(Continued from The Landlady…)
He listened to her footfalls fade and cut his eyes to the duffel stowed in the corner. It still bulged with an extra pair of jeans and shorts so he’d have little to toss in. Only two of the four dresser drawers were sparsely occupied and there was his razor. He stood and took his jacket off the hook behind the door. Didn’t want to walk out without it even if it was torn at the shoulder and the inside lining was shot. It was the only one he had.
He pulled a drawer and picked up the only dress shirt he owned. It was freshly washed and folded; set in the drawer by her. Not since he left home had he had a woman doing his clothes. And he was leaving. Walking out the door. Where would he sleep tonight?
A red flicker in the tree outside caught his eye. There were a half dozen cardinals that spent the days there and he was given to watching them flit among the leaves. He pushed the shirt into the bag. He’d been here for a couple of months and had no other plans beyond the day-to-day. The only money that he had jingled and wouldn’t get him far. Certainly wouldn’t get him another room-especially around here where before he was down the street everyone would know he had walked owing board money.
Where would he sleep, he seemed to be asking the cardinal. Outside, beyond the tree and the woodpile the road ribboned off away from town and into the mountains. He’d be sleeping in the woods tonight-he knew that. Back to the woods, by-ways and haylofts that seemed to be his lot. This place-a bed, roof and two squares a day was not his natural state. The road was, dammit!
Unless…unless…He looked over at the bed. Imagined himself laying there like she told him to. Then he could stay. That’s what she said anyway. But how could he do that? Granted it would be easier-over and done with-than finding a place to stay in out of the weather tonight. Over and done with.
She had left the door open but that was no matter. There was nobody in the place but the two of them. He had been alone in this house most of the past two weeks with her. She hadn’t really registered with him as “a woman”, really. As she said-she was almost old enough to be…he left that one go. One thing he had not had any luck with was women. Not just here and now…but anytime. If you put aside the “whys” of it, there was a woman here wanting him to get undressed. That was the base of it.
He allowed his mind to wander down that road a moment and he felt…something. Not exactly butterflies-something deeper. Something lower. Something he would rather not think about but it did pull at him. Pushed actually. Pushed at his fly. Oh boy, he thought-nervously looking down at himself. The more he looked, the more he pushed. Oh boy, he thought again. He held his hands out in front of him surprised to see them shaking. He put them to work on his pants.
He lay on the bed just as she had instructed, his naked bottom pointing toward the door and pulled a pillow under his head. He heard her coming back down the hall. Did she really mean it? Or would she see him and laugh-tell him to pull his pants up and get the hell out. Her steps grew louder and stopped right behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut as it hiding.
She froze in the open doorway and her heart fluttered. I’ll be damn, she thought. I’ll be good gawd damned. She moved inside and closed the door behind her. Conscious of the silence she had to say something.
“So, it looks like you’re stayin’…”
“If I can, yes….”
“We’ll need to work a few things out…”
“Yes, mam, I guess we will….”
He moved a little to arrange himself underneath. The rough chenille of the bedspread rubbed at him every time he moved. She put the belt on the bed and pushed his shirt-which was hanging down low-up to the middle of his back. He had pushed his pants to just below his bottom. “Lift up”, she said. He did, scraping the bed spread again, and she pulled his pants down to his knees. Despite the warmth of the room he felt a chill all over. His bottom was white as milk and smooth with just a peek of hair. Her husband had been as furry as a bear which she really had never cottoned to.
He was strong-you could tell that by looking at him. His muscles rippled across his back and shoulders as he squeezed the pillow, waiting. She had no idea what he did in the service-if he was even in the service- but the job he had lost down at the mill was loading boxcars. Hard, unforgiving work. She was looking down at the only fat on him-if you could call the taut bottom before her, fat.
She knew that if he decided to react physically against her there wasn’t a thing she could do about it but hope he let her survive. That he wasn’t doing anything but laying there to accept what she sent his way stoked a fire in her.
What was she waiting for? He kept tensing and releasing the muscles in his back and shoulders. He didn’t know how bad it would be but he’d rather get on with it. He could handle pain…he guessed he could. This was different though. There was something mixed in with the pain that was coming that was makin’ this a whole ‘nother deal. Something about this-laying like this and waiting-was somehow not new to him. He worked for the memory-dug down for it but was interrupted by the first lash of the belt across his cheeks. He jumped a little in surprise but that was it. That was all? That wasn’t so bad. He could take this.
She looked down at his butt and saw nothing really. The first smack had been a dud. Whipping a bed and turning loose on a grown man’s backside were two different things, she guessed. She remembered the pain that was part of her whippings-how he had to have brought the belt coming from the ceiling to cause the searing burn that took her breath away and made her yell loud enough for all the boarders to hear. That was the worst of it.
She held the belt to her side swinging back and forth and then, with a wind milling motion brought it up and around-then raising on her toes-down as hard as she could. “AAHH!” he yelled into the pillow. A dark pink stripe outlined in red immediately appeared across his cheeks. That was better. He coughed into the pillow-Christ! he thought. That hurt like a bitch! She had the rhythm now and paused only to ready the next stroke. He took each one as silently as he could-tensing the muscles across his back and shoulders to absorb the pain.
Breathing into the pillow damp with his saliva he tried to conjure that memory that stayed just out of reach. Something about the way he was laying…Another lash of the belt burned across his buttock and bit high into the meaty part of his leg. He barked into the pillow and flexed his leg up-as if to crawl away-exposing himself in a new way. She didn’t look away-indeed she paused-then told him to lay flat and cover up.
He did, straightening his leg back but causing his cock, which had gone mostly soft under the withering barrage of the belt, to come to life again, dragged across the chenille. He almost moaned as he pulled his legs together then elevated his bottom slightly, giving her a better target but also affording more opportunity to rub against the spread.
He endured the next four strokes undulating his hips forward on the stroke then back and up into position on her back stroke. Forward and back, forward and back-suddenly what was happening behind him, as painful as it was, was less so. What was going on in front-between him and the mattress had his attention now. From behind she was concentrated on her aim and her force and didn’t really catch his movement until now.
“You shoot on that bedspread and you’re worshin’ it”, she said.
He could do no more than grunt, but stopped his waving-slowly thrusting his bottom back up into position. He waited. And waited. From behind, she studied her handiwork-the bright white globes were now crossed with pink and red weals extending from the top of his backside down to the top of his thigh. She touched his right cheek which was the sorer of the two as if assessing the damage. He jumped at her touch then relaxed back as her hand stayed in place. Then he felt both hands on him, rubbing and stroking his tortured flesh, then gently pulling his cheeks apart.
He quit breathing as her hands spread him back there. Frozen, he had no idea what was coming next, but no interest in anything but finding out. Gently she slid her right hand down between his legs. He opened slightly and she reached down under him, feeling the strength, the fullness and stiffness; a different heat rose from down there-a warmer, damper heat. Pulsing and more base-more elemental than anything she could do to him. He opened his legs a bit wider and the heat rose to her like a need. A desire so deep and strong that it changed the temperature in the room. She pulled away and he heard the buckle click as she set the belt on the dresser.
“Turn over”, she said huskily.
“Ahh…I shouldn’t”, he said.
“You want me to pick the belt back up?”
He slowly rolled over, away from her, freeing his cock to flip into the air like a mast. He looked at it and at her. His face was flushed and his eyes were glassy. She touched it at the top then gently cupped the head and circled her palm around it as if trying to see if the top would screw off. She wasn’t that experienced in the equipment of men but this one was a little more-a lot more actually- than she had dealt with for the past too many years.
He watched her pull away from his pole and reach up under her dress with both hands. With a gentle yank, her drawers slipped down and puddled to the floor. She stepped out of them and reached again for his swollen member. This time she came closer and held it. Slowly she put her mouth down on it-just on the tip, letting the head fill her mouth-and rubbed her saliva around, lubricating him. He moaned and closed his eyes.
The bed rolled as she kneeled beside him. He felt her throw a leg over and when he looked, she was squatting over him-her dress held at her waist as she measured where she would settle. Her thighs were thin but strong, topped by a wild bush of hair that was made to appear blacker by the gray that shot through it. He only saw if for a second because once he felt her womanhood open over his cock, she pushed the dress down as far as she could.
“You oughta take that off…” he said.
“You never mind what I oughtta do.”
He felt himself pushing slowly, almost grudgingly shouldering inward-every inch feeling as if it was opening new ground. She was concerned about the length of it as much as the thickness. She kept her legs under her as she lowered slowly, slowly and surprised that she opened-if not easily, comfortably-to him. There was none of the twisting and fitting that she had imagined to get it in. It was the wetness that did it, she knew. And not that little bit a spit she put on it either. It was the wetness she felt between her legs as soon as she started whippin’ his ass.
He moaned loudly as she sat all the way down fully encasing him. She lifted once then slipped back, then up then back-up and down then again up and down. She closed her eyes and tossed her head back trying to get into the right rhythm. She was breathing quickly and fell forward onto her knees-her hands on both sides of his head. She looked into his eyes. “If you shoot off before I come, I will whip you like a bad child…”
His breath came in shallow gulps. “I won’t”, he said…”I won’t”, but he didn’t know how he wouldn’t. He thought of work-of stacking cartons of nails on pallets in the boxcar. He thought of the foreman, with his unlit cigar and straw Stetson yelling at everyone simply because he could see them. He pictured himself running up Currahee Mountain in heavy boots and shorts back in basic…..his mind ran in circles like a mouse in a hot bucket trying to pull focus from his landlady who had by now stretched out atop of him and with her legs back, grinding hard into the ride she was on.
He took hold of her narrow bottom and pulled her into him while driving his hips up into her. He…didn’t….have…much-time-TIME-left here and was gritting his teeth when he felt her shudder and bite into his shirt collar mercifully missing his throat. Her high pitched keening let him know that he had crested the hill and that it was alright, finally, to come. He drove upward in one massive thrust that, with his back arching, lifted her high into the air. He came pulsing hard and strong. If not for her astride him, engulfing him, he would have been able to spatter is name across the ceiling.
They lay together-she on top of him as they regained some measure of regular respiration. His cock-now blown was still inside her-taking up less room than it had been-but still large enough not to fall out on its own. They both seemed to take pleasure in its twitches and starts. She allowed him to run his hands over her sweat-dampened dress and even under it so he could explore the hot wet spot where they were still attached. He moved slightly and winced, suddenly awakened to the raw burning of his whipped ass-a hot contrast to the smooth cool white cheeks he was feeling up under the dress.
“Such a thing as this”, he thought. It was something his auntie used to say. Didn’t know where it had come from nor what it meant. Nor why it came to mind just then. He let it be and just breathed.