”

After some muttering, Dad blurted out, “They’re gonna do WHAT to you? No way, Teresa! Oh, no! No way can I have that happening to you! They must be twisted! I’m telling the police. I’ve had enough. We’re better poor than having that sort of stuff done to you.”

Mum actually giggled at this point. Dad seethed now. “Do I take this to mean you want them to do that? Am I really so unsatisfactory that you’re fantasizing about THAT?”

Mum went, “Shush, it’ll be okay. I’ll switch off, love, I’m sure I won’t enjoy it. I’ve got to do it anyway, so if that’s what they want, does it matter?”

Dad fumed, growling, “Well, I’ve never done that to you, and I never will.”

I never heard the rest, but over the next week, Dad seemed quiet and subdued, while Mum seemed sparkly and excited!

When the Friday came I was off to college in the morning, when they told me that Mum had to go away for a few days, to see some friends of hers. I knew of course who these “friends” were, but I said nothing. I guess I knew something was up. That Mum was gonna be involved sexually with Kabul and/or his henchmen somehow, but I had no direct proof. Anyway, how could I ask my parents that?

She wasn’t there when I got home, and though I was busy with college work all week, I still noticed Dad was drinking a lot, being very quiet, and very irritable.

She didn’t arrive back until the end of the following week. I came home before Dad got in from work, and found her happily making dinner, with nothing seemingly different about her except she looked a bit dreamy-eyed and giggled a lot!

When I went upstairs, I looked in their bedroom, and there on the bedcover was a 3-hour videotape, with a note to Dad from Mum, saying “Hope you enjoy it, darling! Don’t let the screams worry you! Whick-Whack, Whip-Crack! Love, Teresa. XXX!”

Alongside the tape was a new packet of hand tissues. Mum had also brought our video machine into their bedroom, too. There it was, plugged in and ready, under their little second T. V. set they had as a spare.

At dinner, Mum was humming to herself, and glancing at Dad, who was more silent than ever. She even sang chirpily as she cleared the plates: “Whoo-whooo! Ride ‘Em, Cowboy! Whip-Crack Away, Whip-Crack Away!”

Patting her bottom as she left for the kitchen, she giggled that her journey had made it very sore. Dad blushed like a tomato, but said nothing in reply, he just hid his gaze in his coffee mug.

After dessert, Dad excused himself to me, saying he had to go and do something private upstairs tonight.