…lacks a little…body, no?
…lacks a little…body, no?
“Why are you driving like this?”
Outside the window other cars-those respecting the conditions-flash by as they passed them. “You don’t drive this fast when it’s NOT raining…”
“Tires are good”, he grunted as they weaved into the right lane to pass someone whose tires evidently weren’t up to snuff.
“Would you slow down please!” She wasn’t asking now.
“I know this road. Driven this road dead drunk in the middle of the night. Rain, snow. Doesn’t matter.”
He was clenching the wheel too tightly and glaring too intently through the windshield. Her fists were clenched as well and she exhaled slowly to loosen them. Her sensei was teaching her to punch the heavy bag while holding a banana. His blows were lethal but the banana remained intact. Easy for him, she thought, but she needed to switch gears.
“How many drinks did you have?” she asked trying for concerned.
“Not enough to worry about.” They flew through a puddle with a wild, thundering splash that blinded them for an instant. She felt the car float just then and her heart fluttered. He didn’t change his expression. Maybe his jaw tensed a bit more.
“That’s the thing though…” she said slowly trying to sound calm-which never worked and only made her sound harsh and hectoring. She heard it too and tried to regroup-lighter with more sweetness. …”The more you have, the less you worry about it. You leave the worrying to us.”
“Then don’t worry”, he grumbled from his chest.
She ticked off the things she might have done to set him off like this but came up empty. Then she tried to remember how many drinks he did have. Did she miss something? Was this partially on her? The car fishtailed slightly as he slammed the brakes the avoid someone who came up short in front of them. “Fucker!” He screamed to the closed window as he whipped into the other lane to pass.
No, she wasn’t going to own any of this. This was his, she decided. She saw the red lights ahead through the rain. He tapped the pedal hard-jolting them once, the twice slowing for the red light. Stay red, she thought…just stay red. It did and as the car stopped she unsnapped her seat belt and stepped out into the rain.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“Not riding with you anymore. That’s what I’m doing!” Or not doing? Which should she have said? Didn’t matter. Point made. She slammed the door and stepped up onto the sidewalk as the light turned green. Cars stopped behind began to honk as he wouldn’t move. She was conscious of being part of a “scene” so she turned and stalked up the sidewalk toward the intersection.
Her jean jacket afforded little protection against the cool rain which had let up a tad, but was still soaking. She pulled the collar up. Behind her the cacophony of horns ceased as he saw where she was headed and pulled out of traffic into the side street just ahead of her.
He reached over and opened the passenger side door to her.
Her auburn ringlets were already matted down onto her head. She bypassed the open door and walked around the front of the car and kept going, not acknowledging him.
“Come on, Karrie….Hey! Where you going?”
“Home!” she yelled over her shoulder.
“It’s four miles….”
She was marching out of shouting range so he slammed the car in gear and pulled through the closed gas station and back out on the road until he caught up with her. He slowed to her pace and the cars behind started blaring again. He rolled down the window.
“Just get in!”
“Put your hazards on!”
He did as she ordered and asked again. “Just get in. You’re soaked already and this isn’t the safest…”
“Safe! You’re going to tell me about safe!?” She had stopped and even in the spattered streetlights and passing headlights he could see her green eyes flashing.
“Come on….” He said suddenly nervous seeing her rage.
“I’m driving!” She yelled-water dripping off the end of her nose.
He struck the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Fine! Fuck! I don’t care. Drive.”
He stepped out of the car and walked around the back to get into the passenger side. The chill rain didn’t register. She went around the front and got in behind the wheel before he reached the door.
When he finally got in and settled into the seat she turned and lifted herself onto her hip and punched him, hard, but glancing high off his cheekbone. His head spun forward and spittle washed the inside of the windshield. Her green painted fingernails dug into her palm-she would have mashed that fucking banana. He pivoted in his seat and she relaxed-ready to evade his blow. He balled his fist and delivered a left hook to the dashboard and glared back at her. She hadn’t winced, hadn’t twitched.
“You know what’s going to happen when we get home don’t you?”
He punched the dashboard again with the side of his fist. She could feel the vibration through the steering wheel.
“Hey!” she yelled at him now, cajoling over. “Stop that!” He was going to break his fool hand, or worse, the car. “Look here!” He turned to her just in time to absorb another slap, this time open handed and from her left as she rose up in the seat. He grunted in surprise and lifted the back of his hand to his mouth. There was a spat of blood. She had caught his lip.
“Don’t make this worse than it already is…”
After a beat he threw himself back into the seat like a 220 pound eight year old and glared sullenly out the window. She calmly, precisely, put the car in gear and merged gently into the flow of traffic.
Tomorrow they would discuss this, work through this. But now, she let the anger rise in her chest and boil there. It would serve her well over the next couple of hours.
I thought I’d found another faerie keyhole. I really did. But this one was larger-and higher off the ground. Not exactly-well, not at all-sized for me, but fascinating. It didn’t strike me right away that I’d never seen it before and I was in these woods often. Usually around now-late morning or early afternoon when the sun is high and night is far enough ahead and behind to not have to worry.
There was this one time, after I broke up with Nina, that I came up into the Hollow after work with my PJ’s (pint of liquor and joints) and got blissfully, forgetfully high leaning against a large sycamore not too far from that spot. It was a sweet respite from the shitty week until I fell asleep-which would have been OK had I awakened before the sun fell behind the ridge. But I didn’t. I opened my eyes to the first hoots of a great horned owl that I could see a few trees over. His calls were answered by another behind me, then another deeper in the woods. Of course I assumed they were calling out the whereabouts of the trespasser and, on cue three bats flicked above me chasing mosquitoes or checking out the fool who was in the Hollow at dusk.
Then there was one, then another…and I swear a third, rustle in the leaves behind me. I pressed hard against the tree and judged the slope of the hill in front of me. Two things I didn’t want: one, to look behind me and see what was rustling; two, to wait for them to get any closer. I count 1-2-3! bolt upright and go flying down the hill. Behind me a rush of wind-I could feel it-passed me and rattled the branches above. Too busy running, I couldn’t be sure.
There was one glorious fall as I careened my way to the hollow floor. A root-if that’s what it was-grabbed my right foot and, airborne, I watched the ground slip by until, tucking and rolling, I hit the slope and didn’t miss a step-back up and running. I was deep enough into the woods that I had to cross the stream three times as it meandered through the valley which I did in leaps, bounds and splashes stumbling once into the water but churning and digging my way out. I wasn’t in shape to run that far, that fast but I didn’t slow down until I passed the ruins-those old stone foundations and garden walls-from the little village that had disappeared up there ages ago.
But I’m finally out of the woods and calming down and I come across this girl walking toward me on the trail. Loose shorts, work boots, bright pink hair cut in a….page boy thing…
Yeah, that’s why I thought she was a kid and was about to tell her it was late to be out there when she said “Hi.” Then I saw she wasn’t a child. Not old, but not a child. Maybe our age. Thought it was weird being as late as it was getting. She looked at the mud and water all over me-I’m sweating like an animal- and said, “Some hike huh?” and kept going. She wasn’t waiting for an answer-just saying it.
The next day, I blew it all off to the superior ganja that Shorty had sold me. Aquaponic this and that, whatever. You don’t want to get him talking about his growing methods unless you have an hour. But I’ll give him this: it had me seeing ghosts. Shorty loved that story, took to calling his weed “Casper”.
But that wasn’t on my mind as I circled the tree, trying to judge the size of the opening. Still not my size…but interesting. And it looked like a…narrow at the top and bottom-widening in the middle…like this? It definitely did. What would happen if I boosted a child through it? Or a small woman…it was high enough off the ground that someone small enough to slip through couldn’t reach it. From uphill and downhill, it was the same. The tree bark was tree bark-everything cool and rough to the touch.
From the uphill side the opening was a little better than chest high. I ran my hands along the inside walls then through to the other side. Realizing I’d been holding my breath, I exhaled heavily. Idiot! Nothing. Quickly, I turned and looked up slope behind. Had I heard something? No doubt-in the woods in the fall with the dead leaves, the squirrels, the chipmunks, the deer, the freaking turkeys, you’re always going to hear something. Nothing there but the trees-silent sentinels swaying slightly and contentedly in the here and there breezes.
I put both hands on the sides of the tapered opening. I don’t know what possessed me to think I could fit myself through there. Really, something got me to thinking I just needed to boost myself and get sideways into the widest part. I pulled myself up, scrambling at the tree trunk with my feet. I didn’t have to get too high. First my left arm was through, then my shoulder then-with a struggle and push-my head, knocked my hat off and it falls to the ground on the other side. At least my hat made it across.
Then, I tried to push my right arm through when…listen-I’ve been over this in my mind a lot and know what it sounds like-then the tree tightened around me. I know. But it did. I thought like maybe I had slipped down into the narrow part of the opening-I’m sure I did. Probably. But that fucker tightened around me like a headlock and I was stuck. Just stuck with my left arm, shoulder and head through and my right grabbing and pushing at the tree. I could stand on my toes, so it wasn’t like I was hanging there, but I was freaking hanging there.
Then, just when I knew I couldn’t move, the light began to dim. Like it was getting dark only that shouldn’t be happening for six hours or so. Maybe I was passing out-I was stuck tight but could still breathe. I wasn’t passing out. But then there were the owls-first one, then the other then the other deeper in the woods. Then I remembered that evening from a couple of months before. I’m pushing against the tree with my right hand-trying to yank back with my head-sweating and it’s getting darker! Fast. I could twist and see the sky above the hill and there were stars. And the moon, this bright white crescent behind some clouds that threw enough light that I could see by. Barely. And that’s another thing-there was a daytime moon that day- almost full. This wasn’t right.
“Were there bats this time?”
Don’t know. It was a struggle to look up but I’m pushing and pulling-then I hear it. Them. Those rustles coming down the hill behind me. Sounded like I sound, like people, coming down the hill crushing and kicking the leaves. Don’t know how many-but more than a couple. A lot. Nothing was touching me…not then, but I felt them pushing in. Like to get a better look. It was windy too-so there was crackling and rustling all over. This time I did try to look back-to spin my head, but all I could see was tree. And ahead of me, the hillside was pretty much swallowed up by the night-just the moonlight shining silver in and out.
Then I heard the voice. “What have we here…?” it whispered. That’s what I think it said anyway. It was mostly wind, the voice I mean. It sounded like wind. But when it spoke, the rustling stopped. And the wind in the trees died. But I could feel something behind me. A lot of somethings. Not breathing so much, as just there.
“I’m sorry.” I said to them. “Excuse me…can you help me maybe? I’m…..I’m stuck…”
I said this and I heard this tittering and rustling-but not the leaves this time-a rustling in the air around me, like someone shaking things. I don’t know. So I reach back with my free hand, to grab or feel whoever it is and of course, there’s nothing. But then-CLAMP-something grabs my arm. Right here at the wrist. Tight. It’s a soft grip-but hard. I mean, I can’t shake loose but it’s not breaking my bones. It feels hot-but cold. I know, it doesn’t make sense but before I can think of anything else-YANK-whatever it was pulls my arm around the tree to the front and ties it to my left. Ties my hands together-but I can see, right? I’m looking there-I see both hands-don’t see anyone holding me. Then I feel the rope-or leather or whatever-tying me wrist over wrist. Can feel it, but I can’t see anything!
So I ask again-can they help me, I’m stuck. Then she says…
“It’s a woman, then?”
I don’t really know. It’s…something. It’s strong so maybe not. But it sounds…light maybe? Small? Whatever it is, says, “Trying to go someplace you shouldn’t?”
I start talking fast-to the wind for Chrissakes-apologizing, saying I was just checking it out. I knew about these fairy keyholes, my grandma…I’m going through this whole thing just babbling and it says-clearer now-“That’s worse. You know what this is and you were trying to get through. You were trespassing.”
No, really, I told her. I was just curious…I’m trying to explain. And she says, it’s a whisper cause she’s right at my ear, “Trespassers must be punished.”
Then there is all the tittering again and it sounds like a windstorm kicking up behind me, though none of the trees I see are moving. And these…hands are all over me and the one that was talking-I’m sure-wraps around me and undoes my belt. Then my zipper then all these things are yanking and pulling and my pants, then my underwear then everything is down around my ankles. The cool air hits my ass-these things are all tittering…I don’t know. Laughing I’m thinking. I panicked a little. Yanking-trying to get loose, yelling at them to stop…Then the whipping starts.
No, no…in the air. Don’t worry, that’s coming, but for now this whipping sound, this whirring sound in the air, which I figure out, just before it becomes obvious, are sticks, you know, tree branches…
Yeah, switches! So hearing these whipping sounds I get what’s coming and try to scream-to yell for help. I open my mouth and PLOP she jams something in it. Felt like a rag-but nicer. Probably a scarf, I thought then. I can’t yell. Can’t say a word. But I’m thinking, no-no…don’t do this. Thinking it. Thinking no, no. Then the whipping starts-and not in the air this time.
The first crack across my ass burned like fire and I tried to jump but something-they-had my legs. There was no moving-I was pinned there, bare ass to the hillside taking this whipping! There were-I don’t know how many of them and they were all getting cracks-across my ass, from both sides, up and down my legs. Jesus, it hurt. They pulled my legs apart-way apart-and whipped between them…I was yelling and screaming-but nobody could hear with my mouth plugged. All I could do was bite down on the scarf I couldn’t see, squeeze my butt as best I could and wait it out.
“Did you cry?”
I don’t…think so. I don’t know. Here’s the weird part.
“There’s a weirder part?”
It hurt like hell…then…it hurt bad…then…then it started hurting less. They were still hitting-they didn’t let up- but it started to feel like…grass or like whips made of yarn…or…feathers…
Something. But it didn’t burn anymore. It didn’t hurt as much. I’m still saying no, no but they kept at it-and it was this flicking now. Not painful, but not tickling either. But it felt….hmmm…
Well, then they trail off, there’s not as many hitting me. They stop one at a time…until there is only her. Then she stops. But she’s still there. I felt this leathery grip again. It had to be a hand in a glove, the way it felt. It was small but strong. And it was on my cock which sometime during my whipping had pulled itself away from my leg like a periscope wanting a better look.
Like they say. Chinese algebra. Banging against the tree trunk.
The voice says, “Your mouth says no. Maybe your head says no. Your heart says no. But this, what does this say Mr. No?” Squeezing me she says “How do you explain this, Mr. No?”
And I couldn’t! What could I say? She held it…she was pulling at it…stroking it. And all these others had their hands or whatevers on me-pushing and rubbing all up and down my butt and legs-between my legs-she was behind me again, but still in front of me pulling and stroking…I was tensing again but not from the whipping…I could feel what was coming.
“Have you learned your lesson, Mr. No?” she whispers. I’m saying yes, but in case she can’t hear I’m nodding fast. “You will not trespass again?” I’m shaking my head side to side hard but Jesus, I’m going to cum. I know I’m going to cum-she or someone grabs my balls from underneath-and I’m losing whatever train of thought she wants me on…”We have one final reminder-for you to take with you…”
Whatever, I’m thinking cause I’m about to blow then, SMACK, she-someone-smacks me right on the ass. SMACK-the hardest swat of the whole thing. My butt’s back to burning like fire but I couldn’t feel it long because I’m going numb from my feet up turning to ice getting set to shoot this load…
“Shhh…not so loud…”
I squeeze my eyes shut so it’s darker than dark and Ba-Boom! I saw stars-golden stars with trails! Never have I…I’m thrusting, bucking, she’s yanking…then I’m falling…I could feel myself screaming more than hear it. The shock of the fall knocked the wind out of me. I might have been knocked out. I’ve been knocked out before-and I’m never sure afterwards if I was out, how long, any of that. I relied on other to fill in those blanks. So I don’t know. What I do know, when I open my eyes its back to being daylight-sunshine, blue sky, I’m looking at the pretty white clouds, all the daytime birds.
My pants were around my ankles and I could feel the dead leaves and twigs of the forest floor poking at my backside and filling up in my crack. And my ass is sore…Without lifting my head I could see where I had painted the tree trunk up and down and all over the leaves. I never came that much in my life! My dick, embarrassed to be caught out in the light of day, was turtling, trying to crawl between my legs.
It strikes me there could be other folks in the woods so I jump up, and I’m wobbly but brush myself off. My ass was sore-I go to brush it and had to stop. Couldn’t see back there, but could feel welts. Damn. And I was shaky, my shoulder hurt-I was stuck in that goddam hole for who knows how long. I just got the hell out of there. Not running-but not wasting time.
Then, I get down to the bottom, cross the streams and am walking by the ruins and I see her again.
That girl that I saw the other time.
“I thought she was a pot-vision.”
I guess not, because there she was-she was on the other side of the ruins-where there’s another trail but not far. I can see her, I know it’s her. Same kind of shorts and work boots…looks like a denim top-maybe even hand-made. She’s got the same kind of hair cut but its robin egg blue now and I almost missed it because she was wearing a hat. And I look…it’s my hat! I put my hand on my head like this-like a moron-I lost my hat up through the tree. She’s wearing it! She stops and waves, say, “How was your hike Mr. No?”
That’s what I heard. I fucking freeze! My face goes cold and I’m standing there with my mouth open like a fucking bird house. What did you say, I asked?
“How was your hike? How far did you go?”
I babbled something about not far, just up the stream a little. She’s smiling and I see a scarf around her neck. She’s wearing a scarf and I gulped. If I went over to her, would it be wet?
“You didn’t though, did you?”
No way. I picked up the pace, let me tell you. I wanted the hell out of there!
“Did you go back up?”
Sure, couple days later. Just to see if my hat was still there. But no. No hat. No keyhole either. It was gone. The tree was still there…least I think it was the tree. But there was no opening-not in that tree or any around there.
“And your butt?”
It was pretty marked up when I got home and looked in the mirror. Bruises and welts-sore for a couple of days, but then they faded. Except for the one…
That one swat-at the end. It left a mark-like a little handprint….It’s still there.
Yeah. Like a tattoo. I’m wondering if it’s there forever.
“I gotta see that.”
“Maybe somewhere more private. I’m only a couple of blocks up.”
I waved the waitress over.
I give you this photo cadged from the digital pages of the Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette. Looks like a fun kind of pool party I might have liked to have been invited to. Even in black and white. Given my wardrobe, that would not be a drawback.
Point is, the image title was as you see it in the caption. “Topless”. Well, OK. Technically true. But, given my anatomical preferences, had I counted on the title of the image alone I might have passed on this charming piece…of art. Or as lovely Haley seems to be saying, peace.
(Continued from Nightcap Part III)
Best waited in his room, reclining on the bed. Two fresh drinks sweated on the nightstand. He had enjoyed the music of the tandem caroling and yipping easily distinguishing his wife’s deep throaty moans from Bethany’s avian trilling. Once the vocalizing ceased there was the trailing rolling and squeaking of the mattress and springs until now…silence blanketed them all. He waited, eyes long acclimated to the dim candlelight of the rooms, watching for a shadow-for any movement-in the hall. His cock-reacting to the stillness-pushed against his fly as he kept his vigil.
Finally he heard the shuffle and padding of bare feet. It registered that she had removed her heels-too bad-but not a game changer. Preceded by a movement in the hall shadows Rebecca’s silhouette materialized in the doorway. Seeing her gloriously naked to him erased any disappointment over the shoe-thing. His cock agreed, slipping through the slit in his silk underwear and tenting his zipper.
“My patience has been rewarded.” He said sitting up and putting both feet on the floor.
Gliding into the room and between his feet she slipped her hands down to his belt…”With more rewards to follow”, she whispered.
He grasped her wrists. “Wait. Let him wait. I want to taste her first.”
She smiled wickedly and leaned into his seated embrace. Her slack, well-used, lips welcomed him in as she pivoted her head at every movement. He kissed her softly, then deeply and hungrily before allowing his mouth to wander the outside of her face where Bethany’s essence, once dried, now awakened in a tangy burst of luscious sweetness. He breathed deeply filling his lungs with his wife’s distinctive scents-the smells he woke up with and fell asleep with for as long as he could remember-mingled now with the citrusy jasmine of the other. The other. He growled, the picture of their four legs intertwined on the bed flickering across his vision.
She smiled and pushed his head down leading it on the same trail that Bethany had blazed. His lips on her breasts were almost softer than Bethany’s-his nibbling on her nipples gentler but somehow stronger. It was as if they had reversed order-first him, then the girl. She drove his head gently along her belly knowing that everywhere it went, he would smell her. And her.
He took her by the hips and turned her. She leaned forward slightly so he could kiss and probe at her bottom where he found Bethany lingering. Led by his hand she crawled up onto the bed and lay back slowly, languidly opening her legs for him.
“Did that bad little girl make you cum, my dear?”
“Yes, she made me cum.”
“Only…” he interrupted his query to drive his tongue deeply into her pussy and out again scraping up and over her thick patch of love-frosted hair toward her belly button. “…Once?”
“Twice…” she moaned lifting her hips higher and pulling her knees to her chest. Her stirring scents now overpowered the aroma of Bethany’s shampoo that he swore he could smell on the inside of his wife’s thighs. Indeed, the furnace of Rebecca Best was clouding the memory of Bethany altogether.
“And here you are…” he whispered pushing her legs even further apart and working his tongue gently across her clitoris…”Unsated. Insatiable….” Humming deeply she pulled on her legs and rubbed across the cheeks of her bottom as he ministered gently and wetly to her. Suddenly she felt something growing inside of her-a hot and whirring energy pinwheeling… She registered somewhere in her woman’s mind that she hadn’t come thrice in a sitting since….”Ahhh…” she moaned loudly.
Best, happily engaged, paused and looked up. “What can I do for you my love?”
“Get inside me,” she said. “Now!”
When the need to disrobe arises, men are at a disadvantage. A prepared woman need only snap one or two things here and there and clothing flutters to the floor like stricken sails on a becalmed sea. When properly motivated though a man can shed his raiment quickly enough-though it may cost some popped buttons or torn zippers.
Best, hurriedly but completely naked, scaled his wife’s body and paused a blink-his engorged cock teasingly poking at her-feeling her wet longing.
“IN! NOW!” she growled reaching back to grab his ass cheeks as if to drive him home herself. He slid completely in at once-burying himself to the hilt-before sliding back out. Almost all the way-then back again. Then again.
“Yessss…..” was all she could manage, keeping her hands on his bottom keeping the pace….”this will be three…” she finished the thought silently.
Best, distracted for a moment, cut his eyes to the hallway where a shadow had shifted. Naughty girl, he thought as he swelled and pumped faster feeling his own orgasm gathering forces and riding hard south. Naughty girl.
(Continued from Nightcap Part Deux)
Face down on the bed Bethany clenched her bottom tightly enough that, from his vantage point, Best doubted a credit card could slip into the crease. He sunk further into the leather overstuffed chair just inside the door while his wife-less ignoring him than not at all acknowledging his presence-rolled up the sleeves of her blouse.
“I’m going to punish you now, Bethany. You know that don’t you?”
“You deserve it, don’t you?”
“Good. Now”…she lay the cane across Bethany’s bottom and the girl jumped at the touch. “…Present, please…”
Legs still pressed tightly together, she had barely lifted her hips when the first stroke landed hard, cracking a sharp SNAP! at the end of a swooshing, whipping sound. By the muffled groan Best could tell she was biting into a pillow. Her knuckles were no doubt white and trembling with the effort of squeezing the duvet in her fists.
With metronomic pace and precision Rebecca rained stroke after stroke down on the woman’s flinching bottom. Bethany’s clenched rump, as firm and tight as a seal’s back, didn’t so much absorb the blows as repel them-sending the cane bouncing back. Rebecca ratcheted the force higher until each swoosh and snap was accompanied by a muffled yelp, mewl or-in a single case-an unmuffled cry which brought a pause from her tormenter.
“There, there…” the older woman cooed as she patted her tortured bottom gently. She ran her fingers lightly over the raised welts tracing their paths from cheek to cheek paying particular attention to the angriest and reddest of them. “Breathe, darling…” she whispered. “Breathe now…you’re doing very well.” Bethany whimpered at the caresses and allowed her bottom to relax a bit at the woman’s touch. Best, lapping at the bourbon in his glass like a dog that had been run too far, too fast watched motionless. He too had to be reminded to breathe.
His wife, still paying him no mind, lay the cane across the small of the girl’s glistening back. Slowly, she unbuttoned her black and white striped blouse and slipped it off her shoulders. Her small tight breasts clung firmly to her ribs, her nipples, even in the dim light, obviously swollen. Retrieving the cane, she patted the cheek closest to her allowing her fingers to linger at-if not in-the opening crevice before resuming.
The strokes were softer now-some no more than flicks delivered into Bethany’s soft sit spots. “Relax now”, she said soothingly. “Relax and open…” The firm tension in Bethany’s bottom released on command as her cheeks spread in her exposed pose. Now, when the cane contacted her skin it didn’t bounce up as a stick from a drum but instead was absorbed into the lush softness, creating waves and quivers as would a pebble splashing into a still pond.
“Open wider”, Rebecca coaxed softly touching the top of Bethany’s legs with feathery fingertips. She did as she was told, opening and thrusting backward revealing her wet softness framed by striped and reddened buttocks. Instead of cracking into those cheeks, the cane found itself between them, in there flicking from side to side kissing the inside of her thighs and lightly brushing her pussy’s swollen lips.
Bethany’s moaning shifted in tone and timbre, becoming deeper and more rhythmically attuned to the pulses in her own body than to the touches of the cane. Straightening, Rebecca dropped the cane onto the carpet and without turning her eyes from the girl’s undulating hips, unsnapped and unzipped her skirt. It slid unencumbered into a heap on the floor which she stepped daintily out of. Wearing nothing now but her black pumps Rebecca shone glossy and alabaster in the guttering candlelight.
Best brought the glass to his lips to find it empty. Beyond empty, it was dry as if the heat of his hands had steamed away every trace that it once held anything. He held it empty to his lips then brought it back to his lap in a robotic pantomime. He studied his wife’s every move as she knelt on the bed, first one leg then the next. He saw the workings of the muscles in her legs and ample ass as she positioned herself between Bethany’s legs screening him from the young woman altogether. Finally, when Rebecca was where she wanted to be, all he could see of Bethany were her legs sticking backward, flanking his wife as Rebecca slid her knees back, raising her own bottom and dipping her head.
By the movements of his wife’s shoulders, he knew that she was ministering to Bethany’s bruised bottom, kissing every welt and every abrasion, cooling her burning skin with her wet soft tongue. Rebecca slid back further still until she was reclining on her side-cheek to cheek as it were-and he was able to see Bethany’s glistening bottom pebbled with goosflesh, moving to his wife’s rhythms. He heard the gasp when Rebecca’s fingers slid into the sweet wetness of the younger woman’s pussy then the moan when she pushed her thumb into her tight asshole.
Bethany’s ecstatic crawl now was not to escape the cane but to improve the angle and widen the openings behind. Rebecca really didn’t need the help. She shifted back to her knees and pulled her fingers out to an accompanying whine only to replace them with her tongue. No more for gentle ministrations it was now an attacking snake plunging deeper into the Bethany’s pussy to find and ravish her clit. Rebecca’s arms reached under the girl and pulled her closer, tighter, closing her mouth over the woman’s bucking, sopping opening to drink as much of her sweet, spunky nectar as she could.
Bethany’s moans had morphed into coughs and barks when Best rose stiffly to his feet. He slipped quietly from the room and down the hallway turning the warm glass round and round in his hand. The sound of the lovemaking grew louder the further he got from the door. It wouldn’t be long now.
He was on the third step down, feeling the grain in the polished oak banister, when Bethany’s voice bloomed into an unfettered wail that filled every corner of the house as no music ever could. He imagined the draperies ruffling in its wake and candles being snuffed out. It was, Franklin Best thought, the sweetest sound on earth.
“Why’d they have to kill the swing?”
“It wasn’t ‘they’. He did it.”
“You don’t know that”, Candy told him though she was pretty sure it was true.
“Ruined it for all of us. Fucker! Like it’s our fault his daughter’s a spaz. “
“Come on Driscoll”, Candy said. “Don’t talk about her like that…not now.”
He kicked the gravel on the path-chastened-but still pissed. “It’s not like she’s dead.”
Shannon Twist had started coming around early in the summer. Coming into her sophomore year, this was her time to find her high-school group; the clique that would ease her move into the big building up on the hill. She knew-they all knew without being told-how the layers in the township were stratified. She didn’t have sports-that would have run her with one of a couple of groups. She didn’t play an instrument nor was she particularly cute-she knew she wasn’t. And she didn’t have a big house with a pool that would she could bring kids over to. There was not even a picnic table outside the trailer she shared with her father.
She had spent a month or two on the sidelines of this scuzzy coterie of juniors and seniors-flitting about just outside the orbits of Driscoll and Larry and the rest of the motley planets. She tried to fit in the same way that many girls in the valley did: by holding out the promise of-if not actually granting-sexual favors of one kind or another.
That day was like every other that long summer. Meet at the field, throw some Frisbee, maybe play a little hoops, then head to the river and get high. Not to the town’s park-which had its own beach-but a mile downstream literally across the tracks where the red dog and ballast from the railroad bed made for a sharp and slippery climb down to Stoner Cove-which is what they called the place. It was the perfect hard-to-get-to shitty kind of place where they could do what they wanted. Their crowning achievement for the summer had been the rope swing.
It was too high and swung over too much rocky shoreline to have been permitted anywhere near the town’s beach. Even a town council as brain dead as the one they had would have deemed it too dangerous. For the townies, anyway. But here-in Stoner Cove-nobody really paid attention. In fact, nobody would say it out loud, but the whole crew of them could break their necks for all anyone cared.
Driscoll, like most days, had been the first one off the swing. Slight and limber, he scampered up the tree wearing nothing but cut-offs and sneakers and pulled in the guide rope that tethered the thick, knotted barge line. Then, standing on the main limb, just before jumping into space a full fifteen feet above the rocks, he unfastened his belt.
“Oh boy-here it comes…”
It was his signature move. Beltless, his ratty blonde hair trailing behind, his oversized shorts would slide down his legs just at the highest point of the swing revealing his skinny ass to the approving whoops and hollers of everyone gathered. This time they slid all the way off to flutter into the water as he turned to take another pass this time his cock-not quite erect but not soft either-flapping in the breeze.
Larry turned away and lit a joint that he had taken out of a crumpled cigarette box that was secreted in the crook of an old sycamore. He mumbled something about seeing more of Driscoll’s balls that he did his own and the kids around him tittered waiting for the doobie to come their way.
Larry’s brother was the sergeant of arms or something with a local motorcycle club. What they used to call a gang. What his rank meant in the hierarchy of the club no one knew but in this world it meant he was a bad motherfucker not to be trifled with but who dealt in truly hellacious weed which Larry seemed to have unlimited access to. This access made Larry-even with his many and severe social inadequacies-a much sought after friend. He ignored all entreaties and chose to live at the bottom with his mates, perhaps knowing that if he didn’t have a brother or the drugs, this would have been the only group he could have hung with.
Shannon was beside him and got the joint first after him. Her constant presence at Larry’s side was a recent occurrence and one that he didn’t seem to be discouraging-or really noticing. Maybe she saw something beyond the menacing size and glowering countenance but probably not. Maybe she just judged his formidable shadow to be a safe haven. And if it took a hand job or something else even to keep her place there, she was probably up for it.
They were all surprised when she giggled and, handing off the joint, ran on tip toes over to the tree. She hadn’t been on the swing all summer and really had only been in the river once or twice. But there she was, cutoffs, halter top and bare feet, climbing the tree tentatively and carefully. Driscoll was out of the water by now yelling encouragement and taking too freaking long to put his shorts back on.
She was in trouble from the moment she grasped the rope out on the main branch. She laughed loudly playing at bravado but Larry could see in the way she hunched and wouldn’t stand up straight and how she was gripping that rope like she would never let it go-that she was frightened. Too frightened. “Hey”, he yelled up to her stepping toward the tree. “Don’t jump…Come on back down.”
She didn’t even look his way as she stepped off, squeezing the rope to her in a death grip. Below, his shorts at his knees now, Driscoll hooted following her flight. “Let go!” he yelled when she paused in the air-at the height of the swing. But he knew immediately that was too high for her and she swung back in. Then back out, then back again-the swing shortening each time. Larry moved toward the tree where he could grab the guide rope and pull her back in, when she let go. Or slipped off.
Whichever, she fell flat onto her back into a foot of water in the rocky shallows. Driscoll, letting his shorts fall again, was the first to reach her. She was unconscious, her face lying just below the surface bubbling from her nose. He reached under her arms and dragged her up onto the shore.
“Careful moving her”, Larry yelled seeing the trail of blood on the muddy rocks from where she came out of the water. Her top had come undone in the fall and her young breasts, tiny and white as oyster shells, rose and fell with her breathing-seemingly mesmerizing the naked boy hovering above her.
Larry-not given to physicality as his size and demeanor usually sufficed-grabbed Driscoll by the arm and yanked him away from the girl. “Would you get your fucking pants on”, he growled then yelled for a towel. He covered Shannon as Driscoll quickly retrieved his shorts.
It wasn’t easy for the EMS team to get down over the hill with the litter and the backboard but they managed after rigging a pulley to a signal pole next to the tracks. Most of the kids had scattered before the ambulance and the police made their ways down the rail bed. Larry, used to cops hassling his family, stood calmly staring at the water smoking a Newport that he had cadged from the ambulance driver.
They had almost pulled the litter to the top of the path when a rusty green pickup slid to a stop along the tracks. Larry, Driscoll and the few others left there looked up to see Shannon’s dad half running-half sliding down the hill to meet the litter coming up. His movements were frantic until he saw his daughter and came up short-digging his feet into the sliding stones to take her hand and follow back up.
As the EMT’s loaded his daughter into the ambulance he stood at the top of the hill and glared down at the kids left there. Having come straight from the tipple, his eyes burned inside two white scallops etched in the coal dust by his safety goggles. He settled his stare on the biggest and most adult looking of the crew.
Larry met his raging glare with his own baleful dead eyes, neither pushing nor backing away. He didn’t feel any fear but would remember a tingle of anticipation across his chest and shoulders. Shannon’s father recoiled slightly from what he saw in the boy’s face and broke the stare to jump into the ambulance, a deep chill settling in his chest.
“Maybe the cops did it”, Candy said nodding at the crime scene tape at the top of the hill. The main over-hanging branch of the tree had been sawed off and felled into the river. “She coulda died.”
“She didn’t”, Driscoll said flatly.
Larry reached into his pocket and pulled out one of a half dozen thick joints that were stuffed into the cigarette pack. He fired up as they gathered around.
“Is anyone going to the hospital?” Candy asked anyone. No one answered.
The thin mist that had been falling since they arrived increased to a drizzle. They closed ranks as if to protect themselves from the rain and smoked in silence.
© Tommy Ranalli- 2016