Three long days passed. On the fourth, Monica was in the livingroom, her mind focused on one thing only. Cock! How awful that she, a college-educated young woman, could now only think of prickmeat, of that long, thick cock that hung from Jack's crotch. He hadn't been around for the past few days, and that absence was making Monica very, very nervous. She was a mature woman, wasn't she? She could control her emotions. But more and more, Monica found herself fixing drinks, swallowing the burning liquor to quiet the rioting emotions in her body. Now, standing there alone in the livingroom with the darkening shadows of evening drawing across her legs, Monica thought of Jack and trembled, the ice cubes rattling merrily against the glass. It was awful, terrible. The feeling of her cuntlips swelling over the swollen nub of her clit took her breath away. She shivered, closing her eyes, trying to push that feeling away. But it just wouldn't disappear. Even just standing there, Monica felt shamefully close to a climax.

Damn!

She took another swallow, then guiltily put the glass down as she heard Arlette come in through the back door into the kitchen.

"It's a beautiful sunset, mother," the girl said, pushing her fingers through her hair. Monica said nothing, stepping in front of the glass, afraid her daughter would think she was turning into an alcoholic if she saw the vodka tonic. Monica had seen her daughter's disapproval several days ago when she downed two glasses of red wine for dinner. And people talked about how immoral the younger generation was!

"Oh, yes, very lovely," Monica gasped, wondering if now was the time to find out about her daughter, about how she felt about… certain things. Arlette walked past, bending down to flick on a table lamp, then throwing herself rather carelessly onto the wide sofa. Picking up a magazine, the girl thumbed through it slowly, tucking her long legs under her ass. With the short skirt she wore, Arlette was exposing her asscheeks in that position. Monica eyed the girl with disapproval, wondering if she should say something about her daughter's dress.