On Blogging

This is about how I feel after reading through my previous blog posts.

Nightcap Part Deux

From Google Images

Takes places right after Nightcap

She jolted awake, panicked for a moment not knowing where she was. When it came back all at once she relaxed. She couldn’t have been asleep for long but long enough to feel a dull ache in her back and a bit of numbness in her hip.

She had prepared, as he had instructed. She was nude, centered on the bed face down. A pillow under her middle presented her bottom gently upward. The door was open behind her so that anyone wandering the hallway could see her but that was a conceit for the game. Who could see her but him?

Where was he? Assuming she had only dozed a few moments he had had plenty of time to get up here. He wouldn’t do corner time-which she would prefer-so they came to this. She would position herself for punishment and wait. Usually not this long…but she’d wait.

Comfortable that she could hear him coming before he got to the door she broke form and pushed herself up on her hands in a long upward dog to stretch her back. She clenched her bottom tightly and craned her neck backward to where she could see the ceiling had she opened her eyes.

She released back down across the pillow and splayed her legs wide revealing all that was between them to the open door. She let herself react languidly to the feel of the air on her dampening pussy before pushing up onto her knees then backward to offer fully-feeling her hips open and pushing her tiny winking butthole back beyond her feet.  She held for two breaths smiling inwardly at the view he would have if he walked in now. How he would thrash her for her wanton display! Then, in the final pose of her naughty little asana, she brought her legs tightly together, demurely closing her cheeks and resuming her chaste offering position.

She breathed deeply, in rhythm with the blood coursing anew through her stretched muscles. Then, just then, she finally heard a soft tread on the hallway carpet. With that sound, that simple footfall, she began to flow a bit and knew she was swollen down there. Her heart beat a little faster and her breath quickened. Without really moving, she raised her bottom higher as the footsteps sounded on the room’s hardwood, then back onto carpet as they approached the bed.

She awaited the touch. The admonishing word. She was about to slide her cheek across the warm coverlet to face him when…

Well hello Bethany. Isn’t this a nice surprise.

She flipped up on her side exposing her small breasts and perfectly shaved pubis to her lover’s wife. Rebecca Best’s piecing blue eyes glowed in the dim light.

Don’t get up for me honey.

Feeling suddenly exposed she covered her breasts, ashamed that her nipples were hard and twice their normal size. Would she notice? She pulled her leg up to cover her swollen nakedness which even now continued to ripple with tiny jolts of desire.

What are you doing here?

Earlier flight. Couldn’t wait to get back to my happy home. She bit off this last.

But I was…we were…

Uh huh.

Where is…

He had an emergency call…I actually passed him in the drive. He didn’t mention that you two had business tonight.

Ma’am please…my clothes are right over there…

I see your clothes. You just won’t need them right now.

But ma’am…I…

Shhh…shhh…you and I have not had a chance to talk lately. She reached down and patted the girl on the cheek as her husband had done earlier. Bethany flinched as if she were about to be struck.

Please, you silly. Rebecca said with a tight cold smile.

She reached down and lay a hand on Bethany’s hip. The touch was hot-as if her mere caress would leave a mark-a small four finger brand. She applied pressure guiding the girl back over onto her belly. Here you go, she said. Lay back down…very nice. Only when she had settled bottom up again, did Rebecca remove her burning fingers from the girl’s backside.

Bethany craned to look back over her shoulder.

No thank you. Just keep your eyes down. I want the view that Franklin wanted.

The girl, breathing in tiny bites, settled her face into the coverlet and nervously waited. The hot hand again-this time high on her leg.

Please open, Bethany.

Mrs. Best, I….

The slap startled her and she cried out a quick little mew feeling the burn on her exposed bottom.

Open please.

She tentatively opened her legs only slightly-revealing nothing.

Bethany, Rebecca said tightly. Do you want another spank?

The girl opened until she could feel the air again caressing her below. She tried to control her breathing feeling the older woman’s gaze washing over her. She felt Rebecca’s burning hand slide between her legs. She wanted to close them but would only pin the hand in place. Instead, she opened slightly wider to afford better access. She felt the woman’s fingers along the outer folds of her pussy. Oh, you have quite a little spigot back here don’t you? asked Rebecca as if speaking to a child.

Bethany bit her lip as the probe continued around the edges and then slipped easily inside. She circled the inner passage with one finger then added another-not deep, but inside. I asked you a question, Bethany. Do you always get this wet just waiting for my husband?

Something in the tone demanded an answer. Yes ma’am…

She pulled out of the probe and slid her slippery finger up across Bethany’s asshole. The girl gasped and squeezed handfuls of the coverlet.

Sensitive here, aren’t you? she asked keeping the finger on the asshole and wiggling.

Yes ma’am.

It’s a shame Franklin had to miss this. She withdrew her finger and patted the girl gently on the bum-exactly on the handprint that she had left with the first slap.

Bethany felt Rebecca slip away from the bed then heard the opening of the cabinet door and the clattering of the rattan canes. She looked back to see Rebecca doffing her jacket.

Mrs. Best…I’m sorry. Please don’t do this…She came close to whimpering.

Rebecca pointed sternly with the heavy cane she had taken from the cabinet. EYES FRONT!

Oh I’m definitely going to do this, she said, rolling up her right sleeve. You deserve a punishment young lady and one like only I can give you. This won’t be a little stroke and kiss from Franklin. No Bethany. When I’m done with you, you will know what a punishment is.

The girl did whimper then and pulled her legs back together.

Outside in the hall Franklin Best watched, nursing his drink and mouthing the words he had given his wife to say.

Continued here Nightcap Part III

Nightcap

You know I can’t let you get away with this.

I know

I can’t just let you off scot-free

I know

Why do you test me like this?

She had no answer for him.

You really test me.

I don’t mean to.

I thought we were beyond this.

He cupped her cheek and swept a lock of lank, auburn hair behind her ear and noted the slight quiver in his hand. She looked down, refusing to meet his gaze.

I thought we were beyond this, he repeated forlornly.

He remembered snippets of their weekend. Her suppleness; the warmth of her lithe body wrapped around him. Her scent upon arousal. Her taste-sweet and thick. The strength of her taut middle as she pulled him in. The tight grip of her inner passages as she milked him, shudderingly and painfully dry again and again. He had almost wept with joy as he was finally able to stroke her freely and completely from top to glorious bottom. Could it have been only a week ago? Already the memories were blurred at the edges. He sighed.

Go upstairs, he said evenly. Prepare yourself.

Her eyes fluttered but still didn’t rise to his.

He watched her ascend the staircase slowly, a hand sliding along the oak rail. Her uniform fit her snugly, riding up in the back. There was a small run in her stocking above her knee. He wondered if she knew it was there. A small imperfection that inexplicably saddened him, but at the same time steeled him.

As she disappeared he went to the sideboard and poured himself a small bourbon, which he’d meant to sip. Feeling that damn quiver again he downed it in a gulp and poured another, heavier drink.

He followed her up the stairs.

A Second Chance

(Takes place same day, across campus from The Intervention)

He was pulling his door closed behind him and didn’t even see her coming. “You’re in trouble there, Timmy”, she said brightly.

He jumped-startled. Chelsea Fisher, backlit by the glass door to the street looked almost bigger than life coming back onto the hall from a softball game.  She, as was typical, carried some of the field with her-dirt on her bare thigh and up the side of her tight shorts, grass stain on her other hip. The eye black that she wore on each cheekbone was smeared and glistening with perspiration. She enjoyed being an athlete and having an excuse to carry off the swagger that she came by naturally.

“Did we win?” he asked trying to move the conversation in a different direction. No dice.

“Found a half case of empties in your room this morning when you were in the shower.”

“What were you doing in my room?”

“You’re a two-time offender sonny. As the RA on this floor it’s my job to conduct searches when there are suspicions of the presence of alcohol. Freshmen! You guys weren’t even quiet last night!” She said this with a bit of a grin but held up her finger before Tim could defend himself. “And…I said not a word last week when that kid-the redhead…what’s his name…?”

“Randall. Randy Johnson….”

“Right! I said nothing when he stumbled down the hall from your room puffs of weed trailing behind. Let it slide…But last night. Again?” She leaned close enough that he could smell the peppermint gum before she poked him in the chest lightly with her finger. “I get the feeling that you don’t respect my authority”. The grin was still there but there was something else in her eyes. He had to look up a little to meet them and his breath was coming in small gulps. “So come on down to the room so I can write you up.”

“Dammit!” he said almost in a whine.

“Come on”. When she turned he saw that the grass stain on her hip bloomed across her strong bottom where his eyes fell. He followed behind like what he was-an errant schoolboy-happy that she wasn’t dragging him by the ear. But something in his mien felt right as he followed her, dragging his feet.

Chelsea slowed her pace but didn’t look back. She could hear him there, slinking behind. Good. He was following her. She never knew how far she could push the “authority” thing. That he had slid in obediently behind was a good sign. She lightened her step a bit.

They stopped in front of her door at the end of the hall. “Here”, she said tossing him her fielder’s glove so she could pull her key over her head where it hung on a shoestring. Hanging the key around her neck was retro as hell but it worked for her. Indeed, she had caught enough guys-and more than a few girls-staring at it nestled in her cleavage that she made it part of her wardrobe-changing shoestrings to match her clothes.

“Yes, by the way”, she said opening the door.

“Yes, what?”

“We won. Seven to three.”

“What did you do?” he said following her inside.

“Three hits-sliding catch in right. That’s where this grass came from” she rubbed her hip and slid her hand unselfconsciously over her backside. Tim’s heart fluttered a bit at that.

“What about that?” he asked pointing at the dirt on her thigh.

“That’s because I’m a klutz. Stumbled rounding first and had to scramble back. Totally embarrassing. Sit”, she pointed to a couch that took the place of a second bed in a room that should have been a double. Perk of being a Resident Assistant.

She took off her cap and shook out her blonde hair vigorously before pulling it into a loose pony tail. “Look at this mess” she grabbed a towel from the back of a chair and rubbed at the dirt on her leg. “Just dust but…what a klutz!” She shook her head seemingly smiling at the memory and turning, bent to pull out the lower desk drawer.

Tim watched every move with the rapt attention that only raging hormones could engender. He knew she was giving him a show and she knew that he knew-but it didn’t matter. By the time she sat at her desk with the infraction form he was beginning to thicken and sat back to try to get a little control of himself.

“Unfortunately, I know your name and home address by heart…” she said writing.

“This is going to be my third one…”

“Yes it will.”

“And my parents will find out?”

Diligently printing in the blocks on the form she didn’t even look up. “Oh, a lot of things happen. A letter on the Dean’s stationary to your parents. The letter in your official file. The implied threat of expulsion or suspension…”

“Jesus…”

“Serious stuff.”

“Chelsea. Please.”

She didn’t look up from her writing. He found he was gazing at her thigh then shook his head quickly to snap back to the business at hand.

“Come on…” he said again-more of a plea this time.

“What? What am I supposed to do? You’ve been so blatant about what you were doing. Some kids sneak stuff-we know that. But you are right out front.”

“Come on Chel. I thought we had an understanding”, he said more of a wishful thought than anything.

“What understanding? I caught you, I wrote you up. I caught you again…”

“Classes are killing me. I’m just trying to bust loose a little. This…isn’t who I am, Chelsea. It was just….I don’t know. First time being on my own…Trying to see where I’d fit in….

“Isn’t this the same speech you gave me three weeks ago? Are you going to tell me about your parents mortgaging the house or something to get you in here? No-I’m finished with your rap.”

His face was pleading and his eyes were bright. Now it was her heart that was pumping a little harder. For the first time she thought this really could happen and it brought a tickle down below. Of course her arousal was edged with the fear of not knowing how he would react, but the uncertainty of the path she had laid out was a big part of the fun.

“Please Chelsea. I…I don’t know you really but…”

“Hopefully you’ll be around next semester to get to know me better.”

“I can’t get…You can’t do this.” He said dejected. “You can’t.”

“Watch”, she said-continuing to write moving in for the kill.

He stopped and sighed. “Look. I’ll do whatever you say that doesn’t involve a letter or a report.”

The words fit cleanly into tumblers in her head and turned. Just like that, she knew that she had won her second game today. “Alright. Enough.”

“Enough?” he asked.

“My closet”, she said nodding toward it.

“What?”

“Go open the closet.”

He stood uncertainly and went to the closet. “Open it”, she said again.

She pretended to be finishing up the form and heard the door open.

“What?” he asked. She looked up and saw two blouses hanging on a hook. “Idiot!” She said to herself, then aloud “Behind the tops.”

He pulled them back to see a paddle hanging on a hook. That’s exactly what it was-wasn’t a bath brush, not a hairbrush-nothing that could be mistaken for anything else. Not the long decorative ones he had seen Greek pledges carrying around either. A sturdy round nasty piece of wood with a rubber gripped handle.

“No way”, he said still staring at it.

“What?”

“No fucking way….”

She shrugged and went back to the form.

“Chelsea! Come on….” She continued writing.

“I’ll need your signature on this.” She looked at him clear-eyed and held out the pen as if the other conversation wasn’t going on.

His belly went cold remembering his last spanking-which was also the first one he could remember. He was much too old for it-thirteen and in the seventh grade. His parents were on a cruise and had his aunt-his mother’s younger sister-staying over to “keep an eye on him.” Aunt Karen was only about ten years older than he was and had just started teaching at a high school one town over. He guessed he was testing her and stayed out two hours past curfew. When he finally got home she was waiting for him in the living room with a hairbrush and no amount of pleading could convince her not to use it.

Chelsea was saying nothing but he felt her staring. “You just can’t”, he started then stopped. “I can’t just let you paddle me.” He sounded completely deflated. Like he was sickened by the idea.

Dammit! she thought she had him. She felt a trickle of sweat on her back. The more people she came to with this proposition who turned her down, the more the chance she’d get busted. That someone would tell. So far she had spanked two girls on the hall-this was her first time trying a boy. She squeezed the pen so he wouldn’t see her hand starting to shake.

Even at thirteen he had been bigger than Aunt Karen and could have refused her; strong enough that she couldn’t have forced him. But he didn’t. And for a while he wondered why he hadn’t. He blamed it on the anger in her eyes, but there was something else there that he couldn’t unravel then. But he did remember clearly laying over her lap on the big living room chair and feeling the sting of the paddle through his jeans. All through it she never stopped scolding him; how he scared her, he was her responsibility, he had to respect her…on and on. He had the feeling then and later that she was just saying whatever came into her head to justify what she was doing.

He couldn’t remember how badly it hurt when it was happening but he did remember wishing, face down and hands on the floor, that she had made him take his pants down. That was all he could think about as she kept whacking him and lecturing him. He even thought about stopping her-calling a time out-and volunteering to take them down. For years he wondered how she might have reacted-what might have happened then. She must have seen something in his eyes when she let him up-more likely felt something through his pants-that made her look away from him. Her face had been flushed and her forehead glistened when she told him to go to bed.

Hard to imagine she couldn’t figure out what he did when he got to his bedroom-when he finally got his pants down to rub is burning ass. Then it hurt-she had packed a wallop. But only his left hand was on his butt as he lay there in the darkness. The right was otherwise engaged.

The next morning Aunt Karen was gone to work when he came downstairs but had left the cereal out and a note that she would be back that afternoon. And when she came home she said nothing about the night before. Nor did he-then or ever. Through countless family dinners, holidays and birthdays, it was never mentioned again.

Chelsea suffered a little in the silence between them. She was about to laugh it off; that had always been her backup plan to pretend it was a joke. She had opened her mouth when Tim beat her to it.

“OK”, he said, almost whispering then coughed. He had forgotten to breathe. “Anything, as long as you’re not writing…me up…”

She put down the pen.

“One thing though”, he said.

“No conditions.”

“It has to be on the bare. I have to take my pants down and lay over your lap”, he said in that same half whisper.

Continuing…“Deal!”

Corduroy

Art by James Needham   www.jamesneedhamart.com

It was their second “real” date, if you didn’t count the many shared coffees and scones at Biddle’s across from the office. He didn’t. Those were encounters, conversations, quips and exchanges, each one pleasant as a warm autumn sunset but each a water bug, just skimming the surface. You could have these brushes forever and never peel away the top layer of what might be a relationship let alone approach any intimacy.

That, in his mind, could only be done at night-away from thoughts about work, the co-worker interruptions that-even if they didn’t happen were just beyond the door. For him it meant wine and small plates across town. Seemed like that worked for her too.

She was swirling her Gris and dipping a tiny wedge of toasted sourdough into a swirl of fresh hummus and green olive tapenade.

“Wine OK?” he asked.

“Think so”, she said nibbling the toast. “It’s a little too cold”.

“Just hold it in your hand. You’re hot enough to warm it in no time.”

She laughed hard for a moment, leaning back in the chair, her bright brown eyes dancing. She was beautiful, he thought just then.  He had her firmly in the cute column-eyes, button nose with a spatter of freckles, loose chestnut hair framing her face-but she was beyond cute a step or too.

“Didn’t figure you to go for cheesy.”

“You never know what a girl’s going to like”, she said.

He smiled at that and looked down into his own glass-a bold, earthy Cab Franc. Indeed, he thought.  It was about now, somewhere between the second and third dates, that he would begin to feel like a fraud. He knew he was never straight with women-at least not in the beginning. Which is why he figured his relationships never lasted very long. They were great for what they were-good conversations, some nice dinners, usually fair to good sex but nothing too deep or lasting. Maybe he was the water bug.

When he looked back up she was smiling at him.

“Welcome back.” she said. “Where did you go?”

“Oh, sorry”, He said. “Just thinking.”

“Uh huh…” she said, drawing it out.

He had the sensation of standing at the top of a ski slope. That moment when the lift was gone and your tips were headed down and there was no going back. The only way off the mountain was down. He opted to push off.

“I was thinking how I’d love to dress you in corduroy.”

“Corduroy?” she laughed pleasantly. “That’s a new one.  I could imagine silk maybe-a man could want to dress me in the finest silks”-she gave a leering voice impression. “Or leather if you’re of that mind. I’d love to see you in leather”, she mugged sounding sibilant and fey rather than the threatening she was probably going for.

“Would they be brown?” she asked dragging the joke further. “I had a professor who would wear the same brown cords every day. Unless he had a closet full of them. And I don’t know which would be worse.”

“Definitely not brown”, he said. “And maybe a little different than what you are thinking.”

“Tell me then….”

“What I see, what I’d like to do, is take you home and actually undress you.”

“Really”, she said leaning in smiling.

“Really. Get you naked and lie you face down on my bed. Then I have these canes which I would like to use on you. They are long and whippy and leave beautiful welts.”

The smile faded a little and twisted. “That sounds like it would hurt.”

“It would, I guess. It stings, I’ll give you that. Burns in spots. When applied correctly a stroke could even feel like a shock-a hot buzz. What’s key though is that I cover your whole bottom top to…well bottom, so that when you reach back and run your fingertips over them, it would feel like…”

“Corduroy” she answered.

“Exactly”, he said. That was it! He had finished the run and pulled up at the bottom of the slope.

“And this is what I could expect if we went back to your apartment?” she asked slowly.

“That’s one of the things that could happen, sure. Remember, I said I’d love to dress you in corduroy. Not that I definitely would. Or not that I HAD to. Or not that I would tonight…necessarily. But I’d be thinking about it.”

She shifted in her seat and kept his eyes.

“I think I would love that feel on you though. Thinking about it now. After I laid these ridges across your bum I’d rub them for sure. Some oil or cream to cool them down but mostly so I could feel them with my own fingers. Or tongue.”

“Oh”, she said in a small voice.

“I’d play them like piano keys, like the frets on my old Gibson…”

“Holy shit Warren. This never came up over scones!”

His turn to smile. “Not exactly coffee talk”.

Her laugh was a quick little bark that she, embarrassed, stifled quickly.

“But see, there is something else. I’d have to make the ridges high enough-without marking you really-so that I could feel them when I entered you from behind. When you’re oiled and creamed I’d want to spread your legs and crawl up between them and slip inside so that I could feel the welts on your hot little bottom rubbing against me.”

Her cheeks flushed a pretty, soft pink. Could have been the wine. But wasn’t.

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I have to ask. When you are in me. From behind? What is your point of entry? Exactly.”

His chest fluttered. “Does it matter?”

“I cum better one way than the other.”

“You would tell me which, right? I wouldn’t have to guess.”

That twisted smile again. “I’d tell you.”

He noticed that she was swirling an empty glass. “Another?”

“Why not tonight?”

“What?”

“You said it wouldn’t happen tonight.”

“Not necessarily tonight.”

“But it could…”

He caught the waitress’ eye and asked for the check.

 

 

 

“Sure, I had dinner…”

Left to his own devices a man can make anything a meal. So when she checks in later I can let her know I’m eating well.

Owls

Sitting on the deck overlooking the river, he had to call this another Airbnb win. They’d been lucky finding spots in cities-New York, DC-but this was the first go at a more rural location. Cabin on the river for three days, eagles overhead, hiking, biking, river access-it was great!

True, Jenny had been on edge since they got here but it always took her longer to get into the swing of a vacation than him. He couldn’t wait to get here and jump into the canoe that was tied to the dock and head out onto the water. She had even joined him for a moonlight paddle-but still had been a little tight. Whatever, he had thought. He’d just wait for her to loosen up. He listened to the last calls of the whippoorwill that he’d heard all night and watched the fog rise.

He dumped the dregs of his cold coffee into the weeds and was about to head back into the cabin for another when he heard Jenny banging around in the well-appointed kitchen. ‘Banging’ was the only way to describe it: cabinet doors were being yanked open and banged shut-drawers were sliding open and banging closed. He sat back down on the deck chair deciding it might be best to wait a few before that next cup.

The crashing inside stopped after one last bang and he saw his wife step out onto the screened porch and stalk to their bedroom at the other end. “Morning, Jenny”, he called after her getting no response whatsoever as she disappeared into the bedroom. “What the hell did I do now?” he mumbled watching the spot where she had been.

The bed creaked as she flopped on it and he felt it safe to get up for that second coffee. Half way across the deck he was stopped by a sound coming from the bedroom. It was a light slap-not loud but unmistakable. Then there was another, then a third.  It was a sound he knew pretty well.

He actually tiptoed up the three steps onto the porch and over to the open bedroom door as the sounds increased in frequency and intensity. Soft little grunts and bedsprings squeaking kept time with the slapping sound. He peeked in. Jenny was face down into the pillows and, having pushed her blue panties down off of her rear, was slapping herself with a spatula that she had evidently found in the kitchen.

Her slim freckled bottom was reddening in the morning light. As she was right-handed, most of the blows fell on her right cheek but while he was standing there she did extend to deliver a couple of smacks to the left. She was breathing heavily with the effort.

“Jen?” he asked. “Hey, Jen. You OK, babe?”

She paused in her exertions.

“OK. OK?” am I OK?”

“Yeah…I…”

She rolled onto her left hip and up onto her elbow. When their eyes met, hers were fierce and glistening. “When we were packing yesterday, you were bitching about how much I was bringing-like you always do and you remember what I said?”

“Uh…” he stammered, not remembering.

“I told you, I said…’I should stop being so bad’. Do you remember that?”

His eyes cut from her face to her white hip shining in the sun that was creeping through the window. Her panties, which she had hurriedly pushed down off of her bottom, bound tightly across her slim thighs where she crooked her right knee slightly.

“Last night, when we were out in the canoe I referred to myself as naughty. ‘Naughty’ Jeffery! But you were too busy with your fucking owls.”

“But Jen, that was a great horned owl we heard! We don’t get those back home. We only have screech owls and barn owls. Did you hear that deep ‘HOOOOT’…”

“Jeffrey! Focus please. When a thirty two year old woman describes herself as naughty it has very little to do with behavior. I mean, Jesus!”

He did focus then, pulling his eyes to the thick blonde bush peeking out above the stretched blue cotton. It disappeared when Jenny, in a final huff, flopped back onto her belly pulling the pillows tight to her face. Her bum was well colored on the right with little o’s from the holes in the plastic kitchen tool.

He set the coffee cup on the dresser and sat on the bed beside her.

“So you’ve been bad have you…?”

“Oh, great. NOW you’re taking the hint. Now you…Ouch!”

He pinched the soft skin at the bottom of her bottom and wasn’t about to let go. “Sooner or later, bad girls get what they deserve.”

She pushed her bottom back into his pinching fingers and he released her. With both hands he pulled her panties all the way down and off-tossing them onto the floor then knelt and pressed his left hand into the small of her back. His first smack was firm covering most of her right cheek-the second swatted the left. There was a small strawberry blooming where he had pinched her and he slapped it. Then again. Jenny’s breathing was ragged and she pushed against the hand that pinned her to the bed-not to escape but to more completely offer her bottom to his punishing palm.

Being slim, her freckled cheeks covered none of what was between her legs. Especially not now as she gyrated into his slaps. He could see her swollen lips glistening in the soft sunlight and a little trickle down the inside of her thigh.

“Oh, my”, he said stopping spanking long enough to touch her there. She reacted as to a shock when he massaged her shimmering cunt. “I know what my bad girl wants…”

But because he was Jeffery, he had to make sure and dropped his Daddy voice. “You want me to fuck you now, right?”

She sighed slipping out of the moment. “Jesus! Maybe’s there a school we could send you to….”

He slapped her on the back of the thigh and she jumped pulling her knees up slightly to bloom backward. “Sorry…sorry…” she gasped. He slipped his shorts off and knelt behind her. Her wet softness opened to him and he sluiced in to the hilt on first thrust. Then he pulled almost completely out and drove again hearing the bedsprings squeal.

His body covering hers, his hands pinning hers, he nibbled at her ear as he slid easily and deeply in and out of her sopping pussy. “This is what naughty girls get” he whispered into the ear he was nibbling.

She mewed softly and flowed into his rhythm.

Genesee

(A few years after The Boy Called Circo)

“You’re Circo, right?” His old rheumy eyes widened then blinked, trying to sharpen focus at the edges. He wasn’t blind by a long shot but back lighting offered a challenge.

“Nobody calls me that anymore”, Tommy growled low enough that only the one person could hear. He could have yelled it though, the place was that empty.

“I knew your grandfather”, he said. “He was a good guy.”

Tommy’s plan to slip unnoticed into a dark room and recharge between engagements had obviously gone to shit. He had come in tense and was not in the mood to become irritated. There was enough of that outside.

“He was too good”, Tommy said biting off the words. “Got fucked more than a whore by people taking advantage of him. Nice guy,” he sniffed and looked at the old man full on for the first time. “Maybe you did too, huh?”

“Not me”, he said sipping at a clear drink that half filled the highball glass in front of him. Unadorned by ice, lime or lemon it could have been water as easily as vodka. “I worked with him. Lost my truck when those developers declared bankruptcy that time.”

“The Liberty Subdivision.”

“Yeah-I’d a lost my house too but your Pap covered me.” He tipped his glass to Tommy before finishing it off in a gulp. “And I paid him back. Every cent.”

Tommy caught the piney whiff. Gin. “Way I heard it”, he said looking down at his own drink, “They paid ten cents on a dollar.”

“You heard right. They fucked a lotta people. Then two years later they were back in business with a new name.”

“That didn’t work out too well as I heard it. They had a problem with fires.”

The old man nodded slightly. “Had a lot of explosions too. Things kept blowin’ up for them.”

“They were careless people, I guess”, Tommy said.

The old man answered with a small shrug, rolling his palms upward.

“What’s your name old timer?”

“I’m Genesee”, he said, extending a hand.

“Like the beer.”

“Like the beer. And I’ll make you a deal. You don’t call me ‘old timer’ and I won’t call you Circo.”

Tommy grinned tightly. He could see this guy working for his grandfather. Ballsy old prick that you wouldn’t see coming until he was in your pocket and it was too late. He shook the offered hand. Firm grip-some steel left in there. “Deal, Genesee”, he said.

“You got a second?” the old man asked. “I got a story about your Pap you might not a heard.”

Fact is, no, he didn’t have a second. He’d been late coming and going all day and this wasn’t going to help things. But really, in his business being unreliable now and again was almost a job requirement.

He waved the bartender over.