Jan 20 2021

A Very Pleasant Caribbean Cruise 0 (0)

That warm summer, my loving Victor had booked a pair of tickets for a nice cruise around the Caribbean Sea.

But then, two days before embarking, he was called by his boss and informed he had to fly away on an emergency business trip. He could not refuse to do it. I claimed we could not take the cruise on the next week and then he told me that I could go alone by myself. I still could enjoy it.

I took my hubby to the airport and some hours later I boarded the ship.

By the third afternoon on board, I was working out in the gym when I spotted a tall, handsome black man in his forties, who was lifting weights. Like me, he was dressed in loose-fitting workout clothes, but as he was sitting on a bench, I looked over in time to see a rather impressive mushroom head was appearing from under his shorts.

I finished the workout and headed for the sauna. Once in the steam room, I lay back and just rested. Shortly after I had settled in and closed my eyes, the door opened and the guy from the weight bench walked into the room.

We nodded, and then were quiet for a long time.

Suddenly he shifted his towel and let to pop out the biggest black cock I have ever seen. It was thick and with a huge dark head. And very long…

He smiled to me and said: “I caught you looking at it in the gym.”

I smiled and reached out to touch that magnificent giant cock. Immediately it sprang to life. It was at least nine inches in length.

We chatted as I gently stroked him, watching the door for any intrusion.

He introduced as Sean. He was married and his wife was on board; but she preferred to hang by the pool than being with him.

I finally blurted out that we could go to my cabin, as I was cruising alone.

Once inside, we quickly undressed. He was stunning naked: great muscle tone, tight ass, a shiny dark skin and, of course, his huge black cock.

We lay on the bed and started to fondle each other. He began to kiss my body and worked his way to my wet labia. He teased, licked it and finally shoved his tongue deep inside of my tight vagina.

“Stop, please… stop. You are making me cum so soon…” I cried.

He paused, telling me he had plenty of time to make me cum twice…

Then he continued sucking my vaginal lips, until he made me shiver and cry, as I felt an intense orgasm running through my whole body…

Then he came up for air and it was my turn.

I kissed him all over and worked my way to his massive cock, slowly licking the length and watching surge into life. I gently worked my way up his shaft, finally reaching that enticing mushroom head. Licking and teasing it, I took it into my mouth and slowly worked on his cock as it slid into my throat, but try as I might, only about half of this monster would fit.

I was sideways to him sucking his cock, and his hands began to roam over my back, stopping at my ass. Somewhere in my servicing his cock, he must have wet a finger because he started playing with my ass, rubbing his finger around my very tight rear hole, before gently easing it in.

I sucked even harder, and moaned at the wonderful sensations in my ass.

“I want to fuck you in the ass…” Sean quietly said.

I was in sheer terror of his huge cock fucking me, but I nodded yes.

I did not come prepared for letting a man to fuck my asshole. I only had on board some body lotion. Sean smiled and said it would be enough…

Then I lay flat on my stomach on a pillow, as he lubed my ass and his cock. Sean positioned himself at the entrance to my tight hole. He was hard as steel. The bastard teased me with that giant mushroom black head.

I moaned in excitement, finally backing my ass onto his cock. At least I tried.

There was a soft pressure but no entry. He then began to gently move the head around in circles and then with a firm push, his hard head popped into my ass. My breath was taken away. I could not even scream. It hurt like hell.

We stayed like that for a bit and then he slowly started to push inch by inch, until finally I felt his pubes on my ass cheeks. I moaned softly…

“Does it hurt, babe…?” He asked me very politely.

“Do not worry at all… I can take it.” I replied in a muted tone.

“Yes… I know you can, babe” He whispered leaning onto my body, as he slowly and deliberately alternately entered and withdrew from my tight hole.

Within a few minutes of his magic push I began to feel a twitch in my ass. I loved it. He built his pace and suddenly started to increase it.

Sean pulled back to the head and then shoved all the way. That black bastard was driving me to feel something I have never felt. He grabbed my hips and increased his hard pace even more and more… In and out. Deep.

I was moaning. Suddenly, without touching my wet cunt, I groaned and had an intense orgasm, as I had never before felt with a dick buried in my anus.

Just then Sean exclaimed: “Oh, babe… I am coming right now.”

Then he buried his hard black cock deep in my sore rectum.

I could feel it twitching, twitch after twitch, until finally he lay on top of my body, breathing deep and giving a kind of some sign of satisfaction.

Later on that evening, I crossed his path again on deck. He was talking with his wife; a very beautiful slender black woman, sexy as hell, curvaceous and with long legs and a nice smile.

My pussy suddenly went wet as I watched that sensual black woman. Then I smiled when her eyes met mine.

I had enjoyed a hard huge black cock in my tight asshole, but now I had still some more days on that cruise, for trying to taste a nice wet black cunt…

Jan 20 2021

Maid to Order Ch. 01 0 (0)

Part 1: The New Help

In the first week of March five separate and unrelated disasters befell your family. They all occurred at your grand ducal estate in the foothills of the Alps above the capital and only city in your tiny enclave of the Grand Duchy of Lichtenbourg, and each time they involved ‘the help’.

The first event and the one which seemed to precipitate a further avalanche of bad-luck was when the steward, a dangerous and imposing man who up until now had bullied both the rest of the staff and the ducal family itself, broke a priceless Qing vase which had been in your family for generations. Despite protesting his innocence, his guilt was clear – and your mother, a similarly dangerous and imposing individual herself, was forced to terminate his employment, although he was provided with a very cold reference.

The disasters continued. The next day your gardener, usually so studiously careful with his maintenance of the grounds, was found to have cut off the heads of your father the Duke’s favourite Juliet roses. His sympathy with the pro-independence rebels in your South American colony of Mirandia had always been common knowledge and he had once been heard to muttered certain treasonous remarks under his breath after he was scolded by your father for some less-than-stellar topiary work on the grand driveway’s flamingos. And so the gardener was given his marching orders.

The next event affected you personally, but it was less a disaster and more a stroke of good fortune. French has never been your best subject, and in an attempt to remove your thick Lichtenbourger accent and replace it with the proper Académie française pronunciation, your parents had hired a tutor. But one day he missed your scheduled lesson and was discovered wandering the grounds, dead-drunk. You’d never much enjoyed his boring lessons, the miasma of old tobacco and musk floating around him and his readiness to slap your hands with the riding crop he inexplicably carried with him everywhere, and so you don’t shed any tears when he, too, was sent on his way.

The subsequent disaster was the most dramatic and public by far – but thankfully the final one. The New Spring Ball. The cook, usually so fastidious in his selection of local ingredients, served foie gras well-past its use-by date. The resultant widespread gastro-intestinal distress and your parents’ calamitous social embarrassment led to his swift termination.

Your mother the Duchess was livid by this stage and with her usual imperiousness she declared that since all the disasters have centred around male members of staff they would be replaced with women. Your father, with his readiness to acquiesce to your mother’s opinions and an equally keen appreciation for feminine excellence, was not at all averse to the idea.

But it seemed that the usual supply of staff has dried up – an unheard-of situation – with only a single applicant for each vacant position. But as Fortune would have it the applicants were all women and all proved to have not only superb references but also impressive skills, although they did perhaps lack the sophistication your mother would have preferred.

Take the tall fiery-haired woman named Pyrrha who applied for the position of steward, for example. She was graceful and impeccably dressed and exuded, with her shock of red hair and her tall physique and her imposing but beautiful features, the aura of one with whom no nonsense would be tolerated. But during her interview, while she was enthusiastically explaining her philosophy of leadership to your mother, the bright technicolour inking of a tattoo slipped from beneath one elegantly laced cuff.

The gardener, too – Maki was her name – a slim, tanned girl of Japanese ancestry with dark eyes and the hint of dark roots in her short platinum-white hair – she was a diamond, but certainly a rough one. Her language gave – how did your mother put it? – certain suspicions of a habitual saltiness just barely kept under check. But she greatly impressed your father with her excellent topiary skills – her test flamingo was, he said, the very model of the national bird’s nobility and grace – and, since plants are famously inured to rough sailor-talk, she would, your father decided, do very well indeed.

Now, the new head chef, Chloe! Her test souffle, that notorious dish which has been the nemesis of cooks for hundreds of years, proved utterly delicious and her risotto was creamy and exquisite. You and your father were given the job of sample her food – your mother having always been more concerned with how impressive the dishes the kitchen produced looked than how they tasted – and it put everything the previous chef cooked to shame. But the chef herself! Blonde and pretty and overgenerously voluptuous in the hips, derrière and bust, she proved to be also rather – well, ‘hands-on’ in her managerial style, especially with the young, attractive, male wait-staff. Her green eyes, large and liquid, were especially coquettish and as she left the interview she winked at you!

“Better not mention that to your mother,” your father said with a sly wink of his own. But you both agreed that Chloe was a most excellent choice for the job.

Lastly, your new tutor. Lydia. The tallest and most mature of the new staff, of indefinite age – surely the less-gentle side of forty? – but with a timeless elegant beauty (pale skin, blue eyes, copper-auburn hair and exquisitely long legs), highlighted rather than hidden by her bookish half-rim glasses and her dark pants-suit. Your mother very much approved of her, as well – no doubt she saw reflected in Lydia a strength and intellectualism not unlike her own. Also, Mdm. Lydia’s French – like her German and English and Latin and Greek and Romansk – proved to be parfait.

And so, with the addition of these four unusual women to the staff, the memory of the disasters quickly faded and the future looked as bright as the endless blue mountain skies of the Duchy itself.

***

You’re late for your first lesson with Lydia – lateness had never really been an issue with your old tutor, since he’d always been far later than you had been – and when you finally arrive Mdm. Lydia fixes you with her sharp blue eyes, sighs a sigh of disappointment which leaves you squirming in guilt – and then makes you write a thousand-word composition in French on the importance of punctuality for a future duke.

After you hand it to her, she sweeps a red pen from her blouse pocket and flicks it up and down over your work.

“Now really, your excellency – did your prior tutor teach you nothing? It appears as though you can barely conjugate any of the irregular verbs correctly. And your misuse of the passé composé!” Again that sigh. “However…” She lifts her blue eyes over her glasses and smiles, a sudden, brilliant smile that melts the frostiness of her eyes and makes your heart skip a beat, so pretty and unexpected is the sight. “Your style is not at all inelegant. We can work with this, no?” And then she is all business again and has you reciting, conjugating and declining up and down until you’re perfect.

Under the new staff your home prospers as much as your French does. The grounds are impeccable, even if Maki the gardener is sometimes spotted smoking a cigar behind the tool-shed and on occasion heard under her breath to call dandelions which refuse to be pulled out ‘m—f–ers’ and branches just out of reach of pruning ‘total ass–s’.

“Well, at least she’s trying to be discrete,” you father says.

But you’re soon given reason to doubt this ‘discretion’ of Maki’s. A few days later you’re taking your afternoon constitutional in the mansion’s expansive wisteria gardens. The sweet fragrance hangs thick in the air amid the shady trellises and your mind wanders to Lydia, to that elegant perfume which wafts from her whenever she leans over you to check your work. But your reverie is suddenly broken by a sharp and pungent scent that slits through the flowers’ perfume like a knife, replacing your beautiful vision of Lydia with a horrible flashback to your tobacco-smoke-steeped previous tutor. You shudder and vaguely through your tearing eyes you discern the shape of Maki leaning against the little gardener’s shed. Her face is shaded but a single red flicker deepens and then a cloud of smoke spills away from her. You receive it full in the face and start coughing.

“Oh,” says Maki, her cigar in her fingers as she steps out of the shade. “It’s you, ‘your excellency’. Sorry.”

The pause between her greeting and your title is a tenth of a heartbeat and punctuated by the replacement of her cigar in her mouth, and you feel deep disrespect lurking beneath it. But you have no time to get annoyed – Maki is suddenly sprinting at you, swift as a flickering shadow, a hunting knife appearing in her hand. She stabs it towards your face and you yelp in terror, but the blade passes half an inch from your ear.

Shocked, you watch as Maki fastidiously wipes the knife on her shorts then lifts her gaze to yours. Her dark eyes flicker to your feet and when you look down you stumble back in alarm. For lying on the grass, cut in half yet still buzzing malevolently, is a hawk-wasp – two inches long with a stinger half that again, the most infamous venomous insect in all of Lichtenbourg.

Maki chuckles behind her cigar. “My knife-work give you a bit of a scare, huh? Sorry. But it’s better than getting stung by one of those bad-boys.”

It definitely is. You remember the size your cousin’s head swelled after he’d been stung by one at a garden party and you shudder.

Maki walks to you and plants a booted foot straight down on the hawk-wasp, silencing its buzzing forever. Then she stands there, looking you up and down.

She’s taller than you, bronze-skinned where her shorts and top don’t cover her skin, which is an awful lot of it, you think. And even through the lingering haze of cigar smoke you can smell the sharp saltiness of her perspiration.

Maki fixes you with her dark eyes. “Hey, since you owe me one for saving your ass, let’s not be talking about my little smoko-break to mum and dad, right?”

You nod. Her strong animal scent is all you can think of and you don’t even notice her disrespectful reference to your parents.

“Alright then!” She stretches her arms up and grunts and you notice as her top lifts up that not every part of her is tanned – in fact, her stomach, with its charming belly-button, is pale, the colour of snow on gold. “F-k!! It really is hot as balls today, ain’t it?”

You’re still looking when you feel her eyes on you and you look up to see her smirking.

“Heh. Caught you looking, little duke. Or is it dukeling?” She takes a drag of her cigar. “Maybe ‘duckling’ suits you better, since you’re so f-king small and cute. What do you think?”

Maki leaves you no chance to reply, stubbing out her cigar against the shed and folding her knife closed. “Well, those m—f–king dandelions aren’t going to dig themselves out, are they? Ciao.”

And with that you’re left staring at her as she walks away, whistling.

Small and cute? Duckling?

You don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.

This disturbing encounter with Maki notwithstanding, life proves good, although you quickly find yourself snowed-under with French assessments. Lydia is strict but fair – and whenever you show some improvement, the smile of girlish delight which sparks across her usually serious face makes it more than worthwhile. And she reads you poetry, as well – her gorgeous voice and glances sending subtle frissons along your limbs as you sit on the couch beside her with your hands clasped in your lap – romantic poetry, the sort you’d never thought to read before. Your favourite is Les roses de Sâadi by Desbordes-Valmore:

J’ai voulu ce matin te rapporter des roses;

Mais j’en avais tant pris dans mes ceintures closes

Que les noeuds trop serrés n’ont pu les contenir.

Les noeuds ont éclaté. Les roses envolées

Dans le vent, à la mer s’en sont toutes allées.

Elles ont suivi l’eau pour ne plus revenir.

La vague en a paru rouge et comme enflammée.

Ce soir, ma robe encore en est toute embaumée . . .

Respires-en sur moi l’odorant souvenir.

Perhaps it is a little risqué and makes you sit all the more awkwardly as she reads to you, but you know it’s not something your parents need to know about or concern themselves with.

Chloe, also, continues to be rather hands on with the wait-staff, and there is an incident with the young sous-chef – but your father says it’s all just a misunderstanding and that some physical direction is no doubt necessary after all the bad-habits the kitchen staff learned from the old head-chef.

But an incident a day later makes you question your father’s conclusions. You’re walking through the dining room early in the morning on the way to the gardens to practice your rapier skills when Chloe bursts out of the kitchens, a whirlwind of buxom blonde excitement. She grabs your hand and gasps: “Your excellency! Your excellency! Can I have a moment of your time?”

You babble something in response which makes no sense to you but which Chloe takes as a yes and drags you into the kitchens. You’ve only been inside them a few times, mostly with your father when making an inspection – and on those occasions it was always full of staff bustling around, stock pots bubbling and the incessant clatter of food-preparation. But today there’s only a single pot on the heat and it’s to this that Chloe hurries you. A rich scent of beef wafts from it straight into your face.

She lets go of your hand and turns to smile at you, somewhat apologetically. “I’m sorry, your excellency, but I have a small favour to ask of you. I’d like your opinion of this bouillon I’m working on.” She sighs. “I think it might be missing something, but I’m not sure.”

You tell her that it smells amazing. Chloe’s bright round face beams even brighter at your words and she claps her hands with a childish delight.

“Oh, you’re always so kind, your excellency! But the smell is one thing – you really should taste it first before you give your official dukely opinion.”

Dukely opinion. Flattered, you step closer and peer into the stock pot. Not only does it smell great, but the bouillon is the deepest brown you’ve ever seen.

Chloe manoeuvrs her hips next to yours to look over your shoulder and the soft gold of her bangs flick across your cheek. You’re suddenly aware of all of her curvy, fragrant self. There’s a scent, even more delicious that that of the bouillon, the gorgeous spicy and rich natural feminine scent of a woman. Is it her skin, her hair, her breath, or some wonderful mixture of them all? You can’t decide but your heart skips a beat.

She sighs again. “Yes, it looks very much as it should, but please! Just a little taste and your honest opinion.” She grabs a ladle and swiftly dips it into the broth. It comes forth with a clear and gorgeous liquid pooled in the cup and Chloe, smiling, lifts it to her mouth and tests its temperature.

“I don’t want to burn those pretty lips of yours,” she murmurs and without delay she presses the ladle to your lips.

Your senses are overwhelmed with the savoury scent, now right beneath your nose, and you open your mouth. The liquid spills into your mouth, silky and thick and exquisitely delicious.

Chloe watches for your expression, her own uncharacteristically serious. But your excited murmurs at how delicious it is bring back that explosion of bright, white-teethed delight.

You swallow and tell her that it’s absolutely perfect and that it doesn’t need anything at all. Chloe’s eyes narrow and her bright smile darkens for a split second, like a cloud slipping across the sun, but then she yelps with delight, throws the ladle aside with a clatter and hugs you.

“Oh, you’re too kind, your excellency!” Chloe cries, squeezing you to her overgenerous body.

You gasp that you’re just giving your honest opinion, but it’s hard to speak with the air pushed out of your lungs and Chloe’s large warm breasts pressing against you. Even through the chef’s whites you can feel ever curve of her.

Chloe seems to suddenly realise what’s she doing and releases you, her face falling. “Oh, your excellency! I – I’m so sorry. I was just so happy when-“

With delicious air now spilling back into your lungs you find your voice and tell her that there’s nothing at all to apologise about.

Chloe, mollified, grabs your hand. “Oh, you really are such a kind boy.” And then she drops her green eyes. “That’s kind of why I wanted to do something special for you. I know you love boeuf Bourguignon – this stock is for it.” She lifts her molten green eyes and squeezes your hand more tightly. “I’m so glad you approve!”

You stand there together for several heartbeats but it feels like an eternity, a glorious happy eternity under the rays of this beautiful blonde woman’s smile and shining green eyes. But then you both hear, clear over the bubbling of the stock pot, the sound of footsteps, the familiar clomping gait of your father. Chloe quickly lets go of your hands and motions with her eyes to the side door used for deliveries. You scramble away and push open the door, but before you pass through you glance back. Chloe is there, watching you, and again that wink! Your mouth still tasting that delicious bouillon, all the more delicious from Chloe’s indirect-kiss, you flee into the sunshine of the garden, bright, but like shadow compared to the radiance of the beautiful blonde chef.

Last of all, your new steward Pyrrha – perhaps she is a bit too strict with the maids and has made them cry on more than one occasion, but after a week they’re all at her beck and call, looking up to her with liquid eyes like besotted schoolgirls. Your home is utterly spotless and the vases never go a single day without fresh flowers. But you often feel Pyrrha’s eyes on you and turn to see her pretty face marred with a disapproving frown -or perhaps you just happen to be in the way of some improperly hung painting or an undusted-bannister. Nevertheless, her look always fills you with guilt, as though she can see clear as day your shamefully disorderly thoughts, and you can’t help but be reminded somewhat of the stern orderliness of your mother.

But a strange encounter soon qualifies your initial impression of her.

Every morning, very early in the morning, it’s traditional for the Duchess of Lichtenbourg to conduct an inspection of the maid staff and your mother usually requires you also to be present. That day, stifling a yawn which, had it exploded forth, would have earned you a long speech about manners and dukely decorum, and envying your father who’s likely still asleep in bed, you keep step with your mother’s brisk walk. You sometimes wonder if your family of three really needs so many maid staff, but your mother, you know, would likely say something about the requirement for appearances to be maintained. The mansion does have about a hundred different rooms, some of which you’ve visited only once and likely some you’ve never visited at all, so there’s a lot of dusting to be done. And so the two of you are already mid-battleline of the housemaids when your mother suddenly stops dead and in your sleepiness you almost run into her.

You look up at the poor maid who has brought your mother’s inspection to an abrupt halt.

“Really,” you mother tuts. “Is this how we think a uniform should be worn? Such slovenliness? Is this the sort of appearance we think is appropriate to maintain the honour of the…”

And so forth. You have no idea what your mother has decided to draw attention to, for the poor girl’s uniform looks to be worn exactly the same as the other two dozen housemaids you’ve already passed by. But you suspect there’s nothing wrong with the uniform at all and your mother has merely taken it upon herself to take out some frustration or other on the girl.

Your mother strides away, leaving the girl standing there, still stock still, but with tears rolling down her pink cheeks. You stop and quickly take hold of her hand and pat it. The maid gasps softly in surprise, but replies to the smile you give her with a nod and a brave smile of her own.

Your mother is already two feet away from you so you quickly but unobtrusively catch up with her. Soon you reach the end of the line and your mother has a quick word with Pyrrha about being stricter with regards to the staff’s uniform. Pyrrha nods respectfully, but when your mother passes she glances at you, but this time, instead of the usual stare of disapproval, she smiles and pats you on the head.

Your mother suddenly turns around and in alarm you hurry after her. But the memory of that warm and surprisingly gentle and unexpected head-pat haunts the rest of your day.

* * *

“Yes,” says your father that night at dinner. “I think they shall all work out splendidly.” He tucks heartily into the Filet de boeuf rôti en croûte de champignons Chloe has prepared for your evening meal.

Your mother, never one to ever agree with your father on anything, merely dabs her mouth with her napkin, gives the slightest of nods and turns to you. “You’ve barely touched your food. Is everything alright?”

You know your mother must be in the most excellent of moods given that she seldom asks you anything of the sort. You shake your head. The truth is you’ve been thinking about what happened with Chloe – the sauce you’re eating has obviously used the bouillon you tasted with her – and you can’t help but remember Pyrrha’s head-pat and the way Maki called you “duckling”. But perhaps foremost in your mind is your next French lesson. Lydia has promised to read one of Baudelaire’s Pièces condamnées – his poems banned from publication – and the thought is most distracting.

“No doubt worrying about your latest assignment,” said your mother, reading your mind with that dangerously accurate penetration she has. “That new tutor does seem to be working out well. You really do need to take your studies more seriously! You well know that it’s only two months until the Midsummer dinner, and of course she will be there.”

You almost choke on your steak. Oh god. Her. The only ‘she’ who would be referred to by the bare italicised pronoun by your mother is the crown princess of the Principality of San Monorra, the Prinzessin Annmarie-Franciska Saxe-Holstein-Castell. Your beloved. Your intended. That strange young woman who – well, your mother refers to her as having a ‘strong character’, but if she wasn’t a princess no doubt she would just be called weird. Your parents have always thought of her as your perfect match – similar in age and from an ancient and monied family with a very sound portfolio of investments (your mother’s investigators had weighed everything up, including the Swiss Bank accounts, to the very Rubel). They’re well aware, of course, of her horse fixation, but they know nothing of her true obsession.

Power.

You once spent an extremely alarming half-hour speaking with her at the inauguration of the French Premier – she had looked you up and down like she was sizing up the purchase of a studhorse, murmuring all the time. She was not unlovely – but how could that make up for her dead, doll-like eyes, her harsh lips and her incessant talk about bloodlines and genealogies.

“You know of course,” she told you, her soft but relentless voice somehow easily heard over the sound of the raucous fanfare. “That any son we had would, given a few timely deaths, be legally and by bloodline the rightful heir to the Holy Roman Empire.”

Timely deaths. She always speaks like that. Of course, she and your mother get along very well indeed. And you suspect that if the Prinzessin mentioned this plan to give her a future Roman Emperor as a grandchild she would be extremely pleased.

At the moment, however, your mother is less than pleased, and her dinnertime airing of grievances continues: “… and yet your French is still an embarrassment, despite your tutor’s excellent attention to discipline, and…” She quickly warms to the subject of your being a general source of disappointment to her and you pray that something, anything, will save you from one of her rants.

And then – a miracle! Your father yawns.

Your mother stops, mid-complaint, and glares at him, ready to level him with similar recriminations – apple not falling far from tree, etc. etc. – but then an even more incredible thing happens.

Your mother herself yawns!

Stunned, you stare at her, as does your father, stifling another yawn of his own.

And then your mother yawns again – again! And she nods her head. Nods!

There’s a click of a finger and sudden movement from every corner of the room. You turn to see Pyrrha at the head of the table, and around her the orderly bustle of the wait staff.

“Do hurry up,” she murmurs with that soft but authoritative air she has, “Their excellencies are clearly finished with the meal and are ready for bed.” A flick of her red hair and a sharp stare and the chambermaids waiting at the side of the dining room hurry forward with nervous energy.

“Yes,” murmurs your father. “Yes, I am rather tired.”

“Of course you are,” your mother mutters, but sleep weighs her words down. “After all of that wine that you… that you drank…”

Pyrrha is suddenly beside you. “No doubt you are ready to retire for the evening yourself, your excellency?” Her hazel eyes fix yours and you’re aware of the heat of her body, the clean, unscented soap fragrance of her body.

You gulp and nod. You really hadn’t been hungry and any excuse to escape from one of your mother’s rants is more than welcome. You stand up, bid goodnight to your bleary-eyed parents, and suddenly there’s a waiter pushing in your chair and a chambermaid leading you to your room.

Ah. As you climb the main stairs you think over Lydia’s assignment – and Lydia herself. Your mother was not wrong that she’s single-handedly rescued you from your appallingly rustic French. You conjugate demeurer over and over in your head, a different person with each step you take. There’s enough time before your usual bath in which to finish that assignment off and hopefully coax one of those incredible girlish smiles of praise from her.

The maid opens the door and you step into twilight. Something seems wrong with the lights and you’re about to turn and call on the maid when you see Lydia sitting on your bed in the dusky orange light of candles arranged on your study desk.

You don’t recognise her at first. Gone are her half-moon glasses and her pencil-skirt. Instead she’s wearing a red dress which shimmers like flowing lava under the flickering candlelight, and what the material doesn’t cover, which is a large area indeed, her bare skin shines like copper.

“Oh, you’re here,” she murmurs. She pats the bed beside her. “It seems you have taken my lesson about punctuality to heart. Very good.”

You stand there and stare for a moment as the door is closed softly behind you with a click. Heart racing, you awkwardly take a spot beside her, as close as you dare.

“Why so unusually reserved?” she asks. “Are you surprised, perhaps? Did you forget that I promised to read you some Baudelaire if you did well in your last assignment?” She inclines her elegant head towards your desk. “It’s sitting there, marked for you to read later at your leisure. An excellent piece of work. And so now…” She leans past you, the expanse of her bared neck and cleavage brushing against your back as she retrieves a small palm-sized book from your side table. “I shall keep my side of the bargain.”

She licks a finger and finds her place in the book, parts her glistening lips to speak, but then abruptly stops and closes the book.

“But wait. This is all wrong. One does not read – or appreciate – Baudelaire without a glass of wine.” She reaches down beside the bed and retrieves two glasses and a bottle. “Borrowed from your father’s excellent cellars.” She winks. “Oh, it’s not stealing since you’re the heir – and you don’t mind if we indulge ourselves a little, surely?”

You shake your head. Your parents never let you drink wine, despite you being old enough. Your mother claims you don’t have the self-discipline to control yourself if you have too much, always with a sharp glance at your father.

Lydia pops the cork and pours you two glasses. “Well,” she says, lifting her glass to yours. “Shall we make a toast, then?”

You take the wine and glance away from Lydia’s pale blue eyes which are staring at you rather intently.

“No!” she says, with some force. “You must always look into the eyes of the one with whom you are sharing a toast. Otherwise, you will curse yourself with seven years of bad sex.”

Seven years of bad sex? Seven years of sex doesn’t sound terrible at all, even bad sex. But you do as Lydia says and, swallowing, keep in contact with her own, pale blue eyes.

“There,” she says. “Formidable!” And you clink your glasses together.

Your eyes remain locked as you sample the wine. It’s hot and fiery and sweet and delicious and you drink a generous mouthful. Lydia, you notice, touches her lips but lightly to the red liquid. Probably she’s a bit weak with wine.

As you take your glass away from your lips she does the same, and at no time does her gaze slip from yours.

“Mmmm,” she says. “You have done very well. You drink like a man.” She places her own glass on the side-table. “Please, if you wish to have more, do not let me stop you.”

You take another drink, ‘drinking like a man’ as Lydia calls it. You feel a little dizziness after you swallow this equally delicious mouthful, but it quickly passes.

You shyly glance at Lydia and as expected she is still looking at you.

“Perhaps,” she asks. “The wine has made you sleepy?”

You shake your head. No, if anything the wine has kindled a fire in your veins. Lydia, her beautiful porcelain features, her graceful white neck and plunging décolletage are as intoxicating as the wine is. Emboldened, you move yourself closer. She invited you here tonight for a reason, of course. You know you should bravely accept her challenge – for that’s obviously what all this is. You want to show her that it’s not just drinking you do like a man.

But Lydia, despite her earlier flirtatiousness, turns suddenly coy. She quickly takes up the bottle of wine and refreshes your glass.

“Some more, perhaps?”

You shake your head, but Lydia’s eyes flash with disappointment and you accept the proffered glass and drain it.

Again a wave of dizziness strikes you and leaves you feeling a bit light headed. Well, this is the most wine you’ve drunk at once, after all.

Lydia stares at you. “Still you feel nothing?”

Well, you’re definitely feeling something. You blush. So she wants you to make the first move. You put your hand on hers and she stares at it. Her skin is warm to the touch and you want to feel more of it.

But suddenly the door to your room flies open. You tear your hand from Lydia’s and leap to your feet, expecting one of your mother’s pet maids who so often spy on you – or, horror of horrors! – your mother herself. But it’s the chef, Chloe!

Hands on her wide hips she stands in the doorway and stares at the two of you. Then she turns to Lydia.

“What’s taking so long?” she asks. “Give him the wine. Pyrrha’s waiting!”

Lydia’s face is distraught. “But he’s drunk two glasses already!”

Chloe looks taken aback, but then she grins. “You just haven’t given him enough,” she says with a sigh. She picks up the bottle, brings it to her mouth and takes a long swig.

It’s your turn to be amazed, but Chloe takes the bottle away, grabs your shoulders and plants her wine-slick lips against yours.

Shocked, you open your mouth and Chloe’s tongue, sweet and thick with wine, slips into yours – and with it comes a flood of the liquor she’s holding in her mouth. You almost choke but you have no other choice than to swallow.

You fall against your bookcase, gasping, and Chloe cocks a hip and grins. “Now that’s how you do it!” She glances back at Lydia. “You always were a prude, Lydia. You should have left this up to me.”

Lydia is horrified. “But the drug!”

Chloe chuckles. “I’m totally immune. The trick is taking a tiny dose over a long time.”

A drug? A horrible realisation strikes you, then. You fight off the rising fog in your head and struggle to your feet.

The smile slides from Chloe’s face and she and Lydia exchange anxious looks, but they make no move as you edge away from them, just watch you intently.

“Any moment now,” says Chloe.

But whatever they’re expecting to happen doesn’t and you make it to your desk.

“Oh, la vache!” gasps Lydia. “He must have the constitution of a stallion!”

“A big-hearted stallion,” says Chloe with a whistle. “There were enough doses for the whole family in that bottle!”

The cottony feeling in your head has grown thicker now and it takes all your concentration to slide the top drawer out, but you manage it just as the door, still ajar, flies open a second time and Maki sprints into the room.

“Thank f—k!” she swears. “I thought for certain you guys must have got shanked by some guards we missed.” She glances at you, then at Chloe and Lydia. “What the hell are you doing? Pyrrha’s pissed off!”

“He’s drunk enough for three people,” says Chloe. “Maybe it’s a family immunity?”

“Family immunity nothing,” says Maki. “Mom and pop were sacks of potatoes while I was tying them up.”

Tying them up?

Maki slips a knife out of her jacket, the same blade she used to kill the hawk-wasp before. “This is taking forever. Look, let’s just deal with duckling here the old-school way and get going.” She turns the knife absent-mindedly over in her hands. “I’ll be careful. I won’t scratch up the merchandise much.”

You were hesitating before, thinking that this might be some weird prank or a mistake or even some twisted test of your mother’s. But now your hand finds the grip of the handgun hidden in the drawer and you draw it out.

All three women look at you at once – Lydia, still on the bed with Chloe standing beside her and Maki who’s closest to you. The ‘gardener’, if that’s indeed what she is, watches you as you raise the gun and point it at her.

“Stay back!” you cry, but your voice is muffled by the strange dizziness rapidly filling your mind and body.

Maki chuckles. “Well, looks like the duckling’s got himself a handgun. That’s a pretty big weapon for such a cute little guy. Here, give it to your big-sister Maki before you hurt yourself.” She takes a few steps towards you.

All those hours of training your father insisted on pay off. Even through the murk of the drug pouring through you, you raise the gun and fire.

There’s a loud noise but it’s muffled and seems far away. Maki stops dead, fear and surprise on her face. The portrait of your great-grandmother, hanging on the wall just beside her, swings once, a bullet hole right in the centre, and then falls to the floor.

Your heart skips a beat. You weren’t trying to hit Maki and luckily your hand was steady enough to pull it off.

“Shit,” Maki breathes. She quickly composes herself and stretches her hands out, the knife in one palm. “Okay, okay. Let’s not do anything rash here, your excellency.”

Her dark eyes flick to a spot behind you. You don’t turn around. It’s the oldest trick in the book. Distracted, she’d be on you in a moment.

And so you’re shocked when the gun is kicked from your hand from behind. You swing around to see Pyrrha there, one elegant stockinged leg ending its downswing. Then she’s on you before you can blink and she chops one hand down onto where your neck meets your shoulder. You slump straight down, but Pyrrha is there to catch you.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “But we’ve got to move. Now.”

She swings you with surprising strength over her shoulder. Your vision is a blur, now, whether from the drug’s effect or from her blow, but you can still make out the other three women snapping to attention. Lydia pulls a rifle from under your bed while Chloe draws a gun from her voluminous cleavage.

“Come on!” shouts Pyrrha. And then you’re being quickly carried down the stairs, jogging up and down as she jumps every second step with the others close behind. You look up groggily to see your mother and father along with the other staff tied up in the under the opposite stairs. They’re not moving.

You struggle, but Pyrrha slaps your butt. “Stop that,” she says. “They’re fine, just out cold. Better worry about your own skin.”

She’s halfway across the hallway when you’re enveloped by an explosion of shattering glass. Pyrrha flings you to the floor and you lie there, stunned, as you watch her and Lydia push over the hallway table seconds before the sound of automatic gunfire begins.

“Shit,” swears Maki, sliding in beside you and shouting at Pyrrha over the gunfire. “We miss someone?”

Pyrrha shakes her head and the other two women turn to you.

There’s no one else. Your security force has never had automatic weapons. Then a terrible realisation grips you.

No. It can’t be.

But then an all-too familiar voice removes all doubt.

“Cease fire!” it shouts with imperious feminine command.

No. Nononono.

You squirm forward to look around the edge of the table, needing to see her to really believe it. Even through the haze of the drug there’s no mistaking her, standing tall and blonde in a red cocktail dress with a MP5 machine pistol at her side, flanked by half a dozen soldiers in full tactical gear. She gazes contemptuously across the destroyed hall.

“I am the Prinzessin Annmarie-Franciska Saxe-Holstein-Castell and you have my property. Hand him over at once!”

Maki grins at you. “That your girlfriend?”

You don’t really know what to say to that.

“Or else what?” Pyrrha shouts back.

The answer is a hail of gunfire which tears through the hall. In a panic you look back at your parents and the others, tied up and still comatose. Shreds of the bannister rain about them.

“Stop!” you cry out.

“Seems the Prinzessin doesn’t really care about her future in-laws,” murmurs Pyrrha.

You try to crawl out from behind the table even though moving is like trying to push your arms and legs through a universe of molasses, but Maki grabs you by the belt.

“Don’t worry duckling,” she says. “I’ve got this. Your girl looks like the monologuing type.” Maki raises her head and shouts, her voice loud even over the gunfire. “What’s with the fancy get-up, Prinzessin? You usually wear a cocktail dress to a fire fight?”

Annemarie waves her hand and the gunfire stops. “I was otherwise socially engaged when my agents reported your presence to me.” She sneers. “Quite an elaborate plan. The rebels must be offering you a lot of money. That’s all you mercenaries care for, isn’t it?”

The rebels? They’re going to hand you over to them? Through your daze you find one final tiny reserve of energy and jerk out of Maki’s grip. You’re squirming from behind the table when you see the bay windows to the left of Annemarie shatter. Then the wall buckles inwards and explodes in a cloud of mortar, glass and shattered brick. Annemarie and her soldiers vanish in the grey-white billow and you see the headlights of your parent’s Rolls-Royce Phantom, now a dented wreck, through the haze.

The driver’s door flies open and Chloe is there, gesturing wildly. You feel Pyrrha lift you up onto her back and dash across the shattered remnants of the hallway. You’re unceremoniously tossed on the backseat while Chloe is already pulling car away.

Everything which happens next is a blur as you finally succumb to the drug. There’s the screech of tires, the shouting of the ‘maids’, the constant staccato of gunfire, the whipping of helicopter blades and bright lights slipping across your vision until finally total darkness draws its wings over your eyes.

Jan 20 2021

D-DAY – Destruction of a Family 3 (1)

Prologue

D-DAY, June 6, 1944, a day that was the beginning of the end for Germany and Adolf Hitler’s vision of the perfect Aryan society according to his distorted beliefs. Can you imagine that Nazi officer’s eyes as he spied a thousand Allied ships approaching the Normandy coast from his bunker on the cliff? I hope to have a similar reaction from my wife of twenty-five years coincidentally on that same day years later. My story begins.

Chapter One

My name is Jason Dixon, I’m a mid level manager in a nationwide manufacturing company. I’m 46 years old, 6′ 1″ tall with weight proportionate for my height. My wife Lauren is now a 45 year old beauty. She’s a bottle blonde but with those blue eyes she’s turns heads everywhere she goes. She’s a Pharmacist for one of our local pharmacies. We married just before she started pharmacy school. We scrimped, saved and managed to get her through those four years. Two years into graduate school Lauren became pregnant with Anna who was born in June while Lauren was out of school. Anna was and is the “Apple of My Eye” as they say until Dana came along two years later making me a proud father again. I have two intelligent, beautiful daughters. Anna favors her mother more than Dana who has some of my physical features and temperament.

We are not financially wealthy by any stretch of the imagination but we are comfortable with stable jobs. We raised our girls to be responsible young ladies and to stay true to the values we taught them. Anna is about to turn twenty-one years old in June and just received her Bachelors degree in Nursing. Dana is nineteen.

About a month ago, Anna called me at work.

The conversation went like this.

“Hi, Dad. How are you?”

“Hi, Sweetheart. In the words of the infamous Dave Ramsey, better than I deserve. What can I do for you, Honey?”

“Dad, Jack and I were talking and just so you know, yes we’re getting serious. I love him and he loves me, No, I’m not pregnant if that’s what you’re thinking but just for future reference I was inquiring as to your blood type? Jack and I are going to get typed to make sure we are RH compatible if we were to have children.”

“Anna, I don’t know that I’ve ever been blood typed. Really never had a need, I guess.”

“Ok, Dad. I was just wondering. No big deal.”

Your mom and I are expecting y’all for lunch Sunday. Will you be able to make it?”

“We’ll be there. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Baby. Bye.”

Later that evening, I was already home when Lauren drove in from work. Damn, that woman looks like she’s on her way to a beauty pageant and she just worked a ten hour shift at the pharmacy.

I greeted her at the door with a hug and a kiss which she returned with a kiss and a little squeeze of my soldier through my pants leg.

She said, “Wow, Sailor, I think I have just the medication to help you with that swelling. I’m a Pharmacist, you know.”

I unbuttoned her blouse as she dropped her lab coat to the floor. I lifted her right breast from its cup and sucked her distended pink nipple into my mouth.

“Oh God, Jason, that feels so good. Suck my nipple, Baby.”

She was moaning and unbuckling my pants as I continued to bathe her erect nipple with my tongue. She reached inside my boxers and wrapped her long fingers around my rapidly swelling penis. I let go of her nipple, picked her up and sat her on the kitchen table. I slipped the ballet flats off her feet that she loves to wear at work. I stripped her pantyhose and panties down her legs and off her feet in one smooth motion. I spread her legs and sent my tongue into her now very wet vagina.

“Oh, Jason, No, Baby, I need a shower before…Oh My God, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cum, Baby. Don’t stop! I’m there. Oh GOOOODDD!”

After twenty-five years, I knew my baby’s orgasms were on a hair trigger. She flooded my face with her juices. Her body trembled and she arched her back forcing my tongue deeper into her as she orgasmed. Before she could catch her breath, I stood up at the edge of the table with her bare feet on my shoulders and plunged my penis into her. I began a steady rhythm in and out of her. Her bright red toes were caressing my face. I gave her one more deep thrust into her and and held it against her cervix, sending my semen into her womb.

“Oh Yes, Jason, fill me up, Baby. I feel you squirting in me. Leave me full of you.”

She looked into my eyes and said, “I love you, Jason. I love it when you take me like that. I’ll be turned on the rest of the evening feeling you inside me. Damn, Baby, you curled my toes with that one.”

I gently pulled out of her and kissed her sensually. Her hands were behind my head pulling my lips into hers as we tried to come down from our orgasmic highs.

We both got off the table and kissed again. I looked at this woman that I loved with all my heart. There was a stringer of my sticky cum clinging to her labia. It finally broke free and dripped onto her toes. We both began laughing.

She raised her foot up to me with her pretty toes pointed straight at me and said, “You made this mess in me. Clean my toes, Stud”

I said, “Ewwww, Baby. That’s nasty but I like the thought.”

“You mean you’ll lick my pussy after you’ve cum in it but you won’t lick it off my toes?”

She reached down, swiped the big glob of cum off of her toes with her fingers and put them in her mouth.

“Ummm. If you won’t partake, I will. I love how you taste, Honey.”

I said, “Baby, you are every man’s dream woman.”

She said, “Just yours, Jason. Only yours.”

Later as were preparing dinner, I mentioned to Lauren that Anna had called today.

“Honey, Anna called me inquiring about her blood type. Apparently she and Jack are going to be typed for RH compatibility should they get married and start a family. I thought that was interesting. I don’t know my blood type. You think I should be typed?”

She replied, “I don’t guess it could hurt anything in case you ever

needed to give blood to one of us, you would know. I know I’m type AB.”

“Good to know, Honey.”

Chapter Two

The next day I made an appointment with my Primary Care Physician and told him I wanted a blood type included in my lab work.

A few days after my appointment, my doctors office called me with the report. It turns out that I’m also type AB so Lauren and I would not have a problem with donating blood to each other.

Sunday, Jack and Anna showed up for lunch. Jack, Anna, Dana and I were on the back patio talking about everything going on here and there when Anna said, “Dad, Jack and I had the blood test done and we’re both type O positive. So we are glad to say we are compatible as far as blood line goes.”

Dana said, “I had mine typed for a Biology class last year. I’m type A positive.”

I said, “That’s great girls.” I was typed last week and your mother and I are both type AB.”

Dana looked at me kind of strange and said, ” Dad, that must be a mistake. I learned a lot about blood types in that class. Two type AB’s can’t have a type O offspring. The lab must have blown that one.”

I said, “Yeah, they probably made a mistake. I’ll call tomorrow morning and get a copy of my lab results.”

Lauren called us into eat. The girls were busy chit chatting about girl stuff while Jack and I talked. He’s twenty-four years old and a rookie State Trooper having just graduated from their academy six months ago. He’s head over heels in love with my Anna as she is with him. I watched them together thinking how great young love is. My mind wandered off to Dana’s information regarding our blood types. How could that be? Surely there’s been an error somewhere.

The next morning I called my doctor.

Dr. Jackson said, “Jason, I’m looking at your lab results and there was no mistake. You’re type AB. Is there an issue with that?”

“No, Doctor, I’m just confirming some information. Can a mother and father who are both type AB have a type O child.”

He said, “The short answer is no but stranger things have happened. Genetically, it’s not possible.”

“Ok, thanks, Doctor.”

I sat there musing over the information I had. I was rapidly coming to a devastating possibility. I’m not Anna’s biological father. It can’t be. Lauren would never have cheated on me? Would she?

Later that day, Dana came to my office after class. She sat down in the chair across from me.

She said, “You think Mom cheated on you all those years ago, don’t you?”

“Dana, you’re a very perceptive young lady. I don’t know. I’ve been sitting here thinking about that very question. I can’t let myself believe it.” A tear ran down my face.

Dana got up and hugged me.

“Dad, I’m here for you. Just tell me what you need me to do. I love you, Mom and Anna. If this is true, it could destroy our family.”

“Dana, I’m going to ask you to keep quiet about this before I go making any accusations. Do not let on to your mother, sister or anyone until I have proof one way or the other. Please do that for me. I know the subject was brought up in front of Anna Sunday but let’s try not to say any more about it if we can help it.”

“Sure, Dad. I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Me too Baby. Me too. Dana, there is one thing you can do for me. Get some strands of Anna’s hair. I think a DNA test is in order. Also get a DNA kit for yourself and swab your mouth. I feel certain that you are mine but I want to make sure.”

“Will do, Dad. I’ll have them for you by tomorrow evening.”

She wiped the tears from my face that now began to drip on my shirt.

Two days later, I sent Anna’s hair along with Dana’s and my DNA swabs to the lab. I knew it would take a few weeks to get results. I fought with myself during that waiting period. Do I really want to know? What will happen to my family? Then I thought, Anna will soon be twenty-one. If it’s not me, she deserves to know who her sperm donor is.

Three weeks later, a courier delivered the dreaded envelope to my office. It sat on my desk all day. I watched it like it was a snake about to strike, afraid to open it. Dana called and said she would be right there and asked me not to open it until she was present.

When she arrived, we both were now looking at it like that proverbial snake.

She picked it up and handed it to me. I opened the seal and pulled the paperwork out.

The moment of truth…

These are the DNA test results for Father subject A and daughters B (Anna) and C (Dana).

The results are that Subject C is 99.8% biologically related to subject A.

The results show that Subject A and Subject B are NOT biologically related.

“Dad, I don’t know what to say. I’m furious with Mom. How could she? Who’s Anna’s father? I’m sorry Dad, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. YOU are Anna’s father. You raised her from birth in every way except this one. YOU are OUR father.”

I was in shock. Just staring at the wall. I still don’t believe it and I’m looking at the proof. The blood type, the DNA results are overwhelming evidence that Lauren had an affair and became pregnant by her lover. It’s in black and white.

“Dad. Dad! Are you ok?”

“No, Dana, I may never be ok again.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

I said, “First, I want to know the identity of Anna’s bio-father. Then, I’ll go from there.”

“Dana, it seems I remember back when she was in college, she was very much taken with her tutor in Microbiology. She never stopped talking about how smart and sexy he was. We were young and stupid. I let it go in one ear and out the other thinking we were rock solid. I wonder…what was his name…Todd something…Todd…Todd…Mathews. That’s it, Todd Mathews.”

Dana and I began searching for a Todd Mathews locally and then through the University that would be about Lauren’s age.

“Dad, I found one that might be him.”

I wrote the phone number down that the internet had for him.

I called the number and a man’s voice answered.

“This is Todd.”

“Mr. Mathews, my name is Roger Daltrey and I’m putting a little something together for the University. Are you the Todd Mathews that graduated at the top of your class in 1997.”

“Yes, Sir, that’s me.”

“Great. Could we meet somewhere over a beer and let me get some information from you?”

He said, “I work for a law firm as a paralegal. Never quite got through with the law degree. I think I can I can break free for a bit.”

I said, “No problem. How about The Golden Spur in about an hour. I’ll be wearing a blue suit drinking an IPA at the bar.”

“I’ll see you there. Hey, catchy name. Did you play with…”

I finished his thought, “Nope, no relation to The Who.”

Chapter Three

I was sitting at the bar when a man I would describe as ruggedly handsome walked up to me and said, “Mr. Daltrey?”

I said, “Yes, that’s me, Mr. Mathews?”

We shook hands and sat down.

I said, “You mind if we move to a booth?”

He agreed. I asked him what he was drinking and bought him a beer.

I started by saying, “Todd, if I may call you Todd. I’m doing a piece on love, sex and college in the 90’s compared to today. Some of the people I’ve talked to said you were The Man, if you know what I mean, in that category back in the day. We’re you the one the ladies were lined up to get into bed with?”

We laughed. He said, “I wouldn’t go that far but I did have my pick of the litter, so to speak. I did some tutoring and I made sure it was mostly the ladies that needed my brain and my body, if you know what I mean.”

He smirked letting me know he was pretty much full of himself.

“Anyone special without mentioning any full names?”

“Oh yeah. There were several special ladies but there was this one. Damn! She was hot and married. We carried on an exclusive relationship for about six or seven months. We met at my apartment or any place else where we could make love. We would study for an hour or so and fuck like minks the rest of the time. Many times she went home to her husband full of my sperm. We always used condoms when she was fertile but during her safe time I filled her up but we had an “oops” and I knocked her up. She was in Pharmacy school at the time, if I remember correctly. Her name was Lauren. A lot of them came and went but I’ll never forget her. Being she was married and having sex with me and her old man too, she said she would tell him it was his baby and life would go on. That woman rode me like a stallion. She loved the feel of my cum shooting inside her. It gave her the most intense orgasms. We fucked for another couple of months without protection being she was already pregnant. We fucked until her baby bump was noticeable then she said as much as she loved the sex we had to stop. She never let me have her ass though. She said that was for her husband. But that was the end of us. I haven’t seen her since.”

I said, “Well, I don’t think they’ll let me write all your explicit sex for publication but I get the idea.” I was barely holding it together. My worst case scenario was confirmed.

I was on the verge of breaking down. My heart broke in a million pieces as he droned on about his and Lauren’s sexcapades.

I turned my phone recording off in my pocket and looked at him.

“Are you married, Todd?”

“Yes, sir. Fifteen years and two kids.”

“Three.”

He said, “What?”

I said, “You have three kids including the one you left in Lauren’s belly that night. I’m Jason Dixon, Lauren’s husband of twenty-five years. The one you were cuckolding back then. I just found out that Anna, YOUR twenty-one year old daughter, is not mine.”

“Oh, Shit! What do you want from me?”

I said, “Nothing, Todd. You took the only thing I loved in this world from me twenty plus years ago. As long as you do what I ask you to do, your wife and kids will never know you have another child unless you or Anna tell them. These are the divorce papers you will serve on Lauren at my house at two o’clock on June 6th. That is your daughter’s 21st birthday and we are having a party. She deserves to know who her bio dad is. Whether you have a relationship or not is up to her. At that time, you will show up and serve the divorce papers on Lauren and meet your daughter. Anything you don’t understand about what I said?”

“No, Sir, I understand. Mr. Dixon, but please. That was a long time ago. We both were young and horny. She loved to fuck. I’m sorry. It should have never happened. I beg you, don’t do this.”

I said, “Well, it did happen. By the way, she still loves to fuck. Maybe after the divorce, you two can hook up again. She’s still as hot and beautiful as she was then.”

I handed him the divorce paperwork and walked away.

—————————

June 6th, D-Day arrived. Lauren, Anna, Jack, Dana, and myself were present. The house was decorated nicely with the appropriate decorations for a twenty-one year old birthday party.

Dana said, “You’re going to do something, aren’t you? Oh, Dad. Not now. Please.”

I said, “Baby, the wheels are in motion and will be coming off soon. This train wreck can’t be stopped.”

I walked over to Anna and said, “Anna, Sweetheart, I love you with everything that’s in me. Never forget that. You are about to learn some information that is important to you. I hope you don’t hate me but I felt you needed to know. Our family will never be the same afterwards.”

Lauren said, “Jason, what’s the matter? What are you talking about?”

Precisely at two o’clock, the doorbell rang.

I sadly said, “Lauren, that’s for you.”

She opened the door and there stood Todd Mathews, her lover of twenty plus years ago.

Lauren cried, “Oh My God! Todd? What are you doing here? NO! NO! You can’t be here!”

“Hello, Lauren, I’m here at the request of your husband to serve you divorce papers and to meet my daughter.”

Todd handed her the envelope and said, “Lauren Dixon, you’ve been served.”

I said, “Hi, Mr. Mathews, please come in. I’m so glad you could make it to Anna’s birthday party. I see my wife is so thrilled to see you that she has fainted.”

Lauren fainted and dropped to the floor. Jack caught her before she could hurt herself. Her world had just exploded. Jack picked her up and laid her on the sofa. She awoke quickly and looked around.

She said, “No, this can’t be happening. Jason, please don’t do this.”

Anna said, “Dad, I don’t understand. Why does this man say he’s my father?”

“It’s simple, Anna. Your mother and Mr. Mathews had an ongoing affair while she was in Pharmacy school. Bottom line is you are the result of their affair. He impregnated your mother. Remember when we had the conversation about blood types? Well, it seems that your mother and I are both AB. Dana was correct. AB parents cannot have a type O child. DNA tests confirmed it. Mr. Mathews is your biological father. I don’t know who else your mom was screwing back then but I am Dana’s bio-dad.

Lauren was back with us crying, openly and loudly.

She said, “You were never suppose to know. I fell for Todd’s bullshit hook, line and sinker. I’m so sorry, Jason. I’ve tried to make up for my betrayal all these years. I love you more now than the day we married. When I found out I was pregnant, I was so scared. I knew you weren’t her bio father but you have raised her. She’s yours in every way. You and I made her the person she is today..”

I said, “Lauren, you say you fell for Todd’s line of bullshit. You must have gotten quite a bit on you while he was slinging it because you kept fucking him and bringing his semen home to me for over six months. Even after you knew you were pregnant, you kept fucking him. Really? Make it light on both of us, Lauren. Sign and let me move on. My heart is in a million pieces. Oh, and you are right about one thing. We made her the person she is today.”

Anna looked at Todd, then me and broke down. I walked over to her, kissed her and Dana on the cheek.

“Girls, I love you both with all my heart. I always will. Your mother has some decisions to make. You both are adults but I will always be just a phone call away. Anna, I’m sorry I did it this way but you deserved to know. Take care of your mother. I’ll be in touch. I left a recording of my initial conversation with Mr. Mathews on the kitchen table along with my ring. When you listen to it, you’ll know why I have to go. My attorney’s card is there also. Lauren, he will have all the information you need when you retain your attorney. Good Bye.”

“Good Bye, Mr. Mathews You may go, stay…whatever. Oh, by the way…”

I turned and hit him with everything I had right in the face. I’m sure both his jaw and my hand have a broken bone or two. Then a hard kick to his balls. He folded like an off suit deuce-seven poker hand and went out like a light.

I looked at Jack. “Jack, if you’re gonna arrest me. Let’s get it over with so I can hit the road.”

Jack just stood there with his mouth open, not believing what he just saw.

I picked up my two suitcases and walked to my truck. I just drove in no particular direction. Drove until my eyelids wouldn’t stay open any longer. I was hurt and humiliated. I wanted to reek the same havoc on my cheating wife. Just like the invasion of France in 1944, I left a path of maximum destruction in my wake.

Chapter Four

It was two days before I turned my phone back on. As expected it was full of messages and missed calls from Anna, Dana, and Lauren’s parents.

I listened to the last voicemail from Dana.

She said, “Well, Dad, you went for maximum hurt and destruction and you got it. Mom’s in the hospital under a suicide watch. She’s devastated. She won’t stop crying. She just says, “I’m sorry” over and over. Please come home. I’m mad at you for the way you handled it but I understand. Anna is staying with Jack and is barely holding on as we speak. I’m glad she has him to cling too. She is confused and hurt. She doesn’t know if she needs to be mad at you or Mom. She told Mathews that she never wanted to see or hear of him again. She wanted nothing to do with him. He said he understood and went to the ER for a broken nose and jaw. Again, come home, Dad. I love you.”

I listened to Anna’s voicemail.

It just said, “Dad, please. I need to talk to you. Please.”

Tears rolled down my face. It was killing me knowing it wasn’t my blood in her veins. Then to make it worse, Lauren kept it from me all these years. Am I overreacting? Damn right I am. Lauren needs to feel the pain I’m feeling.

I responded to Dana’s voicemail by text.

Dana, I got your voicemail. I’m sorry that your mother is in the hospital. She should have known what her betrayal even though it was years ago would do to me and us. I can’t come back right now, maybe never. I hope Anna can have some type of relationship with her father since I’m not him. I love you both and no, I can’t just turn off twenty-five years of loving your mother either. That’s why this hurts so bad. I need some time to get my head straight. Please tell your mom I said to just sign the papers and let me move on.

Love, Dad.

I wound up in the ER in some little town where they found I had two fractured bones in my hand. So now I was sporting a nice fiberglass cast too.

I turned my phone back off knowing it would be filled back up again in a few days. I just drove some more winding up somewhere in the mountains of Colorado. I went to a branch of our local bank and withdrew enough money to get me by for a month. I knew Lauren would see it on the bank statement and know where I was. I wasn’t hiding, just moving around. After a few weeks, the loneliness crept in. I missed my girls terribly…all of them. I was still furious at Lauren. She had been my rock for so long, I didn’t know how to live without her.

After a month, I called my attorney who told me that Lauren had signed the paperwork and we were just waiting on a hearing date and property split.

I listened to one of Anna’s latest voicemails. It didn’t sound like Anna.

She said, “Ok, Jason, the harlot, tramp, whore, whatever you want to call her signed the divorce papers. She’s walking around so full of antidepressants that she’s no more than a zombie. You got your revenge. I hope it gives you peace of mind knowing that you destroyed her. Yes, she was and is wrong. She knows it and can’t change it. She cheated on you with another man and got pregnant by him in an ongoing sexual affair. You have every right to be furious and divorce her but If she had been faithful I wouldn’t be here. Maybe some other version of me would be but it wouldn’t be me. I have to live with the fact that I’m a product of infidelity. That means I can’t and don’t want a relationship with the asshole that filled Mom with his sperm and MY Dad, the man I’ve adored for twenty-one years, no longer wants me. I’m sorry…I love you.

Wow, Anna is hurting. I knew she would but I hoped she would deal with it. I guess I’ll be single soon.

I hadn’t checked my email in awhile so I did and saw one from Lauren.

“Jason, my loving husband, I’m sorry I haven’t tried to contact you. I’ve been under a doctor’s care since that day. Jesus, Jason, I’m a Pharmacist, I know what these drugs do. I’m so blitzed most of the time now that I don’t even know what day it is. Right now, they are the only way I’m coping with losing you. The girls made me listen to the recording you made of your conversation with Todd at the bar. I’m so ashamed. Ashamed because his version was pretty much the way it was.”

“I know the news about Anna killed you inside. I want you to know that I couldn’t be more sorry regarding my behavior during that time. There’s no adequate excuse. I was a horny, newly married young woman who was not ready to be a wife. The excitement of a man other than my husband giving me mind blowing orgasms and filling me with his semen a couple of times a day was overwhelming. It’s not that he was better than you sexually. To put it crudely, he was just a different dick for my oversexed mind and body to enjoy. I never even considered I might get pregnant by him til I missed my period.”

“Even after I confirmed I was pregnant, I continued the affair. I guess that shows you how screwed up I was mentally and sexually. It didn’t occur to me what was really happening until I took a good look at my prominent baby bump and my growing breasts.Then, it hit me. You’re going to be a mother. There’s a little life inside you. I was having sex with both of you so it wasn’t necessary to keep it a secret. I had already told you that you were going to be a daddy. You were so thrilled and I just kept on fucking Todd too. I’m a terrible person let alone wife.”

“I signed the paperwork so you can be free to find someone to love you. I tried to make up for my sins of the past by being the best wife I could be but they caught up with me as infidelity eventually does. Just so you know, there were no others. I lost the one man in this world that I love so much that I would gladly die for. I grew up in those years after Anna was born and became the woman and wife you deserved and I still lost you. I pray that you will forgive me someday. Please don’t cut Anna out of your life. She’s a wonderful young woman. We did that, Jason. You and I. Be as proud of her as you are of Dana who, by the way, has 100% of our blood in her veins. I miss you…and love you.

Lauren

Once again, I have tears running down my face as I was truly lost in my emotions. God, how I loved her. There was a knock on my motel room door.

I opened the door and there stood Anna.

She rushed through the door and into my arms.

“Dad, Oh, Dad. You’re crying?”

She threw her arms around me and began hugging me like she would never let me go.

Wiping my eyes, I said, “How…How did you find me?”

“Dad, Really? My fiancée and love of my life is a State Trooper. He’s Superman and the other hero in my life. You being the first. We’ve been looking for you for a few weeks.”

I asked, “Why, Anna? I wasn’t good enough for your mom. Why do you want me in your life. I figured you would hate me for outing your Mom and Mathews. Then dropping that bomb on you.”

“I kind of knew, Dad. When Dana said there must have been a mistake with the blood test. I checked. She was correct. There was no way you could be my biological father. That meant Mom had a lover 20 plus years ago. Jack and I were still trying to process what we knew on my birthday. You already had it all though. The who, the when, and the how I came to be.”

“I’m sorry about that voicemail. I was hurt and mad. I didn’t know who to blame. I took it out on you.”

I said, “You know, Honey. I don’t think you’ve ever called me Jason before.”

Anna said, “Well, here’s the second time. Jason, I need my father, my Dad, the man who made me what I am today, to walk me down the aisle in November when I become Jack’s Badge Bunny for life. I need you, Dad.”

I said, “Ok, Anna. Give me a sec and I’ll give Todd a call. He’ll be thrilled.”

Anna slugged me on the arm and said, “Ok, Asshole, very funny. I just included Asshole in the list of your new titles. By the way Dad, you’re 800 miles from home. Just so there’s no misunderstanding, I had to spend last night in a hotel…with Jack. I took advantage of Jack. He might be pregnant. It was our first time to be intimate and he’s not on the pill.”

I laughingly responded, “Jesus, Anna, that’s too much information. Dads don’t want to know that stuff.”

I looked through the door at Jack sitting in the car with that deer in the headlights look. I’m sure he was recalling the vision of Todd laid out in the floor bleeding.

“Anna? Please don’t tell you’re mother I’m coming home. I don’t want her to get her hopes up that anything is changing. I still have a lot of soul searching to do and my heart hurts. I’ll be home in a few days.”

“Ok, Dad. Please don’t beat her up anymore then she’s already beat herself up. She’s has nothing left. That light in her eyes that used to be there when she saw you walk in the door is gone. She does nothing but go to work, come home and cry. It’s hard to see her like that, Dad. She wears your T-shirts to bed every night. She refuses to take her rings off. She won’t until she receives that court document saying that you’re free. She still clings to that little bit of hope that you will forgive her.”

“We’re headed back. We might have to spend the night out again,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.

I frowned at Jack. He just smiled and gave me a little half hearted wave through the windshield.

Chapter Five

After Jack and Anna left, I sat their thinking about Lauren’s email and what Anna had just told me. I knew my hurt and humiliation was still taking it’s toll on me. I couldn’t see stopping the divorce. Yes, her affair is old news to Lauren but it’s like it was yesterday to me. I knew if I wanted to have a relationship with the girls I would have to learn to tolerate Lauren if only as my ex wife.

I began packing to return home. The vacation time I had taken from work was about up and I needed to get back.

When I returned, I located a small apartment that would suit my needs until the divorce was settled.

I called Lauren, “Jason, it’s so good to hear from you. I’ve missed you so much. Are you going to stay here at the house?”

“No, Lauren, I’ve found an apartment. I just need to get some clothes and things things from the house for work if that’s ok. I can’t stay there with the feelings I have right now. I hope you understand that you’ve had over twenty years to come to terms with your lies and betrayal but it’s like yesterday to me. I’ve only known about your betrayal for a month. It’s too fresh and raw.”

There was silence and I knew I probably just dashed any hope she had for us.

“Oh…ok, Jason. I understand. I want you to know that I love you. Do what you have to do.”

The weeks and months went by. The day we had our final court hearing, it was like I was another person. The hole in my heart Lauren left was bigger than ever. During the waiting period, she had texted and phoned me trying to put a foot back into my life. Some I answered, some I didn’t.

We stood in front of the judge, who hesitated a moment and looked at each of us.

The judge said, “Mr. and Mrs. Dixon, unfortunately, this is likely to be the last time I call you by those titles. There is obviously unfinished business between you two. I can see the heartbreak in both of you. Before I end this marriage, I want to say that I think you’re making a mistake. I know the circumstances that led us here today and I’m not unsympathetic to Mr. Dixon. The heartbreak of finding out that you’re not the biological father of the daughter you raised from infancy and the lies associated with it, are obviously devastating.”

“Mrs. Dixon, as you know, I’ve talked to both of you privately, I know that you still love this man and somewhere in the broken pieces of his heart, he still loves you but he’s adamant that he can’t stay married to you. Sometimes love by itself can’t overcome the feelings of disrespect and betrayal that he feels. I’m granting this divorce against my better judgement.”

“God be with you both. Courts adjourned.”

I looked over at Lauren, she was sobbing. Anna and Dana were with her, holding her.

Lauren looked at me through her tears and said, “I’m so, so sorry.”

I just said, “I know.”

Dana and Anna left their mother’s side and walked over to me. They hugged me with tears in their eyes.

I said, “Take good care of your mom, Girls. She needs you.”

Dana said, “And who’s going to take care of you?”

“I don’t know, Baby. No idea. But tonight, I feel it’s going to be Jack Daniels or Jose Cuervo and in the morning I’m pretty sure the rest of me will be as dead as my heart.”

I kissed both of them on the forehead, gave Lauren a last, sad look and walked out.

I woke up the next morning with what sounded like somebody beating on my apartment door with a frying pan, but it was just my alarm going off. The empty Jack Daniels bottle on the floor told the sad tale. I stumbled around and found some aspirin and a bottle of water. I’m pretty sure someone took a shit in my mouth.

I thought, “Jesus, what’s that smell. Damn, it’s me. Ok, Jason, you have got to get your shit together and move on. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? That cheating whore of a wife is history. You’ve divorced her. You punched out her lover and baby daddy of twenty years ago. You happy now? No, you’re not. Your once happy family looks like the beaches of Normandy on June 6th, 1944. Nothing but bodies everywhere. Difference is, the Allies still overcame and won. There were no winners here.”

I turned the water on and just leaned against the wall in the shower. My head was pounding. I finally cleaned up and brushed my teeth three times. Never again, never again.

The months went by…two then four, then eight months since the divorce was final. I speak to the girls often and have even texted with Lauren several times about different things, mostly about the girls. First thing I knew a year had gone by since my world imploded.

I was in a local bar with some coworkers having a beer after work when she walked in…Lauren, and she wasn’t alone. She was on the arm of an average looking man in an expensive suit. She appeared to be in her work clothes minus the white coat. What was this feeling? Anger, Jealousy, what? She’s moved on and I obviously haven’t. I excused myself and started to leave when she saw me. Her hand went to her mouth and she untangled her arm from her man. I just smiled at her and walked out. Her eyes never left me. She started to rise from her seat when her date grabbed her hand. I just nodded. He was unaware of our nonverbal communication.

I got in my truck and drove away, ignoring the tears rolling down my cheek. I had wondered what it would be like if I saw her out with another man. It was heart wrenching. I was almost to my apartment when my phone rang.

It was Dana. She said, “Hi, Dad, how are you?”

I said, “Hi, Kiddo, I’ve been better but I can’t remember that far back.”

“Dad? Mom’s seeing someone.”

“Oh, really? I guess she’s moved on. She’s still a beautiful woman. I’m not surprised some guy latched on to her.”

I didn’t mention that I had seen her and her new man.

“Dad, she’s been seeing a therapist for several months who has convinced her to move on with her life. She’s dating.”

I said, “Ok, Dana, why are you telling me this? I divorced her. She’s free to do whatever she wants. I’m no longer a part of her life other than you and Anna.”

“Damn it, Dad, You are so blind. She may be dating but there’s only one man she wants and that’s you. Annas’s wedding is in a few months. Isn’t it going to be awkward if she shows up with a date?”

“Dana, I can’t control what your mom does or doesn’t do. We talk occasionally but she doesn’t speak of her love life. I will ask her next time we talk if she plans on bringing a date.”

“Ok, Dad. Just wanted you to know that it looks like she’s moving on. I miss you. I know you still love her. Damn, you two are stubborn as mules.”

Another month went by. I had a couple of calls from Lauren but I didn’t answer them. No point, she’s moved on.

I had not dated anyone since the divorce. My heart wasn’t in it and it just wouldn’t have been fair to drag my baggage with me on what’s supposed to be a fun outing but things change.

I was working on a bid for our products when an absolutely gorgeous woman bolted into my office.

She came through the door and said, Hi, I’m Melanie Ford and you’re Jason Dixon, I believe. I hear you need a date for tonight and I just happen to be available so here I am. We have reservations at that new restaurant everyone’s raving about, Angelicas.”

She wrote her phone number and address on my desk calendar and said, “I’ll be ready at 6:30 with rings on my fingers and bells on my toes…IF you are into that sort of thing.”

She winked and was back out the door as quick as she blew in.

I thought, “What just happened?” Then, I smiled. I see Anna and Dana’s fingerprints all over this date. I have to say if they are gonna fix me up with a blind date, this one is a knockout.

I went home and was getting ready when it hit me that’s it’s been over twenty-six years since I’ve been on a real date. Do I even know how to act? All those years with Lauren, I just stared at her anytime we were out, taking in her beauty and knowing she was mine.

When I arrived at Melanie’s house, I went to the door and rang the bell. She opened the door and I thought, “Who is this woman? She’s even more beautiful than when she was in my office.”

She said, “Well, Jason, do I pass inspection?”

I said, “Jesus, Miss Ford. You take my breath away. You sure I’m the guy you want taking you out? You are smoking hot.”

Melanie’s long black hair hung just over her shoulders, her eyes were the bluest I’ve ever seen. Her lipstick was red and her make up was perfect. She was wearing a royal blue dress that stopped just above her knees. I could see the points of her nipples telling me there was no bra under that dress. She had on sun tan hosiery that ended with her gorgeous blue polished toes protruding out of the sexiest stiletto peep toe heels I’ve ever seen.

I escorted her to our Uber she told me she had ordered. We got in and she immediately put her arm in mine. It felt good. The attention she was giving me was going straight to my cock. I was doing my best to hide the chubby that was definitely there.

We walked in and the host seated us. Melanie was a delightful date. We talked and discussed most everything. She is divorced also. No drama with hers. Just a amicable breakup. She listened to as much of my story as I wanted to tell at this point in our relationship but I got the feeling she already knew much of my story. She caught me gazing at her eyes.

“See something you like, Jason?”

Honestly Melanie, I think I’m dreaming. I’m just an average guy. Nothing special and you’re beautiful. I’m so far beneath you that I don’t really know why I’m here. It’s not everyday that a Goddess busts into my office telling me we’re going out tonight. Suddenly, I felt nylon covered toes on my bare leg, snaking their way up my pants leg. I nearly lost the mouthful of tea that I’d just sipped.

Melanie laughed and continued her seduction up my leg as far as my pants leg would allow.

Then, as fate would have it. I’m watching my ex wife walking toward our section on the arm of the same man I had seen her with before. They were seated and she had not noticed me yet. They were holding hands and she was smiling at him, obviously smitten.

Melanie said, “Jason, I think you are the nicest, sexiest man I’ve had the pleasure of being with in years. Thank you for allowing me this evening. I realize my introduction was a little out of the ordinary but sometimes circumstances require bold action and I’m in need.”

“Oh?” I asked. Then I felt them.

“Do my toes that I just placed against that bulge in your pants that’s been there since we got out of the car give you any idea as to my needs?”

Just about that time, Lauren looked around and saw me. I saw her deflate when she saw Melanie. She glanced down and couldn’t miss Melanie’s foot in my lap. Those sad eyes that I had seen and knew so well for over twenty-five years were watering as she tried to hold back the tears. Her man was still holding her hand.

She arose and walked over to our table just as Melanie pressed her toes against my swelling dick. I gasped out loud. Melanie grinned.

“Hi, Jason, how are you?”

“I..I…I’m fine,Lau..Lauren. How are you? Looks like you’ve bounced back pretty well. Is he your new beau? Oh, I’m sorry. Melanie, this is Lauren, my ex wife. Lauren, Melanie.”

Melanie pressed her toes harder against my cock under the table as we talked, knowing exactly what she was doing to me. I reached under the table and caressed her toes and foot.

Melanie said, “Well, Lauren, it was nice meeting you. Have a nice dinner. We’ll be leaving soon. I have some dishonorable plans for Jason later.”

I said, “Good night, Lauren.”

Lauren, hurriedly walked back to her table where they soon left without eating.

We ate a wonderful dinner with her toes never breaking contact with my cock through the whole meal. I didn’t mind caressing them under the table either.

I paid and we got into our Uber. Soon as I closed the door, Melanie was all over me. She told our female driver, “Drive. I don’t care where, just drive and turn that mirror in another direction unless you want an education. I’ll tell you when to go home.”

She smiled in the mirror and said, “Yes, Ma’am. Enjoy the ride.”

Melanie unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants and freed my swollen , aching penis from its confines. She took the head I her mouth and bathed it with her tongue swallowing the copious precum that was now flowing freely from the tip.

“God, Jason, you have a gorgeous cock as she stroked and licked it.”

I could stand no more. I pulled her off my dick and kissed her. She responded by melting into my arms. I unzipped her dress. She lifted her breast to my lips and I sucked a beautiful pink nipple into my mouth.

She moaned as I made love to her. She kicked her heels off and wrapped her legs around me. I removed her dress and my pants. I moved her thong aside and speared her labia with my tongue. Her clit getting all the attention I could give it.

She moaned aloud, “Oh, Shit! Jason, I’m gonna cum. You’re making me cum. YES! YES! I’m there.”

Her back arched and her toes curled next to my face. She just kept cumming as I continued my assault on her clit.

“Jason, Baby, STOP! Oh Please! I can’t take anymore.” Her pussy convulsed again oozing some fluids from inside her.

All of a sudden, we heard our lady driver yell, ” WOOHOO! Go for it Girl! Don’t worry about the seat, I’ll clean it later. Mister, I think she needs that big dick inside her.”

To my unbelievable surprise, Melanie said, “Park this thing, strip and join us. What’s your name?”

She said, “Angel. My name’s Angel.”

I couldn’t believe what was happening. This just doesn’t happen to average Jason Dixon. I suspected Angel to be in her mid to late thirties. She found a secluded spot, stripped and joined us in the huge back seat. We were all naked except for Melanie’s stockings and garter belt. I plunged my cock into Melanie’s pussy and began pumping in and out of her.

I said, “Melanie, I’ll need to pull out. I don’t have a condom.”

She said, “Don’t you dare. I’m clean and on the pill. Fill me up, Cowboy.”

Angel said. ” Me too. Save some in that tank for me.”

I was in heaven. How did I get so lucky this night. Two fine looking women who love to fuck. Damn!

I was getting close to cumming in Melanie. Angel had Melanie’s stocking clad toes in her mouth trying to suck the polish off of them.

Melanie said, “Oh God, I’m cumming again.”

Once more she showed all the signs of having an intense orgasm. Without cumming myself, I pulled out of her and sunk my cock into Angel’s blonde pussy. Melanie was sucking on Angel’s nipples with Angel’s fingers in Melanie’s pussy. I pulled out of Angel and went down on her. Her clit was long and distended. I sucked it into my mouth.

Angel moaned, “Oh Jesus, YES! I’m cumming. DON’T STOP! YES! That feels so good..

Angel squirted all over my face and into my mouth.

She said, “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. I’m a squirter.”

I put Melanie on her back and buried my cock all the way into her. I bumped her cervix.

She winced. “Ow, Cowboy. Easy on the cervix.”

I pulled back a bit and began nice easy strokes in and out of her.

“Yes, Jason, just like that Baby. Give it to me. Cum inside me. Deep.”

Angel reached behind me and began massaging my balls.

She said, “That’s it. Fill her up. I feel his balls contracting. He’s gonna cum in you.”

Melanie said, “I know. I can feel him squirting against my cervix. It’s so warm. Fill me up Baby. Make me leak for a week.”

I finished in her and we all three collapsed on each other. We rested and told each other how much we enjoyed this. Then, I felt four sets of toes caressing my sticky cock. Ten blue ones and ten red ones. It was still covered in my own cum and both ladies fluids. It was only a few minutes before my forty-seven year old cock was standing proud again.

Angel straddled me and lowered her wet pussy down on my shaft. I knew I’d last a lot longer this time. She took all of me inside her to where her long clit was rubbing against the base of my penis. She basically fucked herself until she came again. I felt her fluids running down my shaft and onto my balls.

Then she said, “I’m going to fuck you til you cum. I want what you have left in the tank in my womb. Cum in me. DO IT! Shoot your hot sperm in my cunt.”

It was too much. I groaned and began pumping my second load in Angel’s hot little pussy.

She said, “Damn! That feels good inside me.”

Exhausted, we got partially dressed and headed to Melanie’s place. We thanked Angel for going above snd beyond the call of duty. She was a Trooper. She said the pleasure was all hers. She got a $500 tip and left.

As we walked to her door, Melanie said, “Jason, I can feel you inside me. You’re also dripping down my leg. I thoroughly enjoyed tonight. You think maybe you could join me in my bed tonight? I would love to cook breakfast for you in the morning after we make love again.”

I laughed, “Dang, Melanie. I don’t know. You know I really need to get home and wash some clothes, wash dirty dishes, watch some paint dry, watch the news…”

She slapped me on the arm and said, “Get your ass in my shower. You need to wash Angel’s juice off of your dick. My pussy cream is the only cream that needs to be on it now.”

We showered and she sucked my cock until I was ready to cum again.

She said, “Don’t cum yet. Save that load for my pussy..

We got naked and comfortable in her bed and I finally said, “OK, which one do you know?”

She said, “What? What are you talking about?”

I repeated, “Which one do you know, Anna or Dana. One of them set this up. Got their fingerprints all over it.”

Her face blushed. She said, “How did you know?”

I said, “From the moment you burst into my office and informed me we were going to dinner.”

She said, “Anna. I’ve know your daughter for a couple of years. I tutored her some in nursing school. I’m a nurse. She told me your story and said you were in dire need of a loving touch. She secretly pointed you out to me one day as we saw you getting lunch. I agreed to help you out. But…as wonderful as tonight was, I had no intention of letting it go as far as it did. It was just supposed to be dinner and conversation. I know I overstepped my bounds. She even knew your ex would be at the restaurant. She wanted to make her jealous hoping to put your family back together. The jealous part worked especially when she saw my toes on Mr. Happy under the table.

“Melanie, you’re the most beautiful nurse I’ve ever laid eyes on. I have never been more thoroughly satisfied as I’ve been tonight. I don’t know if Lauren and I will get back together. She shoved a lot of heartache in my direction. Yes, I know it was twenty plus years ago for her but it’s new to me.

She said, “Now, if you don’t mind, Sir, I need that gorgeous cock back inside me.”

“Melanie, this time, I’m in charge. I’m going to make love too you.”

I started at her bare toes, kissing the tip of each one,

“God, Jason, I love that.”

Then up her legs to her knees where I kissed behind her knees to the soft pale skin of her inner thigh next to her puffy well used labia. I sucked on her thigh leaving a huge hickey.

“You Fucker, you just marked me, didn’t you?”

Then straight to her clit. I didn’t stop licking it until she was in the middle of a screaming orgasm.

I plunged my penis into her cum soaked pussy adding another load to the one already in her.

“Jason, I love the feel of you cumming inside me. That’s such a turn on for me.”

“Glad to oblige, Ma’am,” I said.

“By the way, Jason. Angel was in it all the way too. She’s a friend of Anna’s from work. She was hot, wasn’t she?”

I said, “Boy, I was set up all the way, wasn’t I?”

“Fraid so, Cowboy only Anna doesn’t need to know about our “after party” so to speak. I think our mission was a complete success. Jason, to be truthful, I needed last night as much as you did. So much so, if you don’t get back with your wife, call me. Now what do you want for breakfast.”

I said, “YOU” as I went back to work on her cum filled pussy with my tongue.

“Oh, Baby, are you sure you want to…as my tongue invaded her entrance once more. Oh God. I’m full of you. Make me. cum again, Jason.”

After breakfast, we said our good byes and I went home. I checked my phone. It was full of missed calls and texts from Anna, Dana and even a couple of voicemails from Lauren.

I listened to Lauren’s voicemail first. I decided to call her

She answered the phone with, “Hello, Jason. I have to say, you out did yourself with that woman the other night. Who was that beautiful woman that was seducing you in front of God and everybody under the table? Her foot was in your crotch the whole time. She made no secret that she was going to rock your world. I could never have competed with her.”

I said, “Lauren, you’re obviously dating. I divorced you. I have no say in who you date or fuck. That’s the second time I’ve seen you with that guy. I guess you must like him. On the same token, you have no say who I date. Just so you know, that’s the first date I’ve been on since we split up. My brain wanted to but my heart wouldn’t let me. You don’t seem to have that same burden. I wish you and him all the best. Good bye, Lauren.”

“Jason, he’s…” was all she could say before I hung up. Her voice was always music to my ears. I knew my voice was going to break if I didn’t hang up.

Chapter Six

Anna’s wedding day was rapidly approaching. I had to have contact with Anna and Lauren as to my role in the wedding which was basically pay for it and show up. The night of the rehearsal dinner, Lauren was there with her new beau on her arm.

I saw Anna and Dana approach her and they weren’t happy. Their conversation was pretty animated with Anna doing most of the talking from what I could see. I turned and walked out the door. I heard footsteps running behind me.

Anna said, “Dad! Dad! Where are you going?”

I said, “Baby, I’m not needed here. Looks like your mom has things well under control. She even brings her boyfriend to your rehearsal dinner. That’s shoving it in my face, don’t you think?”

“Dad, we were going to wait to tell you. Craig has asked her to marry him. She said yes. He’s her fiancée.”

“I see. So I guess you and Dana have met your new step dad-to-be? Wow, she didn’t waste much time finding my replacement did she? Well, I’m glad she’s happy.”

“Shit, you still love her, don’t you? What a mess. Dad, please stay for the dinner.”

“I’m sorry, Honey. I can’t. It would be too awkward for me. I’m gonna go have a beer someplace. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Even though Lauren knows all my beer drinking haunts, it was a surprise to see her stroll in and take a stool beside me at the bar.

“Wow, Lauren. You found me. Is the dinner over?”

“Of course, after twenty-five years of knowing and loving everything about you, knowing where you drink was easy. Yes, the dinner was over pretty quick with you not there.”

She touched my arm and said, “Jason, can we find a booth and talk?”

“Why, Lauren? Wow! That’s a nice ring on your finger. I understand congratulations are in order. Have you set a date?”

“Jason, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought Craig to the dinner. That was thoughtless of me. Anna and Dana both read me the riot act about how disrespectful that was to you.”

“Lauren, it’s obvious that you’ve moved on in a big way. Right out of divorce into another relationship and marriage to boot. All within eighteen months. Not bad. Kudos to Craig for getting into your panties so quick.”

For the first time in our life together, Lauren slapped me.

I said, “What the fuck, Lauren?”

“Just to set you straight. Yes, I agreed to marry Craig when he asked and NO, no one but you has been in my panties since the day you took me on on the kitchen table before my wonderful life with you imploded. I told Craig that we would not be having sex until after the wedding so I haven’t had sex with anybody but you and the biggest mistake of my life. Yes, we’ve kissed and he’s felt up my boobs. I’ve jerked him off a few times but he hasn’t been inside me or even touched my pussy. I just couldn’t do it as much as he wanted too.”

I said, “Well, Good for you. That makes me feel so much better. Tell me, Lauren. Do you love him? The last time you told me that you loved me wasn’t that long ago. You must have an enormous capacity to love so do you love him?”

“I don’t know, Jason. He says he loves me. I’m so confused. I like him and he treats me well. We have a lot in common. He’s a physician.”

“I see. You’re trading up. Can’t blame you for that. I know where I was in the pecking order and it wasn’t on top. Don’t ruin his life and make yours worse by marrying him because he’s a nice guy and you need a man in your life. Just giving you my two cents worth.”

“Jason, the night we saw you with that gorgeous woman seducing you at that restaurant, I lost it. I cried all the way home. I wanted to scratch her eyes out. I couldn’t eat or sleep for a week. That should have been my foot in your lap you were caressing under the table. Ok, I’ll say it. I was green with jealousy with a capital G. Craig broke up with me over it. I’m pretty sure he knows he doesn’t have my heart. He’s still hoping he can win it but I know only one man has it and that won’t change in this lifetime.”

“You know, Lauren, just curious. How does Anna feel about having her third dad in her short twenty-one years? Does Craig know why we divorced?”

“No, he doesn’t know the story. No reason to tell him. YOU are Anna’s dad. Always will be.”

I said, “So, you’re starting off this marriage with a lie…a lie of omission albeit but a lie just the same.”

“Jason, this whole thing is a lie. I love you. I LOVE YOU! There…I said it. As long as I love you, there’s no room for anyone else. I made a mistake…no, another mistake by agreeing to marry Craig. Is that what you want to hear, Jason? I couldn’t marry Craig even if I wanted too because I will never stop loving you. I was your Queen and you, my King. Nothing but the horrible thing I did to us could change that. As bad as I would love too, I can’t change it, Baby. I can’t. If I could change it by cutting off a leg a or an arm, I’d do it but I can’t. I hope you can forgive me some day.

She got up and walked out, leaving me with those words playing over and over in my head.

The next day we all showed up at the church. My Anna was a beautiful bride. Lauren and Dana were both stunning in their new dresses, shoes and make up. Lauren was barely holding it together, constantly drying her eyes. Craig was nowhere to be found.

As the Wedding March began, Anna’s bridesmaids were escorted followed by Lauren and a Groomsman. She was seated on the front row in front of her parents.

Then it was my turn. My Anna kissed me on the cheek and took my arm.

She said, “Don’t pass out on me now, Dad.”

We started down the aisle. Our friends and family turned toward us a we proceeded slowly to the steps in front of the pastor.

The pastor asked, “Who gives this woman in marriage.”

I said, “Her Mother and I.”

I kissed her on the cheek and placed her hand in Jack’s.

I turned and took my place…I thought , my place. Yes, this is my place, beside Lauren. I took her hand and squeezed it. Tears wear rolling down her cheeks.

She whispered, ” Thank you, Jason, for making this a special day for Anna in spite of her parents.”

I said, “No matter, who provided the sperm, she’s mine.”

Jack was in his Class A uniform as were his Groomsmen. As the ceremony proceeded, I watched Lauren, the proud mother of the bride. She was more beautiful than the day I met her. As the pastor introduced Mr. and Mrs. Jack McCall to the room, his fellow Troopers marched out and made the traditional arc and salute as the newlyweds left the church. Lauren was escorted out with me following. Once outside, Anna threw the bouquet in the direction of her mom who had no problem catching it.

I walked over to Lauren. I said, “Looks like you have another wedding to attend someday.”

She looked at me with those sad eyes and said, “No, Jason, the man I want, I lost. He has to want me with all my sins and mistakes.”

Then I saw, Craig coming our way. I said, “Lauren, looks like that man, your fiancée made it after all and is headed this way. I’m going to say bye to the girls and make sure no one has stolen my stool at the bar. I’ll see you around.”

I said my good byes. Jack and Anna would be on their way to Hawaii in a few hours. I hugged both of them and left.

Chapter Seven

There I was, perched on my favorite stool, still in my tux watching some meaningless football game on the tube over the bar when deja vu struck.

“Jason, do you think we could stop meeting like this and meet somewhere where alcohol isn’t the basis for the location’s existence?”

“Ah, but Lauren, my sweet Lauren, when your life is in the shitter, your kids are gone and your wife of 25 years belongs to another, Mr. Jack Daniels is a good friend. He never lets you down. You know exactly where you are and where you’re going. Where’s your beloved?” I asked.

She said, “The only beloved I’ve ever had is sitting here with me now. We talked after you left. I told him there was no way I could marry him. I thought maybe I could learn to love him. Maybe it would work but logically I knew we didn’t have a prayer with you in my thoughts every minute of every day that I breathe. I gave him the ring back and told him to find someone that could love him the way he should be loved. It wasn’t me.”

“And after I left, I received an interesting phone call…STUD.

I said, “Oh, Yeah?”

“Yeah. Melanie. You do remember Melanie, don’t you…Cowwwwboyyyy?”

“Oh, Shit!”

“Yep, I’m pretty sure she was three sheets in the wind when she called but your one night stand informed me I had one week to bring you home and back in my bed or you would be in hers where she would make you forget my name…again, as she put it. She said I was a fool for letting you go. She also mentioned someone named Angel. Do you know anyone named Angel…Cowwwwboy?”

I was trying to find something for my eyes to focus on other than Lauren.

“Lauren, I vaguely remember an Angel. Can’t remember exactly where.”

“Oh, Melanie was quite specific. Something about the back seat of an Uber ride and a double team? Something about you being the best she ever had? Ring any bells?”

I sat there thinking about how to whitewash this without throwing Anna under the bus?

I blurted out, “It was your daughter. Anna set it up. She was pissed that you were dating. She thought I should do the same.”

“Jason, now that’s just low. You’re throwing your sweet daughter into the grease to cover your night of debauchery and unbridled sex. Shame on you. I heard you left both Melanie and Angel exhausted and leaking. Like I said, she sounded pretty drunk and she had no problem telling all.”

“Ok, Lauren, Yes, I fucked their brains out. Both of them until they were begging me to stop. I left them babbling incoherently from the multiple orgasms with their pussies full of cum . You happy now. I had a year of pent up semen begging to be spewed into a warm, wet receptacle. I’m sorry if you’re mad but that’s the way it was. We aren’t married. I’m free to fuck whoever I want. Melanie threw herself at me and she was insatiable.”

Lauren looked at me. This was a look I had not seen in a long time. She wasn’t mad about getting a play by play of my night with Melanie and Angel. The look was lust…pure lust in those gorgeous eyes.

Lauren leaned over in the booth we’d taken. She took my hand and slid it up her thigh under her dress. I felt the top of her lacy stockings and the straps of the suspender belt. Then as she kept moving my hand northward, I felt her smooth hairless mons and then her wet labia.

“Put your fingers in me, Cowboy. Make me cum right here in this booth. I dare you. Do it, Jason. You’re not chicken are you? A big stud like you taking on two at a time shouldn’t have a problem with fucking his ex wife in a bar booth. When you get me there, I might yell out, I’m gonna cum, right here in the bar.”

She gasped as I slid two fingers into her vagina and began massaging her G spot. She raised her leg and put it in my lap giving me better access to the pussy I knew so well.

She slipped her other heel off and slid her nylon covered toes under my pants leg just as Melanie did that night.

She whispered in my ear, “I’m gonna cum, Jason, I’m so close. Kiss me so I won’t yell out when I do. I’m there, Honey. Don’t stop. Yes. Yes.”

Suddenly she tensed up, her tongue went in my mouth, her pussy clamped down on my fingers and I felt her warm juice flood my hand and fingers not to mention the booth.

“Jason, take me home and fuck me or I’m going to suck you off in this booth. I need you inside me.”

For the next two hours, I fucked my ex wife in every way possible. She received two loads of cum in her womb. She cleaned me up and now she’s trying to get me hard again by licking the head of my cock until I’m hard as a rock. I think I going to have to check into getting some Cialis if this keeps up.

She said, “I understand you have at least three loads in those big balls. You’ve been holding out on me. I aim to find out. I guess I should thank Melanie for this.”

I said, “Melanie who? Lauren Dixon, have I told you how much I love you.”

“Yes, you have but I’d like to hear it again, Cowwwwboy.”

Melanie’s drunk phone call created a monster. I just thought Lauren was hot before. She’s literally on fire now. Remind me to send Melanie a Thank You note.

Epilogue

Are Lauren and I back together? Yes and no. We are a work in progress. Our love never died, but my trust in her took a direct hit. Just because her indiscretion was 20 plus years ago didn’t make it any less painful knowing that the daughter I raised was not mine. With some counseling and a lot of love from our daughters, we are both learning to put that part of our lives along with the anger and guilt that go with it in a place where it can no longer hurt us. We may or may not remarry but our family is together. Only time will tell. Right now, the Cowwwwboyyyy is in the saddle. There are unintelligible noises coming from Lauren’s lips as I cream her insides one more time. The Dixon’s are back.

Thanks for reading. Some of you will like my story. Some won’t. Yes, it’s a reconciliation love story. The 1* cuck idiots can go ahead and place your 1 * where the sun don’t shine. I appreciate those of you who understand that life and relationships take broadside and direct hits and can still survive. This story was not a hiccup in their marriage it was a full blown disaster but not every disaster in a marriage has to be a life destroyer.

Jan 20 2021

Fly Away 1 (1)

[Fly, fly away]

[Fly away in the morning]

[Fly, fly away]

[Just don’t give me any warning]

Remembering:

I stood by the window in the hospital room. If I had a good pair of binoculars or a small telescope, I’d be able to see the house where our little family had been so happy for so many years. I gazed out the window regretting that it had all gone so wrong.

My thoughts were centered on my one and only husband, Tim Sherman. He and I had chosen that house together. We loved it at first sight. The view of the valley from the deck was spectacular. It was a made-to-order house for us.

I remember Tim looking into my eyes and saying, “Holly, this is where we’ll raise our family.” I agreed wholeheartedly.

Tim was the man of my dreams. He was a good-looking, hard-working man with real moral fiber. He was trustworthy, honest, and loyal. He had a beautiful soul.

He worked for the railroad. I was a high school teacher. In addition to his work for the railroad, he also was a lay-preacher in our church.

Did he have some faults? I didn’t notice any for a long, long time. He happily shared parental and household duties with me as we raised our three children. We have two daughters, Dolly and Anna, and a son, Jeremy.

Of course, eventually, the kids grew up and left us with the proverbial empty nest.

First to leave was Dolly when she married a great young man named Christo.

Next came Anna when she married Zeth. He was not a particularly religious young man. While I liked him a lot, I was afraid that Tim wouldn’t approve of him. But Tim didn’t judge Zeth in any way. When Zeth did the old-fashioned thing and asked for Anna’s hand in marriage, Tim was quick to give his approval and his blessing. In fact, Tim ended up performing the marriage ceremony that joined Zeth and Anna together as one in the sight of God.

Finally, we lost Jeremy to a wonderful girl named Elouise. When Jeremy vacated his room, we became empty-nesters. Coinciding with that, I began to change. As the days passed, I began to wish that my life was more exciting.

Tim was a good husband, a good provider, and a great father; but he was kind of a stick-in-the-mud, so to speak. He never did anything to rock my world.

I know that my complaint would be considered frivolous by most people. I’m sure many women would die for the life that I’ve lived.

When we were raising the children, it wasn’t of concern to me that we never went to exotic or exclusive places or did any super-exciting things. Our life together was sort of mundane, but we had plenty of good times. Nevertheless, deep inside, I now wanted exotic. I wanted exclusive. I wanted exciting.

We never did any super-erotic acts in bed either. Our sex life was good but very predictable. Now, I wanted some new adventures, positions, and routines. I wanted some super-erotic sex.

Maybe it was a mid-life crisis. Maybe it was because of our empty nest. I knew my life was getting ever closer to the end. I began to realize that this wasn’t the dress rehearsal; it was the real deal. Maybe it’s the only deal! What if this is all we get? I don’t want to reach the end without doing some spectacular things.

I wanted more variety in my life. I wanted more action. I wanted better sex and more of it. What I had was a boring life and a husband that had developed erectile dysfunction.

Please understand, I wasn’t being mistreated or abused. In fact, I didn’t doubt Tim’s love in any way. He was a wonderful man and was as faithful as an old dog. I just wanted a frisky new puppy. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it was.

The biggest complaint that I had was that Tim was the man of the family in a “Christian” way. Our church, and I believe most churches, taught that the man was the head of the family in every way. He was the one responsible for the family.

As such, he had the final say in everything. He made the important decisions. To his credit, Tim discussed most things with me, but we were not equal partners in our marriage. I felt that he was the master of everything, including me.

I couldn’t tell him about my desire for new sexual experiences because he would just remind me about the teachings of the church. God had ordained only one way for marriage partners to have sex and only one position to accomplish it. Oddly enough, it was referred to as the “missionary” position.

Also, he would remind me that God made only one cavity in a woman to be used for sex. That cavity served for conceiving a baby and then for delivering it nine months later. He would say that Oral sex is an abomination in the sight of God. Anal sex is the equivalent of boarding a train headed straight to the gates of hell. Both of those were an ungodly misuse of an orifice designed for a different purpose.

Don’t get me wrong, our sex was enjoyable and full of love for many years. Predictable, but satisfying. When the ED came along, it wasn’t so satisfying anymore. Due to his reluctance to discuss “private and unmentionable” things like that with another person, even a physician, he didn’t seek any medical help for his ED problem.

All of this amounted to a perfect storm that soon led to some thunder and lightning.

Beginning:

My kids were gone and so was my tortuous monthly menstrual cycle. Maybe it was coincidental, but I began to act on my desire to get more out of life. It became a reality when I decided that I needed a motorcycle.

“You want what?” exclaimed Tim. “Do you know how dangerous those machines are, honey? In a contest with a car, the motorcycle always loses. You’re a mother. If you won’t give that idea up for your own safety, think of your kids.”

“Come on, Tim. Our kids are grown and on their own. It’s not like they need me now like they used to. I want to do something for myself, for a change. I want to live ‘on the edge’ for once in my life. I need to try performing without a net.”

“Where are you going to keep a motorcycle? There sure isn’t any room in the garage for it.”

“I’ve got that covered, Tim. The Browns have agreed to let me keep it in their barn. That’s just a hop, skip, and jump from our house.”

“So, you’re going to take money out of our joint account to buy yourself a motorcycle? Don’t I have some say about where our money goes, honey?”

“I’m glad you mentioned that Tim. I’ve opened a bank account of my own and I think you should do the same.

“I’m putting half of my earnings in my personal account and half in our joint account from now on. You should do it too. Then we each can have some money that we can spend on ourselves without the other’s approval.”

“Sounds like you are slowly but surely moving out of our marriage, Holly. Is that what this is all about?”

“It depends on whether you’re going to let me do some things on my own or not. For instance, I’m not giving up my Harley.”

“You’ve already bought it? Is that what I’m hearing, Holly?”

“You’re hearing right, Tim. I have a Hog of my own. Would you like to see it?”

“I’ll skip that, Holly. I think we should make an appointment with Elder Simpson to discuss our marriage problems. We’ve been together too long to just throw everything away. That’s where we’re headed with your attitude, Holly.”

“Tim, I’m not going to talk with Elder Simpson. I don’t need to hear him quote scripture to me about how the man’s the boss. Maybe that was true when that mythical book was written, but nowadays marriage should be a cooperative effort. Both partners should have an equal say in everything.”

“What’s happened to you, Holly? How can you refer to the Bible as a ‘mythical book?’ You, of all people, should know that there’s no such thing as equality in everything. That’s just not the way things function. Someone has to be the final authority. Everyone should have their input, but ultimately, someone has to be responsible for making a decision in cases where the parties can’t agree.”

“Why does that person always have to be the man, Tim?”

“You know what the Bible says, Holly. You know the words, but let me refresh your memory:

[ Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.]

“That’s from Ephesians 5:22-33, Holly.”

“Yes, Tim, I’m familiar with those words. I don’t think they apply to the modern world.

After that conversation, Tim moved all his clothes to the spare bedroom. Anything that was left of our marriage was in grave danger.

Leaving:

I joined a motorcycle club and began to attend meetings and take some training classes. I took riding classes, safety classes, and even some motorcycle repair classes.

That’s where I met Steffen Barber. He was at least a decade younger than me. I was attracted to him and I could tell that he was interested in me too.

I don’t mean to brag, but I look much younger than I am. When I go places with my daughters, we’re often thought to be sisters. I don’t look old enough to be their mom.

Steffen was really surprised when I told him my age, but it didn’t stop him from giving me the full-court press.

We rode together on many motorcycle events and outings. On “buddy-rides,” we were always “buddies.”

At that point, we were only associating at motorcycle events. We were both married. My children were grown, but Steffen had three pre-teen kids. He had two daughters and a son. We were attracted to each other, for sure, and we had fun together, but that’s as far as it went.

Steffen was a car salesman. I’d decided to trade in my old minivan for something more exciting. I talked to Steffen about it. He said that he had just the car for me. I dropped by the dealership and he showed me a bright-red Mustang. I had to have that car!

We worked out a trade. Steffen gave me a really good deal. After the sale was completed, Steffen suggested that we go to lunch together to celebrate. That was the beginning of a relationship that included more than just motorcycle-connected activities.

Over a period of a few months, lunches turned into dinners. Soon, dinner became what could only be called “dating.” We had to be very careful. We had to sneak around. It was difficult, but the relationship grew, slowly but surely.

We learned that we both considered ourselves to be in “failing” marriages. I was especially worried about being responsible for breaking up his family. I didn’t want to be responsible for hurting his young children.

He assured me that his marriage was already over. No matter what happened between the two of us, he’d be getting a divorce.

Meanwhile, my marriage was getting more and more fractured. When I brought the Mustang home, the proverbial “shit hit the fan.”

“What in the world are you trying to do, Holly? Can’t you act your age? First a Harley and now a Mustang! Do you think those things make you a young chick again? Who are you anyway? For God’s sake; grow up and act your age.”

At that point, Tim told me that we were going to see Elder Simpson next week. It wasn’t a choice; it was a command.

[Remember: “Wives should submit to their husbands in everything.”]

“Look, Tim, I don’t buy that crap anymore. You can talk to the Exalted Elder all you want, but I won’t. Our children have all left. They were the only glue holding us together for the last year or so. If you try to force me to talk to Elder Simpson, I’ll end it right now. I mean it, Tim. Our marriage is in your hands.”

The following day when I got home from work, Elder Simpson was sitting in our living room with Tim. I just turned on my heel and walked out the door. I drove to my sister’s house and crashed on her couch for the night.

The next day, I decided to fly away. After Tim had left for work, my sister and I drove her pickup truck to our house. It took several trips, but I was soon a semi-permanent occupant of her guest bedroom, and lots of my things were in storage. Most reminders of me had been removed from the house that I’d loved so much through so many years. Without any warning, I had taken the first step out of my marriage.

I soon followed that with additional steps. I contacted a law firm that specialized in marriage problems and divorce law. They assigned an attorney to my case. His name is Alvin Lane. He has a degree in Psychology in addition to his law credentials. I explained my situation to him and told him that I wanted to file for a divorce. He probed my heart and mind for any way to save my marriage, but finally gave up and had his legal team prepare the necessary papers.

Tim called me nearly every day. We talked, but neither of us would budge from our position.

After we had the divorce papers in hand, we agreed to meet at a nearby restaurant.

He was still looking for ways to save our marriage. I told him that I couldn’t see any future for us. Since he didn’t see our marriage as a partnership, there was no way for us to continue.

He held his head in his hands as he said, “You’ve charged me with Extreme Mental Cruelty. Really? I would’ve thought that would mean telling you that you were a horrible wife or that you were not a good mother. Something like saying that you were a bad person and that I was sorry that I’d married you. Or maybe throwing cuss words at you. Have I ever done any of those things? Can you please give me an example of my being mentally cruel to you?”

I answered, “How about saying ‘wives should submit to their husbands in everything.’ Isn’t that a mentally cruel statement, Tim?”

“Those aren’t my words, Holly. If you believe the Bible at all anymore, then you know that they’re God’s words. Are you divorcing me, or God?

“While we’re at it, Holly, I’m also charged with being an ‘Excessively Controlling Spouse.’ Please, tell me what I’ve done that led you to accuse me of that.”

“Well, for one thing, you never let me drive when we went somewhere on a family trip.”

“I never let you drive? Well, usually when we went on those trips, you’d already packed a lunch, some snacks, and even some suitcases. You’d already done the things that made the trip possible. Are you saying that I should have made you drive too?

“Holly, I guess I always thought that you’d already done your part. I thought it was my duty to do the driving. I never suspected that you wanted to drive or that you resented me for not letting you drive. Did you ever ask me to let you drive? I’m sure I would’ve let you drive if I’d had any idea you wanted, or maybe even needed, to do it. I honestly don’t remember you ever asking to drive.

“Can you give me some more examples of where I went wrong? Please, I need to know, Holly.”

“Oh, Tim, those charges are just lawyer legalese. It’s providing some reason for our parting. It’s like adultery or abandonment or irreconcilable differences. It’s just a reason that the lawyers use.”

“I get that, Holly, but the reasons you’ve given aren’t true and they’re very unfair and hurtful to me. If you want to be rid of me that much, then I don’t want to deny you your freedom.”

Saying that, he picked up his pen and signed the divorce petition. Then he handed the papers to me and left the restaurant.

The next time I saw him was the day we went to court. The judge granted me alimony and half of all our assets, which included our house. Even I thought that it was extreme, but I knew that Steffen and I would need the money.

Steffen’s divorce resulted in him paying child support and alimony in addition to giving the house to his wife, at least until the children were eighteen years old. Steffen had to pay half of the house payment but wasn’t allowed to live there. Go, figure!

If his wife re-married, much of that would go away. For that reason, I can guarantee that she’ll never remarry. She may be a wife to someone in every way possible, but she’ll never make it legal. She’s smarter than that. So am I.

As I walked out of the building, Elder Simpson intercepted me. I’d seen him in the courtroom, but I sure didn’t want to talk to him. He just put his hand on my shoulder and said, “When you wrong one of God’s servants, it never goes unpunished. You may avoid the punishment for a long time, but it will come. It will come.”

Crazy old fool! If he’s trying to scare me, he failed. I felt bad for Tim, but not because of what Elder Simpson had to say.

Message:

Steffen and I didn’t live together after our divorces. I bought a small house with the money that Tim gave me when he bought out my share of our home. It was like Steffen and I were still dating. We were more than friends with benefits, but less than husband and wife. Getting married would be stupid for us since it would end my alimony. Much of our “exciting” life was being financed by my alimony from Tim. How incredulous is that?

Steffen and I did lots of exciting things. We attended many major league sporting events together, including a World Series Game, a Super Bowl, and a basketball final-four game. There’s no doubt about it, we were moving in exclusive circles and living the very definition of an exciting life.

We went on fabulous vacations. We even went to England and France. We have pictures of us visiting Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower. We went to the best National Parks too, sometimes on our motorcycles.

The excitement was there both in and out of bed. Much of what we did in bed would be considered sinful by Tim. Steffen took me to heights where the air was so rare that I often came close to passing out. He introduced me to many things; the most mind-blowing of which had to be my introduction to multiple orgasms. Tim always considered the job done when he had made his deposit. Quite often, that meant no orgasm for me. Neither of us ever had more than one! That was then, this is now.

Unlike Tim, Steffen recognized no sexual limits. He was not above using any or all of my orifices for anything he desired. It didn’t matter whether or not that was their originally intended purpose. While Tim was always gentle, Steffen was aggressive. His performance bordered on roughness. He dominated me and I loved it! In a way, I was fulfilling my biblical role more with Steffen than I had with Tim. I was submitting to my man completely, just as the good-book ordered! Having said that, I’m sure Elder Simpson wouldn’t see it that way. He would have abandoned me to the devil and sent me streaking straight to hell.

At first, all my children turned on me. That was the one real price that I paid for what I did. As time went by, my two daughters accepted the reality of my new life. Only Anna forgave me. Dolly didn’t forgive me, but she accepted me and allowed me back into her life. My son may never accept what I did, let alone forgive me. He sides entirely with his father and refuses to even talk to me unless it’s absolutely necessary.

The first dark cloud in my new life appeared when a hail storm came through town. It damaged the roof of almost every house in town. Mine was no exception. I needed a new roof, but I had insurance, so it was no big deal.

When the crew came to do the roofing job, they discovered that part of the roof supporting structure was rotten. Upon further investigation, they found that one whole wall was rotten and covered with toxic mold.

The cost of repairing the house would be $20,000. I bought the house for $80,000. If I were to repair it, I’d have $100,000 tied up in an $80,000 house.

I consulted a lawyer about suing the former owners for non-disclosure of the rot and mold. He said that we would have to prove that they knew about it before the sale. That might prove to be difficult.

Upon further investigation, he discovered that the sellers had gone through an expensive divorce and there was probably no way to get that kind of money from them.

He said that even if we could get a judgment against them, which was far from certain, getting the money was an entirely different thing. It’s a “blood from turnip” situation, he observed. So, no matter how I look at it, I’m screwed.

A few days after I got the bad news about my house, as I was surfing the web with my iPhone, a pop-up window appeared. It said: [A former believer has rejected God. The punishment will be three curses. The first curse is underway. Two more curses will follow unless there is immediate repentance.]

Really? A Curse?

I concluded that the curse declaration had to have been sent by one of three people. It could’ve been sent by Tim, Jeremy, or Elder Simpson. No matter who was responsible, it was a dastardly thing to do. It certainly was not a “Christian” act. How did they get it to appear in a pop-up window on my iPhone screen? That’s a mystery in itself.

It was two days later when I began to believe in curses. Somehow, the city got word about the condition of my house. An inspector came out and my house ended up being condemned. That meant that I had to vacate the house immediately. Then, I had thirty days to start getting it repaired or have it torn down and removed from the lot. The only other option was to sell it to someone else with full disclosure of the rot and mold. What are the chances of that resulting in a sale?

I also found out that insurance companies are happy to collect their premiums but unhappy to make payments. They would have covered replacing the roof, but rot and mold were not covered by my policy. My loss would be huge!

I knew that paying $20,000 to repair the house was not an option. Having it torn down and hauled away was priced to me at $8,000. Figuring that I might get $12,000 for the lot, my loss would still be $76,000.

I talked it over with Steffen and he, rather reluctantly, invited me to move in with him. It presented some complications when it was his turn to have the kids at his place. Also, it allowed me to see some sides of him that I’d never seen before.

We’d been lovers, and as such, we were together a lot. But we both had our own little domains to retreat to, which meant that we each had our privacy too. We had the best of both worlds.

When I moved in with him, we were always together except when one or both of us was at work. There’s a hell of a difference. Things that didn’t bother me when I witnessed them occasionally, bothered me much more when I saw them repeatedly.

It was a bunch of little things. His facial expression when I said something that he disagreed with. How quickly he got mad when something went wrong. How opinionated he was about people, especially my friends. Of course, there was the universal problem of leaving the toilet seat up.

There was nothing big, just a lot of small but annoying actions and views. I was especially disappointed in the way he treated his children. He wasn’t very tolerant and was very quick to punish. It wasn’t my place to interfere, so I didn’t say anything. His parenting skills weren’t even close to what I’d seen from Tim.

After a month had passed, I was on my way to work one day when I saw Tim’s truck parked at the hole-in-the-wall café where he liked to get breakfast. I decided that it was about time to confront him about the curse-message fiasco.

When I entered the cafe, he was sitting at the counter. I sat down next to him and said, “Let’s get a booth.”

He looked at me with a strange expression on his face. He signaled the waitress, picked up his coffee, and walked to an open booth.

I sat across from him and ordered coffee and a Danish. When the waitress left, I looked him in the eye and said, “OK, Tim. What’s all this curse-message shit about?”

His look convinced me that he had no idea what I was talking about. I’d lived with him for enough years to know how to read him. “What are you talking about, Holly? This is strange even for you. What do you mean by curse-message shit? Guess you need to enlighten me.”

I said, “Before we get to that, look at this,” as I showed him the condemnation report from the city. He looked startled. “I heard from the kids that you had a problem with your house, but I never heard about it being condemned. Can’t you get your money back from the seller?” he asked.

“I tried that. I consulted a lawyer. He said I might get a judgment against them, but it was a long-shot since we would have to prove that they knew about the problem when they sold. Even if we got a judgment, there’s very little chance of getting any money. They divorced, are broke, and have left the area. The lawyer said things went pretty bad for them financially after the divorce.”

“I can relate to that. Been there, done that,” stated Tim.

I ignored his comment and showed him the curse message saying, “If you’re not behind this message, then I think it has to be Jeremy or Elder Simpson.”

“Holly, how do you think it would help me to do anything to hurt you? I need things to go well with you and your lover-boy so he’ll marry you and I can start keeping some of my salary. I swear to you, I know nothing about that message. As for Elder Simpson, he died two months ago. How did you not see that in the paper? His car was hit by a train. It was all over the news.”

“I guess that might have been when Steffen and I were overseas. I didn’t keep up with the hometown news.”

“The kids told me about your trip. That must be nice. Wish I could afford a trip.”

I ignored that comment. “Guess I need to talk to Jeremy. It must be him doing this,” I muttered.

“Holly, he doesn’t like what you did to me and our family, but he’d never do anything like that. The boy still loves you. He just can’t handle the fallout that you caused.”

“So, where did this message come from, Tim? Do you expect me to believe an angel sent it?”

“No. I think you should be looking at your lover boy’s wife and extended family. They’re the ones that got hurt the most by your actions. I got knocked down, but they got knocked out!”

“His wife seemed to take it pretty well, Tim. She doesn’t seem like a vengeful type of person,” I replied.

“If she took losing her husband and family with no thought of vengeance, then she’s a saint,” answered Tim.

“Look, Holly, I know the fire chief pretty well. We play cards together once a week. I think I might be able to work a deal for you with him. You could offer your house to them for a practice operation. They’d burn it and clean up the lot at no cost to you. Then you could put the lot up for sale. I’m not saying you’d get your money back, but you could minimize your losses. You’d get a tax break too since it would be handled like a donation to charity. If you want, I’ll ask him to give you a call.”

I did some quick figuring in my head. A loss of $68,000 would be better than losing $76,000. Also, with the tax break, I might end up losing less than $68,000. I thanked Tim and told him to set it up with the fire department. I left the restaurant thinking about Tim. He had every reason to hate me, but I’m convinced that he had nothing to do with the curse message and I think his idea about donating the house to the fire department might be my best option. I doubt that anyone would buy a condemned house. I could get caught having to pay to have it torn down and hauled away. Donating it to the fire department would avoid that.

Two days later, I received a call from the fire chief. He wanted to examine my house to see if it would be a good candidate for a burning exercise. He asked about the mold, and I told him the whole story.

I met him at the house and he examined the affected area and then said that he wanted to have a structural engineer examine the damaged area to see if it would be safe for his men to do the burning exercise.

The engineer arrived about an hour later and completed his examination. He told me that he would give his report to the fire chief.

The next day, I got a call from Tim. He told me that he had some good news for me. “The structural engineer’s report found that the mold in the house was not toxic. He had it checked by two different labs and both confirmed that the mold was not toxic. The original report was in error. The dry rot could be repaired and the non-toxic mold could be easily removed. A local company could make the house safe and inhabitable for around $5,000. They can have the project completed in a week.”

Needless to say, I was overjoyed. Boy, am I glad that I decided to stop and talk to Tim that day! And I’m so thankful that he took an interest in my problem. Steffen hadn’t been any help at all! It was thanks to Tim that we discovered there was no toxic mold and that the rotten wood could be replaced at a small cost. Who was behind all of that false information that resulted in my house being condemned? Could I sue someone?

Rethinking:

Two weeks later, I was back in my own little house. I was very happy to be in charge of my life again. The truth of the matter is that I didn’t enjoy living with Steffen all that much. I believe he felt the same way. I’m quite sure that he was relieved to see me leave. That also marked a considerable decrease in the amount of time that I spent with Steffen. Our dating slowed down to a crawl.

When I threatened to sue the company that had made the false report about the mold, they settled by paying for the repairs. The whole thing would end up costing me nothing and I would have a new roof and a sound house. It was at that point that I stepped back and did some soul searching.

It was not lost on me that when disaster struck, Steffen did hardly anything to help me. It was Tim that came to my rescue. After everything that I’d done to him, he was there for me. He could have rejoiced in my karma and left me hanging, but he’s not that kind of man.

When our trouble all started, if he had indulged some of my craziness and let me wander around a bit; maybe get his-and-her motorcycles, I might have been content. I think “content” is a keyword for us in many respects.

I had been content with my life right up until the day that I wasn’t. I was content with my husband, my family, my house, and even my church. My sex life wasn’t anything like what I have with Steffen, but I was content with it. In fact, the contentment I felt during the cuddling-afterglow with Tim was as powerful in its way as the excitement that I felt with Steffen. Having said that, I know that I wouldn’t be sexually content with Tim anymore. Not after experiencing Steffen in bed.

There’s one thing about escalation; it’s difficult to go back. Escalation feeds on itself. Once I’d experienced the new positions for sex and the almost painfully erotic sensations that Steffen provided, I was looking forward, not backward. How long would it be before I would need DP and threesomes for satisfaction? Escalation calls for more escalation, not less. I began to wonder if I could change that. Could I go against the grain and start downshifting?

Number Two:

My reverie ended when I received another pop-up message. This one simply said: [ The second curse is coming. Be ready.]

Nothing bad happened until the following Thursday when I got a frantic call from Anna saying that Maxell, my grandson, had been involved in an accident on his four-wheeler. He was in the hospital. He’d suffered severe head and back injuries. The doctors warned that there was a chance he would be paralyzed.

Steffen was out of town attending a car show. Without a thought, I picked up my phone and called Tim. He’d been informed too and was leaving work to pack a bag and head to Anna’s house.

“Tim, do you want to ride down with me?” I asked. “I can come by the house and pick you up. I’ve already packed. I can be at the house in a few minutes. Just look for my Mustang.”

“Holly, let’s take my SUV. That Mustang holds some bad memories for me. Besides, there’s lots more storage for luggage and all in the SUV.”

“Ok, Tim, I get that. You know where I am. I’ll be ready when you get here.”

I called Steffen and left a message telling him what had happened. I informed him that I was heading to Anna’s to be with her family and help out. I didn’t, however, tell him that I was riding down with Tim.

When Tim arrived, I put my stuff in his SUV. While doing that, I told him that I’d received a second curse message which was probably why this “accident” had happened to Maxell.

“Holly, are you saying you got another of those messages and it predicted what happened to Maxell?” he cried. “Let me see it, Holly. What does it say?”

I brought up the message and handed him my phone. He took my phone and handed me the keys to his SUV.

“You want me to drive?”, I questioned.

“You drive while I read,” he exclaimed.

It was not lost on me that he’d asked me to drive his precious SUV.

After he read the message, he said, “It’s not very specific. This could just be a strange coincidence.”

“It could be,” I answered; “but won’t you admit that it would be one hell of a coincidence?”

“Yeah, I see that; but I can’t bring myself to believe that they’re messages from God either. This is strange stuff, Holly. Very strange stuff.”

When we arrived, we went straight to the hospital. The news was not good. Maxell couldn’t move his legs. He was paralyzed below the waist. If the paralysis persisted, they could try an operation. They called in a specialist from another city for a consultation.

When the specialist arrived and examined Maxell, he said that there was a 50/50 chance that Maxell would recover in the next week or two. If the paralysis persisted, the chances of the operation working were a little less than 50/50. He’d have to wait for the swelling to subside and treat the severe inflammation before he could operate. He advised us to schedule the operation now so we would be on the list if it was needed. We could always cancel if the paralysis subsided.

The family was in complete agreement that we needed to give Maxell every chance possible to get well, so we scheduled the operation. We all agreed to chip in on any non-covered expenses.

On the day that Tim and I left for home, things were still not improving. It looked like Maxell would be needing the operation.

Tim and I didn’t have many chances to talk until we were in the SUV heading home. We decided that we’d go halfway and stop for lunch. He told me to pick which half I wanted to drive. I said that I wanted to drive first in case he changed his mind. He assured me that he was not going to change his mind. He handed me the keys once again.

“Tim, I feel like I’m to blame for what happened to Maxell. As much as I hate to consider that there might be some ‘twilight-zone’ stuff going on with those curse-messages, I can’t get over thinking that they’re meant to punish me.”

“Holly, think about it. If this was done to punish you, why am I being punished too? I’m hurting about Maxell as much as you are. So, if it is punishment, it’s directed at both of us.”

“I was the one that nearly lost a house because of that first curse, Tim. You’re just collateral damage in this second curse.

“Tim, I spent many years by your side and I’ve never heard a fire-and-brimstone sermon from you. But I’ve heard plenty of them from other preachers. I remember these words being quoted by Elder Simpson himself: [Vengeance is Mine, and retribution, in due time their foot will slip; For the day of their calamity is near, And the impending things are hastening upon them.]

“Tim, I think the impending things are hastening upon me.”

“Holly, that quote is from the old testament. I think God treated us differently in the old testament than Jesus did in the new testament. It’s kind of like parenting. When your child is young and just learning, there are things they can’t understand no matter how hard you try to explain them. Sometimes you must teach them through corporal punishment. When they’re older, you can reason with them. Corporal punishment is no longer required.

“Jesus taught us and reasoned with us through love. He moved away from corporal punishment. Do you remember the prostitute that was brought to him and he asked the person that was without sin to cast the first stone? He also forgave her.”

“I do remember that story, Tim. Do you know what I think about every time I hear it? I always wonder why Jesus failed to ask them where the man was. It takes two to tango, Tim. As usual, only the woman was dragged out to be killed.”

“You have a point there, Holly. I hadn’t thought about that. In your case, I don’t think for a moment that the so-called curse-messages are from God or that you’re responsible for what happened to Maxell. What you did mainly hurt me. I’ve forgiven you. If I forgive you, how can God not forgive you too? You have to stop blaming yourself. I hope that you can forgive me too.”

I can’t believe this man. I’ve hurt him as much as one person can hurt another, and he talks about forgiving me. What kind of man is this? Why did I turn away from him?

When Tim dropped me off at my house, I kissed him lightly on the cheek and thanked him for everything.

Reconsidering:

My son still doesn’t talk to me. My daughters tolerate me. They were nice to me when Tim and I were there to see Maxell. They were nice to me, but they were loving toward Tim. There’s a big difference and I could feel it. Everyone could see it.

Tim did his best to include me in everything. I believe that Tim really did forgive me. His actions proved it.

Ever since Tim said that it was probably Steffen’s ex sending those messages, I’ve wondered about Celia. Was she behind it? Did she have the computer skills to do something like that? Or was it Steffen himself? Were they both involved?

I just don’t know. My mind is numb. All I know for sure is that I’ve made a horrible mistake. I wanted an exciting life, and I’d gotten it on steroids. I devastated a good man that had proven himself for many years for the excitement of a younger man that had provided all of the things that I thought I was looking for.

Steffen was very good in bed. Sex with him was never boring. And yes, we went on exciting trips together and attended exclusive events. Never mind that we financed most of that with my alimony from my mundane ex-husband. Never mind that Steffen never proposed to me or bought me a ring. He was not about to kill the goose whose “golden eggs” made everything possible.

Even so, things were cooling off between us. I began to suspect that he’d found someone else. What did I expect? He cheated on his wife with me. I’m not even married to him. What would keep him from going outside of our relationship? What would keep him from cheating on me? I knew the answer to that question; absolutely nothing.

Fantasy

Weeks went by. I hardly ever saw Steffen. I hadn’t seen Tim since we got back from visiting Maxell. Talk about a mundane life!

I’ll admit to being horny. I had a collection of dildoes, but they weren’t giving me much satisfaction. That’s why I was pleasantly surprised to see Steffen coming up my sidewalk right after I got home from work. I offered to fix us a meal. He said, “Don’t worry about supper. You’ll have plenty to eat. I’ve got a nice surprise for you. He picked me up and headed for the bedroom. I won’t lie, I was ready for whatever he had in mind.

We were on my bed. He was heating me up with his fingers and tongue. He made no move to do anything more than foreplay. I was like a firecracker! My fuse was burning, but he wouldn’t let me go off. This was not like Steffen. He’d never moved this slowly before. I was way past ready. I was about to get one of my dildoes when the doorbell rang.

Steffen jumped up and ran to the door naked. I heard him talking to someone in the living room. Why did he let someone in the house?

That question was answered when the bedroom door opened and he walked in with two other naked men. I looked up and said, “What the hell, Steffen?”

“Well, Holly, my slut. I remembered your fantasy about being double penetrated and enjoying a threesome. This is your fantasy becoming a reality. Between the three of us, you’ll be getting about thirty inches at a time. By midnight, all of your holes will be full. You’ll be able to get your supper by just swallowing.”

What I experienced that night was mind-numbing. Steffen was his normal aggressive self. The guy they called Bill was even more aggressive than Steffen. The one called Luke was different. He was somewhat aggressive at the start. In fact, a couple of times he spanked my naked ass quite hard with his hand. He seemed to be mad at me. He even growled at me a couple of times. I didn’t know what to think about him. As time went by, his attitude must have changed. He began treating me better. He started entering me very slowly while kissing my lips or my breast, depending on whether or not my mouth was available. He would ease in and then pull out. He was driving me insane, but it was a fantastic insanity. Yes, he continued to use me but unlike the other two, he didn’t abuse me. With him, there was no roughness or domination. It reminded me of when Tim was in his prime. It was not lost on me that while doing the most sinful thing I had ever done, I thought of Tim.

It had been going on for hours and I was losing it. I began to drift away at times. I was pretty well unresponsive to anything. I guess it stopped being satisfying for the guys too when I turned into a wet noodle.

Steffen and Bill got dressed and left just before midnight. Luke was still in the process of locating his clothes and getting dressed. I was spent and sore. I had cum running down my legs like a river. Steffen was right, I had swallowed my liquid dinner and I wasn’t hungry. All of my orifices felt full. I wondered for a dizzy moment if Elder Simpson was watching me from above.

I saw Luke walk into the bathroom. He was still in his underwear! I heard water running. In my fuzzy dreariness and lingering pain, I wondered what was happening in there. Why was he still in his underwear? “My God, I hope he doesn’t want more sex!” That was the thought running through my mind.

I was in a woozy stupor when I felt myself being lifted from the bed. I looked up and saw Luke’s face. His strong arms were holding me softly as he carried me to the bathroom and gently placed me in a glorious bath of heavenly warm water. It felt like paradise to my overused body.

As I enjoyed the comfy, healing water; my thoughts ran wild. How many times did Steffen call me his slut that evening? Bill must have thought my name was “whore.” That’s all he ever called me. Only Luke called me Holly and sometimes a word of endearment like “honey” or “sweetheart.”

As I continued to ponder, I wished that my fantasy had remained just that. When I experienced it, at first, I was in heaven. By the time it ended, I was in hell. It was apparent that Steffen didn’t hold me in any regard whatsoever. I was nothing but his whore and he was happy to share me with his friends.

Through the heavy fog in my head, I watched as Luke gently cleansed my body of foreign fluids and ineffective lubricants. With every stroke of the washcloth, I could feel my sin washing away. I was barely awake when he placed my limp body in my bed. I whispered, “thanks, Tim.” If Luke corrected me, I didn’t hear him.

I did notice him crawling into bed with me and warming my shaking body with his warm skin. Soon there was nothing but darkness. It lasted until I awoke to the smell of fresh coffee brewing.

I slithered out of bed and groped for my robe. Somehow, I wrapped it around my naked body and stumbled my way toward the delightful smell of bacon frying.

When I made it to the kitchen door, Luke ran to me and helped me get to my chair. He placed a plate filled with bacon, eggs, and hash browns in front of me along with a steaming cup of divine coffee. I was as hungry as I’d ever been in my life, but I also felt queasy. Luke kissed my cheek and that helped my hunger overtake my nausea. I ate like a starving beast.

Luke called in sick and helped me do the same. We spent the day talking, hugging, and recovering. Luke apologized profusely and often. I told him about Tim and my marriage woes, the ensuing divorce, and my house problems. I told him about the mysterious messages. I emptied my soul to this man that I didn’t even know; to this man that participated in my ravaging just a few hours ago. Somehow, it seemed alright.

He told me about his wife, Jamie. She died six months ago in a boating accident. When it happened, he thought she was spending the weekend at her mother’s house. He was devastated when he learned the truth. The boat she was in belonged to a guy named Jake Sommers. She was enjoying herself with another man. It all came out. Jake had been Jamie’s lover for nearly a year. Luke had been clueless.

When it all hit him, when he realized the extent of the betrayal, he became bitter. He turned on all women. He wanted to hurt them to compensate for the way a woman had demolished him. That’s why he had readily agreed to take part in the threesome with me at Steffen’s invitation.

As the sexual acts progressed, he saw me wither. He saw my eagerness turn into helplessness. It didn’t make him feel better, it made him feel worse. He felt dirty, filthy, and tarnished. For some reason, his hate of what Jamie did to him turned to compassion for this woman that was shifting from eagerness and lust to hopelessness and regret. He envisioned me as Jamie before the life-ending affair. He wanted to do for me what he couldn’t do for her. He was a godsend to this devil-possessed woman that I had become.

We shared our lives through an endless conversation that day. It continued through the simple but delicious lunch that he prepared for us and the dinner at a nice restaurant that evening. When he drove me home, I felt like I was with an old friend. He told me he felt the same way.

When we pulled into my driveway, he ran over and opened my door. He left his car running as he walked me to my door. I was confused. I asked him to pull his car into the garage and stay the night with me. He said that he was unable to shift gears that quickly. He said, “I participated in your savaging last night, and now I’m going to be your lover tonight? I want to be your lover, but I want it to be when you’ve had time to digest everything that happened. You need to know what you feel for Steffen and Tim before you consider forgiving me, let alone loving me.

I watched him drive away and it was like seeing my best friend leave. For all intents and purposes, he had rescued me. Yes, he participated in that orgy, but so did I. Maybe I became a victim as things progressed, but I was a willing participant at the beginning. One thing about it, I lived out my fantasy and there’s nothing of it left in my heart or brain. No more fantasies for me! I want reality, whatever that turns out to be.

Reality:

Then came another life-changing day. It was the day that Anna called to tell me that Maxell was improving. He moved his ankles and toes that night. He also could feel touches on his legs. The doctors gave him a very good chance for a full recovery. A full recovery! It doesn’t get any better than that.

I was as happy as I’d been in months. Maxell’s doing great and I’m in my little house again. “God is in his heaven, and all’s right with the world.”

Only one thing was bothering me. Anna told me that she’d tried calling her dad several times to tell him the good news, but both his landline and cell went straight to voice mail. She left messages but hadn’t heard anything from him. That was odd.

I decided to drive past the old house on my way to work. His truck wasn’t in the driveway. But what left me aghast was the for-sale sign in the yard.

I called Dolly. She hadn’t been able to contact her dad either, but she was as surprised as me about the for-sale sign. She speculated that some kids had put the sign there as a lark, or a real estate office had placed it there by mistake. I saved the phone number for the real estate office in my phone contacts. While I was doing that, I received another pop-up message. It read: [Today marks the third and final curse.] Now my day wasn’t so happy.

When I arrived at work, I called the real estate office. They confirmed that Tim Sherman had authorized his son, Jeremy, to list the house. The listing was completed two days ago. Upon getting that information, I decided the only thing I could do was bite the bullet and call Jeremy. He might tell me to go to hell, but I had to make the effort.

I called his cell and he surprised me by answering.

“What do you want?” he growled.

“Jeremy, I know you hate me and you have good reason to, but for God’s sake, Son, please tell me why your father is selling the house and why he doesn’t answer his phone?”

“Why do you care, Mom? Why in the hell do you think that it concerns you? You left him for some slime ball. Have you forgotten that?”

“Ok, Jeremy. If the mistake I made can’t ever be forgiven; if you can’t understand that I never stopped loving you or your father, then I guess it comes down to what your dad always used to say, ‘If I needed to know, they’d tell me.’ You remember him saying that, don’t you Son?”

“OK, Mom, since I think you’re responsible for what’s happened, I guess you need to know what you’ve done. That man that you left after so many years together. That man that you still claim to love. That man is dying, Mom. He’s dying!

“He’s in the Houston Cancer Hospital. I’m the only family member here at his side. When you thought he had ED and left him for someone more virile; when you took a lover to replace your dysfunctional husband; did it ever occur to you that it might be more than simple erectile dysfunction? Did the word, “cancer,” ever enter your mind?

“In your conspicuous absence, I brought him here to Houston to have his prostate removed. When they did the preliminary staging tests, they discovered that his cancer had spread. He was in stage four. When I asked the doctor about the extent of the spreading, he said that a list of places where it hadn’t invaded would be a shorter list than where it had.

“Maybe that’s why you can’t reach him. Better go back to the stud that keeps you happy in bed. Dad can’t do that anymore. You were right about that, Mom. It’s a good thing for you that you found that guy.”

At that point, Jeremy’s tough facade broke and he began to sob.

“Son, listen to me. I’m heading to Houston right now. How do I get to the hospital? What’s his room number?”

When Jeremy was able to talk again, he informed me that they were coming back home. They would be leaving in a few hours. Tim would be going to an extended care facility just down the street from our old house. He would stay there until he died. Hospice would be on hand to help him through his last days.

“As to your question about why he’s selling the house, Mom, it cost him a lot of money to buy-out your part of the house. The alimony you got was a strain too. Since you also got half of all his assets, and since he can no longer work, he’s selling the house so he won’t leave any huge medical bills for us kids to pay when he’s gone.

“I just hope this makes you happy, Mom. You won, he lost. He lost big time. He’s sunk about as low as a man can sink. It’s all thanks to you, Mom. Just continue with your newly found happiness and leave us alone.”

“Jeremy, listen to me and believe every word I say. I want you to call the real estate company and cancel the listing. I want you to bring Tim home to his house. I will take a leave-of-absence from work. I will care for him 24/7 in his own home. He’ll be in the house that he loves and he’ll be cared for by someone that loves him. I do love him, Jeremy, I do.

“I didn’t win anything. I lost more than you can imagine. I will dedicate myself to care for the man that for so many years took such good care of me. I promise that, Son.

“At home in his house, you and your sisters can come and stay anytime you want. Your old rooms will be ready. I’ll see to that. I suppose it’s all my fault like you said. I know this; it’s my duty to do this for him and our children. I’ll see to it that he has everything he needs. I’ll use that money that you mentioned to do everything for him that’s possible to make him comfortable.

“Jeremy, can you do this for him? I beg you, Son. Please help me help him. It makes sense, Son. You know that it does.”

When Jeremy composed himself, he answered: “Thanks, Mom. I was praying that something like this would happen. I was praying for a miracle. I never dreamed, after all that happened, that you would provide the miracle. I’ll make the calls to the real estate company and the long-term care facility. I’ll cancel both. I’ll bring Dad home. Thanks, Mom.”

Home:

I was sitting on the porch swing when Tim and Jeremy drove up to the house. I ran out to the car and opened the passenger door. I helped Tim out of the car and walked hand in hand with him to the porch steps.

He struggled up the steps with my help. I was appalled at how much he had deteriorated since the last time I saw him. He was panting when he finally sat down in his favorite recliner.

Jeremy showed me the bag of medicine that the hospital had sent home with him. There were three sheets of instructions about how and when the meds should be administered.

The first order of business was getting Tim comfortable. Next, I made snacks for him and Jeremy.

After Jeremy left, it was just Tim and me together in this special house for the first time in many moons. We conversed like two old friends that hadn’t seen each other for years. We had lots of catching up to do.

Tim finally got tired and took a nap. While he was napping, I read all of the instructions that the doctors had provided. I was determined to give him the best care possible.

When bedtime came, I helped Tim get into bed. He was suffering some severe back pain. I rubbed the salve that had been provided into the painful area. He was finally able to obtain some relief and get some sleep. I crawled into bed with him. I wanted to be close-by if he needed anything.

Once during the night, I sensed that he was in distress. He seemed to be in a panic. I reached out and touched him. He looked at me there right next to him. He grabbed my hand. He calmed down immediately. He held my hand until he fell asleep again.

As the days passed, we were as close as ever before. We spent some happy hours reminiscing. We spoke a lot about the past, but never about the future. We were comfortable with each other as much as ever. We were as happy as it was possible to be, under the circumstances. We cuddled together every night.

There were also many hours when we just held each other and cried. Maybe we were each crying for different reasons, but our tears mingled into a river of hurt, regret, and hopelessness. As his condition continued to worsen, we had to buy a walker. A couple of weeks later, we bought a wheelchair.

I knew the time was getting short and I desperately wanted to take Tim to church one more time, but we needed a specially equipped van to make that happen. I visited a dealer that I knew handled custom vehicles. They located a van that was just what we needed. It was one of those tall ones made by Mercedes called a Sprinter. It was modified to include a lift and other equipment to handle a wheelchair patient. The salesman wasn’t sure they could have it here by Saturday.

When I saw the price, I was disappointed. It was very expensive. I was willing to trade in my Harley and my Mustang, but the salesman wasn’t sure they could accept a motorcycle. He left to talk to the boss about it.

When he came back, he said that the boss had been on his way down to talk to me, but halfway down the stairs, he turned around and went back to his office. The salesman ventured that his boss must have received an important phone call.

We waited a few minutes for the boss. The salesman got us coffee and donuts while we waited. Talk about surprises! When the boss joined us, it was Luke! He said, “When I saw who the customer was, I needed some time to think about the situation.

“I made some phone calls and I have a proposal for you.”

I quipped, “Oh, Luke. This is so sudden, but I accept!”

He grinned saying, “That comes later, but I like your answer.

He told me that one of his rules was to never turn down a sale, but in my case, since he knew the circumstances, he made some calls and found a perfectly equipped van that he could lend me. He pointed out that when the inevitable happened, I would be stuck with a van I didn’t need, plus, the Harley and Mustang that I loved would be gone. He said if I approved, it would cost me nothing for however long I needed the van. He could deliver it on Friday.

I was ecstatic. I said, “Luke, you don’t know how glad I am that I met you. I know the circumstances were dismal, but at least some good came from a bad deed. This will be such a good thing for Tim. I’ll be eternally grateful.

“How did we converse so long and I didn’t know anything about how you earn your living?”

“Well, Holly, I don’t know about your job either. Guess we had more important things to talk about. Don’t you think this means that we need to have more conversations? When the time is right, let’s see to that.”

I hugged him and whispered my answer in his ear. He smiled.

When I got home, I told Tim that I’d rented a van that was equipped to handle a wheelchair. I told him that we would use it to get him to church on Sunday.

I was taken aback when he informed me that he hadn’t been to church since the day I left him. Tears were streaming down my face as I shrieked, “What have I done? I turned you away from your God!”

“No, Holly, don’t blame yourself. When you started on the path that would ultimately lead you away from me. When you bought the Harley and the Mustang. When you began to question my authority as head of the family and even the Word of God that it was based on, I began to pray.

“I prayed harder than I’d ever prayed before. I prayed for guidance to keep you at my side and for the preservation of our family. On the day that you left me, I said one last prayer. To be more accurate, I yelled the prayer at the top of my voice. It was the prayer that Jesus uttered from the cross: ‘Father, why have you forsaken me?’ That’s was the last prayer to cross my lips. I haven’t been to church and I haven’t prayed since.

“While we are on that subject; when you told me about the curses, I knew that it was my rejection that caused it all. You blamed yourself, but it was me. You once said that I was just collateral damage, but in truth, you were suffering collateral damage because I rejected God.”

“Oh, Tim. I don’t believe that. Your God would never turn on you like that. You have served him well for as long as I’ve known you. He’s a God of love.”

“Holly, look at me. Does this shell of a man look like a man in God’s favor? Do you think I’m feeling his love? I’ve never been so alone. I lost both you and God.”

“You might have lost me for a while, but I’m certain that you didn’t lose God,” I stated.

Then, out of the blue, he asked me if I was a feminist. I was very reluctant to enter uncharted territory that might be counterproductive, but I knew that I couldn’t ignore him. I told him that I was an equalist, not a feminist. I don’t know if there is such a thing, but it’s what I believe in. I’m for marriage equality.

That evening, I prayed for the first time in a long time. I admitted to God that I didn’t know how he awarded points for getting into heaven. I stated that if I had accumulated any points for being a devoted wife for over twenty years and raising three upstanding children, I wanted those points transferred to Tim’s account. I confessed that it was my fault that he had lost faith.

On Sunday, we did go to church. Everyone was so happy to see us. We were welcomed with open arms. It was like we had never been gone. We met Elder Young; he was Elder Simpson’s replacement. He had an appropriate name since he was a very young-looking man. He was quite different in many respects from his predecessor. It was good to be in our church home again. I repeated the payer that I’d said on Friday while standing at the altar of the church where Tim and I were married. I had never prayed harder in my life.

As we were leaving, I saw Luke! He was talking to Elder Young. Tim was busy talking to some friends, so I excused myself and walked toward Luke. Elder Young saw me coming and said, “Holly, this is my big brother, Luther.”

I reached out to shake hands as if we had never met, but Luke held my hand in both of his as he said, “Bro, this is the woman I told you about.” Elder Young said, “I understand completely. I ask God to surround both of you with his forgiveness, love, and blessings. He’s not done with you two yet.”

Luke squeezed my hand as he said, “I sure hope not.”

Someone else began talking to Elder Young, so I spoke to Luke. “Looks like there’s lots that I don’t know about you. Did you tell him how we met?

“Every detail, Holly. He reminded me that God works in mysterious ways. Can you think of a crazier or more mysterious way to meet the person that you will marry?” he asked.

“No, I can’t. Are my ears deceiving me? Did I just get my second proposal of the day?”

“When it’s appropriate, I’ll do it right. In the meantime, just reserve a place in your heart for me.”

“Already done, Luke. Already done.”

With that, I walked back to Tim with a tear on my cheek. In my heart, I knew that I was walking from one good man to another. Deep down, I realized that I didn’t deserve either one.

I’m so thankful for those last two months that Tim and I were able to spend with each other in our family home. I’m glad that the kids were able to visit often. We were all together for Independence Day. The view of the fireworks from our deck was spectacular. It was so good to be a family again.

I knew that the end was near. In my mind, I pictured it as the whole family gathering at Tim’s bedside in our lovely home as he slipped peacefully into the hands of his God. When it came, it wasn’t like that.

That night, Tim’s pain had been worse than ever. I gave him the maximum dose allowable of the pain medicine, but it didn’t help. All at once, he couldn’t breathe. It was taking all of his energy just to draw a breath. He was struggling so hard that his chest raised off of the bed with every breath as he struggled to get oxygen.

Just the two of us were there. The family wasn’t aware of this sudden development. I couldn’t see him suffer like that anymore.

I went out on the porch and called our family doctor. When he heard what was happening, he sent an ambulance to take us to the hospital. He told me they would make Tim’s last hours comfortable. I called Jeremy and told him where we were. He called the others.

When they let me into Tim’s room, they were giving him some medicine via an IV. He was still having difficulty breathing, but the medicine seemed to be calming him. I let myself wonder if they’d found a miracle drug to make him better. I read the name on the IV bag. It was morphine. Not a miracle cure, but a source of some much-needed relief.

In a few minutes, he was sleeping peacefully. A few hours later, the whole family had gathered at his bedside. Elder Young was there too. We were all there with him wondering with each breath if it would be his last. It was nearly like I’d visualized, but just not at home. Somehow, he lasted through the night. It was like he didn’t want to leave us. One of the nurses encouraged us to speak to him and let him know that it was alright for him to let go. I refused to do that. It wasn’t alright. I wanted him with me as long as possible.

The first rays of sunlight were shining through the window. I held his hand in mine and vowed that I would never let go, and I didn’t. I held it for the rest of his life, which was about fifteen minutes.

The alarm went off. We all looked at the heart-scope. It had flatlined.

I stayed with Tim until they came for his body. As they carried him out, I swear that I saw something leave his body and fly out the window. I ran to the window and watched it fly away. It looped toward our old house and then rose straight upward! I watched it rise and I waved goodbye saying, “Fly away, my love. Fly away to a better place where you will be fully appreciated. Fly away!

Through my tears, I saw Luke entering the room. He walked up to me and hugged me. He wiped my tears away and stayed right beside me as I continued to stand by the window. If I had a good pair of binoculars or a small telescope, I’d be able to see the house where our little family had been so happy. But I knew it would never again be a happy place for us.

It wasn’t the house that provided our happiness. It was the family that had lived and loved within those walls. It was the laughter that echoed in the halls. It was the memories that everyone recalls. It was the joy that flowed from every window. It was the peace that permeated every nook and cranny. Most of all, it was the man that made it all happen. Now, it’s just a house.

I was jolted out of my reverie when my iPhone chimed. I knew that sound, it signaled a new pop-up window. That’s the last thing in the world that I wanted to see. Please, no more curses. My hand trembled as I reached for the phone. I looked at the message. It was just three words. It simply said:

[IT IS OVER]

[I guess everything’s been done]

[If there’s nothing here for you]

[If you want to chase the sun]

[Then that’s what you ought to do]

[And fly, fly away]

[Fly away in the morning]

[Fly, fly away]

[Just don’t give me any warning’]

The End

Jan 19 2021

Sundown Honeymoon – 2 0 (0)

See Sundown Honeymoon – 1

*

He called the FBI. He drank coffee and smoked, alone in his office, until at 5 in the morning he turned on the radio. The fist chords of the mournful cowboy ballad jolted him awake and he switched it off. An idea slowly took shape, and he searched the station for his deputies.

Johnny was asleep in the break room. “Boss.” He jumped awake and quickly straightened his crinkled uniform.

“I’m gonna talk to Antionielli.”

“Boss?”

“He worked at court. And there’s no way Sue can pay his rates.”

“You think she’s fucking him?”

“Possible.” The old Antionielli had made the charges go away, but Booth still did not think it possible. “Could be something else. We still don’t know whatever queer whatever we’re dealing with – and where in tarnation’s Garcia?”

“Boss.” The deputy nodded to acknowledge the question but did not say another word.

Booth scrutinized the other man’s fatty jowls then said: “I’m off. Call me when he gets here.”

“Boss.”

XI

Booth did not expect the lawyer to be awake at this hour, but the thought of spending even another moment in the stuffy office made his skin crawl. The all too familiar song on the car radio seemed almost soothing and the houses and roads of Sundown, drenched in rising red and orange, calmed him. He reached the town center. Drove past the courthouse and the bank. He finally stopped in front of the brickwork store-front where Antionielli had his offices and made his home.

The show window was dark, and no light escaped from the drapes upstairs, but a shadow moved around on the flat roof. Booth left behind the cruiser and looked up.

“Sheriff,” Antionielli leaned down, telescope in hand and with sleep in his eyes. “I’ve been – nevermind – hold on, I’ll open up.”

After a few minutes, the lights went on and the lawyer unlocked the front door. The scent of fresh coffee and the pneumatic hiss of the machine could be heard from some back office.

“Sheriff Booth.” Antionielli shook his hand. “Coffee will just be a minute. Please, have a seat.” He led Booth past the waiting area and its new-fangled steel and white leather decor back to his office.

The old wood and brass had not been changed since the old Antionielli. Booth felt at ease among the brown spirits in crystal bottles and the faint smell of cigar smoke.

“Secretary won’t be in until eight so if you’ll excuse me… .” Antionielli pointed him to the time-worn guest chair and left to get the coffee. He returned shortly, carrying a well-laden tray.

“Milk? Sugar?” With unfailing politeness, the lawyer served his guest. Booth accepted with a grunt. Antionielli asked no questions and they sat silently and slurped their coffees.

“How’s business?” Booth set down his cup and broke the silence.

“I make do,” the other said; but by his tone he made better than.

“I’m surprised then,” Booth took another sip, “that you’d have time for pro-bono work.”

“I see.” The lawyer stirred his cup and sank deep into his office chair. Then he set it down and straightened, sat upright and met Booth’s gaze. Unflinching. “My business with Ms. Myers is covered by confidentiality. I will say, however, that I have noticed patterns – practices of our law enforcement and even judiciary – that any officer of the court should not tolerate. So tell me, Sheriff, why are you here?”

“Okay then.” Booth set down his cup and leaned in closer. The lawyer’s tired eyes were a steely grey. “There’s been a murder and I could care less about some yellow-bellied cocksucker’s ideas on procedure. This is my town and I’ll enforce the law as I damn well please. A judge is dead, and I don’t think the Doc was an accident neither.” He raised his finger close enough to almost stab the other’s eye. “Which means someone tried to do me in as well – and you just confessed to a motive.”

Silence. Antionielli had paled, but suddenly started to laugh. “We are doomed, then. If this is the state of law enforcement in our town then we are doomed. You think – what? That this is some conspiracy between Ms. Myers and I? That I’d beat to death a judge and behead him? That a – a woman of precarious employment – would try to kill you – how? Bioweapons or sorcery? And you two would hardly be her only clientele.”

Antionielli had raised his voice but caught himself. He paused and continued; calmer now: “Besides, if I knew that the judge was fucking his typist then you can be sure that his wife knew as well.”

“Hrmm.” Booth lit a cigarette and affected a smile. “Thank you. You have been a great help.” He rose. “And thank you for the coffee.”

*

The Chambers – On the way out he almost ran into a young woman. The elegant black-grey pantsuit had been rumpled and ruffled by travel, but still flattered her slender body. Long black hair framed an intelligent, almost nymph-like face.

Booth tapped his hat and mumbled an apology. She smiled, whispered something, and had passed him. A fine ass in the tight cut pants. He entered the car with a smile.

“Johnny? Come in, over.”

Static.

“Come in, Johnny.”

“Boss?” The deputy answered late and his voice sounded strange; dazed.

“Judge Diegife’s wife – she’s a born Chambers – right?” He did not wait for an answer. “They are in cattle – and something about timber? Or mining? Anyway, when the feds get here ask them to look up the M.O. in their databases – or whatever. Might be we got ourselves some bigtime contract killers in town. And you and Garcia get on any strangers checking in anywhere – drive all the way to the Ferry if you have to and -.”

“Boss.” Johnny’s voice was loud and desperate.

“What?”

“Could you drive by Mrs. Larson’s? She called and – and I don’t think Garcia’s okay.”

“What in the blazes?”

The deputy was silent.

“Roger. Just – nevermind – on my way.”

XII

She ran up to the car as soon as he entered her driveway. Her blue bathrobe fluttered behind her, barely held shut by the thin strip of frayed polyester. Booth, however, almost failed to notice her creamy tits, swinging as she ran. Blood fell in thick drops from her scarlet hands.

“What happened?” he asked, and she led him inside. Garcia’s torso lay, supine and naked, on the bloodstained mattress. He had been beaten, hard enough to crack ribs and to colour his skin in blue and green and yellow.

On her kitchen top, beside the coffee maker and white plastic radio, was his head. His eyes were open and burst blood vessels painted a picture of pain.

“What happened?” Booth felt queasy. He grabbed the counter for support and stained his fingers with blood. His own pale face grimaced back at him from the kitchen window. The radio played the song.

“I killed him,” she said. Her voice was cold and even. She did not try to resist, but Booth, nevertheless, almost dropped the handcuffs from her wrists. Neither spoke on the way back to the station.

Pale and shaking, she stood inside the cell. She was slow to react to his commands, struck deaf or dumb. And as soon as she stretched out her hands and he removed the cuffs, she sank down to the floor, sobbing.

“Are you okay?” Booth asked, “Do you need anything?”

“Some water.” A weak smile from puffy eyes. “And,” desperation tinged her voice, “I suppose one needs a lawyer in situations such as this.”

Booth nodded. He called up Antionielli and brought her water in a paper cup. Greedy and thirsting, she stretched out her hand and suddenly Booth started to shake. Drops of baptismal water hit his arms, and hers.

“Just the light,” he whispered and finally gave her the cup. But even as he left, the shadows surrounding her danced and menaced. He lit a cigarette and waited, panicked, in his office for the lawyer to arrive.

Another cigarette before he entered the interview room. He had ordered Johnny to escort her there and had given her and the lawyer time enough to talk. The metal of the handle was cold to the touch. Booth hesitated. He had given them ample time, but he needed another cigarette.

Both looked up at him when he entered. He snipped away ash from the cigarette, his third, and sat down on the metal chair opposite them.

“You can talk now,” said Antionielli to his client. His voice was soft.

Booth nodded and tried to smile. Her shadow was longer than his or the lawyer’s.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” Her speech turned to uncontrolled sobs.

The men did their best to calm her and when she had collected herself, she spoke slowly and mechanically. “I have not been myself. Ever since my husband died. Maybe earlier. I needed a change, so I came back. I fell in love. I loved Manuel – I really did, but – it doesn’t matter. I killed him. I was not myself, but I killed him. When I offed the judge, I was relieved. I thought I could control her! How can anyone love the moon, anyway?” She looked up and smiled weakly at his obvious confusion. “It does not matter anymore. I am a lunatic and she will go to Star Lodge and he will kill all.”

Her lips were no longer moving, but he could still hear her voice. “Star Lodge. Star Lodge. Star Lodge. Star Lodge. Star Lodge. Star Lodge.”

Booth could feel the cold sweat running down his chest. Opposite him, Antionielli was pale and shaking. The sheriff rose and buzzered for his remaining deputy. The men staggered outside, and Booth slammed shut the door.

“Star,” Antionielli’s voice was ragged, “Lodge. I know it. It’s our hunting lodge. My father used to – it has to be.”

Booth’s fingers were cold and stiff. He snapped the lighter until fire consumed another cigarette. Meanwhile trying to put his questions into words. Then he saw his deputy appear at the other end of the small, dim hallway. “Let’s go,” he said, “I’ll drive.”

*

“Want one?” Booth had turned the ignition and had turned on the radio. He pulled the packet of cigarettes from his breast pocket and offered it to the other.

“I don’t – yes, please.”

Booth lit his own, then the lawyers. He turned left on Main. Blocky houses and ancient elms rolled past. “So – where’s that lodge of yours at?” Booth asked.

Antionielli gave directions, then paused. “I have rented it out,” he finally added, “a colleague of mine came to town this morning and asked for a quiet place to stay. She had planned to appear in front of Judge Diegife and – well… .”

“Hm,” said Booth, “I think I saw her.” They fell silent.

The sheriff turned up the volume. The radio did not play any heart-rending ballads. Instead, violins wailed, horns blared, and the drum’s vibrations seemed to rock the car. A full orchestra, if diminished by static.

“What in tarnation?”

“Opera.” Antionielli smiled for the first time since they had left the station. “The overture to Cherubini’s Médée – if I am not mistaken.”

“I’ll be,” Booth said. He did not switch channels.

The drive was uneventful. Opera music blasted as they made their way deep into the dusty hills, to the creek and to the small pine forest.

The cruiser struggled along the muddy trail, up to the treeline, until they reached the small log cabin. Loamy soil stained the tires and lower body of a flashy red convertible parked in front.

XIII

Booth opened his door. Not a living being moved behind the dark windows inside the lodge. The shadows of the trees around him seemed malicious, long and growing ever larger. He reached for his gun but stopped himself.

“Stay here. I’ll check the perimeter. You can work the radio?”

The lawyer, maybe sensing the same subtle menace, nodded. Beads of sweat were rolling down his tired face.

“Good,” Booth said, not loud enough for the other to hear.

Gun drawn, he entered the underbrush and rounded the cabin in a wide arc. Through the shade he saw the elevated rear patio and holstered his weapon.

A tarpaulin sheet was unfurled across the rough-hewn wood planks. The woman from earlier was down on her knees upon it. Three men, brown skinned and hairy, surrounded her naked form. One, his back turned towards Booth, roared in some wild and guttural language. Then ropes of thick, yellow-white jizz defiled her porcelain skin and elfin face. The man half-turned and smeared her perfect hair with his filth.

Booth winced. He was disgusted, but his cock grew hard. He suppressed a scream. Rushing blood pressed against his burns and scars and threatened to tear open his wounds, barelyclosed. A whimpering sound escaped his lips and when the man turned fully Booth almost passed out.

But they had not heard. Instead the man grunted and massaged his softening prick. Even now it was enormous; horse-sized, veiny and bulging. And despite the pain Booth could not look away. The two others guided her upright. One, then the other entered her from behind.

Howling moans; clear, throaty and lusty, carried over and salved his ears. They then exploded into hard, throbbing pain. She reacted madly, crying louder to each frenzied thrust until one shut her mouth with his cock.

Booth touched his gun, captivated by the spit-roasted slut. Her debasement continued; a whore sandwiched between the nasty cocks of brutes. Each of her gurgling slurps a potent dose of sweet torture.

They finished in flurry of savage lunges and needy shrieks. When Booth left, he had seen his fill. She sat on the tarp, legs spread and smiling. The vile traces of their depravity, globs of cum and her own spit and juices, clung to her body. To her mouth. To her lips, blazing red, lipstick smeared and begrimed. Between her legs and down the inside of her knees. On her hair and breasts.

*

“Let’s go.” Booth rapped against the passenger-side window. Antionelli flinched away from the radio and joined him. They crossed the clearing to the lodge and Booth knocked on the door with the butt of his gun.

“One moment,” she called out.

A door opened and Booth could hear hurried footfalls followed by the splashing of water. The sheriff smiled wryly at his companion. “Your colleague seems busy.”

When she opened the door, she wore a bright blue summer dress and had tied back her wet hair. There was a faint smell of soap and unsubtle perfume, and Booth struggled not to stare too much.

“I’m Sheriff Booth,” he said, “and you know Mr. Antionelli. We need to search this place.”

“Victoria von Auric.” Her grey eyes sparked with hate. “Esquire,” she added, with mockery in her voice. “And I do not suppose you have a warrant?”

“This a matter of life and death. You will cooperate.”

“Since the local magistrate is unavailable, I am willing to make an exception.” She stepped aside. Booth started to resent her knowing smile.

They entered. Antionelli pointed out the telescope on its tripod and the symbols engraved into the beams of the roof. Stars, moons and suns. Triangles, pentagrams and even stranger runes.

“Dad never told me why they’re here. Maybe he did not know either.”

The woman had followed them closely and now studied the engravings with obvious interest. As she stretched towards the roof, her dress hugged tight against her shapely body and, despite his annoyance, Booth felt his gaze drawn to her exposed skin and taut ass.

Through half-lidded eyes he remembered her whorish nakedness. With a snort he chased away the pictures and said: “Get out of the way.”

She smiled her cloying smile. “I am sorry. An acquaintance of mine used to study folk religion. Superstitions and rituals, that kind of thing. He’d have field day.”

Booth paced across the cabin. Angered, he searched for the men he had seen, but did not even find their luggage. “Are you here alone?” he asked.

“I am,” she claimed.

“I see.” He dropped on the floor and looked under the mattress of the iron frame bed. He found nothing, jumped up and rounded the interior again. Suddenly, he stopped and stood, motionless. Then he ran over to her and grabbed her shoulders.

“Do you know anything then?” He could feel his voice breaking as he shook her. “Any information? Scraps of knowledge? Could you read those?” he pointed at the runes with trembling fingers. “You must’ve learned something – anything?”

Her hands were warm against his when she removed them with a forced grin from her shoulder. “I could check my diary. Maybe there is something in my notes, but… .”

“Nevermind. We were just leaving. I was curious, is all. C’mon.” Booth hurried back to his car. His heart was racing, and his cheeks were burning. Antionelli followed close behind. As soon as the other has closed the door, he drove away.

“I’m going mad,” he confided, “I haven’t been thinking clearly for a while now, but,” he paused, ” but you have seen her, right? I shouldn’t – I can’t believe, but I’ve seen too much. God have mercy, we will die. Tell me we won’t die.”

Antionelli shifted and cleared his throat as if to speak. He stared outside at the trees flying by. Again, he raised his voice and fell silent. He exhaled loudly and finally said: “I do not know. This morning I thought you a rabid dog, and now here we are. Maybe it is delusion. Mass delusion. You’ll hand my client of to the feds and it shall be a story we will tell for years. Still,” he paused for a moment, “my grandpa kept diaries, I think, and dad might have kept them. Let me take a look, just in case.”

They drove in uncomfortable silence, until they reached the town and Booth dropped off the other. Antionelli hesitated, car door in hand, and promised to call. He sounded desperate. Booth nodded and offered some platitude. Fears mirrored in their eyes. The door closed and Booth drove off.

XIV

The inside of the station was dark. Booth called out for Johnny. He stopped himself before calling for Garcia. No one answered.

“Are you asleep?” Booth stepped into the murky silence.

The sheriff pressed a light switch. A click and a short burst of blue fluorescence then darkness. Flashlight in hand, he walked in, past the empty break room and deeper still. He passed his own desolate office and moved deeper into the shifting shadows.

The beam from the flashlight hit the open cell door. Booth raced forward, then started to scream. On the cot of the otherwise empty cell lay Johnny’s headless corpse. Blood pooled around the lifeless form and terrified eyes pleaded from inside the head on the floor. The dead deputy had tried to open his pants, with his hands still grasping belt and zipper. Nasty bruises were visible even in the dim torchlight. Then a sudden, metallic ring cut through the oppressive silence.

The shaken ray of light jerked upwards and one the sheer concrete wall Booth could see the writing. Letters written in blood. MOON RISING. And again: MOON RISING.

The telephone rang again, and Booth nearly dropped his flashlight. Antionelli. He rushed back to his office. Outside the window an orange moon was rising.

Booth picked up the receiver. “Antionelli?” he asked.

A female voice. A question of “Sheriff Booth?” turned into an ear-rending scream. A maddened wail, rising in pitch until a panicked Booth dropped the receiver and ran to his car.

*

Tires squealed when he stopped it in front of the lawyer’s office. Booth pressed down on the horn until Antionelli appeared.

“Something’s happening,” said Booth. A passer-by exploded into flame.

“We may be safe up there,” the panicked lawyer said, “my grandfather was not… .” The radio, blaring the cowboy ballad, cut him off.

Booth raced through rising the inferno, until they reached the wooden one-story house at the edge of town. Emily opened after his second knock.

“Hyram!” She hugged him tightly and covered his face with kisses. “My roommate!” She dragged him inside. “Something’s not right with her. Come quickly. Come!”

Writhing on the floor of the small kitchen was another young woman. Short red hair and tattoos on naked, sunburnt legs. She screamed and thrashed and begged for help. Booth extended his hand, but then fire enveloped the screaming woman.

“We have to leave,” Booth shouted.

“But… .”

The sheriff grabbed his lover by the hand and dragged her back to the car. “We are not safe. We need to go. Go.” He raced away. To the lodge and to safety.

“What about your wife?” Emily spoke softly, with a deep sadness in her voice.

Booth cursed and slowed down the car.

“We have to safe her! I couldn’t – you have to safe her!”

Booth turned the car around. He lacked the strength to argue and breathing was difficult.

*

Mary Booth ran towards the car as soon as he had reached the driveway. Pale faced and sweating, dressed only in her nightgown and kitchen apron, she dashed and stumbled towards them. “I don’t feel so well,” she said and stumbled into Emily’s arms.

“Close the door!” Booth screamed and already pulled back on the road.

“Shh, it’s okay. All will be well.” Emily had closed the car door and held Mary’s limp form in her arms.

They sped away.

XV

As soon as they carried Mary over the threshold of the lodge, she started to feel better. A weak smile lit up her harried face and she whispered something into Emily’s ears.

Booth’s heart was racing. Blood pumped through his veins with heavy thuds. The woman lawyer had opened her door willingly, but he felt ill at ease. They were too far away to see the town, but even here the signs of destruction had followed. A strange smell had tainted the crisp forest air and menacing amber-red moonlight filtered through the branches. He touched his gun and tried to forget the not quite fire outside.

The lawyer with the foreign name had not attempted to hide her men this time and so eight people shared the small space inside the cabin. The talked in hushed voices while Booth looked around silently. The three men he had seen with the lawyer, even dressed in their denim overalls and flannel shirts, looked wild indeed. Long filthy beards and bulging muscles. And the disturbing memories of monstrous cocks. A pang of pain. Booth moved away.

The runes on the roof seemed to glow in a low, blueish light. He touched the etchings and felt sparks tingle on his skin. Refreshing cold spread from his fingertips across his body, until it calmed his raging heart.

Next, he checked on the windows and the backdoor. The other door had been boarded up and Booth ran his hands over the rough and sturdy wood. The windows looked to small for anything larger than a fox to crawl through, but their openness made him uncomfortable, nevertheless.

“Coffee?” The female lawyer handed him a cup.

“Thanks. Miss – erhm?”

“Victoria.” She smiled.

“Thank you, Victoria.”

She turned to leave, but something froze her in place. “What was that?” she asked.

A noise from outside. Knocks, punches against the boarded door. Splintering wood and breaking glass. He saw small hands snaking through the slits. He touched his gun, but the wildmen were fast. They hurried to the windows and forced back the attacker. With brooms and boards they beat at it, again and again.

Then scratches. Scraping and clawing at the door. Booth looked around for Antionelli, but the lawyer had sunk to the floor, pale and sweating he hugged his legs to his body.

“Tarnation.” Booth drew his gun. Another long and clawing scratch. “There’s something at the door,” he said. The female lawyer looked at him; determined. “Come,” he heard himself say.

*

“Should we open it?” Victoria’s voice was trembling.

Booth hesitated and finally nodded. “Yeah.” He aimed his weapon at the door and cocked back the hammer. “Open.”

She pushed open the door and jumped back. He trained his gun at the already fleeing shape. Thin, blue fabric fluttered behind the sprinting Mrs. Larson. She reached the treeline. Booth exhaled and lowered his weapon.

“Did you see them?” Victoria sounded panicked.

“Them?”

“There was another one. Another woman. Dark hair, similar build, naked. She was at the edge of the forest. Watching.”

“Are you sure?” Booth raised his weapon and scanned along the dark shadows and beneath the trees for movement. She did not answer.

With a sigh, he uncocked and holstered his weapon. “Tarnation,” he pointed at the deep scratches in the wood, almost enough to cut through the door. “Tarnation.”

“Can you…?” She ran inside and quickly returned, carrying a kitchen knife.

“What?”

Wordlessly, she pricked the tip of her finger. The first drop of blood fell to the ground. Then she began to write. A branching symbol smeared in blood.

“No.” She wiped it away with the sleeve of her dress and began anew. On the next she added another branch, nodded, and then covered the whole door.

“It’s all I found.” She offered a weak smile. “I hope it works.”

Booth cursed under his breath and closed the door behind them. Muffled laughter could be heard from the inside.

Furniture blocked the windows. They stood in the middle of the room, maybe relaxed, but all fell silent when they saw him and Victoria. Each looked at him, but none dared ask.

“We scared her -it- away,” Booth said, “but she may return. And there may be others out there. So – stay away from the windows and let me,” he paused, “let us handle it.” He did not mention the bloody symbols; witchcraft would not calm them.

At first there was silence, but soon hushed conversation, idle chatter, returned. He found himself at the edges, mostly checking the windows and listening out for any signs of intruders.

His wife laughed at some joke told by one of the wildmen and Booth seethed with rage. He moved to impose himself between her and the savage man, when he heard again scratching noises at the door.

He drew his revolver. The others stopped talking. The savages raised their heads, but he motioned them to stay away. Only Victoria followed him to the door. No invitation necessary and bloody knife in hand. The scratching continued, then stopped. For a heartbeat they waited, then she opened the door.

Elisabeth Lawson stood dazed, hand still outstretched, with blood covering her elongated, silvery fingernails. She looked at them with glazed eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but Booth had already pulled the trigger. Again and again, in quick succession. Six shots rang out and struck her in the face and square in the chest. She collapsed to the ground. He continued to press down on the trigger, even as the hammer struck empty cartridges.

“She’s dead,” said Victoria. The lawyer had checked the dead woman’s pulse and gently pulled down his arm. Booth stowed his now useless weapon.

“We did it,” he whispered. “We did it.”

XVI

The celebration inside rent his heart. From under the floorboards they had pulled a bottle of bourbon and soon their laughter became boozy.

He knew the tone of their voices and knew what their joy betrayed. Once, a long time ago, Mary had shared these moments with him. And recently, when he had fallen for Emily, they too had laughed and whispered blissfully.

His wife touched the savage’s arm and smiled. An invitation. The barmaid, his former lover, sat on the lap of another wildman, their lips mere inches apart. Even Antionielli had moved close to the third brown-skinned man. They talked in a way that made Booth feel deeply uncomfortable.

Only Victoria remained alone. She slurped her coffee mixed with whiskey and smiled a relaxed smile.

“How come you’re not jealous?” Booth asked.

“Why should I be?”

“I need a smoke.” He walked away.

She said something, but he could not hear her.

*

Cigarette in mouth and with lighter in hand, he opened the door. The corpse was gone.

“Sheriff Booth,” her voice whispered on the wind. “I am ready for you. Come to me.”

He followed the drag-marks and the whispered, minty lure. Deeper into the forest; every step a promise.

“Soon. Pleasure beyond mortal ken. You are ready for us.”

He found her kneeling over her own body. Her jaw unhinged, down to her naked, blood-covered chest. She cracked open bones with her small, pearly-white teeth. She sucked the marrow and stained her lips with her flesh.

“What are you?” Booth drew his gun.

“Shhhh. Soon.” She moved, snakelike and quick.

He pulled the trigger. The hammer struck a useless cartridge. Two more empty clicks.

“Shhhh.”

A punch; then another, enough to crack his ribs.

“Soon.” Her fist hit his head and he passed out.

*

He awakened, hanging upside down from a tree. Two Elisabeth Larsons looked up at him. One, lips still red with blood and naked, smiled and traced her fingers along his body.

“Sorry. I’m so so sorry.” The other wore her bathrobe. Still or again. It was bloody now, and tattered by bullet holes and powder burns. “I cannot control her. Maybe I never could.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed softly.

“You are ready, now.” The other kissed his lips. He tasted mint and decay. “Ready to see.” His heart beat faster. Then she hit him.

She flayed his skin and ripped open his arteries. At first there was pain, red hot and searing, then she touched his heart. Her nails, dagger-like, invaded his ribcage as a steely stab. She punctured his heart with needle-like pain. He felt himself crushed in her vise, until he burst.

The naked woman bathed herself in the last drops of his blood. Laughing, she anointed her crying other with his life. Then she took her by the hand and led the moon-painted woman away, deeper into the forest.

Booth’s heart was no longer beating and he followed, dripping red from the naked woman’s breasts. He fell to the thirsty ground as she rose high on the moonlit clearing.

He burned on the robe-clad woman’s face. He was her moons and grew ever larger. Her tears mixed with his blood, until she wiped them away and smeared the moons. She raised high her bloodstained hands and offered a maddened prayer to the mad moon ravishing her other. Her sister, her self. Herself. She lowered her hands and parted, probed her sex.

Dripping they rose, higher and higher towards the amber-red moon. Light trickled down on her body and the weeping moon mixed with his blood. They filled her. She drank honey light and kissed the sky. He flowed with her arousal down her legs and entered her, splashed on moonish tendrils.

The women screamed. He could not; even as he was given to the moon.

************************************

Author’s note

Thank you for reading. I am not usually a fan of author’s notes, but since I decided to publish this story as part of the Valentine’s Day Contest (Please rate and comment) I might as well nod to site tradition and offer a few words about a somewhat irregular story.

1. I am still figuring out how to do content/trigger warnings. I would like to think that my use of categories and tags is enough, but I am interested in your input.

2. I have already alluded to the fact that this is not a typical Valentine’s Day story (Please rate, comment and favourite). And on the one hand I am perfectly willing to admit that this is in part a knowing attempt to pander to a crowd of my fellow cold-hearted cynics.

On the other hand, this is a story for and about Valentine’s Day and (romantic) love. So there is mythology, even if it is more the martyrdom of St.Valentine than red roses. And there is place, if only in the margins, for hopeful and fulfilling, human love.

The core topic, however, is love as greater than human. A cosmic force, inscrutable and destructive.

3. Thank you, again, for reading, and I look forward to any and all feedback.

Uther

************************************

‘Sundown survivor identified. The woman dubbed the “Red Bride” has been identified as one Suzanne Myers, a 42 year old Sundown resident. State troopers had found her on Tuesday morning during their perimeter search between Sundown and Scalper’s Ferry. Miss Myers had been unresponsive and was found wearing a blood drenched wedding dress. She carried with her what authorities are calling “a substantial amount of silver ore.” She has been placed in psychiatric care.

Meanwhile, hope of finding any of the other missing townspeople, including Sheriff Hyram Booth, alive is dwindling as systematic searches are nearing their end.

The town of Sundown had been struck on Friday night by a possible terrorist attack. While details of the massacre remain sparse, it has been described as an “attack the like of which has not been witnessed on American soil.”

And now music.’

Rode out to the plateau, out to the dying sun
you swore love and now – now I raise my gun
Out in the dusky moonlight,
prays a lonely tree
and I –
I long to be free

Ancient chapel, chains that bind
whiskey and cigarettes,
watched the blue, blue moon
pretty stranger, wished you blind
love is sworn forever,
but death comes soon oh so soon

Rode out to the plateau, out to the dying sun
you swore love and now – now I raise my gun
Out in the dusky moonlight,
prays a lonely tree
and I –
I long to be free

Fresh dirt, chains that bound
whiskey and cigarettes,
judged by the blue moon
ridin’ ranger, fiendish hound
love is sworn forever,
but death comes soon oh so soon

Rode out from the plateau, out from the dying sun
you swore love – and then I raised my gun
Out in the dusky moonlight,
prays a lonely grave
and I –
I longed to be brave

Jan 19 2021

Sundown Honeymoon – 1 0 (0)

I

“There. There. It’s okay, boy.” His hand hovered inches away from Deputy Garcia’s shoulders. “I’ve seen him now and you can… .” He was interrupted by Garcia shaking and retching. “Let it out, boy. Let it out.” His deputy heaved and finally spit a few globs of acidic phlegm down on the puddle of vomit. “Just go. Outside, now. I’ve got it from here. Just send up Johnny as soon as he shows.”

Sheriff Hyram Booth turned away from his deputy and pulled open the windows. The smell inside the small courtroom was stomach turning. Vomit and the metallic stench of blood. He took a deep breath, filled his lungs with outside air before he turned around and approached the judge’s headless corpse.

The fat, white-haired man had been beaten, severely and repeatedly, enough to deform bones and to bruise every inch of once ruddy skin. Booth noted the broken fingers, maybe lifted in defence and maybe broken to further torture the geezer.

He stepped around the blood pooling from the corpse’s neck stump and approached the bench. There, perched atop the polished mahogany, sat the head. Its mouth was opened in a rictus grin and the yellowed teeth seemed sharpened and elongated. “Tarnation,” said Booth to no one in particular.

The sheriff followed the faint, sad sound of music to the judge’s chambers. The radio on the windowsill played that one mournful ballad by a cowboy troubadour. The one about love lost and the moonlit grave out in the desert. Booth turned off the radio, grunted and grimaced, then turned it on again. The wailing lament of a murderer and a guilty conscience.

It was a beautiful day outside. White bloomed the flower beds and the red-gold midday sun seemed to smile in the blue sky. He tried the latch but could not open the window. The foul odours had followed him into the small room.

His search was cursory. The grand desk, as ever, was adorned with curios and the judge’s matted brass nameplate. ‘The Honourable Samuel Diegife.’ Its top was empty. No papers; save for the brown bag and a half-eaten sandwich. Booth checked the drawers. He found naught, but the judge’s six-shooter and a bottle of bourbon, half-empty.

The black robes still hung in the corner as if their owner could return at any moment. Booth noted the flag and the pictures of presidents and hunting scenes, undisturbed. He opened the filling cabinet, unlocked, and eyed the folders. They looked perfectly ordinary. He picked on out at random and leafed through the write-up of the mayor’s third divorce from early last year. His duty done, he shrugged and left.

The deputies stood outside, smoking. Colour had returned to Garcia’s face and Johnny showed off his usual bored expression.

“Got one for me?” the sheriff asked.

He lit the cigarette with his gasoline lighter and took a drag. “Johnny, I need you to head over to the clinic and get Doc Warrens or somebody to help you with the corpse. I need the autopsy done pronto.”

“Now?” the chubby ginger asked.

“Now.”

With an annoyed expression Deputy Johnny Holiday flicked away the half-finished cigarette. He turned and climbed into his police cruiser.

“Now,” Booth pushed his cigarette to corner of his mouth, “you found’im, right?”

“Me and Mrs. Larson, yeah.”

“He hold court today?”

“Nah, but you know how he be – was.”

“Mhm.” The sheriff nodded; he knew about both the judge’s creative uses for a bailiff and his deputy’s habit of hanging around the courthouse. And around the court reporter. “He seem different to you? Nervous?”

The other stared and smoked. When he finally answered, he sounded uncertain: “Nah. I don’t think so. Wasn’t like we’d all be hanging out in chambers or nothin’. He paused. The furrows on his brow disappeared suddenly and he added: “He bummed a smoke -’bout an hour before lunch- and he was fine; happy even. Joked with Lizzie – with Mrs. Larson. And he talked about goin’ fishin’ on the weekend.”

“I see. So you went for lunch?”

The deputy nodded. “Mrs. Larson had invited me over to hers and when we came back I could, like, sense it. I sent her out back and,” he winced, “secured the scene.”

Booth laughed. “Sure did.” He trampled the stub of his cigarette into the dust. “Keep securing the site. At least until Johnny shows.” He saw the look on the other’s face and added: “You can stay outside. Probably nobody dumb enough – anyway I gotta inform the widow.”

A quick glance at the watch and his grumbling stomach convinced Booth to take lunch first. And Mary would be waiting.

He drove past the other one-story wood houses and stopped the cruiser in his own driveway in front of the chipped paint green garage door. The kitchen window was open, and the radio inside played that same cowboy ballad.

Mary shut off the radio when he entered. She had cooked, steak and potatoes. “I boiled ’em with cream, just like you like ’em,” she said.

He said nothing.

She looked tired. Old and tired. Even with all the make-up, the lipstick and whatever paint she had assembled, she looked tired. With the dark bags under her brown eyes and her thinning, strawy, greying black hair. “How’s work?” she asked. Her voice was high-pitched, nervous.

“Bad.” He tore into the beef.

“You like the food?” She was not eating and only moved her small serving around on the brown earthenware plate.

“Fine.”

“Coffee?” He set down the red-stained steak knife and sauce-covered steel spoon beside his empty plate.

She stopped her fidgeting with the floral oilcloth and hurried from the table to the kitchen counter to the stove. “Two sugar, no milk?”, she asked, though she knew the answer.

He waited in silence until she brought him the steaming enamel cup. She handed him the coffee and then hovered behind him. Her hands rested on his shoulder while he drank. Suddenly, he could feel her lips on his bearded cheeks.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered. “And I think you deserve a break.”

Her cooking apron fell to the floor. She wore her one short skirt and one good blouse, with nothing else underneath.

“I’ve gotta go. Much work.” He emptied his cup. She could not hide her sorrow. He felt the gnawing guilt and hurried away.

II

The widow was beside herself. Crying and unable to answer any questions, she begged him to stay with her. He spent two endless hours drinking her weak coffee and eating stale cookies. Still, he was unable to console the dumbstruck woman. She was at one moment trying to play host and then wracked by crying fits. Only after even more coffee, he finally convinced her to take a glass of brandy and to lie down.

After he had, as promised, called her sister and the Reverend Porter, he radioed his deputy from the car:

‘Johnny, do you read me? Over.’

‘Loud and clear. Over,’ answered Deputy Holiday’s voice.

‘You get it done? Over.’

‘Yes. Over.’

‘Did the doc say when he’ll be done with the autopsy? Over.’

‘He seemed busy. Operation or something. Not today. Tomorrow morning at the earliest. Over.’

‘Acknowledged. Out.’

‘Okay, boss. Over and Out.’

The sun was almost setting, and Booth could feel a headache coming on. He decided that he had earned a break. And a drink.

III

The rough and rustic hard wood tables inside the Wrangler stood empty and only the usual lifers lingered at the bar, drinking whisky and chewing tobacco. Emily, the barmaid, was busy with preparations and struggled with carrying an empty keg back to the storage room.

“Need help with that?” he asked.

“Thank you kindly.” She smiled.

He followed her into the dark back room and set down his load.

“You’re in early,” she whispered.

“Hard day.” He grabbed her and pushed her lithe form against the wall.

“I can see,” she moaned.

Their lips met. He caressed her face. Calloused fingers stroked her long brown hair. Their lips met again. Her teeth scraped his skin. She quivered.

Then he turned her around as his hands wandered down along the firm body. He groped her breasts until she moaned; softly, hoarsely. Further and further along he trailed her shuddering body, until he reached the belt on her jeans.

“Yes,” she moaned.

He pulled down her pants and pushed aside the cotton panties. “Take it.” With his feet he forced hers apart. The metal of his zipper bit against his flesh as he worked to free his bulging cock.

She inhaled sharply when he grabbed her ass cheeks and lined up his length against her dripping pussy. “Yessss!”

He plunged into her. Quick thrusts and hard. Rougher than his wife had ever liked, but just what the wanton slut needed. Each fibre, each flutter and every inch of her body responded, melted, to his dick.

“Yesss!” she almost screamed.

He placed his palm on her lips. Held her traitorous tongue and felt her berserk bites. She threw back her head, but could not, would not slip his hold. “Will you be a good girl?” he whispered into her ear.

She nodded weakly, but screamed out at his next lunge. Again, he clasped shut her mouth. Hotly and madly, she writhed under him as he quickened the pressure.

“Take it!” he roared, then stopped, dumbstruck. He could hear her laughter and felt her mirthful breath. “Damn,” he whispered.

Still laughing, she slipped his grasp and turned around. “Don’t feel bad,” she whispered and kissed his lips, “sometimes we get wild. We’re wild and,” she put her hands on his cock and he inhaled sharply, “and if we fuck like animals, we will be,” she gave him a wild kiss and a gentle bite, “feral.” She lined up his length then massaged it across her slimy slit. With a wicked smile she pulled him back until his bulk pressed her against the wall. She undid the buttons on her flannel shirt and invited him to play with her tits.

“I’m close,” he whispered, and still she only teased him at the edge of her folds. Teased him with her nimble fingers.

“Come for me.”

Hot heat rose from his loins. He erupted; sticky seed shot from his twitching meat and splashed on her belly. Hit after hit coated her form.

“Mhmm.” Some she scooped with the tip of her finger. “Here.” She smiled when she handed him the dishrag. It looked clean enough.

“What in tarnation?.” He winced as he cleaned himself.

She, too, grimaced when she accepted back the soiled tatter. “Could you do that one?” She pointed out a full keg of beer then dabbed herself down.

Booth grunted and strained as carried out the metal barrel.

“You’re a doll,” she said from inside the dark room. Rustling, as she pulled up her pants.

He did not answer and took a seat at the corner table.

Soon she brought him his bourbon. “You’re a doll.” She allowed him to steal a fleeting touch, then swaggered away. Booth mumbled a curse.

They hardly shared another word all evening. The Wrangler soon got busy, but she at least promptly refilled his glass. He did like to watch her work, slightly sweaty and with traces of his cum hidden under her clothes.

Another drink, another smoke and then, past midnight, the jukebox played that heart-rending, that accursed ballad. He tried to remember to forget, but the headless corpse crept into his mind. It stole away the memories, sweet and fresh, of her naked body and hot breath. Only the dead grimace remained, laughing at him with ghoulish teeth; long and yellow.

He motioned for her and she came. They could not kiss, but he could drink. Another drink and a cigarette for the road.

It was a cold night out. He swayed and staggered, past his cruiser and along the long and dusty road. Under distant stars and a blue moon, he walked home.

He fumbled with his keys until the front door clicked open. He stripped off hat, boots, gun-belt and jacket. He rid himself of pants, shirt and socks, then he stopped at the closed bedroom door.

His hand hovered over the handle. He stood, unsteady, alone in the dark and spinning room. He would not wake her. He could not wake her. With a grunt, he retreated to the sofa. To the hard mattress and to dark dreams.

He awoke when she opened the bathroom door. “Coffee?” she asked. The smile on her haggard lips looked forced.

“Mh – shower first.” His head was pounding, and he could not bear to look at her eyes; her sadness.

He closed the door behind him, but could hear her crying through the thin plywood. Until she turned on the radio and that damnable song droned out despair.

The face in the mirror gawked at him, tired and guilty. He pushed it aside. Hidden behind, he found the painkillers and chewed down two pills. Churning acid burned the inside of his stomach. He almost fell over when he tried to climb out of his underwear.

Then the cold, hard water hit him in the face. “Damned cold.” He endured until the boiler gurgled to life. Mist filled the small room. He fumbled for soap, longed to be clean, even as his body tortured him.

IV

“Coffee?”

He could not look at her; could not stand the bitter smell. Even showered and dressed, he was not ready. “No.” He winced. “Thank you.” He held his pounding head, then touched his gun. “I oughta go. Much to do.”

In the cold, blue morning light, the Wrangler looked like filth. Booth was on his second cigarette already and the run-down building made the bile rise to his throat. Someone had thrown up last night, and the greenish-brown puddle pooled around and stained the left back tire. He lit another cigarette and drove off.

The elderly orderly who manned the front desk inside the squat clinic building looked as tired and strung out as Booth felt. When he asked for Doctor Warrens the woman shrugged and told him to check the residence.

He crossed the dusty backyard and entered the residence. Built from dark wood and sandstone, the house was almost as large as the clinic itself.

Booth tried the handle and found the door unlocked. “Doc?” He knocked softly against the open door. Moans and music answered. The needle of the old gramophone scratched over vinyl. He recognized the melodious wails of the cowboy troubadour despite the rustling static and the discordant moans. Booth winced but entered.

“This early, Doc?” He rounded the corner from the small, carpeted hallway and, leaning against the wood panelled wall, lit another cigarette.

“Fuck you, Sheriff. Fuck you,” Warrens answered from his black leather couch. Only his feet were visible, with the woman bouncing on his lap hiding the rest of his frame.

“Fuck, ahhh – fuck – ahhh- fuckin’ fuck me.” Suzanna Myers, the local whore, stopped riding her john long enough to express shock and annoyance at the interruption.

“Sue, oh Sue, you oughta know better.” Booth ambled along the wall and sneered at the pictures. Formless shapes in hideous reds, violets and ochre. “Sue. Sue. Sue.” He turned around and grabbed the red-faced hooker by the chin.

She hissed and squirmed.

“Sue. Suzie Sue.” His fingers touched her brow and he brushed aside a long lock of dark red hair. Wet and sweaty slick. Green fire seemed to spark in her eyes. His eyes lingered on her tits.

A good handful of still firm flesh, pale and freckled. Stiff nipples and swaying from the doctor’s thrust. “Damn.” He grinned and stepped back.

“Booze? Booth sat down on the armchair opposite the couple and pointed at the low lacquered wood table. At bottles empty and full. At the overflowing ashtray and at old plates.

A deep, husky moan. He shifted, then Doctor Warrens’ wrinkled, moustachioed face appeared from behind Sue’s back. “Bourbon…,” the doctor pointed at bottle filled with amber liquid. Booth lifted it up and nodded at the label.

“…and laudanum,” the older man pointed at the unlabelled bottle filled with reddish-brown liquid. “My very own recipe.”

Booth winced, then drank bourbon straight from the bottle. “I’ll be damned.” He motioned at the other bottle. “One of those days you’re gonna get arrested for that shit.”

The grey-haired man laughed. “Fuck you.”

Booth grunted and took another sip. “Speaking of arrested,” he looked at Sue, “you wanna do this the easy way or what?”

“Fuck – urghhh fuuuck,” Sue gave him the finger and stuck out her tongue. She turned to the doctor. “Are you close or what?”

“Yeah. Ahhh fucking yeah.” The old doctor slid back and let her overtake him.

“Fuck. Ahhh good.” The whore bucked against him one last time, then lowered herself to the floor.

“Tarnation.” Booth moved to the edge of his seat and spread apart his legs. “I’ll be… .” His hard cock pressed against his tightning pants. “Hell.” He ripped open the zipper and pulled out his dick. “Listen, now. Easy or hard?”

She did not answer. Instead, she bobbed her head up and down between the legs of the other man. Booth could only watch. Cock in hand, he watched.

Her red mane flew back and forth across the doctor’s lap. Booth could hear the wet sucking and gargling of her mouth and throat closed around Warrens’ dick.

His hungry eyes followed the curvature of her spine down to her dainty feet and firm ass. Droplets of sweat covered her skin and flowed down to the cup and antlers tattooed on her lower back.

“Answer me! Dirty whore!” Booth had been stroking his cock with the movement of her head and now felt close to bursting. “Filthy slut.”

The doctor laughed and flashed his yellowed teeth. Then he grimaced, his face warped by the throes of his orgasm.

“Easy or hard?” he had grabbed her and dragged her away from Warrens.

She smiled and some cum trickled from the corner of her mouth down her swanlike neck. “Anything for you, Sheriff,” she whispered.

He pressed her down on the floor and forced apart her legs. She swallowed loudly, and then showed off her empty mouth. He threw her left leg over his shoulder and plunged himself deep in her wet cunt.

“Filthy whore. Filthy, teasing whore,” he thrust into her. Again and again. “I oughta -ahh I’ll – I oughta drag you back.” He moaned, screamed and pawed at her swaying breasts. “Back to the thrice-damned station and have the – ahhhhh.”

He pressed his hand on her neck and clamped up against her grinning face. “Take it!”

“Anything for you, Sheriff,” she wheezed.

He lifted up her ass and buried himself deep in her. “Filthy whore. I’ll have the boys run train on you.”

The skin under her tits tasted like salt and he almost toppled over when he tried to taste her. He roared loudly and pushed against her, again and again.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he had grabbed her face and made her nod. “Good,” he pulled back and stood up, “now open up your suckhole.”

She did. He groaned. Rubbing his cock, he rose and approached her kneeling form. He teased his tip against her lips and grabbed her hair.

“Dirty whore.” He pulled back. Spit and her juices coated his member. “Can you take it?”

She looked tired and forced a grin. Then she nodded.

“Good whore.” He slapped her cheeks with his length, then pushed it past her tongue. She gargled. A wet and rasping sound, but he did not release her hair and pressed deeper.

Cold and dainty hands on his ass. She groped and finally scratched, but he did not stop until her nose was buried in his coarse pubic hair.

“Fucking – fuck.” She coughed and hacked spit on the hard wood floor.

Booth laughed. “C’mon. Open up – I’m close.” Rubbing his cock, he lifted up her face and aimed at her opened mouth. He moaned, low and contentedly. He covered her with cum.

She swallowed and did not stop until the last glob had disappeared between her lips. Only then did she crawl over to the table. There, she poured reddish liquid into a dirty glass and emptied it. With shaking hands, she filled it and emptied it again.

“Had breakfast yet?” Warrens had put on green scrubs and a white lab coat. The old doctor sat back on the armchair and savoured his sips of the red and brown.

“Naw.” Booth pulled up his pants and lit a cigarette.

“Good. Let’s go then.” The older man counted out a few bills and rose.

“That bad?” Booth followed the other to the door.

“Worse.”

They crossed the yard in silence.

V

Doctor Warrens had unlocked the cellar door and led the Sheriff into the green tiled morgue. He sighed and pointed at the judge’s corpse, naked on the steel slab. “Hard blows – enough to break ribs. My gut says fists, but that would make our guy an absolute beast. You might need to consult with an expert – someone who knows his weapons – native or oriental.”

Booth looked at the judge’s severed head sat on the wall counter, away from the slab. “Guess cause of dead is easy, at least.”

“It is not.” The cold professionalism had left the doctor’s voice. He had grabbed the edge of the slab with whitened knuckles.

“What in tarnation?”

“He’s,” Warrens paused and breathed heavily. “He’s missing his heart.”

Booth peered down at the corpse’s opened chest cavity. “I can see that – I guess.”

The doctor managed a dry laugh. “It was gone when I opened him up.”

“What in tarnation?” Booth sucked in air, then inspected the cold, death flesh. “Are these scalpel cuts? I can’t rightly tell.”

Warrens sighed. “Fuck. Neither can I. Might have been a world class surgeon, might’ve been – something else.”

“So what? Some big city doc, built like a brick shit house, walks into town, then rips open the judge’s thorax and cuts out his heart?”

Warrens shook his head. “No. Not as far as I can tell. I’ve found hematoma around the cracked ribs, but no ruptures. No open wounds.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s gotta be something you missed. A small nick, and then he’d have to have worked- I dunno some kind of acid or wire or something.”

The doctor looked sceptical. “I can look into it. And I might’ve missed something. But… .” He paused again and starred up at the ceiling. “But,” he continued, “maybe you should think about calling in the feds – if only so another doctor can look him over.”

VI

Booth spent the rest of the morning brooding in his office. Twice he picked up the phone and twice he slammed the receiver back down. Around noon he called home and told his wife he would not be in for lunch. He then sent Johnny out for sandwiches.

*

Hat in hand, he rang the doorbell. He had not eaten much and the taste of coffee and tobacco still clung to his lips. He did not expect much from the interview, but he needed to work, needed to do something. Anything.

“Sheriff,” Mrs. Larson, the court reporter, smiled brightly as she opened her door, “please, come on in.” She stepped aside. A short entryway then a large central room and an open kitchen.

“I’ll make us some coffee. And please make yourself comfortable,” she pointed at lone mattress on the empty floor. “I haven’t had time to unpack yet. But please make yourself comfortable.”

“I’m okay.”

“Just a minute.” She said from the kitchen.

He leaned his back against the wall and looked around. Past the empty central room he saw a hallway filled with boxes. Three doors. One was open and led to a small room, also piled high with boxes. The doors to the other rooms, one opposite the open one and one at the end of the hallway, were closed.

Mrs. Larson worked, back turned towards him, at the stove. He stepped into the hallway and stopped by the two doors. He checked out the boxes in the hallway with mild curiosity. Most were taped shut. Inside the small room he found one opened and overflowing with folded clothes and old pans. He stepped back into the hallway and inspected the white lacquer-wood of the closed door.

Smells and noise. A smokey scent, earthy and wooden. Some kind of incense, maybe. Booth sniffed and listened.

The twangy guitar was quiet, and he felt rather than heard the vocals, but the cowboy troubadour’s lament was unmistakable. The hairs on his arm stood upright and he shivered.

“What are you doing?” said a voice behind him. He had not heard her move.

“I just – I was – I need to take a leak.”

“Oh,” she smiled, awkwardly and without guile, “just through here,” she pointed at the door at the end of the hallway.

Hat in hand he mumbled a “much obliged” and retreated into the small lavatory. He splashed water on his face, paused and then used the toilet. Her soap smelled like roses.

When he reopened the door, he saw her standing in front of the closed door and locking it shut. She noticed him looking and flinched. The smell of perfumed smoke almost made him gag and the music was gone.

“Come. Come.” She hid the key inside the pockets of her knee-length, red bubble skirt.

VII

“Good coffee.” He had followed her back and now sat on the mattress, while she stood with her back pressed against the wall.

“Thank you.” A weak smile lit up her face.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “you are widowed?”

She nodded slowly. “My Georgie died – died in June, two years ago.”

“The fire, right? I heard – damned shame,” he paused, “my condolences.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

“But you’re not from Scalper’s Ferry?”

“No, Siree. I’m a Sundown gal, born and raised.” A hint of pride had entered her voice.

“So – you returned?” He did his best to imbue the words with warmth.

“I needed a job and there was nothing – I am happy here.”

“I see. And Judge Diegife – did you like working at the courthouse?”

“Oh,” she pulled out a white handkerchief and cleaned her nose, “he was such a dear. So kind and wise. Never a bad word about nobody and he’d always tell these funny hunting stories.”

“I see. And did he seem different recently? Nervous or off somehow?”

She shook her head.

“Very well.” He emptied his cup. “You have been a great help. And please – if you remember anything do not hesitate to give us a ring at the station.”

She promised him that she would, but he resolved to return the day after tomorrow either way. Or after he had spoken to the judge’s wife again. The court reporter before her had married in a hurry. Even rumours notwithstanding, he never had had the inclination to call the judge “dear” nor “kind and wise.”

He was a goat. Horny and angry.

VIII

A routine call on the way back to the station sent him to the Wrangler and, after he and his nightstick had resolved the situation, he stayed. Emily did not work tonight, but he did not want to go home, and it was almost dusk.

He drank bourbon and smoked. When that song began to play on the jukebox, he threw a few bills on the table and left. The hands on his watch pointed to almost midnight.

The full moon was darker and warmer than last night. An almost amber yellow, it dripped from the starless sky and bathed the dusty roads and dark houses in a soft light.

Booth stretched with a smile. The evening cold felt refreshing on his skin. He whistled a few off-key bars, then suddenly stopped and cursed. The song had again wormed its way into his brain.

“Sheriff Booth?” she asked meekly.

“What?” His voice was louder than he had intended.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Booth had recognized the court reporter immediately. A colourful headscarf tamed her long brown hair and she had covered her form with a long, dark-grey cloak.

“What?” he asked, softer this time.

“The judge and I,” her eyes darted around and finally found his, “we were more than just – we had an affair.” She stepped closer. “I did not mean to lie to you, but – but it feels strange admitting it even now.”

“That’s,” he swallowed, “quite alright.” She was close enough for him to see just how thin her cloak was and how little she wore underneath it. “I… ,” his tongue was heavy and she did not shy away from his touch. “Thank you for telling me.” Her skin was warm and her breath smelled like mint.

“Sheriff Booth,” she whispered.

A dark cloud devoured the moon and the sudden chill made him shiver. Again, he stretched out his hands, but he could not reach her shadow. He blinked.

“Sheriff Booth.” She held his hand in hers.

“Mrs. Larson.”

“Please, call me Elisabeth.”

“Hy -.”

The stench of decay. Almost enough to make him retch. “Do you?” His head was spinning, and his eyes had begun to water. “I should probably… .” He staggered away.

“I am ready for you.” Her voice was soft, but urgent. “Come to me. Soon.”

He stumbled away through the darkness.

Finally, the moon returned, and its warm light guided him home. His head was swimming, and his hands were shaking when he unlocked his front door.

He could remember locking away his gun belt and he must have noticed the empty spot on the bed beside him. Then darkness.

IX

His tongue was desert dry. Only the slivers of moonlight, close to the drapes lit the night-dark room. He fumbled for the light switch but stopped when he heard.

Mary was moaning. Low and hot and filled with need. He could feel her heat and smell her wetness. There was life in her shadow dance, and he had not seen her alive for a long time.

She gasped when his hand touched her knee.

“Mhmm, yes.” She begged him to move his hand deeper. “Take me. Please, oh please, take me.”

He rolled over and embraced her. With his hand still between her legs, he kissed her neck. He could smell her shampooed hair and touched the dark strands. Not a hint of grey. Only darkness.

Her lips were soft and wet. He drank her kisses and her moans.

“Don’t!” Her hands reached out after him.

“Just trying to… .” Sitting upright, he pulled down his pants.

“Ohhh.”

He teased apart her legs and found her naked breasts. Her wedding ring was cold on his back, but her skin was warm.

“I’ve missed us,” she whispered.

She was right. Her body still fit him like a glove and her lusty screams were beautiful. Every inch of her body was familiar, yet he had never been this close to her.

In the pitch-like darkness, he could not see her eyes, but he sensed her. Sensed her soul. He melted into her. Each thrust broke away another piece of the barrier.

She was so close. And forcing her over the edge, and again, only brought her closer to him.

He wrapped himself around her sweat slick form and was drawn closer. Pressured heat boiled inside him.

“I love you.”

He pressed his lips against her. Her confession hurt. And he felt the same. He had to feel the same. The same forlorn, painful need. He was deep inside her and they shared the same sadness. The need for oblivion.

Another scream, pained and wailing. Then he felt it, too. His fingers and the tip of his cock. The searing pain shot in waves though his raw body.

Thick and oily smoke filled the room. He was boiling. Sizzling bubbles like from a fat-rendering vat. He cried out in pain.

She had reached the switch and the light flickered alive. Her face was pale and burn marks covered her body wherever he had touched her. She covered her mouth and pointed at him. A muffled scream then she hurried away.

He wanted to cry out for her, but his voice failed him. More fatty flames engulfed him and darkened his mind. He found his voice and screamed. Meaningless cries into the bright and greasy void.

White lights danced in front of his wide-open eyes. Finally, the bedroom door opened and he again saw her blurred form. She sat down on the edge of the bed. He heard her speak but could not no longer understand the words.

She pressed ice against his blistering skin and for a few seconds the pain lessened. Then she screamed and withdrew her hands.

He clawed at his skin and sent drips of boiling water flying. “Cut it out!” he screamed, “cut it out!”

She answered something, then he lost consciousness.

*

Bright lights and pain. Heat. She screamed and fell. Both their body hit the floor and he singed the hardwood boards. Then he blacked out again.

*

Steam rose from the bathtub. She had gripped his hair and yanked him up.

“You were slipping.” She dumped another load of ice into the hot water.

“I can’t… .” Boiling water filled his mouth and the fat under his skin continued to burn. He felt her hand then slipped away.

*

Red water filled the tub. He screamed in pain. Blood flowed from the cuts on his arms and legs and coloured the cooling water crimson.

“Are you okay?” She held up his right arm and tried to staunch the flow with gauze.

“Ye – yes.” He sucked in air and fought down the pain. The open wounds hurt, but his body was no longer boiling. Sudden shivers, and she dropped the bandage into the dark water.

“Are you cold?” Still holding his arm, she pulled another white dressing from the nearby shelf.

He nodded weakly. She did not release his arm but climbed into the tub with him, dressed in her nightgown. Her warmth was enough to calm the worst shakes and she managed to bandage the wound on his arm.

“Can you reach the towels? And the gauze?”

His hands were unsteady, but he could.

“I’ve tried calling Doctor Warrens, but he must be a deep sleeper. Garcia said he’d pick up the night nurse,” she paused. “I called them.”

“Thank you.”

Her hands were warm and gentle. She had wiped dry his other arm and now tied close the bandage. “Can you stand? I need to do your lower body.”

He nodded and put his hands on the rim of the bathtub. The pain made him see the lights. He breathed and struggled, but his limbs would not obey.

“Let me… .”

With her help, on the third try, he managed. She guided and supported him as he weakly walked, one foot in front of the other, until they reached the toilet. He sat.

“Boss? Boss!” Shouts, then a bang as Deputy Holiday forced open the front door. “Garcia’s,” the young man fell silent as soon as he reached the bathroom and saw Mary kneel, almost naked, between Sheriff Booth’s naked legs.

“Stop gawking and help,” Booth said. He felt angry, but his voice was to weak to convey any emotion. Johnny obeyed, nonetheless.

*

When Garcia arrived, nurse in tow, he carried bad news. The dark-haired deputy did not share them immediately, but first let the woman in her red scrubs check Booth’s bandages and administer painkillers from her bag.

“Talk.” Booth felt tired, slow almost, but he read the worried look on Garcia’s face easy enough.

The other man did not meet his eyes. “Johnny oughta hear this,” he mumbled.

“Get him. I told him he could smoke inside, but – should be in the backyard.”

Garcia left. The nurse looked at him, then left as well. Soon he could hear her chat with Mary in the kitchen. Finally, his deputies returned, and the war council began.

“Warrens’ dead,” said Garcia. Both deputies avoided looking at Booth’s naked form.

“What? How?” the Sheriff asked.

“Don’t know,” Garcia paused. “He looked bad. And the smell. It’s as if he’d been cooked. Boils everywhere and,” the deputy fell silent.

“Hell and tarnation.” Booth paused then cursed again. His deputies looked at him; looked him in the eyes. “It’s gotta be Sue.” He was weak and the painkillers seemed to slow everything. Every word was a challenge. “Suzanna Myers,” he lowered his voice. “Johnny knows her.” He was slurring every word and was whispering now. “Warrens was a customer. And whatever it was it almost – almost got me too. She must have infected us. With – with something. A disease or -.” He did not say or a curse.

“Should we?” Garcia played with the hat in his hand.

“Yes!” Booth’s voice was louder than he had intended. “Arrest her immediately,” he had calmed himself, “and only arrest her. I’ll talk to her. And Johnny don’t – don’t be stupid. She is dangerous.”

With a hurried salute, they left and with Mary’s help Booth reached the bed. He fell asleep immediately.

*

When he awoke again, the room was dark.

“Mary? Mary? he called out until his wife awoke. “How long was I out?”

She picked up her watch from the nightstand. “It’s midnight. A day, almost.”

He cursed. “I need to go.” He sat up and the room began to spin.

Her face was pale. “Are you sure? Can’t it wait? Should I cook something? Do you need water? Coffee?”

Booth opened and closed his eyes. He was hungry and tired and nauseous. “I need to – water.”

“Yes.” She hurried to the kitchen and brought him a glass. “You sure you don’t want anything else? I’ve made soup. Chicken. Won’t be a minute.”

He emptied the glass, paused, then nodded. “Hurry.”

She hurried out the door.

“And thank you.”

X

Walking hurt. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. The soup had helped, and his throat was not quite as dry any more, but everything hurt. And when he saw Mr. Antonielli loiter around the waiting room inside the police station, he expected the worst.

Like his father before him, Antonielli practised law. Contracts, testaments and the occasional divorce, usually. Sundown rarely called for a criminal lawyer, or any kind of trial lawyer.

“What do you want?” Booth asked.

“I would like to speak to my client,” Antionielli confirmed the sheriff’s suspicions.

“Wait here,” Booth said and stalked back behind the counter. He found Johnny in the break room, nursing his coffee.

“Are you daft?” Booth managed to keep his voice low enough that the lawyer would not hear him. “What in tarnation were you thinking?”

“Boss?”

“Why is that shyster here?”

“She asked for her call an’ I figure she called him.”

The pain threatened to overwhelm him. Booth massaged his temple and swallowed a biting remark. “Guess we’ll make do,” he paused, “and where’s Garcia?”

“Personal business,” the other mumbled.

Booth exhaled. Inhaled and exhaled. “Get our guest into the interview room. And then get out of my sight.”

The lawyer was still waiting outside. Boot forced a smile. “We just have a few questions.” Antionielli opened his mouth, but the Sheriff continued: “I assume you want to sit in?” He did not wait for an answer and let him past the barrier and to the interview room.

Suzanna Myers already sat at the small metal table in the small, empty room. She looked tired and, judging by her pupils, high. Cold sweat beaded her pallid face, and she clutched her hands, claw like, to her chest.

The men took their seats. “Doctor Warrens died last night,” said Booth. Antionielli seemed shocked. The whore remained motionless, no muscle twitch, no sign of emotion.

“I am sorry to hear that,” the lawyer had calmed himself, “but I fail to see how that relates to my client.”

Booth’s fist hit the table. “You worked him and now he’s dead.” He looked the suddenly trembling slut square in the eyes. “So – what did you do? Poison? Or some disease? What is it? Hm? Go on, what filthy, disgusting disease did you give – him?”

His outburst had scared her. She had shied away. Each word spat an onslaught, a hit to her face. Then she changed. Sneered and smiled then turned to her lawyer. Mocking whispers and Antionielli too began to smile.

“Any proof?” The lawyer’s eyes lingered on Booth’s bandages.

Silence then Booth answered: “No.”

Booth’s opponents looked at each other and smiled. “Will that be all?” the man asked.

“Coffee?” Booth hurried from the room; he could not stand their smug faces.

*

When he returned with three steaming paper cups, he had calmed himself. “We will need to do a drug test.”

Myers’ smile froze and he started to grin.

“A formality I am sure, but the arresting officer noted physical signs of intoxication in his report.” He grabbed his cup with a smile and addressed Antionielli: “I expect you wish to confer with your client?” He left them without another word.

*

“No drug test,” the other man said after Booth had returned, “but my client will consent to whatever other tests a medical doctor deems necessary. And she will make herself available for further questioning should you uncover any evidence for foul play. Acceptable?”

Booth hesitated then shook the outstretched hand. “Acceptable.”

They left and Booth laid down his head on the cold table. Doubts niggled and gnawed at the back of his mind. He could prove nothing and he could not connect the whore to the judge at all. He rose with a groan.

Jan 19 2021

Pantyhose Play: A Love Story 0 (0)

Summary: Two women spend first date playing together in nylons.

JasmineStockings: Really?

BlackBeauty: Sure, unless you don’t want to.

BlackBeauty and I had been chatting online for three weeks, recently graduating to sharing teasing pics of ourselves in nylons, and some fun roleplay. But now she’d totally upped the ante by asking me if I wanted to come to her house tomorrow night: Valentine’s Day. As in her actual, physical house! (It had been a pleasant surprise to learn we both lived in the same city.)

We had so much in common, and now she was offering to make my fantasy of being with a black woman come true!

Yet meeting someone who knew all my secrets in person was scary. This online hidden identity stuff was safe.

Yet I couldn’t tell her no and potentially end these delightful exchanges, and of course I was quite curious to meet her face to face. (The pics we’d shared had only showed our legs.)

JasmineStockings: I definitely want to.

BlackBeauty: Great! I promise you the best Valentine’s Day ever.

JasmineStockings: It sounds a lot better than my current plan of watching Meg Ryan movies.

BlackBeauty: That’s a pretty good plan B.

JasmineStockings: Agreed. I had planned a triple header of Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, and You’ve Got Mail.

BlackBeauty: All of them good choices.

JasmineStockings: But I’d rather spend the night with you.

BlackBeauty: Well then, it’s a date.

JasmineStockings: I guess it is.

BlackBeauty: You’ll be in nylons of course?

JasmineStockings: Of course.

BlackBeauty: Good. I’ll send you my address. Be here at 7:00.

JasmineStockings: Okay.

BlackBeauty: Good night, Jasmine. I’m really looking forward to meeting you in person!

JasmineStockings: So am I!!

I logged off, went to my bathtub and enjoyed a leisurely bath… but only after getting myself off with my showerhead.

I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to meet her. She could be anyone! She could even be a guy! (Albeit one who shaved his sexy legs.)

Yet I knew she wasn’t.

There was just something so real about her!

So although I felt some trepidation, that was overridden by curiosity and hope.

Maybe she was the one!

Since my divorce (from my husband of twenty-five years) eight months ago, except for two disastrous dates, I’d been alone.

Now that I was single, I was curious about exploring my sexuality… about perhaps even exploring my lesbian desires… about really letting go, and allowing my natural submissive nature to take charge.

I drifted off to sleep having no idea what she may look like, other than she had amazingly sexy chocolate-coloured legs and feet… but in my fantasy, she was a black goddess.

Valentine’s Day this year was on a Sunday. So I went to church. I then went for lunch with my mom, who nagged me about getting back out there, and I did tell her, largely to shut her up, I had a date tonight. She asked me for details, but I only told her I didn’t want to jinx it. I certainly wasn’t going to tell her it was with a woman… I wasn’t even sure yet whether I swung that way.

I went home and graded some papers, ordered in my favourite meal from my favourite restaurant, and took a nice shower to make sure I was freshly shaved.

She sent me her address, and after spending a long time deciding what to wear, I chose sexy thigh highs, ignored wearing any underwear, and a cute dress.

So… with massive apprehension… but also massive excitement… I drove to a relative stranger’s house, thankfully in an upscale section of the city, which made me feel a little more comfortable.

I arrived a few minutes early, and waited in my car.

The house looked nice. I noticed it had a two-door garage.

I wondered what she looked like.

I wondered what I was walking into.

I wondered if I could really go through with this.

Yet I realized I had nothing to lose.

Worst case… we wouldn’t click and I’d leave.

Best case… she’d be everything I imagined she was.

So exactly on time, I got out of my car, walked up to the door, and knocked.

“Come on in,” a sexy, southern-sounding voice called out.

I walked in, and she surprised me before I even saw her by ordering, “Take off your dress and heels, and come into the living room on your right.”

“Okay,” I said, even though I was quite surprised by her instructions. The logical side of me screamed TURN AROUND AND LEAVE! while the submissive side of me had my hands immediately sliding my dress down and off of my body.

Yes, I was nervous; this had already become a crazy date, yet my body was on fire just as soon.

I slipped out of my heels too, and nervously walked into a large living room, where I was greeted by… indeed a black beauty.

“Hi, you sweet thang,” she smiled.

“Hi,” I said, looking at her, with her legs crossed and a coy smile.

“Come on over here, darlin’, I don’t bite unless you ask me to,” she offered.

“Sorry, you’re just so beautiful that I froze,” I said.

“You’re a fine looking number yourself,” she countered, the way she said ‘fine’ sounding so southernly sexy, as I now stood before her.

“I wore nylons just for you and your nylon fetish,” she said, as she uncrossed her legs, showing me her pantyhose-clad pussy.

“And I wore mine for you,” I smiled, as I submissively knelt down before her without being bid to.

“Mmmmmmmm, such a cute… obedient… submissive… sexy thang,” she took all the time in the world to drawl out with a broad smile, as I moved my hands to her silky sheer legs.

“Actually I wear them most of the time,” I admitted, adding, in awe of her sheer hosiery, “yours are super smooth.”

“I only wear the best, darlin’,” she said, as she reached her foot between my legs and brushed it against my pussy.

“So do I,” I said as I enjoyed caressing her sexy, silky legs.

“I love nylon play too, darlin’,” she said, her accent making my pussy dampen, as did her foot, ever so lightly brushing against it.

“I’ve fantasized about lesbian nylon play and watched a plethora of videos,” I admitted before adding, “but I’ve never actually gotten a chance to play.”

“Well, tonight we’ll explore that little ol’ fantasy, you sweet thang,” she promised and then added, “and many more of them.”

“I’ll do anything you tell me to, ma’am,” I said, not knowing her name other than BlackBeauty, or how to address her in person, but wishing her to know right up front I’d be completely receptive to her every sexual whim… my pussy on overdrive.

“Oh darlin’,” she said. “You don’t need to call me ma’am. Just call me Janice, and I’ll call you lots of sweet thangs, and tonight I’m going to make some of your silk stocking fantasies come true.”

“You’ve already begun,” I said, as I adjusted my position a bit, then lifted her leg and began kissing it while also caressing the sole of her foot.

“Oh, darlin’,” she smiled. “You’re in for one wild nylon play night.”

“Sounds amazing,” I said, splattering her legs with kisses, while using my hands to slowly caress up and down her leg and foot; I was completely obsessed with her leg in the sheer silk.

“You’re such a pretty thang,” she said, enjoying my nylon leg worship.

“This is a dream come true,” I said before adding, “with the nylon play for sure, but that’s expanded geometrically by the woman wearing them being such a beautiful black woman as you are.”

“Aaawww, you’re so sweet,” she said, while I was now worshipping her entire leg.

I spent a good five minutes kissing and caressing both of her legs, while taking repetitive glances at her pantyhose-clad pussy, which didn’t go unnoticed by the lovely Janice.

“I could allow you to do this all night, but it’s pretty obvious you can’t resist admiring something else of mine,” she said with a smile.

“It just looks so inviting,” I said, as she parted her legs to give me an even better view of her pantyhose-covered pussy… now able to see her pussy lips through it.

“I’m told it’s also very delicious,” she said, as she stood up, raised one foot to rest it on the couch and asked, “Have you ever snacked on a pantyhose-clad pussy, my sweet thang?”

“It’s another goal on my fuck-it list,” I smiled, as I admired her fragrant pussy from just a few inches away.

“Fuck-it list,” she chuckled in a way that was so sexy, “I love it.”

“I hope to check off many boxes tonight… all of them you’ll allow,” I said, as I maneuvered even closer to her pussy.

“Well, you can check off one more right now, darlin’,” she drawled, as she guided my head that final inch.

I immediately began licking her pussy through the pantyhose, finding it both erotic and frustrating. Doing something so sexy and sweet was hot, checking it off my fuck-it list was also hot, but being unable to access the full taste of her nectar, which must have been tantalizing from what I could taste of it (the taste of the sweat and nylon adding another texture of taste), which was annoying. But I was learning quickly this was to be a leisurely slow burn night… quite different from any of my previous sexual encounters (until tonight all with men).

I had one hand on her nylon leg, rubbing it ever so slowly, and my other hand between my legs, also rubbing ever so slowly.

I licked for a couple minutes, also slowly rubbing myself, before she said, “Come with me, sweetheart, let’s get you a little more comfortable.”

“I could dine like this all day,” I said, which would be especially true if I could get directly to her pussy.

“Oh, you’re not nearly done dinin’, darlin’,” she said, pulling me up and kissing me. When she broke the kiss, she smiled, “Mmmmmmm, I do taste exquisite.”

“Agreed,” I smiled, as she took my hand and led me to a long counter, where she hopped onto it.

I instantly knelt down and took a foot in my hand and admired, “Such perfect feet.”

“They’re one of my better assets,” she smiled. “As is this.”

She turned around and posed for me, wiggling her amazing pantyhose-clad ass.

“It’s an amazing ass-et,” I agreed, as I moved closer to her and caressed a lovely black booty, looking even more perfect encased in the sheer hosiery.

“It’s a gift from God,” she said, as I rubbed my hands all over her ass.

“Then I should worship it properly,” I smiled, as I began kissing her ass all over.

“Yes, and you should lick my divine asshole, too,” she moaned after a minute, so I teased her puckered backdoor with my tongue.

“Such a tasty little puckered hole,” I said, trying to probe into it which was, of course, impossible through the pantyhose. Half of me wanted to rip them to shreds, and the other half wanted to continue enjoying this slow, sensual play she was orchestrating for us.

“Mmmmmmm,” she moaned, as I slithered down the short distance to her pussy, and licked it from my somewhat awkward position.

After another minute or so she observed thoughtfully, “That can’t be too comfortable for you.” She spun around again, spread her legs wide and smiled, “I’ll give you easy access to my peach, sugar.”

“Mmmmmmmm, I do love my fresh fruit,” I quipped, eagerly moving between her legs again, wrapping my arms around her to pull her a little closer to me, and resuming licking.

“That’s it, darlin’,” she moaned.

I kept licking, and then finally, as the dim lightbulb in my head switched on, I realized I could suck her clit and pussy through the sheer nylon. Why it took me almost ten minutes to get there I’ll never know, but I began sucking her pussy through the pantyhose, earning myself a gush of wetness.

“Oh, yes darlin’, that’s it,” she moaned loudly.

“You’re so delicious,” I crooned, as I aggressively sucked her pussy.

“Oh yes, sugar, don’t stop, you’re gonna get Momma off,” she moaned, the term ‘Momma’ so sexy in this context, even though she was younger than I was by at least a decade.

I had no intention of stopping, her increased breathing telling me she was close, and I wasn’t about to stop until I tasted the full flood of her cum.

“Oh yes, baby, yes, you’re gonna make me cum, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes,” she moaned increasingly urgently as her body began to tremble, and then she screamed, “Yesssssssssssssss, darlin’!”

Her pussy juice gushed out of her, seeped through her pantyhose, and I sucked it into my mouth, sucking up as much of it through the sheer pantyhose as I could… the taste so delectable, and enhanced by the smooth nylon texture.

“Oh, that was amazing, Jasmine darlin’,” she purred, as I kept trying to retrieve and savor as much of her pussy nectar as I could through the sheer hosiery.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I smiled, looking up at her… loving to be between my first ever woman’s legs, especially my a black woman’s nylon legs… nothing feeling more natural to me than pleasing another person.

“Let’s take this upstairs to the bedroom,” she offered, as she pulled me up and kissed me again. It was soft and tender, yet exceedingly passionate.

She took my hand and led me upstairs; her bedroom was actually a loft… an interesting setup that intrigued me.

She climbed onto the bed and said, “There are still some spots on my legs you haven’t plastered with your sweet kisses.”

“Well, I’d better rectify that,” I smiled, as I gazed at her sitting up on her bed with her legs crossed.

I knelt at the end of the bed and began by sucking her silky sheer toes into my mouth.

“I know how you love nylon-clad feet, darlin’,” she said as I sucked each individual toe.

“Love isn’t a strong enough word,” I smiled, between sucking her delicate toes individually, “It’s my obsession.”

“I chose these sheer sandalfoot toe ones just for you, sweetheart,” she said.

“I appreciate it,” I said, having always disliked reinforced toe nylons for some reason… I just like the completely clear toe. I can tolerate reinforced or shadow toes if they’re old-fashioned stockings, with either the Cuban heel, or the seam down the back (or both)… but I greatly prefer sheer sandalfoot nylons, where I can drool at a woman’s sexy toes in all their glossy glory.

“Anything for you, sweet thang,” she said.

“Right back at you, Janice,” I smiled, as I progressed to her next toe.

Once done, I climbed onto the bed and resumed my foot and toe worship. I couldn’t explain it, but I got so turned on just by touching, licking, kissing and sucking her feet and toes.

“Bite them, sugar,” she moaned, as I had her big toe in my mouth, and was worshipping it like a mini-cock, while my hand was busy at my fevered snatch.

“Mmmmmm, yummy,” I purred, as I bit her toe… and licked her salty, sweaty soles, and generally worshipped her feet, like you might see in a Bratty Babes Owns You, or a Foot Fantasy video.

“You could do this all night, couldn’t you, darlin’?” she asked, watching me intently, as I enjoyed bestowing my foot worship upon her as much as she did receiving it.

“Only until the end of eternity,” I replied cornily.

“I knew we’d be compatible,” she smiled.

“I’ve never met a woman in real life with this same fetish I have,” I said, as I finished my second round of pleasuring her each and every toe.

“Want to do something I bet you’ve never done before?” she asked.

“Are your nylons black?” I asked.

She smiled as she rolled onto her belly and said, “Massage my pantyhose ass, Jasmine.”

“Oooooooh, I’d love to,” I said, as I moved into a new position where I could perform the massage she was requesting.

I decided to begin at her calves, knowing how much I loved having mine massaged, before gradually working my way up to the target she’d assigned me.

“Oh, that’s nice, darlin’,” she said.

“I used to love when my husband massaged my entire legs from the bottom up.”

“Good call,” she said, becoming fully relaxed as I massaged her as if I was a real masseuse.

I spent a good fifteen minutes on these preliminaries, as I worked my snail’s-pace way up to her pantyhose-clad ass, striving to give her a massage to remember, and hopefully to have her inviting me back again soon for some more pantyhose play. Janice was a keeper, and I hoped she felt the same about me.

I then surprised her by flipping her over, a little inner dominance sneaking out of me, spread her legs, and mentioned, “I’m getting hungry again.”

“Mmmmmmmm,” she moaned, as I began licking my way up her leg.

Like it was doing to me, this sweet erotic slow burning pleasure was driving her wild. She said, “Let’s see how that sweet kitty of yours is doing,” as she sat up.

She sat at the edge of the bed and patted a spot beside her. “Come close, darlin’.”

I did, and she reached a hand to my soaking wet pussy. “Mmmmmmm, you’re so wet.”

“That’s all because of you,” I replied, as she gently rubbed me.

“It’s mutual,” she smiled, as she moved her other hand to her own pussy.

“Are you ready for the ultimate orgasm, Jazzy?”

“God, yes,” I replied, my pussy having been burning for… it must have over an hour by now; I wondered how long I’d been here.

“Lie down on the floor,” she instructed.

I did, and she pulled both of my legs high up in the air, and straddled me in a strange position I can’t really explain (but thankfully I have pictures on hand for that picture is worth a thousand words thing), and she slid a finger inside me.

“Oooooooooh,” I moaned, as my pussy eagerly welcomed the invasion.

She fingered me with two fingers for a minute before asking, “Do you trust me, Jaz-gal?”

I loved her wide variety of names for me as I replied, meaning it, “Completely.”

“What I’m about to do will send you orgasmically ballistic,” she foreshadowed, although I wasn’t sure if ‘orgasmically’ was a word; if it isn’t, it sure as fuck should be. [And my editor just added it to his Microsoft dictionary, so now it officially is one. Done!]

“You have my undivided attention,” I said, as I felt her hand at the entrance to my pussy.

“Here it comes, darlin’,” she said, before her entire fist slipped rather easily inside me, making my eyes go extremely wide, since that wasn’t remotely what I was expecting!

“Oh my God!” I screamed, as she began to fist fuck me, and at this unique angle, somehow sparked every erogenous zone not only in my pussy, but throughout my entire body!

“Oh yes, sexy,” she purred, as she fisted me, not roughly, just smoothly. “Once you’re ready, you may come all over my fist.”

“Don’t stop,” I pleaded, as my orgasm was rising at an astronomically rapid pace… mere seconds after she’d entered me.

“Not till you come, Babygirl,” she encouraged, as she fist fucked me.

“Oh, God,” I moaned, knowing my orgasm was imminent, “you’re driving me wild.”

“Come, Jazzy, come for Momma,” she purred, her silly seductive voice enhancing the already erotic pleasure swarming inside me.

“Oh, yes, keep fist fucking me,” I begged, dying to erupt.

“Now, Jasmine, come for me now,” she ordered.

“Yes, yes, yes, Momma, yes!” I screamed, as my orgasm exploded out of me.

“Good girl,” she purred, maintaining her slow fisting pace while… my orgasm went so ballistic that involuntarily I almost vaulted through the ceiling!

“Oh,” was all I could muster. The orgasm still had plenty of steam, and I was now a shuddering, endlessly coming, lost in my own sensations, puddle on the carpet, wreck.

“So sexy,” she said, as she looked fondly down at me as I kept coming and coming.

When she pulled out a full minute later, she moved her soaking wet hand to her face and began licking my cum off of it. “Mmmmmmm, so delicious.”

“That is soooooo hot,” I said, as I watched her lap up my juices.

“It is a little warm,” she smiled, as she continued looking down at me.

“I’m totally overheated,” I joked. “Put your wet hand back on my skin, and it’ll sizzle!”

She stood up straight, moved her foot to my lips (she had amazing balance) and asked, “Wanna worship my feet again, Sugarkins?”

“Mmmmmmm, yes indeed,” I moaned, as I took her toe in my mouth, even as my undying orgasm was still sending pleasure waves through me.

After a minute of sucking just her one foot, she changed her mind, saying, “Fuck this, I want some foot play too.”

She joined me in sitting on the floor, took my right foot in her left hand and guided it to her lips, as she lifted her own right leg and offered me her sexy, nylon-clad foot.

I won’t bore you with every detail, but we spent at least fifteen minutes in this exact same position (well, we occasionally switched legs of course), not saying a word to each other, just softly moaning as we worshipped every toe and the entire soles of each other’s feet, while almost the entire time losing ourselves in each other’s eyes, as we mutually satisfied each other’s very similar fetishes.

She then placed her right foot on my pussy and asked, “Have you ever received a nylon-clad foot job like in those videos you mentioned a couple days ago?”

“No, I haven’t,” I moaned and added hopefully, “until now?” as she did indeed begin slowly rubbing my pussy with her silky sheer foot, while still sucking my toes.

“Mmmmmmm, you’ll love it, Sugar,” she purred, as she slowly rubbed my wet pussy.

“Oh God yes, I love it already,” I moaned, as she sucked on my toes simultaneously with her foot job on my sex, creating different pleasures that complemented each other like peanut butter and jam.

The double pleasure overwhelmed me, and my second orgasm in not much time was growing inside me.

“You gonna come again, sweetheart?” she asked, beginning to rub me circularly and faster.

“If you’ll allow me to,” I moaned, knowing I was close.

“I’m not that kind of restrictive Mistress; just come, you silly girl,” she smiled, “come whenever you please, and all over my foot.”

“Oh yes,” I moaned, as she rubbed her pussy in a circular motion as I lifted my ass up a little.

“You’re a sexy thing humping my foot,” she said.

“You have me so fucking horny,” I admitted, my second orgasm about to burst.

“Tonight’s all about checking adventures off your fuck-it list, my sweet girl,” she said, as she rubbed me faster until I could no longer take it and screamed, “Yessssssss,” as my second orgasm whirled through me.

“Mmmmmmm, so sexy,” she smiled, as she watched and felt me cum on her silky foot.

“Oh God, yes,” I moaned, as I collapsed onto my back.

“So, so sexy,” she said, rubbing my pussy very slowly now… the sole of her foot soaked from my cum.

Once I was done, I said, looking up at her, “I shouldn’t have more orgasms than you do.”

“No, I guess that wouldn’t be fair,” she smiled, “especially since I’m being so good to you,” as I moved between her legs and asked, “Do you mind if I rip a hole these pantyhose?” I wanted to get right inside this perfect pink pussy, so exquisitely showcased by her lovely black skin.

“Please do,” she moaned, as I rubbed her pantyhose-clad pussy. I ripped my way to full access, and then slid first two, and then three fingers inside her, while tapping her clit with my other hand.

“Oh God, that’s it, Sugar, finger bang me,” she moaned.

“Such an amazing pussy you have,” I said, watching my fingers slip in and out, while she moaned softly. Is there anything sexier than a woman’s moans? (By the way, the question was rhetorical; of course there isn’t.)

After a couple of minutes while her moans increased, she sat up, pushed me on my back, and said, “I hope you don’t mind, Jazzy, but this is the way I come best.”

As she straddled my face, I gasped, “Oh yes honey, sit on my face.”

“Mmmmmmmm,” she said, as she lowered her glistening wet pussy onto my face.

“Mmmmmmmm, indeed,” I agreed, as I began licking this amazing pussy directly within the source, without the (admittedly erotic) hindrance of her sheer pantyhose.

“Oh yes, Sugar,” she purred, as I eagerly parted her pussy lips.

“You taste amazing,” I moaned between licks, knowing how much women liked to know they tasted good… some men having tarnished the reputation of this unique heavenly taste by describing it as fishy.

“I love your tongue, Honeybun,” she moaned.

I licked for a couple minutes as her moans increased, and I was certain I was about to get my second special treat of the evening, as she began slowly to grind her hips back and forth.

She looked down at me, and I up at her, as she moaned, “I’m going to come all over your face, pretty gal.”

“Mmmmmmmm,” I replied, not wishing to waste time on words while I focused my mouth’s efforts on indeed getting that sweet cum all over my face.

Then she just moaned and came, her eyes never breaking contact with mine, in what was easily the most sensual orgasm I’ve ever given another person.

I lapped up her juices eagerly as she allowed them to flow out of her, over my lips, and into my open mouth.

She looked down at me, again in that fond way she had, and told me, “That was amazing, Sugar.”

“Mmmmm, I couldn’t agree more.”

“Do you have to go, or would you like to have a glass of wine and get to know each other?”

“I’m a little dehydrated, so I’d better take the time for that glass of wine,” I smiled, as she climbed off me.

“I know what you mean, it was quite the workout,” she agreed, as she pulled me to my feet.

“It was a lot more fun then a treadmill,” I joked.

“And burned more calories,” she smiled, as she led me downstairs.

We drank some wine while I told her the short version of my life as a teacher, and I learned she was completely lesbian, and was a high-ranking attorney for the NAACP.

She then asked if I wanted a nightcap and we ended up back in her room, on the floor again for some reason, where she removed her nightie so I could finally see those perky tits properly, before we ended up in a lengthy, leisurely 69 that lasted at least twenty minutes, and climaxed (literally) with some serious finger banging, which I’ll describe next.

Both of us were close when she said, “I want to watch you come.”

“I want to watch you come, too,” I said, as she got off of me.

“Spread your legs,” she said.

I did, and she spread hers, and we were positioned nylon-clad foot to foot, as she instructed, “Now rub yourself, Sugar.”

“You do that too,” I said, as I did just that, and I masturbated in front of another person for the first time ever… since until this very moment I’d always been way too self-conscious ever to pleasure myself in front of anyone at all, even including my ex-husband.

“You’re so beautiful, Jasmine,” she said, as her fingers pumped into her own pussy.

“You are too,” I replied, as we admired each other.

Then there was just moaning… as we each got ourselves close… as we closed our eyes and allowed the pleasure of each other’s company to be the final tipping point for each of our third orgasms.

We both came almost simultaneously, mine a few seconds before hers, before we both collapsed onto our backs.

I was still trembling when I felt her pull me up, wrap her arms and legs around me, and kiss me.

For several minutes, as we both allowed our third and final orgasms of the night to dissipate, we simply kissed each other… tenderly… affectionately… nothing more… nothing less.

Like all amazing experiences, this one too eventually had to end.

We got dressed, she gave me her business card, and promised to be in touch.

We kissed again for a final time and she said, “Thanks for being my Valentine, darlin’.”

“This was way better than roses and chocolate,” I smiled, knowing this wouldn’t be the only time we played together.

“Indeed,” she smiled, as she asked, “Are you free on Friday?”

“I am now,” I said with a smile.

“I wouldn’t mind fucking you with one of my strap-ons,” she said.

“I wouldn’t mind getting fucked by you,” I smiled.

“It’s a date,” she said.

“Definitely,” I said, leaning and kissing her again… feeling something that was more than just lust… I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to just be with her.

She seemed to sense what I was feeling, as she asked, “Want to sleep over?”

“God, yes,” I said rather eagerly like I was an eighteen-year-old again, as she took my hand and led me back to her bedroom.

We didn’t have any more sex.

She put on Sleepless in Seattle, got into bed and we cuddled like a couple.

After the movie, we kissed briefly, and she wrapped her arms around me as I drifted into a safe slumber.

Of course we didn’t wait until Friday for her to fuck me… that happened the very next morning, before I headed to work wearing the same clothing I had when I arrived at Janice’s house.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY 2021… I hope you all have a great one.

Jan 19 2021

Feminist Becomes My Cock-sucking GF 0 (0)

This story is about how a man used feminist rhetoric to change an ardent crusader of women’s rights into an acceptable, sexy girlfriend. And fell for her in the process.

^^^

“I’m not going to suck your dick anymore.”

Two young lovers were in the back of a pickup truck under the stars making out on a warm summer’s night. Sawyer had managed to get Willa’s shirt and bra off, and he was groping her breasts as he sucked on her hard, pink nipples.

Willa had a pretty face, long brown hair, and a thick body. She was built sturdy with big tits, wide hips, and a substantial ass. She was Sawyer’s type by necessity. He was a big dude, 6′ 4″ and 260 pounds. With his weight and strength, a smaller woman would be injured during sex.

“Babe, why be that way?” Sawyer asked. “I really care about you.”

The twenty-one-year-old plumber’s assistant gave Willa his best smile as he lied to her. He lied again when he said, “Tonight, I was going to suggest we take our relationship to the next level and be exclusive.”

“I’d like that,” she said, “but I won’t change my mind.”

The shirtless young man asked, “You’ve been giving me blowjobs, great blowjobs, for weeks. Honestly, you looked like you were into it.”

She sighed and said, “I was. It isn’t you or anything you’ve done. Your dick isn’t so big that I have trouble getting it in my mouth like my ex, Jason. He was a real jerk. He’d fuck my face and push my head down on his penis until I gagged. You don’t do those things.”

Sawyer cringed when he learned the last dude she was with had a bigger dick. Willa saw the distressed look on his face, smiled sheepishly, and

said, “Sorry. TMI.”

She gently stroked his face and said, “We can still have sex.”

“That’s good to hear. Why all of a sudden have you changed your tune about BJ’s?”

The big breasted nineteen-year-old said, “I’ve been talking with Summer. She’s in college and…”

Sawyer rolled his eyes and said, “Hold on. Why are you listening to her? For one, she’s only at the community college, and two, she’s a wacko. What’s she studying? Feminist propaganda?”

“She’s in the women’s studies program.”

“That’s a waste of time and money! What kind of job is she going to get with that degree? You’ll be making more money than she is cutting hair at the salon.”

Willa ignored him and said, “Summer says that sucking cock is demeaning to women. How can it be empowering for me when I’m literally on my knees servicing you? And tell me if I’m wrong, but in porn videos, rap songs, and real-life don’t men say things like ‘choke on this bitch’ and ‘I’ll make you gag’?”

“Well.” Sawyer wasn’t able to muster an argument.

“I love you, Sawyer,” Willa said, “Please respect my boundaries. No anal and no more blowjobs.”

“But we still can have sex?”

“Yes.”

“Then get naked, darling!”

The pair stripped and fucked. Willa quickly got wet from Sawyer’s mouth on her breasts and his fingers in her vagina. The big man slammed his cock into her. He pounded her built-for-vigorous-sex frame, and they both climaxed.

^^^

At that same time, a pair of couples were at another secluded, make-out spot utilized by young people who still lived with their parents. Penelope and Peter were lying naked on a blanket smooching. Mike and Mia were nude doing some heavy petting on a blanket on the other side of the lake.

Mike caressed Mia’s slim, sleek body and her firm, small breasts. She squeezed and tugged on his erection.

Peter embraced and kissed Penelope passionately. He released her and repositioned his body so his head even with her crotch. He lay on his side and had her do likewise, so they faced each other. She lifted her upper thigh and let Peter licked her pussy, but she didn’t touch his dick.

Both men pleasured their girlfriends with the expectation that they would perform oral sex on them. When it didn’t happen, they asked their girlfriend why they weren’t sucking their cocks. The women said that giving head was no longer something they were comfortable doing.

They told their boyfriends the same tale Willa had told Sawyer. Due to a conversation with Summer, they were no longer giving blowjobs. They assured their boyfriend that they loved them and would have sex with them, but that activity was off the table.

They did have sex that night. Hot, sweaty, orgasmic sex, but no blowjobs.

^^^The following night^^^

Sawyer, Peter, and Mike were at a bar playing pool. The three high school buddies were joined by a friend Mike had met at college, Hunter. The men formed teams and played pool while they drank beer.

Peter, an HVAC technician, said, “Damn it, Sawyer! We lost another game to these college assholes. Focus!”

“Sorry, I can’t concentrate,” the big man said. “You know I’m dating Willa. She said the strangest thing to me last night. She likes me and is happy to have sex with me, but there will be no more blowjobs.”

“Really? Mia said the same thing to me,” Mike said. He laughed and playfully added, “Is this some kind of women’s liberation movement?”

“Maybe,” Peter said. “Penelope told me that Summer Melnick told her to stop giving head because it’s demeaning to women.”

“Willa said Summer convinced her to stop giving me head!” Sawyer exclaimed.

“Wow,” Mike said. “Summer takes a few women’s studies courses, and that crazy bitch ruins our sex lives.”

“Sounds like you have an agent provocateur in your midst,” Hunter said and laughed.

“A real buttinski!” Peter agreed.

“Yeah,” Sawyer said. “She’s always sticking her nose into places it doesn’t belong. She was that way in high school. She always had a cause like ‘Save the whale’ and ‘Don’t wear fur’. She’s for anything green, pro-environment, or pro-woman.”

“Is she one of those holier-than-thou people who parade around with an ‘I’m better than you because I care,’ attitude?” Hunter asked.

“Exactly,” Mike answered.

“I hate sanctimonious people,” Hunter said. “I have an idea as to how we can give this self-righteous girl her comeuppance and get your girlfriends to give you BJ’s again. Interested?”

“Hell, yes,” the other yelled in unison.

“Here’s what I need you to do,” Hunter said. “This weekend you, me, and your girlfriends are going camping. Get them to invite Summer. I believe she’ll come if they tell her it’s a ‘Get-back-to-nature’, ‘Earth Day’, ‘Girl-Power’ event where we will count endangered birds.”

“That’s the kind of crazy shit that appeals to her,” Sawyer said and laughed.

“Good,” Hunter responded. “I’m going to pretend to be a woke guy who is a feminist and a tree-hugging, environmental wacko. Follow my lead, and we will hoist her on her own petard and get your girlfriends back on the dick-sucking bandwagon!”

^^^Friday night^^^

The eight young men and women met around five o’clock. Seven of them were old friends who had known each other for years, having attended the same high school. Penelope and Willa had known each other even longer as they had been friends since the first grade.

Mike introduced Hunter to everyone. The new guy said hello and appeared to be affable and harmless. He looked like your average frat boy with his stylish haircut, Polo shirt, Chino shorts, and boat shoes.

Hunter quietly studied Summer. She looked the part of an activist, someone too busy fixing the problems of the world to wear makeup, dress stylishly or do more than pile her mass of blond hair on top of her head.

She didn’t complete the stereotype; she wasn’t ugly, mannish, or flat-chested. She had a nice bosom and was pretty in a girl-next-door way. Two things about her stood out: her piercing blue eyes and the pink, block lettering on her white tee-shirt that read ‘THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE!’.

They piled their gear into the beds of the two extended-cab pickup trucks that would take them camping. The couples sat together, and since Hunter and Summer were unattached, they ended up sitting beside each other on the back seats of one of the trucks.

Hunter was surprised by Summer. Sawyer had described her as a boring, annoying, bossy, know-it-all who droned on and on about injustice, inequality, the oppression of women, and the environment. He found her witty, interesting, and knowledgeable. She wasn’t one of those ill-informed activists who lie, exaggerate, or say crazy stuff to support their positions.

An hour later, they were setting up five tents, and getting a fire started while drinking beer. When Summer exited her one-person, pop-up tent, Sawyer asked, “Hey Summer, I’m grilling. What do you want, a burger or a sausage?”

“Eww! I don’t eat meat. I’m a vegetarian. I bought granola.”

“I’m a vegan too,” Hunter lied. “Summer, I’d be glad to share. I was about to grill the ingredients to make sweet potato fajitas.” The blond gave her a disarming boyish grin.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“I have plenty,” Hunter announced in a loud voice. “If anyone else wants to try an eco-friendly, sustainable, healthy alternative to the heart attack on a plate Sawyer is serving, see me.”

Mike and the other women were willing to try it. Peter and Sawyer dined exclusively on the fat-laden, meat products, and they washed them down with plenty of beer.

While everyone was eating dinner, Hunter said, “Tomorrow, we are taking part in a nationwide bird survey that monitors the status and trends in bird populations. Grab a booklet. They are stacked outside my tent. The best time to see birds is at dawn, so we will get an early start.”

Sawyer and Peter got up to get another beer. Hunter met them by the cooler and said, “I need your help. I want to impress and show Summer that I’m a woke guy. Attack her. and I’ll defend her and her cause.”

“Okay,” Sawyer said. “What should I say?”

“She’s proudly wearing a tee-shirt announcing she’s a feminist,” Hunter said. “Sawyer, snarl at her and ask her this…” He whispered the line.

“Peter you can say something like this…”

The guys rejoined the group sitting around the fire. Sawyer waited for a lull in the conversation and then angrily said, “Summer, what’s the deal? Your tee-shirt says you’re a feminist, but you’re wearing a bra. What self-respecting feminist follows the dictate of our hideous, omniscient, patriarchal society and cages her breasts in a bra?”

Summer was taken aback. Her eyebrows rose, her eyes widened, and her head snapped back.

Peter landed his blow while she was stunned. He said, “Yeah. You’re missing a chance to give the middle finger to a society that says women should be prim, proper, pretty, and under control at all times.”

“What I wear or don’t wear is no concern of yours, you troglodytes!”

“Guys, please stop picking on Summer,” Hunter said. “She, and all women, are victims of men’s relentless pursuit to control, brainwash, and sexualizing women. In the 1500s, men convinced women that corsets were indispensable. They got them to strap on tight bodices that altered their natural form. Imagine how uncomfortable they were and how they limited a woman’s ability to move or just to breathe.

“Women are no longer forced by society’s expectations to wear a corset, but they are expected to wear bras, which I’m told are not fun. They don’t fit. The straps cut into your shoulders, They can compress your rib cage. They chafe your skin. You can get jabbed by a stray piece of wire.

“After centuries of brainwashing, is it any wonder that women have succumbed and wear bras? It’s hard to buck the trend and fight ‘the man’.”

“But isn’t that what feminism is all about?” Sawyer asked, and then he snickered.

“Yes. It’s a daily struggle and feminists speak out and act out to demand equality and autonomy,” Hunter sermonized. “Of course, big-breasted women like Willa are given a pass. She needs to wear a bra to prevent back and neck pains.”

Mia giggled and said, “I hate bras. Luckily, my boobs are so small I don’t need one, and I rarely wear one.”

While Mia was talking, Summer reached under her shirt, unsnapped her bra, and pulled her arms out of the straps. She dragged her bra out an armhole, waved it about, and shouted, “Are you happy now? I’m braless!”

“It’s hard,” Hunter lamented, “but I think we need to confront ourselves every day and ask ‘Am I living the things I say I believe in’.” He failed at not sounding patronizing.

Everyone stared at Summer. The attention caused her breathing to quicken, and she got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She glanced down at her chests, and yes, she had erect nipples. Her hard, pointy nipples denting the soft cotton fabric of her top.

Penelope stood and performed the same bra-removal technique Summer had used.. She raised her bra over her head, and said, “I’m a feminist. I believe in equal rights and the empowerment of women. I reject the pressure to conform to some idealized view of beauty. To men who say my jiggly boobs are a distraction or make them uncomfortable, I say ‘Get over it!’ I decide what I wear, and I choose comfort!”

“Yeah! You go, girl,” Mia said.

“Ah. Um,” Willa stammered. “I believe the same things, but I’ll injure myself if I go braless.” The other women reassured her that she was a good person, and that, for her, wearing a bra was necessary and okay.

The conversation returned to their usual topics. They roasted marshmallows, made S’mores, and consumed the camping treat along with more beer.

The couples said goodnight and went to their tents. Hunter and Summer heard sighs, moans, and groans. It was obvious that their friends were having sex.

Hunter added another log to the fire. He said, “I was told that you are very involved in a lot of great causes, especially women’s issues, so I was surprised that you wore a bra.”

“I put one on today without a thought,” she replied and raised an arm to her chest to hide her nipples. “You’re right. We should live our values every day.”

“It’s hard,” he said. He leaned toward her, placed his hand lightly on her wrist, and guided her arm down. “Nipples and breasts are a natural part of everybody’s body but have been deemed inappropriate on women. By covering up, you’re buying into that idea. You can be a powerful warrior in this fight against injustice and inequality by rejecting body shaming.”

He stood, smiled, and added, “Besides, you don’t need a bra. You have fine, firm breasts. Good night.” He turned and walked to his tent.

Summer was momentarily speechless. Then, she called out to him, “Did you just hit on me?”

He stopped, turned to her, and said, “Yes. I find you intriguing, and I think you’re a beautiful person on the inside and the outside.”

He went into his tent, leaving a stunned young woman sitting by the fire pondering his words.

^^^Saturday morning^^^

Mike, Mia, Hunter, and Summer were the only ones to rise at dawn for the early morning survey. They had coffee and went out in teams to see the birds.

Hunter noticed the bouncing movement of soft flesh under Summer’s tee-shirt. He smiled and said nothing as they walked the woods and searched by the shoreline for two hours.

When they returned to camp, the others were awake. Hunter asked, “Who’s ready for breakfast?”

“Another vegan meal?” Mike teased.

“Yes. I was going to make Johnny Appleseed oatmeal. Summer, would you cut some apples into thin slices? I’ll get the oatmeal going. I think you’ll like it. It’s not bland and boring. It’s made with cinnamon, maple syrup, nutmeg, and cloves. It’s a good source of protein because I dump a medley of seeds into it.”

“Sounds yummy,” Mia said. “Summer, I’ll give you a hand.”

While the young women sliced the apples, Mia said, “I see the girls are free today. I’m not wearing a bra either, but since my breasts are small I doubt anyone will notice. Hunter’s good-looking, smart, and concerned about the planet and equal rights. Not many guys tick that many boxes. Any interest on your part?”

“Maybe,” she said. Her face turned red. She added, “I’m not going braless to attract his attention. I’m doing it for me. Aren’t you sick and tired of all the rules and expectations put on us because we’re women? Be pretty. Be nice. Dress appropriately. Etc.”

“Yeah.” Mia grabbed some of the apple slivers and took them to the pot where Hunter was adding ingredients. He said, “Brilliant. Toss ’em in.”

Sawyer had gone into the woods to piss. He returned to camp. He stopped beside Summer, stole a piece of apple, and a peek down her tank top. She noticed, grimaced, and stood to deny him a downblouse view of her breasts.

“Hee-hee,” he tittered. “You’re looking perky this morning,” he said as he stared at her hard nipples, which were noticeable underneath her cotton shirt.

“Pig!” she spat out.

Hunter came over and confronted Sawyer. He got in his face and said, “Women have nipples and breasts. Get over it!”

The big man huffed and walked away.

“Thank you, but I don’t need a man to fight my battles,” Summer said in a tone that showed she was annoyed.

“I can’t stand to see a man behave that way toward a woman,” Hunter said. “Maybe it’s in my genes. You’ve heard of the famous Bra Burning women’s rights protest at the Miss America pageant in 1968? It kicked off the women’s movement and led to the founding of the National Organization of Women.”

Summer nodded.

“My grandmother was there,” Hunter said. “The women set up a container they called TheFreedom Trash Can. They threw in objects of oppression: a mop, a Playboy magazine, lipsticks, and high heels. My grandmother took her bra off and chucked it in. She never wore one for the rest of her life.”

He adopted a serious demeanor and added, “I grew up in a household of women. It was my mother, three sisters, and me. I was taught to respect women as equals. I was educated to never call a woman crazy and not to joke about periods by saying things like ‘She must be on the rag’ or “It’s her time of the month’. When a woman is disrespected, I see red.”

^^^

After eating breakfast, everyone agreed that they should go to the small beach by the lake for some fun in the sun.

“We need to change into our suits,” Penelope said.

“And fix our hair,” Willa added.

Peter chuckled and said, “We’ll head on down and see you when we see you.”

The boys went to their tents, changed into their swimming attire, and headed off. Peter and Mike carried a cooler filled with beer. As they walked, Hunter spoke, “The goal this morning is to get their tops off. We will use the lastest feminist campaign against them, `Free the Nipple’.”

“I’ve heard of that!” Peter said. “It’s the damnedest thing. Women want to be able to walk around in public topless.”

“They can show me their titties anytime,” Sawyer said and laughed.

Hunter chortled and said, “They aren’t looking for permission to flash us. They are upset that men can be shirtless, but they can’t. For them, it’s a matter of equal rights and who has the power to determine what women can and can’t do. Wear and not wear.

“Here’s my plan. It’s a bright sunny day. Sawyer, you say something like, ‘Man, it’s hot’ and take your shirt off, and then say, ‘Oh, yeah. That’s better’.”

“Maybe we should play football,” Mike suggested. “We run around, get all hot and sweaty, and we all take our shirts off.”

“Fine,” Hunter said. “If one of the girls says something about how we can take our shirt off when you’re hot and they can’t, you all shout ‘Free the nipple!’. We’ll shame them into taking their tops off because that’s what good feminists would do. If they don’t say the right words, I’ll bring the subject up. Got it?”

The others nodded.

The women came to the beach. Summer pulled off her cover-up and exposed her bikini-clad body.

Sawyer let loose a loud wolf-whistle and said in a snarky manner, “How do you square being a feminist with wearing a sexy bikini?”

“Oh, you got me, Sawyer,” Summer said sarcastically.

“Sawyer, you really shouldn’t engage in philosophical arguments when you are so obviously out of your depth intellectually,” Hunter said. “Being a feminist is about empowering women. A feminist can shave her legs and care about her appearance. It’s about her being in charge and doing what she wants to do. Not doing things or dressing, hoping for a man’s approval.”

Peter handed Sawyer a beer and said, “Man, you need this. You’ve been torched.” He chugged it.

The women laid their beach towels on the small sandy beach a few feet apart from each other.

The guys played touch football under a cloudless sky and intense sun.

They were quickly hot and sweaty. Mike ran past an exhausted Sawyer and scored a touchdown. Sawyer stood hunched with his hands on his knees, and sweat dripped off his heavyset body. He wheezed and said, “Damn! It’s hot.”

He and the other young men removed their shirts. Sawyer said, “That’s better.”

“It’s a friggin hot day. Why are you idiots running around?” Willa asked. “You’re lucky that you can take your shirts off to cool down.”

“You can take your top off too. Free the Nipple!” Sawyer shouted. Mike and Peter echoed his call, shouting, “Free the nipple!”

Summer said, “It stinks that men are allowed to be topless in public, but women aren’t. It’s unjust.”

“It isn’t fair that we are treated differently,” Mia said.

“Yeah,” Penelope agreed. “What happened to ‘What’s good for the goose is good for the gander’?”

Hunter let pass that the quote Penelope spouted. It didn’t support their argument since a gander is a male goose. He said, “Women, you realize that things won’t change until you change. Right? Stop going along with the system that controls your behavior. That brainwashes you to feel powerless.”

Summer stood, reached behind her back, and undid the clasp. She hollered, “Mia, Penny, Willa, let’s put a stop to this double standard and say we control our bodies and our lives. Nipples are nipples whether they’re on a man or a woman.”

“Yes!” the women shouted. They sat up and undid the clasp holding their tops. Summer smiled, nodded, and pulled her top off. The other women took theirs off too. They shouted, ‘Free the Nipple!’ and cheered.

The men were silent as if struck dumb. It was a great acting job as they stared at their half-naked girlfriends with a look of bewilderment and surprise on their faces as if they never expected this to happen.

Hunter clapped and congratulated the bare-breasted women, “Well done. You’ve struck a blow for equal rights!”

The men looked at the proud, topless women, studying and appreciating the tits on display. Mia’s breasts were flat, low mounds of white flesh the thickness of her small hand. The raven-haired woman had pink nipples with pointy tips nearly an inch long.

Willa had massive ta-tas that look like overfilled water balloons. Her areolas were a deep red color and as large as a saucer.

Penelope had a beautiful set of bell-shaped tits. There was very little tissue at the top of her chest, but a lot of volume at the bottom. She has small, pinkish nipples.

Summer had the most popular style of breasts, the shape deemed the best. Her boobs were full and round with a dark brown nipple in the center that pointed straight ahead.

“Ladies and Gents,” Hunter said, “How about we go for a swim?”

They went into the water and swam, splashed, and engaged in horseplay. The rest of the morning was spent lying in the sun and cooling off in the water.

The way the women carried themselves showed they were filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment. The nearly constant erections of the men were a result of them enjoying the show.

The group had lunch and returned to the beach with a cooler restocked with beer. Each couple shared a beach towel. Hunter went up to Summer and asked, “Can I join you?”

“Sure.”

She moved to make room for him. As he sat beside her, Mike and Mia walked hand-in-hand past them to go into the woods. After lying side-by-side in silence for a few minutes, Hunter asked, “Would you mind putting sunscreen on my back? I’ll do yours.”

“Okay.”

He rolled over on his stomach, and she spread lotion across his broad shoulders and back. She smiled as she kneaded his muscles and coated his upper body.

“All done,” she announced. As they switched places, they heard Penelope giggle, and she and Peter snuck off into the woods. Hunter straddled her waist, poured lotion on both of his hands, and spread the sunscreen all over Summer’s back and shoulders.

After doing a thorough job on her back, he slid his hands lower, along the sides of her body.

“Oh,” she gasped when he touched the sides of her boobs.

“Is there a problem?”

“No.”

With permission granted, he swiped his hands across the sides of her soft breasts again. He slid down, straddled her thighs, and he put the sunscreen on her lower back.

“Shall I do your legs?”

“Sure.”

Hunter knelt beside her. Sawyer and Willa walked past them. Willa blushed and said, “Hi.” Sawyer winked at them and said, “Bye.”

They were alone on the beach. Hunter went to work. He didn’t just apply the sunscreen, he moved his hands slowly, sensually, and caressed her legs.

She got nervous, giggled, and squealed, “You’re giving me goosebumps!”

“My body’s having an involuntary reaction too.”

“Ha. Ha,” she said as she looked over her shoulder and gave him a chagrined smile. She also glanced at his suit and saw the evidence of an erection.

He shrugged his shoulder and slid his hands further up her leg. She maintained eye contact as his hands slowly moved past her knees. Hunter didn’t know if she was daring him to touch her sex or monitoring him. He stared back and kept going and going. He directed his hands to the inside of her thighs. Her eyes widened. At the last second, he veered away from her pussy and touched her suit-covered ass.

“There. All done,” he said, and he laid beside her on his stomach.

They looked into each other’s eyes. Her blue eyes flicked back and forth, looking in one eye and then the other. He opened his green eyes wide to facilitate her inspection.

Her frantic eye movement stopped, she appeared calm, and Hunter brought his lips to hers and kissed her.

She stared at him with a startled look on her face and didn’t participate. When the kiss ended, she asked, “Why did you do that?”

“Why does anyone kiss anyone? I like you. I think you like me. Am I wrong?”

“No.”

He leaned in and kissed her again. She closed her eyes this time, sighed, and kissed him back. They kissed again.

“Roll over,” he said.

“Why?”

“So we can kiss properly.”

She laid on her back. He got up on his outside elbow, lay partially on her, and kissed her passionately. He grunted, and she groaned as they made out. Her arms were above her head. Her hands gripped and pulled on the towel.

After many enjoyable minutes of kissing, Hunter brought his free hand to her breasts. He gently squeezed and fondled them. Her reaction was to rock her hips, so her clit rubbed against his thigh.

Eventually, his mouth found its way to her breasts. He took turns sucking on them as she cooed, breathed heavily, and grasped his head, pulling it to her chest. He lavished his attention on her wonderful, round tits.

He pulled off and said, “Let’s go.”

“What? Why? Where?”

“All your friends have snuck off into the woods to have sex. Let’s join them.”

She blanched.

“I don’t mean ‘join them and have an orgy’. I mean let’s follow their example, sneak off into the woods, find a secluded spot, and make love.”

She chuckled and said. “When you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

They stood. She grasped his hand and led the way. They had barely entered the woods before seeing Sawyer and Willa naked. They were sitting on a fallen tree. She was stroking his smallish cock, and he was manhandling one giant tit while sucking on the other. Willa saw them, her face turned red, and she smiled weakly.

Further in, they came across Peter and Penny. She was sprawled out on the ground screaming, “Oh, God! Oh, God! Yes. There. Right there!” Peter had his head in between her legs and he was eating her out. Her large breasts were puddled on her chest.

They crossed a small creek, walked around a large tree, and found their other friends naked and doing the deed. Mike was standing and thumping his girlfriend from behind. Mia was leaning over with her legs spread wide and her hands on a rotting stump. They looked up and smiled at them. They didn’t pause or miss a beat.

Hunter and Summer waved and walked on. When they were out of earshot, Summer said, “Wow! You were right. They all came into the woods to have sex. They’re one horny bunch!”

Hunter stopped her, took her in his arms, and kissed her while caressing her shapely ass. She melted in his arms. He nibbled on her neck and ear. He led her to a bed of moss, and they laid together and made out.

He was gentle and gave her pleasure. She moaned and felt her pussy become warm and wet.

He got on his knees and tugged on her swimsuit bottom. She understood his intention. She sat up, put her hands on the ground behind her, and lifted her butt. He removed her suit and saw that her pubic hair was as thick and blond as the hair on her head. Her pussy was completely hidden.

He stood and stripped. His big, heavy erection fell forward, directly in front of her face, and captured her attention. She said, “I don’t suck cock.”

“That’s okay,” he said softly. He knelt, guided her to her back, spread her legs, and dove between her thighs.

“OH!” she cried.

Hunter was a master pussy eater. He brought her to the brink of an orgasm twice. The first time he suspected she was on the brink, he stopped sucking in her clit and kissed her. She allowed him to put his pussy-flavored lips on her lips. She allowed him to put the tongue that had been in her vagina in her mouth. She tasted her tangy essence.

He slid down her body and again performed oral sex on her hairy pussy. Again, he pulled off when she was about to climax

“Argh! I was about to come. Why did you stop?”

Hunter lay on his back and held up his dick. “Mount me. Take your pleasure.”

She swiftly straddled him and impaled herself on his large, hard cock.

“Oh! Dear God! That feels good!” she exclaimed as she forced his penis into her.

“Oh. You’re so warm. So wet. So tight,” he cried.

They were motionless for a few seconds as they enjoyed the joining of their bodies. Then she rode him, and he thrust into her. He kissed her lips, groped her breasts, and tugged on her thick, blunt-tipped nipples.

The rough nipple play generated scowls and cries of ‘oww’, but never a request to stop doing it. He thought the reason she didn’t tell him to stop was because of the ‘pain is pleasure’ principle, and that his actions caused the release of serotonin into her brain.

She rode him and varied her technique. At first, she thumped down on him. Sometimes she moved her hips in a circle, and at other times, she unabashedly ground her clit on his pubic bone.

Her breathing became loud, her face and some skin high on her chest turned a blotchy red color. She howled, “Oh. Oh! Oh! Ohhh!”.

Her body froze as she orgasmed. Except for her pussy; it pulsated and clamped his penis. Hunter smiled, thrust rapidly, and claimed his release.

“Oh!!!” he called out as he spewed his life force into her vagina.

She collapsed. He caught her and hugged her tightly.

The world was still for these two. After she recovered, Summer gave him a shy smile. He teased her and asked, “Was it good for you?”

She playfully punched him and said, “You bastard! You know it was.”

“Good. I believe in mutual respect, mutual pleasure, and mutual consent. Some guys jam their cocks into women without their permission. I don’t take advantage of women because I’m a man or I’m bigger and stronger.

“Having you put my dick in your pussy, is me respecting you and giving you control. You decided we should fuck, and, by the way, it was great!”

They went back to the beach. Everyone was there. The woman huddled together, giggled, blushed, and talked about what had happened.

Willa said, “Summer, you and Hunter went into the woods. Did you have sex?”

“Yes.” she beamed.

“Great sex?” Mia asked.

Summer smiled bigger and said, “Yes!”

The other women tittered and congratulated her. Penelope confessed, “I sucked Peter’s cock.” The others stopped talking and looked at her. Penelope explained, “I felt I had to….”

“A woman never has to perform fellatio,” Summer said.

“I didn’t mean that I had to because Peter forced me or he expected me to service him. I had to because he performed oral sex on me for a hell of a long time and gave me a glorious orgasm. I felt I owed him, and I know he loves BJ’s, and honestly, I like giving them. I love it when he moans. I feel sexy and powerful, knowing that I’m making him cry out.

“Summer, I didn’t feel demeaned or taken advantage of. It was a gift. A reciprocal gift. He gave me oral sex, and I gave him oral sex. How can that be wrong?”

“I gave Mike a blowjob,” Mia confessed. “I love him, and he loves me. He ate my pussy. It only seemed fair. How can anything we freely do to pleasure each other be wrong?”

“I see your point,” Summer said. “Sucking cock or doing pretty much anything isn’t bad per se. It depends on the circumstances and intent. If a guy forces you to have sex, to cook his dinner, or do anything, that’s wrong and bad, but if it’s done in a situation of mutual love and respect, then I guess it’s okay.”

“I agree,” Willa said. “And because I like dirty, nasty sex. Sometimes, I’m submissive. Sometimes, I’m the boss. Sometimes I like a cock in my mouth. Other days I want one in my ass. Your ‘feminist don’t do stuff ‘ ideology is boring, and deprives me of the ability to decide what’s right for me. In my book, if a girl wants to do it, it’s okay. We should have the power to make our own choices.”

“Amen, sister,” Penelope said.

“You’re right,” Summer said. “The new rule is if you want to, give your guy a blowjob.”

^^^At the same time^^^

The guys gathered around the cooler, bragged about their prowess and exploits, and drank beer.

Sawyer said, “So you banged Summer?”

“She and I had sex.”

“Did she suck your cock?” Peter asked. “Penelope sucked mine.”

Mike said, “I ate Mia, and she blew me.”

“Good for you guys,” Hunter said. “The wall is cracking. We got them to go topless. I didn’t get a blowjob, but I laid the groundwork, and I’m confident I will get one.”

^^^

Dinner was another beer-guzzling, meat-fest for Peter and Sawyer. The others supplement their meal with some of Hunter’s vegan chili and the fresh corn on the cob he had cooked in the husk over the fire.

The women had remained topless all day. Even for Sawyer, the novelty wore off. After sitting around the fire talking and drinking, the established couples went into their tents and had sex.

Hunter and Summer heard Sawyer moan loudly and say, “Thank you, baby. I’ve missed your blowjobs.”

Hunter raised his eyebrows, gave Summer an impish grin as he said, “Your friends are an enthusiastic crowd. How about we go to the lake to get away from these sounds?”

“Good idea.”

They walked in the moonlight to the shore. Crickets and cicadas serenaded them.

When they got to the lake, Hunter said, “It’s a beautiful evening. Still warm.” He kicked off his shoes and pulled his tee-shirt over his head.

“What are you doing?” Summer asked/

“Is there anything better than skinny-dipping?” He shucked off his shorts and underwear and stood naked with a healthy-sized, flaccid penis in front of her and said, “Join me.”

“I’ve never done that! How can you so casually take off your clothes?”

He laughed. “Isn’t nature wonderful and something to be enjoyed?”

He entered the water. When he was neck-deep he turned to her, sighed, and said, “Ahh. The water’s great. Why don’t you come in? You’re not hung up on the bourgeois notion that nudity is bad or a sin, are you? What could be finer than being in our natural state in the great outdoors?”

She didn’t move and appeared conflicted.

“What’s the point of having values if we don’t live them? You say you’re a feminist, yet you’re ashamed of your body. Where’s that confident, powerful, I-can-change-the-world woman I met Friday night?”

She stepped out of her sandals and asked, “The water’s warm?”

“The water’s wonderful!” he responded and swam about.

Summer undressed quickly/ While his back was to her and she entered the lake. She did the breaststroke, giggled, and said, “I’ve never gone skinny dipping before.”

“Congratulations! Sometimes we get so bogged down with school, work, and our causes that we forget to live. Carpe diem!”

They played in the water, splashing each other, swimming, and chasing one another. There were incidents of accidental contact. Hunter touched her breasts and butt, and Summer felt his very thick, very firm erection brush against her body.

They left the lake. Hunter grabbed his tee-shirt, wiped his face, and handed it to Summer. “Use this to dry off.”

“Thanks.” She dried her face and body while Hunter looked her over. Her breasts weren’t huge, but they were a nice, round shape. She had a full blond bush and tan lines.

She used this time to peek at him. He was tall, lanky, with broad shoulders, a cute butt, and a long, stiff dick. She giggled, pointed at his cock, and asked, “Are you going to be able to put your shorts on?”

He looked down as if he was just noticing he had an erection, laughed at her joke, and said, “You’re right that could be a problem, but since I sleep in the nude and it’s time to go to bed, why bother getting dressed?”

“You’re going back to camp naked!”

“Your friends have been drinking and having sex. They’re probably asleep. If the women aren’t, I doubt if my dick will shock them. I’m sure they’ve had a close-up encounter with one before.”

Summer knelt in front of him and said, “Maybe I can be of assistance.”

She grasped his dick, put the tip inside her mouth, and licked it with her tongue while looking up into his eyes. He smiled and said, “I’d like that, but I don’t want you to abandon your feminist ideals.”

She sucked on his cock and bobbed up and down on it. She pulled it out, making a popping sound, and said, “My idea of what a feminist is, is evolving. I won’t wear a bra just because society expects me to. This morning while we were doing the bird survey, it was great, really comfortable not having the damn thing on, and I felt confident and empowered.”

She put his dick back in her mouth and sucked for a few minutes. She pulled it out and continued her soliloquy as if it was uninterrupted. “When my friends and I freed our nipples, that too was an empowering moment. I felt we were making a statement about equality.”

She wrapped her lips around his penis, bobbed, and stroked his shaft. He could see the smile on her face when her big, blues eyes looked up at him.

Again, after a few minutes, she stopped and spoke. “My girls and I discussed sucking cock. I admit my first thought was it was a demeaning act. Look at us. You’re standing, and I’m kneeling at your feet. I have your genitalia in my mouth. I’m servicing you, and you are doing nothing to pleasure me.”

She opened her mouth wide and pounced on his dick. She sucked hard and fast. She took him as deep as she could into her mouth again and again.

Tears ran down her cheek. She gagged as she forced herself to swallowed his cock. Some went into her throat.

“Oh, fuck! Ohhh!” Hunter cried out and shot a large load of cum into her esophagus. She calmly pulled his dick out. She continued stroking his cock and jerked him off as he ejaculated on her face.

Oh! Oh!” he groaned.

When he was finished, she let go of his shrinking, spent cock, and sat back on her heels. She opened her mouth and showed him the sperm she had caught. She closed her mouth, swallowed, and showed him an empty mouth.

“Damn!” he exclaimed.

Summer spoke as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if her face wasn’t covered with globs of his cum.

“As I was saying, I have talked with Mia, Penelope, and Willa about sucking dicks and other aspects of sex. We all agreed that giving a guy a blowjob isn’t necessarily bad or demeaning. It depends on the context. Are you doing it because you have to or do you enjoy giving head? Is he a good guy? Does he reciprocate and give you oral sex? Do you have a relationship that is built on mutual respect, admiration, and affection or love?

“Sex is fun. It can, and some say the best kind is, hot, dirty, and nasty. I don’t see a problem with sex: oral, anal, or involving bondage. As long as it is between two equal, consenting adults. Do you agree?”

“Yes. That was fantastic. I didn’t expect a blowjob, to be deepthroated, for you to swallow, or turn it into a facial. I think I’m in love!”

Summer stood and kissed him. She shoved her tongue into his mouth so he’d taste his sperm. “Eww!” he cried out and pulled away.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “I thought reciprocity was the basis of our relationship. You made me taste my pussy juice. I was letting you taste your spunk.”

“Ugh! That was gross.” He wiped his face and said, “I’m sorry. I thought it would be hot giving you that messy kiss. Was it this horrible?”

“Naw. I’m just messing with you. I didn’t mind the kiss. It’s kind of like when you pull and pinch my nipples. If you do it now, I’ll scream and slap you, but if you do it with I’m all worked up, I enjoy it. And, for the record, I have a great tasting pussy.”

“I’ll respect you, and I’ll be a considerate, sensitive lover. Can I go on the record that I don’t ever want to taste my sperm again?”

“Okay.” She laughed.

They washed and walked back to camp naked.

The whole gang was outside and saw them. They calmly stood and chatted, telling their friends about their skinny dipping adventure. Their demeanor was one of confidence. There was no hint of being ashamed of their bodies.

Summer grabbed Hunter’s hand and led him to her tent where they had sex. It was wild, exciting, orgasmic sex. That is, once Hunter ate her to a mind-blowing orgasm.

^^^Sunday^^^

The gang slept in. When they woke, they had a communal meal of pancakes or sausage. It was a cool morning, The women wore shirts, but not bras. They discussed what they were going to do and they agreed to spend the morning at the beach, have lunch, break camp, and go home.

After breakfast, the men got together. “Son of a bitch!” Sawyer said good-naturedly as he slapped Hunter on the back. “I didn’t think you could do it. Willa blew me last night. BJ’s are back in fashion. Thanks.”

“Yes. Thanks,” Mike said. “Mia has no qualms about sucking my dick. Honestly, we’ve never felt closer.”

“Has Summer sucked your meat popsicle?” Peter asked and snickered.

“Yes, and she let me give her a facial,” Hunter said. “My goal was to restore the natural order. I turned your ‘Ewe. I-can’t-do-that girlfriends’ into cock-sucking feminists. There’s one more thing I want to do. I want to reinforce that we’re in charge, and they should do whatever we want, whenever we want.”

“I like the sounds of that,” Sawyer said. “What do I have to do?”

“When we get to the beach, go swimming. After splashing around in the water, join your girl on the towel, make out with her, and…”

^^^at the same time^^^

While the men were talking, so were the women. All the women agreed it had been a great weekend and that they were closer than ever to their partner.

“What about you, Summer?” Penelope asked. “Will you and Hunter be dating.”

“I hope so.”

“Summer, I couldn’t help but notice you have the world’s biggest bush. How about leaving the 1970s and updating your look. I’m not saying you need to shave like Mia and me. You could trim it as Willa does.”

Summer appeared startled.

“Sweetheart, is it a feminist statement?” Willa asked.

“It was,” Summer confessed. “My thinking was that the men I’ve dated don’t do anything, and it’s a jungle down there, so why should I bother?”

“But you shave your armpits and legs,” Mia said.

“Yes. It’d be gross not to shave my pits, and I love the smooth feel of shaved legs. I admit I’m not consistent. I’m open to doing something. Hunter manscapes.”

Summer borrowed some instruments and got rid of her thick bush. Completely.

^^^back to the present^^^

Everyone was ready to go to the beach. Mia, Summer, and Penelope were topless. Sawyer frowned when he saw that Willa had her bikini top on. She explained, “Don’t worry, Sawyer. I’ll take my top off when we get to the beach. I need the support a bra gives me for the journey.”

True to her word, Willa shouted, “Free the nipple!” and she removed her top when she was at the lake. Everyone laughed, cheered, and checked out her melons. The women spread out the beach towels, and then, it was off into the water.

They laughed and played in the water. Boobs, dicks, and asses were grabbed. It was done as good-hearted fun, and how could you complain when you were guilty of the same offense?

No one got upset. Not even Summer when Sawyer groped her boobs and pressed his erection against the butt. She grabbed his hard cock and laughed because his member was so short. It was only four to five inches long, and it didn’t have an impressive girth. She felt sorry for him and Willa. She wondered if that was why he sometimes behaved like an obnoxious jerk.

The guys began tossing the football. The women went to the beach and lay in the sun. A bit later, Hunter approached Summer and asked, “Can I share your towel?”

“Sure.”

He lay down beside her and stretched out. She said, “You’ve got a pretty good tan.”

“Yes. Most nudists do.”

She raised up on one elbow to look him in the face and asked, “You’re a nudist?”

“Yes. Third generation. My bra-burning grandmother embraced nudism because of its positive attitude toward the human body. She knew so many women who were ashamed of their imperfect bodies. They’d bought into society’s notion that women should be tall and have a 36-24-36 hourglass figure.

“She was distraught over how these unreal standards that the vast majority of women can’t meet, negatively impact women. How they destroy women’s self-confidence, make them hate their bodies, and ruin their chance of being happy.

“My grandma became a nudist. She raised her two daughters in the lifestyle and my mother raised me, and my three sisters that way.” Hunter lied with ease. He had a full-body tan but not a family heritage of nudism.

“Wow.”

“Would you mind putting sunscreen on my back? I’ll do yours,” he offered.

“Okay.”

He rolled over on his stomach, and she spread lotion across his fit, impressive body. She smiled as she kneaded his muscles and coated his body. When she got to his waist, she pulled down his swimsuit, stole a peek of his tanned butt, and said, “Damn! You have an all-body tan. I didn’t notice last night in the moonlight.”

They switched places. Hunter straddled her waist and spread lotion all over her back and shoulders.

“Oh,” she gasped when he touched the side of her boobs.

“Is there a problem?”

“No. The lotion is cool. It surprised me.”

He swiped his hands across her breasts again. He slid down, straddled her thighs, and he put the sunscreen on her waist. He lifted her suit and peered at her bottom. As he did so, he commented, “Nice butt! It’s very pale. It could use some sun.”

“Maybe another day.”

“Shall I do your legs?”

“Yes. In for a penny. In for a pound.”

“I agree,” he said. “A job worth doing is worth doing well.”

Hunter knelt beside her legs and put sunscreen on his hands, and caressed her legs.

She giggled and squealed, “You’re giving me goosebumps!”

“My body’s having an involuntary reaction too.” He pressed his hard dick against her soft thigh.

“Ha. Ha,” she said as she looked over her shoulder and gave him a chagrined smile. She added, “Do you ever have feelings of deja vu?”

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Is that where you think that you’ve experienced something that happened before?”

“Yes.” Summer laughed. “I feel we’ve had this conversation before, and you’ve copped a feel of my boobs the last time you put sunscreen on me.”

“Really? Huh.”

He slid his hands up her leg. She maintained eye contact as his hands slowly moved up her thighs. Hunter stared back. His hands moved in between her legs and this time, they bumped into the crotch of her bathing suit.

“Oh,” she groaned and flinched.

He slipped his fingers under her suit and touched her pussy.

“OH!,” she gasped louder.

He boldly pulled her suit to the side, exposing her sex. He used both hands to explore her pussy and rub her clit. He slipped a finger inside her vagina.

“Oh!” she moaned. Hunter smiled and left his finger inside her as he shuffled forward on his knees so he could kiss her. Summer broke the kiss off quickly and whispered, “What are you doing? We’re in the middle of my friends.”

They shared a passionate kiss with dueling tongues. She rolled onto her back, causing his hand to come out of her. She said breathily, “Let’s go somewhere private so we can do more.”

Hunter chuckled, placed his hand on her left tit, and said, “Your friends don’t have the same qualms. They’re all naked and having sex.”

Summer sat up and looked around. Sure enough, the others were undressed and having sex just feet away from each other.

Mia had her eyes closed and her mouth open as she sat upright and rode Mike. Her pale, white breasts were small bumps on her chest. Her nipples had pink peaks nearly an inch long, and she moaned softly.

Penny’s loud moaning caused Summer to look in her direction. She blanched when she saw Peter on his hands and knees, eating Penny’s pussy. The reason she found this unsetting wasn’t because he had his head buried in her friend’s crotch. The problem was his backside faced her. Summer was distressed and disgusted upon seeing his hairy butt and asshole.

Next, Summer saw Sawyer banging Willa doggy style. He was slamming his dick into her. Willa shoved her ass back to receive his cock. Her huge breasts swung freely and quaked mightily. Both of them were making low, guttural sounds.

“It’s quite a sight, eh?” Hunter asked. “A porn video come to life. Very erotic. Why should we leave? Everyone will know we are having sex and they’ve already seen us naked. Let’s enjoy the show and put on a show as two autonomous, consenting adults “

“I don’t know.” She raised a hand to cover her boobs.

Hunter placed his hand on her wrist and gently pulled it away. He said, “You’ve no reason to cover them. You’ve got great breasts. Where is the confident feminist I’ve come to love? The one brave enough to go braless, to ‘Free the Nipple’, and to suck a man’s cock because she wants to.

“Take a deep breath and think. Will having sex in front of our friends hurt anyone? Disrespect anyone? Only a very confident woman who is not ashamed of her body and who doesn’t allow society to define or repress her sexuality could do it. And it’ll be fun!”

She studied his face and looked deep into his eyes. Reassured, she said, “Yes. There’s nothing wrong with a man and a woman having fun and living by their own rules.”

Hunter grabbed the lower half of her bikini and pulled them off. She withdrew her legs out, spread her thighs, and Hunter saw her pussy.

“You’ve shaved! You look good enough to eat.” He took off his trunk and showed her his rock-hard cock surrounded by neat, trimmed blond curls.

He climbed on top of her and kissed her lips. Things progressed: She squeezed his dick, and he fondled her boobs. When he sucked on her nipples, she did nothing but lay there and concentrate on the sensations she was experiencing.

When he went down on her, she cried out loudly, “OH!”, drawing a look and a smile from everyone.

Hunter ate her to a beautiful climax. Her orgasmic cry was echoed by Sawyer and Willa and Mike and Mia. who climaxed soon after her.

Hunter let Summer rest and recover. He smiled when she opened her eyes, got on top of her, and drove his big cock inside her sopping wet pussy.

“Oh!” they both groaned.

Hunter was gentle with her. As he slowly stroked in and out of her, they heard Peter and Penny cry out. They had came after a short, frantic fuck because watching their friends have sex had amped them up so much.

The three couples sat and watched Summer and Hunter unhurriedly have sex in the missionary positions, and transitioned to girl-on-top.

Sawyer moved and brought Willa with him so they could see Hunter’s dick sliding in and out of Summer’s vagina.

They changed positions again. Hunter spooned Summer. He made sure she faced Mia, Mike, Peter, and Penny. Sawyer and Willa repositioned themselves to get a good view.

As Hunter fucked Summer, he fingered her pussy and played with her breasts. He tugged on her stiff nipples all under the watchful eyes of her former classmates.

Summer moaned every time he touched her. Sometimes she closed her eyes and savored what his cock and fingers were doing to her. Sometimes she studied the expressions on her friends’ faces and took pride in the looks of lust and amazement she saw.

“Take me doggy-style. I’m ready to come,” Summer said. She giggled and whispered, “It’ll also make for a dramatic ending.”

They got into position, giving their audience a side view. Hunter slid his thick dick inside her vagina. Summer turned to him and said in a hushed voice, “Let’s give ’em a show. Pound me!”

He hammered her with quick, deep, forcefully thrusts. She sighed, breathed loudly, and cried out shrilly. Her boobs stretched toward the ground and shook like crazy until the moment she froze. Her vagina clamped down on Hunter’s penis as she orgasmed. He pulled out and stroked his dick as he grunted and shot his load on her ass and back.

The crowd cheered and clapped. The other couples went into the lake to wash while the orgasmic couple rested and recovered.

Summer said, “I can’t believe I did that! I’ve never had sex in public or with an audience.”

“It was hot,” Hunter said. He kissed her, looked her in the eyes, and said sincerely, “Wow! That was great. You were great!”

“Thanks. Ditto. Having sex while people watch is intense.”

She stood, extended him a hand, and said, “Let’s wash in the lake. I’ve got a sticky mess on my butt and back.”

“I hope you don’t mind. I thought it would be dramatic.”

“I don’t. It was.”

They washed and walked naked to the camp letting the sun dry them. The other women were on her in a flash, peppering her with questions: Do you like him? Are you a couple? Was it as good as it looked? What was it like having his big cock in you? Do you think you’ll have sex again?

The women talked, giggled, gasped, and laughed with Summer.

The guys huddled around Hunter. They expressed admiration for everything he’d done.

Peter said, “It’s great that we’re getting blowjobs again. I never expected Penelope to go topless or get naked and have sex in public. And it was great seeing the other women naked. Summer had a better body than I gave her credit for.”

“Yes. She’s hot and really got into it. She looks like a great fuck,” Mike said. “Mia got into it. They all got into it. It’s been a magical weekend.”

Sawyer laughed and said, “Yes. It was perfect. The girls are sucking our dicks again, and Summer can’t act all high and mighty now that we’ve seen her naked and seen her fucking.”

“Hunter, are you going to date Summer?” Mike asked.

“I will for all of your sakes,” he lied.

“Now that I have turned a bitchy, know-it-all feminist into a cock-sucking fiend, she is girlfriend material. Actually, I’ll have to let her be my girlfriend. Otherwise, she might backtrack.

“If she regressed and returned to her previous form, she’s likely to convince your girlfriends that nudity, blowjobs, and having sex in public are bad things. I can’t let that happen to you.”

It took all of Hunter’s strength to keep a straight face as he shoveled the bullshit knee-deep. The guys bought his story, laughed, and slapped him on the back.

The gang packed their gear and returned to the town, where everyone said goodbye and headed home.

Hunter and Summer were the last to leave. He helped her put her stuff in her car and said, “I had a great time.”

“Me too.”

“I want to see you again.”

She twirled a finger in her hair and said casually, “I’ll be around.”

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“What do you mean?” she answered, pretending to be surprised by his question.

“Summer, I like you. I want to date you and only you. Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Why?”

“You’re smart, pretty, and you care about others. So many girls are shallow and only want to be a star on YouTube or TikTok famous for their dance moves or how they apply mascara.

“You care about important things. You really care. You aren’t some phony spouting off talking points to sound cool and hip.”

She threw her arms around Hunter, kissed him, and said, “Yes! All you had to do was ask!” She kissed him again and hugged him tightly.

When she released him, she said, “I have some conditions.”

“Oh, you do? My undying love isn’t enough?” he teased her.

“You support me and my causes by attending rallies and protests.” He nodded, and she said, “I have dinner every Sunday with my family. You have to come with me.”

“I’ll go twice a month.”

“Okay. When I’m with my family, I’ll wear a bra, and you can’t give me any shit about it.”

“Okay,” Hunter said. “If when you sleep at my place, you’re naked.”

“Deal. And I get to meet your family.”

“Ah. Ah,” he stammered and said, “Agreed.” He frowned and confessed, “I was exactly truthful about my family. I have a mother and three sisters. They aren’t nudists, and my grandmother wasn’t an organizer for the protest against the Miss America contest.”

“Are you telling me you lied to me?” She raised her eyebrows, gasped, and looked offended.

Hunter spoke quickly. “They lied to me! The guys told me you were a man-hating, anti-fun, meddling bitch, who supported every crazy cause on the planet. I learned that you were a thoughtful, intelligent woman willing to question her beliefs and changed them when presented with sound evidence.”

“Now you know better than to believe everything pencil-dick Sawyer says. I forgive you.”

She laughed and said, “I know a bull-shitter when I hear one. Around here, we say don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story. I can accept that came after me, and you exaggerate sometimes.”

She raised her hand and pointed her index finger at him, and said, “Don’t lie about important things such as liking me and being faithful to me.”

“I promise.”

Summer rewarded him with a smile. It morphed into a playful, flirtatious smile, and she said, “Want to come to my place and have sex?”

“Will you suck my dick?” he teased.

“Always.”

The End

Jan 19 2021

Miranda’s Loss of Virginity 0 (0)

How a late starter got started and didn’t want to stop!

1

If you were looking for a very best friend, Evelyn would be hard to beat, decided Miranda. They had known each other since meeting at the kindergarten in their small mid-western town. Chuckles Daycare Club had kept the toddlers of Midland, Ohio, happy for over a generation. Now, twenty years later and they were still inseparable. The difference now was that Evelyn had a boyfriend, a lover, a stud who fucked her like crazy at every opportunity when he wasn’t at work. Evelyn told Miranda in exhausting detail the explosive delights she endured and enjoyed under Greg’s skilled tongue, fingers and cock. They sat together enjoying a coffee outside their favorite coffee shop in downtown Baltimore where they both worked as lawyers.

“You need to find a lover. You’re twenty-four and never been fucked. I can’t believe I waited so long. We should have started at sixteen like Fiona did.”

Miranda chuckled, recalling how proud Fiona was of her achievements in managing to have all fifty-one members of the football squad over the course of one weekend at the age of eighteen and a week. She even managed the coach and his assistant! It would have been a nice even fifty-five if two of the players had not been off sick and never made it to the gym that weekend.

“I remember, it well. I only deleted the pictures a few months back. I have no idea how she managed to cope with all that, that manhood, and the heat in that hall. Did you see how they were all sweating? Ugh. No thanks.. I want my first time to be sweet, gentle, cool, in a nice room with Champagne and flowers and music and just one man, not a whole team.” said Miranda with a smile.

“Why not let Greg be your first? He’s kind, gentle and has the most beautiful cock you have ever seen. Well, okay, we haven’t seen many, I know, but his is spectacular.”

Miranda almost choked on her coffee.

“What did you say? Greg? He’s your boyfriend, for heaven’s sake. Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re my best friend forever and I love you and I want it to be special and Greg is very special, so why not with him?”

“But won’t you mind, him having sex with another woman?”

“You’re not another woman, Maddy, you’re my very best buddy and I would do anything for you, same as you would for me, I know.”

“Goodness. Well, I’ll have to think about it.” said Miranda.

She sipped her coffee, replaced the cup and held Evelyn’s hand.

“Yes, okay. I thought about it and it’s a great idea. You know how much I like Greg, because he is very kind and sweet and gentle with you, I know, so yes, he would be perfect. Are you sure you don’t mind, really?”

“Of course not, silly, it’ll be fantastic, you’ll see. And once he’s broken your duck you can set about finding as many men as you want with your looks and figure. You’ll be the most sought after hottie in the city. Baltimore and the East Coast will never know what’s hit it!”

“Goodness. Have you spoken to Greg about this?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes, we did sort of discuss it a few days ago, and again yesterday, and this morning before he left for work. ‘don’t forget to ask her’ were his last words to me as he closed the door.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? When can he be ready?”

“He’s always ready but he has the weekend off so you are on for Saturday night. Prepare to lose your virginity, Maddy. And be sure to tell me every detail on Monday.”

“It’s a deal.”

2

The door closed behind them with a solid, expensive sounding clunk as the electric deadbolt slid home. Miranda slid her key-card into the slot by the door and the lights came on all around the room. Moving a few switches, dimming the brightness to a more acceptable level made the room more welcoming. She put the ice-bucket on the table beside the bed. Greg slid the bottle into the ice, twisting it to bed it deep within the ice. The glasses he carefully placed beside the bucket.

“You get that open, Greg. I need to use the bathroom.” said Miranda.

She closed but did not lock the bathroom door behind her. She had no idea of the protocol involved but felt that erring on the side of risqué was the best choice. She quickly stripped and stood under the shower. She spread her knees slightly and peed, watching as the straw coloured liquid swirled around her feet. She soaped up and washed everywhere that mattered.

“You want me to wash your lady parts for you?” asked Greg.

He stood outside the glass shower cubicle, naked and obscured by the steam and water drops on the glass.

“You can wash my man parts for me. It’s all part of the pleasure, part of the build-up, the tension, if you like. If not, just say so and I’ll get started on the fizz.” he said.

Miranda had asked for him to lead the way. She pushed the door open and beckoned him inside the cubicle. It was large enough for two, this being the Carlton and there was plenty of hot water. Greg reduced the flow and picked up the expensive soap. He turned her and applied the soap to her back, swirling around and down her lean back. His other hand stroked, swept, worked up a lather as he applied yet more soap to her buttocks. He reached around and gave Miranda the soap. He used both hands now to sweep across her back, over her buttocks, up, up over her shoulders and around and down to her breasts. She shuddered as his fingers slid firmly over her erect nipples. His hands held the heavy globes of flesh as he pulled gently, up, down and around her chest. His hands slid further down, across her fluttering flat stomach, over her hips and down again, over her pubis and the tops of her thighs.

“You have a fabulous body, Miranda. You could have been a model, swimsuits or nude if you like. Your skin is so smooth. Here, make your hands soapy and wash me. He’s right behind you!”

Greg moved in closer to her and lodged his erection in the crack of her arse. Miranda did as she was told. She rubbed the soap between her palms. When she had what she imagined was enough, she slid the soap onto the tray and reached around behind her. She had never seen an erection up close, apart from in the few porn movies she had watched with Evelyn and several others on a few drunken evenings. She glanced behind as her hand enveloped the shaft. It felt hot, hard, stiff, and eager to please. She laughed.

“First time I ever touched one of these. It feels,…..wonderful.” she murmured.

“Does it get any harder?” she giggled as it twitched in her hands.

“Er, no. That’s about as bony as it ever gets. We need to rinse off and get to the bed.”

His voice sounded slightly strained. They rinsed each other, face to face now. His hands slipped between her legs, his fingers dividing her cleft, letting the warm water trickle along his arm and down to his hand. Miranda pumped once or twice as she sluiced water over his cock.

“Don’t do that too often or we won’t make it to the bed.” he said.

They dried each other. He made a big fuss of her breasts. She made a big fuss of his penis. She marvelled at its length and breadth. It looked huge to her but then she had nothing to compare it to.

“It’s big. I hope it’s not too big.” she said, laughing.

“It’s never been a problem before. Evie manages it and she’s smaller than you.” he replied, grinning like a child.

He led her to the bed, sitting near the pillows. He grasped the bottle of Champagne and unscrewed the foil and wire. He eased the top off, letting it pop out a few feet. He poured them both a glass and replaced the bottle in the ice.

“Here’s to your first time. I hope I can make it a memorable occasion.” he said.

He clicked his glass against hers and they both sipped. He evidently a lot more than she did as they placed the glasses on the bedside table.

“We should begin with a little massage. Consider it a first course, an hors d’ouvre, It’s a way for me to examine closely every inch of your fabulous body. It will also help you to relax. Concentrate on the feel of my hands, my fingers. Nothing else. Now lie on your tummy in the middle of the bed.”

Miranda obliged, her arms beside her, her head to the left, watching him. He gulped another mouthful of Champagne. He stood and moved to the end of the bed. He knelt, out of her view, and held her feet. He spent a minute rubbing them with his strong hands. He lowered her left foot and concentrated on the right. He took time to massage her ankle, her calf and behind her knee, trailing up to her thigh as he squeezed the toned muscles. He swapped legs and applied his expertise to her left leg, repeating the moves he had learned in Thailand several years earlier. He then concentrated his efforts on her buttocks, leaning hard onto her mounded backside, pressing the flesh and slightly spreading her rounded cheeks. His thumbs trailed inside the crease of her bum, sliding close to her bumhole each time he swept around the quivering globes. He noted that Miranda spread her legs a little wider apart. He knew an invitation when he saw one.

He moved further up the bed. Now he used his right hand to good effect on her backside while his left stroked her back and shoulders. He slid his fingers over her backside, down now across her pussy lips until he cupped her pubic bone in his hand. He pressed as his left arm circled and swooped over her back, down to join his right arm over her backside. He pressed his middle finger inside her, just a little, just spreading the lips enough to feel her heat, to feel her moist lips spread invitingly apart a little more with each passing stroke. Miranda raised her hips, offering herself to his hands and his view. He paused now, each time his hand rested on her pussy, his fingers dipped deeper inside each time until his hand became slippery with her juice.

“Turn over.” he demanded.

They drank again, his glass almost empty now. Hers almost full. She lay back and raised her hands behind her head. He placed a second pillow behind her. She smiled as he resumed his massage. His right hand went straight to her pussy. He slid his hand up and down, up and over and down and up and deep down into her cleft.

“I will make you come in a minute or two. Just relax and let it happen. I want you to hold my cock while you let me arouse you. Just hold it, feel the hardness. Imagine what it will feel like inside you in a few minutes. Now you can either watch my hands or look at my cock, as you like.” he instructed her.

Miranda reached down between them and gently grasped the shaft of his erection. It felt hot and hard, harder than in the bathroom, if that was possible. She felt his hand now between her legs. He spread her lips and used his thumb to rub around her clitoris. She raised her head to watch, tilting her hips up to gain a better view. He slipped one, then two fingers inside her, pushing in deep, then withdrawing slowly, all the while his thumb worked its magic on her engorged clitoris. Miranda masturbated without putting her fingers inside herself but she knew now that she would definitely be using them in the future. It felt wonderful.

The pressure built inside her. Her stomach tightened, her thighs shook, her breasts ached, her hands let go of his cock, now she held the globes of her breasts as she supported herself on her elbows. Her face reddened, her fingers pinched softly at her distended nipples. Greg concentrated on the task in hand, rubbing faster now, his fingers going deep inside her, three fingers now as her pussy stretched in anticipation. Her juice made the bed damp under her backside. He pressed on, increasing his rhythm until she began to whimper. Her chest flushed crimson as she closed her eyes. Her head fell back, her legs shook as she climbed the final hurdle, coming hard and fast on his shaking hand, her whole body suffused in heat, electricity, passion. Her synapses exploded as her body rippled, the shudders expanded from deep within her. She gripped his arm and pulled him hard up against her. She held tight, took a deep, gasping breath and fell back on the bed, replete, wiped out, semi-conscious.

It had been a while since Greg had induced such an intense orgasm in a woman. He felt quite proud of his achievement. He withdrew his hand and went to the bathroom to give his hand and wrist a quick rinse. He returned with a warm, damp facecloth and placed it gently on her pubic bone. He poured himself another glass of fizz as she wiped between her wet legs. He took the cloth and handed her the glass. They clinked once again.

“Second course. Lie down and let me show you how it’s done with a tongue! Ready?”

Miranda smiled and lay back on the pillows. She bent her legs, parting her knees just enough to allow his shoulders to fit between her legs. He fluttered light kisses along the insides of her thighs. He lingered on the soft skin near the top of her legs. His breath felt warm on her skin. He continued, kissing, licking now, his tongue sliding ever closer to her pussy. Miranda watched, holding her breasts once again, her fingertips gently pinching her erect nipples. Greg eventually put her out of her misery. He dipped his head, spread his tongue wide and lapped at her pussy, from clitoris to her perineum and slowly returning. He repeated the move a dozen times, still keeping his tongue wide and flat outside her pussy lips.

He held her thighs open with both hands, keeping his fingers stretched to pull her lips open. Now his tongue became like a spear, darting in and out of her pussy, probing, pushing and licking her clitoris and lips in ever deeper probes and ever harder licks. He flicked the tip of his tongue rapidly over her clitoris, sliding his fingertips further together, joining inside her, spreading her even wider open. Now he immersed his mouth in her pussy He had to withdraw to breathe, returning to the task, licking, sucking, flicking, probing. Miranda took just a little less than two minutes of his oral onslaught before she cried out, raised her hips and vibrated as her orgasm ripped through her whole body. She hummed, exhaled and cried out as the peak of pleasure crashed through her. The heat flashed through her tense body, suffusing her with hot blood and infinite serenity. For a few seconds she was adrift, afloat on a sea of ultimate pleasure, unaware of her surroundings, unable to feel anything other than the fire burning intensely within her.

She stopped vibrating and slumped back onto the bed. She took a deep, rasping breath and opened her eyes. Greg’s hand remained clamped between her legs, his face glistened with her juice, his teeth gleaming as he smiled at her beautiful face. They both looked like the cat that got the cream!

“I think you are ready for this now. Third course coming up!” he said.

He tore open the foil packet and unrolled the pink condom down the length of his rigid cock. Miranda watched, another first for her. She noted that when he held his cock in both hands there protruded about another inch of swollen head. She had her doubts about her ability to take such a long and thick cock inside her virgin pussy. Greg sensed her unease.

“You’ll be fine. Just lie back and relax. I’ll be gentle. Slow and easy. You’ll be fine, I promise you.” he said.

Miranda relaxed onto the pillows once again. Greg moved around to kneel between her legs. He held her right knee and his cock as he shuffled closer to her. He rested his cock on her pubic mound, sliding it back and forth a little. Miranda was horrified to see the head reached almost to her navel as he pushed forwards.

“It’s too big. Isn’t it too big? Don’t hurt me, please.”

“I won’t, Miranda, I promise. You’ll see. You’ll be fine. Let me put just a little inside now. Hold your knees with your hands and spread yourself wide open. That’s it, a little more. There, now, feel that?”

Miranda nodded as he lodged the bulbous head at the portal of her pussy. He rocked back and forth, applying gentle pressure to her virgin pussy. He looked down, assessing his progress. He thrust gently a few more times, each time another fraction of the head of his cock disappeared inside her. On the tenth push, he kept pushing. The head and another inch of cock slid inside her tightness. She moaned and clenched her muscles. Greg was ready. He stopped moving.

“Relax. Just let go. It won’t hurt, honestly. Just let go and you’ll see. You can get more inside if you relax a bit more, a bit more, there, you see? Half in there now, look.”

Miranda raised herself on her elbows and looked down at his cock, indeed lodged half-way inside her. Her sparse hair, trimmed short allowed them both to gaze at her pink lips enfolding his rigid member as he resumed gently fucking her.

“Just relax, let me fuck you. Don’t try to move. Just feel me inside you. How is that? Good eh?”

“Fuck, it feels wonderful. Put some more in, a bit more, more, that’s it. Fuck, it’s almost all in there. I never would have believed it possible. Fuck, that is so hard. I can feel you up here now, hitting inside me. That feels so great. Not painful at all. I think I love this” she laughed.

Greg concentrated on his moves, his cock slid easily in and out, a piston to her tight cylinder. He kept up a steady rhythm, concentrating on her pleasure. She had told him to be good and that was what he determined he would be; the very best that he had ever been. His right hand massaged her left breast. His left hand he held flat on her pubis, his thumb rolling over her distended, exposed clitoris. Miranda looked on intently, absorbing every movement, every sensation, every stab of pleasure as she rode her orgasm once again. She felt it begin between her legs, spread up through her body, urging its way up and out to her nipples, her breasts reddened, her breathing quickened, her heart raced, her body trembled and again she burst, as if a volcano of liquid fire had erupted deep inside her, spewing its red-hot lava through every vein in her body. She screamed and shook, her legs shot out straight, pushing Greg outside as she clamped them shut, trapping the intense, burning feeling inside her.

Greg laughed out loud at the intense reaction he had observed. Not often in his experience had a woman had such an intense orgasm, even those with plenty of practice. That this was Miranda’s first time amazed him even more. He knew he was doing something right and felt determined to continue until she had learned all he had to teach her. He sipped again at his glass, waiting for Miranda to react to his offer of more Champagne. She was still quivering slightly, trembling as her pleasure subsided. After a minute she sat up and took the proffered glass.

“What’s on the menu for the fourth course?” asked Miranda, laughing as she spoke.

“Your turn to do some work. My turn to relax. Climb on and get some work done.”

He rolled onto his back and held his cock vertically upright for her. Miranda understood what was required. She knelt up, lifted her left leg over his hips and raised herself enough to position her pussy directly over his erection. She held herself open as she slowly lowered herself down the length of rigid flesh. She hesitated a moment at about half-mast, but then gently slid on down all the way until her weight rested on his hips. She lowered her knees to the bed, leaned forward and placed her hands on his chest, covering his nipples. She smiled as she looked down at him. His grin split his handsome face, ear to ear.

“When you’re ready, just rock back and forth. No need to ride up and down. Keep your clit in contact with my bone. Rub it back and forth. You’ll come in no time.”

“I’m not sure I need another. I had three already. What about you? Don’t you want to come yet?”

“There is no limit to the number you can have. I, however, even at the age of twenty-nine, can manage one and then I need about half an hour or more to recover enough for a second. I am very happy to wait until you are totally fucked before I come. This is your special occasion, remember? Now, off you go, rub, don’t ride.”

Miranda did as he instructed, keeping her weight pressed down on his body. Her clitoris rubbed against his hairy pubic bone. Miranda felt another new sensation as she ground her now swollen clitoris against his lean body. It didn’t take long. She had not learned yet to prolong the fun. She raced to her next crescendo, anxious to repeat the feeling of intense ecstasy once again. She ground hard and fast, letting the orgasm hit her like an express train, smashing into her with full force, blowing her to small pieces of shattered flesh, scattering her around the warm room until she bounced off the walls to reform into human shape sitting on top of the most wondrous cock she could have imagined. She collapsed onto his chest, holding his shoulders.

“Am I allowed to kiss you. Will Evie mind, do you think?” asked Miranda.

“We don’t have to tell her. Yes, please do. Mmmmmnnnnnnnnice. More please”

Miranda kissed, nibbled, licked at his lips, sucking the lower lip inside, biting it gently and licking the firm flesh inside her mouth. She dribbled, he sucked, they clamped lips and their tongues battled for position, in and out, wrestling for supremacy.

“I can do that riding again. Don’t move.”

Miranda sat up, leaning on his broad chest and resumed, barely pausing long enough to regain her breath. She powered on to number five, slamming her body down, hard and fast, riding him a little now, plunging up and down with her strong legs raising her a few inches at a time. She crooned and moaned as her fifth orgasm approached. Greg relaxed and let her take control. She was fucking him now and in about one more minute, he would be unable to resist the sensation of her tight, hot pussy engulfing his erection. He decided to let it happen, he knew he was close to coming. They could always resume later.

“Keep going, Miranda. Make me come with you. I’m close, just keep going a minute longer. I’ll come with you.”

Miranda looked down at his face. The smile had gone, replaced with a serious frown. He held her thighs as she bounced over him. Sweat ran down between her breasts. Her face glistened. He raised his left hand and squeezed her pendulous breast as it bounced under her with each thrust. He pinched the nipple and heard her moan. He could feel his orgasm begin, deep in the back of his spine somewhere, racing through him. He knew it could not be stopped now, whatever happened.

“Slow, Miranda, slow down, let me come then you can finish. Slower, please, oh fuck, yes, slow, now just move a little, squeeze him, squeeze again, yes, that’s it, that’s it, coming, cumming, cumming, oh holy fucking hell.”

He exploded inside her, blasting his juice into the latex teat, filling it with his seed and his lust. Miranda moved so very slowly, milking his cock now with her muscles. She was close, she just needed a few more seconds. She decided not to wait or ask permission. She simply set off at a fast gallop and twenty seconds later exploded once again as her final orgasm ripped through her shattered body. She cried out, shook and collapsed onto his chest. She could barely register where she was or what day of the week it might have been. They lay, entwined for several minutes. Greg’s cock slowly deflated. He rolled his hips under her to withdraw the now limp cock and the used condom clear of her pussy. They relaxed and recovered slowly, for several minutes. Greg thought she might have fallen asleep but when he quietly asked,

“More fizz?”

Jan 19 2021

Hot Dog. A Western Love Story! 0 (0)

1

Molly pulled my spectacular erection. At least, that’s what she called it and she should know about erections, her being a working girl and all. She hefted the steel hardness in her soft hands and pumped me into her hot, sucking mouth. I rested my hands on her red-haired head, to keep her rhythm slow enough that I didn’t blow my load into her throat. I wanted her to see me come this time. I had been saving it up for days and there would be a shower worthy of the great flood. I favoured her breasts this time. Hers were big, not overly big but full and swinging when she was on her knees. I wanted to impress her with the quantity and the force when it came.

She sucked and swirled, her firm tongue rasping under the hot crown. Her two hands pumped gently as I talked to her.

“Molly, you are the sweetest girl here. You do everything just perfect for me. Don’t suck too much or I will come in your mouth. I have enough in there to choke you, Girl. I want to come on your beautiful tits, but not yet, later. Can you do that thing with your tongue again, you know, when I have to turn around?”

Molly stopped her sucking and let go. I turned and knelt on the bed. I leaned my head on my hands, down on the pillow. She got behind me and applied her oral skills to my butt hole. She even poked her tongue inside some and almost made me come there and then. She milked my cock and fondled my balls as they hung in front of her busy mouth. I was ready to explode but first I had me some riding to do.

“On your back, Molly. Show me that sweet pussy of yours. Let me taste your juice some afore I fuck you.” I told her.

Molly seemed happy to oblige. She rolled on her back and spread her legs wide. She raised her feet and waited to rest them on my shoulders as I knelt before her sweet altar of lust. I prayed that I could do justice to this sweet girl and give her the orgasms she so richly deserved after all her efforts to please me. I went to work, delicate like, just as I saw hummingbirds sipping from the purple flowers back home as a kid. I knew she liked it like that, she told me so. I sipped her nectar for five full minutes afore she began wailing and thrashing her hips. Her grip on my hair was something fierce as she pulled me hard into her opening. She was soaking my face, screaming the house down as a thunderbolt shot through her and shook her fit to break every bone in her body. My, did she come in some spectacular fashion! I have to admit my mouth on her sweetness was more akin to my very-cross-bred mutt eating his breakfast than a hummingbird right there at the end.

I waited some for her to recover. I knelt between her legs and stroked some of her wetness on my cock. He wasn’t going to be denied now. I could see her, wet, open, hot, pulsing as the contractions in her pussy winked at me. I could smell her juices. Her thighs and my face were wet. I moved forward, lowered my cock head to her ready pussy and slipped him inside in one long, hard push. Molly grunted and opened her eyes. She smiled up at me as I began to stroke him in and out. She loved the long, slow strokes, she told me. I obliged and fucked her for a full five minutes. I wanted her to come one more time afore I showered her belly and breasts with my cum. She pulled on my shoulders, her feet joined up around my back, pulling me in on the in strokes, slamming us hard together. She began her moaning, wailing, screaming once again as the pressure rose in my balls. This would be spectacular for the both of us, I knew it. She began to shake, shout, shudder and shimmy her hips as her orgasm ripped through her. I gave her one last hard stroke before pulling out. I leaned back, gripped the exposed portion of my cock and withdrew, the pressure built now to an explosive climax. The first blast would blow her head off if I could just aim it up under her chin. Just a few more strokes and…

“Get up, you lazy bastard. We have work to do.”

Gill Verner kicked me none too gently in the thigh. My dream ruined, my orgasm gone, me erection real but now straining for a piss, not as nice a feeling as seconds before.

“Shit, Gill, I was having the sweetest dream about Molly. I was just about to finish on her tits. You ruined my whole day.”

“Yeah, well, only another week and you can do it for real, with a real whore, not some dream.”

2

So began another day on the trail. A walk to the bushes for a piss and a dump. Then the luxury of a bath in the creek beside the camp. I washed and scrubbed at my teeth as best I could. Steak and beans for breakfast came as no surprise. Then as the sun came up, saddle up and get them doggies moving. They yipped and barked and scurried and harried the herd into life. It takes a lot to break the inertia of eight thousand head of cattle. They like staying put, eating grass and shitting everywhere. They don’t much care for walking any more’n I do. It takes about an hour to get them all moving in the direction you want them to go and it takes some skill to keep them moving for ten straight hours. Four strips of beef jerky is lunch and a canteen of water until sundown and the evening meal brings another tedious day to a close. We would sit and drink cheap coffee and sip cheaper whiskey, sing some and tell all the tall tales we knew for an hour afore we turned in around eight. Sleep came easy, deep and restful for eight solid hours afore we were up again at four.

I have never looked forward more to a hot bath and a hotter woman. Well, not since the last time I was on the trail. I had been wrangling stinking, noisy, misbehaving cattle since my fifteenth birthday, over ten years back. This herd of eight thousand, give or take, sometimes took almost half the day’s light to pass any given point in places where the trail narrowed. Other days we would make ten miles and thank the Lord. The work was tedious, hot, backbreaking and boring. My bandana did little to stop me swallowing dust and the smell of cowshit but we all wore them, looking like outlaws.

The trail head was just two days away. The town of Bandera had long been one of my favourites. The President Hotel kept a steady flow of young women to serve drinks, sing, play music, dance and flirt with the customers. Cal Maddon had a supplier back east who trawled the poor houses and orphanages, promising them real jobs in a real hotel. He didn’t mention that they would be expected to fuck the customers. I had already spent a lot of time, and money, in there in the past ten years. Six months back, Molly had stayed with me the six days I had free. She was a doll but told me she was moving on soon as she could. I didn’t expect to see her fabulous breasts again on Saturday.

We would get paid Saturday when we reached the cattle pens and all the steers were corralled safely. A hot bath would set me back two bits and the hot woman a dollar for the whole night. I would have over four hundred dollars to spend so I knew I was in for a good time. Life on the trail was an unending series of hot days and cool nights under the stars and the open sky. Nine of us plus the two who worked the chuck wagon got real friendly over the weeks we were on the drive, if you know what I mean. Gill Verner and I had become close after the second day. He is a head taller than me, and ten years older but we got along just fine. I’m a head taller than most folk but Gill is just a long lean pole of a man. We followed the unwritten rule of cowboys on the trail; help each other out but never do what you don’t feel comfortable with. We would please each other with our hands and nothing else on an almost daily basis. Neither of us wanted the other in our mouths, much less anywhere else, for sure. Some of the men did the whole routine of anal and oral sex but I had never been into that. Gill would unload me from behind, making sure I jetted my juice out into the dirt in front of me. He would rub his erection on my backside while he did it, to get him nice and hard, he told me. I sometimes thought he pressed just a bit too hard. We would swap places and I would do the same for him. I didn’t feel the need to rub my dick in his backside, specially since I just shot my load. We took bets on who would shoot the furthest. Gill was slightly ahead in terms of taking the dollar stakes. Saturday would be different, I would shoot my juice all over a woman’s breasts and anywhere else she would let me. Now that was something to look forward to.

Gill and I had decided to forgo our daily ritual today and tomorrow, saving it up for Saturday. Just two more nights on the trail and then we could all celebrate. That first cold beer and that first hot woman would both taste better than anything else in the world. Gill gave up a half a day’s pay and rode into town on the Friday night. He promised to return for the corralling which would begin at six on Saturday. I was happy to wait, there was no hurry.

3

Saturday morning and we finally penned the last of the cattle around eleven. Matt Harding, the trail boss, sat at a table and dispensed our money. He was a good man and had a kind word for all of us, promising more work in the future. We shook hands and made our different ways to wherever we were headed. Gill and I were headed into town, a few miles west. Some of the others were headed home to wives and families. First stop, new pants, shirt and a jacket, next the bath house and the barber’s shop. It took over an hour to scrub all the grit and sweat from my body but I needed to be clean if I was going to entertain a woman later. The barber spent twenty minutes on my beard, shaving me as clean as a newborn baby’s ass! I smelled just fine after he splashed me with some stinging balm. I was ready. First up now was a meal. Chuck wagon menus are limited to meat, beans and meat, meat and beans or beans. All washed down with coffee and soaked up with hard pan bread. I wanted something different. Miss Angie’s Eating House on Main had the finest food in Texas, well, almost. I spent a half dollar and an hour in there, feasting on as much as I could stuff into me. I had to find a room and sleep it off before the evening began.

The President has attic rooms for four bits a night. The bed almost fills the room but it is comfortable and clean. I used a latrine for the first time in two months before I went up and undressed for bed. I folded my clean clothes and placed them on the chair by the door. My trail clothes were in the wash-house getting a good scrubbing. I slept from three until seven, ready for the long night ahead. The dining room in the hotel was almost as good as Angie’s. The steak was sublime and the potatoes and vegetables were just what I needed. Time to hit the bar and see what was on offer.

Being a little after eight, the saloon was crowded. There were more girls than I remembered from last time six months back. Seems business is booming! The large room was filled with stinky smoke from cheap cigars which almost all the men smoked. I had avoided getting into that habit, at least. The noise was raucous and almost deafening. Two men sat at a piano adjacent to the long, gleaming bar and bashed out some well known tune. Several others sat around close by, singing, most of them off key but happy enough. I ordered a beer and downed it in one. The second I would take more slowly. I know what too much beer does to me when I want to impress a woman and it ain’t pretty. I’m older and wiser now. I walked around the big room, past tables filled with men gambling or just sitting talking. Some had girls on their knees. Some men were fondling the goods on offer. The girls were busy making arrangements, bargaining or offering services and delights the men would find nowhere else on earth, well, in Texas anyway.

I was about to begin my second turn around the room when I spotted a girl sitting alone at a small table under the stairs. The table was almost hidden in the dark shadow. I looked closer, she was slender, dark with olive skin. I figured she might be a half-breed, maybe Mexican or Indian, but her face was pretty, what I could see of it anyway. She looked down at her hands on the table. I approached and asked her if I could sit with her. She didn’t say anything, just nodded a little nod and pointed to the vacant chair.

“Howdy, Ma’am. I’m Garland Freeman. Folks call me Gary. What’s your name?”

She hesitated and looked up. Now I could see why she sat here in the shadows. The left side of her face was blue, her eye swollen and dark, the left edge of her mouth puffy and cracked. A dry scab lined her lovely lips. She didn’t speak.

“Whoa! What happened to you? Don’t tell me. Some bully didn’t take kindly to you saying no to something. Am I right?”

She nodded and looked back down at her hands, now in her lap. She gripped her fingers, as if to stop them shaking. I guess I had reminded her of the event, maybe only yesterday by the look of the bruises.

“Did you tell the Boss Lady what happened?”

She shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. She sniffed.

“You should tell her. She can stop this sort of thing happening again. Who was he? Do you know his name?”

Once again, she shook her head. At last she spoke, quiet and slow, kinda like a child who did something wrong.

“He’s real tall, skinny and dirty, most likely come in from a trail. He were fine to begin with, apart from being smelly and all, but I’m used to that. He paid an extra two dollars when we got in the room, for extras, he said. Took his time some to make me wet with his hands. He was real gentle for a while, slow and smiling. Then after about five minutes he made me turn around on my knees which is fine by me. Lots of men like it that way, doggy style. Then he pushed it up against my hidey hole. He wanted to put it in my back passage and I told him he couldn’t. Told him to finish what he started, where he started. He got angry and laid into me, hit me four or five times, kicked me while I was on the floor, here in my ribs. I think he cracked one. He took his two dollars and and left on his brown mare. I watched from my window out front. My name is Sarah, by the way.”

“Howdy, Sarah. Did you happen to notice if he was wearing a straw hat, kinda grey with a black band around?”

“Yes, he was. You know him then?”

“Yeah, I know him. He’s on our crew. We just did eight weeks on the trail. I never figured him for the violent type. You never can tell. I’ll remind him of this next time I see him. He won’t be doing it again for a long time after I finish with him. How long you been doing this, Sarah?”

“I came from Pittsburgh just a a few weeks back. I only had a few men on account of my dark skin color. He were the first that got violent, the first to hit me. I had one who wanted me to hit him but that were different.”

Sarah almost smiled just then. I felt a jab of sympathy and wanted to do something to make the pain go away.

“Sarah, are you up to spending the night with me? I promise I’ll be real gentle. You don’t even have to fuck with me if’n you don’t wanna do it so soon.”

I don’t know why I said that, considering I was desperate to fuck a woman and had thought of little else these last few weeks. I just felt so damn angry that Gill had treated her badly. I wanted to comfort her, is all. I could wait one more day for a fuck, I figured. Sarah studied my face for a moment. I guess she liked what she saw. I am clean, handsome, rugged with thick curly hair, almost blonde when its clean. My hands are big and strong and I guess my smile did it for her.

“Yes, why not? Pay the Boss Lady afore we go up. I’ll wait here.”

The Boss Lady was a face I didn’t recognise. They changed frequently as time passed, going from working on their back to working the small desk near the bar as they progressed up the seniority list. The new boss looked about thirty but she still had that look, that smile, that energy that some of the working girls had, those that stayed clean, that is. I handed over my money and pointed to the table under the stairs. Sarah nodded as she made eye contact. She stood up, ready to leave. She was kinda short, but in proportion.

“Treat her nice. She’s new.”

“I’ll do that, Ma’am. I won’t hurt her, I promise.”

4

The girls lived ten to a room under the eaves so business was conducted in the guest’s rooms. I had a single room since I was hell bent on getting naked and dirty with a woman and didn’t want an audience. As Sarah walked past me into the room I noted that her head would reach my nipples. She probably weighed less than a sack of corn. Sarah sat on the bed and began to unlace her boots.

“You don’t have to do that, Sarah. If you want to talk and maybe hold someone who won’t hurt you, that’d be fine.”

“Talking and holding would be nice but lying on the bed would be the place for that.” she said. “Sides, there ain’t but one chair and that’s occupied with your gear.”

She smiled at me and I was hit by a surge of sympathy for this pretty young woman. I kicked off my boots, untied my neck-tie and joined her on the bed. She lay back with her fingers entwined over her belly.

“Tell me about yourself, Sarah, just a little.”

She looked up at the ceiling and spoke quietly, her voice sounding pleasing and delicate.

“I lived in Pittsburgh with my parents ’till they died of cholera back in ’81. I got took in by an orphanage but it were a terrible place. I stayed two years and escaped as soon as I had the chance. I hid under the dunny wagon one evening and just rode on out. I asked the first kind looking man I saw if he would help me. Turns out I was good at spotting kindness. Mister Shawcross put me with his sister in the house he had in Linden Grove. I stayed there half a year and worked at his office in town. He sold steel and bought coke, making lots of money. Several girls worked there and we all flirted with the men in the office, hoping to find a husband.

Late one afternoon a few weeks back, a handsome man met with Mister Shawcross. We all looked through the glass at the tall, well-dressed visitor. When he came out he headed right for my desk. He put a note on the desk blotter and tipped his hat, giving me the broadest smile. He put notes on two other girl’s desks. I still have the note. Here, you can read it.”

She opened her purse and handed me the note. It read,

‘You have the nicest smile. Please do me the honour of accompanying me to dinner tonight at The Monongahela House. I will be waiting in the lobby at seven. I have a proposition that you might find interesting and even lucrative. Yours, Thomas Edward-Maddison.’

“What was the proposition?” I asked.

“A job as receptionist in a hotel in Texas. Newly opening, two hundred rooms and four dollars a week with free board and lodging. He showed me pictures and told me how much I could save. He explained how it was a luxury hotel so the guests were all moneyed men. He had a rail ticket with him and handed it over. Told me it was good until the end of the month. Take your time, he said. Well, I was on the train the next morning. I got met in Pipe Creek and put on a coach out here to Bandera. I had the name of the hotel and the message to report to the manager on arrival. And here I am, in the not so new President Hotel and working as a chamber maid by day and a bar girl by night, all for one dollar a week and full board. At least that part were right. Tips I get to keep. I made eleven dollars since I been here.”

As she spoke, she played with the buttons on her jacket, eventually undoing them, one by one, kinda slow but deliberate, as if she were thinking ahead about what comes next. When she opened it a little to cool off, I noticed she had firm breasts, high on her body as she lay back.

“Take your’n jacket off. It’s warm in here.” she said.

She were right, it was kinda warm and I didn’t need no jacket. I threw it on the chair as she shucked hers off. I threw hers on top of mine.

“Your turn, Mister Gary. What’s your story?”

I smiled and tried to think back to my life and what she might find interesting. I couldn’t think of much.

“I was raised on a cattle ranch in west Texas, did some school, went on my first drive at fifteen and been doing it ever since. There ain’t no more to tell, really. I spend a little and save a lot. I’m saving to buy a parcel of land out west, near the sea and grow fruit is what I have in mind. I hear the climate is kinder there. Bandera has apples but I want oranges, they are all the rage right now. I figure another drive later this year, I’ll have enough for some land. I need two thousand bucks for the parcel I have in mind.”

All the while I was talking, Sarah was undoing the buttons to her blouse, slow, kinda deliberate, as if she were thinking about what comes next. I were hoping it would be her skirt and undergarments but I decided to be patient. I asked her,

“So what do you have as a plan for your future? You think you’ll find a husband while you work here?”

I realised as soon as I said it that it were a dumb question. I was good as telling her she had no hope of finding one while she was whoring at The President hotel.

“Sorry, stupid question. But what’s your dream, Sarah. How do you get out of here?”

“I will find me a man. He don’t have to marry me but he just needs to take me out of here and then he can do what he wants with me. I will keep him happy, clean, fed and drained of desire to look at another woman. He needn’t pay me as long as he never raises a hand to me. I’ll be his slave. He can dominate me but never hit me. All he has to do is tell me what he wants and I’ll do it. I learned real quick what men want when Mister Shawcross made me pay for my free room at his sister’s. I were a virgin ’til then but his sister put me right. She told me exactly how to make Mister Shawcross happy. All I had to do was obey his orders and show respect. He made me kneel, beg, plead and talk real dirty to him but he never hit me. He had some ropes and a harness affair I had to wear but he were gentle enough. You said you’d be nice to me, not hurt me, just hold me and talk some. Well, we talked some and we still ain’t got to the holding part. I need to shuck my skirt. It’s real warm in here. You could do with losing a few layers yourself. Get them pants off.”

I sat up and did as she suggested. I threw them on the ever growing pile of clothes on the chair. As my pants landed, so too did her skirt, drawers, and a white corset affair. When I turned around, Sarah was naked. I didn’t see the point of keeping my underdrawers on, nor my shirt, so they topped off the pile. I lay next to her, examining her body.

She had black hair down to her shoulders, straight and clean. Her face, apart from the bruising, was exquisite, small features but strong, with high cheek bones and big dark eyes. She smiled up at me as I leaned on my elbow. I cupped her left breast in my right hand and held it, feeling the weight and firmness under my fingers. Her dark nipples hardened as I rolled this one between thumb and finger. Her body was lean, slim, almost too thin but toned and strong. Her belly looked hard. A purple bruise the size of my hand stretched across her lower ribs. Gill would suffer for that. Her black pubic hair she had trimmed short. I like that. Her legs were straight and well muscled. Her right hand was behind her head, her left stroked my lightly haired chest. I rolled her towards me and held her close, face to face, her breasts crushed into my chest, her backside level with my navel, her knees touching my swelling organ. I kissed her, on the side of her mouth, not on the cracked lip.

She took a moment to respond. She kissed me back, puckering her lips and moving her head from side to side, just a small movement. I felt her tongue dart out and lick my lips. I opened my mouth a little and let her taste my tongue. She got into it then, pulling my head with her hand, her left hand around my back. I cupped her left breast and rolled the nipple, just like before. Her hips moved against my stomach. Somehow, her knees gripped my cock, arousing me further. We kissed for maybe a minute before I tested the waters by sliding my right hand down over her belly. I took care not to touch the bruise. I ventured on down and cupped my hand between her legs. She splayed them a little to give me access. I lodged my middle finger in her cleft and stroked. She moaned a little into my mouth. I moaned back as she squeezed my cock with her left hand. I know I am big, bigger than Gill, for sure. I hope she wasn’t going to be put off by the size. Molly was much bigger all around than Sarah and she loved my cock. Couldn’t have enough of it, she told me. Sarah moaned some more as my finger slipped between her lips and entered her warm depths.

Seems Sarah was up for having some sex. I’d have to be gentle though or her ribs would suffer.

“You can sit on top of me if’n you like. You don’t have to but I was thinking maybe we could make this work. What ya’ think?”

“I think that would be just fine, Mister Gary. Lie back and enjoy the ride.”

Sarah straddled me, just like mounting a horse. She squatted and reached down to hold my cock vertical. She came down real slow, easing him inside her, little by little as she stretched her pussy lips apart with her other hand. I held her hips, taking her weight as she lowered herself further down the rigid shaft. She rode me slow, a walk, then a slow trot, then a canter, then a gallop. She wailed and screamed as she came on my hardness, her pussy squeezing me with her gripping muscles. She moaned, cried, shook and shuddered as she came down from her high point.

I was close to coming. I rolled her on her back, held her ankles high and wide and plunged into her real quick. When I knew I was coming, I pulled out and pumped my shaft over her belly. Five strokes and I exploded. I felt like I’d been hit by lightening as my cum jetted out, four, five, six spurts covering her neck, her breasts, her belly and filling her navel with thick white juice. She stroked her hands over her body, laughing as she did so. I had never seen a woman do that afore. Normally they rushed off to wash. Sarah grabbed me and pulled me close, hugging me tight. We stayed stuck together, kissing, stroking each other until a little later, we slept.

Sarah woke me up at five by sucking on my cock. She held my balls, fondled the now hard shaft with her right hand, her head rested on my stomach so I couldn’t see nothin. Wouldna helped if her head were out the way since it were dark as hades in that tiny room. I felt her lips circling, pulling, her tongue licking all around and across the tip and then down the shaft. Her left hand were busy between her own legs. I guess she were pleasuring herself.

“Sarah, you keep on there doin that and you gonna get an early breakfast. You’re real good at that, you know. I never had a girl suck me like that afore. You are making me feel special, Sarah.”

Sarah spent ten minutes stroking, sucking, licking and friggin herself so that we both came together. She moaned as she came, making the head of my cock vibrate in her throat. I couldna hold back and shouted out to her I was gonna come. I shot my load deep into her mouth. She kept sucking, kept pumping, slow now, pulling every drop out until I was drained. She must have swallowed most of it cuz when she came up and kissed me with her mouth open, there weren’t but a drop of me left in there. She laughed and kissed my open mouth, biting my lips and poking her tongue deep into my mouth.

“I have to pee.” she said and left the room wrapped in a sheet.

I lay there thinking about how I would punish Gill Verner when I saw him next. Tomorrow he would be at the church, him professing to be a religious type. Hmm, nothin much religious about how he treats women. I’d wait for him outside and walk him back behind the saloon to show him my new horse. He likes horses. I figured I would just deck him without warning and kick him some in the ribs. I have about twenty pounds on Gill, him being a bag of string and piss. Once he stopped complaining I would tell him why I done it. He wouldn’t know Sarah’s name but he would remember when I tell him about the pretty little dark-skinned woman with the black hair, then he’d remember. Sarah deserved better than this.

When she got back on the bed, I asked her,

“How would you like to move to California?”

Without hesitation she replied,

“That would suit me mighty fine. When do we leave?”

“I need another five hundred dollars. One more drive in October will see me close. You stay here, don’t get pregnant and make as much as you can. We’ll likely have enough if you can make twenty bucks a month.”

“Don’t worry, Mister Gary. I’ll make fifty. I never ate an orange afore!”

The End