(Continued from Maddie – 4)

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

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

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

“Thank you”, she said feigning exasperation.

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

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

“Military?” she asked.

“Well…ex”, he replied.

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

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

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

“Never mentioned gold…” Duke chipped in.

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

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

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

“What about Angela?”

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

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

“Operatives. That’s funny.”

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

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

“Helluva shot”, said Duke.

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

“Not just another pretty face”, said Beth.

“No, I guess not.”

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

“Come in”, called Beth’s voice.

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

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

“Come around so I can see you.”

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

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

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

“Are they gone?” she asked.


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

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

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

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

Chelsea allowed half her face to grin unseen.

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

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

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

“Looks sore.”

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

“I’m not…wearing any…”

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

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

(To be continued…)


The Visit – 8

(Continued from The Visit – 7)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then take me with you….”

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


The Visit – 7

“No. In here.” She tapped her temple.

(Continued from The Visit – 6)

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

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

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

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


The Visit – 6

“You’re goofy”, he said breaking and laying back.

(Continued from The Visit – 5)

He slid his hand down her back wanting to cup her bottom but she was firmly planted, again caught in a wave of thinking and rethinking. His hand explored along the small of her back and as much of her butt as he could get, searching for ingress of any kind. He slid his finger into the top of her crease and wriggled it pushing in.  Again, he remembered that pull from years ago sitting next to her as she read ”Where The Wild Things Are” to him. He thought he remembered his head on her lap and put it there again.

This time there were no madras shorts between his cheek and her thigh and when he turned his head toward her, he caught a scent that was new to him but unmistakable. Like that French guy who ate the cookie and remembered his life; Jake knew that every time he caught this scent in the coming years, it would bring him to this bed, to his bed, in his parent’s house on this Friday night.

“You have to do something for me”, she said patting his head gently.

“Yes”, he said knowing he would have agreed to anything.

“When we’re done, you have to whip me. You have to beat me bloody. This is bad and I have to be punished for it.”

“I’m doing it too.”

“No. I’m the one doing it. It’s my fault, not yours. If you tell anyone I’ll be the one in trouble. You get that right? This is me doing this to you.” Feeling her words running away from her, she stopped then said, “I wish I wasn’t in here.”

“In my room?”

“No. In here.” She tapped her temple.




(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.



The Halloween Party


(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.





(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.


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.