The Making of a Gigolo (2) - Martha Thompson

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3

Chapter Three

She didn't berate him for cumming in her. In fact, she was insatiable. She loved to cuddle afterwards, and kiss him, saying very little. When he got hard again, she cooed with delight, and pulled him on top of her again. This time, when he talked about impregnating her, she said nothing, and only hummed as he spurted into her again.

It was only when they stopped for supper that her senses returned. She'd put on panties, more because she was sopping wet with his semen, than for modesty. He'd paid homage to her breasts all afternoon, so she left them naked. He stayed naked too. She was a passionate lover, in ways different than Tilly was, and he wanted to continue this relationship for as long as she'd let him.

"What am I going to do if you've gotten me pregnant?" she sighed, as they ate leftovers from lunch.

"I hope you have a healthy, bouncing baby," he said calmly.

"How can you wish that on me?" she moaned.

"Those breasts were made to feed a baby," he said, "and me too, when the time comes." Tilly's milk had always been sweet and warm in his mouth.

"I can't ... just have a baby!" she said. "Arthur knows he doesn't touch me. He'll know it was another man who got me that way!"

"Then have him make love to you," said Bobby. "Make him think it's his."

"That's horrible!" she said.

"How he treats you ... and himself ... is what's horrible," countered Bobby.

"You make it sound so simple. He'll divorce me."

"Not if he thinks it's his," said Bobby.

"I can't stand to let him touch me," moaned Martha. "He stinks of whiskey, and he slobbers. It's been years, but I still remember that!"

"Maybe you should divorce him," said Bobby.

"I don't believe in divorce," she said. "I was raised not to believe in divorce."

"Then maybe we shouldn't get you pregnant," said Bobby.

"It might be a little late for that!" she retorted.

Bobby stood up. He was erect again.

"I'm not hungry anymore," said Bobby, fisting his prick and masturbating it slowly.

"You don't play fair," moaned Martha.

She was just as wild in bed as before, and he stayed until six in the evening, dumping three more loads of his heavy spunk into her saturated pussy.

She didn't even put on panties, this time, and lay in the bed, looking well-fucked, as he dressed.

"You'll come back ... won't you?" she asked.

"I'll get you pregnant for sure, if I do," he said.

"You'll come back ... won't you?" she repeated.

"I'll come back," he said.

She hopped up, disregarding the stream of white that ran down her inner thigh, and got her purse. She pulled out a fifty dollar bill.

"This is for everything you've done for me," she said, holding it out.

"It's too much," he said.

"No ... it's not," she replied.

As with Tilly, about once a week was enough for Martha. She felt bad about doing what she was doing, but then Arthur would be Arthur, and she'd come up with some reason to call Bobby over.

Mamma noticed.

"How is it that Tilly Johnson and Martha Thompson have so many chores for you to do?" she asked him, one day, while they were in the field harvesting wheat. Mary, who was now seventeen, was driving the combine, after Bobby had taught her how to do it.

"Well, neither of them have a man to do things," said Bobby.

Mamma snorted. "Arthur Thompson is a full man."

"Not really," said Bobby. "He doesn't do much, even when he's there, which isn't often." Bobby had not, in fact, ever seen Arthur at his house.

Mamma was no fool. She remembered Joe, very well indeed. But she said nothing. So far, only the Johnson woman had gotten pregnant. That she did so after Bobby started working for her was just coincidental. And her poor crippled husband was doing much better, if gossip could be counted as fact. That Arthur was worthless was well known.

Martha managed to stay un-pregnant for three months, during which Bobby only saw her once a week. But once a week covers every time in a woman's cycle, and, when she missed a period, she wasn't surprised. She hadn't intended on getting with child, but by the same token, her life, which up to that point had been dull and listless, was so much happier now that the concept of having Bobby's baby just didn't seem to be the end of the world. She knew she'd have to face Arthur's rage, when he found out, but Arthur raged anyway ... so what was the difference. If he divorced her, she'd do fine. The courts were very much on the side of women with children, even if the child in question wasn't born yet. She'd wanted to have children, when she got married. That want had dimmed, when Arthur started drinking, and had faded away. Now, just as her womb was going to be full of new life, her hope for raising children was gestating too. It was also possible that Arthur would be so ashamed that another man had gotten her with child that he would not admit that publicly. In either case, she was married and folks in town would assume it was her husband who got her that way.

It wasn't something she would ever have conceived of doing intentionally, but when it happened, she welcomed it with open arms.

Just as Joe's women, when they got pregnant, had welcomed his babies with open arms.

Bobby, like Joe, was providing a service that, had other men ... the "right" men ... been able, or willing to do so, would not have been needed.

Bobby, on the other hand, was not so sanguine about it.

"You have to get away from Arthur," he said, when she told him. She chose a moment, right after he had spurted in her, to tell him how important those spurts really were.

"I can't do that, Bobby," she panted. "I told you, I don't believe in divorce."

"He'll hurt you," said Bobby. He'd repaired another hole in the wall, where Arthur, in his rage, had kicked it.

"He won't hurt me," said Martha. She kissed Bobby, to keep him from disagreeing with her.

Harvest was over, and slack time had arrived. Martha was just beginning to show, and if she wore the right clothes, it was still possible for her to pass, unnoticed, as she went about her business in town. That wouldn't last much longer, though.

Technically, no one should raise an eyebrow. She was married. But Bobby couldn't shake the feeling that things could come unraveled.

So, being the kind of man he was ... he went fishing.

He found Arthur at Ford's Bend, on the river. It wasn't really a good place to fish, which was why Arthur went there. He knew others wouldn't come there to fish. When Bobby walked up, Arthur had just finished a pint of Old Crow, and had thrown the bottle into the river. He was lobbing rocks at it, trying to break it, when Bobby came into view. The bottle was not in any danger.

Arthur knew Bobby, of course. He had no idea that Bobby had been in his house. He knew that repairs had been made, but didn't pay any attention to that. All he really cared about was making sure that he had plenty of pints, for when he needed one.

"Fishing's no good here," he slurred, as Bobby walked up.

"I'm not here to fish," said Bobby.

Arthur peered at the pole in Bobby's hand, and the tackle box in his other hand.

"Looks like it," said Arthur, cackling.

"I've been fucking your wife," said Bobby, conversationally.

It took ten seconds for that to sink into Arthur's alcohol fogged brain.

"Wha'd you say?" he asked, rocking back. "Sounded like you said you been fuckin' my wife!"

"That's what I said," said Bobby, setting the pole carefully on the ground, and the tackle box right beside it.

"You can't do that!" slurred Arthur.

"I have been," said Bobby. "I got her pregnant too."

Arthur was having trouble concentrating. Something in his brain told him to get mad, but he was having a hard time figuring out why. The boy's words finally seeped between molecules of whiskey.

"You sumbitch!" he croaked.

"You know why I've been fucking Martha?" asked Bobby, as if he were asking something inconsequential, like where lettuce came from.

"What?"

"I asked you if you know why I've been fucking Martha," said Bobby patiently.

"What?" Arthur was having a hard time concentrating again.

Bobby realized the man was way too drunk to do what he'd come there to do. So, he pushed the man into the river.

Arthur flailed his arms, and went down on a rock, which bruised his hip. He floundered in the water, sitting up.

"Wha'd you do that for?" he whined.

He labored to get up, and, as soon as he was standing, Bobby pushed him again, into deeper water.

It took fifteen minutes, but eventually, Arthur sobered up enough to start fighting back. That was fine with Bobby. He deflected the man's weak swings, and kept pushing him back into the river. He had to actually chase the man, to save him from drowning when the current caught him once, and dragged him back to where their things were. Arthur tried to get out of the water, but Bobby flung him back onto the rocks, where the water was only a foot deep.

Arthur sat there, more aware, now, of what was happening.

"What the fuck are you doing, boy!?" he yelled.

"I'm trying to get your attention, old man!" said Bobby firmly.

"You can't do this to me!" yelled Arthur.

"I have been, and I'm going to keep doing it, until you sober up enough that I can talk to you," said Bobby.

"I'm not drunk!" complained Arthur.

"Yeah, and you're not wet either," commented Bobby.

It took another hour before Arthur began to fight back with some vigor, and scream. When he was at the point where Bobby thought he was sober enough to really understand what was happening, he pushed him down one last time and said, "Don't get up!"

"Why the fuck are you doing this?" whined Arthur.

"I'm trying to decide whether to kill you, or let you live," said Bobby calmly.

"What?" It wasn't a drunken question, this time.

"Let's start all over again," said Bobby.

Arthur flinched, and actually lay back down on the rocks.

"Not that," said Bobby, resisting a smile. He had taken no pleasure in tormenting the man, but it was still humorous. He stretched out a hand.

Arthur looked at him for along moment, and then sat up. He reached for the hand and labored up to his feet. He held on, keeping his balance, as Bobby led him to the bank, where he sank down on the grass.

"Damn, boy!" sighed Arthur. "I should kick your ass."

"We both know that's not going to happen," said Bobby. "Why don't we just get on with deciding whether you're going home tonight, or are going to be dragged out of the river drowned?"

"You can't just murder me!" howled Arthur.

"Sure I can," said Bobby. "If they find you floating, nobody in the whole world will be surprised."

"Why?" moaned the man.

"You ready to listen?" asked Bobby.

"Fuck!" yelled Arthur. When Bobby took a step toward him, he flinched, and held up his hands. "Okay, okay, don't get excited."

Bobby stayed standing, and began telling Arthur Thompson what a miserable excuse for a human being he was, and what a worthless husband he was. He did it in detail, describing what people said about him, and how he was the laughing stock of the town. He went into detail about how he had loved up and pregged up the man's wife, because Arthur wasn't paying any attention to her, and hadn't for years. He didn't do it in a nasty, taunting voice; he just told Arthur the facts of life.

"Now, she's going to have my baby, and I care about that," said Bobby. "I'd rather he had no father at all than you to bring him up. I'm also worried that you're going to hurt Martha for cheating on you, and I won't stand for that either. So I have to decide whether you're going home tonight, or not."

"This is crazy!" moaned Arthur, whose mind was whirling. He automatically reached for another pint, and screwed the top off. It was snatched from his hand, and he watched, in horror, as the bottle was thrown to the rocks, and burst, amber liquid spilling onto the rocks. He lurched to his feet and swung at Bobby.

Bobby leaned back and threw a stiff straight punch that landed on the tip of Arthur's chin. He went down like a sack of rocks, and lay, stunned by the pain in his jaws. That pain sobered him even more, and he opened his mouth, to move his jaw sideways, testing to see if it was broken. It wasn't.

"I'll kill, you, boy," he said, his voice ugly.

"Not if I kill you first," said Bobby. "All I have to do is drag you out in the river and hold you under. We both know I can do it. Is that what you want?"

"Fuck no!" shouted Arthur.

"Then what are you going to do to stop me?" asked Bobby.

They spent three more hours there, by the river. At one point, Bobby did drag Arthur out into the deep water, and held him under. He held his own breath, while Arthur struggled, and let the man up long before he was out of air. He was concerned that Arthur might not have the lung capacity of a younger man.

Arthur caved after that, and became servile, almost fawning, which Bobby didn't trust either, mostly because of the look in the man's eyes as he pled and begged. That look was hard, and angry, so Bobby hauled him out into the water again, and put him into a choke hold. He started lowering the man's struggling form into the water, at which point Arthur broke and went limp.

He sobbed, and finally began confessing to his sins, and why he did them. He was truly a broken man then, listless and uninterested in living. At one point he said Bobby should kill him.

It was then that Bobby told him all the reasons he had to keep living, and that his life could get back on track. It would be hard, but it could be done ... had been done before. He dangled the possible future in Arthur's eyes, until the man got excited again. Finally sober, Arthur faced reality in the form of a man who was willing to commit murder, if Arthur didn't conquer his addiction.

He made promises ... lots of them ... which Bobby took in stride. This was just the beginning, he knew, and there was no real hope, until Arthur started changing things ... if he did.

Bobby was quite clear about that too.

"I know you feel good about things right now," said Bobby, as they walked back toward town. "But I also know you're going to want to fall off the wagon. I have to see progress, Mr. Thompson, or we're going to do this all over again."

"I could tell the police you're threatening me," said Arthur.

"You think they'd believe you?" asked Bobby.

"I guess not," said Arthur, defeated.

"You need to go somewhere, where they can control you, and you can learn how to resist," said Bobby. "That's what I want you to do."

"Why do you even care?" asked Arthur, unused to having a conversation with anyone that lasted longer than thirty seconds.

"I don't really care about you," said Bobby, honestly. Arthur felt a chill run down his spine. "I care about Martha, and my baby."

"You can't expect me to just stand by while my wife's belly grows with some other man's bastard!" said Arthur.

"It could have been your child," said Bobby, calmly. "If you'd been a husband, instead of a drunk."

"But she's my wife!" said the man.

"If somebody left a hundred dollar bill lying in the street, and walked away from it, would you pick it up?" asked Bobby.

"Of course," said Arthur.

"That's all I did."

It was the potential for embarrassment that kept Arthur from making a scene about whose baby was swelling his wife's belly. It was the fear of Bobby, who continued to visit the house, now with Arthur there, trying to stay sober, that spurred him to seeking the kind of help that was the only way for a true addict to kick the habit. He admitted himself to a hospital, where things got ugly. They got so ugly that it shamed him, when nothing else could have.

He stayed there.

It took so long that Martha had given birth when he finally came out, forty pounds lighter, and a totally new man. He knew now that, in more ways than one, Bobby had saved his life, and he set about trying to save his marriage. There were many tears, as years worth of wounds were re-opened, and treated, but Martha's belief that divorce was not an option kept her there. It was tough on Martha, because, once Arthur was out of rehab, Bobby said he couldn't come over to see to her sexual needs any more. She never knew about Bobby's threats of murder. Arthur never told anyone about that. It took almost a year before she was convinced that what had happened was not just a fluke.

Arthur asked her permission to sleep in the same bed with her, and they did that for a month before she let him touch her. The first time she kissed him, felt like the last time she'd kissed him for the first time, and hope bloomed in her heart.

Bobby kept in touch. He came, sometimes at Martha's request, and sometimes at Arthur's, usually on the excuse that something needed fixing. But it was really to talk. Both of them could talk to this young man, who had so affected their lives, and both of them, as Arthur struggled to re-claim his life, sometimes needed to talk.

There came a time, finally, when they didn't need him as much or as often. Bobby wasn't sad about that. He felt sure, now, that his son had a chance to grow up in a normal family.

A very grateful Martha did one other thing for Bobby. She had a friend, named Sherry, who was in much the same situation she had been in, though for very different reasons. Sherry had commiserated with her on many occasions in the past. She did Bobby the favor while taking tea one afternoon with her friend.

"Sherry, do you have anything that's broken, and needs repairing?" asked Martha, leaning back in her chair. She was breastfeeding little Andrew while they talked.

"Why on earth would you ask me that?" laughed Sherry.

"I know a wonderful young man who fixes things," said Martha.

"Would he be the same wonderful young man who has spent so much time at your house this last year?" asked Sherry.

"How did you know about that?" asked Martha, a tinge of worry in her voice.

"It's a small town, Martha," snorted Sherry. "People see things, and their tongues wag."

"What have people said?" asked Martha.

"Oh, the usual, about how Arthur must be tearing things up fairly regular. That's changed, though. People are noticing the change, too."

Martha surveyed her friend. She knew this woman was neglected, like she had been, though for different reasons.

"Are you my friend?" she asked.

Sherry frowned. "Of course I am ... aren't I?" She sounded puzzled.

"Are you friend enough that if I tell you something private ... it will stay private?"

"Yes," said Sherry. "Of course."

"This young man ... this handyman ... he can change your life, Sherry."

"Whatever are you talking about?" asked Sherry, leaning forward.

"You're lonely ... neglected ... like I was," said Martha. She didn't say anything more. She didn't have to. Sherry's eyes widened.

"You don't mean you ... You mean you let him ... Martha! You didn't!"

"All I'm saying, dear, is that, after I met him, I was much, much happier than I had been. He doesn't come around anymore, of course ... not since Arthur has been trying so hard to get better. We don't have as much that needs ... his attention, let's just say." Martha blushed. "But he had more to do with Arthur's turnaround than anybody would think. That's why I don't need him anymore. I miss him ... but I don't need him ... like I did."

Sherry sat back, her mouth open. "And you're suggesting that I have him ...” She couldn’t finish. It was just too preposterous.

"He is a gentle, kind man," said Martha. "He can fix anything."

Sherry leaned forward again. "Anything?"

Martha took her baby off her breast, and kissed him on his forehead. Then she looked back at her friend.

"Anything!" she said.

Life goes on, whether it seems to be charmed, or it makes one want to pull out his ... or her hair. Sherry's life was of the latter sentiment. In the next book of this series, we'll learn a little more about Sherry, and Bobby, and a few other people too.

The End

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