Beth

Perchenonso.tumblr.com

(Continued from Maddie – 4)

They were downstairs in the library. He was leaning against the desk and Duke was moving-not exactly pacing but almost a box step-in front of the fireplace. Before both of them, on a couch that faced away from the door, Beth Barton lay face down, twisting her neck to see them.

“Jesus, Duke”, she said, trying to follow his wanderings, “Would you settle where I can see you?”

“Sure…Sorry”, he said and moved more completely into her field of vision.

“Thank you”, she said feigning exasperation.

Beth was naked from the waist down with two ice bags on her swollen bottom. There were swaths of angry purple showing where the ice didn’t cover. She was up on her elbows.

“You’re sure they weren’t military?” Duke said pulling on his lip.

“Military?” she asked.

“Well…ex”, he replied.

“I don’t think so,” Beth said. “They were too loose…didn’t have a real plan. Didn’t know what they were after…What do you think?” she asked turning her head.

“No”, he answered still leaning laconically against the desk. Beth thought it an affectation-trying overly hard to look cool and nonchalant.  “The one on the road was a mook”, he said.  “A nothing. But they knew they were after something…”

“He-the one with the paddle-kept talking about money…” Beth said.

“Never mentioned gold…” Duke chipped in.

“No”, he agreed. “If they knew gold, they’d have said gold.”

“What about Best?”, Duke asked. “You think he had anything to do with it?”

“Naw”, he answered after giving it a short ponder. “He’s semi-retired. Happy with his life on the lake…”

“What about Angela?”

“Angela? Christ no. What would be her motivation? If I had half of her money I’d throw mine away.”

“Still, we could reach out to see if they know anything. Send one of your operatives…” He said it with a smile and he laughed along.

“Operatives. That’s funny.”

“What about your girl?” Beth asked. “She’s gotta be military.”

“I honestly don’t know…but it seems right.”

“Helluva shot”, said Duke.

“Not just the shots”, he answered thoughtfully pulling at his lip. “She has the moves…the carriage…smooth as silk.”

“Not just another pretty face”, said Beth.

“No, I guess not.”

Out in the hall Chelsea walked lightly trying doors looking for the library. Damn house was bigger than it looked. She heard low voices inside and knocked lightly.

“Come in”, called Beth’s voice.

She opened the door tentatively and poked her head in face to face with the men.  Beth’s disembodied voice came from the couch. “Is this my hero….?”

She slipped through the door and closed it quietly behind her.

“Come around so I can see you.”

Chelsea stopped short when she stepped around the couch. “Come on, come on…nothing you haven’t seen before”, hailed Beth holding a hand out. Chelsea took it and squeezed. She had a difficult time keeping her eyes on her eyes. Beth was older than she was, certainly but exceedingly and determinedly well kept. There’s no denying the calendar and genetics, she’d spread a bit back there, but Chelsea wanted a closer look. Wouldn’t take one-but wanted one. Maybe Beth read her mind.

“Boys”, Beth said. “Go and enjoy the party. Make sure everyone who’s still here is having a good time. Let me get acquainted with my savior, here.”

Chelsea didn’t notice any firmness in her tone; nothing that would indicate that she was giving them an order. But they agreed that they needed drinks and he, with a wink and Duke, with a quick squeeze to her bicep, slipped out the door beyond Beth’s field of vision. She waited a moment after the door clicked shut.

“Are they gone?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Do a girl a favor, would you? Get this ice off me. Duke is sweet and wants to help but giving my ass frostbite might not be the best idea. I’m fucking freezing!”

Chelsea lifted the ice bags leaving her bruised cheeks puckered, goose-pimpled and wet.

“There’s a sink behind the bar”, Beth told her. “And a clean towel.”

Chelsea dropped the bags in a sink and brought the towel. Beth, head laying on crossed arms, was pointedly not moving. “Do you mind?” she asked. And when she felt the slightest hesitation, “I’m going out on a limb and assuming mine wouldn’t be the first woman’s ass you’ve touched, right?”

Chelsea allowed half her face to grin unseen.

“Maye not even the first one tonight…” That got a bigger smile that Beth couldn’t see. “That’s OK…” she went on. “Hoping everyone has fun.”

Chelsea dabbed slowly, careful not to rub or in any way abuse or aggravate the bruises. Once dried, she brazenly allowed herself a pat, then a touch of the cool tight flesh. “How’s that feel?” she asked.

“Numb”, Beth answered. “You could probably bite a mouthful off and I wouldn’t notice. Not that I’m inviting…just saying.”

“Looks sore.”

“It will be. Here,” she reached back. “Help me up…” Chelsea pulled her arm and helped her up onto her hip, then to a sitting position. She wriggled slightly. “Oh, yeah…I can feel that.”

Beth’s short hair was died jet black but she allowed her neatly trimmed southern foliage to color itself a more appropriate salt and pepper. Her thighs were thick and firm up top and slimmed at the knees. Chelsea couldn’t help thinking that she could be comfortable across that lap. She grinned slightly, amazed at her state of arousal given the session she had just finished upstairs.

“What?” Beth asked, seeing her lips flutter.

“Nothing…Dumb.”

Her heart jumped, as if her unbidden fantasy was about to come true when Beth patted the cushion beside her. “Sit”, she said.

Chelsea did, careful to leave at least a sliver of space between them. Beth took her hand and closely inspected it-the back then the palm. Chelsea watched along with her as if about to discover something about her own hand she never knew.

Then she sat eye to eye as Beth looked over her face surely counting every dim freckle and that hideous bump on her nose. The examination wasn’t uncomfortable though-it felt natural, even intimate.

“What’s that scent you’re wearing?” Beth asked.

“I’m not…wearing any…”

The older woman leaned closer to her neck. “So, it must have rubbed off of someone.”

This time Beth was treated to a full, twisted smile and hint of a blush.

(To be continued…)

January 19, 2018

Anna Yanni was born 22 days after my father in 1931.

She never had a Christmas morning where-as the only child

The room would be full of gifts for the gift.

She never played in the yard or worked in her grandfather’s garden.

She didn’t go to school.

Never acted in the high school production of Best Foot Forward,

Never went to art school-never drew a thing.

Didn’t spend 18 years in the Army Reserves

Pushing and being pushed.

Never worked,

Never laid a brick.

Didn’t marry, raise children,

Worry, love, be paralyzed by fear.

Be proud, prideful or exult.

Yell!

Work, play, fish

Have friends, have family,

Watch the Steelers,

Live, love, laugh, drink,

Die at home.

Maybe that last. Probably.

For 16 days why even leave Heaven?

Who booked her on that cruise?

Who was little Anna sent to serve

Or to save?

He Remembered to Eat

He remembered to eat, at least.

Two rice cakes with peanut butter.

He did it in front of her as she was leaving for the gym

So she could see.

She kissed him on the cheek and he’d playfully grumble.

Once gone, he would swallow the pills that she didn’t know about

Nor what he did to get them.

They would make

The day tolerable.

No, that was wrong…

They would make the day livable.

No, that’s the same thing.

They would make the day…enjoyable.

He would be right with the world by the time she got home.

She would sometimes mention his good moods

As if complimenting a puppy for not shitting on the rug.

How happy she was to have him back she’d say

Though he never remembered being anywhere.

He’d watch the clock and with every blink of the passing morning feel the

Darkness begin to lift, the grays become tie-dyed.

Feel yesterday’s regrets dissolve and tomorrow become nothing.

He would try to remember the feeling. This fearless thisness, and try to

Recapture it later, without the pills.

He tried that always.

It never worked.

The darkness always lurked, like a thief hiding

Until everyone was asleep.

Those times when she lay her head on his chest as she once had

With no direction, meaning or pretense and he could

Smell her sweet scalp through the shampoo.

Those times he wondered why it wasn’t enough.

Why nothing was ever enough.

Doc Savage

The sun was barely up and already muggy; more August than October. That’s why I hadn’t gone out that morning-had humped and sweated two thick, buggy ridges the day before and felt wrung out. Didn’t feel like archery season. I liked the woods in the fall; not the summer, so I let them go without me-I’d hunt the evening; spend the day reading and chilling. That’s what I was doing when Jerry’s girlfriend Lynn padded softly into the kitchen. We were all staying in her grandparent’s decrepit farmhouse in the foothills of the Adirondacks.

I wished I could say I was reading Kerouac, Gary Snyder, even Hemingway but actually it was one of the Doc Savage series; don’t remember which-there were a ton of them and I’d had most as a kid. Brought them hunting with me because they were small enough to pack and there was something reassuring about them. Having read and re-read them for years, they calmed me and brought me back to earth when I got too high. Which was hard to avoid when hunting with Jerry and the boys.

Lynn said “Mornin”, soft and sleepy and I looked up with a ready smile to find her completely and totally naked, a wrinkle from the bed clothes traced along her hip. Not a thread, not an earring, nothing. “I can’t sleep in anything in this weather”, she said. “I hope you don’t mind.” No, I told her, I’m fine. I put my head down to read again but that didn’t feel right. If she came down dressed I wouldn’t read and ignore her.

The smells of sleep swaddled her-all like baby milk, vanilla and dried sweat. She picked a cup from the sideboard and poured, her back to me, skin shining in the morning dim of the old house. Sugar was there and the cup tink-tink-tink-tinked as she stirred. She had a great ass-that I knew from the jeans she wore. Her butt was like Marcia’s a little smaller, maybe firmer. No, couldn’t have been. Marcia’s butt was bounce a quarter off it firm. Marcia-Jesus. Hadn’t thought of her in months. She liked me to spank her-the first girl who ever asked for it. I didn’t get it at first, but I’m a quick study.

She laughed like I was tickling her; and she’d fake these little ‘ooohs’, and ‘ouches’ like I was hurting her. As if ever that could have happened. She broke up with me when she went off to college. Didn’t want any encumbrances she said. That was her word. I thought I was going to be her husband, but suddenly I was an encumbrance. Christ.

“I’m going back upstairs”, Lynn said turning a little my way so I could see her tits. She liked them and should have, but her eyes, looking sideways, betrayed nothing. She was giving a show but couldn’t tell if it was for my benefit or hers. “There’s a cross breeze up there-feels sweet and you can still taste the last bit of evening.”  I thought to say ‘Yeah’, but some kind of weird, strangled sound came out, so I kept my mouth shut as her bottom disappeared into the shadows and creaking, back up the stairs.

I had never been so hard in my freaking life. It was like all my morning-wood ever rolled together but I didn’t know if it was Marcia’s memory or Lynn’s reality that lit the fuse. I read a paragraph, Doc was in trouble, but remembered nothing. Read it again-then a page, then the same page again. I tried reading aloud in a whispered mantra to bank the fire but it wasn’t working.

Then I heard the creak again-on the stairs. I knew, and started reading harder, silently but unable to drown the sound of her bare feet scuffing across the old hardwood.

“I thought you would follow me.”

She was still naked, her body-facing me now-luminous in the knife edge of sunlight that was peeking through the kitchen window. Golden dust motes twinkled, a cape swirling in the air above her.

“I could.” I kept my eyes on hers as she waited to hear more. “Can I spank you?”

The corner of her mouth lifted; her eye caught the sun. She turned slowly, languidly, a weekend swimmer taking a turn in a pool. “Sure”, she said over her shoulder as her butt walked off again into the shadows.  “Just not too hard.”

For a second, I thought of Jerry. No, less than a second. I’d known him since first grade but it wasn’t like we were brothers or anything. I cringed at the squeaking sound the chair made pushing away from the table.

Flea Market

He had brought forty bucks with him

But couldn’t imagine what he’d spend it on.

He followed her up one aisle and down the next

Passing tables burdened with crap that

Had the church not held a flea market would have been tossed.

She had bought an occasional table that they had no place for

And a single place setting that almost looked like their good China.

He handled a couple of Civil War books that he already had

And a broken faux Tiffany lamp that might have been worth fixing

If it had been real.

He was ready to slip out the side door for a smoke

When the Barbies caught his eye;

Dozens of them on a back table-houses, cars, outfits.

He moved in that direction and picked one up.

Then another, looking for something until she caught up.

What are you going to do with those? She whispered low.

She caught the glint in his eye.

For Chissakes!, she said.

This is a church you know. The basement,

But still a church!

He laughed and bought six for five bucks each.

She wouldn’t walk with him to the car.

The Visit – 8

(Continued from The Visit – 7)

Her mouth fell open as she slid down onto Jake’s stem, pinioning herself, working her pelvis to accept him in full. She thought that of her growing stable of suitors: William, Jimmy Ripple, even Mr. Parsons who was such a bigger man, nobody filled her wall-to-wall, end to end as completely as this.  Maybe it was because they were typically on top-in front or behind-setting the pace; working to meet their needs instead of hers. This was different. Very different.

She rose and fell, rose and fell, her thighs clenching and her knees clicking with each soft thrust. Her easily flowing juices ensured there would be no chafing as she caught a rhythm. His hands were busy, in love with the feel of her hips-and his arms could reach around to her bottom and did. “Spank me.” She whispered feeling his hands back there. “Slap my ass…” She fell forward hoping to create a better target.

He did as instructed, but they were light, glancing blows. His carnal abilities and reflexes were unrefined, and he found concentrating on one thing at a time more reasonable. Squeezing her butt cheeks while she rode him was more in his limited wheel house. As her speed increased she got lower, covering him, hands on both sides of his head. Up close her eyes were bright-less reflective of the dim nimbus around the streetlight outside and more luminous-generating a fire of their own.

“You have to kiss me now”, he said tightly, feeling himself building. “You have to.”

Easily forgetting her earlier proviso, she dropped her mouth onto his and slipped her tongue roughly inside. He swallowed it whole and sealed his lips against hers clumsily banging teeth. She tasted of gin, sand and spearmint gum with just a touch of sourness that flashed once then was gone-easily forgotten. She began to gasp into his mouth, the ratcheting of her hips bringing her off faster than she had expected. She broke and arched her back and ground him hard.

He wouldn’t last much longer and dug his fingers into her thighs. “My ass…” she gasped. “Grab my ass…!” She was up again, then down, on all fours then spread. Her ass was two wooden globes that he squeezed at but couldn’t open. She wished his arms were longer-or better, that there was someone else in the room-someone behind fucking her in the rear…then another- a third in her mouth. As she was carried pounding away she wanted all her holes filled at once…she…wanted…wanted…!

She came with a growl; her body tightening in a long spasm, her flat chest heaving and her legs squeezing as he hissed then barked, finally painting her insides with the thrusting heat of the first orgasm he had shared with anyone. Together they were frozen stiff and twitching until she began collapsing in stages, like a blasted building. First onto her hands, then her elbows, finally onto him entirely, every inch of her fused to him, slippery with sweat and not heavy at all. The intimacy of the two bodies, rising as one with every breath he took kept him from entirely softening.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” he asked.

“I’m going to hell”, she muffled, her head in his neck.

“Then take me with you….”

He could fall asleep easily like this-wearing his Mom’s baby sister as a cover.

 

The Visit – 7

“No. In here.” She tapped her temple.

(Continued from The Visit – 6)

She rolled onto her hip, prodded by his insistent burrowing in the furrow of her backside. He slid his palm under, squeezing her lightly, a fantasy of years becoming a fleshy reality. When she next looked down on him the regret on her face was fading, subsumed by a hunger, a lust that had been kept at bay if just barely. His touching, his desire for her this way, had opened the door a crack and that’s all it needed.

She pulled back the bedclothes and slid his boxers down quickly, eliciting a hiss as they passed over this hard cock. She looked away from it for a moment, the last pang of propriety melting like cotton candy on the tongue. His hand, not satisfied with the bum cheek, wandered and grasped, digging deeper, a finger finding her tight anus.

“What are you doing with that, you brat?” she grinned, wriggling her bottom against his probing for a moment allowing him a hint of the dry entry, that she enjoyed so much, before pulling away and sliding down his body.

He groaned loudly as she bent and covered his dick with her open mouth, thin lips slipping from top to bottom. Since lubrication, not titillation, was her aim, she didn’t tarry long nor bring the whole of her talents in the mouthy arts to bear; simply a wet swipe down then up leaving him glistening. If he was disappointed when she disengaged it didn’t last as she clambered up his body and rose before him squatting, then kneeling, balancing above his pulsing member.

(Continuing…)