Megan and Her Mom by Mario Caliente

By Mario CalienteI spotted them in the shopping mall. They stood out amid the bustling horde of Christmas shoppers on the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Swans among sparrows, like Romeo said when he first saw Juliet. (He said something like that, anyway.) Once they caught my attention, it was as if there was no one else around, though I was greatly appreciative of the fact that we WERE surrounded by a teaming mass of aggressive shoppers exuding holiday spirit, because this allowed me to follow them unnoticed, observing everything about them as they moved along, both of them carrying several packages, laughing, stopping from time to time as they walked along the shopping center concourse to look into the display cases of the many stores.

The mother couldn’t have been more than in her late thirties, though she looked much younger. In fact, at first I thought she might have been the older sister of the teenage girl that she was with. But after carefully studying them as they strolled along, both of them occasionally bumped by people pushing past them, but both laughing and having fun nonetheless, I decided that while they might have seemed like sisters, this was, in fact, a mother and her daughter.

At one store the mother waited outside, holding all their bags while her daughter went inside the store. From only ten feet away, as I pretended to be absorbed by whatever the fuck it was in the show window next to me, I was in fact watching the mother intently. A smile was fixed on her face as she idly looked up and done the concourse of the crowed shopping center, waiting for her daughter. She was stunningly good looking. Dark blonde hair fell to her shoulders. She was dressed impeccably in suede boots, designer jeans and a light weight, tight fitting white sweater underneath a brown leather jacket. Perfect for a late November day.

With a lump in my throat and a bulge in my pants, I walked through the crowd toward the mother. As I passed by her, I pretended to be shoved into her by a phantom jostler. I savored the brief moment that our bodies touched. My hard-on actually brushed her ass through her jeans, just beneath the hem of her leather jacket. I smiled at her with a helpless expression on my face and said “excuse me, ma’am”, and she smiled back, saying “no problem”. She must not have felt my hard-on. I knew at that moment, seeing close up her shinning eyes and bright smile, that I would somehow, someway, sometime, rape the living shit out of her.

I walked ten feet past her and paused before another store window, and began observing her from this new angle. She looked a little bit like a Catherine Zeta Jones, only with dark blonde hair. I saw her check her watch and peer into the store where her daughter was. A few more minutes passed when her daughter came back out, grabbed her mother’s purse from her shoulder, and ran back into the store. I starred at the mother, who now wore a look of exasperation. I wondered where her husband was. I pictured her naked on a bed, a pillow under her ass, her legs open and raised as I mounted her. The swelling in my pants was intense. I swore to myself that I would, in fact, at some point really be mounting her!

A few more minutes passed before the daughter came out of the store with another package. They conversed briefly, and then strolled off purposely down the concourse. From a safe distance I followed them. Through the bobbing and weaving of the crowd, I occasionally got good glances of them from behind. My attention now turned to the daughter. I guessed that she was about sixteen. At about 5’6” she was already maybe an inch taller than her mother, and her blonde hair was much lighter. You could tell by their facial features that they were related, although I didn’t quite see the Catherine Zeta Jones angle in the younger one. She was wearing a brown corduroy jacket that did not reach the top of her low hanging jeans. Beneath the jacket was a delicate top that didn’t come down to her jeans, either. “Don’t these girls get cold in the winter?” I thought to myself. I wasn’t complaining. Her outfit provided me a good full inch of her bare skin just above the point where her ass and hips began to swell into her jeans. A hint of her thong panties—red—was just visible above the top of her jeans. I was glad to see she didn’t have one of those tattoos on that particular part of her body. So many girls have those these days that they have become boring. Maybe mommy won’t let her have one yet? Or daddy?

Suddenly, the thought of having both of these hot females at the same time entered my perverted mind. My eyes went from one to the other as I followed them. I began fantasizing about having both pairs of those jeans down around both pairs of ankles. Having both those delicious asses in the air, mother’s and daughter’s, side by side, waiting for my penis to penetrate them both! Asses waiting in the air. Waiting….

********

My head was dizzy from this thought, but the feeling cleared as the woman and her daughter went outside and I followed them from a distance into the cool early evening air. The sun had just set, and in not too many minutes it would be dark. I followed them to their car, a recent model SUV. Oblivious to my presence forty feet away, mother got in behind the wheel and daughter in the passenger’s seat. I quickly ran to my own car which fortunately was only several rows away. As I steered my car toward the exit of the parking lot I found that my subjects’ car was three cars in front of me.

They pulled out onto the street and headed west. I followed. The fact that it was nearly dark meant that it would be harder to follow them, but it also meant that it would be harder for them to tell they were being followed—one pair of headlights in the rearview mirror is like any other.

Our cars got onto the freeway, and drove three or four exits before getting off. We then headed down a road that took us into a fairly fancy residential neighborhood. I managed to usually leave a car or two between us, but after turning onto a much smaller and quieter street, it was only their car and mine. The houses here were large and on rather spacious lots. Soon, their car pulled into a driveway. I slowed as I saw the garage door opening. As I drove past, I noted that the two car garage was half full of boxes, leaving only space for a single vehicle which now drove into it. Checking the number on the house—444—I drove on past. The garage door shut.

*****

I drove back to a commercial area and stopped at a down home style bar, the kind of place where virtually all the patrons are regulars. I sat at the bar and ordered a beer. I pulled a pen and notebook from my jacket. After taking a big first swig from the beer, I started to take notes. I had planning to do. I wrote: “Operation: mother/daughter.” Then a check list: “1. who lives in house? 2. Husband? 3. Other kids? 4. When do they come and go? 5. Security system?”

The fact that there was space for only one car in the garage was interesting. I would have to drive by later that night to see if another car was later parked in the driveway. A husband’s car? Or, was this suburban mother a divorcee or widow, meaning that I wouldn’t have to worry about the presence of a male when I invaded the house? In my mind, the raping of a happily married woman would be particularly satisfying, but it didn’t matter. I was very happy with my selected victim. Or, I should say, victims. Very happy, indeed.

Fortunately, I would be able to find out everything I needed to know about my prey. I had the time to do so. I didn’t have to work for a living. My parents died several years ago and left all kinds of insurance money for my sister and me. I never had to work again if I didn’t want to, though I took bartending jobs from time to time. That was a great way to meet chicks and get laid, and there was a period there when I was getting more ass than I knew what to do with. But I had become bored with that routine. I wanted something different. I wanted to do something…wicked. Something perverted. But I didn’t know what. Until the magic night came, This chick had stuck around the bar until closing time and then asked if I could give her a ride home. We got to her place, and got to making out pretty heavily on the couch in her living room. Her roommate was out of town. But then, the bitch put the brakes on after I had had my hands all over her. Said she had just broken up with a boyfriend and didn’t want to feel that she was going to have sex with me on the rebound. Well, I lost it. I wrestled her to the floor and tore her clothes off. She resisted, and the more she resisted, the more excited I got. In fact, I was so intoxicated with her resistance that when I finally got my cock in her and felt her acquiescing, I got pissed. I slapped her. I wanted her to keep struggling while I fucked her. (But I didn’t slap her too hard. I didn’t leave any bruises. She knew where I worked, and if the cops came knocking I needed to be able to convince them that the sex was consensual—rough, but consensual, just the way she said she liked it. I made sure, though, to take the woman’s ripped blouse with me when I left her house. It didn’t need to look like it had been TOO rough!) The next day, a light bulb came on in my head. I knew from that moment what it was that turned me on. My male organ stirred at the very thought of it. I needed to find, abduct and rape a strange woman!

That’s what I was doing at the mall. Shopping for a victim. It was looking like I found a bargain sale. You know. Buy one, get one free.

*****

Early the next morning, a Monday, my car was parked two doors down from 444. My car’s windows were darkly tinted and it could not be seen that I or anyone was sitting in it. At 7:00 am, the SUV backed out of the garage, into the street, and pulled away. It appeared that the same two females as the night before were in the car. I followed them from a discreet distance.