The Sweet Shoppe

(Continued from Maria  and also continuing the Party Interruptus storyline).

Duke stood on the stoop of “Monello’s Decadent Delicacies” for a moment to gather himself. The front of the shop was dark and deserted but light from the bright kitchen leaked forward from the porthole in the swinging door and the service window. He shook his head hard twice and windmilled his arms gulping deep breaths. It was an exercise he’d learned in college theater to clear himself-to get in character. He was the angry client in Maria’s little drama.

The door was locked so he twisted the knob on the old-fashioned chime. Maria’s face instantly appeared in the service window then disappeared again. The door swung open as she hustled out front. He watched impatiently tapping his toe on the concrete as she clumsily unlocked the door with what looked to be shaking hands.  She kept her hair short on the sides and he focused on the soft white skin at the side of her neck, just below her ear. He imagined the touch of the soft downy hair and the whisper of citrus that she always wore underlying the fecund aroma of dough and yeast that had to be wafting up and out of her t-shirt. Jesus, he thought. This was why Beth had warned him not to diddle…er, dawdle too long.

She finally got the door open with a jerk and stepped back startled and apologetic.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Barton…”

“Maria-you know this is unacceptable”, he said sternly stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“I know, sir…”

“There are two dozen guests at the house right now-everything is prepared except for the what you were supposed to bring!”

She backed toward the kitchen slowly with Duke keeping pace. “Yes sir, I’m sorry.”

“That’s bad enough, but then I have to leave my own party to come and help you make a delivery. Where is Shea?”

“She had other commitments, Mr. Barton, so I let her off early.”

“Other commitments?! This, today is a pretty important commitment!”

“Yes, I know. This is my fault. I misjudged. But look!” she pushed open the door behind her. “Everything is done. I finished up just as you got here.”

“I should be happy now that you’re only an hour late?”

“No sir. Of course not sir.”

“Help me to the car with these.”

She picked up a tray of bright red candied apples and fairly scurried through the shop. He took the caramel and nut. Two trips and all that was left was a tray of petite fours. He followed her back into the kitchen keeping his eyes on the perfect inverted heart of her backside wrapped tightly in stone washed denim. She had to be wiggling more than necessary, every hurried step in a perfect heel to toe line.

“The last one!”, she said waving her hand in a nervous flourish.

He bared glanced at it, choosing instead to catch her eyes in his angry glare. She coughed slightly and looked away as he deliberately unbuttoned the sleeve of his khaki shirt. He rolled it up his forearm. “I’m going to teach you a little lesson about punctuality Maria.”

“Awww, come on Mr. Barton.” she pleaded, again trying to back away from him. “Please don’t. Not here.”

“You turn around young lady…”

“Mr. Barton, I….”

“You turn around right now!”

She did so reluctantly-hiding her face with her hands.

“Stick your bottom out”, he ordered.

She pouted and pushed back slightly. He slapped her hard on the jeans finding the jarring contact of the firm yet giving mound very satisfying. She jumped with a high pitched “OUCH!”

“Do you like that, Maria?”

“No sir!”

“Stick it out a little further.  And put your hands on your thighs.”

“Oh sir…” but she did as she was told. He grabbed the beltline of her jeans and pulled them higher tightening even more the fabric that encased her bottom. Maria gasped as the pulled seam buried itself inside of her setting off wild alarms up her spine and down her legs. Her heart raced-did he know what he was doing to her? She wriggled as he slapped and lifted in perfect rhythm. Of course he knew what he was doing, she thought between gasps. She danced on her tiptoes, the swats on her bottom having a shadow of the effect to the rubbing in her crotch.

“Maria, I don’t feel I’m making a good enough impression on you.”

“Oh sir”, she said breathlessly. “You are….”

“No, I don’t think so…” He released her jeans and placed his hand around the back of her neck-not squeezing but definitely leading her forward to her work table, still dusted with flour, wisps of dough and dabs of strawberry jam.

“Bend over here…”

“Sir…I…”

“Bend!” he pushed her gently over until her hands, then her elbows then finally her breasts contacted the hard wood. Pressing on her back he reached around and unsnapped her jeans roughly pulling them down over one hip, then the other, exposing her wide firm bottom blooming slightly pink by his attentions.

Gently, but not too, he reached between her legs and peeled the damp seam from inside of her swollen lips. She gasped lightly and pushed back into his hand. Her clit could not have been harder had it been forged. Each light touch brought a tiny spasm from her mounded backside. He pulled his hand away and dipped three fingers in the bowl of strawberry preserves that she used for the pastries and jammed a dollop between her legs imagining steam rising from the cool jam spattering into her hot folds.

“Oh God, Oh God…Duke!” she reacted.

He slapped across her wide bum leaving red slashes of jam like talon scars. “What did you call me?”

“Mr. Barton! Mr. Barton! I’m sorry…I’m sorry. “

He pressed more heavily on her back lifting her milky bottom higher. He spanked her rounded cheeks and the tops of her thighs, splattering strawberry speckles and streaks to accent the softer pink handprints. He paused for more jam and reached lewdly between her legs careful to rub the inside of both thighs. She rose onto her toes trapping his hand in her pearly vice.

He flicked quickly, then rubbed, his finger slithering into her easily, her juices married with the preserves.  Her feet left the floor altogether as she gripped the edge drawing herself across the table. Duke’s hand was stuck fast, nothing but his fingers free to move, twiddle and rub. Her growl turned into a squeal as she opened herself to whatever happened back there.

She stiffened as she came, her legs drawn up and Duke’s relentless fingering turning her momentarily into quivering, squirting stone. His stroke slowed as she subsided; all the pert tension in her body dissipated revealing soft curves and sweet milky dimples. As her breath returned he slipped his hand back into the jam and spread her backside filling her crevasse and coating her tight little asshole with strawberry filling.

He playfully squeezed her cheeks together before dropping to his knees and spreading her again, licking from bottom to top as she kicked her toes. “Jesus Christ, Duke. I’m killed…” she sighed relaxing back onto her feet.

“You always had a sweet ass”, he said getting up.

“Will you give me a kiss?”

“Sure.” He bent and smooched her bottom cheek loudly.

“No, up here. On the mouth.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Too familiar”, her voice was sleepy, smiling.

“Exactly. Now, get yourself cleaned up and get over there. No later than nine. Many people are dying to show how disappointed they are with you.”

“You’re not are you?”

He bent and patted her butt once more, deigning to kiss the back of her neck.

“Never love. Never.”

He left her spread and sticky across the work table and carried the last tray of petite fours. As he was getting into his SUV his phone pinged a text.

 

(To be continued…)

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Party Interruptus

(Continued from Maria)

They took the road easily, with the moon roof open to better view the graying sky that revealed itself more every night as the leaves fell. Also, so Chelsea’s dope smoke could dissipate easily into the dusk. To be fair, it was her dope but they all were partaking. Him less, but still….

As zombies went they were definitely sexy, both careful to apply makeup that accented their looks-cheek bones for Chelsea, those goddam eyes for Gennie. They were also wearing special panties he had bought them anticipating an unveiling sometime in the evening. Gennie’s said simply “Spank Me” and Chelsea’s, “I need a good spanking.” Chels laughed and took them in good humor but didn’t model them as he’d hoped. Gennie was still a little standoffish-hesitant-nervous, though she looked great in them. Hard-on great.

At their prodding and wheedling he had broken down and put on the sheriff’s costume from a few years ago pleased that it still fit. He had a tiny pang remembering that his wife had accompanied him in cuffs and a striped jumpsuit which opened in the back for when she misbehaved. Which she often did. He toked deeper when the joint reached him this time. Linda was popping into his thoughts more and more lately.

As they rounded the last turn before Duke’s place, he saw a light swinging at the head of the driveway. He slowed. Valet parking maybe? The guy was standing at the top of the drive effectively blocking him from leaving the road. He slid the window down and leaned over Gennie.

“Heading into the party”, he explained.

“No party here”, the guy answered.

“Really? I thought there was.”

“Cancelled”, he said looking closely into the car.

“Huh! I hope everything’s alright”, both girls noticed his voice was different. Lighter and a bit breathy.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I just heard about this on Facebook. Seemed like a fun thing. Don’t get out to his part of the county often. Easy to get turned around I guess…”

“Yeah, well, you got the wrong place.”

“Which is it?”

“What?”

“Cancelled or the wrong place?”

“Tell you what there, cowboy”, they guy growled leaning forward. “Might be a good time to ride on.” He pulled his jacket aside just enough to show a pistol in his belt.

“Oh Jesus pal!”, he flustered, almost sliding into a falsetto.  “Not looking for any trouble…” He hit the gas and popped ahead, around the next bend watching the rear-view more than the road.

“What’s going on?” asked Gennie.

The road switched back then slipped over a slight hill so they couldn’t be seen but he shut the lights anyway before slowing and turning onto a hard-packed dirt road that you had to know was there.

“You kids wearing sensible shoes?” he asked scanning the woods off to the right.

“We’re good”, answered Chelsea.

“What’s going on?” Gen repeated.

“Not sure.”

“You gonna call 911?” she asked.

He had stopped in the middle of the road and turned the car off. They listened to the ticking of the engine and felt the closeness of the trees on both sides. Without a word he opened the door after switching off the interior lights. He popped the console and grabbed his pistol without taking his eyes off the woods and field ahead.

“What’s that?” asked Gennie, unnecessarily.

Even wrapped in the clip-on holster Chelsea recognized it. “Sig Nine”, she said simply.

Without answering he cut his glance her way and squinted quickly-as if trying to see something in the shadows behind her eyes. She didn’t waver. He clipped the gun onto his belt.

“You gonna call 911?” Gennie repeated in a harsh whisper.

“Shhhh!” Chelsea hissed just as urgently. They gathered behind the car where he popped the trunk.  He took out a small fold-up digging tool and a handed it to Chelsea.

“We can take the poles I made for the leashes. They could be weapons.”

He closed the trunk with a silent click. “We’ll be OK for weapons”, he said leading the way into the woods.

(Continues…)

Maria

tumblr_oevopqiwCi1risr9ko1_500

(Continued from The Halloween Party)

Maria Monello checked the large clock whirring over the counter. And that’s what it felt like it was doing: whirring, not ticking, skipping seconds altogether to gobble minutes. She had closed the shop at noon to devote totally to the Barton party preparations knowing exactly how long everything would take. The candy apples, cool and shiny on the sideboard were done and should have been delivered by now. By rights, she should have kept Shea around for the afternoon to at least deliver. But she had other plans so here she was, late and alone.

The petite fours, all 200 of the little bastards, were in process. Nothing but the final icing then the pumpkin, or skull, or bat flourish on top. Another thirty, forty minutes at least. With a puff of her bottom lip and the back of her hand she blew her bangs back off her forehead, then stood softly trying to regulate her breathing. Her heart was not so much beating as flipping as she looked at her flour-dusted phone on the table. She had to make the call. She knew she had to make the call. Her hand almost shook as she reached for the phone then pulled back.

It was like being at the top of Wildcat back when she was a skier. That slope was at the very, very, veriest edge of her capabilities. Every time she stood at the top, tips over the edge, she felt this same way. Wanting to, not wanting to, afraid to, needing to. Once she pushed off, handed control over to the mountain, she was in control by only the thinnest razor’s edge. An exhilarating and terrifying feeling all at once.

She picked up the phone and moved back toward the office where the reception was better, stopping to stand in front of the mirror wall. She caught her own eye and smiled ruefully, “You’re a simple bitch”, she whispered to herself, then slowly, turned to look at her backside over her shoulder. It would be black slacks and tuxedo shirt later but now it was jeans and a t-shirt. Yes, the jeans-worn and torn like the kids wore them-were tight. They got tighter every year, but she still could rock them, even if she said so herself. And the way the seam ran up her middle every time she moved? That was nothing she could take out in public.

She caught her eye again; it was good that she wasn’t a poker player. They had softened allowing the vulnerability that she tried to constantly cover to leak out.  Her knees almost dipped as her free hand slid over her backside. The buzzing that she’d felt distantly and intermittently in her crotch for a week now, was louder, undeniable and pert near deafening.  She watched herself press the call button and lift the phone to her ear.

Things were coming together at the Barton’s. There were at least a dozen people there already and Beth could hear another car as she spoke on the phone to the pastry chef. “This is unacceptable, Maria”, she said sternly into the phone. “You should have been here by now…”

Duke sauntered in to listen to the one side of the conversation. Beth held up a finger. “Mr. Barton will be there within the half hour and…yes. Un-Huh. Well, they had better be ready. Yes, we will work this out.”

She disconnected with a sigh. “OK, Maria is ready. Late as usual. You have to go pick up the candy apples.”

Duke sighed in turn. “She knows I’d be happy to paddle her ass without needing an excuse right? She knows this.”

“It’s her process. She’s late with the pastries, you have to pick them up, she comes later with the second batch, apologizes, begs you not to punish her in front of everyone then….”

“She’s a sweetie. I’ll go now…”

“Yes, but don’t diddle too long…”

“Don’t you mean dawdle?”

She looked at him with raised eyebrow.

“Right, right….”, he said heading for the door.

“Duke”, she stopped him looking out the window onto the patio, “That couple over by the fire.” She nodded at two men huddled off to the side in animated, if muted, conversation. One was slight and wispy with thin blonde hair. The other pretty much the same but a head taller and thicker.

“Yeah, don’t know them. They came in on Buzzy’s invitation.”

“Is Buzzy here?”

“Not yet-they said he’d be here later. Nine or so…”

At that moment Buzzy Wagner was trussed up with zip ties and a ball gag in the trunk of his Audi deep in the bowels of his condo’s parking garage. He had regained consciousness and seemed fine. But he was a bad bet for nine o’clock.

(Continued…)

 

The Halloween Party

Walking-Dead-Season-6-Michonne-Boyfriend

(Continued from Chelsea – 6)

He didn’t know how they would react to being invited to the Barton’s Halloween party. He and Linda had been there since the beginning and there was of course some concern about how his new budding harem might mix. It wasn’t a concern shared by the group; Beth and Duke wanted them there and they were like fifth graders-excited at the prospect of getting out with others. He made a note to himself: they are young vibrant women for whom a comfortable existence, no matter how well-spiced, could slip into boredom now and again.

“It will be outside-around the fire and the mantle we delivered. There will be tents if it rains, but strange as the weather’s been….”

“Will be any singles there?” asked Chelsea. “My flavor?”

“That won’t be a problem. They typically draw an interesting mix.”

“I want to be a nurse!” Gennie piped up. “Maybe a vampire nurse but sexy.”

“That would work, but you realize,” he drawled, “that any nurse showing up at this party better have an ample supply of latex gloves and thermometers.  Not the ones that go under your tongue, either.”

“Really?” said Gennie, the enthusiasm dipping a tad.

“Dude, even I figured that out”, Chelsea deadpanned.

“How about a vampire witch then? A sexy vampire witch?”

“You don’t need to be a vampire witch” said Chelsea. “Either one works. How ‘bout you be a witch, I’ll be a vamp…or a zombie. A zombie. Yeah, that’s it.”

“You”, Gen looked at him. What will you be?”

“I’ll be….me.”

“No costume?” they both said, sounding disappointed.

“You will be my costume. Once you settle on what you’re going as, I’ll fit you into harnesses…or choke collars and leashes. I’ll have each of you on an arm.”

“Oooo…” said Chelsea getting it. “Like Michonne.”

“Michonne?” Gen asked.

“Walking Dead. In season two when we first meet Michonne she has these two walkers on leashes as camouflage. Real bad ass! That’s it. We’ll be walkers. I got this idea…kind of wooden leashes-nooses at the end of poles…so we can’t turn on him. I can make those!”

“Sexy walkers!” yapped Gennie.

“Again with the sexy. I’m the one looking for someone, not you…And you” she pointed at him, “can be Michonne.”

“Sure, why not? Other than the woman/man thing, the black/white thing, the badass…not, thing, the dreads…I’m a spitting image.”

“I can’t even believe you know who Michonne is.”

“You brats. I’m older than you but not by THAT much.”

“Come on”, Chelsea enthused “….let’s work on these.”

“Hey girls, I gotta warn you though.”

Pulling up short, “What?”

“You’ll be rookies at this party.”

“Uh huh…”

“There will be games.”

“What kind of games?”

“Where the losers get spanked.”

“Jeeze…”, said Gennie.

“And you will lose.”

“Jeeze…”, again.

“Public spankings huh?”, asked Chelsea. “How many people?”

“No more than thirty. Unless there’s forty. Mixed bag-all genders, flavors, dispositions and predilections.

“Hmmm…” Chelsea said obviously more comfortable with the possibility than Gennie, then, “Hey is my butt still bruised?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

Quickly, she turned and unzipped her pants. “Chelsea!”, Gennie cried knowing what was coming. She pushed her pants and underwear down at once-further than she really needed to.

It hadn’t taken long for him and Chelsea to understand where they were coming from. Intellectually he knew there would be nothing between them physically even if Gennie wasn’t in the picture. Unfortunately, his cock wasn’t an intellectual and strained-just that quickly-against his own fly.

“That might be a bruise,” he said. “It’s hard to tell. Come back here and let me see if I can rub it off…”

“Put that thing away Chelsea. Dad’s getting all hard and bothered.”

Her pants were already up and she was tucking her shirt in. “I think the phrase is ‘hot and bothered.’”

“Not if you’re looking from this angle.”

Chelsea grabbed the wine. “We’re taking this out to the shop.”

“That’s fine. Leave the table, leave me with the mess as long as someone gets me a cognac.” He left it open to see who would. Gennie, suddenly excited about the Halloween party was sketching on a napkin and he wasn’t sure she’d heard him. Chelsea glided to the sideboard and poured.

He followed them as far as the porch and watched them almost skipping across the yard to the work shop. He sat and kicked his feet up.

In his life he’d made four fortunes and lost three, glided through some misspent summers in a misspent youth backpacking through Europe, been married for two weeks in France and for a decade for real, but had never had a time like this last few weeks. His level of happiness-which he hid as completely as he would any other emotion-made him nervous somehow. The cognac warmed him and, as he watched their shadows through the windows, he really cared not a whit about the mess in the kitchen.

(Continuing…)

 

Chelsea – 6

img_3892(Continued from Blue)

He was sitting on the wicker couch, feet up on a table he had made, watching the sun slip behind the workshop. He had stayed out in the shop to give them some privacy but figured a half an hour should be enough, for Chrissakes. Still, it was an hour later and he was well into his second bourbon when the women finally joined him on the porch.

Gennie was wearing an old Steeler jersey that covered her to mid-thigh and quite probably nothing else. She smiled shyly, her green eyes alight with the sunset. Chelsea followed, more chastely attired in the robe that seemed to get passed around cinched tightly at the waist. She moved directly to the couch-to what should have been Gennie’s spot- and sat gingerly beside him, comfortably leaning close.

“Will all my spankings end like that?”

“All? What kind of mayhem do you have planned?”

“You never know the trouble a girl can get into…”

He put his arm around her and squeezed lightly. “Just don’t go delinquent on us.”

Geneva, facing away leaning against the railing, heard him say ‘us’ and her breast swelled a little. The carnal warmth she had felt between her legs spread higher.

“I think I might have oversold…remember when I told you about being gay?”

“Your ‘keep your hands off me’ speech?”

“Yeah, that one. Might have oversold that a little.”

“Oh really…”

“We’re still not having sex…”

“You got that right”, Geneva piped up still facing away.

“But a hug sometime. Like this. A touch-would be OK.”

“Something like this?” He turned and kissed the top of her head, smelling Gennie in her hair.

“Yeah…that’s fine”, she settled into him. “I’m getting the feeling you might be worthy.” Then, “Hey showoff!” Gen, feeling a little left out, had leaned against the railing far enough to clearly show that she definitely wasn’t wearing panties.

“Maybe someone else needs a spanking around here.”

“Great minds think alike”, Chelsea agreed.

“Hey”, Gennie spun back around. “Now that we’re on the subject…that paddle. Where did that come from?”

“Something I had around, is all.”

“Uh huh. For how long?”

“Quite awhile.”

“Let me ask, did that paddle cross your wife’s naked ass?”

They never really spoke of Linda but this wasn’t exactly talking about her.

“Might have, once or twice.”

“So, same paddle on your wife’s bare ass, crosses Chelsea’s bare ass…”

“Seems so, yeah.”

Chelsea, leaning still leaning against him poked him in the chest with every word. “You have to make another paddle.”

“Definitely”, said Gennie.

He reached for the bourbon. “Good point. I’ll make two.”

Gennie’s smiled wavered a bit at that but perked back up when Chelsea, settling into his chest, winked at her.

(Continuing…)

And you are…?

Liked it better when they all wore white.

Coats or smocks, didn’t matter. But white.

Seeing nurses in colors set him off a little.

Like nuns in jeans, an order was upset.

Whoever said blue or plum were less stressful didn’t account for this one

With a smart patterned blouse and bright red nails.

And you had…she looked at the laptop she carried lovingly in the crook of her arm…

Rectal bleeding, was it?

What? No! I didn’t…

It says here that you did.

I would remember.

But…she squinted at the screen…

You are Delores Sierra are you not?

No. I’m Raymond Dugan.

Birthdate?

3-19-62.

No, that’s not right.

It’s my birthday. I would know.

You’d be surprised, she said.

He stared holes into the side of the face

Staring at the screen for answers.

My old man would have slapped her by now and walked out, he thought.

Or, closer to the end, pissed on her desk or shit himself;

Just to show her.

Which would have been wrong.

Definitely wrong.

If you’ll give me a moment Mrs. Sierra…

But still…

One Ridge Over – Part 2

Logging Road

(Continued from One Ridge Over)

This time he opened the gate careful to rattle the chain and make as much noise as he could. Halfway across the yard he saw a curtain peek open then close again, so he knew somebody saw him. “C’min”, came Emily’s voice from inside before he knocked.

He stepped into the dim light of the living room. Even if he hadn’t been there earlier and seen what he’d seen, he’d a known something was off in there. There was a damp thickness to the air-a musty whorl of tears, sweat, cigarette smoke and something rotten-sweet that he couldn’t place.

Emily sat on the couch, the curtains behind leaking just enough light to see.

“Your mom here?” he asked.

“Still at church…doin’ whatever.”

“Susan?”

“Stairs”, she said with a slight nod to the narrow staircase at the end of the room.

She had taken off the sweater that had completed the skirt as her regular Sunday outfit. Her titties showed almost clear through the undershirt that had gone a size too small for her over the summer. She wore a lot of sweaters and overshirts even in summer as Missy didn’t think she was old enough for a bra yet.

He stood frozen, eyes averted, the homework he had brought to share, forgotten. Her eyes too were elsewhere, settled on the low table with the full ashtray, two crushed beer cans and empty whisky pint. As he adjusted to the dim light he glanced and saw that her eyes were swollen and red, but the tears well gone. Without actually planning to, or even meaning to, he said “I seen….”

“Seen what?”

“I’s…here earlier. Come through the yard. Seen you and Susan…and Jimmy.”

“Oh”, was all she said. He dropped his eyes further looking directly at the toes of his ripped sneakers, one held on by baling twine.

“Where were you at?”

“Behind the big bush.”

The words were coming as singles-not as whole sentences.

“What did you think?”

“I wanted to kill him…I was gonna jump him and make him stop.”

“Good thing you didn’t. Onliest one woulda gotten killed is you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But you wanted to help”, she said. “Come to my rescue.” Her voice was scratchy and heavy.

“Yeah, it’s dumb. I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizin’. It’s sweet”, she said. “I’m glad you dint, but it’s sweet.”

He looked up to see a tiny smile cross her tear-swole face. He had seen her whipped bare ass over a bench, seen her hard nipples practically pushing through her undershirt. But only now, based on a single crooked smile and her white teeth, did his pecker tighten and push against his pants. It was the damndest thing!

His burgeoning firmness was interrupted by the sound of a door and soft tread on the stairs.

“Oh, it’s you”, Susan said her face heavy too, but more flushed than blotchy.

“Where are you going?” Emily asked.

“Out. For a walk.”

She gave nothing else as she headed for the door. He watched her, suddenly nervous at the electricity that come off of Susan that Emily had none of. He found he was holding his breath.

“He was here”, Emily said flat. “He saw.”

“Saw what?”

“He was behind the bush.”

She stopped and turned burning eyes on him. “What are you?”, she growled her face almost frantic with anger. “Some kinda perv?”

“No, it was an accident!”

“Did you git a good show?”

“Come on Suze, he didn’t know what was goin’ on…he was comin’ here for schoolwork.”

“Is that schoolwork?” She hissed pointing at his erection that hadn’t altogether subsided. “Is that for you? Here! You want a better show?” She commenced to yanking at her pants.

“Susan, you stop that! He saw our backsides, not our fronts. Don’t do that to him.”

But Susan was bound and determined even if trying her best to mind her sister a little bit. She turned and pushed her pants down. “There! You like that?” Susan was comely enough. Truth be told she was the prettier of the Brant sisters but no, seein’ her butt all purple and lashed and knowin’ that her face was flushed from crying didn’t please him at all. “You like that?” she croaked over her shoulder.

“No”, he said quietly. “I don’t.”

She pulled her pants up as quickly as she dropped them and faced him again. She nodded toward his crotch. “Is that for you then?” she asked her sister.

“He came here for homework”, Emily said evenly through gritted teeth.

“Why don’t you. Go ahead and do it. Put a baby in her you perv so in a few years you’ll have someone you can…”

“STOP IT RIGHT NOW SUSAN!”

The younger shut up and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes which had started to leak. To stop from saying anymore she spun and pushed her way out the door. He watched her cross the yard.

“Where’s she goin’?” he asked.

“Prolly up the walnut grove. That’s her happy place. Good place for her right now.”

“She’s pissed.”

“There’s more what goes on between her and Jimmy than jist takin’ a whippin’ now an’ then.”

“What you mean?” he asked.

She gifted him with another smile; this one sly, with her head puppy-tilted to the side. “You sweet little dummy. You don’t know, do you?” That smile again. This time she watched his pants push out toward her. “Come on…” She got up from the couch and led him by the hand, back through the kitchen and out the back door.

He felt strange being in the back yard again so soon after what had happened there. Even stranger to go and set on the bench. His Ma believed that everthing that happened in the world was still happenin’…or was still goin’ on in some kind of time wrinkles…he never could get it straight when she explained it, cause it was always late at night, but he was pretty sure she would say the whippin’ he saw was still happenin’ over and over if he jist had the gift of bein’ able to see it. He didn’t know about that, but he did feel weird settin’ there in the middle of it.

The river was shallow here and if not for the algae blooms he’d be able to count the rocks from one side to the other. He saw a couple of carp-big shadows cruising upstream-and watched the willows across the way standing straight in the weak current. Emily set close beside him. His nervous river-watchin’ was interrupted by her hand roughly rubbing over his lap. “You can’t keep it loaded and not shoot. You’ll get blood poisoning.”

“No I won’t!”

“It’s true”, she said, her hand work not helping at all.

He’d had boners before and knew how to deal with them. But he’d never had one with a girl. He sat rigid and straight-backed breathing in quick little bites as she rubbed her hand back and forth. She paused and flipped the tab of his zipper. “You know how to work this?” she asked.

He unzipped and made to reach in, but it jumped out of its own accord like a dog after a rabbit. “See now?” Emily said grabbing it like a corn stalk. “This is no good. I’ll take care a’ this.” She spit in her hand and rubbed down over the top of it. He saw it swell and felt a tickle deep below in his balls. She wrapped her fist around it and stroked clumsily.

“I like how it grows”, she said from a distance, as if talking about a flower. It wasn’t quite determination that showed on her face as much as wanting to get it right. He didn’t know whether to watch her or the carp so he looked out at the river and stole peeks down at his lap as if he was ashamed of his own pecker. It wasn’t a concern he had for long though. He slammed his eyes shut when he felt the rustling bubbles deep inside and grunted, hearing his juice spatter on the leaves between his feet.

“There”, she said. “Don’t that feel better?”

“It does.”

“You’ve done this before, right?”

“Sure. Never with a girl, though.”

“Here then. Let me show you something…” Before he could imagine what, she pushed her hair behind her ear and bobbed into his lap. She took him into her mouth and whirled her tongue about the top of him sucking gently at the same time. He rose off the bench slightly crying…”Whoa, whoa…” then settled as she slid her mouth down over the full of it. Then she pulled her lips back over it and sat back up leaving him hard and shiny. “Whoo…” he whispered.

“How’s that?”

“That was somethin’…” he said, then froze as the world tilted a bit. He caught the seat of the bench with his hands as it felt to be collapsing under him.  Where had she learnt that?

There’s more what goes on between her and Jimmy than jist takin’ a whippin’ now an then.

“Put that thing away”, she said. “You only get one shot today.”

He stuffed his rigid self back into his pants with difficulty and sat still while everything gathered back under him. She took his hand in hers without looking. “I don’t want to do no homework today”, he said feeling a little sick in his belly.

“Naw”, she said. “Me neither. I need to go up into the woods and gather Susan. Make sure she’s fine…”

As he followed her through the dim house to pick up his book bag he kept his eyes over everything but her walking right in front.

“We won’t be in school tomorrow”, she told him at the gate.

OK, was all he said. He didn’t want to get into the detail of it or know why. His mind spun with the possibilities that they neither could sit on the hard seats all day, they were too upset, whatever. He thought nothing of it, just suddenly wanted to head up the road.

“You have to give me a kiss now”, she said, her thick little fingers gripping his handlebar tightly. “We’re lovers now. You have to kiss me when you leave”. He kissed her, chastely on the lips–mouth closed and dry. “Bye”, was all he said.

The ride home was even more painful than he thought it would be as the thick heat settled, filling the hollow. It was fine though. He took his time.

—–

He didn’t mind Mondays. He was an early riser anyways and liked goin’ to school probably more than school liked him being there. Ma was at the sink pushing herself up taller to better see though the window. “It’s your uncle” was all she said.

He heard the boots clop on the porch. Uncle Mike, big enough that it seemed he should duck through the door wore the same checked shirt he’d had on since his wife died. The kitchen filled with the sweet, sour smell of the twenty head of straggly Angus he ran on the rented knob over opposite the church.

“You hear about the Brant’s last night?”

“How would I?”

“There were a fire.”

“A fire.“

‘We won’t be in school tomorrow’ echoed so clearly in his head he was afraid the adults would hear.

“Everbody OK?”

“Girls and Missy fine. Damn fool Jimmy Logan burned himself up. Musta been smokin’ on the couch and fell asleep.”

“Naw!”

“Good riddance to a waste of skin and bone is all I say.”

“Hush Mike. Stop that. He’s in school with the girls…”

He stared down at the cold, rubbery dollar-store waffles. He wished there was syrup instead of jist brown sugar.

‘We won’t be in school tomorrow.’

 

©TDR – 2017