THREE TIMES A LADY Read Free

Nicholas’s shoulder sang with high-pitched pain as his mother produced a small silver key from the left-hand side of her lacy black bra with her free hand before unlocking the front door and dragging him inside. 
    An intense scowl darkened Annabeth Preston’s pretty face as she led him solemnly into the back to where the walk-in freezer was located, each one of her steps punctuated by the staccato report of her high-heeled shoes clacking loudly against the freshly polished tiled floor.  His mother had ordered the tiled floors installed a few years prior for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was to simplify the task of cleaning up any spilled blood.  And why not?  There was always a lot of spilled blood inside the butcher’s shop, wasn’t there?  And not just from the cows and pigs, either.  Especially when Nicholas and his mother were alone together inside.
    His mother finally released his arm to open the freezer door.  Nicholas rubbed at it gently as she placed her hands on her shapely hips and stepped to one side.  Though he strained with all his might, but he wasn’t quite able to keep his gaze from drifting to the plunging neckline of her red Armani dress.  A silver Tiffany heart necklace sat cushioned between her ample breasts.  The lacy black bra from which she’d produced the key to the butcher’s shop a moment earlier supported perfect white globes.  A small brown mole winked out at him from the left side of her chest. 
    Nicholas blinked rapidly in an effort to stop himself from staring but it didn’t work.  Not even close.  Even at eight years old, even he could see that his mother was a truly stunning woman.  A real piece of ass , as he’d heard the grease monkeys whisper to one another at the gas station over on the corner of Michigan Avenue and Elm whenever they filled up her tank for her.  A real fine piece of machinery they wouldn’t mind checking under the hood.   To be fair, though, Annabeth Preston’s inviting cleavage could have caused even the most pious of the priests over at St Christopher’s to forget their vows for a moment and steal a quick peek, which they did more often than was comfortable for Nicholas each and every Sunday morning while he and his mother sat in their preferred pew up front.
    ‘Eyes up here,’ his mother said.
    Nicholas lifted his stare to meet hers. 
    His mother gestured inside the cold space with one delicate hand, rattling the matching silver Tiffany charm bracelet adorning her right wrist.  Inside the freezer, huge chunks of bloody red meat hung from sharp steel hooks stationed all around the room.  ‘Now, get in,’ she instructed.
    Nicholas did as he was told without question.  Nobody ever questioned Annabeth Preston.  Not if they wanted to keep breathing, at least.  Heart in his throat, Nicholas took his position in the ‘correction’ spot with which he’d grown so familiar over the years in the centre of the room.  The shiny metal floor beneath his feet had been worn dull from the sheer number of times he’d stood there in the past.  Three feet away, a matching black circular patch on the floor marked the spot were Timmy had used to stand beside him.  Unfortunately for them, they’d always been the kind of boys who’d required a lot of correction.
    ‘Now strip,’ his mother ordered.
    Nicholas’s cheeks flushed hot.  Still, he knew better than to protest, so he obediently removed his shoes and socks, then his shorts and shirt.  The frigid metal floor beneath his bare feet froze him in place as he hesitated and looked up at his mother.
    ‘The underwear, too,’ she prompted.
    Again, Nicholas did as he was told.  What choice did he have in the matter?  What choice had he ever had?  Embarrassment coursed hot through his veins as he slipped out of his Fruit of the Looms – which were still wet and warm from his earlier accident – balancing on one foot and then the other in order to accomplish the tricky task.