Night Lights

Liking the feel of muted life in the middle of the night, Lori kept the house dimly lit with strategically placed nightlights and tiny touch lamps. She wandered into-then through-the kitchen after pausing to gaze at but not see the immaculate countertops in the shadows. Then through the small dining room dragging a finger along the dark wood table, feeling the bumps and ridges of the hand-hewn oak. She was headed to the living room in the back of the house where a camelback clock that had been her grandfather’s pulsed, whirred and dinged the hours so long as she wound it ever other day. And she didn’t miss. It was her home’s pulse.

Naked but for a T-shirt that was just long enough to reach her thighs, she peered closely at the clock seeing naught but her eyes shining back in the glare of one of her hidden luminaries. She gently opened the glass face to better see the minute hand twitch with every tiny sweep of the internal workings. She paced it and tried to steady her breathing-still not recovered from the almost forgotten nightmare.

The dream was familiar-not in the details but the feel of it and what it had left behind. It had been dark in her dream-darker than it could ever be in her house. She was on her belly and sliding down something. A hill, a tilted floor; something impossibly slippery. She heard a voice and felt a hand on her. The voice was Uncle Red’s she knew. Not him later, sick and ravaged, but him fifteen or twenty years ago-soft and clear. She didn’t know who’s hand it was, or why it was on her calf. But it had to have been his. It was trying to pull her back-keeping her from sliding into a still darker place. Maybe. Maybe it was pushing her. She had jolted awake. She breathed in time with the minute hand’s twitch; each breath deeper, less a gulp.

Her belly bothered her. Not inside, she didn’t feel sick at all. It was more the look of it. She thought it too round and puffy-she could hold it in her hands. Could rub it all over. Her reflection in the sliding door showed her no longer slender, but not fat. Tall and pale with smudges of darkness reflecting the jumble of black hair sticking out of her head and the thatch below her belly which she still rubbed and rubbed; an angst-ridden Buddha. She hadn’t always had it-the belly. When she was younger it was as flat as the girls on TV.  She wanted that belly back.

She sat on the end of the couch like she and her uncle had, facing the dark TV. Her reflection was there too. She studied it and the empty spot at the other end of the couch which was Red’s end. She glanced that way quickly as if to catch him sitting there, casting no reflection but watching her none the less. He wasn’t there. But he was everywhere.

She thought for a moment that she would lie on the couch. Just lie there on her belly for a moment and pull her shirt up. She’d done it before-lain there exposed until the jitters passed or the weight pressing down, lifted. She’d awoken that way some mornings, cold and bare-assed for anyone who could look through the door. She had decided to do it and, leaning over, felt a chill in her belly. Then she didn’t.

She watched the goosebumps rise on her thighs and pulled her T-shirt back to reveal her lap. Was it spreading? She poked at herself making tiny pink dimples which colored then filled. “Closure” was what everyone who wanted the house talked about to her. As if there was such a thing for the haunted-for those who carried the memories of past lives with them. Like moving was going to change anything. Like she wanted to change anything. The woman in the dark TV stared-giving her nothing. Not a fucking thing.

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Danny – Part 2

(Continued from Danny)

We spent the day as we had the one before; fishing, swimming, canoeing and ignoring what had happened. Had someone joined us that day, they wouldn’t have noticed anything in the way we acted toward each other. At least that’s how I remember that day. At the end of it, after dinner and a late swim I was sun-groggy, playing solitaire in the main room and Danny was, I thought, reading in his. I thought nothing of it when he called, “Come here a minute”. When I got to his door, the lamp was dimmed by a red bandana over the shade and he was laying on the bed, naked on his belly, ass pointed right at the door. Right at me.

I thickened immediately-to be eighteen again-and noticed a rubber and a small bottle on the tiny square of table beside the lamp. I picked up the bottle of lube. It was brand new-unopened-bought for the weekend.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had this yesterday?”

He turned his head toward me and without looking up said, “I didn’t want to scare you off…” His face was obscured by a thick sash of dirty blonde hair, but he was smiling.

I undressed quickly and lay beside him, my stiff cock bumping and rubbing against his leg. He smelled like salt, like the river, like the Ivory soap we kept down the on the dock because it floated. There was no question what to do next-this was not the first time I’d been in bed with someone-but certainly the first time with a guy. Also, the first time with someone who reacted as warmly and lively, to every touch-to every caress. Up on my elbow I traced my hand across the wide shoulders and down the smooth muscles of his back bumping along his spine to the dimples where the deep brown of his tan faded into the soft white mounds of his ass. Below, his hamstrings were tight and practically hairless.

I paused my hand on his rear and squeezed gently, loving the feel of it.  He reached back and covered my hand with his. “Smack me”, he said. “On the butt…”

I did, not hard but hard enough to generate a nice jolt against in my shoulder. He moaned and pushed his bottom toward me. “Again.” I did, and he gasped and lifted his bottom for more cocking his leg slightly to accommodate his hardening. The air left the room as I slapped and slapped turning his bottom an all over pink.

“Use my belt”, he croaked lifting his hips.

“What?” I asked, not sure.

“My belt. Use it!” The thick leather was still in his jeans hanging on the back of the door. I pulled it out and doubled it, snapping it once.

“Right across my ass!” he was breathless, on his knees like a charmed cobra, his face in his pillow. The first lash was limp and met with a “come on…” the second better, sound cracking off the walls. By the fifth he was yipping like a coyote with every blow and my cock was bouncing like a conductor’s baton. He signaled he was finished by sliding his legs backward and collapsing on the bed. I whipped him once more as he squeezed his cheeks together like two hard red apples. I dropped the belt and rubbed his hot, dry bottom.

“This has to hurt”, I whispered.

“It burns”, he said. “Burns good…”

I pulled his legs apart and kneeled between them, back by his feet so I could lean forward and continue rubbing his tortured cheeks lightly. He couldn’t have jumped higher had I touched him with a lit cigarette when I kissed his bottom. “Jumpy?”, I said pinching lightly and rubbing my three days stubble over the heat. His movements spoke eloquently without words.

He wriggled at the sound when I tore open the rubber and gasped when I drizzled the cool liquid onto my fingers and rubbed them over and into his tight asshole. Guided by my right hand, my cock leaned against his opening for a moment. Then I pushed slowly, relentlessly until I was deep inside and lying flat atop him filling my lungs with the smell of him. I nibbled lightly and underhooked both arms trying to catch a rhythm with the old bed springs.

Danny tried to free his right arm-to pull it down. I knew what he was going for and grunted, “Here, let me.” We rolled onto our sides spooning and I took his pulsing cock in my right hand. I didn’t think the bed-the same one I was sleeping on now- would survive our thrusting what with him pushing back as I rammed forward-never slowing pumping his cock. We came close enough to the same time to call it even. He growled, and I growled, squeezing him a little harder than I’d meant to. But he took it and pushed back as we went limp together.

The next day, after washing his sleeping bag in the river, we decided to leave. Maybe we feared what might happen that night, maybe we were out of beer. But we left. The ride home was the same as the ride down: cassettes playing loud and talking about people at school. After a silence about an hour into the ride he said without looking at me. “I enjoyed you fucking me. I really liked that.”

“I did too”, I said.

“And I don’t feel weird about it.” I didn’t answer. “I don’t. Doesn’t mean anything except that it’s just something we did.”

“What about the belt?”

“I REALLY liked that…”

I smiled and tried to affect a rakish grin over the steering wheel but when I glanced in the mirror it was more of a Dr. Sardonicus rictus. But that was it-that was our conversation about the weekend. We spoke no more of it. We didn’t see much of each other too much over the summer and it seemed to be by design. Then fall came and I went to school up north and he went to work. As I understand it, he hated the job and after he got laid off Danny surprised everyone and joined the service. It was a gray September day a couple of years later when word came that he’d been blown-up in Afghanistan.

 

Danny

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(This is an excerpt from a longer piece that might actually be finished one day)

There was never a wonder about why it had happened that day of all days. Never wondered because Danny had obviously planned it, if not in every specific detail, then certainly in general. Neighbors and constant companions since fifth grade and now ready to graduate, we were unsupervised teens ready to leave our childhoods behind: chrysalises on the cusp of becoming something else.  At least one of us was. I thought I was ready, but years of following the lead of coaches and teammates had left me remarkably unable to choose a path for myself. I was the horse that, unbridled and unsaddled, still followed the steps of his master. Which is why I wanted to get away with Danny, my only friend who was not on a team with me or had an opinion to share about where I should go to college.

The cabin was great for that. We came down in the middle of the week because there was nobody around for a mile in every direction. We fished, swam, grilled burgers, now relaxed as dusk fell. We relaxed like most guys did-talking about girls, particularly about Crissy Myers. I had dated her for a hot minute and never got past first base. Danny had hit a home run with her right out of the box and never tired of ragging me about it. Except for today. He’d mentioned it but then let it lie. He seemed nervous-jumpy-his foot tapping vibrating the bench. He couldn’t sit still-got up and paced from one side of the deck to the other.

“You OK, man?” I asked him once.

“Yeah, I’m fine”, he answered but paused with his back to me. He was wearing old gym shorts and an oversize T-shirt that hung low. He wasn’t a big guy-not as tall as me-but not slight. I was on the bench with my legs apart, watching him. He turned and without looking at me, walked up and slipped just inside my knees. Too close, really. His legs were almost touching mine. I was about to say something when I noticed.

“Dude”, I said. “You have a hard on.”

“Thinking about Crissy”, he said.

“I don’t think…” I began but stopped when I looked up at his face. In that second, I saw it. I saw it in his eyes and he looked away quickly knowing that I saw it. But I’d seen it and couldn’t unsee it. It was there. I even saw it on his lips when he wasn’t looking.

“Dan?” I asked.

“It’s your choice,” he said quietly.

“What is?”

He turned away and walked to the railing at the end of the deck. Turning to look at me over his shoulder he unsnapped his shorts and allowed them to fall to the floor. He wasn’t wearing underwear and his alabaster bottom glowed in the dim sundown light. He stepped out the shorts to widen his stance and bent over the top rail.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice grabbing.

“It’s here if you want it”, he said.

I didn’t trust myself just then to say anything. I remembered earlier in the day when when we were swimming and he’d rubbed against me underwater. I had pushed off of him and come to the top, thinking nothing of it. But I’d spend the better part of the rest of my life trying to remember or imagine signs that might have foretold what was happening that evening.

“I want it”, he said.

The voice, that plea, rings in my ears today. I don’t know-or didn’t at the time know-if I wanted it. So, I sat. Frozen. There was a part of me that didn’t want to leave him out there in a place that had probably taken him years to get to, by himself. The trust he had to feel-or the desperation that drove him-to put himself over that railing were not to be simply dismissed.

While I thought, while I considered, he waited. Not rock still-he moved a bit-up on his right toes, then his left-arching his back slightly then settling. No matter how much I thought, considered, re-thought, re-considered, there was one thing I could not ignore. My dick was pushing hard against the seam of my cut-offs. I looked down almost relieved to have the decision made for me. I stood and dropped my shorts, stepping out of them.

His rectum grabbed me so firmly I panicked for a moment thinking I remembered stories of men locking up like this. Which would have been unacceptable. But no. Once firmly implanted inside him-tightly enough that my legs rubbed his and hipbones pressed his butt-I was able to withdraw-partly and slowly-then slide in again. Then again, picking up the pace each time.

“Oh Jesus”, he gasped over his shoulder, “I love this!”

I pushed his shirt up his back wanting to expose more of him. “Me too”, I said catching my breath and feeling the weight growing heavier deep inside me with every thrust. Me too, I repeated to myself. I stood straight, arching, and looked down, watching his ass take me over and over. Danny’s right arm was working; stroking his penis feverishly.

He came first, with a groan spattering his seed over the trees and shrubs below the deck. Cumming, his asshole grabbed me tighter than possible-a strong hand squeezing-and I shot hard and deep, driving him into the wooden railing and coming up on my toes until the spasms passed and I settled back onto my feet. Then, careful not to touch him anywhere but on the hips, I slipped myself out from between his cheeks, chastely ignoring his soft moan. We went swimming.

That night we smoked the only joint we had and drank two of the six beers we brought along. We were young-today a six pack wouldn’t last the ride down-then it was enough for three days. Neither one of us spoke of what we did as we sat there on the deck listening to the nighttime symphony of insects, night birds and frogs. I don’t think we were ignoring what we’d done by any means, but really didn’t know how to react.  The exercise had felt more athletic than sexual so we, at least I, treated it as such and spent the evening as we had the previous one: talking about school, plans, girls and playing hearts.

(Continuing…)

 

No Redemption Without Damnation

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(Continued from The Colonel Comes Home – Memories)

“You’re Sylvia Palacios?” he growled in a guttural lowland accent.

“Yes Captain”.

Garcia squinted. “You know me?”

“No sir. Your braid is the mark of a Captain. My husband was a soldier, sir.”

“We know. At this moment, that’s the only thing saving your life.”

Garcia flipped his good leg over and hopped to the ground. He loosened the ax from its’ bindings. With a few barked orders the soldiers dismounted and spread through the property and into the house.  She didn’t move as he strode by her, as if immobility made her invisible. “Did you know my Antonio?”

“No. The Colonel suddenly has a soft spot for widows of those who died under his command.”

She jumped but didn’t turn at the crash of the first ax blow. Then the second-she knew what he was doing. A few more then the door, in shards, was tossed aside. A window shattered as a chair flew through it. She directed the men with what sounded like grunts and coughs. The dialect was strange to her, but she thought she heard the word “treasure.”

“Where is the gold?” he asked, suddenly back at her shoulder.

“What gold Captain?”

He leaned and rumbled into her ear. “Remember I said your life has been saved for the moment. It’s a gift that can be withdrawn any time.”

She turned and met his eyes but for a moment. “Bedroom closet. Under the floorboards.”

He turned his head and barked. She heard the rumble of men rushing through her house then the crashing of axes.

“What’s to become of me?” she asked having turned away again.

“If you live, it’s shit-town for you”, he said distracted, paying attention to the two bags that his men were bringing out of the house. The little she knew of shit-town was it was the bottom of the bottom caste. Natives living naked in the jungle occupied a higher rung on their society’s ladder. At least the band of outcasts and ne’er do wells that lived along a downstream slough of the river had a function. They managed the rudimentary sewage runnels that the viceroy had invented years before to relieve the highlands of any town’s most vexing and continuous need. And they washed soldier’s uniforms and the army’s bandages in large boiling pots well upstream from the shit pipes. The other lore she ignored for the time being. She would know soon enough.

He brought the bags to the table beside her and emptied the smaller one. “Not as much here as I thought there would be.”

“I’ve been living off it, since Antonio died.”

“There’s more?”

“There was. That’s all that’s left. I swear.”

They were old coins imprinted with the name of a Spanish king who had rotted away decades ago. Impossible to know when, or where, Antonio Palacios had made them his own. But it didn’t matter, they belonged to the Colonel now he thought, as he put them back into the sack. Most of them anyway. He left enough on the table for his men to pick up. They would notice there were exactly three per man and would take their share. Everyone had ways to ensure a soldier’s loyalty.

“You gather everything you can carry in a pillowcase”, he told her. As she entered the house, the soldiers walked out carrying Laurencia’s clothes. Deadened to what she might see, she didn’t even gasp at the ruin around her. Tables, chairs, dressers, all smashed and scattered. She found another dress, like the one she wore, in a pile. Also trousers. Sandals, underclothing, boots…all jammed into a sack. Turning from the shattered room she saw the captain-silhouetted in the sunshine from outside- standing between her and the door. He was unfastening his belt. “Oh”, was all she said.

“Remove your dress and lay over the bed”, he said simply. That’s when it registered to her that the bed was the only piece of furniture in the house left undisturbed. She turned her back to him and pulled the rough cloth over her head, letting it fall to the floor. “Your rump has all the colors of the sunset, Senora.” She knew as she lowered herself that the bruises were fading but still very much in evidence.

“The Colonel was very thorough”, she said situating herself over the foot of the bed, feet on the floor. “I deserved it”, she repeated her mantra.

“Well, there will be no whipping today”, he said.

She turned her head to look back over her shoulder. His dark cock, long, and slender, pointed to her bottom like a compass needle finding true north. Again, even in her shame, she felt a flutter in her breast. She had nothing not grown in the garden between her legs for years. Her rounded backside was large and heavy enough to well cover her treasures. “Spread these”, he said stepping between her legs. She wriggled to comply and felt his surprisingly gentle finger over her dry slit. She pushed backward trying to open as he wriggled against the opening that seemed impossibly narrow.

“There is lotion”, she said quickly. “If you can find it. It was in a jar on the dresser.”

“You would like that”, he said rubbing back and forth. “It would be easier for you.”

“And for you”, she said. “Would you rather slip through butter or grind through sand?”

She felt his hand on her bottom cheek as he pushed away and shuffled to where the dresser lay, its drawers having vomited their contents in a swath across the floor. She rolled onto her side and pointed to a spot near the wall. “There”, she said. “The green jar.” He picked it up and she settled back onto her stomach.

“And it’s not broken”, he said chuckling. “I’ll have to speak to my men.”

The joke did not register as she pulled a pillow to her face and opened her legs. She gasped as first one, then two fingers, worked their way up and down then, well-greased, entered her. She lifted onto her toes to better accommodate him as he oiled and stretched her with a few minutes of thorough fingering. She felt him move closer against her before he withdrew his hand and roughly grasped her hips. Pulling as he pushed forward, he sheathed himself-in a single slow thrust-as completely as possible into her secreted vagina. He pushed harder trying to get all the way in but her bottom-as pleasant as he found it to rub against-was an impediment to complete penetration.

“Your ass, senora…It is in the way…” he caught his breath and bit his tongue.  Though an older man, he spent little time with women these days and concentrated, concerned that he might come too quickly.

“I could lay on my back”, she offered.

“No”, he said pulling out. “I like it back here. But I think I’ll switch holes.”

Before she could panic at the prospect of being violated in a way she hadn’t for years, the head of his cock was pushing at her tiny brown button. As a child she was told if she opened her mouth wide, it would open her back there. So, feeling the searing burn as the Captain stretched his way into her top hole, she opened her mouth wide and said nothing as he filled her completely with his length and breadth.

“Better…” he grunted pushing deeply. He saw the woman’s hands shaking as she clenched the bedclothes and knew her mouth was full of pillow. His strokes, for the most part, were shallow and quick. Not until he felt himself gathering at the gate did he drive deeply, grinding into Sylvia Palacios’ ass. He didn’t care any longer about coming; would prefer to get it over with. His job here was complete-he could report her well used.

Backside aflame, her ears rang with the slapping sound of skin on skin as he bounced off her bottom. Hurry damn you! she thought holding her breath as he quickened pace for a moment then stiffened with a grunt and shudder. He collapsed atop her as his throbbing cock painted her insides with ill sown seed. He lay still until his breathing recovered then pushed himself off her to stand.

“Come on”, he said after wiping himself with the end of the sheet. “We have to be off.” He picked up the dress and her sack and strode out the door. She knew he meant for her to follow him naked into the yard but she refused, finding a limit to her appetite for punishment. Moving stiffly, she wrapped the soiled sheet around her and shuffled through the door.

When he saw her, he barked a quick order and the soldier nearest her ripped the sheet from her with such force she almost tumbled. “I can’t ride like this!” she cried, her alabaster body gleaming in the sunlight.

He gave another quick order and two soldiers took her roughly and tied her feet and hands with coarse rope that had been thrown over their saddles. She didn’t resist knowing struggle was fruitless and allowed herself to be lifted and thrown bottom up over the saddle like a bag of corn. She watched the ground mutely as they tied her hands to her ankles and with another rope, fastened her to the saddle.

“There”, he said standing beside the burro and patting her upturned bottom strongly. “You think you can ride like this?” She said something he didn’t hear. “What?”, he asked.

“I’m leaking you bastard!”, she whispered raggedly. Knowing what she meant he tore a slice from the sheet and shoved it roughly between the cheeks of her ass. “There”, he said patting her again. “That should save the saddle.” Then, struck by an idea, he stepped to the fire pit and took a piece of charcoal. He brushed her bottom as one might a table to clear crumbs and with the charcoal wrote in fine script, “Sylvia Palacios” and below that “Madre Horrible”. He stood back admiring his handiwork before mounting and tying Sylvia’s burro to his saddle horn. “Now let’s ride.”

The soldier in the lead headed off on a neglected trail that led directly to the river. “Not that way”, the captain said turning his horse to the well-worn path. “Let’s go down through town.”

Her humiliation complete, Sylvia Palacios wept. The Captain leaned over and spoke softly to the back of her downcast head. “There can be no redemption without damnation, Senora.”

(Thus ends Chapter One of ‘The Colonel Comes Home’)

Breaking the old Ennui – 3

 

(Continued from Breaking the old Ennui – 2)

Karen lay on her side facing her friend in a bubble where neither they, nor the air, moved for the long minute before the thermometer ‘pinged’. Theresa refocused on Karen’s face, biting her lip and sighing lightly as the tube was withdrawn from her bottom.

“That’s odd”, they both heard Tim say.

“What?” asked his wife.

“It’s reading a perfect normal.”

“That can’t be right”, said Theresa looking back. “I feel…”

Karen reached back and slid her fingers across Theresa’s bottom, squeezed lightly then cupped her top cheek. She lifted, opening her back there.

“Try it again, Tim”, she said.

Her friend’s mouth gapped slightly as the tube was reinserted and Karen released, allowing her bottom to close around it. She got up on her elbow and began to loosen the Velcro holding her binding sling in place. “Help me, here”, she asked Tim. Having had the same surgery, Karen knew what flexibility there was and how to move and not move the shoulder. Theresa said nothing, allowing herself to be gently manipulated. She lifted her arm slightly and let Karen unbutton, then slip her shirt off.

The thermometer sounded again. “Leave it”, said Karen paying attention to the clasp between Theresa’s breasts. “We know what it’s going to say, don’t we Trece?” Again, Tim helped with the unveiling, sliding the strap off the shoulder and releasing the ripe fullness of her breasts. Now it was Karen’s turn to suck air between her teeth.

“You are naked on our bed, Babe”, she said.  “Is that what you had in mind?”

“I don’t know…what I had in mind. But it feels good. Doesn’t it.?”

Karen rubbed her thumb over one of the taut, swollen nipples. “Somebody’s liking it”, she said.

“I’m kinda surprised though”, Theresa said quietly watching Karen roll her nipple gently between her thumb and forefinger. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

“I don’t know, love. Sometimes the stars just have to line up.” Karen arched her back and dipped her head, opening her mouth and closing it softly over the end of Theresa’s top breast. “Oh-Oh-Oh…” which might have been an “Ah-Ah-Ah…” the breath from each exclamation puffing at her hair. More than a mouthful indeed.

“Timmy, would you please stop that beeping?”

With a whimper-inducing jiggle then a flourish, Tim pulled the thermometer out of her bottom and held it up. “Ninety-eight point six”, he announced.

“Ah…I see what’s going on here…” said Karen back close to Theresa’s face. “Somebody’s fibbing…”

“I just wanted to play a little. God, I didn’t think it would be like this…”

Karen shifted slightly, the seam of her jeans digging into her own moist crease as she moved their game along.

“Tim and I have a way of dealing with fibbers, don’t we Tim?”

“We certainly do”, he said rubbing his palm across the top cheek of Theresa’s creamy white bottom. Her eyes widened, knowing where this was going. Karen and Tim weren’t shy about how they played.

“Come on Karen”, she said. “Not a spanking…”

“Oh, I think absolutely a spanking.”

“Nooo….” She whimpered.

“Tell you what. We won’t spank you. We’ll just help you get dressed and go back out into the living room and watch TV. You OK with that? That will be fine, right?”

“No….” she pouted with her lip out.

“I didn’t think so…” Karen knelt at Theresa’s side and reached over delivering a firm SMACK to her bottom.

“Ouch!”

“Don’t be a baby! That was a love tap.”

“Hurts.”

“Shhhh…”

Karen leaned close, one hand on her friend’s waist, the other delivering light but stinging slaps to her backside. “Ow-ow-ow…” Theresa whispered, not wanting to be a whiner.

“There!” said Karen straightening up after twelve or so slaps.

“I’m done?!” said Theresa, delighted.

“No. I’m done. Timmy’s turn…”

“Oh…”

She writhed gently has he smacked her reddening rump firmly but playfully. She moaned but couldn’t say much more as Karen, lying face to face, had slipped her tongue into her mouth. The spanking slowed then stopped, Tim using his large hand to rub and knead her mottled bottom. She lifted slightly to allow his hand to slip between her legs.

“Please don’t”, she said.

“If you want me to stop, say stop.”

“Please don’t”, she repeated.

“If you want me to stop, say stop”, Tim said pushing his fingers deeper as Karen gazed intently into her eyes.

“Please don’t stop Tim…” she giggled, saying the words that her flowing quim had already made clear. With the palm of his hand fused to the inside of her bottom cheek he rubbed slowly and gently, only increasing pace and pressure as her breath quickened. She drew her leg higher as he did what she had asked him not to. Tim stopped the internal massage and withdrew his fingers eliciting a soft whimper until she felt Karen’s hand sliding across her belly and between her legs from the front.

Thus engaged, she didn’t notice Tim slip his pants off freeing his cock. Karen watched it rise then reached across her recumbent friend to take his firmness in hand and pull him toward her. Her mouth provided all the lubrication he would need. He dragged his damp piece across Theresa’s warm, spanked cheek and slipped between, allowing his wife’s hand to guide him into the dripping warmth.

He hardened with the penetration and thrust deeply feeling her butt against him. “Finally fucking Theresa”, he said with a smile.

“What took you so long?” she joked breathing heavily. Karen was kneeling, supporting her injured shoulder.  Tim, on his side, held her hip and caught the wet slap-slap-slap rhythm of their coupling. “I’m…going to come….” She gasped. “It won’t take long…I’m going to….” Further announcements were unnecessary. She coughed once, then bit off a squeal and finally groaned as she stiffened.

To be continued….

 

Breaking the old Ennui – 2

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Perchenonso.tumblr.com

(Continued from Breaking the Old Ennui…)

They moved as in a dream-flowing, not walking-Karen with her hand on the center of Theresa’s back. A bedside lamp, left on earlier, blanketed the room in a soft golden glow that welcomed them inside.  Karen slowly sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Theresa in front of her. She was moving precisely but languidly knowing that each action, once over, could never happen again. It might be repeated-but never relived as it happened the first time. And she wanted everything to last.

Shaking only slightly, she opened Theresa’s belt then unsnapped her jeans. Exaggerating her movements as if playing to the back row, she grasped the sharp, metal tab and, before sliding it down, looked up. Her friend, not trusting words for the moment, simply lay her hand on her shoulder. The zipper came down and the jeans pulled open. Now Theresa leaned for balance as Karen worked the jeans over her hips then down her legs, leaning so that her breath tickled at Theresa’s thighs.

“Wow”, Theresa said deep in her throat. “I thought you’d just like take them down. Not off.”

“Naw, that’s miserable. They’d be all bunched around your legs. Here. Lift”, she said bending forward and taking the jeans off one leg then the other. Her hangs lingered on her calves then up to her knees as she straightened.  “Pretty panties”, said Karen rubbing her hands up the outside of her thighs and across the purple silk covering her hips. Theresa’s hand crawled from Karen’s shoulder to the side of her neck and squeezed lightly.

“Who’s going to do it?” Theresa asked.

“Oh IT. Timmy’s the doctor, right Tim?”

“At your service”, he said from behind her. She had been so preoccupied with Karen she had almost forgotten about Tim.

Theresa gave a little wince that morphed easily into an embarrassed smile. “I thought you might do it.”

“I’ll be right here honey. Come on now”, she said getting up. “Onto the bed with you.”

Theresa helped herself onto the bed with both knees and an arm. She let herself down easily on her right side. Karen pulled a pillow down under her head.

“Comfy, hon?” she asked sliding her hand along the contour of her hip then across the tightly stretched panties encasing her bottom. She had meant to pat her once then back off but didn’t. She carefully kept her wandering hand on the panties though, as if the thin film of silk offered some measure of propriety to an affair that was feeling less proper as it felt more right.

To answer the question, Theresa was more than comfy. She didn’t know what she had in mind exactly when she stopped by this evening. She didn’t know what-if anything-would happen and she couldn’t swear she wanted ANYTHING to happen. All she knew was she couldn’t bear one more night alone in her bed with her vibrator. Lil Buzzy was a wonderful distraction and necessary release but not meant to be a steady diet.

So, no, Theresa didn’t know what she specifically had in mind as she circled the block for an hour before texting Karen. She didn’t even know what she wanted, let alone what she needed, and wouldn’t have known what to ask for if a question came up. But that was then. Right now she wished that Karen’s hands would slide down the backs of her legs, would cup her bottom, would knead the soft…

Her reverie was interrupted by Tim sliding open the drawer in the nightstand. She watched dreamily as he picked out the thermometer and a tube of lube.

“I thought it would be bigger” she joked, her voice cracking just a bit. Damn! What was with her voice?

“This little thing?” Tim held it between his fingers. “You won’t even feel it.” Then he disappeared around the bed and out of sight. She settled her head on the pillow end let her eyes glaze; a flutter in her chest. She didn’t want to crane her head to see what they were doing but Karen’s hand was still on her hip and she could feel, more than hear, a kiss pass between them. Then the bed moved and the hand disappeared. Karen came around the front with a small smile and sat on the bed beside her.

“I have to get these out of the way”, Tim said his thumbs in the waistband of her panties. They were tighter than she wanted them to be-it was her last line of defense in the battle with her weight. She would not buy larger panties, determined to fit the ones she had. Some were more of a struggle than others. She lifted slightly and he pulled them down off her hip, then down her bottom reveling her deep crease and firm, billowing cheeks. She expected him to stop right below her butt, but he rolled them all the way down her legs.

“Hey”, she said looking up at Karen. “That thermometer isn’t that big…”

“Your panties are too tight”, Tim said rubbing a thumb along a crease on her bottom. They’re cutting off your circulation.”

“That’s fine” she said stretching a little into her new-found freedom. “I’m just feeling a little exposed is all…”

Karen, without a thought, crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her sweat shirt. As quick as a shrug it was off and tossed to the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

“There now. Feel better?”

She’d seen her naked before, usually quickly in a cabana while changing for the pool or in a locker room. Here, seeing the flow of her hips rising out of her loose-fitting jeans, the goose-fleshed bumps of her ribs and swollen nipples…it felt different. Very different. Her eyes had settled on Karen’s flat belly when her attention was drawn behind her. Tim was rubbing her panty lines then her cheeks.

“It’s ridiculous that nobody’s had their hands on this ass for how long?” he asked softly.

“Long time” she sighed, her eyes sagging closed. Karen watched a small smile play across her friend’s lips as Tim rubbed and kneaded her ample backside. He glanced up from his ministrations to get an affirming smile from his wife. Then, with a practiced assurance, popped the lid from the lube with one hand and opened Theresa cheeks with the other. Her lips parted with a tiny sigh as the small, cool tube entered her behind.

“See?” said Karen close to her face. “Can’t even feel it.”

“Oh, I feel it”, Theresa said smiling. “I feel it fine.” Karen leaned closer until Theresa opened her mouth slightly to accept a soft kiss. Karen’s mouth closed over hers and her tongue circled the inside of her lips finally nibbling the top one.

“What was that?” Theresa asked quietly when they uncoupled.

“Did you like it?”

“I liked it. I liked it a lot.”

“We’ll take care of you baby…”

Continuing…

Breaking the Old Ennui…

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“What?” she said looking up from her book.

“Nothing.”

“Why’d you turn it off?”

He didn’t answer right away and she didn’t ask again. Finally, without turning his head, “Tired of it. Wasn’t watching anything-just staring.”

She pulled one ear bud. The new white-noise app she’d downloaded made it possible to sit and read in the same room where he watched television. Evenings passed this way for most of the last few weeks-each in their own bubble, doing their own things.

“But now you’re just staring at nothing. That’s weird.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That can’t be good.” Her phone pinged a text and she glanced at it. “Don’t get too deep. Theresa’s stopping by.”

“What? Now?”

“Apparently.”

“Why?”

“Don’t be mean.”

“How can she drive with that sling?”

“She maybe can’t. But she says she’s been cooped up for weeks and it’s time.”

“Great”, he said meaning the opposite.

“Come on. She hasn’t been here in months and you only visited her the one time when I made you.”

“Okay. Not that I have any choice. I’m back and forth on Theresa and right now I’m not feeling it.”

“You’re still pissed that she wouldn’t kiss you at the bonfire last month. Christ, get over it!”

“There’s a difference between ‘not kissing’ and pushing you away with two hands!”

“Not everyone is turned on by a mouthful of bourbon and cigars.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Already?!”

“Shhh!” Karen shushed him. “She was just down the street when she texted…”

“Christ” he grumbled convinced that this interruption would kill any chance of any sort of sex tonight though they hadn’t needed people coming by unannounced to kill their amore lately.

“Be nice!” she ordered as she strode out of the room. He couldn’t help watching Karen’s lithe butt swing in her jeans in perfect complement to the blond ponytail. He felt something no doubt, always did watching her move but lately it faded quickly-a guttering match in a breeze.

He cringed at the ecstatic greetings he heard from the kitchen. The high-pitched “Hi Girlfriend…Look at you! No look at you…!!” He sighed and turned the TV back on.

Theresa was shorter than Karen, and rounder. Not fat by any means but not hiding the couple pounds a year she had put on in the last six or seven. Her hair was cut short to simplify styling during her rehab from rotator cuff surgery. She wore a sling attached to a block across her chest that kept her left arm immobilized across her chest. It was the same surgery Karen had two years previous, further cementing their goofy sisterhood.

Karen led her to the couch, passing behind Tim’s recliner. “Hi Timmy”, she said tousling his hair. “Happy to see me?”

“Always happy to see you love”, he said with an overwide fake smile.

Karen sat her at one end of the couch and she flopped down at the other end. “So you’re getting around now?”

“I still shouldn’t be driving but I was going stir crazy.”

“Getting better?”

“Every day! This is the first day I actually put on a bra. A real one-not a stretchy one I could step into.”

“You should have called Tim. He would have helped you-isn’t that right honey? He was a sweetheart when I got mine done.”

“Whatever I can do to help…” he smiled a less affected smile.

“Honey”, Theresa said, “With your titties you don’t even need a bra. These girls”, she shrugged and her breasts, round as ripe grapefruits, nodded in affirmation “They need all the support I can give them.”

“All the better to call him. Maybe he needs more than a mouthful now and again.” She ducked but caught the pillow he threw. Then they settled into comfortable small talk that friends of a decade can have. Tim was able to stay in and out of their conversation as called for. He was content watching a Bar Rescue rerun with the sound off.

“…Plus I think I’m sick”, he heard her say.

“How nice of you to come over and infect us”, said Tim without looking.

“I don’t know”, Theresa said. “Maybe it’s nothing.” She leaned toward Karen. “Do I feel warm?”

Karen reached over and put her palm on her forehead. Then the back of her hand on her cheek.

“I don’t think so. Tim?”

“I’m no good at that-my hands are always cold.”

“Really”, said Theresa. “Do you have a thermometer?”

Karen froze when she should have just said “No”. Tim, his eyes still on the set said, “We only have a rectal.”

“A…what? Really?”

She cut her eyes to one, then the other. Karen was engrossed in the grain of the coffee table and suddenly the morons going broke owning a Tiki Bar were fascinating beyond words.

“You guys”, said Theresa smiling and shaking her head. They’d been friends too long for her not to know a little about how they played. Or played when they were playing which they currently were not.

“Couldn’t you just wash it real good?” asked Theresa

“How good?” asked Tim.  “Sure, I’ll do that…be my guest.”

“Yuck”, said Karen her face wrinkled. “You can’t do that.”

Theresa smiled. “I’ll swing by Walgreen’s on the way home. You guys…” she repeated and shook her head.

“Well, we offered”, Karen said.

“Yes, you did. And I appreciate the gesture. I just can’t lay on my belly with this…”

“You could lay on your side…” Karen said lightly without looking at her.

Theresa did something that sounded like a snort-almost a laugh-then sat back. Tim flipped through the channels and found a rerun of American Pickers that he stayed with for a moment hoping to see Danielle. Nobody spoke and when he stole a glance at Karen, she was looking at him, a tiny glint in her eyes. He looked toward the other end of the couch and let his eyes settle on Theresa. “So?” he asked.

“Sad truth, it would be the first time anyone’s touched my ass in months.”

Tim caught his wife’s quick grin and he felt a buzz in his crotch.

There had always been something going on with the three of them; a stolen kiss here, a drunken feel there, never secretive and never pushed beyond the realm of friendly naughtiness. This felt different. They were all sober for one. Theresa had been miserably unattached for months, and Tim & Karen had become, for the first time in the marriage, sexually unmoored. Neither had made a thing of it when Tim began sleeping, with increasing regularity, in the spare room. There were reasons: he snored, she was a light sleeper, he wandered about at night…all valid but only true on the face. The fact was they were spending more nights apart than together. Theresa was cutting her eyes from one to the other.

“What do you think, Nurse Karen?” Tim asked. This was going to be her call and how the balance of the evening would be spent hung on her answer. His wife waited then lay the back of her hand against her friend’s cheek again. “Hard to tell” she said playing at trying to figure something out. “But you do look flushed. We should check it out.”

“Alrighty then”, said Tim, then fumbled about, deferring again.

Karen stood and took Theresa’s hand. “Let’s go back to the bedroom. More comfortable for you to lay on the bed than the couch.”

(Continuing…)