Banging The Bride

Banging Final cov

(excerpt)

Copyright © 2014  K.B. STEVENS

I sneak around the side of the Burke house, and trudge out onto the muddy path through the backyard and find Mr. Burke sitting on a putrid green couch in the back of his giant garage, toying with old tractor parts.  When he sees me coming towards him he pulls the stubby cigar out of his mouth with a grease stained hand,  takes a long pull on his beer and stares at me, shaking his chubby bald head back and forth.

“Brittany, Brittany, darling you look somethin’ special today!”  he says, ogling me up and down.

He flicks his smoldering cigar and the ash lands on the foul cushions.

“That dress suits you just fine,”  he says, staring at my cleavage so hard it’s making my cheeks hot.

“Thank-you Mr. Burke,” I say, politely. “I got it for my birthday.”

“That’s right; I plum forgot all about it!  You ain’t jail bait no more, is you?”

“You can still give me and my Nana a present Mr. Burke.”

He nervously dodges my suggestion, “How is Rose?”  he asks, not waiting for an answer,  “I saw your granny passed out on the front porch a couple nights ago; still clinging tight to the wine bottle,”  he chuckles to himself.

“She’s fine except the house is-”

Mr. Burke rudely interrupts me while continuing to study my sheer white dress.  I knew I should have worn a bra today, because I’m sure he was staring at my pink nipples through the gauzy fabric.

“Sugar you’re wasting you’re time with my son, you know.  He’ll never appreciate you the way a more seasoned gentleman, like myself would,”  he says, licking his chapped lips as if getting ready for supper.

I do my best to deflect his inappropriate comment, “You’re so sweet Mr. Burke; your wife is a lucky lady,”  was the best I could manage.

“Ain’t nothing lucky about being married to a frigid fish that won’t give up the tuna…if you know what I mean,”  he says, with a wink of his beady eyes.

I don’t know how to respond to his TMI (Too Much Information) moment, so an uncomfortable; at least for me, moment of silence passes between us.

However he looks plenty comfortable saying nothing; just staring at my mouth and fiddling with his hand down his dirty trousers like he had an itch he couldn’t scratch hard enough.  What was he doing?

“When you gonna start calling me ‘Daddy’  young lady?  The wedding is only two months away.”

“Sure thing Mr. Burke…I mean daddy.”

“Now that’s better; has a ring to it coming out of that sweet mouth of yours,”  he says, as his eyes follow the curve of my dress down to my butt.

“Daddy, you know my Nana is still having trouble with the mortga-”

Mr. Burke abruptly cuts me off. “Now you really are wasting your time sugar.”

“But you’re the bank manager!”  I nearly shout back at him.

“Why darling, I’m the assistant bank manager, prickly old Ned is the guy holding the big key.”

“So you and your tiny shriveled little key are gonna let old Ned throw me and my Nana out on the street, like yesterday’s trash?  I grew up in that house that my Pop-pop built by hand!”  I say, angrily.

My change in tone seems to have temporarily shifted his attention from my nubile body to my irritated face.

“First of all honey, ain’t nothing tiny and shriveled about Big Daddy Burke!  Secondly, in life we have to make sacrifices sometimes to protect the things we hold near and dear,”  he informs me, in a way that sounds like he’s accusing me of not caring enough about Nana’s house.  This fat smelly troll was really starting to piss me off with his condescending tone, and arrogant attitude.

“Screw you Mr. Burke, I didn’t want to come here and have to grovel and beg you for money!  I thought you would have the desire to help out your future daughter in law, in her time of need.  However it appears you’re quite limp and impotent in this regard; clearly not able to work up enough desire to get the job done!”

“Ooooweee!  You sure are a lively one!”

“Coming here was a waste of time,” I say, out loud to myself.

“You would do anything to get that dilapidated excuse for a house out of foreclosure, wouldn’t you honey?”  he questions,  while undressing me with his eyes.

“That’s right…daddy.  But I guess I need to talk to old Ned; the big man on campus,”  I throw the words sarcastically in his flabby face as I stride towards the door.

“Now hold on a minute sweetie.  I can make sure your Nana never has to worry about her mortgage again, for as long as she lives.”

I freeze in my tracks,  skeptical.  “How’s that Mr. Burke?”

“All you gotta do is let me ‘Burke’ you!”  he snorts, letting out a deep dirty chuckle at his own joke, the sweaty detestable pig!

“You’re married!  And what about your son?  How could you say such a thing?”

“Don’t play coy with me child!  You come strolling in here in that sheer white dress without a bra, looking like sex for sale; I know exactly what you’re playing at!”

“Playing at?”  I say, innocently, “I’m not playing at anything, and I think it’s very rude of you to talk to me in such a crass manner!”  I point a threatening finger in his fat face and I say, “Just wait till I tell Colton, you dirty old man!”

“Tell him anything you want…after I help myself to a piece of his pie.”

“Excuse me?”  I question; as if I didn’t hear what he said…or catch his vulgar innuendo.

The next thing I know Mr. Burke grabs me around my waist and roughly pushes me over the raggedy arm of the musty old couch, leaving my butt sticking in the air and my face buried in the cushion next to his smoldering cigar ash.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!”  I say, in honest shock at his brazenness.

“You just hush up darling, and hold still for daddy.”

“You are not my daddy!”  I shriek at him as I try to get up from the couch, but he holds me firmly in place by my slender waist, flips my dress up and rubs his manhood against my lacy white panties like a repulsive ape.

“I’m your daddy today, baby girl,” he says in a way that makes my skin crawl.

Buy now at Amazon

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s