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  • The House Of Robles Ch. 01

The House Of Robles Ch. 01

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The following stories are from my novel The House Of Robles 1 - Carnal Introductions. About this novel: This is the story of one family, one bad neighborhood and a lot of drama. The father is spurned, the mother betrayed and the siblings divided. With so much turmoil, you'd expect for the House of Robles to crumble. Instead, taboo walls have fallen. Intimate, suppressed desires are allowed to run free and rampant, and a family comes together in unexpected ways.

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Chapter One

Carmela Gets Her Oil Changed

"You'd better be home, old man, and you'd better be ready to work!" Carmela Diaz-Robles muttered to herself, as she swung her big red SUV around a slow moving mini-van. Contemptuously, the beautiful Latina glared over at the soccer mom in the lane next to her. Once Carmela hit the gas she quickly left the lagging vehicle in her dust. "And I really mean it this time, Pablo. You'd better be ready!"

As you can guess, patience was not among Carmela's most prevalent attributes. With a bachelor's degree in business management already in the bag, and a high stress job that annually rewarded her in the middle five digits, who could blame the gorgeous twenty-three year old for constantly being on edge?

And, as always, Carmela was running late.

"That arrogant circle-jerk!" She grumbled, remembering exactly why she was forty-five minutes past her scheduled appointment time. Her job as a leasing agent for Glenhill Properties made for odd hours. Initially, she'd been ecstatic when her secretary scheduled a late showing for a client. The client was interested in one of the top floor corner suites at the prestigious Jade Towers. Carmela stood to make a sweet commission on the deal, if only she could get the client to sign the dotted line on the leasing contract.

The client turned out to be a presumptuous and heavyset psychiatrist apparently used to having his way. Right from the start, the cocky older man had the nerve to do two things that infuriated the tall and very shapely Carmela. (She was tall for a typical Latina, anyway, as she stood at five foot eight without heels). First, the man had come in a full thirty minutes late, when Carmela herself had taken great and unusual pains to make sure she showed up on time. Second, the client had begun complaining about the expensive suite as soon as Carmela had unlocked the doors and allowed him to wander inside. This was all done in a pointless effort to get Carmela to either lower the monthly payment, or to toss some other concessions into the deal, like free parking vouchers for his patients. Oh, and there was one more thing that bugged the hell out of Carmela; the older, lecherous psychiatrist had been entirely unable to keep his probing eyes away from her body for more than ten seconds in a row.

Not that the arrogant young woman could entirely blame her client for that. Carmela was well aware that her seductive charms could have raised the pulse even on a dead man. She had a figure that most men drooled over, and that women jealously resented, and she well knew it.

As Carmela shifted over to the fast lane, she grimaced when she realized that on top of being late for her afternoon appointment, she was probably going to miss that evening's visit to the gym as well. For the last three years, she'd religiously hit the gym three to four times a week, with at least two grueling hours per session, give or take.

At first, Carmela had started going only to ogle the handsome and muscular personal trainers, but she'd progressed past that simple, puerile phase a long time ago and had since become obsessed with perfecting her own body. Intensive cardio and aerobics had sculpted her one hundred and fifteen pound frame into a little tower of lean muscle. Her legs were long and trim, her ass was curvy and tight enough to crack clams, and her thin waist gave her a sensuous hourglass figure. She didn't forget to consider her ripe breasts, a set of beautifully rounded C cups that dared any straight male not to stare at them.

Resisting the impulse to bring down the vanity mirror and take in the features of her fashion model caliber countenance, Carmela focused her concentration on the busy road ahead. Besides, she'd seen enough of herself by then to know her high points; her face was almond shaped, with full lips around an otherwise delicate mouth. Her large and penetrating brown eyes implied vast and intelligent depths, were an observer permitted to closely scrutinize them. Finally, her rich and pampered dark brown hair was currently tamed into thick and bouncy curls, and did nothing at all to detract from her pleasing olive skin tone. In fact, she felt that her hair beautifully accentuated the soft hue of her gorgeous body.

A glance at the digital clock reminded Carmela of her tardiness, and she blew out a mouthful of hot air as she fought to control her rising anger. Hadn't she been nagging her husband Frankie for the past week, to take her car into the stupid dealership for an oil change? And what had he done, but start bitching and moaning about how far out of his way the dealer was. So, Carmela had taken the car in herself a few days ago. She'd barely walked into the service department when the manager had taken one look at her face and figure and nearly jumped over the counter like a horny dog. The overbearing and pasty-faced man had come-on lines only slightly better than his breath, which smelled of stale onions and staler cigarettes. Not even the offer of free work on her car was enough to entice Carmela into going out with him.

Not that Carmela wasn't immune to the occasional fling, what with Frankie always busy with his two extremely low end jobs, and never being around when she wanted him. He was a hard worker and a decent provider, she had to give him that much, but Frankie wasn't exactly the king of romance. Her husband of two-plus years was prone to drinking binges and farting flurries, not necessarily in that order. As for his vocations, well, to say it all, one of his jobs was detailing vehicle interiors at a stupid car wash.

Carmela remembered the mistake she'd made once, and only once, of taking Frankie to a business event. Her company's executive officer had asked her husband what he did for a living. Frankie replied, with a straight face mind you, "I'm a car detailer. I do all the inside vacuuming on the upholstery and spray Armor-All around the dash and console."

Like that was something to be proud of, Carmela's top lip curled in distaste. Frankie, please! Do you know how embarrassing that was?

On the positive side, there were plenty of attractive men trying to illicitly court the queenly Carmela, far better prospects than overweight psychiatrists and foul smelling counter clerks. For instance, there was Gerald, a handsome stockbroker from the well-known financial office on the first floor of the Jade Towers. He was in his mid-thirties, wore very stylish threads, drove a fancy Porsche, and had a fat bank account that he was frequently willing to ply Carmela with.

Oh, yeah, he was also very, very married, too.

The affair with Gerald had to be cut short, Carmela sighed, as the fine man was becoming more and more infatuated with her wily self. The last thing Carmela wanted was to be placed on permanent stand-by for whenever Gerald was looking for a quickie. Long ago, she had decided that no man would ever place her on a shelf and just leave her hanging there, not even her husband.

Why hadn't she met someone like Gerald earlier in her life? Why hadn't she waited just a little bit longer before she got married? For a moment or two Carmela seriously considered these questions, before the truth of the matter entered her thoughts. She'd been born and raised in the bad section of San Diego, where janitors and dishwashers abounded (not to mention car detailers). In that part of town, just holding down a minimum wage job was considered a worthy accomplishment, worthy of boasting of at liquor-infested family barbecues.

Taking the next off-ramp, Carmela had been left with but a single viable option for getting her oil change. Frankie's dad, Pablo Robles, could do it. The forty-four year old man was nicely built, with square shoulders and a broad back. Through their infrequent conversations, Carmela gathered that he'd spent over ten years in various construction jobs, followed by another ten as a building engineer-slash-custodian in a high-rise hotel by the bay. He was a man's man, able to do numerous manual chores in a pinch, ranging from landscaping to plumbing to roofing to you name it. General auto maintenance was not beyond his many skills.

The bad thing, on the other hand, was that Pablo was something of a heavy drinker in the late afternoons. It was best to catch him at around three or four, and very soon after he got off work. This meant Carmela would have to leave her job an hour early and drive into the rundown section of town that she'd much rather forget about, all in order to get her bothersome little errand accomplished. Thanks to the stupid psychiatrist, that plan had gone right into the shredder.

Luckily, Carmela managed to pressure her husband into picking up several quarts of high quality, synthetic motor oil just the day before. As she pulled into the Robles' wide dirt driveway, she was brimming with hope that the task wouldn't take the entire rest of the evening, and that drunken Pablo hadn't guzzled down a six-pack already. Her hopes were suddenly dashed when she observed her father-in-law sitting in the yard, underneath a faded parasol, with several cans of beer already resting at arm's length on the glass and white metal-framed tabletop beside him.

Carmela's SUV kicked up a large cloud of dust on the dirt driveway as she pulled to a stop. With some disgust, she waited until the brown mist cleared before she exited her vehicle. There was no way she was getting her expensive business suit dirty out here in the crappy ghetto! Finally the dirt leveled off and Carmela popped out of the vehicle like a champagne cork.

"Pablo! Pablo!" Carmela called out, succeeding only in drawing a tiny portion of the lethargic man's attention. "I'm sorry I'm late, but I'm here for the oil change! Can you still do it?" She glanced expectantly at him, before looking down at her Longines gold-plated watch as if wanting to convey her rush to him. "Can you please hurry?"

Since it was such a warm day, Pablo Robles was wearing a loose fitting muscle shirt that showcased his thick arms, a pair of baggy, black Bermuda shorts, and thong sandals. Not one to be pressured into action during his unpaid time off, the father-in-law casually got to his feet and started walking towards her.

"I was expecting you a little earlier." He commented dryly, while taking in her fancy business suit.

Or maybe it was her figure that the older man was scrutinizing, Carmela wondered. She couldn't tell one way or the other, and she didn't really care. She just wanted to get out of there!

"You wanna pop the hood for me?" Pablo asked.

"Sure." Carmela replied dejectedly, stalking back over to the driver's door. After a quick moment, the hood latch clicked open. "How long do you think it'll take? I want to see if I can still make the gym before it gets too late."

Pablo smoothly propped the hood open. "I don't know, maybe half an hour. I'd guess forty-five minutes at the most." He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, hoping to displace the beading sweat that clung there while he'd been waiting.

"That long, huh?" Carmela left the front seat and halted near the fender, but not near enough to get any yucky dust on her clothes. As Pablo pulled out the dipstick and wiped it off with a random rag he'd pulled from his back pocket, Carmela took a moment to study his profile. Pablo could still be considered a handsome man, thanks to his sturdy build and his tempered face. He had a head full of scruffy hair, although it was starting to thin on the top, and to gray slightly at the edges.

"I'm afraid so." Pablo replied, speaking to her as if she were some dumb kid. "All the old oil has to drip out before I can put the new oil in, otherwise you'll just be getting the new oil mixing in with the old. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?"

Maybe this is what Pablo really thought of her, Carmela thought, and not without a good amount of resentment. Or maybe he was just intoxicated. Or dumb.

He pointed at the seat he'd just vacated. "Why don't you just sit down over there where you'll be in the shade? It'll all be over before you know it."

Impatiently, Carmela trudged back to the lift gate and brought out the grocery bags carrying the new cans of oil. As she set them on the ground beside Pablo, she couldn't help noticing how strong his thighs and calves looked.

Carmela was still hoping that her father-in-law would notice her haste and get a move on, but alas no, he simply turned aside and sluggishly began scanning the yard. He dragged out an old, faded rug from behind a battered shed, and an even older red toolbox from within the shed, placing both items on the dirt just in front of the SUV. After kicking the rusty toolbox into more or less a satisfactory position, Pablo lowered himself onto his back and started inching his way under her car.

The older man didn't notice the extra attention Carmela was giving him. His chest was very manly, she considered, much more so than her husband's. It was also more pronounced than that of her latest undercover lover Gerald. She smirked as she thought of the term GILF, which stood for Grandfathers I'd Like to get Frisky with.

"I can reach the reservoir nut from here, so I won't have to jack your car up on stands." He said, oblivious to the sensual scrutiny he was receiving. "That'll save you some time. Get me that oil pan from over there, will you?"

Carmela nearly balked at the request, until she realized Pablo would finish a whole lot faster if she gave him a hand. Reluctantly, she stepped towards the dusty plastic pan, which was resting comfortably under a shrub. With a skittish hand, Carmela gripped it by the edge while using only two of her fingertips. Dirt and long-legged spiders evacuated the item as she picked it up, prompting her to abruptly drop the pan on the ground to give the critters a moment to run away.

"Just set it right over here." Pablo patted the dusty rug, lifting up all kinds of icky debris from it.

Enough was enough, Carmela thought. After she kicked the pan over, she refused to offer any additional assistance. Instead she retreated under the shadow of the tired blue and white parasol. The moment her tight butt settled into one of the cheap plastic chairs, her hand began digging into her purse for her phone. She grimaced when she saw the low battery warning as she tried to turn it on.

Impatiently, Carmela stowed the phone away and sat back in the plastic chair. Her gaze next focused on the three beer cans resting on the parasol's table. After checking each of them, she found the first one empty, the second open and half gone, and the third not only still closed, but also invitingly cold to the touch. Maybe this would get Pablo to finish faster, she thought, popping his last full beer open and taking a nice long sip from it. He was bound to notice that she was drinking up the last of his alcohol!

To her growing irritation, however, her father-in-law kept his focus glued on the underside of her car, and wasn't giving her even the slightest bit of attention. Like father, like son, she compared, as her husband Frankie hardly gave her any attention at all back home.

Quickly becoming bored, the young lady took a long look at the yard, with its nearby manicured lawn, and several rows of colorful flowers lining one edge of the dirt driveway. There were some carefully placed and neatly trimmed fruit trees around as well, but for all of the natural beauty that the trees and flowers displayed, there were some negative aesthetics present as well. There were not one, but two old and useless cars cluttering up the backyard, as well as a pile of old furniture and several flat tires on rusted rims. A good portion of the wooden fence around the property was dilapidated and discolored, and several scrawls of graffiti were visible across the way on a neighbor's back wall.

After taking a more generous drink of alcohol, Carmela glanced back towards her car. She did a mental double take as she observed her father-in-law's form on the ground. Sure, it had been a hot day, but as her eyes ran across Pablo's baggy shorts and pleasingly muscular legs, she found she could see past the loose fabric and right between his thighs. Carmela was even more shocked to discover that the older man wasn't wearing any kind of underwear underneath his shorts. Even worse, she could see his big, fat cock dangling about as he worked, lolling back and forth as he reached over for a different socket wrench from his rusty toolbox.

And it was so large, Carmela thought, estimating it at six full inches as it currently was. It was as big as her husband's cock was in full bloom, so she calculated that it had to be a good eight inches or more when fully erect, and way fatter. She wondered if it could grow as thick as her wrist.

Carmela tried to turn away, hoping to distract herself with another long gulp from her beer, but she found the tantalizing sight too tempting to avoid. She was soon obsessed by the thought of her father-in-law's cock. Again and again, she allowed her line of sight to return to the fat piece of sausage resting between Pablo's legs. Carmela found herself fantasizing about having that monstrous thing within her grasp. Mmmm, Carmela purred to herself.

Soon, she felt her sexy parts becoming excited. As if to drive the sinful thoughts of Pablo away, she again reached out for the can of beer. When her hands encircled the cold metal can, she began to wonder if Pablo's fully erect cock would be as thick as the can was. As she lifted the beer, she compared it with Pablo's fat glob of meat and shuddered. Could she even get that giant thing into her mouth?

It took some effort, but Carmela somehow managed to slide her chair in another direction. She finished off the last of her beer, before grabbing the one Pablo had been drinking when she'd first arrived. Only a few minutes later, she'd guzzled that one down as well.

Carmela had just started to get a good buzz when one of Pablo's kids walked by, a foxy eighteen-year-old named Amanda, who was wearing a black blouse and tight denim shorts. Amanda's brown hair was set back in a ponytail, revealing her very pretty face. The teen grinned when she saw the empty beer cans sitting next to Carmela.

"You drunk?" The amused teen asked, leaning close enough to Carmela's face to try and smell her breath. "You look drunk."

"No, I'm not drunk. I just got here a few minutes ago." Carmela dared a glance back towards her father-in-law. Thankfully, the man had changed his position and his jumbo-size wiener was no longer on public exhibition.

"You want to be?"

"I guess." Carmela shrugged.

"All right." Amanda replied, beaming her usual, radiant smile. "I'll be right back with some more alcohol then. I want to get drunk too, only dad won't let me!"

The cute teen returned momentarily with another couple of beers. Amanda set the cans on the table before she dusted off another lawn chair and sat down. Carmela and Amanda didn't really see eye to eye with one other, but because she had nothing else to do, Carmela went ahead and had a chat with her.

Sure enough, Amanda ended up complaining about the usual stupid stuff going on at her high school, while hardly allowing Carmela to get a word in edgewise, but whatever. The alcohol was flowing, and that's all that really mattered right then.

Carmela was later hard pressed to remember how much time had elapsed between her first beer and her last. Somewhere down the line, her body had successfully relaxed itself enough on the uncomfortable chair, to the point that she had fallen asleep.

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