Maria

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(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…)

 

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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

One Ridge Over

 

Fuckyeahabandonedplaces

He pushed his way in through the door that was held shut more by wild grapes and morning glory vines than any lock. Halfway open the top hinge silently pulled out of the punky frame and the door hung all cattywampus, never to be closed again. The inside was dim, the windows, broke or not, obscured by the thick honeysuckle vines that had already reclaimed the outhouse in back.

The forgotten rose pattern wallpaper hung in sheets dripping to the floor exposing the rotten watermarked drywall. Every shuffling step he took was answered by skittering in the walls that was either mice or chippies. In the middle of the floor, right where that rickety coffee table woulda been, was a hole down to the dirt-easy access for whatever groundhogs or racoons lived here.

Emily and ‘em had tried to remodel after the fire but money bein’ what it was back then-mostly lacking- left soon after. If she were dead, she would haunt this place, he was sure. But she wasn’t dead as far as he knew. Jist gone. Never to return in life and he wondered if he’d still be around to come and check after.

It had been a four-mile bike ride that Sunday morning, up over his ridge then down the rocks of dry Rooker crick, across the old logging trail then finally the red-dog flat of the river road. The dump-rescued Schwinn with the mismatched tires made the time quick, even with the book bag strapped across his back. Goin’ back would be tougher, but he’d worry about that later. Pretty much that way with everthing; later would take care a’ itself.

The Brant girls, living as they did just one ridge over, were as close to neighbors as any he had in school. They were the first ones for the school bus, huddled in the shelter at the head of the paved road, and the last ones off. Emily was his age-or in his grade at least-Susan a year younger though she didn’t seem it. Them, him and Emily, settin’ together on the bus now and again, wasn’t much a’ anything. He wasn’t much of a talker and neither was she. They’d set.

The river road turned to rutted dirt about a mile from the Brant’s house. He, and everbody else, still thought of it as the Brant’s cause that was the girl’s names. And their mother Missy-who Emily favored with her round cheeks and crinkly brown hair. Jimmy Logan, the girl’s stepdad, or more likely Missy’s live-in, had no part in any of their names.

Off the bike he felt the heaviness in the air-still as the inside of a bottle. Rather than open the whole gate for just him and his bike, he leaned it against a post and ducked between the two lower strands of bob wire. Had he opened the gate they might have heard him. It might’ve changed things. But he doubted it. As it was, he stopped halfway to the house, to this day not sure if he heard something in back. But he must have.

He snuck around the upstream side, because the closer he got and the more he heard, sneakin’ seemed the best course. At the corner of the place, he stuck his face through the branches of the big rhododendron, there it all was.

It was Susan closest to him. Emily herself out the further end of the bench. Course he was assuming because as they were-bent over the bench, their bottoms to him-he couldn’t see their faces. Both were bare-assed, Susan’s pants bunched at her feet and Emily’s skirt thrown up over her back. Both backsides showed hard use of Jimmy Logan’s strap. That moment, his attention was focused on Susan, whipping her hard-each slash met with a grunt as if she didn’t want to cry out. And her not crying pissed him off.

He couldn’t tell what Emily said to her sister, but it was something. And maybe Jimmy didn’t like it or maybe it was just her turn, cause he slid down a step or two and whipped the strap hard across Emily’s round backside. Her butt bounced at the force of it and her legs shivered when she tried to stay still. She wasn’t as good at being quiet as her sister and cried out over the river at every wicked stroke. He set himself, crouching by the bush as he was, and leaned on his back leg ready to launch himself forward. But the harsh crack of the belt-the violence of it-and Emily’s pained cries stopped him.

Fuckin’ stopped him dead, he thought looking through a sumac that grew through the back porch toward where the bench had been. He kicked at what looked like a balled-up rag on the ruined floor with the toe of his hunting boot. Turned out to be a dead squirrel-weightless and mummified by the heat of summer. He spit. What if he had…aw, fuck it. What good did it do now…

What he did do then was spin around and head back out the yard careful to stay on the low side of the road looking back over his shoulder to make sure nobody could see. The thick air of the hollow swallowed all sound and he peddled like a thief until he was a good bit down the road. Then he stopped. And listened.

Quickly he dropped his bike and flopped in the ditch with every manner of tick, chigger and spider as Jimmy Logan banged past in his puttied-up old work van going every bit twice as fast as he should have on that sorry road. Gnats whined, diving into his eyes and ears but he waited, unmoving, the grass tickling his nose, the thick air itself ticking, until the dust settled in Jimmy’s wake. Then, he stood up carefully and dusted himself off, chasing a cricket off his pants and a grasshopper off his shoulder. With one more look up the road for good measure he headed back to Emily’s house.

(Continued…)

Blue

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Perchenonso.tumblr.com

(Continued from Chelsea – 5)

Flopping onto her back Chelsea tore her shirt off over her head. Her bra went next as Gennie, still fully clothed hovered over her.

“You have to get naked!”

“I will…when the time is right. Close your eyes”, she whispered. Chelsea did, then felt Gennie’s breath. “I love your face”, she said closely inspecting. “Nose is pointy, has that bump. Too many teeth…Fucking freckles…” Chelsea smiled, reminded of everything about her looks she couldn’t stand.

Leaning closer Geneva touched her lips to Chelsea’s and felt her mouth gap enough to allow her tongue entry. It slithered slowly over her teeth one at a time, then into her throat–Chelsea lifting her head to accept it all. “Teeth feel about right”, Gennie breathed, pulling back. “You have a problem with these too, don’t you?” She slowly kissed and allowed her teeth to brush her lozenge hard nipples, one–then the other.

Chelsea lay still and accepting. It had been over a year since she had given control over to someone else, much less submit to someone’s hand for punishment. Long months and months of having to steer her ship herself with on one else to take the tiller. It had been exhausting and she had almost reached the point where she feared she would be forever hardened. Now, in a few breathless moments, it felt as if the walls she had built around her heart had proven to be made of cotton candy that disappeared in Gennie’s mouth. There was a single tear in the corner of Chelsea’s eye.

“Are you crying again?”

“No”, she said, still not opening her eyes.

Gennie kissed her eye softly, then the other; gently puffing her lips against the closed lids while sliding her hand up the inside of her thigh. “You have to toughen up, girl…” Chelsea whimpered like a desert wanderer finally reaching an oasis when Gennie slipped her hand further to cup her damp pussy. Immediately, as if charged, she arched her back allowing her body to beg ‘please’ even if her mouth said nothing.

Feeling the urgency Geneva slid down her body teasing her tongue at her belly button then the top of her mound-loving the mouthfuls of wiry hair that, in her imagination, even tasted of strawberry. She didn’t linger long though sliding down to lap her way into the warm place between Chelsea’s thighs. She knew her vagina the way school kids know the path home. Her clit was obvious-pulsing and ready as she touched it with her tongue, first gently, then not. Chelsea moaned and whispered her name. Gennie pulled out and slipped her hands under Chelsea’s bottom, then to her thighs to push her legs upward and to bring her tight little asshole within easy reach. “Owwww”, Chelsea gasped when Gennie’s tongue touched her there.

“Did you bring Blue with you?” She asked.

Chelsea wriggled feeling her breath tickling her bottom. “Uh…sure. In the bedstand…”

Gennie rolled off the bed and tossed her shirt aside, keeping the black T-shirt. She had bought Blue for Chelsea as kind of a joke when they were together and Chel complained that they didn’t spend enough time in bed. The joke turned into the gift that kept on giving and had been Chelsea’s most dependable lover over the past year. Gennie found the dildo easily in the drawer beside the bottle of lube. Blue wasn’t one of those over-the-top creations. Named for his color, he was of average length, average thickness, two hard average size balls at the base. Average was good, considering where he was going.

Chelsea watched, sleepily attentive, legs bent, one hand playing gently at her mound as if tending a smoldering fire. She caught the look in Gen’s eyes.

“You’re not going to….”

“I figured your butt was already sore.”

“It’s been a while Gen. A long while.”

“I won’t if you don’t want to.”

“I definitely want you to…”

Gennie hopped back onto the bed and allowed Chelsea’s hand to guide her head-first to her clit-then under her own power, down to the magic button. Chelsea’s head lolled to the side and she pulled her knees back giving her lover easy access. She hissed at the feel of her tongue, then the cool lube drizzling over her asshole. She then felt Blue there-bumping and pressing. Testing.

The first push stung, it always had, then burned as he burrowed in. But the pain didn’t last. She felt her bottom open and the well-oiled machine push inside, filling her. But because Gennie was a wicked little lover she didn’t push it all the way in at once.  She slid up her body and used her weight to pin one of Chelsea’s long legs to her breast relishing the feel of dominating one who really couldn’t be dominated. From above she watched her eyes as she slowly and carefully pushed the dildo inside-then back-then inside further-then back-then again.

“You’re killing me…” Chelsea whispered looking anything but distressed.

“Shhhh…” whispered Gennie subtly leaning into her, pegging her slowly, until Blue’s two firm balls bumped against her bottom. To ensure a goodly fit, Gennie twisted it gently, back and forth, drawing answering hisses and moans. She kissed her closed mouth and slid back down, chin to balls with Blue and found Chelsea’s pulsing pearl anxious for her return.

She nibbled it gently and flicked her tongue across it once, then again, keeping contact as Chelsea rose bridging up onto her shoulders. Gennie lapped quickly as the rising moans became a coughing keening until, in a spattering jolt, she came her-body tensed in a high arch above the bed and Gennie risen on her knees wearing Chelsea’s pussy like an oxygen mask. Not until she had spurted her last and slowly collapsed flat on her back, did Gennie pull her slick, shiny face away.

“Feeling better big girl?” she smiled.

“Can’t…feel…anything…”

She kissed her belly and put a hand under her bottom to help flop her onto her side. Moving her like a doll she bent her top leg, exposing the bright blue balls attached to her asshole. Then very slowly, very deliberately, millimeter by electric millimeter, she began withdrawing what seemed like five feet of Blue from Chelsea’s rectum. For her part, Chelsea moaned into a pillow, sure her insides would follow. Then, with a soft POP he was gone and she felt weightless and empty. “Stay right there, love,” Gennie said, patting her upturned rump.

In the washroom she stripped quickly, pausing to pull her stickily sodden panties off carefully. Naked, she let the water run to steam and prepared a plush washcloth. Chelsea hadn’t moved and Gen sat on the bed beside her and patted her lap. Chelsea flopped face down-a weightless rag doll.

She ministered again to her bottom, gently wiping the bruises, the space between her cheeks and the warm wet space below. Then dropping her cloth she rolled Chelsea onto her back. This time, Gennie felt her firm grip and opened to it, falling into her arms and returning her hard kiss. As she fit her body firmly in place Chelsea wrapped her legs around her as the room filled with the power of the two. They joined as a single trembling being, their lovemaking pushing the air itself out through the cracks and crevices in the walls and floor.

There was nothing in the dim light of the warm room but them-as one.

(Continued…)