The Cripple's Wanton Wife - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
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The driver gave a low chuckle. "Not much—just a couple joyrides here and there."
"Okay, listen," Lawrence said, leaning forward. "There's a little wooded spot just up ahead on the right. Completely hidden. Pull over, and we'll go the rest of the way on foot." She'd been here before during the day and knew the place well.
"Sure thing," the driver said with another laugh, easing the car onto the shoulder. "You locals always know the good spots."
They stepped out into the thick night air, and immediately lowered her voice. "From here on, no talking. There's an old guy who watches these woods. If he hears us, we're screwed."
"Got it," the driver murmured.
It was past seven, the sky a void—no moon, no stars. Together, they slipped into the dense, ink-black forest.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the woods, another pair crept in—a young guy in his early twenties and a middle-aged woman, maybe fifty, dressed in a tight pale yellow tank top and a short black skirt that left little to the imagination.
"Stay here, Auntie," the young man whispered. "I'll check ahead first. And remember—no sound. Like always."
The woman gave a silent nod.
and the driver moved quietly, now just a few dozen feet from the other couple. tapped the driver's arm, signaling for him to stay put while she scouted ahead.
He nodded in understanding.
The darkness was suffocating. inched forward, counting her steps until she reached a small, secluded dip in the ground. Confirming it was empty, she turned to wave the driver over—then froze as a shadowy figure approached from the side.
She almost laughed. God, this guy can't wait two seconds. Assuming it was him, she reached out—and in an instant, they were tangled together.
Not a word passed between them. Their mouths crashed together, hungry and desperate, as felt her clothes being tugged away. In the pitch black, she dropped to her knees, fingers working his belt buckle before wrapping around his hard length, stroking him slowly.
Back at the edge of the woods, the driver shifted impatiently. Spotting movement to the east, he crept toward it—only to collide with another shadowy figure, their arms locking as they stumbled deeper into the trees.
Afterward, and the man emerged from the woods. She kept her voice low. "You promised five hundred."
The man jerked back like he'd been burned. "Mom?! What the hell are you doing here?"
's stomach dropped. That voice—it was unmistakable. Her nineteen-year-old son, Ethan Roland. Her legs nearly buckled. "E-Ethan? Is that—?"
Ethan went ghostly pale. "Mom?! It's me! What the fuck are you doing here?!"
"Okay, listen," Lawrence said, leaning forward. "There's a little wooded spot just up ahead on the right. Completely hidden. Pull over, and we'll go the rest of the way on foot." She'd been here before during the day and knew the place well.
"Sure thing," the driver said with another laugh, easing the car onto the shoulder. "You locals always know the good spots."
They stepped out into the thick night air, and immediately lowered her voice. "From here on, no talking. There's an old guy who watches these woods. If he hears us, we're screwed."
"Got it," the driver murmured.
It was past seven, the sky a void—no moon, no stars. Together, they slipped into the dense, ink-black forest.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the woods, another pair crept in—a young guy in his early twenties and a middle-aged woman, maybe fifty, dressed in a tight pale yellow tank top and a short black skirt that left little to the imagination.
"Stay here, Auntie," the young man whispered. "I'll check ahead first. And remember—no sound. Like always."
The woman gave a silent nod.
and the driver moved quietly, now just a few dozen feet from the other couple. tapped the driver's arm, signaling for him to stay put while she scouted ahead.
He nodded in understanding.
The darkness was suffocating. inched forward, counting her steps until she reached a small, secluded dip in the ground. Confirming it was empty, she turned to wave the driver over—then froze as a shadowy figure approached from the side.
She almost laughed. God, this guy can't wait two seconds. Assuming it was him, she reached out—and in an instant, they were tangled together.
Not a word passed between them. Their mouths crashed together, hungry and desperate, as felt her clothes being tugged away. In the pitch black, she dropped to her knees, fingers working his belt buckle before wrapping around his hard length, stroking him slowly.
Back at the edge of the woods, the driver shifted impatiently. Spotting movement to the east, he crept toward it—only to collide with another shadowy figure, their arms locking as they stumbled deeper into the trees.
Afterward, and the man emerged from the woods. She kept her voice low. "You promised five hundred."
The man jerked back like he'd been burned. "Mom?! What the hell are you doing here?"
's stomach dropped. That voice—it was unmistakable. Her nineteen-year-old son, Ethan Roland. Her legs nearly buckled. "E-Ethan? Is that—?"
Ethan went ghostly pale. "Mom?! It's me! What the fuck are you doing here?!"
End of The Cripple's Wanton Wife Chapter 12. Continue reading Chapter 13 or return to The Cripple's Wanton Wife book page.