Another Stray Day

Claude Monet, The Gare Saint Lazare: Arrival of a Train

Continuing with the characters from The Stray

Robin slipped her shades on just as she turned the corner, knowing she’d be walking right into the early afternoon sun. A beautiful day to be off-at least as off as she ever was. She needed to check in at The Stray for a few to put together a liquor order then it was off to the museum for the traveling Impressionists show that was only here through the weekend. 

“Toddler! What’s up little man?” Todd shifted on his stool behind the bar where he was reading the paper. “Don’t get up on my account.” Todd was “little” like black was white, like square was round. Six five or so, three hundred if an ounce, he was the late night closer filling in for the afternoon. 

“Aw man”, he moaned. “I thought you were off today.”

She grinned at the big man’s gibe. “Ten minutes, that’s it. Then I’ll let you get back to…” she gestured to the nothing he was doing. “…your what have you.”

“Seriously”, he said, folding the paper and laying it on the bar, “A beautiful day like this…why you here?”

“Forgot the liquor order yesterday…”

“Done.”

“What?”

“Saw it in the register…called it in.”

“Did you add the tequila? I had it on a note…”

“I can read. Even your scratches…”

“Well”, she smiled, “Our little boy is growing up…”

She was about ready to turn on her heel and head back out the door when Todd mentioned that he hadn’t seen Olive yet today. Which was unusual. She was an early riser and a restless little shit who was sometimes found sitting at the bar having a coffee when they opened the place. They exchanged a glance. Todd was concerned or he wouldn’t have brought it up but he wasn’t yet concerned enough to go check on her. Tag, you’re it, thought Robin. 

Robin made no effort to be quiet climbing the steps and walking the short hallway but hesitated when she got to the door. She had been in there before, usually just to drop off mail or something Olive had left at the bar. She knocked softly. “Olive?” she called. Nothing. Then louder, “Olive?” She tried the knob-of course it was unlocked-and stuck her head in cautiously. “Olive?” The door opened into a small living room furnished with cast-offs and discards, an old stained couch, a sun-bleached table with a chunk of wood under one leg, and an overstuffed chair that definitely looked like it had been picked off the curb. The table was as far into the place as Robin had ever been. She listened hard, trying to will a sound that would preclude her having to venture any farther. Nothing. Dead still. 

A growing sense of dread dragged at her feet as she crossed the room through the open archway into the spartan bedroom. Alley light filtered in through a grimy window that faced the gray block wall of the building next door. The bed headed opposite her and Robin could see Olive on her side, bare feet glowing white like bones out of the legs of her black jeans. As she got closer Robin realized that she was creeping almost on her toes, being as silent as she could. The girl’s dark shirt was riding up in the back revealing her backbone’s sharp knuckles. 

Most of Olive’s face was hidden, shrouded by her long, lank hair. Holding her breath, Robin leaned over, then closer looking, looking…then sighed with relief as she saw the girl’s hair where it covered her mouth, moving back and forth gently in tandem with her shallow breaths. “Thank god”, she whispered, straightening up. Then, once relieved, she slipped into a previous life, scanning the floor around the bed for foil, a pipe, a belt, lighters…anything that might tell a story of a fix, a shot, a smoke. Nothing. She opened the single drawer on the bed stand and under a towel there was…well… Robin smiled even as she felt the heat rise in her face.  What a woman did in her own bed was her business, she thought, covering it back with the towel.  But nothing else. 

She turned back to the bed and called the girl’s name quietly while poking her gently in the shoulder. “Hey, Olive…you OK?” Poke again. The girl’s blue eyes fluttered open behind under her hair, sleepy but clear. It took a second for her to focus and actually see what she was seeing. 

“Robin…” she said. “What’s up…?” She lay on her back blinking slowly as Robin told her that Todd was concerned, well, that they both were, having not seen her all day, and she’d just come up to check on her. 

“Did you have a rough night?” Robin asked, allowing a smile remembering what was in the drawer.

“No. I don’t think so…slept hard though. Wow. What time is it?”

“Almost one, girl…”

“Shit…” Olive brought her hands up to push her hair off her face and rub her eyes. “I was dead!” 

“Yep”, thought Robin, that was the concern. She reached down and, in the manner of a mother to her child, ran the backs of her fingers across her cheek.

“You are warm, Olive.”

“I…just woke up I guess.”

“No”, said Robin. “You’re running a fever…”

“Naw. I run hot…”

“Still…”

“There’s a thermometer in the bathroom. In the cabinet if you want to check.”

Robin straightened, patting Olive’s cheek. “Just a quick look…”

In the bathroom Robin opened the medicine cabinet and sure enough, there were two glass thermometers on the bottom shelf. She grabbed the one in the green plastic sheath and pulled it out. The thermometer had a little silver ball at the end. “Oops,” she thought. “Not this one…” She picked the other and opened it seeing the same little ball at the end of the tube. She grinned. “I guess not…” she thought.

She was still holding the thermometer when she went to the bathroom door.  “Hey Olive, all you have are rect…” she froze when she saw the girl lying on her stomach with her jeans and panties around her knees. 

Olive flipped her head toward Robin. “Yes, that’s it. Bring them both-I don’t think one works. Don’t forget the Vaseline.” Then, when Robin didn’t move, “You OK?”

Robin snapped out of it. “Oh sure…yeah. Right. Vaseline…” She went back to the medicine cabinet and retrieved the other thermometer and the small jar that was beside them on the shelf. She caught her reflection in the mirror and watched the blush sliding over her cheeks. “Oh, yeah”, she said to her reflection. “Totally normal.” 

She came out of the bathroom and approached the bed carefully, again dragging her feet but not out of dread this time. It was something else. The girl had to know that most people, adults anyway, didn’t take their temperatures this way. Didn’t she? Had to. Robin was about to say something-really, this felt so freaking…but she stopped herself. She wouldn’t say “weird”. Having been called that herself so many times as a young human trying to find her way through the cliquish private schools her mother overspent to send her to, she had vowed never to use it in relation to another person. Even when it really freaking applied. 

Olive scooched to one side giving Robin room to sit which she did, gingerly. The truth was, Robin’s deep dark secret, was that she wasn’t as sexual as she appeared. Not frigid by any means and years beyond virginal, she was just…uncomfortable. She was a late bloomer-maybe still a bud-who was constantly plagued by desires that in turn were shadowed by deeper doubts and fears. But she put up a great front. Life had taught her that.

Sitting on the bed she marveled at Olive’s comfort and ease in laying herself bare like this, for this. Never would she have thought to envy Olive anything, besides her obvious looks, but she certainly wouldn’t mind a little of her self assurance.

“Hey”, said Olive into her arm, having crossed them under her head, “You still here?”

“Oh, yeah…” said Robin embarrassed to have been caught..what? Staring? She cleared her throat and popped the cap from the Vaseline. “So”, she asked, making an effort to carry on as normal a conversation as possible, “How do you come to have only rectal thermometers?” 

“I had a friend once who gave me them. He liked to play doctor and brought these. I found out I didn’t hate it…”

Robin dipped the glass tube into the jar and swirled getting a full dollop of the jelly on the tip. 

“So, what happened with the guy”, she asked while gently using her left hand to pull Olive’s cheeks apart to expose her small pink button. She paused waiting for the answer before realizing that Olive wasn’t going to say anything until Robin completed her move. 

Squeezing the thermometer tightly to keep her hand from shaking she placed it on the puckered opening then pushed it in slowly as Olive hissed through her teeth. Nope, thought Robin, doesn’t hate it at all. She released Olive’s cheeks so they closed around the glass tube. “So? The guy?”

“Well, yeah. Like I said, I didn’t hate it. Don’t hate it. But how many times does a girl need her temperature taken? Fifteen? Twenty?”

Robin barely suppressed a giggle. “Seriously?”

“In one evening! I mean, that was his only move!  You do ANYTHING too much it gets boring…”

Robin regarded the girl’s small white bottom beside her on the bed and wondered about the truth of that statement. “You think this is done yet?” she asked, touching the thermometer. 

“I on’t know. Maybe. It’s not that long. Pull it out and see what it says.” She exhaled lightly as Robin withdrew the tube and held it up to the light.

“You’re reading normal”, she said.

“Huh. Maybe that’s the broke one. Try the other…”

Robin looked up toward Olive’s head now. She was up on her elbows, looking back over her shoulder, hair again crossing her face.

“Are you playing with me now?” Robin asked.  

“This was your idea…”

“But I thought…”

“What?”

“…Never mind”, she said wishing she could see the girl’s face more clearly.

She shook down the other thermometer, added the dollop of lube and saw Olive push upward opening herself a bit. She repeated her last steps, spreading then inserting. This time the girl’s hiss was more of a little moan. After releasing Olive’s cheeks she kept her hand on the side of her hip. “That feels nice”, Olive said. 

“Which?” asked Robin, moving her hand then, on impulse, dragging her nails lightly across Olive’s backside as she might a friend’s back. 

“That, definitely.” Without giving it much thought, Robin kept stroking with her nails drawing light pink stripes up and down both of Olive’s bottom cheeks. 

“Have you ever had your temperature taken this way?” Olive asked, her head back on the bed.

“No!” said Robin definitively, making the word sound like “Noah!”

“But you have had things in your butt, right?”

Without breaking rhythm, Robin lightly pinched the soft slack flesh at the very bottom of her bottom. “Don’t be fresh”, she said smiling.

Olive whispered an “ouch” and settled. Robin simply decided to not think for a moment and to continue running her fingers lightly up and down Olive’s backside, sometimes slipping down the back of her legs. She imagined how it must feel, being stroked like this and immediately again felt a twinge of envy along with another deeper twinge that she hadn’t felt in a long time. The girl had gone still, if not asleep then close enough her breathing soft and regular. It occurred to Robin that she was doing something here. Something she’d never done before. She was actually pleasing someone in a most unexpected way and that idea warmed her, just before it frightened her. 

She stopped her hand and tried to speak, squeaking instead. She coughed and waited for a bit of moisture to settle on her tongue. “OK Sweet Martini Olive”, she said using the nickname that she had never shared with her. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”

Again, a tiny gasp punctuated the withdrawal of the little glass tube. Robin held it up and read it. “All good”, she said. Then, feeling a little more open than she had earlier, she patted her bottom. “You can pull up your pants now.”

Instead, Olive sat up and flopped her legs over the side of the bed beside her. Robin made no move to rise nor move even as Olive’s leg rubbed against her. Olive took Robin’s hand and entwined their fingers then settled the back of the woman’s hand on her bare thigh as if they were sitting together on a park bench. Again, Robin was surprised that she felt as comfortable as she did. At least until she looked down and saw that Olive’s lap was as clean and hairless as ivory and her heart flipped. 

“Thank you for doing that”, Olive said.

“You were playing with me.”

“Did you hate it?”

Robin smiled. “Didn’t hate it.”

“I’d like to play with you more.” 

“What?”

“You take care of me. I know you do…everyone here does. I like to show I appreciate it, you know?” When Robin didn’t answer… “And I know I could make you feel good”, she said laying her head against her shoulder. 

Robin accepted the weight of the girl’s head and savored the warmth radiating from her body. “I have someplace to be…” she said not really believing she was saying it. 

“That’s OK”, Olive said, releasing her hand and standing slowly making sure that Robin got a good long look at anything she wanted before turning to face her then pushing herself between her knees. “I need to take a shower anyway…” She pulled her shirt up over her head and tossed it aside. Her small round breasts seemingly defied gravity pushing themselves forward serving, if nothing else, to pry Robin’s eyes from her hairless cleft. 

“Give me a kiss”, Olive breathed leaning closer.

“No. Come on…You’re naked.”

“I’m getting ready to take a shower!” she protested but there was a glint in her eye that Robin saw and Olive knew that she saw.

“You’re still playing with me.”

“You hating it?”

“Not hating it.”

“Then give me a kiss.”

Afterward, Robin descended the stairs carefully like a much older person, leaning on the railing for support. Todd looked up when she entered the bar. There were a couple of customers that hadn’t been there when she went up.

“Finally! I was going to send for help. You OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“Olive?”

“Fine”, she said heading toward the door. “You?”

“Fuck, I’m good”, he answered. “Another Stray day. Hey! What’s so funny?”

She took her laughter with her into the sun washed afternoon.

Arianna’s Afterglow

Continued from Peaches

She tore at his clothes as if they were aflame, finishing pulling his pants off after they had fallen onto their sides on the soft pile of blankets and bedding. The sky finally opened, and a soft rain fell pattering onto the sod not six feet from where they lay. Arianna pushed him roughly onto his back and sat astride his solid shaft accepting him fully at once.

She moaned quietly as she slid up and down and John lifted his head to put his mouth to one of her ample swinging breasts. He licked and kissed, finally taking the nipple of one, then the other, into his mouth to suckle and nibble as he gently worked his fingers along the welts on her backside and thighs.

As her movements quickened, John collapsed back onto his pillow and let Arianna pin his shoulders with her hands. Her breath came in shallow gasps as her sliding moved more toward bucking. She stretched her neck toward the roof and arched her back to receive all of him, working her thighs to pump away. As the rain intensified, she fell forward onto him and her luscious breasts collapsed into his chest.

Her moans came louder and quicker as she stretched her legs backward, flattening onto him and wrapping her arms around his neck. They were thigh on thigh as she seemed to be trying to rub his throbbing self entirely off. He worked his hands up and down her tightening body until all at once she stiffened and dug into his thighs once more. Finally, with a whimpering cry, she came-quivering and twitching-until she collapsed entirely onto him.

They lay like that, listening to the rain, as Arianna’s breath returned to normal. “So”, asked John, sliding his hands up and down her sides and gently cupping her bum, “Did you come?”

She laughed lightly and lifted her head. The desperate animal fire that had shined from her eyes as they wrestled toward the floor was gone-replaced by a lighter glow-something satisfied and playful.  She kissed him on the mouth. “I think so-yes. Hard to tell. But it seems I’m the only one who did.” Even though John had slipped out of her she could still feel him-stiffly at attention-down between her legs.

“No”, he said. “That was all for you.”

“You’re sweet”, she purred, then kissed him lightly again. “But what kind of hostess would I be….”

If was John’s turn to moan lightly as she slid her body down his-paying careful attention to never lose contact with his stiffness. He parted his legs so that she could kneel between them and listened to a faraway thunder roll as she rubbed her breasts along his erection before taking it finally into her hand.

She stroked slowly and talked softly-mischievously. “He worked hard, this one…”

He felt her lips drape over him and he let his head fall back. This wouldn’t take long.

Afterward they lay side by side listening to the rain dinging against the shed’s metal roof. What wind there was blew toward the house so they stayed dry. Up on one elbow John massaged Arianna’s breast with the other hand.

“You and these titties, boyo”, she teased. “You must only date flat-chested girls.”

“Not flat, exactly”, he smiled. “But not like this…” He pulled his head toward the bottom of her rib cage where the gravity was pulling them. “They wander and move around…”

“Yes,” she said. “They do have minds of their own”.

She pulled back to reach behind herself, under a blanket. She produced a small bottle of what looked to be oil or salve. She pointed with it, vaguely toward her bottom. “Do you mind?” she asked.

“Absolutely not. I’d love to.”

She handed him the bottle and flopped onto her belly. He knelt beside her and flipped the cap and put a little salve on the fingers of his right hand which he patted gently onto the worst of the welts. In repose her bottom spread out and relaxed in a soft magnificence that he wasn’t used to. He slid his fingers under her cheeks where they met her legs and tended to a spot where the skin had slightly broken. She responded to his touch and opened her legs when he patted that way. The rain kept up a soft patter and the sweet, wet fragrance of the flowers and trees mixed pleasantly with their own pungent aromas.

“I’m afraid you are going to have some bruises.”

“I was counting on it,” she said, muffled by her arms where she lay her head.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.

“If not now, when?”

“How long has that carpet beater hung in here?”

“Years…”

He stroked her hair with his free hand spreading it out across her back.

“Not something you picked up at an estate sale last year?”

“Actually found it in the original barn when we bought the place. It was my husband’s favorite toy for a while.”

“Not recently?”

“No, sadly. He got out of the game…” He sat quietly, gently stroking her oil-slick bottom. “It’s not easy to do without something that is a part of you, you know. That’s why when you threw out the woodshed line yesterday, I had to string it out. See where it went.”

“Did you like where it went?”

In answer, she lifted her butt back toward his hand. “Oh yesss.”

“I’ve never used a carpet beater.”

“No? Ever felt one?”

“No…never.”

“A classic. Very effective.”

Arianna rose onto her elbows then slowly, stretching onto all fours. She knelt up and shook out her hair. Looking back at John, “We really should fill this gap in your education.” Her eyes were alight with desire again and John felt a need to not disappoint this woman. But he hesitated.

She moved closer to him and pushed her breasts into his face. Her movements and voice were light-leaning toward fun. In his turn, John sucked deeply at a nipple. With his head in her hands she asked, “You’re not going to deny me this, are you?”

“I guess not” be mumbled, his mouth full.

She pulled back from him and got to her feet. Stiffening again, he watched her pad over to the carpet beater and take it off the wall. “Roll over”, she ordered coming back holding the wicked-looking instrument like a tennis racquet.

John did as he was told and pulled a couple of pillows under his hips to raise the target. It was an unaccustomed position for him but he thickened as Arianna’s hand patted then stroked his bottom. “Sweet,” she said. “Nice boy…” He flinched at the feel of the rattan against his skin as she held it there-patting. Then it was gone as she drew back.

“Fair warning-this will sting.”

He gripped a handful of blanket and gritted his teeth as the rattan whistled through the air.

Arianna’s Woodshed

The place he was headed was a little further out-a Mrs. Arianna Amaranth interested in selling or at least getting best value on a smallish place referred to as a “farmette” in the paperwork. She and her husband had been on the property for over 20 years. Following GPS he pulled off of the state road and onto a similar, but windier, two lane. Some places slipping onto a local road out in the boonies could be dicey but not here-where the local area, though bucolic, was some of the most expensive real estate in the area.

He slowed as his GPS counted down the feet to his next left turn. When he saw a break in the tree line he pulled off onto a tightly packed gravel drive. “You have arrived”. But John wasn’t sure where. He could see nothing through the trees and followed the gravel slowly until he rounded a bend and there it was. Small converted barn-two story living area-he would bet on reclaimed wood throughout. Very nice. Flowers and gardens abounding filling in around meandering stone walls.

He pulled off the drive onto a small gravel parking area in front of a three car garage. Like the house the garage had been built of rough-hewn lumber and though it looked like it could have been there for decades, John figured it for a recent addition to the place. As he got out of the car, a woman appeared from behind the garage and followed the trail along a wall toward him. “Mrs. Amaranth?” he asked.

“Arianna, please”, she said approaching.

He put her in her 40’s at least but it was a guess. Her light olive skin was smooth revealing nothing. Her black hair, pulled back in a loose pony tail was shot through with silvery streaks that could have been from the salon but were not. She was of average height but a bit stocky and bottom heavy which made her appear shorter. She carried her weight lightly, telling him that it wasn’t a new addition. She had a strong grip when they shook hands.

Dressed for work in jeans, canvas shirt and rubber boots she certainly looked the part of a gentle-woman farmer. The jeans were not the jeans that he saw on woman and girls at the clubs at night-sprayed on to adhere to every bodily contour. These were work clothes giving her room to move around inside of them. Her scent was something earthy and fresh-maybe sage or clover-mixed with a light whiff of sweat which glistened on the side of her neck.

There were peach trees out back in a small orchard as well as apples and too many to count variations of flowers placed deliberately about to look scattered. Her husband had headed to Phoenix on business last fall and had stayed. She traveled to and from a couple of times but life in the desert didn’t appeal to her after putting the last two decades into this wooded glen. While a long-distance marriage was never in their plans-here they were.

“I just thought it made sense to have this place correctly valued in case it becomes necessary to sell quickly. He’s not as young as he once was…”

“Who is?” said John pecking notes into his tablet as they walked along.

“You probably are….” She said. She was in front of him so he couldn’t gauge if there was anything in her eyes with that comment. Coming around the other side of the house he saw what looked to be an open shed against the peach trees.

“What do you have there? Old corn crib?”

“That’s the woodshed”, she said.

“That’s a place you try to avoid, I bet.” It was the kind of innocuous line he threw out a lot. Most times they weren’t heard or ignored or were so far off the rails that they floated off into space like the odd non sequiturs they were. Every once in a while though, the trout rises to the fly.

“You can try, but….” She shrugged “…sometimes…”

“Indeed. Can we have a look?”

“Of course”, she said, leading the way easily. The shed was two walled-front and back-open at the ends to let air move through to keep the wood dry. Being summer, it was not near full. She opened the rough latch on the door and let it swing inward standing aside. The inside was dim, relying on the sunlight at the ends and from the large open window front and back. There was a rough wooden bench, a heavy stump that looked to be a platform for splitting kindling and a chest high rail partition that would separate wood piles when this place was full.

Turning away and moving back toward the door his eye caught something that he wouldn’t have seen coming right in from the light outside. But there, hanging from a nail beside the door was an old rattan carpet beater. At least he assumed it was old-it certainly appeared to be in good shape.

“Keep a lot of carpets in here?” he asked Arianna who had followed him in and was clearly watching to see if he’d spot the implement.

“Not many”, she smiled. “I’m sorry, I forgot that was in here.”

“No need to apologize-it’s a nice piece.”

“I bought it at an estate sale a couple of years ago…thought it fit the building. Come on-it’s a woodshed. Even you alluded to its other….legendary use.” There was a sparkle to her tone.

“Sure, yes. It complements the place for sure.”

“I thought so”, she said settling it as they squinted back into the sunshine.

The walk back to his car felt more like a stroll than the business-like appraisal march when he had first arrived. Arianna would pick this flower or that-tell John what it was-have him smell it, or with the nasturtiums that climbed a trellis, invite him to pop one into his mouth to savor the peppery flower.

John was half listening but half thinking about the woodshed. Had she forgotten the carpet beater was in there? Did she remember and mean for him to see it? Was he the trout rising to the fly? There was no doubt she was stalling…trying to decide how best to turn this meeting into a visit. But she hadn’t figured it out by the time they reached his car.

He was reaching for the door handle when she asked him, “Could you come back tomorrow?”

“I don’t think I’ll have the figures ready by then.”

“Mmmm-that’s OK. Can you come anyway?”

“I can be here at one”. Actually he could have been there anytime, but he wanted her to have most of the day to know he was coming.

“Not till one? OK, I’ll just have to find something to occupy my morning.”

“Cut some switches. And trim the bark from them….”

She stepped closer to him, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as her green eyes danced. She placed the index finger of her right hand into John’s chest and pressed lightly.

“Until tomorrow, then,” she said as she turned and walked back toward the house.

Continued here Peaches

Always Learning

Continued from Different Flavors of Normal

Doctor Joyce Maple. Bachelor of Science, Biology. Dean’s List four years. Four years of med school plus her downstate residency. Always at the top of her class, now her field. Also one of the most self-aware humans she knew-every move she made was measured, thought through, planned beforehand.  Until last night. Until she turned control over to this young sprite from down the street who was now undoubtedly her lover and tied to her in a way Joyce would have never thought possible.  And who was lying expectantly over her lap.

Joyce really didn’t know what to do with this. Beyond the obvious, of course. The girl’s bottom was presented stretching against the blue panties barely containing it. Last night Megan did unto her. Now, she was charged with taking control and was at a bit of a loss. But she didn’t want to disappoint, especially after the gifts she had received not twelve hours ago. She would do her best.

Her smacks were tentative, light, mostly fingers, directed at the meatiest parts. The girl wriggled after each and never failed to lift in response as if wanting to present a better target.

“Okay?” asked Joyce.

“Yeah, nice. Could be a little harder…”

“Really?”

“Use your whole hand. Like slap me.” Joyce hesitated and rubbed the girl’s back with her free hand. “You won’t hurt me”, Megan said. “Not really.”

Joyce had smacked two people in her life. Betsy Ann Hadar in fourth grade after she had pulled her hair. She had hauled off and slapped her hard on the arm. Then of course, her husband, the one time, across the face. Both of those were harder than what she was laying on Megan.

“Okay, then,” she said lifting her hand higher. She slapped harder and was answered by a mewling “mmmmm…better…”

“Better?”

“Yeah, better. For a wimp.”

“You…” she smiled and pinched an upturned cheek. “I’m not a wimp!”

“You spank like one…”

“Oh really?” she said. “Lift up.”

“Why?” said Megan cheekily, in a whiny voice. With the voice inflection, Joyce got it. She had a six-year-old. She knew how to play games. Maybe not this particular one, but a game was a game.

“Because I’m going to pull down your panties and spank your bare ass!” she said firmly.

“Aw, man…” Megan whined again but lifted her hips. When she did, Joyce stuck her fingers into the elastic of the panties and pulled them, very slowly, down to mid-thigh smiling at the sound of Megan’s soft gaspy moan as she did.

“Now we’ll see who’s a wimp.” Joyce left fly with a swat that landed hard on the bottom of Megan’s bottom with a jolt that stopped them both.

“OH…” Said Megan.

“Better now…?” asked Joyce massaging where the blow had landed.

“Yes. Now more…”

Megan closed her eyes and felt every swat to her toes. She wouldn’t ask her to go harder. This was fine. More than fine. Every smack, every touch of hand to bottom launched her through vivid warp speed memories of the hundreds of orgasms she’d had over the years fantasizing about being spanked over Doctor Maples’ lap. She stopped thinking and was enjoying the ride and the heavy heat and flowing feeling from below.

As Megan had the night before, Joyce listened between smacks using tiny whimpers, or gasps or an “Ooooo…” or an “Awww….” to direct her. She paused to slide the panties all the way down then off. Her swats weren’t as hard as they might have been, but they certainly weren’t light.

Almost five minutes in, Joyce realized that this wasn’t doing it for her. Not really. It was fun, for sure. Being this intimate with another woman was new and exciting and she wondered if she’d ever look at women’s bottoms the same way again. She could have sat here and just rubbed her bottom and it would have been fine. But as Megan’s butt was getting pinker, Joyce’s hand was tingling but not much else.

It was different, but what she really liked was how much Megan seemed to be enjoying herself. Her squeals were becoming moans as she, freed from the binding panties, started to ride her leg like a hobby horse with every smack. She could do this for her, no problem. Especially after last night and the way she…the way she hadn’t… Joyce paused to rub the pert pink cheeks gently. Something had been bugging her.

“Megs?” she said.

“Mmmmm…?” she answered not looking up.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

Megan’s head lifted at that. “Sorry? About what?”

Joyce found it easier to talk with her hand cupping the girl’s warm bottom gently squeezing. “I came three times!” she said.  “In my life I’ve never…then I passed out like a lump.”

“You did check out pretty good”, said Megan rubbing Joyce’s ankle and calf.

“I woke up, it was still dark and you were gone. I missed you…I wanted to…give you something back…”

Now Megan looked back over her shoulder and pulled her hair behind her ear. “Last night was about you my love”, she said with shining eyes.

“The thing is, I’ve never…I don’t know if I can…” she stumbled for the words.

“Don’t know if you can what?”

“Like you did…”

Megan kept gently squeezing Joyce’s calf, letting her work it out.

“I’ve never gone down on a woman…”

“I know that…”

“But I don’t know if…”

“Don’t worry about it. Like kissing, practice makes perfect. I’ve had more practice than you…”

“But if…”

“Shhh…stop thinking about what you can’t do. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Really?” said Joyce brightening and pulling her hand off Megan’s butt.

“Except this!” said Megan, somehow finding loose skin on Joyce’s leg to pinch. “This you have to do. For the rest of your life.”

Joyce laughed lightly and delivered a soft slap. “Bad girl…”

“Yes,” said Megan sighing heavily. “Very bad…” She absorbed a few more slaps before she said, “There are other things you can do.”

“I’m sure.”

“Like right now for instance.”

“I know, shut up and keep spanking.” She did.

“Yes, but there’s something…put your hand on my bum.” Joyce paused and did as she was told. “Now slide it down between my legs.”

“Okay coach,” she snarked. “I know how this works.”

“Prove it.”

Joyce cupped the warm cheek at the top of Megan’s thigh then slid her fingers gently between her legs hesitating not at all as she touched the wetness there.

“Good Lord”, she said sliding easily along the dripping folds.

“A little damp?” came the whisper from the downturned head.

“And the ocean’s a puddle…”

Without any more prompting, Joyce slipped her middle finger into the sopping slit. Megan moaned at the welcome intrusion and shifted her legs wider, lifted her butt higher. Joyce, still responding to movements added a second finger. She worked them gently in and out as the girl began to wriggle and sweetly clenched her bottom cheeks. This Joyce knew how to do from months of solo practice.

When she touched the hard nib of Megan’s clit the girl growled and pitched forward presenting her bottom even more wantonly. Joyce touched it, flicked it, then sliding around in nature’s own lubricant began rubbing with a purpose.

“Oh…oh…Joyce…Joyce….!!!” Megan’s words were cut off and swallowed as she grabbed the woman’s ankle and held tight seemingly ready to stand on her head. “I’m going to… come Joyce…You…are going to make me….UUUHHNNNNN…” And just like that she did. Joyce kept slick contact with the pulsing pearl until Megan, deflated, lay across her lap like a discarded prom dress.

Joyce, ever the perfectionist, didn’t need anyone to tell her she’d done a good job. She smiled and stroked the still warm bottom until she heard a sniffle. “Hey”, she said reaching down to help Megan to her feet. “Are you crying…?”

“No! I mean…not really. Not like crying.” Megan stood unsteadily before her.

“Your cheeks are wet…” Joyce took her hand. “Is that from the spanking?”

“No! No…no…everything. Just…just…wow…” Megan wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands, then stepped between Joyce’s legs and sat on her lap. The warmth of the girl’s naked, moist bottom on her thighs stirred her in a surprising way. Without warning or preamble, Megan wrapped her arms around Joyce’s neck and pulled herself close kissing her deeply. A kiss that was returned in eager intensity. Yes, Joyce was now the one stirring.

They uncoupled and sat still, forehead to forehead, meditatively sharing space and breath in a way that seemed natural. Time had, if not stopped, slowed to a glacial pace as neither wanted to break the seeming spell that had befallen them. Then, without a word, as if prompting a cat, Joyce used her forehead to push Megan backward. With the space open between them she slipped the girl’s jersey over her head knowing that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Then she pulled her close again to slide her hands over the girl’s naked body and accepting her head onto her shoulder.

After a moment, or an hour, “Megan?”

“Hmmm…?”

“Would you take me to bed and teach me something?”

Megan lifted her head and nibbled at Joyce’s ear before answering. “What do you want to learn?” she whispered.

“Everything you know….”

Megan pulled away, a crooked smile on her lips. She kissed her Doctor on the cheek and stood, more steadily this time. “Come my queen”, she said reaching toward her.

Joyce took her hand and rose, then happily followed the pink rump into the house.

 

 

Different Flavors of Normal

Continued from The Summons

Megan had expected a relaxed flirty afternoon on lawn chairs separated by enough room to cop a surreptitious hand or feel while Tommy played in the yard. Later that night, who knew? This is what she was thinking while lounging on the glider, her tongue deep inside Doctor Maple’s mouth. And yes, in her head at least she was prone to refer to Joyce as Doctor Maple now and again.

“You”, said Megan pulling away for air, “Are a great kisser.”

“Like anything else, practice helps…”

“All on boys, I bet. And men…”

“Married twelve years, so there’s that…”

“What about girls?” Megan whispered, her lips brushing Joyce’s cheek. When there was no answer, Megan reframed the question. “Did you kiss a lot of girls?”

“One for sure, in college. Maybe two…”

“Maybe?”

“Tequila.”

“Ahhh. And…did you…”

“Last night was the furthest I’ve gone. Ever. The furthest I could imagine going…”

“You’re welcome”, said Megan inhaling Joyce’s breath as she covered her mouth again. Joyce accepted the kiss, then, with a cock of her head, took the offensive and slid her tongue past Megan’s feeling her submit gently to her probing.  Kissing a girl WAS different-softer, sweeter-but maybe it was just this girl. Not enough of a sample size to be sure. But still, what she knew was she’d not felt any cheek stubble or rough tit grabbing when all she wanted was to kiss. Which was new and nice.

Joyce’s house was the last on the cul-de-sac and her backyard jutted further into the woods than the neighbors, leaving her virtually secluded out back. They could more easily hear-and in the winter see-traffic on Trestle Drive two hundred yards through the woods than anyone on the surrounding lots. She and her husband had done a lot back here in the early days.

Megan broke the kiss lightly, then, as if stricken, slipped from Joyce’s shiny face, then down her body, taking in the smell of her shirt, then her belly, then her lap as she slid to her knees between her naked thighs.

“Oh God”, said Megan running her hands over the tops and sides of her legs. “These…”

“I somehow thought you’d like these shorts,” Joyce giggled.

“Gawww…” she slipped her head into the warmth between Joyce’s legs and worked her tongue from knee to hemline right and left, stopping to bite gently on a mouthful of satiny crotch. The fires from the previous night were sparking again, building and blanketing them, all goosebumps, butterflies and shallow caught breaths.

Megan paused and sat back on her haunches continuing to rub Joyce’s quads, even pressuring with the heels of her hands. She watched the legs, watched her hands kneading them, read the freckles, as if trying to memorize a passage in a book. For her part, Joyce lay back her head and sighed allowing, again, the girl to do what she wanted. Not to say she didn’t want it as well. She did. She wouldn’t have known how much she wanted it until last night but there was no denying what she was feeling. At least there was no denying it anymore.

“You have to do it”, Megan told herself. “Just say it. Joyce will roll with it.” But she wasn’t so sure. Like last night. How far would be too far? But that had worked out, hadn’t it? She wanted this so badly but was so afraid to say it. She didn’t even feel Joyce rubbing the side of her head, scratching behind her ear like she was a puppy. When she finally looked up it was into Joyce’s soft eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“You’ll think it’s weird.”

“Come on…tell.”

“You don’t want to know….”

“I asked.” Joyce playfully squeezed her ear. “What?”

“Your legs…”

“We’ve established that…”

Megan closed her eyes and took a breath then blew the words out. “I want to lay over them.”

“Over my legs?”

“Your thighs.” Joyce’s face was blank. “Your knees.”

Joyce squinted down at her.

“Jesus! You know, your lap.”

The light finally went off. “Ahhh….”

Megan managed a twisted embarrassed smile. “Yep”, she sighed. “She finally gets it.”

Joyce cupped the girl’s cheeks. “I told you last night that I was thick about some things…”

“Yeah, but this is weird, I know…”

“Hush.” She was back to stroking Megan’s head lolling between her legs.

“Sorry…” the girl said puffing the words against her, tickling down there.

“I said hush, now…” She took Megan’s hands. “Stand up.” When she did, Joyce reached out and patted her hips, “Megan, Megan, Megan,” then she unsnapped her jeans. “I don’t imagine you want to lay over my knees with these on.”

“No mam I do not…”

The jeans, snug to the skin, gave up territory grudgingly and Joyce was careful to rub her hands as much as possible over Megan’s legs as she pushed them so slowly down. “These are cute”, she said admiring the skimpy blue panties that were cut high in the back exposing the bottom third of her cheeks. “Let’s leave them on for now.”

“Whatever you say. I’m through directing.”

“This is something else new for me. Just let me know if I’m…”

“You’re fine.”

Conscious that she was right handed, she pulled Megan to that side. While she stood there awaiting the next signal, Joyce reached back and slapped her bottom.

“Ohhh!” said Megan surprised, grabbing her butt.

“OK?”

“OK!”

Megan lay herself down over Joyce’s bare legs and settled into position. Joyce watched the pink splotch from her smack blooming below the panties. For her, she thought this might be a cute game, but she felt Megan’s breathless excitement. She allowed her hand to linger on Megan’s bottom and rub the back of her thighs.

“How long have you fantasized about this?”

“Spanking in general? Or you spanking me?”

“Okay, specific, then. Me spanking you.”

“Since I was ten or eleven.”

“No way!” Joyce smacked her butt lightly.

“Yep. This one time I noticed you in the yard. In the fall. You were raking leaves I remember. I was riding my bike. You were wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. You had a ponytail back then and you looked so…I don’t know. Strong maybe? I was ten.”

“Did you fantasize about undressing me? About making love to me?”

“No. That came later.” There was another light smack, just for fun.

“How much later?

“Ouch. Last week.”

“SMACK!”

“Ow! No, No, I’d think…I’d lay this all out in my mind…what if I did something…rode my bike through your tulips, hit your mailbox with a ball, something…and you got mad, and spanked me…Or I’d ask you to spank me because I ruined your flowers. You know…dumb…”

“Nothing’s dumb Megan. Things just are what they are.”

“Yeah, but its not the most normal thing….”

“I don’t think we believe in normal. Or in one kind of normal. This is just a different flavor of normal, that’s all.”

In answer Megan lifted her butt just a little. Presenting.

“So we’ll do this”, said Joyce fixing her left arm across Megan’s back to hold her in place.

“I’m so going to cum all over your lap”, Megan said as Doctor Maple, with a laugh, brought her hand down sharply.

 

Continued in Always Learning

The Summons

Continued from In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

The summons, as she jokingly thought of it, came in a text around eleven. Normally an early riser, Megan was still fast asleep in a soft post-coital cocoon of soft, salty smells and sticky fingers. She found the pinging phone under a pillow and blinked to read without lifting her head:

Apparently, Saturday pizza is now a thing. Delivery at four. Be here.

She smiled and dropped the phone. Joyce would never in a million years have ended an invitation like that before last night. She smiled and closed her eyes again-enjoying being summoned. She allowed herself a small daydream of Joyce’s thighs and bottom and, as it took hold, wished she could fall back to sleep to consummate it. Not willing to overindulge her lustful leanings, she finally mumbled, “Yes my queen” and with a wry smile sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed.

She could still feel an itch on her backside where she’d punished herself which led to a deeper tingle between her legs. She shook it off. “What a night…” She wandered down the hall to the shower.

She turned the radio on. The news was about the plague, of course. The voice on the speakers verified what Joyce had been saying over the last couple of weeks. The virus appeared to be on the wane; whether for good or for awhile no one really knew, but the world was starting to open up again. As if to prove it, Megan watched out the kitchen window as more people than usual seemed to be out wandering the neighborhood. Most in masks, sure. But out.

While everyone on the radio breathed a sigh of relief-and Megan was happy about a return to at least some semblance of normalcy-she couldn’t help feeling a pang of dread that something might be ending just as it had gotten started. “Selfish”, she decided and headed out to the garage with a cup of coffee intent on killing a few hours.

A little after four she took a bottle of wine out of the fridge and slipped it into her shoulder bag.  With a bandana tied loosely around her neck she retraced the steps she’d taken twelve hours before. She dodged a few bikes and nodded or waved to folks who recognized her. She was strolling with a purpose-not hurrying but not giving the impression that she wanted to tarry either.

How would this go? Last night was hot-they both were leaking wet and famished for the taste of each other. Now how would they react with the fire safely banked, when every touch didn’t burn. When every word wasn’t simmering?

The house pinged when she let herself in and Tommy ran down the hall to greet her. “Hey Megsy! You made it!” He gave her a quick hug that was almost a push then ran back toward the kitchen by way of the front sitting room. “Pizza just got here!”

Joyce was in the kitchen moving the pie from the box onto a wooden board wearing a pair of high-cut running shorts and a tie-dyed t-shirt which made her look more grad student than doctor. Megan gulped at the sight of her legs.  She had never seen Joyce in these shorts unless she was running.

“You’re late”, she kidded. “Leaving me all this kitchen duty.”

“I brought wine!” she smiled pulling the bottle from the sack.

“And just like that, you’re forgiven.”

Not wanting to wait for Joyce’s greeting, Megan stepped close and slipped her arm around her waist pulling her in. Joyce bent to meet her lips. The kiss was warm, wet and lingered a moment. Joyce kept her mouth mostly closed, but it was definitely not a chaste kiss between buddies.  Still not wanting to push, Megan pulled away first. Joyce smiled almost shyly. “Did we even kiss last night?” she asked.

“I honestly don’t remember”, Megan answered allowing her hand to slide from Joyce’s hip across her the slick fabric pulled tightly over her bottom. “Nice shorts”, she said. “These old things?” Joyce flirted. By the time Tommy spun back into the room they were on opposite sides of the island and Megan was opening the wine.

“When’s pawpaw coming?” Tommy asked.

“Five o’clock Bud….”

Megan looked at Joyce with comically wide eyes. “Company?”

“Not for us. My mom and dad have been in quarantine for three weeks for the express purpose of getting Tommy for an overnight when it seemed prudent. It seems prudent.”

“They have a pool!” squealed Tommy.

“Take these”, Joyce corralled her son with paper plates and napkins. “I’ve got this”, she picked up the pizza. “You”, she looked at Megan, “bring the bottle and glasses. There’s a cooler out there. And close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”

Continued here Different Flavors of Normal

 

Plague Life, Part VI

Continued from Plague Life – Part V

“There”, Joyce thought. “I did it.” As if the act to come, whatever it would be, was secondary to her asking for it. She had been afraid she would chicken out.  She’d done it before, with Melissa in college. She hadn’t strung her along exactly, but it could have looked that way. She had wanted Melissa then, just as she wanted Megan now. She had just…chickened out, after some kissing and with Mel’s hand up her skirt sliding down her panties. She had been wet then too. She knew it and Melissa knew it and called her on it later. What had she been afraid of? Whatever it was, she was still afraid of it, but not as much.

Since she had flashed Megan in the garage that night, this-this right now-had been a joke, a flirt maybe, then a fantasy, then a plan. It had taken awhile for Joyce to say it, to give herself over to another with “Do what you want.” And after all the planning, dreaming and fantasizing over the last couple of weeks, she might not have. Might not have said a thing had not Megan allowed her finger to slide between her legs, to discover the same dampness, the same want, the same lust that Melissa had found there years before.

Megan, standing naked beside the bed, wasn’t the kid who babysat anymore. Not even close. Her smile and eager glistening eyes could have kept her attention if not for her small pert breasts, flat stomach and cute little bush that was obviously trimmed. For the occasion? When she bade her turn, she found her bottom full and firm, taut to the touch. “There”, thought Joyce, when Megan snapped the light off.

She lay in the warm darkness having decided to be pliant to…whatever. She had asked Megan to turn and she’d turned. She knew the girl would defer to her, to do whatever she asked. But she had nothing to ask. Not knowing what was coming added a sheen of anticipation she hadn’t felt in years.

The bed shifted as Megan knelt beside her and again as the girl stretched out atop her, breasts pressing into her back and her bush tickling her backside. She allowed her arms to be pulled out to her sides by the wrists and held there, crucified. With her knees Megan pulled Joyce’s legs together and covered them with hers, slowly grinding her pelvis into Joyce’s bottom. She liked being covered but wished for a moment that she was pinned-that she couldn’t move at all.

She let a small sound escape her lips, and Megan answered with a nibble to the back of her neck, still undulating slowly. Megan could taste the goose bumps rising on Joyce’s back and shoulders. She moved down slowly and slipped her knees between her lover’s legs, a wedge opening them. Joyce flowed into the movement, opening and pushing back accepting first her thrusting pelvis then, a leg straddled, Megan’s thigh rubbing firmly into her pussy.

“Oh, God…” Joyce whispered and Megan, as she had with the massage, followed the direction mapped by the sounds. She released Joyce’s wrist and slid her hand enchantingly slowly along her arm, across her shoulder, down her back, across her bum then between her legs. Sliding her own thigh out of the way, Megan slipped a finger easily into Joyce’s wet quim. The move was answered with a soft gasp and a backward thrust giving her the permission to probe deeper and explore freely. One finger, then two then one inside and one rubbing the top. Then a slight withdrawal.

“Roll over.”

When Joyce rolled onto her back, Megan lay beside her, letting her head fall mouth first onto her breasts. She licked first one, then the other, slowly circling the nipples while continuing to slide her finger in and out slowly, keeping a rhythm that Joyce was catching. Abandoning her breasts, Megan slipped her mouth, tongue first down the woman’s stomach, heading for…

“Wait! Wait!” Joyce said breathlessly grabbing Megan’s head.

“What?”

“Ah…” Joyce couldn’t exactly answer as she struggled to sit up.

“What’s the matter?”

“Your fingers are…wonderful. It feels great. You can keep doing that…”

“This?” Megan teased, flicking her finger against Joyce’s obvious and pulsing clit.

“Yeah! Yeah…that’s great. You…you don’t have to go down on me. This is good.” She didn’t believe it even as she said it. She was going to chicken out again. Late in the game this time, but still.

“Good for you maybe.” Megan kept her fingertip on the hard, little nub.  “I want you in my mouth. I want to taste you, lick you, flick you, nibble you and stick my tongue up inside of you. I want to squeeze your bum and have your thighs crush my ears till I can’t hear. I want to fucking swallow you. Now”, she pushed at Joyce’s belly with her head like an insistent kitten, “You lay back down and let me do this.”

“Yes. Yes…it’s just that…” Not to be denied, Megan kept pushing with the crown of her head. “OK…ok…” Joyce said breathlessly. She lay back down happy to have been overruled.

Megan led with her tongue down Joyce’s belly, pausing childishly to probe her deep innie, then through the thicket of soft brush to her moist destination. She pulled her finger then, replacing it with her prodding tongue as Joyce moaned and arched her back.

This wasn’t something Megan did every day. Joyce was the third woman she’d gone down on but that made her the most experienced one in the bed. Joyce made it easy. She pulled back her legs and Megan, kissing the inside of her thighs, left then right, then, true to her words, slipped her hands under to cup her bottom, kneading her cheeks as she plunged her tongue into her.

Megan wished there were lights. She was feeling everything. She was tasting everything, and Joyce’s taste was glorious! Megan closed her mouth over her lover’s pussy, sopping as much with her own as with Joyce’s juices. She felt the wetness on her cheeks and chin and loved the rough feel of hair in her mouth and the buzzing clit on her tongue as Joyce’s breath caught and caught again.

She wanted her on an exam table with bright fluorescents overhead to document every crease, fold and freckle, to see the inside of her legs, see the pulsing of the blood and the tweaking of the tendons. Her thumb had slid over Joyce’s asshole and she wanted to see that. And her ass…

“Megan!” It was a ragged whisper. “I’m going to….”

Megan paused a moment, long enough to cough, “Do it!” before diving back into the wet. She felt a shift and heard a flop-Joyce pulled a pillow over her face-then a muffled squeal. The woman arched higher and Megan squeezed the rock hard apples that was her bottom, holding on as Joyce bucked into her, a wave cresting, then crashed with a single spasm back onto the bed with a cough that almost sounded like a sob.

Megan fell with her and pulled her tongue back, breathing for the first time in what seemed to be a long while. She kissed Joyce’s soft inner thighs and slid upwards pushing a little to get Joyce onto her side. She spooned her then, tossing her arm over her shoulder to rest comfortably on her breast, her glistening cheek on her shoulder.

“You okay?” Megan asked lightly next to her ear.

Joyce reached up and squeezed her forearm. “I am SO okay…”

Megan snuggled. “Good”, she said. “Me too.”

“Thanks for not letting me stop you back there…”

“No way I wasn’t going down there.”

“I don’t know why I….”

“Shhh…doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“How’d you get to be so smart?” Joyce asked.

“I’m not. You’re just dumb”, she teased.

Joyce pinched her forearm lightly. “Brat.”

Megan’s heart skipped at that word. She might have said something, but Joyce’s settled breathing put her off. It was the end of a wonderful evening, not time to start something new.

Continued here In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

Plague Life – Part V

Continued from Plague Life – Deleted Scenes

A couple of nights later, coming home from a late shift, Joyce called Megan. She was flat on the couch, scrolling through the muted TV. “Hey”, she answered.

“Hey yourself. What’s going on?”

“Quiet”, Megan told her. Tommy’s been asleep for awhile…I was just getting ready to start your dinner.”

“Skip that”, Joyce told her. “I really need you to work on my back tonight. If you’re up to it.”

Megan sat up quickly-as if a different level of attention was required. “…Sure…” she said. “You OK?”

“Yeah, just beat…and sore.”

“No problem, see you when you get here.”

Once out of the shower and dried, Joyce picked a clean pair of black briefs from the folding table. She hesitated a moment before slipping them on. Then a matching bra. The girl had folded all her underwear in sets. Then the soft old robe that she kept in the mudroom. Padding barefoot into the kitchen Joyce smiled at the glass of wine set alone on the table. She swept it up and sipped without stopping, heading toward the dim light emanating from the master suite.

Megan, resplendent in old calf-length sweatpants and a university T-shirt, had stripped the bed of duvet and top sheet replacing them with an older sheet from the linen closet. She was smoothing the top when Joyce came in. Megan, nervous, wouldn’t look at her directly and spoke to the bed in general.

“We hadn’t said where we’d do this…but your bed is the firmest. And there’s no footboard. It’s tough working on a bed but fine. And I didn’t want to get oil all over your good stuff.” She nodded toward a few bottles on the bedside table.

“It’s fine”, said Joyce softly. “Tommy is…”

“Fast asleep. And down the hall…”

Megan, having smoothed the top sheet far beyond necessary, stepped away from the bed. If she was truly expecting the slow, suggestive disrobing in the half-light that she had envisioned nervously over and over for the last half hour she didn’t get it. Joyce was in a locker room, not a boudoir. After a sip she set her wine alongside the oils, untied the loop of her belt and shrugged the robe off her shoulders. Megan didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she saw the bra and panties. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

“Just up on here then?” said Joyce patting the bed.

“Yeah…move in and give me room. Problem with not having a table is I’ll have to straddle you….”

“Sure, sure…” said Joyce kneeling onto the bed. She was moving with a business-like efficiency, leaving no space for the languid eddies that two people in a bedroom might create for themselves.  It occurred to Megan that maybe she was faking that. At least in part.

On all fours, Joyce arched her back then twisted. “I’m so needing this…” she said. Then, on her knees with Megan almost behind her she unsnapped her bra and pulled it off, tossing it onto the floor. “Don’t know why I put that on….” She said seemingly to herself. Then she lay flat. “Do your thing” she said with a sigh.

Megan, trying to match her tone, shook out her hands as might a pianist in a movie before beginning. She rubbed oil firmly into her hands until convinced they wouldn’t shudder when released. Then, still standing, she drizzled oil onto Joyce’s back and rubbed it around lightly to keep it from running.

“That’s warm…”

“Put it in the microwave…” Megan said.

“Of course you did”, she said with her head turned away. Megan comfortably assumed there was a smile she couldn’t see. Then she got up on the bed and in a smooth move borne of the flexibility of youth straddled Joyce at the thighs.

“You OK?” she asked.

“Fine…”

‘No more words’ was a conscious decision. Megan began slowly, thumbs on either side of Joyce’s spine and slid them upward, probing softly listening for a breath or a grunt, any tiny sound that might direct her ministrations. She moved up the spine slowly then fanned out across the back, digging the heels of her hands into the wide expanse of lithe muscle. Then back down again. Over and over. If she had been a painter this would be her rough sketch, outlining the boundaries of her canvas.

The small of Joyce’s back was the focus of her work. She watched the woman’s skin ripple and flow in front of her thumbs and fall back into place behind and heard every sound she made. Up and out then around and down but every time she came to the small of Joyce’s back, Megan would place her thumbs lower until she had to slip them below the elastic of Joyce’s panties. Up then out then around. Finally, before digging again into the softening muscles, she tucked her thumbs into the panties and pulled them partway down, exposing no more of Joyce’s backside than a bikini might have. Still, she paused, admiring the fetching dimples and topmost snick of her divide. She paused awhile.

“Butt Gal”, Joyce whispered with a smile that Megan could hear.

“You don’t make it easy”, Megan said pinching and pulling at the cotton panties with her fingers.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. You should go ahead and pull them off…”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Megan skootched herself a little way down the bed and again slipped her fingers into the elastic of the panties. This time Joyce lifted herself slightly and she pulled the panties down off her slim bottom and down her thighs. Joyce lifted her knees, then her feet, so that Megan could slide them completely off and drop them onto the floor.

“You OK?” This time it was Joyce asking.

“Fine”, said Megan, unsure if it was true. But she stayed with the work, allowing her hands to rest on the tops of the woman’s backside while working the thumbs toward her spine. The moans-the tiny breaths of affirmation-had stopped but Megan was suddenly hesitant to leave the relatively chaste landscape of Joyce’s back. But she didn’t want to be told to move down.

She backed down until she straddled Joyce’s legs just below the knees and drizzled a little oil on each of her bottom cheeks. Then, gently with open hands, she spread the lubrication out and down the backs of her thighs.

She worked the glutes in tandem as she had her back. Slide her thumbs up the middle then out on both sides of her, then circle back. More attention paid to the thickness of the bottom at her bottom than at the top.  And make no mistake. Megan knew what these feelings were welling up in her breast and starting to tumble down into her stomach, and below. She knew them but struggled to control them. If, in working her thumbs up her bottom, she would spread Joyce enough to reveal what was down between the mounds, she’d freeze guiltily. As if intruding.

She paused and slid backward, lifting her left leg and pressing her knee between Joyce’s. “Spread” she said not knowing what the reaction might be. Every step felt like it might be a step too far-that she might be told “no”.  Joyce’s leg shifted easily.

Megan knelt, working the hamstrings at the tops of Joyce’s long legs. She worked them as she had her back and her bottom: both thumbs up the middle then out and back. Truth, it was her only massage move. And, of course, working the thumbs meant her hands would encircle the leg which was okay with her left hand that rode innocently up the outer leg, but the right slid up the inside of the thigh-chastely at first-fingers withdrawn and circumspect. Not venturing too far or too high. At first.

But then, as she worked the top of the hamstring, right below her bottom, she slipped her right hand all the way up Joyce’s leg. She would swear, if called on it, that her finger inadvertently, mistakenly even, ran all the way up, feeling the warm damp folds at the top. She pulled back as if burned-breathless that she had gone too far! Ruined it!

“Megs?”

“Still here,” Megan said softly, voice catching in the dusty desert of her mouth.

“You should do whatever you want”, Joyce said.

Megan wasn’t massaging anymore. She was sitting back softly rubbing her hand over Joyce’s slick backside and down her legs. And not answering. “Look”, Joyce sighed lightly, “I’m not that thick. Somewhat maybe, but not that. I don’t know what to ask for and if I did, I wouldn’t know how. This is lovely but I’m up for anything. Or nothing if that’s your call. But wherever we’re going, you’ll have to drive.”

Megan’s eyes stung and she was afraid she might cry but opted for the wide smile instead. She patted Joyce’s bottom once then stepped off the bed. She pulled her T-shirt over her head. Her sweats came off next and just as she slipped her thumbs into the elastic of her own panties, saw Joyce watching her. She smiled coyly and pushed them down. She was about to kneel back onto the bed when Joyce said, “Turn around.”

Megan’s smile twisted and she turned. She didn’t move but to push her hips backwards just a bit. Joyce’s fingers played across her cheek. She snapped off the lamp before crawling back onto the bed.

Continuing here Plague Life, Part VI

Plague Life – Deleted Scenes

Continued from Plague Life – Part IV

The next few days passed with little but Joyce’s shifts to tell one from the other. When Joyce was off, Megan made herself scarce giving mother and son time together. When they had enough of that, Tommy might ride down or they’d both stroll down to see what Megan was working on. She was not light on projects and living alone in the house for at least the time being, gave her room to spread out. Her on-line classes were going as well as they could and she was actually finishing art, which had been tough to do when the world was spinning.

That morning Megan opened her eyes with a start, looking straight into the pear tree. The spare room that she uses on overnights looks out into the backyard-the tree specifically. Joyce was horrified when she found out that Megan slept with the blinds open-she could never do that. But then, her schedule made it impossible to contemplate. She herself had black metal blinds in her room-which brought darkness at the pull of a cord.

It was just before six, well over an hour before Joyce would be home. She lay still, sleepily trying to recapture the dream. She remembered Joyce in it, nude, pushing against her. Had they been in bed? No, she thought they were standing…Joyce was rubbing her backside… Megan pushed her basketball shorts down and rolled onto her side to run her hand across her bottom as Joyce had in the dream. Then she slipped her finger lightly between her legs finding herself swollen and damp.

It had been a dream and dreams are unbidden, so she didn’t feel guilty about it. Now though, she was awake sliding her finger into herself while thinking of Joyce. “Nope”, she said out loud. “Nope. Nope.” She threw back the covers and sat on the bed, shorts still at her knees. She stood, stepped out of them and walked the two paces into her private bath which is the best thing about this room. Still, she rubbed her bottom where dream-Joyce had and felt a weakness in her legs.

She peed and stepped into the shower for a quick freshener from the neck down, then brushed out her hair before slipping it into a ponytail. If she had dreamed of someone else would it have been okay to touch herself? She was ready for it, that’s for sure. She promised she’d take care of herself later, at home. But not now. Not here. A touch of blush on the cheeks and she was set. For reasons she didn’t want to explore too deeply, she cared about how she looked when Joyce got home. Not like that, though! Not really. She just didn’t want to be appear tired or drawn or anything that might concern Joyce.

There was no way Megan could know it, but what she was doing did work. Somewhere, between leaving the hospital, driving home or coming out of the shower, for a moment, or a flash of a moment, Joyce would look forward to seeing Megan. Not getting home. Not eating. Not having a glass of wine. But seeing Megan. Joyce didn’t let the thought linger and flower, but it was there-albeit forced fleeting.

Joyce, clean and damp, walked into the kitchen sniffing at the air. “Now that smells good…” She shuffled barefoot to the stove and peeked over Megan’s shoulder. There was a pounded chicken breast simmering in olive oil and lemon alongside a half dozen spears of asparagus and a smattering of capers.

“Asparagus? Where did you get those?”

“Had them at home. Picked them up over the weekend…”

“The chicken was…”

“You had it in the freezer. I split a breast, so there’s another left. I’ll pick some up next week. And there’s still quinoa-that shit lasts forever.”

“You’ve seriously expanded the breakfast menu”, she said squeezing her arms from behind before going to her place at the table.

“It’s not breakfast for you. You’ve been up all night…For breakfast, when Tommy gets up, you’ll have…” She opened the refrigerator door and pointed to a bowl sealed with plastic wrap. “Pancake batter-with chocolate chips…”

“When did you do that?”

Megan shrugged lightly, “A little bit ago.”

“Jesus Megs…”

“No biggie.”

Joyce sipped at the orange juice that had been set for her. “You do a lot for us…”

“Well, maybe. But then, there’s the fact that I have fuck all else to do”, she said grinning.

Joyce wadded up a napkin and tossed it at her. “Brat!” She smiled weakly, the fatigue of the shift settling now that she was home. She leaned back to allow the plated meal to be set in front of her. Hunger kept her from picking-she dug in.

“Delicious”, she said closing her eyes, savoring. “I know you snuck some butter in.”

Megan turned to face her and leaned against the stove, dish towel over her shoulder. “That’s why it’s so good.”

The silence between them was natural. Joyce ate, Megan cleared the counter and washed the pan.

“So”, Joyce asked picking up an asparagus spear with her fingers. “What do I call you?”

“Come again?”

“Someone asked today about Tommy. And who watched him. You were his babysitter for a while-still are really. Then you were a friend. Now with all this…and the shopping, and the…everything. I’m not sure what to call you.”

“Not Personal Assistant.”

“No not that…something to do with the house…I don’t know…”

“You better not say ‘maid’!”

“No”, Joyce scoffed. “How about Gal Friday?”

“What the hell is that?”

“I forget how young you are…”

“Accomplice?”

“If we ever plan a caper.”

“How about ‘Squire’, said Megan with a cocky head tilt.

“Squire?”

“Sure. They lived to serve their knights. To do whatever they could do to ensure the knight was at the top of their game. Right?”

“I’m a knight then?”

“Absolutely!”

“Were there female knights?”

“You definitely didn’t watch Game of Thrones.”

Joyce shrugged. “Naw. I’m more of a King Arthur girl…”

She finished off the last bite of chicken. “Hello. I’m Doctor Joyce Maples. And this is Megan, my squire.” She grinned widely if groggily, “That has potential.”

 

Continued here Plague Life – Part V

Plague Life – Part IV

Continued from Plague Life – Part III

They ate the pizza on the back-yard patio. This time of day the sun was dipping behind the oaks and only winked at them through the leaves as a light breeze kept the bugs at bay. It was good to be outside and Tommy, bored with a sit-down meal after half a slice, was fine taking a bite then running to the swings or playing catch off the shed roof and coming back for another. No surprise he had demurred on the salad his mother had made but she and Megan were enjoying the treat that fresh produce had become.

Both women sat with their backs to the house at opposite ends of the glass-topped table where they could watch him. Their legs were up on spare chairs and the glasses of iced tea sweated tiny puddles that ran zig-zagging toward the center of the table carrying crumbs along in their wakes. It was the kind of day to notice things like that. Joyce caught Megan looking at her once, but only because she had been glancing at Megan. That made Joyce smile and give her head the tiniest of shakes.

“What?” asked Megan.

“Nothing”, she answered with still the ghost of a smile. Megan noticed the fine fuzz that glittered on Joyce’s neck with the sun twinkling on them. With her eyes on Tommy running over to the table Joyce spoke without moving her head. “Slept like a rock last night.”

“You were probably due”.

Tommy stopped himself at the table and grabbed his slice of pizza. He tore at it with a roar then slapped it back onto the plate. Megan tossed him a napkin which fluttered to the ground as he wheeled and ran back to the swings.

“I think it was the massage”, said Joyce.

“Could have been. You were pretty well knotted up.”

“I felt that.” She took a sip of her drink and set it down away from the puddle it had made. “I might…I mean, …I might have a favor to ask you.”

“What?”

“You can say no.” Joyce looked at her and pulled the glasses down over her nose for the second time today. Had never noticed her doing that. Was she going for coy or maybe mid-thirties cute? Whichever, she was pretty much hitting it.

“Not without hearing what it is.”

“I used to get massages at Standing Stone”, she explained. The Stone, as it was known in Joyce’s circle, was a day spa that offered a menu of pricy and elaborate massage and body treatments.

“Yeah, you’d mentioned it once or twice”

“You ever been?”

“No. Outta my league.”

“Yeah, they’re expensive. But they took good care of me every couple of weeks. I was wondering, after what you did for me last night” she paused, glancing up in the sky as if waiting for the question to be communicated to her so she could pass it along. “Can you do a full body? Or legs?” She was sliding the words out quickly, hardly opening her mouth, wanting them to be in the air but hesitant to say them. Was it dumb feeling this nervous? It was a simple question, she was telling herself, knowing full well it wasn’t and she was lying.

Megan only cared to hear that she was asking for full body massage. She had given them before with and without subtext. Megan had told Joyce about the kinesiology class but not about the sports massage workshop she had taken because an aspiring trainer in the class had talked her into it. And she also wouldn’t mention that the aspiring trainer was a short blonde from up country named Becca who’d taught her a fair amount beyond longitudinal gliding.

“I’ll pay you, of course”, said Joyce, misreading her silence.

“You will not…”

“Come on. I’d want to. This is a lot to ask…I’m feeling like I might be taking advantage.”

“It’s just that, I can do the basics, you know? Nothing the pros like they have at The Stone.”

“The Stone’s closed now. It’s just you and me…”

Megan let the last words breathe a bit as she bit into a fresh slice. Amazing how long Folino’s crust stayed crisp, even beyond the cheese cooling. Some kind of magic, no doubt. Joyce was looking her way, but the glasses were masking her eyes and this time she wasn’t pulling them down her nose. Thinking of Becca brought back memories of their early flirting. Words didn’t always mean what they seemed to mean. Or they did, but they meant something else too. Something more. Megan had been concerned that, if it came to it, she wouldn’t have the nerve to make the first move. Now maybe she didn’t have to.

“I’ll give it a shot, sure. I have some oils and lotions at home. I’ll go get them before you leave so they’ll be here whenever you want.”

Joyce stretched her legs and arched her back, stretching. “Great”, she said, her eyes back on her son.

Continuing here Plague Life – Deleted Scenes