He found himself at sea; alone, misfiled, misplaced: a spoon among the forks trying To understand where he fit. What did he know about menopause? About what years did down there Turning wetlands into deserts; Lush marshes into Craggy rocky places. One adapts, he was told. She had a plan. Will you take off your pants At least? he asked. She played tennis and knew her legs drove him wild. Of course, she said. But strip now. He did as he was told and she, Like a mom with a recalcitrant toddler, Took him by the ear and patted his bum Toward the bedroom. Am I going to regret this In the morning? he asked. Of course darling, she purred. That’s what mornings are for.
She made the right at the light, then the left onto Peach running along the railroad tracks. Two blocks then a left up Sixth and a right into the Club’s parking lot, then around the back to the kitchen entrance. It was her third circuit of the building in the last thirty minutes. She didn’t know what time he’d get there, only that it would be early. She was glad actually to have had the time to drive around to stop crying. Jimmy didn’t need that-her crying always freaked him out-but she thought she had it under control now. Poor guy, she thought, squeezing off a sad smile which looked kind of twisted in the rear view, he didn’t know what was coming.
Who was she kidding? Even she didn’t know what was coming. No matter how many scenarios, plans, schemes ran through her head they rarely played out as she hoped in the light of day. All she did know was that she had to pull herself back from the edge, cause that’s where she felt she was-tiptoeing along the roofline. In her dreams the last couple of weeks she was always sliding away. One night she couldn’t stop sliding down the icy hill at first street, her fingernails failing to grasp anything. Another night she was sliding down the dusty hill path above the high wall up at the dump where they’d played as kids, or down the sloped floor in the funhouse at old Rainbow Gardens. The common thread in all those dreamscapes was that the end of the slide was a fall, a fall into a void that she felt was waiting for her. And in the dreams, the slopes kept getting steeper and slicker-the void darker.
Apparently the third time was the charm. Jimmy’s truck was parked in back, to the right of the door where Ben usually parked. She grinned knowing that Jimmy had planned to be gone by the time they got there but still, he liked to jab even when he didn’t know he was doing it. She turned off the car and sat, listening to the engine tick. “Gotta breathe”, she said aloud and did that, deep ins and outs until she thought she was ready.
Inside, Jimmy checked the clock above the warmers. Not yet eight. He was ahead of his schedule which was well ahead of everyone else’s. This would be the second monthly dinner at the Club since the pandemic. It was takeout only but they were all surprised by the turnout last month. They had sold almost as many dinners as BC (Before Covid) when they were doing sit-down as well as takeout. So Ben and Darla expected today to be big.
Jimmy’s job was to pre-cook fifty pounds of spaghetti; ten trays of five pounds each. Boil, drain, rinse, ice and put them in the walkin cooler. They would then finish the pasta to order throughout the day. They would. Jimmy wouldn’t be there. He would do the prep cook and be out by 10:30 when Ben and Darla showed up. He wouldn’t mind working with Darla, never minded working with Darla and would frankly like to work with her. Alone. But not with her husband. Ben was a micromanaging complete pain in the ass and Jimmy had given up trying to work with him a few months ago. He communicated with his business partner only through Darla and was frankly still here only through his loyalty to her. If he wasn’t doing the precook, she would have to.
The three huge pots were almost boiling and Jimmy’s Vicodin was starting to bubble a pleasant fuzziness up into his head. Cooking fifty pounds of pasta by yourself was less a culinary feat than an athletic one and all old athletes needed help now and again. The rising steam said it was time to throw down some spaghetti. He emptied a five pound package into the nearest pot and stirred hard with the long handled wooden spoon to keep it from sticking.
The door alarm buzzed and he looked up to check the clock again. “Shit”, he thought. “I don’t want them here yet.” By them, he meant Ben. He kept stirring and looked up when he heard someone rustle in behind him.
“What are you guys doing here this early?” he asked without turning. Darla moved swiftly through the kitchen waving him off with her right hand and headed out the other door into the dining room. “It’s just me”, she said quickly on the way through. What? , he thought. Had there been something in her voice? He looked after her noticing she was still wearing her summer attire-short shorts that she might have been just on the cusp of being too old for, but her legs didn’t follow any calendar. Nobody complained when she was waiting tables or helping in the kitchen with her apron flying behind her.
“Whatever,” thought Jimmy. The first batch was al dente-just right. He hefted the sloshing forty pound pot over to the sink and dumped it through the large colander allowing the water to fill another pot beneath. Then he put that pot on the stove to keep the hot water and, banging pots back and forth, proceeded to rinse the spaghetti with cold water over and over to keep it from sticking.. Again, he used the spoon to stir through the rinsing. It wasn’t until he finished rinsing that he noticed Darla was back in the kitchen. Her eyes were red but her cheeks were dry.
He chose to let it ride for a moment and asked her for one of the aluminum pans behind her. She handed it over and he dumped the spaghetti. “Ice?” she asked. He nodded and she was off to the ice machine rustling back with a pitcher that he spread over the top of the pasta.
“One down”, he said, then turning back to Darla, “What’s up with you?”
She waved him off again but made no move to leave. She was leaning against the stainless steel prep table in the middle of the room, arms folded, face down. He wanted to see her eyes.
“Where’s Ben?” he asked.
She didn’t change her posture except to shrug. Once.
“Jesus Dar! What are you? Fourteen? Talk to me-we got a busy day here.”
She looked up and the tears had started to run but crying registered nowhere else on her face. She wiped her cheeks with the flat of her hand and shrugged again.
“I said some things.”
“About the dinner. About the club. About him…Things!”
Jimmy cut his eyes to the clock. Now he was behind schedule. “You had to say things this morning? Couldn’t wait until tomorrow…?”
“It’ll be fine. He just won’t talk to me most of the day which will be a relief. I don’t know…”She huffed with the shrug this time. “You think this is easy for me?” Then she looked up and met his eyes and he knew exactly what she meant. “You think?”
“No”, he said, catching her eyes knowing pretty much what she was talking about. “Not for me either. But hey-if it was easy everyone would be doing it and that would be an awful shitteree”
She grinned. “It would be messy”, she said. She sighed a little too loudly for it to have been spontaneous. “You know what I need?”
“I think I’m going to find out.”
“I could use that”, she said dryly.
Jimmy saw she was looking at the wooden spoon. “Here”, he said absently reaching it toward her.
“No dummy”, she sniffed and half turned, cocking her hip his way almost presenting her backside.
Oh for the love of Mike, thought Jimmy.
His mind slipped back a couple of weeks…
Continued from Peaches
She tore at his clothes as if they were aflame, finishing pulling his pants off after they had fallen onto their sides on the soft pile of blankets and bedding. The sky finally opened, and a soft rain fell pattering onto the sod not six feet from where they lay. Arianna pushed him roughly onto his back and sat astride his solid shaft accepting him fully at once.
She moaned quietly as she slid up and down and John lifted his head to put his mouth to one of her ample swinging breasts. He licked and kissed, finally taking the nipple of one, then the other, into his mouth to suckle and nibble as he gently worked his fingers along the welts on her backside and thighs.
As her movements quickened, John collapsed back onto his pillow and let Arianna pin his shoulders with her hands. Her breath came in shallow gasps as her sliding moved more toward bucking. She stretched her neck toward the roof and arched her back to receive all of him, working her thighs to pump away. As the rain intensified, she fell forward onto him and her luscious breasts collapsed into his chest.
Her moans came louder and quicker as she stretched her legs backward, flattening onto him and wrapping her arms around his neck. They were thigh on thigh as she seemed to be trying to rub his throbbing self entirely off. He worked his hands up and down her tightening body until all at once she stiffened and dug into his thighs once more. Finally, with a whimpering cry, she came-quivering and twitching-until she collapsed entirely onto him.
They lay like that, listening to the rain, as Arianna’s breath returned to normal. “So”, asked John, sliding his hands up and down her sides and gently cupping her bum, “Did you come?”
She laughed lightly and lifted her head. The desperate animal fire that had shined from her eyes as they wrestled toward the floor was gone-replaced by a lighter glow-something satisfied and playful. She kissed him on the mouth. “I think so-yes. Hard to tell. But it seems I’m the only one who did.” Even though John had slipped out of her she could still feel him-stiffly at attention-down between her legs.
“No”, he said. “That was all for you.”
“You’re sweet”, she purred, then kissed him lightly again. “But what kind of hostess would I be….”
If was John’s turn to moan lightly as she slid her body down his-paying careful attention to never lose contact with his stiffness. He parted his legs so that she could kneel between them and listened to a faraway thunder roll as she rubbed her breasts along his erection before taking it finally into her hand.
She stroked slowly and talked softly-mischievously. “He worked hard, this one…”
He felt her lips drape over him and he let his head fall back. This wouldn’t take long.
Afterward they lay side by side listening to the rain dinging against the shed’s metal roof. What wind there was blew toward the house so they stayed dry. Up on one elbow John massaged Arianna’s breast with the other hand.
“You and these titties, boyo”, she teased. “You must only date flat-chested girls.”
“Not flat, exactly”, he smiled. “But not like this…” He pulled his head toward the bottom of her rib cage where the gravity was pulling them. “They wander and move around…”
“Yes,” she said. “They do have minds of their own”.
She pulled back to reach behind herself, under a blanket. She produced a small bottle of what looked to be oil or salve. She pointed with it, vaguely toward her bottom. “Do you mind?” she asked.
“Absolutely not. I’d love to.”
She handed him the bottle and flopped onto her belly. He knelt beside her and flipped the cap and put a little salve on the fingers of his right hand which he patted gently onto the worst of the welts. In repose her bottom spread out and relaxed in a soft magnificence that he wasn’t used to. He slid his fingers under her cheeks where they met her legs and tended to a spot where the skin had slightly broken. She responded to his touch and opened her legs when he patted that way. The rain kept up a soft patter and the sweet, wet fragrance of the flowers and trees mixed pleasantly with their own pungent aromas.
“I’m afraid you are going to have some bruises.”
“I was counting on it,” she said, muffled by her arms where she lay her head.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.
“If not now, when?”
“How long has that carpet beater hung in here?”
He stroked her hair with his free hand spreading it out across her back.
“Not something you picked up at an estate sale last year?”
“Actually found it in the original barn when we bought the place. It was my husband’s favorite toy for a while.”
“No, sadly. He got out of the game…” He sat quietly, gently stroking her oil-slick bottom. “It’s not easy to do without something that is a part of you, you know. That’s why when you threw out the woodshed line yesterday, I had to string it out. See where it went.”
“Did you like where it went?”
In answer, she lifted her butt back toward his hand. “Oh yesss.”
“I’ve never used a carpet beater.”
“No? Ever felt one?”
“A classic. Very effective.”
Arianna rose onto her elbows then slowly, stretching onto all fours. She knelt up and shook out her hair. Looking back at John, “We really should fill this gap in your education.” Her eyes were alight with desire again and John felt a need to not disappoint this woman. But he hesitated.
She moved closer to him and pushed her breasts into his face. Her movements and voice were light-leaning toward fun. In his turn, John sucked deeply at a nipple. With his head in her hands she asked, “You’re not going to deny me this, are you?”
“I guess not” be mumbled, his mouth full.
She pulled back from him and got to her feet. Stiffening again, he watched her pad over to the carpet beater and take it off the wall. “Roll over”, she ordered coming back holding the wicked-looking instrument like a tennis racquet.
John did as he was told and pulled a couple of pillows under his hips to raise the target. It was an unaccustomed position for him but he thickened as Arianna’s hand patted then stroked his bottom. “Sweet,” she said. “Nice boy…” He flinched at the feel of the rattan against his skin as she held it there-patting. Then it was gone as she drew back.
“Fair warning-this will sting.”
He gripped a handful of blanket and gritted his teeth as the rattan whistled through the air.
Continued from Arianna’s Woodshed
The joke was on him, he thought as he drove the winding tree lined roads back to Arianna’s house the next day. His aim in making their appointment in the afternoon instead of morning was to give her time to anticipate-to let her imagination paint a picture of what his visit might bring. Instead it was he who had whiled the morning away unable to concentrate on anything in front of him-his mind pulled back to the dim woodshed tucked into the trees.
The day was warmer than the day before but cloudy. As he drove slowly up the gravel drive he saw that the shadows back in the trees were deeper. Darker. He parked in the same place and stepped out of the car as a warm breeze full of the scents of the flowers surrounding him mussed his hair. The rain that was not supposed to come until evening would surely be here sooner than that.
He stood beside his car expecting Arianna to come striding down one of the trails to meet him. As he scanned the property, he noticed what looked to be a paper tacked to an ornamental fencepost at the end of the drive. It was handmade craft paper; soft to the touch but firm. A single sheet, folded, with his name on the outside in beautiful flowing script that approached calligraphy. He opened the fold and read the message inside:
“I will meet you at the woodshed” signed with AA in a beautiful flourish. The note carried a whiff of sage and flowers, what he thought of as her scent.
He trod the path beside the wall looking for signs of life and seeing none. He had opted for a more formal look today-black slacks and dark shirt instead of the business casual khakis and polo shirt of the day before. His anticipation grew knowing that she was here-waiting for him, maybe watching him.
The shadows lengthened in the trees that surrounded the woodshed. The door was open and the space beyond glowed with a flickering yellow light. He stepped inside and his eyes were drawn to a half dozen lanterns of differing sizes hanging from hooks or arranged on small tables that had not been there the day before. The light glowed yellow and the scented oil was intoxicating.
The dirt floor had been covered with a thick layer of carpets and to the left-beside the stack of wood was a pile of what appeared to be tick mattresses, comforters and pillows. Beside them was a tray which held an ice bucket and a bottle of wine and two stemless glasses.
In front of him, just to the left of the chest-high wooden divider was the bare wooden bench piled with at least two dozen switches of varying lengths and thicknesses-all smoothly stripped of their bark. The lady had been busy.
“Is everything to your liking?” He hadn’t heard her come in.
She was barefoot wearing a simple black calf-length shift cut low enough in the front to reveal deep cleavage that wasn’t obvious through yesterday’s work shirt. Her hair glistened in waves that hung loosely around her face and onto her shoulders. There was a flush on her cheeks that deepened the olive glow of her skin and her smile was small, shy-a little timid perhaps.
“Everything is perfect.”
“Good.” She passed close to him and he caught the scent of her hair. “So rotten of you to make me wait all morning…”
“It looks like you put the time to good use.”
She was sorting through the switches on the bench. “It was time well spent,” she said. “Judicious pruning is the secret to any orchard.” She picked one from near the bottom. “Peach”, she announced, whipping it lightly through the air. She picked up another and likewise swished it between them. “Apple”, she said before dropping it back onto the pile. “It was strange though, pruning in the summer”, picking up another. “it’s a winter task, to be done when the trees are dormant. When the sap isn’t running, as it is now.” She brought it over to John and pressed it into his hand. “I think you’ll find the assortment satisfactory.”
He reached out and placed his left hand on her hip-feeling the firm heaviness of the hidden body. She closed her eyes at his touch and let her head lounge backwards. She stepped away and reached up behind her hair to loosen the tie that held the shift in place. A slight role of her shoulders sent the light cotton cascading to the floor.
His eyes were pulled to her full breasts which hung naturally but still pointed at him. He focused on the large brown nipples and bent slowly toward her, wanting to take one into his mouth. She pulled subtly away and covered his switch hand with hers.
“I’ve waited long enough wouldn’t you say?” She turned away and slid the three steps to the wooden room divider that was about even with her breasts. “Hours, alone in the orchard, cutting and trimming switches, knowing what they were for…” Her bottom was a beautiful pear shape-wide and deep. He watched her grasp the rough wooden rail and step back-one step then two. She kept her legs together and stretched luxuriously, like a large jungle cat arching her back and pushing her bottom backward. “Yes”, she said. “I’ve waited.”
Beside her John ran his hand under her hair and across her shoulders. Then down her back then up again-teasing lower and lower to the small of her back then finally across the expanse of her bottom. He rubbed slowly and smoothly with his palm then crooked his fingers to give her the fingernails gently and completely across each cheek, from the top of her thighs up, then back down. He tried to slip his hand between her thighs, but she resisted. Her breath quickened as he stepped back and whipped the peach switch through the air, testing it.
Her hands gripped the wooden rail. She allowed the anticipation that she had felt since yesterday flower into a sweet dread of what she was about to feel. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to feel this way. A long time since what was about to happen, had.
She heard the switch whistle through the air and tensed. Nothing. He was testing. She waited again feeling the heat between her legs building. It had been such a long time. The switch touched her. He was measuring. She froze, focusing her eyes on a spot on the rail. This time the whistling of the switch ended with a little sting on the right cheek. Then another quickly below it. Just a little sting.
She turned to look back over her shoulder at him; her hair obscuring her face. “You won’t break anything, you know…” she said huskily.
He stepped closely taking her face in his hand moving her hair to one side. He kissed her gently on the mouth. “Don’t worry beautiful lady. I know what you want.”
The next stroke dug into the right globe, immediately raising a welt that showed pink in the lantern light. It was followed by another lower and a third higher. With each impact Arianna grunted and on particularly strong strokes would rise on her toes. John paused and ran his hand over the rippling welts. She rose to his touch and this time when he tried to slip the flat of his hand between her legs she opened. Just a little. He patted the sweet spot at the top of her right thigh where the bottom begins then measured it with the wicked peach branch.
“You better hold on tight.” Her knuckles whitened as he let fly a hard stroke that buried itself in the soft flesh. She cried out loudly snapping her head back. The impact site sprouted a red strawberry where he hadn’t quite broken the skin but had broken the peach. He took another off the pile.
As the searing cuts lashed across her heaving buttocks, Arianna squeezed her eyes shut to try to staunch the tears that fell from her lashes and down the bridge of her nose to darken the floor. The thought “be careful what you wish for” flashed through her mind only be drowned out by the crying need-the burning desire-for the next stroke. It had been so long she had almost forgotten what the ordeal did for her. The heat between her legs-deep inside of her-glowed hotter than anything crossing her backside.
He broke a few more switches over the next twenty minutes as he crisscrossed Arianna’s flesh and thighs with stripes and welts. Her back glistened with sweat. As the switching went on her legs widened and her bottom bloomed open toward him. He took particular care that the switch did not cut anywhere between her cheeks.
When another switch split he paused and stepped close. Her body was radiating heat and leaned toward him. He placed his hand low along the inside of her damp thigh which was now open to him.
“You have been punished, beautiful lady.”
She was breathless. “I have.”
“Now you should be rewarded.”
“Yes”, she gasped as his fingers slid up her thigh and slipped easily inside of her. The coughing yelp that she produced as he massaged her below was of an entirely different timbre than the sounds she had been making.
“Come”, he said, pulling on her shoulder and helping her to stand. Her face was deeply flushed and wet with tears and sweat. He moved to kiss her but too slowly as her lips leapt to his and locked tightly onto his mouth. Thus entwined they moved to the pile of bedding in the corner.
Continued here Arianna’s Afterglow
The place he was headed was a little further out-a Mrs. Arianna Amaranth interested in selling or at least getting best value on a smallish place referred to as a “farmette” in the paperwork. She and her husband had been on the property for over 20 years. Following GPS he pulled off of the state road and onto a similar, but windier, two lane. Some places slipping onto a local road out in the boonies could be dicey but not here-where the local area, though bucolic, was some of the most expensive real estate in the area.
He slowed as his GPS counted down the feet to his next left turn. When he saw a break in the tree line he pulled off onto a tightly packed gravel drive. “You have arrived”. But John wasn’t sure where. He could see nothing through the trees and followed the gravel slowly until he rounded a bend and there it was. Small converted barn-two story living area-he would bet on reclaimed wood throughout. Very nice. Flowers and gardens abounding filling in around meandering stone walls.
He pulled off the drive onto a small gravel parking area in front of a three car garage. Like the house the garage had been built of rough-hewn lumber and though it looked like it could have been there for decades, John figured it for a recent addition to the place. As he got out of the car, a woman appeared from behind the garage and followed the trail along a wall toward him. “Mrs. Amaranth?” he asked.
“Arianna, please”, she said approaching.
He put her in her 40’s at least but it was a guess. Her light olive skin was smooth revealing nothing. Her black hair, pulled back in a loose pony tail was shot through with silvery streaks that could have been from the salon but were not. She was of average height but a bit stocky and bottom heavy which made her appear shorter. She carried her weight lightly, telling him that it wasn’t a new addition. She had a strong grip when they shook hands.
Dressed for work in jeans, canvas shirt and rubber boots she certainly looked the part of a gentle-woman farmer. The jeans were not the jeans that he saw on woman and girls at the clubs at night-sprayed on to adhere to every bodily contour. These were work clothes giving her room to move around inside of them. Her scent was something earthy and fresh-maybe sage or clover-mixed with a light whiff of sweat which glistened on the side of her neck.
There were peach trees out back in a small orchard as well as apples and too many to count variations of flowers placed deliberately about to look scattered. Her husband had headed to Phoenix on business last fall and had stayed. She traveled to and from a couple of times but life in the desert didn’t appeal to her after putting the last two decades into this wooded glen. While a long-distance marriage was never in their plans-here they were.
“I just thought it made sense to have this place correctly valued in case it becomes necessary to sell quickly. He’s not as young as he once was…”
“Who is?” said John pecking notes into his tablet as they walked along.
“You probably are….” She said. She was in front of him so he couldn’t gauge if there was anything in her eyes with that comment. Coming around the other side of the house he saw what looked to be an open shed against the peach trees.
“What do you have there? Old corn crib?”
“That’s the woodshed”, she said.
“That’s a place you try to avoid, I bet.” It was the kind of innocuous line he threw out a lot. Most times they weren’t heard or ignored or were so far off the rails that they floated off into space like the odd non sequiturs they were. Every once in a while though, the trout rises to the fly.
“You can try, but….” She shrugged “…sometimes…”
“Indeed. Can we have a look?”
“Of course”, she said, leading the way easily. The shed was two walled-front and back-open at the ends to let air move through to keep the wood dry. Being summer, it was not near full. She opened the rough latch on the door and let it swing inward standing aside. The inside was dim, relying on the sunlight at the ends and from the large open window front and back. There was a rough wooden bench, a heavy stump that looked to be a platform for splitting kindling and a chest high rail partition that would separate wood piles when this place was full.
Turning away and moving back toward the door his eye caught something that he wouldn’t have seen coming right in from the light outside. But there, hanging from a nail beside the door was an old rattan carpet beater. At least he assumed it was old-it certainly appeared to be in good shape.
“Keep a lot of carpets in here?” he asked Arianna who had followed him in and was clearly watching to see if he’d spot the implement.
“Not many”, she smiled. “I’m sorry, I forgot that was in here.”
“No need to apologize-it’s a nice piece.”
“I bought it at an estate sale a couple of years ago…thought it fit the building. Come on-it’s a woodshed. Even you alluded to its other….legendary use.” There was a sparkle to her tone.
“Sure, yes. It complements the place for sure.”
“I thought so”, she said settling it as they squinted back into the sunshine.
The walk back to his car felt more like a stroll than the business-like appraisal march when he had first arrived. Arianna would pick this flower or that-tell John what it was-have him smell it, or with the nasturtiums that climbed a trellis, invite him to pop one into his mouth to savor the peppery flower.
John was half listening but half thinking about the woodshed. Had she forgotten the carpet beater was in there? Did she remember and mean for him to see it? Was he the trout rising to the fly? There was no doubt she was stalling…trying to decide how best to turn this meeting into a visit. But she hadn’t figured it out by the time they reached his car.
He was reaching for the door handle when she asked him, “Could you come back tomorrow?”
“I don’t think I’ll have the figures ready by then.”
“Mmmm-that’s OK. Can you come anyway?”
“I can be here at one”. Actually he could have been there anytime, but he wanted her to have most of the day to know he was coming.
“Not till one? OK, I’ll just have to find something to occupy my morning.”
“Cut some switches. And trim the bark from them….”
She stepped closer to him, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as her green eyes danced. She placed the index finger of her right hand into John’s chest and pressed lightly.
“Until tomorrow, then,” she said as she turned and walked back toward the house.
Continued here Peaches
Continued from Different Flavors of Normal
Doctor Joyce Maple. Bachelor of Science, Biology. Dean’s List four years. Four years of med school plus her downstate residency. Always at the top of her class, now her field. Also one of the most self-aware humans she knew-every move she made was measured, thought through, planned beforehand. Until last night. Until she turned control over to this young sprite from down the street who was now undoubtedly her lover and tied to her in a way Joyce would have never thought possible. And who was lying expectantly over her lap.
Joyce really didn’t know what to do with this. Beyond the obvious, of course. The girl’s bottom was presented stretching against the blue panties barely containing it. Last night Megan did unto her. Now, she was charged with taking control and was at a bit of a loss. But she didn’t want to disappoint, especially after the gifts she had received not twelve hours ago. She would do her best.
Her smacks were tentative, light, mostly fingers, directed at the meatiest parts. The girl wriggled after each and never failed to lift in response as if wanting to present a better target.
“Okay?” asked Joyce.
“Yeah, nice. Could be a little harder…”
“Use your whole hand. Like slap me.” Joyce hesitated and rubbed the girl’s back with her free hand. “You won’t hurt me”, Megan said. “Not really.”
Joyce had smacked two people in her life. Betsy Ann Hadar in fourth grade after she had pulled her hair. She had hauled off and slapped her hard on the arm. Then of course, her husband, the one time, across the face. Both of those were harder than what she was laying on Megan.
“Okay, then,” she said lifting her hand higher. She slapped harder and was answered by a mewling “mmmmm…better…”
“Yeah, better. For a wimp.”
“You…” she smiled and pinched an upturned cheek. “I’m not a wimp!”
“You spank like one…”
“Oh really?” she said. “Lift up.”
“Why?” said Megan cheekily, in a whiny voice. With the voice inflection, Joyce got it. She had a six-year-old. She knew how to play games. Maybe not this particular one, but a game was a game.
“Because I’m going to pull down your panties and spank your bare ass!” she said firmly.
“Aw, man…” Megan whined again but lifted her hips. When she did, Joyce stuck her fingers into the elastic of the panties and pulled them, very slowly, down to mid-thigh smiling at the sound of Megan’s soft gaspy moan as she did.
“Now we’ll see who’s a wimp.” Joyce left fly with a swat that landed hard on the bottom of Megan’s bottom with a jolt that stopped them both.
“OH…” Said Megan.
“Better now…?” asked Joyce massaging where the blow had landed.
“Yes. Now more…”
Megan closed her eyes and felt every swat to her toes. She wouldn’t ask her to go harder. This was fine. More than fine. Every smack, every touch of hand to bottom launched her through vivid warp speed memories of the hundreds of orgasms she’d had over the years fantasizing about being spanked over Doctor Maples’ lap. She stopped thinking and was enjoying the ride and the heavy heat and flowing feeling from below.
As Megan had the night before, Joyce listened between smacks using tiny whimpers, or gasps or an “Ooooo…” or an “Awww….” to direct her. She paused to slide the panties all the way down then off. Her swats weren’t as hard as they might have been, but they certainly weren’t light.
Almost five minutes in, Joyce realized that this wasn’t doing it for her. Not really. It was fun, for sure. Being this intimate with another woman was new and exciting and she wondered if she’d ever look at women’s bottoms the same way again. She could have sat here and just rubbed her bottom and it would have been fine. But as Megan’s butt was getting pinker, Joyce’s hand was tingling but not much else.
It was different, but what she really liked was how much Megan seemed to be enjoying herself. Her squeals were becoming moans as she, freed from the binding panties, started to ride her leg like a hobby horse with every smack. She could do this for her, no problem. Especially after last night and the way she…the way she hadn’t… Joyce paused to rub the pert pink cheeks gently. Something had been bugging her.
“Megs?” she said.
“Mmmmm…?” she answered not looking up.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
Megan’s head lifted at that. “Sorry? About what?”
Joyce found it easier to talk with her hand cupping the girl’s warm bottom gently squeezing. “I came three times!” she said. “In my life I’ve never…then I passed out like a lump.”
“You did check out pretty good”, said Megan rubbing Joyce’s ankle and calf.
“I woke up, it was still dark and you were gone. I missed you…I wanted to…give you something back…”
Now Megan looked back over her shoulder and pulled her hair behind her ear. “Last night was about you my love”, she said with shining eyes.
“The thing is, I’ve never…I don’t know if I can…” she stumbled for the words.
“Don’t know if you can what?”
“Like you did…”
Megan kept gently squeezing Joyce’s calf, letting her work it out.
“I’ve never gone down on a woman…”
“I know that…”
“But I don’t know if…”
“Don’t worry about it. Like kissing, practice makes perfect. I’ve had more practice than you…”
“Shhh…stop thinking about what you can’t do. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“Really?” said Joyce brightening and pulling her hand off Megan’s butt.
“Except this!” said Megan, somehow finding loose skin on Joyce’s leg to pinch. “This you have to do. For the rest of your life.”
Joyce laughed lightly and delivered a soft slap. “Bad girl…”
“Yes,” said Megan sighing heavily. “Very bad…” She absorbed a few more slaps before she said, “There are other things you can do.”
“Like right now for instance.”
“I know, shut up and keep spanking.” She did.
“Yes, but there’s something…put your hand on my bum.” Joyce paused and did as she was told. “Now slide it down between my legs.”
“Okay coach,” she snarked. “I know how this works.”
Joyce cupped the warm cheek at the top of Megan’s thigh then slid her fingers gently between her legs hesitating not at all as she touched the wetness there.
“Good Lord”, she said sliding easily along the dripping folds.
“A little damp?” came the whisper from the downturned head.
“And the ocean’s a puddle…”
Without any more prompting, Joyce slipped her middle finger into the sopping slit. Megan moaned at the welcome intrusion and shifted her legs wider, lifted her butt higher. Joyce, still responding to movements added a second finger. She worked them gently in and out as the girl began to wriggle and sweetly clenched her bottom cheeks. This Joyce knew how to do from months of solo practice.
When she touched the hard nib of Megan’s clit the girl growled and pitched forward presenting her bottom even more wantonly. Joyce touched it, flicked it, then sliding around in nature’s own lubricant began rubbing with a purpose.
“Oh…oh…Joyce…Joyce….!!!” Megan’s words were cut off and swallowed as she grabbed the woman’s ankle and held tight seemingly ready to stand on her head. “I’m going to… come Joyce…You…are going to make me….UUUHHNNNNN…” And just like that she did. Joyce kept slick contact with the pulsing pearl until Megan, deflated, lay across her lap like a discarded prom dress.
Joyce, ever the perfectionist, didn’t need anyone to tell her she’d done a good job. She smiled and stroked the still warm bottom until she heard a sniffle. “Hey”, she said reaching down to help Megan to her feet. “Are you crying…?”
“No! I mean…not really. Not like crying.” Megan stood unsteadily before her.
“Your cheeks are wet…” Joyce took her hand. “Is that from the spanking?”
“No! No…no…everything. Just…just…wow…” Megan wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands, then stepped between Joyce’s legs and sat on her lap. The warmth of the girl’s naked, moist bottom on her thighs stirred her in a surprising way. Without warning or preamble, Megan wrapped her arms around Joyce’s neck and pulled herself close kissing her deeply. A kiss that was returned in eager intensity. Yes, Joyce was now the one stirring.
They uncoupled and sat still, forehead to forehead, meditatively sharing space and breath in a way that seemed natural. Time had, if not stopped, slowed to a glacial pace as neither wanted to break the seeming spell that had befallen them. Then, without a word, as if prompting a cat, Joyce used her forehead to push Megan backward. With the space open between them she slipped the girl’s jersey over her head knowing that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Then she pulled her close again to slide her hands over the girl’s naked body and accepting her head onto her shoulder.
After a moment, or an hour, “Megan?”
“Would you take me to bed and teach me something?”
Megan lifted her head and nibbled at Joyce’s ear before answering. “What do you want to learn?” she whispered.
“Everything you know….”
Megan pulled away, a crooked smile on her lips. She kissed her Doctor on the cheek and stood, more steadily this time. “Come my queen”, she said reaching toward her.
Joyce took her hand and rose, then happily followed the pink rump into the house.
Continued from The Summons
Megan had expected a relaxed flirty afternoon on lawn chairs separated by enough room to cop a surreptitious hand or feel while Tommy played in the yard. Later that night, who knew? This is what she was thinking while lounging on the glider, her tongue deep inside Doctor Maple’s mouth. And yes, in her head at least she was prone to refer to Joyce as Doctor Maple now and again.
“You”, said Megan pulling away for air, “Are a great kisser.”
“Like anything else, practice helps…”
“All on boys, I bet. And men…”
“Married twelve years, so there’s that…”
“What about girls?” Megan whispered, her lips brushing Joyce’s cheek. When there was no answer, Megan reframed the question. “Did you kiss a lot of girls?”
“One for sure, in college. Maybe two…”
“Ahhh. And…did you…”
“Last night was the furthest I’ve gone. Ever. The furthest I could imagine going…”
“You’re welcome”, said Megan inhaling Joyce’s breath as she covered her mouth again. Joyce accepted the kiss, then, with a cock of her head, took the offensive and slid her tongue past Megan’s feeling her submit gently to her probing. Kissing a girl WAS different-softer, sweeter-but maybe it was just this girl. Not enough of a sample size to be sure. But still, what she knew was she’d not felt any cheek stubble or rough tit grabbing when all she wanted was to kiss. Which was new and nice.
Joyce’s house was the last on the cul-de-sac and her backyard jutted further into the woods than the neighbors, leaving her virtually secluded out back. They could more easily hear-and in the winter see-traffic on Trestle Drive two hundred yards through the woods than anyone on the surrounding lots. She and her husband had done a lot back here in the early days.
Megan broke the kiss lightly, then, as if stricken, slipped from Joyce’s shiny face, then down her body, taking in the smell of her shirt, then her belly, then her lap as she slid to her knees between her naked thighs.
“Oh God”, said Megan running her hands over the tops and sides of her legs. “These…”
“I somehow thought you’d like these shorts,” Joyce giggled.
“Gawww…” she slipped her head into the warmth between Joyce’s legs and worked her tongue from knee to hemline right and left, stopping to bite gently on a mouthful of satiny crotch. The fires from the previous night were sparking again, building and blanketing them, all goosebumps, butterflies and shallow caught breaths.
Megan paused and sat back on her haunches continuing to rub Joyce’s quads, even pressuring with the heels of her hands. She watched the legs, watched her hands kneading them, read the freckles, as if trying to memorize a passage in a book. For her part, Joyce lay back her head and sighed allowing, again, the girl to do what she wanted. Not to say she didn’t want it as well. She did. She wouldn’t have known how much she wanted it until last night but there was no denying what she was feeling. At least there was no denying it anymore.
“You have to do it”, Megan told herself. “Just say it. Joyce will roll with it.” But she wasn’t so sure. Like last night. How far would be too far? But that had worked out, hadn’t it? She wanted this so badly but was so afraid to say it. She didn’t even feel Joyce rubbing the side of her head, scratching behind her ear like she was a puppy. When she finally looked up it was into Joyce’s soft eyes.
“What?” she asked.
“You’ll think it’s weird.”
“You don’t want to know….”
“I asked.” Joyce playfully squeezed her ear. “What?”
“We’ve established that…”
Megan closed her eyes and took a breath then blew the words out. “I want to lay over them.”
“Over my legs?”
“Your thighs.” Joyce’s face was blank. “Your knees.”
Joyce squinted down at her.
“Jesus! You know, your lap.”
The light finally went off. “Ahhh….”
Megan managed a twisted embarrassed smile. “Yep”, she sighed. “She finally gets it.”
Joyce cupped the girl’s cheeks. “I told you last night that I was thick about some things…”
“Yeah, but this is weird, I know…”
“Hush.” She was back to stroking Megan’s head lolling between her legs.
“Sorry…” the girl said puffing the words against her, tickling down there.
“I said hush, now…” She took Megan’s hands. “Stand up.” When she did, Joyce reached out and patted her hips, “Megan, Megan, Megan,” then she unsnapped her jeans. “I don’t imagine you want to lay over my knees with these on.”
“No mam I do not…”
The jeans, snug to the skin, gave up territory grudgingly and Joyce was careful to rub her hands as much as possible over Megan’s legs as she pushed them so slowly down. “These are cute”, she said admiring the skimpy blue panties that were cut high in the back exposing the bottom third of her cheeks. “Let’s leave them on for now.”
“Whatever you say. I’m through directing.”
“This is something else new for me. Just let me know if I’m…”
Conscious that she was right handed, she pulled Megan to that side. While she stood there awaiting the next signal, Joyce reached back and slapped her bottom.
“Ohhh!” said Megan surprised, grabbing her butt.
Megan lay herself down over Joyce’s bare legs and settled into position. Joyce watched the pink splotch from her smack blooming below the panties. For her, she thought this might be a cute game, but she felt Megan’s breathless excitement. She allowed her hand to linger on Megan’s bottom and rub the back of her thighs.
“How long have you fantasized about this?”
“Spanking in general? Or you spanking me?”
“Okay, specific, then. Me spanking you.”
“Since I was ten or eleven.”
“No way!” Joyce smacked her butt lightly.
“Yep. This one time I noticed you in the yard. In the fall. You were raking leaves I remember. I was riding my bike. You were wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. You had a ponytail back then and you looked so…I don’t know. Strong maybe? I was ten.”
“Did you fantasize about undressing me? About making love to me?”
“No. That came later.” There was another light smack, just for fun.
“How much later?
“Ouch. Last week.”
“Ow! No, No, I’d think…I’d lay this all out in my mind…what if I did something…rode my bike through your tulips, hit your mailbox with a ball, something…and you got mad, and spanked me…Or I’d ask you to spank me because I ruined your flowers. You know…dumb…”
“Nothing’s dumb Megan. Things just are what they are.”
“Yeah, but its not the most normal thing….”
“I don’t think we believe in normal. Or in one kind of normal. This is just a different flavor of normal, that’s all.”
In answer Megan lifted her butt just a little. Presenting.
“So we’ll do this”, said Joyce fixing her left arm across Megan’s back to hold her in place.
“I’m so going to cum all over your lap”, Megan said as Doctor Maple, with a laugh, brought her hand down sharply.
Continued in Always Learning
Continued from In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning
The summons, as she jokingly thought of it, came in a text around eleven. Normally an early riser, Megan was still fast asleep in a soft post-coital cocoon of soft, salty smells and sticky fingers. She found the pinging phone under a pillow and blinked to read without lifting her head:
Apparently, Saturday pizza is now a thing. Delivery at four. Be here.
She smiled and dropped the phone. Joyce would never in a million years have ended an invitation like that before last night. She smiled and closed her eyes again-enjoying being summoned. She allowed herself a small daydream of Joyce’s thighs and bottom and, as it took hold, wished she could fall back to sleep to consummate it. Not willing to overindulge her lustful leanings, she finally mumbled, “Yes my queen” and with a wry smile sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed.
She could still feel an itch on her backside where she’d punished herself which led to a deeper tingle between her legs. She shook it off. “What a night…” She wandered down the hall to the shower.
She turned the radio on. The news was about the plague, of course. The voice on the speakers verified what Joyce had been saying over the last couple of weeks. The virus appeared to be on the wane; whether for good or for awhile no one really knew, but the world was starting to open up again. As if to prove it, Megan watched out the kitchen window as more people than usual seemed to be out wandering the neighborhood. Most in masks, sure. But out.
While everyone on the radio breathed a sigh of relief-and Megan was happy about a return to at least some semblance of normalcy-she couldn’t help feeling a pang of dread that something might be ending just as it had gotten started. “Selfish”, she decided and headed out to the garage with a cup of coffee intent on killing a few hours.
A little after four she took a bottle of wine out of the fridge and slipped it into her shoulder bag. With a bandana tied loosely around her neck she retraced the steps she’d taken twelve hours before. She dodged a few bikes and nodded or waved to folks who recognized her. She was strolling with a purpose-not hurrying but not giving the impression that she wanted to tarry either.
How would this go? Last night was hot-they both were leaking wet and famished for the taste of each other. Now how would they react with the fire safely banked, when every touch didn’t burn. When every word wasn’t simmering?
The house pinged when she let herself in and Tommy ran down the hall to greet her. “Hey Megsy! You made it!” He gave her a quick hug that was almost a push then ran back toward the kitchen by way of the front sitting room. “Pizza just got here!”
Joyce was in the kitchen moving the pie from the box onto a wooden board wearing a pair of high-cut running shorts and a tie-dyed t-shirt which made her look more grad student than doctor. Megan gulped at the sight of her legs. She had never seen Joyce in these shorts unless she was running.
“You’re late”, she kidded. “Leaving me all this kitchen duty.”
“I brought wine!” she smiled pulling the bottle from the sack.
“And just like that, you’re forgiven.”
Not wanting to wait for Joyce’s greeting, Megan stepped close and slipped her arm around her waist pulling her in. Joyce bent to meet her lips. The kiss was warm, wet and lingered a moment. Joyce kept her mouth mostly closed, but it was definitely not a chaste kiss between buddies. Still not wanting to push, Megan pulled away first. Joyce smiled almost shyly. “Did we even kiss last night?” she asked.
“I honestly don’t remember”, Megan answered allowing her hand to slide from Joyce’s hip across her the slick fabric pulled tightly over her bottom. “Nice shorts”, she said. “These old things?” Joyce flirted. By the time Tommy spun back into the room they were on opposite sides of the island and Megan was opening the wine.
“When’s pawpaw coming?” Tommy asked.
“Five o’clock Bud….”
Megan looked at Joyce with comically wide eyes. “Company?”
“Not for us. My mom and dad have been in quarantine for three weeks for the express purpose of getting Tommy for an overnight when it seemed prudent. It seems prudent.”
“They have a pool!” squealed Tommy.
“Take these”, Joyce corralled her son with paper plates and napkins. “I’ve got this”, she picked up the pizza. “You”, she looked at Megan, “bring the bottle and glasses. There’s a cooler out there. And close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”
Continued here Different Flavors of Normal
Continued from Plague Life, Part VI
“We’re all humans, after all, and everybody’s got something a little off somewhere.”
The Fall of the Roman Empire
Megan slipped gently out of bed leaving Joyce fast asleep still nestled on her side. She pulled on her clothes and just barely resisted the urge to kiss her sleeping lover’s cheek. She padded down the hall and peeked into Tommy’s room where he sprawled on his back, snoring lustily. She tiptoed in to lift the covers up to his neck disturbing him not at all.
At the front door she slipped on her sneakers and set the alarm with a three-tone signal giving her twenty seconds to get out. The time on the keypad was 3:37. Pulling the door silently behind her she stepped out into the foggy predawn for the short walk home.
Too early for the morning birds, an owl hooted forlornly over in the woods somewhere. Still tasting Joyce, Megan glided rather than walked, a light tiptoed gait, like wading in neck deep water propelled by the waves of the evening’s passions. It felt as if years of dreamy fantasies and childhood passions had been consummated save for the thick rustling spot that gnawed at her from right behind the drawstring of her sweatpants. Like any committed dreamer, her fantasies were many, familiar and always available. If she knew nothing else, she knew how to deal with this titillating ache. She paused at the corner, the fog settling shiny on her skin, to watch three deer-mere shadows in the amber glow of the streetlights-clatter down the asphalt before being swallowed by the night.
She let herself in through the garage and went straight for the powder room stopping only to strip off her sweats and panties, dropping them in the laundry basket. She moved to pull her T-shirt over her head but it smelled of Joyce, so she kept it on. In the powder room she peed then, without turning on a light, went to the kitchen for a glass of water from the tap. She could get ice water directly from a nozzle on the fridge, but it was too slow and Megan, gulping, was suddenly in a hurry to get upstairs.
She ducked into the bathroom at the top of the stairs and snatched the bath brush from the hook in the shower. Almost unable to wait she patted her backside with the cool flat wood to hurry herself along. In her bedroom she plopped face first onto the small mountain of pillows, sheets and blankets that passed for a made bed in these times. Lifting slightly onto her side she gritted her teeth and scrunched her eyes then raised the brush high and brought it down with a loud CRACK in the center of her right bottom cheek. “Yeeowch!” she said lightly, surprising herself with how hard it was. She did it again and a third time in the same spot causing her to wriggle a bit and yip a small “Ouch!”
She grabbed a pillow and stuck it between her legs, squeezing it into place after sliding her fingers over her own swollen wetness moaning at the charge the smallest contact brought. The pillow placed, she rolled onto her belly and swatted her left cheek once then again, rhythmically humping the pillow between swats. All corners of the empty house bore audible witness to what was happening in Megan’s bed. She yelped, then sighed as the spanking waxed and waned and grunted when she directed hard contact to the midpoint of her bottom where her legs joined to form and echo chamber that magnified the force and vibration of the blows. After absorbing a stronger punishment than anyone else had given her, she tossed the brush aside and slipped her fingers into herself.
She moaned loudly as she tickled her attentive clit up to the edge then over. She cried Joyce’s name as she came loudly with complete abandon; a long rapturous orgasm that she knew would set an impossible standard for the one that she shared with Joyce. She didn’t break contact, still rubbing, riding down the backside of the mountain until she collapsed on the bed and breathed, smiling, still smelling the scent of another on her face. She gently slid her hand over the hot, dry skin of her tortured bottom. She mewled at the contact and slowly slipped her moist fingers back between her legs, determined to make the second one last.
Continued here The Summons
Continued from Plague Life – Part V
“There”, Joyce thought. “I did it.” As if the act to come, whatever it would be, was secondary to her asking for it. She had been afraid she would chicken out. She’d done it before, with Melissa in college. She hadn’t strung her along exactly, but it could have looked that way. She had wanted Melissa then, just as she wanted Megan now. She had just…chickened out, after some kissing and with Mel’s hand up her skirt sliding down her panties. She had been wet then too. She knew it and Melissa knew it and called her on it later. What had she been afraid of? Whatever it was, she was still afraid of it, but not as much.
Since she had flashed Megan in the garage that night, this-this right now-had been a joke, a flirt maybe, then a fantasy, then a plan. It had taken awhile for Joyce to say it, to give herself over to another with “Do what you want.” And after all the planning, dreaming and fantasizing over the last couple of weeks, she might not have. Might not have said a thing had not Megan allowed her finger to slide between her legs, to discover the same dampness, the same want, the same lust that Melissa had found there years before.
Megan, standing naked beside the bed, wasn’t the kid who babysat anymore. Not even close. Her smile and eager glistening eyes could have kept her attention if not for her small pert breasts, flat stomach and cute little bush that was obviously trimmed. For the occasion? When she bade her turn, she found her bottom full and firm, taut to the touch. “There”, thought Joyce, when Megan snapped the light off.
She lay in the warm darkness having decided to be pliant to…whatever. She had asked Megan to turn and she’d turned. She knew the girl would defer to her, to do whatever she asked. But she had nothing to ask. Not knowing what was coming added a sheen of anticipation she hadn’t felt in years.
The bed shifted as Megan knelt beside her and again as the girl stretched out atop her, breasts pressing into her back and her bush tickling her backside. She allowed her arms to be pulled out to her sides by the wrists and held there, crucified. With her knees Megan pulled Joyce’s legs together and covered them with hers, slowly grinding her pelvis into Joyce’s bottom. She liked being covered but wished for a moment that she was pinned-that she couldn’t move at all.
She let a small sound escape her lips, and Megan answered with a nibble to the back of her neck, still undulating slowly. Megan could taste the goose bumps rising on Joyce’s back and shoulders. She moved down slowly and slipped her knees between her lover’s legs, a wedge opening them. Joyce flowed into the movement, opening and pushing back accepting first her thrusting pelvis then, a leg straddled, Megan’s thigh rubbing firmly into her pussy.
“Oh, God…” Joyce whispered and Megan, as she had with the massage, followed the direction mapped by the sounds. She released Joyce’s wrist and slid her hand enchantingly slowly along her arm, across her shoulder, down her back, across her bum then between her legs. Sliding her own thigh out of the way, Megan slipped a finger easily into Joyce’s wet quim. The move was answered with a soft gasp and a backward thrust giving her the permission to probe deeper and explore freely. One finger, then two then one inside and one rubbing the top. Then a slight withdrawal.
When Joyce rolled onto her back, Megan lay beside her, letting her head fall mouth first onto her breasts. She licked first one, then the other, slowly circling the nipples while continuing to slide her finger in and out slowly, keeping a rhythm that Joyce was catching. Abandoning her breasts, Megan slipped her mouth, tongue first down the woman’s stomach, heading for…
“Wait! Wait!” Joyce said breathlessly grabbing Megan’s head.
“Ah…” Joyce couldn’t exactly answer as she struggled to sit up.
“What’s the matter?”
“Your fingers are…wonderful. It feels great. You can keep doing that…”
“This?” Megan teased, flicking her finger against Joyce’s obvious and pulsing clit.
“Yeah! Yeah…that’s great. You…you don’t have to go down on me. This is good.” She didn’t believe it even as she said it. She was going to chicken out again. Late in the game this time, but still.
“Good for you maybe.” Megan kept her fingertip on the hard, little nub. “I want you in my mouth. I want to taste you, lick you, flick you, nibble you and stick my tongue up inside of you. I want to squeeze your bum and have your thighs crush my ears till I can’t hear. I want to fucking swallow you. Now”, she pushed at Joyce’s belly with her head like an insistent kitten, “You lay back down and let me do this.”
“Yes. Yes…it’s just that…” Not to be denied, Megan kept pushing with the crown of her head. “OK…ok…” Joyce said breathlessly. She lay back down happy to have been overruled.
Megan led with her tongue down Joyce’s belly, pausing childishly to probe her deep innie, then through the thicket of soft brush to her moist destination. She pulled her finger then, replacing it with her prodding tongue as Joyce moaned and arched her back.
This wasn’t something Megan did every day. Joyce was the third woman she’d gone down on but that made her the most experienced one in the bed. Joyce made it easy. She pulled back her legs and Megan, kissing the inside of her thighs, left then right, then, true to her words, slipped her hands under to cup her bottom, kneading her cheeks as she plunged her tongue into her.
Megan wished there were lights. She was feeling everything. She was tasting everything, and Joyce’s taste was glorious! Megan closed her mouth over her lover’s pussy, sopping as much with her own as with Joyce’s juices. She felt the wetness on her cheeks and chin and loved the rough feel of hair in her mouth and the buzzing clit on her tongue as Joyce’s breath caught and caught again.
She wanted her on an exam table with bright fluorescents overhead to document every crease, fold and freckle, to see the inside of her legs, see the pulsing of the blood and the tweaking of the tendons. Her thumb had slid over Joyce’s asshole and she wanted to see that. And her ass…
“Megan!” It was a ragged whisper. “I’m going to….”
Megan paused a moment, long enough to cough, “Do it!” before diving back into the wet. She felt a shift and heard a flop-Joyce pulled a pillow over her face-then a muffled squeal. The woman arched higher and Megan squeezed the rock hard apples that was her bottom, holding on as Joyce bucked into her, a wave cresting, then crashed with a single spasm back onto the bed with a cough that almost sounded like a sob.
Megan fell with her and pulled her tongue back, breathing for the first time in what seemed to be a long while. She kissed Joyce’s soft inner thighs and slid upwards pushing a little to get Joyce onto her side. She spooned her then, tossing her arm over her shoulder to rest comfortably on her breast, her glistening cheek on her shoulder.
“You okay?” Megan asked lightly next to her ear.
Joyce reached up and squeezed her forearm. “I am SO okay…”
Megan snuggled. “Good”, she said. “Me too.”
“Thanks for not letting me stop you back there…”
“No way I wasn’t going down there.”
“I don’t know why I….”
“Shhh…doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“How’d you get to be so smart?” Joyce asked.
“I’m not. You’re just dumb”, she teased.
Joyce pinched her forearm lightly. “Brat.”
Megan’s heart skipped at that word. She might have said something, but Joyce’s settled breathing put her off. It was the end of a wonderful evening, not time to start something new.
Continued here In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning