Full House - part 10

For a few days I did not see or hear from Emma, apart from a quickie when she came to restock her pills stash.
But I had other things to keep me occupied. Apart from doing my rounds and fixing my growing list of clients, I had finally got in touch with my old friend Shelly.
“You’ve quit your job!” she had squealed when I got her on the phone. This being after lunch, she was obviously stoned as her usual. It was her habit to sneak in the ladies after a bite to smoke a joint ‘to be able to face the afternoon’. I still felt a certain affection for the silly dopehead. After all, she had been the first to try and set me straight, with her continuous offers of sharing her weed.
“Yeah,” I had said. “I needed a change of scene.”
“And what are you doing now?”
“I’m in retail, consumer goods.”
“Hmmm… is there life in retail?”
“My business is flourishing.”
“Lucky you. What does your mom say?”
“Oh, she’s been very supportive.”
“Say, what about we see each other?”
A smile had crept on my lips. “Sure. Wanna drop by tonight after work?”
“Ouch. What about tomorrow?”
“That would be perfect.”
“Fine then, see you tomorrow. And you do something for that cold. I love the sexy low drawl, but it really is not you.”

#

Author’s note: in case you missed it, now it would be the time to check out the short story “Shelly”

#

Maybe I was not seeing Emma, but I was certainly hearing her a lot.
Firstly, because her confrontations with her mother had become a regular feature of our household, every morning and evening.

While the old bitch tried to be civil and her voice was always kept low, her daughter no longer had such compunction, and screamed her head off calling her mother a bitch and a dried up slut and a frigid cunt, among other things, before she left slamming the door.
In the evenings, the fight would start anew as Emma came back home, a cigarette dangling from her rouged lips, carrying bags from fashion shops. Bad names and sexual slurs abounded, until Emma would leave again, again slamming the door, to come back late in the night, usually completely wasted.
I was surprised at the sense of camaraderie I felt for the little slut. After all, I could relate with what she was going through, and I hoped she enjoyed it as much as I was enjoying it myself. I left her to her own devices, sure that she was fully capable of continuing her evolution without my further intervention.
A confirmation of this came the night miss Cooper was out for some community meeting, and her daughter came back home after she left, together with a man. They were both pretty fucked up as they lurched up the stairs, holding on to each other, Emma giggling and swaying on her high heels. About ten minutes later, pounding porn movie music reverberated through the ceiling, and soon a chorus of groans and squeals rose over the music. By the squeaking of bedsprings, it was not a movie.
Plenty and Shelly appeared in my room’s door.
“Is this our darling Emma?” Plenty asked with an evil grin.
Shelly shook her red mane and looked up at the ceiling. “Sounds like she’s being fucked out of her brains,” she said appreciatively.
Just then we heard Em’s reedy voice screaming “Harder, you bastard! Fill me up to my throat! Yeah!”
Shelly broke up in a long belly laugh.
“And it sounds like she’s enjoying it.”
The show went on for two long hours, as we sat all together on my bed, jacking off each other with gusto, and cheering every time Emma came with a loud scream.
Finally, the man staggered alone down the stairs, Emma calling back to him.
“Thanks for your custom, tiger! Make sure you tell your friends!”
Her mother came home one hour later, none the wiser of her daughter’s pastimes.

#

Next morning, there was a station wagon parked in front of our garden gate, and a girl was picking a suitcase from the back.
She was tall, her dark brown hair severely pulled in a pony tail, her heart-shaped face without any make up. She walked to me in her patent leather black ballerinas, a long gray skirt brushing her ankles, a blue jacket over a white blouse.
Linda Cooper, fresh from college for the break. She was clearly trying not to stare, but she was finding it harder and harder as we got closer to each other.
I put a little bounce in my step and I lit a cigarette.
“Hi, Linda!” I greeted her as I passed her by. She coughed at the smoke I blew in her face. I kept going, my hips swaying, and I could feel her eyes on my back, but I did not turn.
I could imagine her and her bitch of a mother gossiping about the good girl downstairs and how she had gone to seed.
Let them gossip.

#

I had been curious to see how the homecoming of the goody-two-shoes would alter the family dynamics, but Linda’s presence apparently quieted things down.
No more rows, no more insults. A leaden silence fell on our house.
The sense of growing tension increased for three days, an electricity in the air that even scared off the cats from the neighborhood, or so it seemed. In our apartment, me and the girls smoked and stared at the ceiling, waiting for something to happen.
Then, on a Friday afternoon, Donna Cooper called a taxi and was gone, her daughter Linda waving goodbye. “See you on Monday,” she said before she walked back in.
Emma rang our doorbell later that evening.

#

She had obviously invested in a wonder bra, which gave her a full cleavage. Her tits had grown a little too, acquiring an artificial roundness that suited perfectly her new persona. She was wrapped in a long-sleeved, form-fitting little black dress that barely reached the bottom of her ass and complimented her thin waist and wide hips. She was standing in thigh-high black suede boots with eight inches heels. Her blond hair had been moussed into a mass of dark gold waves, and her face was heavily made up, giving her a vulgar look that matched her lascivious expression.

She placed a cigarette between her lips and gestured for me to light her up.
She took a long drag, pulled back her hair to reveal a large dangling earring, and blew smoke in my direction.
She walked in, hips swaying. Her eyes were bright and feverish as she leaned closer and kissed me on the lips, making sure her tits brushed mine.
“Like the new me?” she grinned.
“You look a dream, babe.”
She ran a long-nailed finger along her nose, massaging the sinus. “It’s mostly the coke,” she said. “I actually feel like I was rolled over by a fucking truck.”
“A truck full of cock,” I grinned.
She laughed, smoke escaping from her plump lips. “You bet! Never had so much fun laying on my back!”
She produced a glass vial and a small spoon hanging on a chain from her neck, and snorted some more coke.  "And on my hand and knees," she added. "And standing against a wall."
"I get the idea," I grinned as I poured her a vodka.
"Yeah, it's pretty fun, and the money is good, too."
She sat down on the couch, crossing her legs. “But now I need a hand,” she said. She sipped her drink, leaving a thick maroon smear on the edge of the glass.
I sat by her side and caressed her thigh. “How can I help you.”