cunnilingus

This is based on a true story that happened in 1995. At the age of 43 I had been divorced for two years and finally had my feet back under me and was getting into the single life. Back in 95 computers were still on the expensive side so my first foray into getting online was with something called a Webtv. Webtv used your television as the monitor and a wireless keyboard. While the Webtv was limited in what it could do it did one trick that helped me have an amazing summer of CFNM, it could feeze a JPG photo from a video camera.



Of course in 95 I’d never heard of the CFNM acronym but I knew I had an interest in exhibitionism. I enjoyed leaving the curtain open just a bit when trying on clothes and was always looking for a way to be naked in front females.



Shortly after getting on line I discovered the Webtv supported what were called news groups. There were thousands of newsgroups covering just about every topic. I found one entitled “Older Women” and went in for a look. There I meet a woman named Brenda. Brenda described herself as being mid 50′s and single. So Brenda and I began emailing and getting to know each other. During this time we found we only lived about 60 miles apart. We exchanged a few G rated pictures and I was quite impressed, Brenda was a very attractive woman. When she sent a pic of herself in a stylish one piece bathing suit I sent a pic of myself shirtless and the rest is history.



With much encouragement Brenda wanted to see more and I was more than willing to accommodate her requests. Within a week I was posing in bikini briefs and Brenda is loving it. I had different color bikinis and she wanted to see them all. By now she knew she had me hooked and started to be more direct in what she asked me to do. In one email she tells me to “pull down your panties and show me your ass,” and of course I did. It was always more more more and I loved it.



I’m sure you can guess where this goes, and soon I’m sending full on nudes of myself posing around my home. Then she wanted to “see me hard” and then “play with it for me” which I was more than happy to do. In short in less than a month I’m sending her pics of me masturbating. It was about then I asked if she would like to see me do this in person.



Brenda surprised me the next day by telling me a girlfriend had been over the night before and she had told her about me and had shown her all of my pics. She said her friend Lori wanted to “talk” with me and had given her my email address.



The next day there is Lori in my email. She introduces herself, tells me a little about herself and even includes a picture. Lori goes on to tell me she sometimes has girls night at her house and she thinks I was be perfect to be the entertainment at one of her parties. She asks, “do you think you could strip in front of half a dozen women?” Safe to say this got my attention. Could I, would I have the nerve?



After thinking about it for two seconds I reply, “yes, I think I could do this.”



Lori went on to explain more on what would go on at her girls night party. I would strip in front of the group, then each lady would have a chance to get to “know me” then I would serve as their nude bartender and server for the rest of the evening. She told there will be cameras and that I was to allow the women at the party to “play” in any way they choose. She did state they were not a group into pain, so not to worry in that regard. She also told me flattly that I will cum for the group.



The next day I send an email to both Brenda and Lori that I would like to be the entertainment at their next party.



Lori comes back there are two things they need to know before it goes any further. Number one, is will I actually show up and number two, can I perform? She tells me stripping in front of six women will not be like posing in front of my video cam at home. That they had talked about it and felt I would need to come up for an audition before I could entertain the group. To that end they had cleared their weekend and asked which day would be best for me to come up. I choose Saturday.



Saturday finds me standing in front of Lori’s door with my heart in my throat. I ring the bell and wait. With in seconds the door opens and there are Lori and Brenda with big smiles saying “hello.” Both ladies are in their mid 50′s and nicely dressed. They both have slacks on that complement their figures and white blouses showing just a hint of cleveage.



I’m invited into the kitchen where the girls have snacks and drinks at the ready. We make small talk and I hit the drinks kind of hard as I think I will need the courage.



The girls retire to the living room while I’m asked to make another batch of colada’s. When I enter the living room the girls are setting on the couch. They have moved the coffee table to the side and after I refill their glasses I’m told to stand in front of them. Lori then says with a big grin, “it’s time for you to get naked.”



Brenda says “don’t worry about dancing, you can just take if all off.” Lori takes my clothing as it comes off and tells me she will put it up for safe keeping and I’ll get them back at the end of the the evening. Their first order of business was to have me step closer and both took turns stroking my cock. Lifting my cock to view my balls. I was told to turn around and my ass was squeezed and smacked in a very nice way.



Lori then reaches for her camera and tells me they need to get some pictures to spice up the invitation email for my party. After a couple of solo pics the girls want to be in the photos with me. First Brenda is just sitting on the couch next to me grining then she is cupping my balls and even stroking my cock. Then Lori hands the camera to Brenda and is in the pics with me holding my cock and balls while smiling at the camera. My brain finally kicks and I ask where do they get the pictures developed. In 95 digital cameras were not the norm. They answer, one of the lady’s who will be at the party is manager at a Walgreens and she will go in early and run the photos. To which Lori adds, she always makes two sets of prints, one for her, and one for them. So another woman will have naked pics of me.



Then Lori says she needs one more photo for her “collection” and for this shot we need to go back in the kitchen. In the kitchen she tells me to hop up on the butcher block covered island and get on all fours. From behind me Lori says to spread my knees a bit more so that I’m fully exposed. I then feel her thumb and first finger make a circle about my ball sack as she pulls my balls tightly in their sack. As the flash goes off she is saying this is her “got em by the balls pic, her favorite.” Brenda says she has to have one of those and my nuts get tugged on one more time.



I’d been naked and hard as a rock in front of these two ladies for about 45 minutes at this point and I could feel it in my balls. We then go back to the living room, they both sit down on the couch again and tell me I’ve done great so far and now they just need one final thing, to see if I can perform. Lori with a smile hands me a bottle of lube, looks me in the eye and tells me to masturbate for them. Brenda has a red Solo like plate in her hand and says, when I cum to shoot my load on the plate.



As I lube up and begin to stroke the girls offer encouragement, “stroke that cock,” “shoot a big load for us.” With in a couple of minutes I feel my orgasm getting close. I take the plastic plate in my left hand and continue jacking off with my right hand. The first shot of cum shoots out so hard it makes a twock sound as it hits the plate. I have four or five good blasts of cum and then I am totally spent. Lori had taken pics of my orgasm and both girls let out a cheer.



While recovering in a chair Lori tells me it is possible at the party that I may find myself with a pussy in my face, do I know what to do? I just had two words, “eat it.”









This is my first story and will tell the tale of the party if there is interest.



Thanks for reading.

Terry looked through one of the dirty windows of his apartment at a collecting storm that he hoped might wash him away, just so that he might finally have a little peace. On the secondhand night table next to his bed was a bottle of prescription sleeping pills he’d just gotten refilled, and a glass of orange juice. Condensation beaded on the outside of the glass, and was no doubt working on a nice water ring to add to the variety of other water rings he’d made over the past year.



“Okay,” he pled quietly, but desperately with a God that he wasn’t sure existed, but couldn’t completely discount, “Just one night of sleep without a nightmare, please? One night without waking up with my pillow jammed in my mouth to keep from screaming? Haven’t I earned it, just this once in all my twenty years?”



Receiving no answer, never had, of course, he sat on the edge of his bed, dreading sleep, as he had since he was six and started having disjointed, disorienting, terrifying nightmares. There was no fathomable reason for them, as he was not the product of a broken home, not abused, molested, or subjected to the things that screwed up so many other kids his age. His parents were okay, hard-working, and he was an only child.



He scooted back onto the bed, leaning on one side and grabbing the bottle of sleeping pills. He opened it and fished two out, dropping the little, blue capsules onto his tongue, and then downing them with a few swallows of orange juice. He set the open bottle and the glass of juice back on the nightstand and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. One pill each night was all he was supposed to take, but one did nothing to keep the nightmares at bay. Maybe two would. Or maybe the whole bottle could do what nothing else seemed to be able to. His parents, frightened for him, had taken him to be evaluated by a psychiatrist when he was eight, and the nightmares didn’t seem to be going away. The man had asked him a lot of questions he didn’t quite know the answers to, and had, with his parents’ permission, put him under with hypnosis. He’d screamed so loudly that he would lose his voice for almost a week after, and the frightened psychiatrist had brought him out of it quickly.



Every nightmare, as far as he could remember, had one central character in it, one alluring, tantalizing, yet terrifying creature. It had no eyes, no eye sockets even, just smooth skin between the forehead and the bridge of the nose. It was tall, about six and a half feet, the shape of the most beautiful woman that he could ever imagine otherwise. It had teeth like a shark, but seemed to have no speech impediment because of it. Its hair was almost platinum, glossy and luxurious. Around him and this creature, fires raged unchecked, buildings all black and melted, the ground charred, torn, broken bodies heaped in piles around him, blood dripping and running and cascading into the earth, screams fixed on the faces of every corpse, all eyes plucked out and fashioned into some bizarre necklace that the thing wore on its naked breasts. The eyes gazed on, somehow still alive and seeing, all looking at him, and he understood that, in some strange way, the eyes were how she could see the world. She stood before him, completely nude, except that she was bathed in blood that never seemed to dry. The nightmare changed constantly, ever shifting, yet she didn’t.



His eyes grew heavy as the medicine began to take effect, and he shuddered in dread, because he somehow knew that he wouldn’t be spared this night either. Still, even as he still fought against it, he fell asleep. He smelled it before he could see it, the reek of death and decomposition, blood and despair. Then he could see. He lay on the floor of an office building. Ashes swirled around him, as all the windows were melted until they had dripped down the walls beneath them, pooling on the floor. Charred lumps of metal littered the floor, unrecognizable as anything now. He got to his feet and walked out of the room, but then the shadows danced around him, and before he could take another step, he stood outside. The sky was the color of coagulated blood, boiling and flowing along sluggishly above him. And, ever present, was the creature.



“Do you think,” it spoke in a silky, alluring woman’s voice, “that you can escape me with pills?”



Terry couldn’t speak, didn’t dare.



It grinned, its shark’s teeth gleaming a radiant white, “You can never escape me, boy. You are my plaything, and nothing can take you from me until I am done with you.”



Terry backed away, but where was there to run. It was everywhere, could fly, could materialize out of nothing, rotted, corrupted, maggot-infested mind filled only with his torment.



It moved closer, its arms extended to him, its nails long and razor-sharp, so filthy that they promised of disease and infection, “Come to me, boy. There is no resisting me, not by such as you.”



He shook his head, still unable to speak, his eyes averted from it.



“Yet you persist,” it chuckled darkly, a sound like vomit gurgling in the throat of a convulsing corpse, “How long have I hungered for you, boy? And yet you would continue to deny me, though I could take you whenever I wish. I could, but I prefer you come to me. You would taste so much more delicious.”



Terry turned and ran, fleeing from it as he had for years, only to be pursued relentlessly through the death-scape of broken, bloody bodies, empty eye sockets glaring at him as he passed.



“This is the world that I have made,” it crowed in perverse delight right behind him, “You should rejoice and be glad in it!”



Terry ran in terror, as he had in every nightmare, knowing that doing so was futile. This time was no exception, as it appeared in front of him, and he scrambled back, gagging.



“Do I not please you?” it cried with glee, “Do I not stir your loins in such lust? Does your blood not boil for my caress?”



He continued to run, drawing in harsh, burning breaths, coughing out ash, and she was suddenly above him, horrible, skeletal wings extended, with crudely-sown flaps of human flesh fused to the bones.



It rode the sky, laughing as he fell, scrambled back to his feet, and ran more, “You may run until your feet are but charred, bleeding nubs under your ankles, and you’ll not escape me, boy! I can smell your soul, and I shall follow you to the ends of the earth, until you come to me!”



Suddenly, the shadows raced, and he found himself climbing enormous mountains of dead, yet malevolent rats that bit at him and hissed, and he shuddered as his feet crunched over bones and scorched fur, amid the furious squeals.



And even then, suddenly exploding from the dead rats as if propelled from a cannon, there it was, its arms out and seeking him.



“Your flesh calls to me, boy!” it hissed, “It begs for my caress, it pleads for my lips! Come to me, that I may possess it!”



He climbed-scuttled-clambered over the mountain or living rat corpses, fell down the other side, all the way down to the bottom, dizzy, and then fell from his bed, thumping onto the floor, writhing, kicking, flailing himself awake. He pulled himself weakly to his feet, reeling, his heart pounding thunderously. He collapsed back onto the floor as his legs refused to bear his weight for the moment, and he huddled miserably on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest and shuddering, his breath heaving. As he looked into the gathering morning light, he saw something that he found tremendously ominous. In the corner, on the floor, was a rat corpse facing him. It glared at him with dead, glazed eyes, its teeth bared menacingly… but it was dead. It did none of those things, yet the sight of it offended him all the same.



Once he had strength in his legs again, he disposed of the rat corpse in the garbage chute in the hallway outside his small apartment, using a small dustpan and whisk broom, as careful as possible to avoid touching the offensive thing. There was no way the rat corpse could’ve followed him out of his nightmare; this one had probably already been there already, and he had just missed it. He showered, scrubbing twice, washing the sour reek of fear-sweat away. As he dried off, he looked in the mirror, noticing the pallor of his skin, the circles under his eyes from the lack of restful sleep. Not much had changed from his childhood. His nightmares had been the sole focus of his life, and he had been unable to make friends. People regarded him as an oddity. He didn’t fit in with society, so he existed outside of it, a pale, nervous wreck with long, dark hair, a leanly-muscled young man with no real future to think of. The trust fund left to him by his parents had gone into a savings account, and he basically lived off the interest, using just enough to get by, and he had little dealings with the outside world. There was Cliff, the man who owned this building, who collected the rent each month, the doctor who prescribed his medicine, and a delivery man from the grocery store who brought his groceries. Everything else he needed could be gotten without human contact.



“Who would miss you if you just disappeared?” something hissed nearby, and he whirled, but he was alone. He knew that voice instantly, and was disconcerted by it.



“No,” Terry shook his head emphatically, “No, you can’t be here.”



“How long would it be before your corpse was ever found? Until the rent was due? Maybe even longer?” the creature asked from nowhere, “One is truly alone when one does not even know if one’s corpse will be found before it begins to fester.”



He looked around wildly as it spoke, but he couldn’t even pinpoint the source of it.



“I await you just as eagerly now as I did when you were but a child,” it whispered in his ear.



“Leave me alone,” he begged quietly, “Just…leave me alone.”



“Why should you want that? I’m the only companion you could ever hope for, boy.”



“Why me?”



The thing chortled thickly, “Because your soul cries out from your flesh, and it calls to me. It is a siren-song, and I could resist it no more than ancient sailors lured to their deaths by sirens upon rocky shores.”



“Oh God, please make it stop!”



“God is a child among elders, boy! Your world is his anthill with which to smash at a whim. He couldn’t have created you any more than a worm could create a bird, and he cannot help you.”



How could this be happening? Terry clutched at the sides of his head. Surely he must be completely crazy, otherwise how else could it be speaking to him now?



He drank the lukewarm orange juice on his nightstand, loathe to waste it, swallowing it down in greedy gulps as fast as he could. He logged onto his computer, one of only a few luxuries he allowed himself, and he tried to lose himself in the world of the internet.



“Now that I can speak to you in your waking hours,” it spoke from behind him, “There is truly no escape for you. And now, behold, boy!”



Terry whirled around in his seat, and cried out in terror. It now stood in his apartment, its arms crossed over its full breasts, grinning triumphantly.



“I have come for you, boy,” it whispered huskily, “For I am your only respite.”



It shimmered in the air as if it was only a mirage, but then there it was again. Its skin was no longer covered with blood and gore, shark teeth now human, it even had eyes, a deep, dark blue, sparkling with mirth and malevolence. It was still unclothed, just as breathtakingly beautiful as ever, and Terry averted his eyes as he had in his nightmares.



“Come to me, boy. Come and I shall give you your prize.”



Terry shrank back, trembling like a rabbit only an instant before being trapped in the jaws of a fox. It strode across the floor, crouching before him, regarding him hungrily, a ravenous lust in its eyes, only inches from him now. It reached out one slender hand, no lethally sharp claws now, only well-manicured fingernails, and caressed his cheek. He whimpered, his eyes tightly shut.



“Boy, why must you still resist me, the only one who desires you in this world or the next? Surely, you sting me with your denial! Give yourself to me.”



It touched his cheek, stroking the pale skin almost tenderly. Then its hand grabbed him by the throat and hauled him to his feet.



“Your cowering resembles a lizard in the talons of a hawk, afraid, yet surrendering its life. It annoys me, boy.”



Somehow he managed to keep his feet as its hand now touched his chest.



“Open your eyes, that you may look upon me.”



His eyes opened, regarding it with abject terror despite its human appearance.



“Come and claim your prize, boy, this instant.”



His hand, still trembling, raised, seemingly on its own accord, and touched its smooth, flawless cheek.



“Yes, boy,” it cooed.



His traitorous hand moved to its mouth, his fingers drawing lightly across its lush lips, which it puckered to kiss his fingertips. It moved close, and he could feel its heat, no hallucination, only flesh. It took his other hand and placed it on its breast. Its pink-lavender nipples were already stiff with its arousal, poking against his palm. He grasped its breast and kneaded it, feeling its firmness. His other hand, trailing down from its lips, moved down its taut stomach and to the moist, lubricious cleft below, dipped a finger into its delicious heat.



It took him by the shoulders and pushed him to his knees, and then brought one of its long, beautiful legs up to rest on his shoulder.



“Taste of what flows only for you,” it urged, drawing his head close, and he obeyed, his tongue swiping over its lips, and then in between, thrusting as far as he could reach, the ambrosial fluid drenching his tongue instantly.



“Yes, boy, taste it more!” it demanded.



He licked furiously, following instincts he never knew he’d possessed, his hands grasping at its buttocks, squeezing them as it wailed with the pleasure of his attention. It seemed that the fluids that flowed from it would never let up, and his mouth glistened with it, but he could not get enough. It thrust its hips forward, grinding against his face as it neared release.



“Booooooyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeee!!!!!!” it screamed, and then his mouth was flooded with its sweetness, forcing him to swallow it, more and more, even as much of it flowed from his mouth and coated his chest. It suddenly pushed him away, stumbling slightly before regaining its composure.



“You show such promise, boy,” it gasped, pulling him to his feet. It thrust its tongue, pink and long, into his mouth, kissing him deeply for a moment, and then lapping its own spend from his chin and chest. It reached down and tugged slightly on his erection, which was throbbing and oozing pre-cum from its tip. With his erection in its hand, it guided him to his bed, pushed him down upon it, and climbed atop him.



His fear, still acute, was injected with a lust he’d never known, and he was repulsed even as he was aroused, as the creature straddled his hips and began grinding itself across his length, pressing it against his pelvis with its still dripping pussy.



“This has been such a long time in coming,” its voice was ragged with desire, “But now, at last, you may claim your prize, boy!”



It grasped his erection, positioned itself, and then drove him deep inside her with a demanding thrust. He cried out, mingling desire and misery, as it began grinding itself on him, forcing him as deep as he could reach in it.



“Yes, boy!” it impaled itself on him, and started bouncing furiously, fucking him relentlessly, its hands braced on his chest, its eyes open and boring into his own. He marveled at how tightly it gripped him, pulsating, seeming to suck at him, and he knew there was no way he’d last very long, definitely not as long as it would no doubt require of him. Even as his mind raged against this insanity, at this abomination of a love-act, his body betrayed him completely, thrusting his hips up even as it came down, seeking to push more of himself inside it, fueled by its moans, and wails, and cries.



He could feel his orgasm swiftly approaching, and then it was there, enveloping him, crashing over him, consuming him whole. It laughed gleefully as his cum splashed inside it, coating it liberally. He gasped, his body trembling, but it showed no signs of slowing. Instead, it pulled him atop it, its thighs spread, and he found that, despite such an intense orgasm, he was as hard as ever. He drove himself back inside, and its legs wrapped around his hips, its hands on his back.



“I desire more!” it commanded, “More of your delicious seed!”



Terry plunged helplessly inside it, over and over, so deep into its heat that he was sure that this would hurt any mortal woman, but it only seemed to want more. It cried out with pleasure, and urged him on, and suddenly he growled as he released more of his spunk inside it, and grunted as he didn’t stop, wasn’t growing flaccid in the least. The pleasure was too much, he had become over-sensitive, enough so that it hurt more than it felt good, but even that wasn’t stopping him, he was only plunging and grinding, using it as much as it was using him.



After another climax shook through him, it pushed him back, grabbed his dripping, still-throbbing manhood, and positioned it against its puckered sphincter.



“Your cock is plenty wet enough, boy, take it now,” she gasped.



He did as he was told, pushing against it, feeling as it reluctantly yielded to him, and the head disappeared inside its anus. It howled as Terry continuously entered it, and its sphincter began to relax. Soon, he was thrusting himself into it as he had been with its pussy. It rested its legs on his chest, its calves on his shoulders, and it made no move to stop him. As he looked down at what he was doing, he could see its anus stretching to accommodate him, swallowing up his entire length. He could feel himself inside, thrusting deep, and it was so tight that, despite the lubrication of his and its comingled cum, there was still friction. Still, even as tight as it was, he rocketed to orgasm, shooting his cum into it.



Finally, he fell onto his side, and it allowed him to. Both panting, sweaty, lying on their mingled fluids, he felt corrupted, filthy, and he found that he no longer seemed to care. Obviously, this must be what it had wanted, for it grinned even as it panted.



“No more, or your body will not recuperate. I want more, but you will rest first. I will come to you again when you are ready.”



It climbed to its feet and stood above him, stretching languidly in the afternoon sun.



“For a boy, you know how to give so much pleasure! Such as you I’ve never known. Now rest, and I will return.”



Terry closed his eyes, unable to move from his side, his erection finally subsiding as he slipped quickly into sleep. Amazingly, for the first time in so long, there were no nightmares, no tortured, twisted, hellish landscapes, no flight of terror in vain from that horrible creature, just peace, silence, the sleep he’d been desperate for after so long.



^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^



Over the next week, Terry dragged through each day, jumping at the slightest sound, expecting that the creature would be the source of each sound. When the grocery deliveryman knocked on his door, he let out a half-scream, and, when he opened the door, the man started at Terry’s appearance, but didn’t mention it, just taking his money and deciding that it was none of his business. Despite the whole week of relaxing, peaceful sleep without even a glimpse of a nightmare, he was terrified that the creature which had been haunting his nightmares since he’d been six would make good on her promise to come back. It was just a matter of time. Even worse, mixed in with his dread and terror was a measure of lust for it that caused frequent erections that were almost painful in their urgency for satisfaction. His thoughts constantly ended up on it, its beautiful, full-breasted, alluring body, no matter how many times he tried to think of other things.

He heated up a microwavable meal, ate it without really tasting it, and threw away the tray and the box it had come in. He poured a glass of ginger ale, dropped in a few ice cubes, and took a drink. He almost dropped the glass as he realized that, minus the carbonation, it tasted just like the creature’s juices as they had flowed into his open mouth. He shook, forced to set the glass down lest he break it and make a mess. He forced himself into a semblance of control and then poured the ginger ale out in the sink. He rinsed off the glass and refilled it with orange juice. He swore that he’d never touch ginger ale again. After draining the glass, he refilled it again and set it next to the sink. Ever since that night, he had taken at least three showers a day, even though he knew that the part of him that felt dirty could never be cleaned in this manner.



As he got out of the shower and toweled off, he drank the orange juice, wishing he could precede the next glass with the remainder of his sleeping pills and end this torment. What could he possibly have done to have attracted her attention? He had only been six, hardly even old enough to know that some things were right, while others were wrong. It had been right to eat all his vegetables, wrong to tie a can to his dog’s tail and laugh with glee as the dog took off through the house, scared by the continuous clattering of the can tied to his tail.



“Anything you do that could hurt someone else, or something else, like your dog, is wrong,” his father had explained to him after that incident.



“I didn’t hurt him,” he had looked up at his father, “I just gave him a scare.”



“Son,” his father sighed, “Things that you do for entertainment at the expense of others doesn’t make it right, even if nobody is hurt. You wouldn’t like it if someone tied something to you and laughed at you as you ran around, scared by it, would you?”



“No, daddy,” he had cried, “I’m sorry.”



But, if he hadn’t done anything that would catch this thing’s attention, then why was it so fixated on him as to torture him with nightmares for the past fourteen years?



“I sensed something, an exquisite soul,” it answered his unspoken question, and he whirled to find it on his bed, reclining, ever nude, “And it called to me, beckoned me.”



He resisted the urge that had come over him to go to it and take it, “W-what makes my soul so special that you had to haunt me all my life?”



It grinned haughtily, its teeth straight and white, “Simple, boy, I must possess it. But a soul by itself is not enough, so I must possess you as well.”



Terry stood where he was, near the head of his bed, “What does that mean? D-do you mean to k-kill me?”



“Kill you?” it blinked, “Why ever would I want to kill you, boy? Did I not say that a soul by itself is not enough? It must remain in you, otherwise it is only a soul, delicious, but unable to sustain me as long.”



“Then what do you want with me?”



It stretched lazily, and then was suddenly off the bed in a flash, now standing before him, its hands on his chest, “As I have said, I must possess you. You must be mine. No more resisting, no more denying me, because, though I could possess you by force, you would still resist me, and your soul wouldn’t quench my thirst. Have I not released you from your nightmares?”



Terry trembled as its fingers traced circles on his chest, and it took everything he had to resist his tremendous urge to have it, to take it right there.



“I-I have more questions, please…” he blurted.



“Then ask them, boy, for my body is on fire for you, and my patience for questions wears thin.”



He looked down at it, and then asked, “Is this your true form, or do you look like you do in my nightmares?”



It sighed, “I have no true physical form, only what I wish to be.”



“Then why did you look the way you did in my nightmares? You might’ve had me a lot sooner if you’d taken a more pleasing form back then.”



“I am a daemon, boy! I am an ancient, formed even before this world was much more than a lump of matter. I have existed for an eternity, taking what I need, seducing the weak, but none I possessed have contained nearly as much of a soul as your kind. Even the strongest of your kind have only served to sustain me until the next, and even the strongest of your kind have not the soul that you do.”



Terry attempted to understand what it had revealed to him, and then replied tremulously, “You didn’t really answer my question.”



It growled with frustration, “Others of your kind before you actually responded more to me when I looked the way I do in your nightmares. They were easy to possess, and their fear made them much more delicious, even as their lust controlled them. Your fear makes you shine brighter, but not as much as when you fear, yet resist surrendering your life. I could’ve continued your nightmares for another ten years, but you were sure to lose your mind long before then, and I could not have that.”



“That’s why you came here into my world?” he found his hands wandering over her breasts, touching, feeling.



“Ahh, yes, boy,” it licked its full lips with anticipation, “Rather than risk you drowning the spark of your soul, which you intended to do once you were fully in the grip of hopelessness, of despair… ahhh… with those pills… I decided to dispense with your cultivation and… well, here we are.”



Terry pressed his lips to its, their bodies pressing together, the proof of his desire now trapped between them, and then he asked, “Is this what will sustain you?”



It moaned, grinding itself against him, “Yes, given of your own free will, you will sustain me for much longer than any before you.”



“And then what?” he said between kisses delivered to her throat, “One day I’ll grow too old to give you what you need.”



It chuckled, baring its throat for Terry, its fingers stroking through his hair, “A bit of what you give to me will return to you, because of how bright and powerful your soul is. You will live longer, and continue to give yourself to me. Now, enough with the questions, boy! Can you not see the effect you have on me?”



It grabbed him and flung him onto the bed, and was on him, kissing and licking his chest, his neck, his mouth. His hands roamed its body, in awe of how exquisite its skin felt, how soft, yet firm. It moved down his body, and within a minute, his cock was fully enveloped in the wet furnace of its mouth, its tongue teasing him excitedly. It knew every little spot to touch to drive him wild, and it exploited this knowledge, its eyes on his own the whole time, not to gauge his reactions, as it knew his reactions before he did, but simply to watch, to enjoy the pleasures it was giving him. When he felt himself poised so close to that edge, about to be completely crushed by the intensity of his climax, it knew, and pushed him past it. He groaned, twisting handfuls of sheet, thrusting his hips as it swallowed him, more and more, but never enough.



He pulled it up atop him, felt it grab him and stuff him inside it, rocking on him, its lips and tongue tugging at the skin on his neck. It was keeping a hectic pace, not content with slow and relaxed, it ground against him feverishly. He grasped its ripe, full buttocks in his hands, pulling it harder and faster on him, the slapping of flesh on flesh fueling his need for more. It suddenly jumped up and off the bed, leaning forward against the wall, thrusting its buttocks out behind it, and he got the hint, standing behind it, and thrusting himself back inside forcefully, ramming himself forward, his hands on its hips, yanking it back even as he drove forward.



It looked over its shoulder at him, urging him on breathily, demanding more, “Give it to me!”



Finding himself on the precipice in only minutes, knowing that it wouldn’t let him grow flaccid just yet, he readily pumped his stuff deep into it, sloshing it around with each thrust, and then withdrew. It reached back behind it and spread the cheeks of its buttocks, and he didn’t wait for it to say a word. He pushed himself into its anus, which yielded to his invasion just as reluctantly as the first time. He thrust with all the force he had while in its cunt, and though it cried out, he didn’t relent, nor did it ask him to, instead commanding him to rip it up, to tear it to shreds. He pounded himself into its anus obligingly.



It was insatiable, always seeming to want more, and he strove to meet its desire with his own, but found that he, having his limits while it seemed not to have any, began growing tired, sore. He held himself deep inside its anus, his cum shooting deep, trembling, his knees weak. He pulled himself from within it, and fell to the floor, gasping, his softening tool painfully sore.



“That gets better each time,” it pushed itself away from the wall, its own juices coating its thighs, “Now, lick me clean of this mess.”



He knelt before it and began licking, only tasting her, not himself. In fact, if he remembered correctly, never had one single glob of his spend ever came out, as if it had absorbed it completely. He licked it clean, and then, began licking at its cunt, sucking on its clitoris, thrusting two fingers inside it. It humped his face, grinding its cunt against his mouth, crying out, growling, whimpering, laughing, and he was drenched with its cum. It dripped from his chin, onto his chest, and it licked him clean, slowly lapping at his chest, drawing its long tongue up his neck and chin.



“How are you able to make me stay so hard for so long?” Terry could hardly move without twinges of pain, and his flaccid dick was too sore to even clean.



It laughed throatily, watching him struggle to his feet, “You credit me with that feat? Men stronger than you have done far less to sate my lust than you. Your endurance is your doing, not mine, boy.”



“But that’s… it’s not possible…”



“Funny how you should say that. One would think that, witnessing my presence, the possibilities extend further than your tiny mind could fathom.”



“Sorry,” Terry muttered, “Sometimes my tiny mind forgets that.”



It leapt to its feet in a flash, startling him so bad that he fell down, and it stood above him, glaring at him, “You may have talent and potential, boy, but forget not your place!”



It glared at him for another few seconds, and then its gaze softened, and it pulled him to his feet, touching his face almost tenderly.



“You seem to forget who it is you deal with,” it pushed him to the bed, making him sit, “Eternity is a long time to live, and you can hardly fault me in my way of thinking. To a being such as I, your mind is indeed small, and you would do well to remember it.”



He sighed, adjusting himself carefully, “Then my place is where? Am I nothing but a slave now, only a tool to service your needs?”



It chuckled, crawling up on the bed behind him and leaning forward against his back so that its ample breasts pressed against his back, its arms curling around him, “Slave? Why no, boy, what you are is much more useful than a mere slave. You are a source, a wellspring, and you sustain me… quite well, I must say! Do you not understand that I need you? You are yourself not a tool,” she touched the tip of his dick, “That is the tool. You are the bearer of that tool, and each time you spend your seed inside me, you use that tool to sustain me.”



“Then what is my place, if you say I shouldn’t forget it?”



“Your place is at my side… or above me, or underneath me,” it giggled, licking his ear, “Depending on which position you take… I do not ask that you worship me, no more than you would worship any mortal woman whose fancy you gain, yet I will have your respect. It will not do to have you speak to me with such impertinence.”



Terry could feel his dick beginning to harden, and he winced at the ache, “I’ve been talked down to most of my life, and it’s sort of a peev of mine.”



It rested its head on his shoulder, “So you’d wish to be spoken to as an equal, is that it?”



“I know I’m no equal,” he sighed, “I’m not asking that, just that you’d cut it out with the ‘tiny-mind,’ and the ‘boy’ talk. My name is Terry… and I don’t know your name.”



“No mortal may know my true name, bo-… Terry… but you may choose a name with which to address me, if it pleases you.”



Terry thought about it, and then announced, “I’ll call you Celeste, then. Is that okay?”



“What is the significance of this name?”



“When I was young, there was a girl named Celeste in my school that I liked. I never told her… I couldn’t, I guess, most of the other kids already thought I was a freak, and she probably did, too.”



“Celeste… I could grow used to that name. Fine, you may call me Celeste.”



Celeste eased up off of him and reclined on the bed behind him, and he felt drowsy.



“You could perhaps take some rest, Terry. You have given much of yourself to me, and you must recover.”



“So…” he asked, “If this isn’t your true form, and the way you are in my nightmares isn’t either, then what is?”



“You have much curiosity,” it replied, “May you not be content with the form I inhabit for your pleasure? I had thought that this form would be pleasing for you, after all. Do you wish me to alter it more to your liking?”



“Y-you don’t have to do that. Your form is beautiful. I was just wondering, really, considering that you’re a daemon, is your true form a female form, or sexless?”



“Gender plays no part in my true form, which, were you to see it, it would be far more than your mind could take. I’d wish you not to see it.”



Terry nodded, his curiosity shriveling up at the thought. Some things were better off unknown. Celeste rolled over onto its stomach, its round, voluptuous butt revealed.



“Do you still fear me, Terry?” it asked mildly, “Or is it because of my true nature that you are filled with nearly as much revulsion of me as lust?”



Terry blinked, trying to consider his answer, hoping not to offend her or invoke her anger, “I spent such a long time seeing you as the cause of my nightmares that I can’t shed that image very easily. There’s that, and the fact that you are a daemon, and you’re simply using me to keep yourself alive for longer.”



She pouted playfully, “Oh, so cruel! So then you believe me to only be a corrupter or purity, perhaps, my only task in my life to turn the righteous toward the darkness? You forget that I have existed longer than the god whose name you used before. I am not light, or darkness, yet am both. Yes, I serve my own whims, but it’s not as if my wants and needs serve only the dark! I may be using you to sustain my own life, but there are less… pleasurable ways to use you. I simply chose the one that might be more favorable to you, as well as myself.”



“So you’re more aligned with chaos?”



“If you must categorize it,” she waved it off, “Then let it be so. But even chaos can contain order, if one searches for it.”



Terry shook his head, about to ask what less pleasurable ways Celeste might have used to gain the sustenance it needed, and thought better of it, instead asking, “Still, after being terrified of sleep for so long because of the form you took, it’s almost as if I can see that form under the one you use now.”



“There is nothing I can do about that. Even a daemon cannot turn back the tide of time, you know. Now get your rest, and perhaps you might try a little physical fitness. There are parts of your body that cannot keep up with the part I enjoy so much.”



Terry lay down, and then, as he glanced over, he saw that Celeste had vanished, the place on his bed where she’d lain was still indented from her body, but, as he watched, the indent disappeared as well.



Terry slept, and, to his dismay, he found himself in that demolished, fiery, corrupt place that he knew so well. The only thing missing now was Celeste, in that truly horrible form, covered in blood that never dried, her necklace of living eyes around its neck to make up for the lack of eyes in its head, the shark’s teeth as it grinned at him.



“You’d be surprised how many men once found this type of landscape almost an aphrodisiac of sorts,” Celeste spoke from beside him, surveying the landscape, “Several wished to fuck me upon the piles of corpses.”



“That’s disgusting,” Terry paled, and then asked, “Why did you bring me here this time?”



“In your dreams, or nightmares, your mind is stronger,” it explained, “I can make all of this, but, if not for the strength of your mind, it would not look so real, so… life-like, so to speak. You don’t seem to fear it like you once did.”



“The worst part of my nightmares was always the form you took in them. I feared you more than this place.”



It nodded, “Yes, that makes sense. Perhaps I could regain that form, for old time’s sake?”



“Please don’t,” his eyes widened, and he took a step back.



Celeste laughed, “Another time, then? No? The fear does make you taste better, though.”



“I wish you wouldn’t put it like that.”



It didn’t take the form from his nightmares, but walked along the corpse-choked street, the asphalt covered in cracks, but also quite uneven, maybe from whatever atrocities had happened. He walked alongside it as it strolled along, looking at everything without much emotion.



“I really don’t like this place,” Terry frowned, “Could you maybe do something about it, make it look… better?”



Before she could answer, a wave of darkness flew across his vision, and when he looked again, the city stood, the sky gray with approaching storms, but the streets were empty, the cars without drivers or passengers, everything abandoned. Still, the scene around him was still about a thousand times better than what it had been.



“Thank you,” he said gratefully, “That’s much better.”



“Why thank me? I did absolutely nothing. As I told you, your mind is stronger here.”



“Then why couldn’t I make it change before?”



“You were not trying to make it change, you were trying to make me go away, and that you could not do. Of course, it seems so dreary now, so boring.”



“Boring is better than that other place,” he replied, “So why are you in my dream again?”



“I was bored. I cannot make time go any faster than it does, much as I cannot turn it back.”



“You don’t have some other guy whose soul is special?”



“No,” it sighed, “Before you, it had been over three thousand years since the last human who possessed such a bright soul. He was an odd sort. He lived for almost seven hundred years, sustaining me all the way up until his death.”



Terry stopped, asking, “I’m gonna live for seven hundred years?”



“Don’t be silly,” Celeste grinned, “Humans nowadays live only a fraction as long as they did in those days. Perhaps you will remain for around two hundred years, perhaps a bit longer than that. Time will tell.”



He tried to imagine living to be over two hundred years old, but couldn’t. What would the world even be like in two hundred years?



“And then what?” he asked.



“And then I’ll have to wait for another with a soul like yours.”



“It must be lonely waiting.”



“I am not the only daemon around,” it revealed, “There are dozens, each of them so radically different, each one drawing from different life forces to survive. This is the way of the daemon. And it’s time for you to wake. Someone waits at your door.”



Terry struggled into wakefulness, and, after a brief struggle to untangle himself from his sheets, dressed and stumbled to the front door, his whole body a mass of soreness. He opened just as Cliff was about to knock.



“Terry?” Cliff looked shocked, “Jesus, man, you look like hell. Still having those nightmares?”



“Yeah,” Terry scratched his head, his hair in complete disarray.



“Man, I don’t know how you handle it,” Cliff, who was in his late fifties, his hair gray and balding at the crown, and had sixteen grandkids, tucked his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

It was noon and the sun was streaming in their bedroom window when Lawrence finally wakened her. She complained that her head was aching and she got up to brush her teeth because she had a bad taste in her mouth. Lawrence couldn’t tell if she remembered anything from the night before and wasn’t about to remind her anyway. He had scooped up her little black dress and put it at the bottom of the dry cleaning bag as soon as she had taken it off last night. There was no underwear to dispose of since she hadn’t worn a bra and Randy had pocketed her panties. He had thought all of the obvious evidence was gone when he caught sight of three tell-tale hickies on her ivory flesh. Anger flared in Lawrence’s gut. Goddam Randy had to mark her. He had to leave his mark to remind them both.



Elisabeth had stopped in front of the mirror examining the purplish mark on her breast. It could have been a bruise from an accidental bump, but the two low down on her belly were obviously love bites put there to jog her memory of the night before. It was like a dream for Elisabeth, too carnal and wild, yet all too intense to be fantasy. The suck marks on her mound were graphic enough to tell their own story but the smooth lips where someone had shaved off her pubic hair should have left her no doubt that she had been violated.



In the back of her mind Elisabeth could remember being naked with people around her. A sequence thread reminded her of men laughing, touching her intimately and yes … explosive orgasms. She swallowed hard and her jaw felt stiff. An image of cum filling her mouth and gagging on cock flickered in her thoughts. Instinctively, she ran her fingers over the hickeys on her mound and she felt the tenderness of her lips and clit, the ache from her pubic bone where it had been pummeled relentlessly.



Gingerly, she slid her hand around to the back and felt the soreness in her bum and knew the vague memories of being held by the hips and bred like an animal were all true. There was a row of dime sized discolorations on each hip where strong finger tips had dug in dragging her back onto the pounding cocks.



She looked at Lawrence for reassurance, hoping beyond hope that he didn’t know what had happened to her. He’d be so shattered if he knew, so devastated. She spread her fingers modestly over her mound and turned away so he wouldn’t see the tell-tale marks. Even that gentle touch from her own hand reawakened a tired and tortured libido. The smooth skin, where the hair had been, felt exotic and forbidden.



She had no recollection of why or how she would have shaved it off or, if it was taken from her. The thought terrified her but it comforted too. Perhaps it hadn’t been her fault. She wanted to think that. If someone had…. Oh god! Supposing she had let someone do that to her. She couldn’t have …wouldn’t have. The thought brought an image of vulgarity with it; showing herself, lying with the soles of her feet pressed together while rough hands, men’s hands, took charge of her private place; her labia being pinched and stretched, tightening the skin to allow the razor to skim off the remaining fuzz. It was too vivid to be false, yet the thoughts would not come into sharper focus beyond a series of vignettes without real substance or connection. She had never felt this way before; deeply shamed but undeniably, wickedly aroused. She felt she must have cheated. The evidence was obvious but the memory was not. She knew it but prayed that her husband did not.



Stepping into the bathroom, the door was scarcely closed when her middle finger parted the puffy lips and sought to recreate the pleasure that had overwhelmed her. She sat on the commode and spread her legs wide watching her fingers slide through the buttery lips. Her clit looked swollen and it felt tender, overworked, yet she couldn’t resist tapping it to send little shock waves of sensation through her belly. With its wrinkled hood rolled all the way back the rounded dome of her clit looked like a tiny cock straining for relief. For a moment, she let the hard button ride between her fingers while she imagined men using her touching and sucking, mocking her smuttiness, until an explosive orgasm sent her into spasms of pleasure. The sensation was so intense that she cried out.



Lawrence was knocking on the bathroom door asking if she was okay when the tremors finally left her body. “Yes,” she answered feebly, not wanting him to know anything. But he did know. “She’s playing with her cunt,” he smiled to himself. Too modest to let him watch her masturbate, she’d always refused whenever he’d asked her. Now, the image of her fingering herself, after what had happened the night before, caused a stirring in Lawrence’s groin. “The little cunt…” he mused and then bit his lip remembering that was the way Randy had described her. They’d all had her and it was his wife who could not get enough.



The young husband had no idea how to explain what they had put her through. He did worry that there were enough obvious clues for his wife to figure it out and for her to implicate him. At the very least, she must be wondering what happened to her cunt hair. The memory of her lying back, languidly spreading her legs while his three co-workers denuded her private area gave Lawrence a full hard on. “She let them do it,” he reasoned. “It was her own fault and her complicity took away any plausible deniability she might have had,” he decided, absolving himself of all responsibility. “The video would show that,” he assured himself. The memory of how her hips had risen, lifting her sex toward the fingers touching her, willingly urging them to enjoy her, reaffirmed his assessment.



It was right after that Randy had painted her for a third time. The reaction was instant. The men held her hands preventing her from touching herself while she writhed and wept for relief. They made her beg pitifully in words she would never ever use while they laughingly refused her supplications. She had wanted it so badly and they’d made a game of denying her, making her debase herself even further. He knew last night when he watched her that their relationship would never be the same. Now, when he heard her pleasuring herself in the bathroom he was sure of it.



The weekend passed uneventfully with Lawrence busying himself Saturday with outside chores. Elisabeth had decided to go to her mother’s to help out over there and ended up staying the night when it became too late to drive home. On Sunday, she came home late in the afternoon and kept to herself, then stayed up to watch the late movie, waiting until she was sure he was asleep before she slid in beside him. She lay awake listening to his breathing, comforted by his closeness but confused by the turmoil that roiled within her. Lewd, disjointed fragments would not knit into coherent thoughts that could explain the tell-tale signs of infidelity that covered her. The raspiness in her throat, the stiffness in her neck and the soreness in her private area were damning enough, but the yellowing hickies on her breasts and mound left little doubt that she had broken the sacred vows she shared with her husband. She wondered whether her lack of recall was her body’s defense against having to admit the obvious. She had cheated and she didn’t even know why or with who. She wanted to cuddle against Lawrence, open her soul and ask his forgiveness but she feared his disappointment and his rejection. For now she would keep her distance, let her body heal and wait for a better time. With any luck that time would never come and she’d never have to confront her shameful unfaithfulness.



Even though it was Elisabeth avoiding him, the respite from having to deal with her face-to-face was a welcome break for Lawrence. Still, he was constantly aware that each hour that ticked by brought him closer to a return to work and the inevitable confrontation with Randy and the others. He rehearsed and rejected a dozen different scenarios where he would take control of the situation. In the end it was an exercise in futility. He realized that he was inevitably at his boss’s mercy. In a moment of conviction on Saturday when Elisabeth was away, he threw out the packet of white tablets and the vial of liquid Randy had given him. Later, he returned to the garage and retrieved them, not wanting to anger Randy and make things worse. In bed, he tossed and turned, waiting for Elisabeth to come to him. When she didn’t, he masturbated to the vivid images of her willingly giving herself to his coworkers. He fed his lust on the vivid images of her gasping in the pleasure of the other men’s cocks and he blamed her so he didn’t have to blame himself.



Monday brought a few hours of reprieve as Randy took a rare morning off. It allowed Lawrence to bury himself in his work and shut out the relentless replay of Friday’s fiasco. It was almost noon when a shadow crossed his desk and he looked up into the grinning face of Robert. A wave of malicious contempt flooded his veins as he rolled his chair back and looked venomously at his wife’s tormentor.



“How’s the wife?” Robert chirped. “I suppose in some ways I can answer that as well as you,” he continued mirthlessly.



He wanted to stand up and abruptly drive his knee into Robert’s groin but the man’s smirk was a reminder of his own vulnerability. As bad as things were, Lawrence knew they could get worse if he acted imprudently. Instead he waited for Robert to state his business or give a reason for being there hovering over his desk. It didn’t take long. “Randy called. He wants to know where Elisabeth is. She hasn’t been home all morning.”



Lawrence was thunderstruck. Randy’s audacity left him nearly speechless. While he was there working, his boss was making uninvited calls on his wife. “She’s not there,” he blurted out. “Gone to visit her cousin in Phoenix,” he improvised trying to think of somewhere far away.



Robert studied him carefully trying to determine if he was lying. “What about her job? She was supposed to be back to work tomorrow according to what she told us on Friday.”



“She’s taking some time off ,” he snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business.”



Robert’s disdainful smirk ended the conversation as he turned on his heel and walked away.



Lawrence unsuccessfully dialed their home number every ten minutes until Randy walked into work half an hour before quitting time. Without speaking to anyone, he strode by and slammed his office door giving everyone a clear message to stay away.



The need to speak to him and the fear of doing so wrestled in Lawrence’s gut without resolution. The possibility that they had been together offered itself as an explanation for Elisabeth not answering the phone but Lawrence did not want to believe it. He took Randy’s anger as reassurance that the boss’s afternoon had been unsuccessful and that was good news.



Supper was a quiet affair with a thousand questions in Lawrence’s mind begging to be asked but no courage in his heart to actually ask them. Elizabeth chattered on talking about nothing without ever touching on where she had been or what she had been doing all afternoon. Even the fact that they were eating take-out food from Boston Market was unusual for a weekday but his pretty wife neither acknowledged she’d bought their dinner nor explained why she hadn’t cooked. Lawrence’s mind raced between possibilities seizing and discarding them as each new thought became more unlikely than the last. Changing his clothes before dinner, he’d pulled off the duvet to check the sheets on their bed. His pajamas, folded neatly beneath his pillow the way they always were eased his mind somewhat. Yet, coming downstairs it occurred to him that they could have had sex on top of the bedspread and he went back up to run his hands over it searching for tell-tale wet spots on the brocade. On his second trip down the stairs he realized that finding such evidence would only deepen his anguish without solving his problem.



He heard Elisabeth’s voice break through the wall of preoccupation that occupied his mind. “You seem so absent minded dear. Are you sure you’re okay? Did work go all right?”



Before he could help himself he had blurted out a demanding “Where the fuck were you all day? I tried to call you a dozen times at least!”



Elisabeth looked nonplussed. Her hesitation made her seem guilty of something, anything, although she had no idea what. “I was at my Mom’s,” she stammered. “We wallpapered their little bathroom. I left after five and just had time to pick something up for dinner… I … I didn’t think you’d mind …”



Lawrence glared at her, not wanting to accept her perfectly plausible explanation but knowing, without a doubt, she was telling the truth. “I was worried,” he mumbled grumpily, wanting to end the exchange without having to explain further. “I guess I’m just over tired.”



“I know the feeling,” his wife sighed. “I still haven’t recovered from Friday night!”



The admission landed like a toxic cloud between them sucking air and energy from their conversation. Both Lawrence and Elisabeth felt suddenly awkward. The young husband’s eyes concentrated on his plate where he maneuvered peas into position with his fork and prayed she would change the subject. The more she dwelt on it the more chance his role in what happened could become obvious.



Elisabeth watched him in uncomfortable silence, acutely aware of the elephant in the room and of the glaring gaps in her recollection of Friday’s events. She felt embarrassed without knowing why and aroused without any reason. Her panties were beyond moist again and the slutty feelings she’d been experiencing all weekend were back. An overpowering guilt made her want to hug her husband and apologize to him without knowing why she should. Her hand reached out to pat his thigh reassuringly and inadvertently brushed across his crotch. It surprised her that he was already hard. The second pass was more deliberate and she traced the outline of his prick gauging its tumescence by touch. She wanted to make up for whatever she had allowed to happen Friday night and sex was the easiest way,



The zipper on his pants slid down easily and her hand slipped inside to cup his balls. She laid her head on his chest so he wouldn’t be able to tell that she was watching her own hand coaxing his cock. The clear viscous fluid was already coating his plum-like knob and she spread it around playfully before touching her fingertip to her tongue and tasting it with a shy smile. It seemed so forbidden, so deliciously indecent that her belly contracted with a pleasurable shudder. She could tell by the way that Lawrence shifted in his seat that he liked her touch. Lewd names and strange voices cluttered her battered thoughts in a way she had never experienced. In the maelstrom of madness that distorted every thought and action, she heard her own name linked with unspeakable vulgarities that both offended and excited her. The gentleness of sex with Lawrence was overpowered by the rough carnality of many hands squeezing, stroking, and opening her physically, emotionally, completely.



The smooth plum of Lawrence’s cock bathed her tongue in his liquid but Elisabeth was remembering something different, something uncut and unforgiving pushing deep, pummeling her throat, making her gag repeatedly. She felt dirty and abused. Her tongue swirled over her husband’s cock gathering his syrupy precum trying to mask the memories with the immediacy of the moment. But something deeper intruded like a disturbing vignette denying the completeness of her devotion. It was Lawrence’s cock in her mouth but it was a thick, uncut cudgel pounding her throat that stuck in her mind. As clear as if it was happening then she could hear a stranger’s voice belittling her.



Lawrence was moaning while his cock coated her tongue with his cum. Not the torrent that last Friday night had flooded her mouth to overflowing choking her with its abundance, but a modest load that she swallowed easily. For a few minutes she nursed on his softening member wanting to recreate the feelings of helplessness that would have allowed her absolution for her unfaithfulness. It excited her to remember having her nose buried in a forest of coarse pubic hair while an uncut cock had possessed her mouth and throat.



It was too real to be imagination. The taste and texture, the size and thickness, and the sheer volume of cum that she had swallowed, made Lawrence’s cock incapable of recreating those images. The humiliating words snapped through her thoughts like Tourette’s and they made her yearn for their return. She felt she was the cocksucker they had urged her to be and she was the shameless cunt they said she was. They had used all of her openings and she had let them, welcomed them, encouraged them and now she yearned for them again. Lawrence must never know.



To be continued…

It was dark and cold and I walked quickly along the unlit path. My heels clicked loudly on the concrete, casting a lonely echo that made me feel exposed and vulnerable and alone in the late night. Easy prey for whatever might lurk in the surrounding undergrowth. Long branches reached out to tickle and caress my calves as I passed, each tug at my stockings a naughty reminder of my purpose.



I stood at his door. The air smelled of smoke and pine. And perfume. Had I used too much? Would it seem desperate? Should I go back? I hesitated, the heat between my thighs arguing against retreat. My heart beat faster, I knew this was the last time.



If he still wanted me.



My heels must have announced my presence. The door opened, radiating heat and light. He stood in silhouette, his tall, broad-shouldered frame filling the doorway. He tilted his head in recognition, the intensity of his gaze as his eyes roamed my body leaving me flustered. What must he think of this young, stupid girl in his doorway? Was I being too forward? Too presumptuous? Could he read my intentions in the dark eye shadow and deep red lipstick I had so carefully applied? In the four inch heels? Or in the impracticality of the dangerously short, fitted wool coat from which my stocking-clad legs emerged?



“Hey, uh, I wasn’t expecting… I wasn’t expecting to see you again. I thought you’d left.”



“Tomorrow. In the morning. My flight leaves at eight.”



The words hung in the air between us. He didn’t respond. The moment lingered uncomfortably in my guts. Why didn’t he say anything? I shouldn’t have come. The way he looked at me. Had this been a mistake? But I need this. I needed him.



“I’m happy you stopped by.” The words came out awkwardly, but his smile came easily. I had loved that smile. “You must be freezing, come in.” I grinned. He stepped aside. My shoulder brushed against his chest as I stepped past him into the hall. He felt good. He smelled good. He closed the door, his hand pressing into my lower back as he guided me towards the living room. The smell of smoke intensified. A fire roared in the fireplace, enveloping me in its warmth. Stacks of papers sat on a coffee table. A blond-haired girl sat in a high-backed leather chair. A pen in hand, she was reading.



I wanted to die.



He made introductions. The girl, in a turtleneck and jeans, was my replacement. Her smile was almost a frown, her hand limp in mine. My outfit, which had seemed sexy and provocative when seen through his eyes, now felt childish and slutty through hers. I wanted to run, but his hand pushed me towards the sofa, my coat compounding my humiliation as it slid further up my thighs as I sat down. I crossed my legs tightly.



We talked. Or, he talked. He poured me a glass of wine and we toasted my new adventure. He told the girl about my research, my grant. As my glass emptied and, as he continued his praise, I felt less out of place. Valued. Accomplished.



And then she left.



I heard the door close and lock. The creak of a loose floorboard as he reentered the room. The pop and crackle from a log in the fire. The soft swish as my wine glass was refilled. His deep, booming voice and laughter as we talked.



He sat next to me. Close. The slope of the sofa cushion pressing his thigh into mine. I felt so small next to him. We drank. His hand casually found its way to my knee as he made a point, his thick, calloused fingers sliding roughly over my stockings. It felt good, his fingers. His home. The wine.



My posture relaxed, and I let my legs uncross, curling them under me on the sofa as I kicked off my heels. The coat didn’t offer much cover in this position, but it didn’t matter now. Not with the wine and the fire. I needed this, to return to the way things had been before. I pushed my long, brown hair out of my eyes and rested my head against the palm of my hand as I listened to him talk. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed him.



“It’s getting really warm in here, let me see if I can’t bring down the fire a little bit.” His hand pressed harder into my knee as he pushed himself up off of the sofa. I watched as he moved past me, my eyes lingering on the muscles rippling in his forearm as he retrieved the poker. His movements were deliberate and focused as he tended the fire, revealing a physical strength hidden in the folds of his oxford shirt and dress slacks. I felt my body begin to respond as I remembered being caught up in the embrace of those arms, feeling the weight of his body on mine, and the liberation I felt when I gave myself to him, wholly and completely.



“I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before, but would you like me to take your coat? You must be roasting.” His eyes told me a different truth. He had been thinking about it. He knew.



I nodded.



My breath quickened as he sat down on the sofa next to me, his arm draping over the sofa cushion behind my head. I held my wine glass aloft so it wouldn’t spill. His free hand picked up one end of the belt that held my coat tight to my waist. He rubbed the material through his fingers. I placed my hand on his. So big. Warm. Our eyes met and he knew. I belonged to him tonight.



He tugged the belt free, then slid his hand up to the top button, sliding it out through the slit. I drank my wine and hid my nervousness by focusing my attention on his face. He looked so intense. And he had such beautiful eyes. Had there always been so much grey in his beard? So many wrinkles lining his cheeks? He popped the second and third buttons on the coat, which now hung loosely across my body. He worked slowly, methodically, not bothering to push apart the flaps. He knew I would be free of the coat soon enough. He reached the last button, his hand pressing it down into my hips to release it from its clasp, then he slowly slid a finger up along the loose opening, the coat falling away from my body.



My skin flushed, my secret revealed. I was naked beneath the coat, my small, pert breasts completely exposed and only a shear pair of black nylon stockings left to cover my legs and hips, the lips of my shaved pussy plainly visible through the fabric. He smiled, but it was not in kindness. It was hunger. He wanted me. I felt myself growing wet.



His fingers traced along my cheek, my tongue instinctively darting out to lick them as they crossed my lips. He pushed them into my mouth and I looked into his eyes as he began to fuck my lips with his fingers. I knew then I didn’t have to be anything in that moment that I wasn’t. I didn’t have to worry about what anyone else thought of me. Was I a slut? Was I being objectified? Degraded? There were no labels. I was a woman and he was a man. He pulled his fingers away and kissed me.



His lips were rough against mine. His beard scraped uncomfortably against the skin of my face. I liked it. I had always liked it. His tongue pressed against mine, a fight for dominance to which I was forced to yield. His fingers found my nipple and breast, squeezing and rolling them through his fingers. I moaned. I wanted him to know that I wanted this. That I wanted him.



I arched my back, letting my legs fall apart. He pushed the coat from my shoulders. I was exposed and vulnerable, weak and small beside him. Powerless. I had chosen this. I had chosen him. I had offered myself to him, and I was now his.



He ripped the stockings from my hips, the nylon giving way easily in his hands. They split down the seam across my thighs, my pussy exposed.



“Where are you bags?”



“In my trunk.”



“So I have you all night?”



“Yes, if you want me.”



He smiled.



I was on my hands and knees in front of the fireplace when he mounted me, the remains of my stockings still clung to my legs. I heard his belt buckle rattle as he undressed. I turned my head to watch but found his hand in my hair, holding my head still. I watched the logs burn.



Fingers probed me. I was wet. Very wet. I felt his cock slide over and then between the cheeks of my ass. I wanted him inside of me. I moaned loudly, pushing my ass back towards him. He slapped my ass cheek, the sting sending a shiver through my body. I whimpered, signalling my submission. I knew the role I was to play in this dance. His cock slid easily into me, stretching and filling me as I had remembered. I closed my eyes. I smiled.



I was very happy.



One hand held me by the hair, the other grabbed tightly to my hip. With each thrust he pulled me back into him, his cock sliding deep inside of me. My toes curled and my muscles tensed, but I let myself go limp under his guidance, reveling in the sensation, the loss of control. My life washed away. My future. My past. My worries. I was doing what my body was designed to do. Giving in to what it needed and demanded.



As his pace quickened, I found him placing the full weight of his body on top of mine. Covering me. Pinning me. His chest pressed into my back, crushing me into the rug. His mouth kissed and licked my neck. His teeth bit into my skin. I arched my back, my ass rising to meet him as his cock drilled into me. I think I screamed.



I came first. I felt it in my spine, an electricity that built up the length of my body. I rode it, relishing every moment. My mouth was not my own. I spoke in expletives and begged for religious intervention. In that moment, God revealed himself.



And then he came. I felt it. His cock grew harder. Bigger. His muscles tensed. Then a low, guttural moan escaped his lips as his cock twitched inside of me. I imagined I could feel a warmth, that I could feel his seed spill into by belly. Filling me. It was almost enough to bring me to orgasm a second time.



His body went limp, his cock softening inside of me. We both were breathing hard, our skin covered in sweat. I wanted more, and ground my ass into his hips. He responded by rolling off of me, his cock sliding out, leaving a trail of cum across the cheek of my ass.



We laid next to each other, like long distance runners that had collapsed at the finish line. I turned my head to watch him. His chest and belly, covered in a thick layer of hair, heaved with every breath. His eyes were closed. What was he thinking? Was he thinking about her? The blonde? Was that all I had been to him? Was she truly my replacement? Wasn’t this something special?



I curled up next to him, my leg draping over his thighs, seeking reassurance. He moved his arm behind me, pulling me to him. My head rested on his shoulder. It was felt familiar. Good. My hand raked absentmindedly through the hair that covered his chest. I watched him breath. I wished that the moment could last forever.



I felt a trickle, a wetness dripping down my thigh. I freed myself, stood and padded down the hall to the bathroom. What I had done was reckless. I wasn’t on the pill. I couldn’t tolerate the pill. He knew that. We had always used condoms. But I couldn’t seem to find the will to care. What would be would be. I liked feeling him inside of me. I liked feeling the skin of his cock against the skin of my pussy. I liked feeling him take me. I liked knowing that he wanted me so much that he lost control.



I liked losing control.



I cleaned myself, but realized I was still covered in sweat and smelled like sex. He was done for the night and I would have to leave early in the morning, so I turned on the shower.



I was using his razor to clean up my legs when he entered. He stood, watching me through the glass. I smiled at him, arched my back and stretched out my leg to tease him. He grinned.



Before I knew it, I was pinned to the wall of the shower stall. He was on his knees, between my legs, licking my clit. I had never known a man that could make me feel the way he did with his tongue. It was intense, but not overwhelming. He seemed to sense when it was too much, when I couldn’t handle it, and backed off, slowly pushing me towards orgasm.



His arms reached between my legs, pushing them apart and moving them behind his head, the weight of my thighs coming to rest on his shoulders. He rose, my back sliding up the wall towards the ceiling. He had me pinned, there was nowhere for me to go. I closed my eyes and ran my fingers through his hair. His tongue was relentless. Teasing. Insistent. I came.



We kissed as he lowered me back to the floor of the shower stall and I could taste myself on his lips. I giggled and tugged at his cock, not expecting a response. He was hard.



“Are you fucking her?”



“No.”



“Will you fuck her?”



“I don’t know.”



“Were there others before me?”



“You know the answer to that.”



“Am I special to you?”



“Yes. Of course.”



I kissed my way from his mouth to his belly, dropping to my knees. I wrapped one hand around his cock and the other around his balls. He had big, beautiful balls. I loved rolling them through my fingers. His cock was surprisingly hard, I hadn’t known him to be able to go twice in one night but I was glad of it. I couldn’t make my thumb and forefinger touch around his shaft. Had it always been like that? His cock seemed larger than I remembered. His hand pressed against the back of my head and I happily took him into my mouth.



We stayed like that for a while, the warm water from the shower washing over us and filling the room with steam. The head of his cock slid over the roof of my mouth, pressing into my throat. My hands caressed his shaft and balls, my fingers tracing over the contours of what was quite literally the source of his manhood. There was more grey here too. He was more aggressive than he had been in the past. I choked and gagged. Several times. It frightened me, but I liked it. Not in any logical way. I wouldn’t have wanted to explain it in conversation. But it made me wet. I tried to please him, I tried to take his entire cock in my mouth. He held me there. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to fight him, but he was too strong. I had made my choice and there was nothing to do for it. I had wanted him and he now had me, to do with as he pleased.



He let me go and I gasped for breath and tried not to gag. He slapped my cheek. I was definitely wet. He fucked my mouth for a while longer with his cock. Where had this come from?



He turned off the shower and dried me in a big, soft towel. I felt like a little girl. He combed my hair and told me I was beautiful and led me to bed.



He was gentler in bed. We kissed and talked and he made me feel important. Sexy. Gorgeous. He worshiped my toes and massaged my calves. His fingers circled my areolae and teased my nipples. He told me how much it had excited him to use me as he had in the shower. How good it had felt. His cock was still hard. My hand tugged at it.



I spread my legs and he mounted me. But he made me beg for it. He made me tell him how much I need him inside of me. He asked me if I liked it when he came inside me. Inside my cunt. He asked me if I wanted him to do it again. He made me beg.



I begged.



He called me his slut. I agreed. I told him I was his whore and I felt myself grow wetter. I watched the muscles in his chest and belly tense as his hips slammed into me, an involuntary moan escaping my lips with every thrust. He asked me if I liked pleasing him and I screamed in assent.



We fucked for a very long time. My thighs burned, my pussy felt raw. I orgasmed again and again. I couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much. I was dizzy. Something happened. I lost touch with my body and found myself floating away. It felt like heaven.



I would catch occasional glimpses of our lovemaking. Sometimes it seemed like he was fucking me, sometimes it seemed like it was someone else. At one point I felt like my wrists were tied. At another it seemed like there was a cock in my mouth and in my pussy and the same time. When he came on my face and breasts, we were alone.



The next morning, I left before he awoke. I didn’t bother with the stockings or heels, knowing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt awaited me in the car. I made toast in the kitchen. My jar of marmalade was still in the refrigerator and it didn’t look like it had gone bad. A book sat on the counter and I flipped through it while I awaited my toast. His page was marked with an old photo he had taken of me. We were at the zoo. I was turned away from the camera, leaning over a railing, a chance breeze lifting my skirt to expose a red thong. I smiled, wrapped myself in my coat and head out to my car with the toast.



I left the photo stuck to the door of his refrigerator with a magnet, an impression of my lips stamp on its surface in red lipstick. One last kiss. I never saw him again.

It started with her sitting on the table. He came to stand in between her legs and very gently kissed her cool lips. The fact that they were finally alone made the kisses grow frantic with pent up frustrations of the previous few weeks. Arms and legs became entwined, the kisses were more passionate, bodies grew hot and breathing became fast and shallow.



He started to unbutton her blouse and exposed her heaving chest. Her bra was black, in stark contrast to her soft white skin. Finally the last button was released and he roughly pulled it down over her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides. He undid her front fastening bra and released her breasts; her nipples were erect and crying out to be bitten. As he sank his teeth into them she whispered “Don’t stop”, encouraging him to continue the small kisses, caresses and bites that were making her so hot for him. Her skin was getting feverish with desire and her breaths were hot on his neck. She threw her head back and allowed him to gently nibble and nip at her exposed neck, making her moan with pleasure.



As he removed her blouse and bra he pushed her back over the table and slid his hot body over her. Her back arched in response pushing her breasts upwards allowing him to bite them once again. He moved down towards her waist, kissing and caressing all the way. As he reached the waist of her skirt her slid his hand behind her back and undid the button and zip. She lifted her bottom to make it easier for him to slide her skirt over her hips and legs. The thong she was wearing was getting wet with her mounting excitement.



He started kissing her stomach and then slid his tongue down the edge of the black lace thong making her ache with a desire she hadn’t known she was capable of. Holding her hips with his hands he pulled her roughly to the edge of the table and pushed her legs as wide as they would go, exposing her wetness to him. He got to his knees and licked the outside of the lacy thong again, this time pushing against her mound with his chin. With the fingers of his right hand he pulled the lace aside and stopped to look at her, taking a mental picture of her wetness to replay in his mind over and over.



With her wetness so obvious he couldn’t resist sliding his finger into her and flicking his tongue over her engorged clit. Her back arched off the table, small whimpers escaping from her lips as her pleasure increased. His finger slid deep into her wet pussy and then back to the very edge to make small circles, and then once again deep inside her. All the while his tongue was flicking her clit and his teeth were very, very gently nibbling. She could feel herself getting close to orgasm and told him so. As his tongue flicked she got closer and closer and suddenly she lost herself in her orgasm; the whimpers building to a scream. He could feel her convulsions on his fingers and pushed them deep inside until they had subsided. When her breathing had returned to a more normal rhythm she sat up and passionately sucked her cum off his fingers.



Now it was his turn…



She pulled at his t-shirt and he took it off over his head. She then slowly undid his fly and slid his trousers down; surprised to see that he had no boxers on, making it easier for her to feel his throbbing cock. She made him sit on a chair and knelt between his knees and took him in her mouth, cupping his balls with her hand. She slid her mouth up and down whilst he moaned quietly, his hands caressing the back of her neck and shoulders. As she moved her hand up she gently squeezed and released pressure, she circled the top with her index finger and thumb following this with her darting tongue, flicking at the hard, throbbing thing in her hand. His hands pushed her head down to take all of him in her mouth once again, she gagged but he didn’t seem to notice, he was getting near to his orgasm. She could feel his balls tighten in anticipation of his ejaculation, he released her head and she returned to squeezing and then releasing her hold on his cock, sliding her mouth up and down in a rhythm he seemed to enjoy. As he got closer to orgasm she took all of him in her mouth and felt his hot cum hit the back of her throat. She swallowed every last drop, seeming to savour his taste. She licked and sucked his cock clean and allowed him to relax while she removed her thong and sat astride him.



They started to kiss, she was running her hands over his chest pinching his nipples between her fingers and dragging her long nails over his skin bringing goose bumps to his arms. He in turn was running his hands over her body, pulling her closer to him. She could feel him get hard again and guided him into her with her hand, slowly, slowly sliding herself onto him and wrapping her legs around him. They stayed like that kissing and caressing each other until they could take no more and started to move against one another. She arched her back away from him, pushing against his chest with her hands, pushing him into her deeper and deeper.



She wanted to change position so she got off and turned round to sit on his lap, carefully sliding onto him. This allowed him to put his arms around her and caress her breasts, pinching her nipples in return. The movement quickened until they both felt themselves getting closer to orgasm. As he came inside her, he pulled her body to him and reached down between her thighs, taking her clitoris between his fingers pushing her over the edge once again.



This time they were both spent, she lay back against his chest, he held her tightly against him while their breathing returned to normal.

This isn’t really a second chapter, but it is a sequel, to “With Wendy’s Guidance,” which evidently left some readers wanting more of Wendy, James, and the nameless narrator lucky enough to have both of them.



**********************************




As you recall, as I certainly do, and often, early April of my junior year at college was very…interesting. Dear, sweet Wendy, my gorgeous and sexy girlfriend, had vacationed cross-country with her parents, and I’d headed off to a speech convention, which turned into my first experience fucking another guy.



No, really.



Don’t get me wrong, there is no way I’d leave Wendy for anyone else, regardless of their experience or sex. She is, for me, the ideal woman in so many ways. Happy, vivacious (that’s a great word for her!), and totally in love with me, Wendy simply had no equal in any of my past relationships.



Her hair was a wonderful mix of auburn and copper, above and below, a gorgeous mane that spilled down her back, since she’d let it grow out the past few months. When she showered, it now stretched down to the small of her back, and more than once she came out of the bathroom naked except for her tresses, through which her nipples would play peek-a-boo until she lay down, warm and eager, next to me.



Like most redheads, her skin was fair as marble, but much softer and warmer. She had worked to get a little color, and sunbathed in the nude sometimes to avoid the inevitable cottontail she would have earned wearing a swimsuit. Her deep blue eyes and engaging smile were the least of her beauty, and far more than I thought I sometimes deserved. She kept fit, with a flat expanse of tummy between her inviting bush and the delicious breasts she flaunted every time she had the chance.



Any other woman might have run screaming from the room when she found out I’d let an old friend, a guy no less, fuck me when she was out of town. Wendy was different; she loved to ask me questions about it, and clearly wished she’d been able to watch, and maybe even participate.



Once when I was out of town visiting my parents for the weekend, she got herself off over the phone while having me recap those April exploits with James, my speech and erstwhile fuck partner. She urged me to describe, again, the sensation of having a cock in my mouth, and the feel of James’ loins spurting hot semen all over my tongue and face. “God, honey, I wish I’d been there!” she said as I heard her orgasm releasing. I came myself, remembering the fun I’d had, and wishing she’d been there, too.



It was early June, and my last final had been on Tuesday, in History. Wendy had studied the whole week on Art Appreciation, and the Thursday morning final would be her last for the school year. For four days, we had no sex at all. Strange, I know, but my Wendy could really focus when necessary, and I’d pulled a couple of lonely all-nighters studying in the campus library until they threw us all out at midnight. Too tired to be horny, I’d promised myself I would work on her as soon as we had the chance.



Wednesday night, she came into her room, where I was sleeping, and practically passed out until morning, fully clothed. I awoke as she was sitting up, pulling off her blue pastel sweater to replace it with something less rumpled. Since meeting Wendy, I always slept naked, not wanting to have anything delay our need to rut, morning, noon or night.



My cock was fully awake, even though my eyes were bleary with sleep, and I reached over for her bare back as her sweater hit the floor. “Morning, babe,” I mumbled, cupping her ass at an angle that threatened to sprain my wrist. “What time’s your final?”



Wendy turned, and favored me with an exhausted grin, the kind that told me she’d rather have been fucking lazily all morning and afternoon than doing anything else. “About twenty minutes, honey. No time to take care of”—she stroked my erection quickly and lovingly through the sheets—”Mister Happy right now. Can’t miss this one. The final’s half my grade.” She turned and leaned over to kiss me, opening her mouth too briefly, even as she patted my cock with her free hand, letting her tongue pass between my lips with a quick promise of more later. “We’ll take care of him, and you, when I get back. Wish me luck!”



She pulled a fresh pair of overalls out of her dresser, shimmied into them, and strode out of the room while pulling on a lemon yellow sleeveless top, which barely hid her bra strap, or anything else I wanted to get off of her body so I could get her on top of me and start to fuck. Her beautiful, full breasts, surmounted by soft, pink nipples just the right size for nibbling and sucking on, filled my mind and I moaned softly, but she didn’t hear me, or pretended not to. I could almost feel the warm wetness of her absent cunt, first rubbing on my crotch, her moan as she popped it inside her, and the motion of her hips humping me as she squeezed the walls of her pussy together, riding me for all I was worth.



The outside door slammed, and I heard Wendy lock it, then her footsteps down the walkway fading as she went to her car and drove off. All the while, my right hand was working on my shaft through the soft cotton sheets her parents had bought, almost like flannel, and a deep, luscious red that brought out the best in our lovemaking.



With my darling girlfriend gone for at least a couple of hours, and horny as hell, I started to jack myself off in earnest. The sheet was thin enough that the shape of my erect cock was plain to see to anyone else in the room, or would have been if anyone had been there, but I was alone, and ready to get myself off. Stroking my hard-on through the cover felt almost like Wendy rubbing through my pants at the theater, or just before she slipped out of her shirt or sweater and bra to go down on me.



I imagined being inside her, and that my fist was her cunt, until I started humping the air, lifting her phantom buttocks off the mattress, driving inside her as deep as I could go, and hearing her moans as I thumbed her clit with one hand, gripping her ass with the other. Then, I mentally shifted her position, so her imaginary mouth was on my very real cock.



I circled my shaft with my right hand, folding up some of the crimson sheet into a makeshift hole, a sac for my cock to fuck. Panting hard, I used my left hand, which (in my mind’s eye) couldn’t reach her ass while she sucked my cock, and ran my left thumb and forefinger over my straining head, simulating her velvety tongue. I knew it wasn’t a real blowjob, and didn’t care.



Telling myself that jacking off would help me last longer for her later, I humped the air in earnest, fucking her mouth with as much intensity as my poor horny imagination could muster. A small dot of pre-cum darkened the sheet at the very top of my cock’s fuck-tent, and I knew I was close.



Since April, Wendy loved to watch me jack off, urged me to do it some mornings when I awoke ready for her, sometimes joining me herself, naked and rubbing her clit, spreading her wonderful reddish bush to show me the pink gates of heaven just beyond the cloud of red pubes. She told me once she gladly would have lain back and finger-fucked herself while watching me do myself, but she just had to watch, and didn’t want to waste any opportunity to see me taking care of my own pleasure.



“Imagine,” she once whispered to me, spreading her lips with one hand and massaging her swollen clit with two fingers of the other hand, “imagine you’re fucking him again, letting him suck your cock. Aah!” She probably would have closed her eyes to watch the scene in her own head, but she would have missed seeing my orgasm, and that was what she wanted.



“Fuck him in the ass, honey! I want to see your big cock inside his ass, pumping him full of hot cum. Oh, honey, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. His legs are up in the air, and you’re fucking his ass like it was my pussy. Keep fucking, keep fucking! Ah! Ooooh!” she panted, and I was very close then, too, watching and listening not only to her words, but the slickness of her juices, a slippery, wet sound as she brought them to coat her clit, rubbing it to the point of her own orgasm.



Her voice had risen in approaching ecstasy, and I saw the effort it was taking her not to scream her next words. Instead, they came out in a husky whisper, taut with need. “Cum, baby! Cum in his ass. Don’t pull out yet! Oh, God I want you to cum on him and in him, shoot your wad all over his face and chest, but the first spurt has to be inside him, in his asshole. I want your cum inside him, honey! Do it. Oh God you’re close I can tell oh fuck him fuck him fuck him oh baby I’m cumming too can you feel it…I…I…I…”



We came at the same moment, a trick we’d managed only once before with me inside her, and Wendy had immediately bent down to take my still spurting cock into her mouth, sucking the cum out of it, nearly making me shoot again seconds later. In the following moments, she’d transferred her mouth to mine, sharing the still-warm load she’d taken from me, with me.



I love my Wendy so very much.



My legs were shaking now, quivering with the need for release. I knew I was going to cum, and the memory of the taste of my own semen had me even hornier, if that were possible. Whipping off the covers, I started jacking my naked hard-on even faster, and felt the low roar of a building orgasm deep in my balls and belly. Without stopping to consider, I bent double, still masturbating, and brought my feet up to the headboard, aiming my cock at my own face below.



The first shot missed my open mouth, jetting instead onto my chin, where my eager tongue caught an edge of it, the merest promise of what was about to arrive. Gasping with the force of my orgasm, I felt the second spurt shoot into my open mouth, laying a line of fluid down the center of my tongue. It was hot and sticky, slippery, and I kept myself still, having found the “sweet spot” on the second try. My cum gushed into my mouth, four, five more times before the flood became a trickle, and I unbent, lying on my back and swallowing.



After the pulsing in my loins and the shaking of my legs had subsided, I glanced at the clock. Just after nine o’clock, so Wendy would be returning in another hour or so, if the final went well.



Levering myself out of bed, I went into the bathroom and showered the cum away before soaping my body off, then washed my hair. Rinsing the last of the cum off my lips and off my tongue, I stepped out and toweled off, noting my cock was still sort of semi-hard, pleased that I could still take care of Wendy when she returned in another half-hour or so.



Shaving quickly, I put on a pair of patterned boxers, then tossed on a loose pair of jeans and a blazing red t-shirt adorned with the lightning bolt and white circle of The Flash. No socks, since I didn’t expect to be wearing even this much by ten-thirty. A bowl of cereal and some apple juice on the side table, I flicked on the remote, and started watching TV, my mind completely off the shopping channel I settled on, and on Wendy’s naked body, and how we would celebrate her final, and her birthday.



Birthday?! Aw, fuck! I put down the bowl on the coffee table, sloshing only a couple of drops of milk onto it, and wishing not for the first time one of us had a dog to clean up spilled food, then bounded to the kitchen, where her wall calendar was posted by the phone. It was kind of girly, with pictures of kittens tumbling about with yarn, or sitting bemused in wicker baskets. She privately called it her Pussy Calendar, since she used it to track her periods, chuckling over being so naughty, even just with me.



I looked at the current week, and saw the times of both our finals. I didn’t live with her, at least not just yet, but she’d carefully included mine on the calendar too. Scanning to Thursday, I saw the note for her final, showing eight to ten o’clock, and a little star inked at the bottom right corner, the color of gold. I pulled the calendar gently off the hook, and flipped back to March. My birthday had the same gold star scrawled in the same spot.



It was her birthday, and I needed to do more than just fuck her to help her celebrate. My Wendy deserves that, for all she does. Thinking furiously, I realized I would have to take her to dinner at least. Fuck! You selfish asshole!, I berated myself. She was great on your birthday, and you need to do something! Right fucking now! I knew she would forgive me if I forgot; it was finals and she was like that, but I was damned if I was going to make her feel like I had forgotten.



Tossing on shoes and socks, and leaving a sticky note on the door promising to return soon, I drove down to the supermarket six blocks down the road, which had a decent if fairly generic floral department, and bought a bouquet. I’d worked in a flower shop in high school, and found roses to be appreciated but a little obvious. Checking, I saw they had snapdragons, the flower of desire, and a few pink zinnia, symbols of my lasting affection. I had the bewildered and obviously clueless middle-aged woman at the floral counter add a dozen of each to a dozen red roses, showing (of course) my love for Wendy.



I made it back to the apartment with my fragrant bundle of blossoms and hurtled up the stairs to find my note was still there. Good! I made it back before Wendy. I crumpled the note and tossed it in the wastebasket, setting the bouquet aside gently so it wouldn’t fall off the kitchen table, out of sight of the door to her apartment. Grabbing the phone, I glanced at the stove clock. It was just after ten, so I called her favorite Italian restaurant, and thankfully found a table for us at around nine o’clock that evening.



Straightening the living room as best I could with the minutes left to me, I tossed the now warm bowl of cereal in the disposal, and washed the few dishes in the sink, before wiping up the spilled milk from earlier. Her bra and panties from the previous weekend were still next to the couch, mementoes of our last passionate coupling, and I picked those and some other pieces of clothing off the floor, tossing them into the wicker laundry bin in her room. Making the bed, I was relieved to see that my cum had only, or at least mostly, only hit me, and there was no visible trace of it on the sheets. Tossing the bedspread over it and fluffing the pillow, I hoped it would show my careful consideration of how best to surprise her, and not betray the frantic speed with which I’d started.



Then, I settled down to wait. I should vacuum, I thought, then saw it was ten-thirty already. That won’t do. I want her to come home to a clean apartment, not see me in the middle of cleaning it. The living room looked fine, so I sat back to watch the television, which had remained steadfastly on, diligently entertaining an empty room even as I’d run around to cure my omissions.



After what seemed a long time, I looked again at the clock in the kitchen. Eleven straight up. She was late! I hoped her final hadn’t been a disaster. That would make any of my preparations seem inappropriate. I pictured Wendy collapsed against me, sobbing with the knowledge of a wasted Spring quarter.



This time I did vacuum, then dusted the living room, hoping that she would be happy when she got home, dreading that she might not be. When I finished, it was nearly eleven-thirty, and still no sign of her. By now, I was concerned something had happened to her, but had no idea what it might have been.



Just before noon, she came through the door, leaving it open behind her. At the sound of her key, I’d grabbed the bouquet, still fresh, and held it behind my back. Wendy walked in with a couple of paper sacks from the same store whose floral department had, I hoped, saved me, and set them down.



“Happy birthday, gorgeous!” I handed her the bouquet with a flourish, and swept her into my arms. She beamed at me, and accepted my kiss gratefully. Something clinked in them. “What’s that, Wendy?”



“I picked up a couple of things, in case you forgot it was my birthday. Thank you for not forgetting! I love you!” Laughing, she returned my embrace and kissed back fervently, and I felt my cock responding to the lovely warmth pressed against me. Cupping her ass, I started to kiss down her neck, intent on getting her breasts free of their underwire prison.



“Ahem.” Shit, the door’s still open! I turned my face from the hollow in Wendy’s neck, still nibbling at it, and saw a guy coming in after Wendy and shutting the door. He wore a light navy windbreaker over a polo shirt and cream-colored slacks, and I almost didn’t recognize him, at least with clothes on.



Wendy kissed me again, grinning. “Guess who I ran into after my finals?”



It was the guy who I’d watched on top of me, his dick pistoning inside my then-virgin asshole, and the same guy I’d swapped cum with after our mutual blowjobs, and the one person Wendy fantasized about seeing me get hot and heavy with. If anything, my cock was harder than ever, when I replied with a weak, “Hello, James.”



The bag, it turned out, contained some Chinese food for lunch, and three bottles of wine. I arched an eyebrow at her, and she whispered in my ear, “It is my birthday!” Nibbling on my earlobe for a fugitive second she pulled reluctantly away, and helped me get some plates out for the three of us to eat.



She’d certainly bought enough food, and I knew we’d have plenty of leftovers, no matter how much James partook in the minor feast. Over spring rolls, sweet and sour pork and Mongolian beef, we chatted about school. James had, it turned out, been in Wendy’s Art Appreciation class, which seemed odd, since he was a Communications major, working on breaking into radio. Speech forensics was more his style, not art.



“So, when did you decide to take the course?”



He smiled, blue eyes twinkling over a mouthful of the beef. “It turned out I needed some more General Ed credits, something outside my major. Wendy didn’t tell you we’ve been in the same class all quarter?” She hadn’t.



“Honey, I barely saw him. I mean, you’re the one who really knows him, right?” She did well to hide the sardonic leer I knew was lurking behind her innocent smile. She knew, and I realized that James knew she knew that he’d been the one, my first blowjob. It seemed impossible that the subject hadn’t come up while they were in class, or study hall, and she was right.



I do know him better, and not just in a Biblical sense. I laughed at the image of what my old minister would have said to the sight of my sucking off another guy, letting him shoot his seed—that’s what they called it in the Good Book—into my mouth and swallowing all of it. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”



What the hell is going on? Does she want to talk more about it, maybe get his memories of the event? Still, it was her birthday, and I wasn’t going to spoil it for her. I shifted in my chair, and regretted it instantly, as the taut denim rubbed at my shaft, awakening it as I wolfed down my lunch, wishing I was gorging myself on her tits and pussy instead. My hard-on twitched in sympathy, wanting to bury itself in a warm, moist place right now, but being held back like a horny dog by its master.



“So, James, what did you think of the class?” I hoped they didn’t realize I was trying very hard to change the subject away from double entendres.



He grinned again, his twinkling blue eyes the perfect complement to Wendy’s own, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. Why is he here?



James told us both how much he’d enjoyed the class, and Wendy’s insights into many of the artists, Monet and Klimt in particular, though I could swear that at least once he’d left the “m” out of the latter’s name. Wendy must have heard it too, because she chuckled a couple of times.

The conversation continued for about an hour, before Wendy and I as host and hostess rose to clean up after the lunch, putting three of the six containers into our fridge, and giving the other three, emptied of their contents, a decent if hasty burial in the garbage under the sink. Apparently food was good for what ailed me, or at least a good substitute, because while I still felt frisky enough for a whole room of Wendys—and what a thought that was!—my erection had subsided to a semi-state, but still ready to go to full attention.



Throughout, neither one of them had said anything more about the April episode. I was relieved, since I hadn’t even spoken to James in the intervening weeks. Not out of guilt, mind you, but because speech season was over, and we’d both had classes to go to, and I of course had Wendy.



After lunch, we broke open the first bottle, a decent red, and settled into the living room to catch up on current and personal events. Wendy chatted happily, seemingly oblivious to my wish to get her into bed, but I remembered later she kept everyone’s glasses full, stinting no more on anyone’s wine than on her own. By mid-way through the third bottle, the three of us shared a warm, happy glow, free of cares for the time being.



Wendy looked at me over the rim of her wine glass, and winked, before setting it down on the coffee table in front of us. “So, how about that elephant in the room?” Turning to James, who sat in the chair beside hers. Her eyes now glowed with alcohol and horniness, and her voice was husky with the effort of speaking. Wendy’s face was red and warm, not, I realized, with embarrassment, but with lust.



“James,” she started breathlessly, gazing into his eyes and nodding her head towards me, “he told me about your conference. How you sucked each other off, then fucked each other in the ass. It made me hot just to think about it, still does. I love to go down on him, let him fuck my mouth until he shoots hot cum into it, and all over me. I didn’t used to, but now I swallow. Sometimes,” she leaned closer with a devilish leer, “sometimes I kiss him with my mouth full of his cum, and we share it between us. I think he likes it,” she added unnecessarily, leaning closer, almost nose-to-nose with him, and my heart began to thunder in my chest.



“Did you swallow when he came in your mouth, James?”



Though he had seemingly been mesmerized by the wine and her charms working in concert, James shook himself, gaping at her while he tried to answer.



“Did you swallow? Or share?” Her voice was low and insistent; James was powerless to resist her question, and I don’t think he really wanted to.



“Both,” he croaked. “Both, swallowed and shared. His cum and mine, W-Wendy.” He’s as nervous as I am, I marveled. James seldom had any trouble with women, and was very, very successful with them as a rule. Maybe that was why he was nervous, since I was the only guy he’d bedded, or at least so I assumed.



Wendy leaned into James, and kissed him on the mouth, pulling back before he could do more than start to pucker his lips. Standing, she took both our hands, and led us to the middle of the room, a little unsteady, whether from the wine or nervousness I wasn’t sure. She turned to me first and put one arm around me, and the other around James’ waist, drawing us closer to her on either side. Settling her smoldering gaze on my eyes, she dropped her voice to a sultry coo. “I love you. You know that, right?”



“Of course I love you, sweetheart.” She rewarded me with a kiss, and the merest flick of her tongue between my lips. Wendy smiled, turning now to James. “I’ve got a birthday wish, and I need both of you to make it come. True.” She giggled a little bit at the suggestive turn of phrase, which she somehow made seem very sexy and not at all vulgar. James looked at me, then at her, licking his lips as he doubtless wondered what she wanted to do. I had a pretty good notion, I thought.



Wendy stood between James and me in a group hug that I was sure she wanted to turn into a group fuck, and started frenching me, then him, and then me again. She’d always loved kissing as foreplay, during the main event, and in the afterglow, and I could feel more than hear her moan as she kissed me again, deeply. I glanced down, past her closed eyes, and saw her hand stroking James’ cock through his slacks. It was hard and obvious, and I wondered what she would do next, maybe drop to her knees and open his zipper before taking it into her waiting mouth.



Wendy opened her eyes and gave me a drowsy grin. “‘S my birthday, right?” My throat had forgotten how to work, and I nodded dumbly in reply.



“Yay, me!” she laughed, and kissed James quickly, a little peck on his lips, and gave me the same, before pulling out of the three-way embrace, and backing away to the second-hand easy chair in the corner. She sat down with her eyes locked on the two of us guys, and picked up her wine glass again, taking a long drink from it.



When she set it down, the same lustful glow in her eyes seemed to have spread to her whole body. “James,” she started breathlessly, with a sinuous stretch, “would you object to having my man wrap his mouth around your dick and suck it?” She wriggled on the last two words, a delicious shiver that I wanted to take advantage of, James watching or not. Her hands began to knead her tits through the yellow top, and her legs were spread as she sat back in the chair, reclining it and rocking, but leaving her pussy inviolate for now. She laughed once more, a naughty, low and horny sound, and my cock was ready for anything she wanted.



Her grin was feral, and my Wendy’s laugh was an endearing sound, filled with a yearning I’d heard before in her bed, and in mine. It meant she was ready to enjoy what was about to happen, and eager to start. “Kiss him like you kiss me,” she whispered, still watching.



I obeyed, taking James into my arms, and opening my mouth for his tongue to wrestle with mine. It had been a couple of months, but it was no less natural than before when we started to kiss, and continued for some minutes. I felt his ass through the thin slacks he was wearing, and our erections were pressed together side-by-side as we tried not to start humping too soon.



James’ hands slipped past my waistband, burrowing beneath my jeans and boxers to my bare ass. He stroked my buttocks in time to our kissing, and heat rose inside me as I knew I would have to do what Wendy said, whether she’d asked me to or not. My eyes were closed, but I could hear Wendy’s breathing, growing harsh in anticipation of the act we were going to present her with any moment.



Disengaging from James’ hungry mouth, “Take my pants down, then yours,” I ordered, and felt his hands slide out from the back of my pants, and start fumbling with the buttons on my fly. It took him seconds, and we continued kissing, until I felt him pull the denim and cotton down past my hips to my knees, where I shimmied them down to my ankles before stepping out of them to stand half-naked—the good half, I thought—in the center of the room.



Wendy giggled again. “Lover, he gets to suck you second. Do him first. Please!” I looked over, and her top formed a lemon yellow pool of fabric on the carpet by her feet, and she had set her right tit free from its prison. She was playing with the nipple, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger, but her eyes were on us still. The denim straps on her overalls, nearly as blue as her eyes, were off her shoulders, and the front panel spread like an apron, exposing everything from her waist and up. She clearly didn’t intend to miss a moment.



James’ slacks were tented from the straining member beneath them. Dropping to my knees, it was my turn to fumble with his belt, catch and zipper. Faster than I would have thought possible, I’d successfully released them, and, as a lighter fabric, less stiff than the denim I’d also been wearing, they slid off of him.



My breath caught in my throat, and I reached for James’ briefs, but he hooked his thumbs at either side of the waistband and pulled them down, letting them fall to where his slacks lay on the floor, and stepped out of them. His cock was as magnificent as I remembered, and I remembered how I’d wanted to suck it before. Now, with Wendy watching, the thirst I felt for his cock and cum redoubled.



“You want that in your mouth, don’t you, lover?” Wendy was practically purring, desire thick and heady in the early summer air. She was right, of course. I wanted to suck him off again, almost as much as she wanted to watch. I glanced over and she nodded in approval to both of us. James took off his polo shirt, standing naked in front of me, hard-on at the ready. I followed suit, kneeling as the cool air from the fan caressed my bare bottom. Of the three of us, only Wendy still wore anything at all.



Taking James’ saluting cock in my hands, I lowered it, pointing it straight at me. The tension in his loins threatened to pull it back up, out of reach, so I parted my lips, licked them and put the swollen purple head just past them. The head of his cock was smooth, soft and warm, and I decided to take some time, draw things out for Wendy’s sake, and my own to be honest.



Swirling my tongue around James’ head, I heard his soft moan echoed by Wendy’s, and started to bob back and forth, slightly at first, letting the motion work with my tongue and lips. I let my fingertips trail up his bare legs, felt him shiver at the feel of them, at last cupping his buttocks with both hands, feeling the muscles tighten in time to his swaying as he started, once more, to hump my eager mouth.



My eyes were closed by now, letting my other senses guide me down this recent and familiar road. James’ hand was behind my head, guiding but not forcing, letting me keep control of the tempo. He tasted wonderful, sweat and musk and the drop of precum that reminded me of my jacking off that morning, and I was back in that hotel room, sucking him off for the first time, again.



Accustomed now to the mechanics of fellatio, I savored the feel of his cock, sliding in and out between my lips, my saliva his only lubrication, and the gentle tap of his cock on the back of my throat. Gripping his ass, I changed the speed up, quietly urging him to move more quickly, fuck me harder and faster. He obeyed the silent command, starting to use his hips more, humping my open mouth. His breathing was harsher now, and I knew his orgasm was very near.



Opening one eye a crack, I looked for Wendy. The chair was empty, but I had no time to wonder where she’d gotten to, as I felt her against my back, naked tits against me, her arms around my waist. She kissed the nape of my neck, then leaned around to whisper in my ear. “Let him shoot in your mouth. I want to see him cum all over your face, like you cum on mine. Be his cum-catcher, baby. Lick it all up!”



Her hips were grinding into mine, and I found myself wishing she had a strap-on dildo, so she could put it in my ass and hump away while I sucked James off. The mental picture I had, me on all fours with Wendy’s fake hard-on fucking me, and James’ real hard-on penetrating my mouth, was too much for me. Without any touch needed, I blew my load onto our carpet, groaning around the member I was sucking. The feeling was unreal, powerful, and so intense I felt my balls pulsing, pumping out gobs of semen, seemingly without end.



Willingness gave way to desperation, and I started bobbing my head, willing James to let the warm sticky fluid flood my mouth and tongue and throat, wanting the explosion to take place. He responded by humping even faster, holding my hair in a death grip, and moaning in time to his frenzied thrusts. Gritting his teeth against a scream, James’ last moan was drawn out, and I felt his back arch in ecstasy.



The first pulsing of his cock signaled the coming rush of semen, and I pulled back, giving him room for the flood. I wasn’t disappointed, and felt the first spurt of fresh cum hit my tongue even as my cock was subsiding, still twitching with the echoes of my orgasm. Wave after wave of hot cum washed into my mouth, and I pulled away from him, letting the last couple of spurts wash over my nose and forehead.



Wendy was still spooned against me, and I pulled away, turning around. Facing each other on our knees, we threw our arms around each other, sharing another man’s cum for the first time, swallowing it, reveling in it. When our mouths were empty, she kissed and licked away the gobs of it cooling on my face, and we shared these, too.



She was wearing only peach-colored panties now. Wendy had cast off her overalls just before she’d joined us, and they lay stiffly by the lemon yellow top and her discarded bra. I slipped a hand under the silken fabric of her panties, and worked it down underneath her, only managing to brush one of my fingertips against the outside of her pussy at the very bottom of her. The hot, wet fragrance of her filled the room. Rocking her hips, Wendy opened her eyes, and said gently, “Lie back.”



I did, and James stepped aside, I assume, because he was now no longer behind me, and stood watching me get onto my back. Wendy climbed onto my face, and I realized the peach panties were crotchless, and she planted her moist pussy squarely on my mouth, lip to lip, and started to hump my face, in a very different way from what I’d experienced just moments earlier.



She was grinning, a broad, happy beaming smile, and my heart caught in my chest as I knew she was enjoying all of it. “You did good, so good, sweetie! Oh, god, you let him cum in your mouth! I want that wonderful tongue inside me. I don’t care if you’re tired, it’s my birthday!” No other woman could have made that last word sound as lusty and demanding as my Wendy, and I was eager to bring her all the way to orgasm, no matter how tired she thought I was.



Her juices tasted almost like honey, sweet and thick. Wendy leaned forward, bracing herself with her palms on the carpet, and rolled her hips back and forth on my waiting mouth. I reached around beneath her, hands coming over and holding her hips, and brought her down further as I started to lick her.



The nearly pinkish hair at her crotch was almost red in the late afternoon light pouring into the room from the kitchen. Had we really been talking and drinking that long? Her clit was swollen, tender, and I loved it with my mouth, kissing and tonguing it, savoring the moistness and the flavor of her. Probing her cunt with my tongue, I pushed it inside the opening, and it was her turn to moan when my middle finger, still reaching over and past her hip, gently flicked her clit in time to the tongue thrusts I was giving her.



She pressed her pussy fiercely into my face, and I stiffened my tongue, alternately darting it in and out of the moistness there, and swirling it around her clit. The lacy opening in the center of the panties caressed my tongue with every motion, sensuously scraping it with every movement of her hips.



Wendy moaned, a low, husky sound that brought my cock stirring back to wakefulness. I felt her lean to take more weight onto one arm, and then she reached for her pussy with the other hand, sliding them under the waistband of the peach fabric which covered almost nothing. Her fingers covered her bush, leaving barely enough room for my tongue and lips, then she spread her lips, tightening the sensitive flesh, pulling back any cover her clit had.



Concentrating now on her naked clit, I tongued and sucked at the fragile nub, bathing the smooth, tight skin with my saliva and her juices. “Oh, God, honey! You’re so good!” She gasped as I redoubled my efforts, and heard her moan again, something incoherent, but quite clear nonetheless. Her hips worked to and fro, desperately humping my mouth in time to my frenzied cunt-lapping. Her back arched while she held back a scream, and I knew Wendy just came.



“Suck it, baby. Yes, suck it! Just do it, you know you want it. Suck it ’til I come!” Wendy didn’t slow at all, but straightened herself up, riding my face now like a saddle. She humped faster, almost forcing my face into the carpet, when I realized she wasn’t talking to me. Glancing up between her naked thighs and past the lace border, I saw she was looking over her shoulder.



Two lips suddenly gripped my shaft, gobbling my cock while I ate Wendy’s beautiful pussy. Her laugh was triumphant, and she held her gaze as best she could, to watch my cock being sucked. “Oh, James, take it all into your mouth, and lick every inch of him. Suck him…oh!…off! Let him shoot his wad in your mouth, James. I want his cum on your face, and we’ll lick it off. We’ll both lick it off, won’t we honey?” My moan was answer enough for her, and the nod of my head gave her another spasm of pleasure, which I knew was another orgasm.



It seemed like hours I’d been eating my lovely Wendy’s pussy, but it couldn’t have been that long. I didn’t want it to end—God, but I didn’t!—but I felt my second orgasm build, and I knew I couldn’t hold back for much longer. My face and Wendy’s thighs were wet with her juices, and she kept humping my face, even as she sat up to peer at our guest and his contribution to our fucking.



My toes began to tingle with the onset of my orgasm, and, impossibly, I started to lick her even faster, and she groaned with a lust and vigor that were no longer contained by anything at all. Her quick pants turned into deep, throaty growls, gradually rising in pitch and volume. “Oh God! Ah, ah, ah, ah! Oh fuck me fuck me lick me I want your tongue to fuck my pussy more oh god oh god! Fuck my cunt with your mouth, darling. Fuck me with your mouth while he sucks your…Oh God!”



Wendy shook as an earthquake tore through her body. She screamed in release, chest heaving and shaking with the force of it. Her smooth, pale belly quivered in reaction to my frantic licking. She took one of her breasts, ran her tongue over the aureole, then flicked the curdled, erect flesh of her nipple. She moaned again, as a few tears of joy ran down her cheeks, a reaction she’d had only a couple of times before.



Still James worked my cock with his talented lips and tongue, running the latter along the length of my rod, stopping at the junction between the shaft and the head before plunging down, swallowing me whole.



“Cum, honey.” Wendy stroked my face, beaming, her eyes still wet. “I want to share it with you…and him. Cum.” It took no more than that to send me over the edge, and hot semen boiled into James’ mouth, as it still bobbed along my shaft, drawing every last drop out of me. My loins pulsed, almost convulsing with the effort, subsiding after some time I didn’t care to measure, only experience.



Wendy was off of me now, and I peered down my naked torso, too worn out to lift my head more than an inch off the carpet, and watched Wendy and James open their mouths to share my load. Their tongues swam in the creamy fluid, their tongues moving in and out of each others’ mouths, bathed in my thick wad.



A moment later, her mouth still partly full of cum, Wendy helped me sit up, and the three of us shared the gift I’d given both of them, savoring and licking and swallowing. Each of us gathered little bits of it from both our playmates’ lips and cheeks, cleaning each other up. Before long, we collapsed into a group hug of sorts, lazily making out in the afterglow.



Once we had recovered, I noticed the day had faded to ruddy sunset, bathing the room and our three bodies, two naked, the third all but, with its reddish light. I hazarded a glance at the clock on the wall. It was just after eight o’clock, scarcely an hour before the birthday dinner I’d planned. “Sweetheart”, I started, then started again because my voice was also terribly weak from our loveplay. “Sweetheart, we’re supposed to be at dinner in an hour, at Manfredi’s. I made reservations.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE



Here’s Part 2. If it took too long, I’m sorry. For those of you who commented on Part 1–or even bothered reading it, for that matter–thank you.



It should go without saying that if you haven’t read Part 1, you should do so now.



Again, any and all comments are most appreciated.




NINE



The next morning at seven found me at Uncle Jack’s doorstep.



“You look like shit,” he grumbled, holding the door open for me.



He, of course, looked like he’d been awake for three hours, which he probably had.



“Got a few minutes?” I mumbled, walking past him.



“Coffee’s in the kitchen,” he said, following me into the home.



It hadn’t changed since they’d moved back after his retirement. Looking around, I expected Aunt Aileen to poke her head out of the kitchen and rush over for a big hug and wet kiss on the cheek.



Funny, I thought, but his home was still a home all these years after Aunt Aileen’s death. Mine already felt like just a building with bathrooms, and Nina and the girls were still there when I’d left. Sleeping peacefully.



Uncle Jack waved me toward the kitchen table while he poured me a cup of coffee and topped his own off.



He was settled and sipping his coffee before I spoke.



“I’m getting divorced.”



He nodded, sipping his coffee.



There must be something about military coffee that prepares men for swallowing molten lava in great gulps. I could barely slurp the smallest amount after blowing on it, but he was nearly halfway done with his cup before he spoke.



“So she’s finally gone back to him.” Somewhere deep in his chest a rumbling rose up that passed for a laugh. “Poor bastard.”



“Him or me?”



“Him, of course,” he said, surprised I had to ask. “You’re the lucky bastard.”



Seeing the dismay on my face, he softened his voice and marched on.



“I know it doesn’t seem that way right now. I know this sucks. You feel rejected and lost and all that sad shit. Like you’ll never get laid again. She’s cast you aside, so now you’re damaged goods.”



He sipped his coffee before continuing.



“The thing is, you’ll get over it. Pretty quickly, too. And you’ll move on with your life. You’ll find someone else, someone to start a family of your own with. Then all of this will just be a pathetic little learning experience. Sure, you’ll wonder now and then how they’re all doing. What’re those little goddamned monsters of hers doing and how they’re getting along.”



I raised my head up to defend the girls, but old Uncle Jack was on a roll and he cut me off.



“It’s not their fault they’re monsters, Tim. Jesus Christ, boy, don’t you see that? It’s her fault. And her husband’s, for that matter. But it doesn’t change what it is. Who gives a shit who’s at fault? Either way, they’re still monsters. Monsters that will only get worse and make your life even more miserable.”



He put his now empty mug down to the side and leaned over the table, staring me down before continuing. He smelled like Old Spice. Just like Dad, Uncle Jack was an Old Spice man. For some reason, this memory perked my attention and helped me focus in on what he said.



“Think about this, Tim. Don’t answer right away, okay? Think first.”



I nodded.



“Every day toward the end of your shift. You know, just before you have to go home. Know what it’s like? We’re just picking up and starting to turn out the plates. Can you see it in your head?”



I could see it. The rush of adrenaline as we get the first dinner rush caught up before I take off.



“You always dawdle,” he said. “Ever notice that? You always try to come up with just one or two more things that need to be done before you take off. Right?”



He was, and I nodded.



“You ever wonder why that is?”



I tried to smile. “Because I don’t want you to fuck it all up.”



He slammed his hand on the table top, jarring the smile from my face.



“I’m serious here,” he said. “So think about it for a minute. Don’t just answer, but think about it. What’re you thinking that last half hour before you leave to go home.”



He swiped his mug from the table and stood to get more. Turning back with his full mug in one hand and the coffee pot in the other, he looked at my still nearly full mug before topping it off to near overflowing.



“Figure it out yet?” he asked as he sat back down.



I shook my head.



A sad smile came over his face. “Because you don’t want to go home, Tim. That’s what it is.”



I started to say something, but he raised his hand to silence me.



“When I was in the Corps–when I was working any job, for that matter–I could never wait to get home. I wanted it more than anything in the whole damned world. Not just after the long cruises, but those times we had regular shore duty with nine to five jobs. I still couldn’t wait to get home.”



He leaned into me again and fixed me with his words. “And I loved my fucking job, Tim. I lived and breathed the goddamned Marine Corps.”



I nodded. He’d been mopey for months after they finally forced the mandatory retirement he’d managed to delay for three years.



“And yeah, there were times I worked late, too. But only if I had to get something done. Otherwise, I was home as quick as I could get there. Because I wanted to be with my wife and my kids.”



The impact of his words drove home. He didn’t even have to say it, but I was prepared, and even agreed with him, when he did.



“You dread going home, Tim. And not just because you love working in the kitchen so fuckin’ much. No, you dread the stress.” A brief smile played over his lips. “Maybe not so much on Thursday nights, huh? I can guess what that’s about.”



I tried to smile with him, but the impact of the realization froze me. How had I never seen this?



“When those little girls are there, you worry about what you’re going home to, don’t you?”



I nodded without thinking.



“Because no matter what they do, you’re all but forced to just shut the hell up and deal with it, right?”



I kept right on nodding.



“And it galls you, don’t it?”



“But they’re her kids, Jack. She’s supposed to love them more than– “



“And you’re her husband,” he said. “She’s supposed to make them respect you. Make ‘em listen to you and mind you. But she doesn’t do those things, does she?”



“But they’ve been through– “



“Big fuckin’ deal,” he thundered. “I’m sorry, Tim. Life’s unfair, the world’s unfair. It’s not their fault, either. But they’ve been dealt a shitty hand with a couple of self-centered parents. And now those same parents expect everyone to bow down and kiss those little girls’ asses because they’re hurting. Don’t work that way, and you of all people know it.”



What could I say? He was right.



“Nina’s been playing the victim–and encouraging the girls to follow right along with her–for so long she forgets that she’s the one who started all of this mess. And now the girls expect everyone to be so goddamned . . . so . . . well, you know what I mean. They expect to get away with murder and expect everyone to just smile and pat their heads and tell them it’s okay. Don’t worry about it because your family broke up and we don’t really want to force you to deal with it.”



He gulped the last of another mug of coffee before finishing. The man’s belly must be a cast iron cauldron to drink so much scalding coffee so quickly.



“No, Tim. You didn’t want to go home because you didn’t want to deal with the bullshit. And you felt guilty–you still feel guilty–because you’ve bought into Nina’s load of shit. You actually believe you need to tiptoe around those little girls for the rest of your life because of what they’ve been through. But hey, here’s a fucking newsflash: How about you and Nina just start raising them to be responsible little girls? Who’ll maybe grow into responsible, well-adjusted young ladies?”



Uncle Jack stood and took my still half-full mug away from me and poured it into the sink.



“And here’s another idea. How about you tell Nina to quit her fucking moping around and just learn to be happy with the bed she’s made for herself? Time for her to quit crying about a bunch of shit she did four, five years ago and start living in the present.”



He turned back to me and finished.



“Sorry, Timmer, but you weren’t really her husband. You never came first in her life, you know it, and you’ve always known it. Sure, she has kids and they’ve gotta come first. Fine. But that doesn’t mean you need to be treated like shit in your own home by a couple of snot-nosed little brats. And by a wife who really looked at you as nothing more than a shoulder to cry on and comfort her and tell her she was pretty and it would all be all right.”



Uncle Jack slumped before finishing. I guess so much talking had really taken it out of him.



“Think about it for awhile, Tim,” he said. His voice was softer now, sad. “Give it some time and really think back on what you had with them. Ask yourself if she treated you as well as you treated her. Or if she even tried to treat you as well as you treated her and the girls. Think about the last time she comforted you rather than the other way around. The last time she noticed you had had a bad day and just gave you a back rub or a hug to make you feel better.”



I swayed in my chair. I didn’t need to think about it. Uncle Jack was right: My marriage had been completely one way. I’d spent my every waking moment trying to make sure she was happy, but she’d rarely noticed my down moods unless they somehow clashed with her upbeat moods. When I’d been stressed, she’d always get pissed off and tell me to get over it.



“And when you’ve thought all of this through,” Uncle Jack concluded, “ask yourself two questions. First, do you really give a shit that she’s gone?”



He leaned in for the grand finale. “And second, why were you so willing to put up with this for so long and still think it was undying love?”



My eyes went wide at that one. Game, set, match in two simple questions.



What the fuck was wrong with me?



TEN



I decided to stay extra late at work that Friday night. I wanted to make sure Nina and the girls had plenty of time to get moved out, and I didn’t want to see them–any of them–when I got home. Nina would just make a scene, and I didn’t want to have to say my goodbyes to the girls. This was their happy day, the day all three of them had been waiting for for so long. No sense in ruining it with any tearful farewells or anything.



Fine. I was a pouty fucking coward. Sue me.



So I worked an extra long day, cooking from open to close, and sat at the bar having a few beers while the kitchen and dining room staffs did their clean up chores. Two sips into the second bottle of Lite, Clara approached me.



“Heard about Nina,” she said.



I nodded.



Clara stood there for a minute, fidgeting nervously. Then she stunned the hell out of me by leaning over and giving me a tight hug.



“You call me if you need anything, hear?” she whispered into my ear. “Anything at all, you just call, Tim Franklin.”



“I will,” I managed to gasp out through the tight hug.



When she broke the hug, Clara’s eyes were misting.



I tried to smile, but that seemed only to upset her more. Without another word, she nodded, turned, and left.



For the first time in a day, I felt sorry for someone else more than for myself. Poor Clara seemed really broken up by this, and I couldn’t figure out why. It’s not as if she ever really liked Nina or anything. To the contrary, she’d always been cool around Nina.



“She thinks the world of you,” the cool voice behind me said. I knew without turning that it was Nicole.



“She talks about you like you walk on water,” the voice continued. “That’s why she started me here without even asking you. She knew you’d never say no. Knew you wouldn’t even need to hear the whole story to let her bring me on.”



I swivelled the barstool around to face her. She, too, seemed concerned. For the life of me, though, I couldn’t picture her actually leaning in and hugging the breath out of me.



“Want a beer?” I offered.



She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ve gotta get home.”



“You living with your mom and dad?”



She nodded, her face turning to stone as she did so.



“Gertie watches your boy while you’re here?”



The mask dropped briefly, a faint smile playing over her lips and her eyes when she nodded.



“Alistair,” she said. “His name’s Alistair.”



I grinned. “Your family has a knack for . . . um . . . different names, don’t they?”



She stifled a laugh. “Yeah, I guess we do. But I didn’t name him. His daddy did.”



“The fella in Frontier City?” I said, regretting the question before the words had left my lips.



Her eyes went wide. “No,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “My husband.”



The questions raised by this must have been written all over my face. Really, folks, I’m not very good at bottling up my emotions and keeping my mouth shut when I should.



But Nicole ignored my reaction and with a tight “‘Night now,” and a brisk nod of her head, she was gone.



I watched her go. Husband? I thought. She’s married? Divorced? Then there was that brief thought intruding that embarrassed me even as I thought it. He left that incredibly perfect ass?



Knowing the upcoming weekend shifts were mine, I soon decided to finish my beer and go home. It was almost eleven, and there was no way Nina would’ve waited around with the girls this late.



Walking into the kitchen from the garage, I spotted the manila envelope in the middle of the counter straight away.



I ignored it while I fed Ernie and got myself a beer. Then I picked the envelope up and took it and the beer into the adjacent living room, plopped on the sofa, and opened the envelope as Ernie plopped onto me. There were two letters inside.



“Dear Tim,



“I know you won’t believe me, but I really am sorry. I love you still, and this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. You were right, though. My mind was made up. Steve wanted to get back together, to try to be a family again, and I couldn’t pass up the chance to again offer Emily and Nadine the family I took from them.



“I’m only sorry that you are being hurt in the process.



“I wanted to talk with you again, but it’s getting late and I know you’re not going to come home. I don’t blame you since that’s probably what I would do in your shoes.



“I met with an attorney this morning and told him what I wanted him to do. He agreed to draw up all of the paperwork to get this done as quickly and easily as possible. I’m only asking to keep the things I’ve already moved out today along with my car, retirement and checking account balance. I’ll also be responsible for the credit cards in my name. You should be getting this paperwork in the mail next week. The attorney told me that if you sign it and get it back to him, we’ll be divorced in a month or so. After what you said last night, I’m pretty sure this is how you want it to be. Fast and painless with a minimum amount of drama.



“In closing, I again want to apologize. My days with you were filled with love and happiness. You did nothing wrong and everything right, and I hope you never beat yourself up over this. It is not your fault, and you could not have done anything to change this.



“I know you don’t believe this now, but I will always love you.



“Nina”



The other letter were handwritten farewells signed by Emily and Nadine. Cute, but I doubted they were all that sincere.



“So there you have it, Ernie,” I said, looking down at his wagging tail and happy brown eyes. “It wasn’t my fault. Shit just happens, right?”



Ernie continued wagging his tail as he trotted along beside me back to the kitchen.



He even wagged his tail while I threw the letters into the garbage can along with my now empty beer bottle.



He wagged his tail the most, though, when I gave him a dog treat before crawling into bed.



Within ten minutes, the tail wagging was over and Ernie was snoring on the pillow next to my head.



“I want to be you, old sport,” I said to him before falling into a troubled sleep.



ELEVEN



Bright and early Monday morning, I pulled into the parking lot behind the Bar and Grill. Nicole was already there, though, standing outside the kitchen door in the drizzling rain.



“Why didn’t you wait in your car?” I said as I approached.



“I don’t have a car yet,” she said. “Aunt Clara couldn’t give me a ride, and Mom and Dad are out of town with Alistair.”



“You walked?” I said, unlocking the door and holding it open for her.



She nodded as she passed me inside.



Christ, her parents lived down the road from me, at least four miles out of town.



“What the hell is wrong with you, girl?”



“I’m on time, right?”



I shrugged. “Still, it’s raining and all. Why didn’t you call me? I’d have given you a ride.”



“You’ve got problems of your own.”



I don’t know why, but her leave-me-alone-and-let’s-get-to-it attitude was pissing me off.



“Yeah, well now I’ve got another problem, don’t I? I’ve got a cook who’s soaked to the goddamned bone and not dressed in any condition to put in a ten-hour shift, don’t I?”



She started to say something, but I cut her off.



“Take these,” I said, tossing my car keys at her. “Go home and get into something dry and get on back here. We’re both early, so it’s not going to put us back any.”



She looked at the keys, then back to me. “Twenty minutes,” she said.



I nodded. “See you then.”



I went over the weekend receipts and order lists while she was gone. And true to her word, she was back in less than twenty minutes.



“Here’s my numbers,” I told her, handing her a slip of paper. “You need a ride–anywhere, anytime, even if it’s just to get some diapers or something–you call me, okay?” Her face was impassive. “I start giving you all these extra hours and duties, I can’t have you getting sick on me or getting kidnaped or anything. I live just down the road, so it’s not a big deal. Okay?”



She pressed her lips together and stared at me for a moment before answering. “Okay.”



I sighed. “Good. Now let’s learn how to make soup, shall we?”



She smiled for the first time that day, and we got busy pulling ingredients from the cooler and the pantry.



August is always a great month for corn chowders. It’s common sense: Corn and tomatoes are reaching their peak in August, and I can get both for next to nothing from the local farmers. Therefore, the first soup Nicole learned to make was corn and sausage chowder.



Nicole knew her way around a kitchen, that much was obvious. She could peel and chop garlic and onions almost as well as any short order cook and far better than your average homemaker. She also had a working knowledge of how to make broths, dice vegetables, grill sausages, and saute aromatics. The only time I threw her for a loop was when I started opening a big can of creamed corn.



“Canned corn?” she said.



I nodded, smiling.



“I thought we used fresh everything here. Nothing from a can.”



“Rules are made to be broken, little girl,” I said. “And this is one of those times to break that rule.”



“Why?”



“It’s the best way to thicken the chowder while boosting the corn flavor. If we use cream or cornstarch, that’ll only take away from the sweetness of the corn. We’ll use a little bit of cream at the end, but not much.”



She nodded, and we got the rest of the soup made.



I showed her how to blend a hot liquid–always keep a towel over the top or the whole thing will explode scalding liquid all over–and strain it through the chinois back into the pot. Next, she learned how to eyeball how much cream to add and how long to simmer it all to get just the right color and consistency. Finally, we sliced the grilled bratwurst and slid all of that into the pot.



“That’s it?” she said when we were done.



I smiled. “What about garnish?”



She chewed her bottom lip, giving the matter some thought. A few times she started to say something, but stopped herself. Coming up with nothing, she turned to me with right eyebrow raised.

“What did you almost say there?” I asked.



She shook her head. “Won’t work.”



“Tell me anyway.”



“I was thinking about freshly roasted corn sprinkled on top.”



“And why won’t it work?”



“Because we’d have to roast it all now and keep it stored someplace for every bowl of soup. And because there’s already corn in there, and it’s already yellow, and the bratwurst are already grilled. So it doesn’t really add anything.”



I smiled. She’d come up with every reason I had why roasted corn was a bad idea, including the storage problem, which wasn’t easy for an amateur to spot. She knew more than she was letting on.



“Where’d you learn all of this?” I asked.



She avoided my eyes.



“C’mon,” I prompted. “This isn’t your first time, that’s obvious.”



“I like to cook,” she said. “That’s all. I’ve been doing it for Mom and Dad and my brothers and sisters since I was a little girl.”



I laughed. “But you never cooked stuff like this, did you?”



She shook her head.



“So where did you learn?”



“I’ve been reading. Cookbooks and stuff.”



“What cookbooks? By who?”



She turned around and started picking up dirty utensils, stacking them in the dishwasher.



“I’m not going to quit asking until you answer.”



“Charlie Trotter, okay?” she said, naming one of the premier chefs in the country before naming a few more. “Jacques Pepin, Thomas Keller. I went on line and read some of their stuff. Then I bought a few of their cookbooks.”



“How long have you been doing this?”



“Since Aunt Clara told me I’d probably be working in the kitchen with you so I’d better brush up on how to do it so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself.”



I was standing behind her as she said this, and I placed my hand on her shoulder. She tensed, and I almost pulled my hand away. For some reason, though, I kept it there, and she soon relaxed when I spoke again.



“Then tell me how to garnish the soup. What would Charlie Trotter do?”



She snorted. “He’d probably use caviar or something. Maybe a fresh grilled prawn.”



I chuckled. “Not very practical for this kind of place, right?”



She shook her head.



“So what would you do?”



“A small dollop of creme fraiche topped with finely diced red bell pepper and chopped chives,” she said almost immediately. “The creme fraiche wouldn’t overpower the corn but would add a tang. The pepper adds color and crunch, but it’s still sweet enough. And the chives add more color and a fresh taste.”



My hand slid off her shoulder as she turned to face me.



“Well?” she said.



“I hadn’t thought of the creme fraiche,” was all I could say.



A smile flickered at the corner of her lips as she turned back to the dishwasher.



“You’ve been thinking about this?” I asked.



She nodded. “Yep.”



“How long?”



“Since Friday when Aunt Clara told me we’d be getting in a shipment of corn on Sunday night. Which, she told me, meant corn chowder would probably be the first thing I’d do here.”



I nodded.



“And you spent the weekend thinking about this?”



“Yep.”



“Wow.”



What could I say? She at least gave a shit; that much was obvious.



So we spent the rest of the morning getting the evening special made up and prepping the vegetables for salads and sides.



With the exception of the occasional questions from her and words of instruction from me, we didn’t talk much for the rest of the day. Nevertheless, I was amazed how quickly time had passed when Uncle Jack showed up at quarter to five for the dinner shift. And I was more amazed as I sat at the bar an hour later, beer in front of me, that I hadn’t thought of Nina all day.



Being around people and keeping busy seemed to be the answer.



So knowing Nicole had a ride home with Clara, I cut out of there halfway through that first beer and went home to enjoy Ernie’s company while I cleaned the house top to bottom.



This kept my mind busy until I went into the two bedrooms formerly occupied by Emily and Nadine. Bedrooms that had once been typical, bright, little girl rooms, but were now stark shells with no pictures, empty dressers, and bare beds.



That’s when the sadness came back.



And the anger.



TWELVE



My routine was jarred on Thursday afternoon at about two.



“Tim,” Clara said, peeking her head in the door of the kitchen. “There’s someone out here asking for you.”



I wiped off my hands and went into the dining room. There was a short, stocky man, mid-fifties, leaning against the wall.



“May I help you?” I said when I approached.



“Mr. Timothy Franklin?” he said, standing.



I nodded, extending my hand.



Instead of shaking my proffered hand, he thrust a manila envelope in it.



“I’m told you’ve been expecting these,” he said. “You’ve been served.”



With that, he turned and left.



I watched him go, stunned. Nina had promised she’d mail this to me, not have me served with the papers.



“You okay?” Clara asked, seeing the anger cloud my face.



I ignored her and sat at one of the tables in the now-empty dining room. I tore open the envelope and pulled out the papers. One of them was entitled “Summons.” Another was “Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.” There was also a “Marital Settlement Agreement” and a cover letter from some attorney in Lima, the Lincoln County seat.



The letter told me the documents were simple. The Petition was to get the divorce started, and the Marital Settlement Agreement would split the marital assets and conclude the divorce once the assigned judge signed off on the agreement. Her attorney directed me to review these with my own attorney before signing.



At least Nina’s attorney seemed to have my best interests in mind, which was more than I could say for Nina. Serving me at work? What a fucking bitch.



A half hour later, I was seated in Jammer’s office, the door closed, while he flipped through the documents.



Jammer was James McNally, Attorney at Law. We’d gone to school together, and he’d been practicing law now for four years. I knew he did divorces, and this one didn’t seem particularly difficult. So what the hell, give a good friend and loyal patron of the Bar and Grill some of his beer money back, right?



“You can smoke in here,” he said, putting the Petition aside and picking up the Marital Settlement Agreement.



I lit up a cigarette, my second of the day, while he flipped through it. He didn’t seem to be reading every word, which concerned me. He was done with the five-page Agreement before I was half done with my smoke.



He looked at me and shrugged. “All pretty simple and straightforward,” he said.



“But you didn’t even read it all,” I countered.



“This shit’s all boilerplate, Timmy,” he said. “Seen one, seen ‘em all. Divorce like this? No kids involved? The only real important parts are the property settlement and alimony provisions. And those are pretty clear cut. She keeps the personal property she’s already taken and you waive all claims to her 401(k) plan and retirement. You get all of your stuff, your checking and savings accounts, and she makes no claims against any of your retirement plans. Both of you waive alimony. It’s a pretty simple deal.”



“What would I get from her 401(k)?”



He shrugged. “Maybe 40% of the amounts she’s contributed since you were married. What’s that? Couple of grand?”



“Still,” I said.



He shook his head. “Then she can go after any earnings you’ve put into your own accounts during the marriage, too. And that’s probably more than her contributions to her retirement over the past three years, right?”



I nodded.



“So go with it. You’ll never get such a good deal if it goes to court. And you’ll pay a couple of grand–minimum–to be worse off than she’s offering.”



“What about that irreconcilable differences she claims? The part where it says we’ve lived separate and apart for the past six months and waive the two-year separation period? Jammer, we lived together up until last Friday, for Chrissake.”



A brief smile played over his lips. “Well,” he started, lighting a cigarette of his own. Exhaling the first drag, he continued. “That’s a little legal fiction we play in these situations. ‘Living separate and apart’ doesn’t mean you’ve been living in separate households. It means you haven’t been . . . uh . . . having . . . .”



“Screwing?” I offered.



He grinned. “Exactly.”



“And if we have?”



“Then don’t tell the judge and he’ll sign off on this and you’ll be divorced.”



“And if I do tell the judge?”



He took another drag from the cigarette and blew it out, staring at me the whole time, before answering with a question.



“What’re you looking to do here, Tim? You looking to prolong this shit? Maybe try to get her back?”



I sighed, crushing out my cigarette and looking out the window.



“I don’t know, Jammer,” I said. “This is all just going so fucking fast. Know what I mean? Shit, last week we were happily married. Now I’m looking at being divorced in a few weeks. It’s just all so fast is all I’m saying.”



He nodded. “So we slow it down,” he offered. “That what you want? Maybe see if she’ll come back?”



I shrugged. “I don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it much.”



“Okay,” he continued, “we slow it down. Things don’t work out between her and the ex. She comes back to you. After she’s been living with him for what, three, maybe four months? You gonna take her back like nothing ever happened?”



He leaned forward over his desk and spoke with more urgency. “And you’re gonna wait for her? You’re gonna live like some kind of fuckin’ hermit hoping she gets over this little fling with her ex-husband?”



He sat back, shaking his head. “No way, Timmy. No way you’re gonna forget this, and there’s no way she’s coming back. And if she does, you’re gonna already be moved on, got it? Swear to God, I’ll make it my sole mission in life to get you laid as many times as it takes to make sure you get over this bitch.”



I was stunned by his anger. Jammer was usually a happy-go-lucky guy, at least as merry as an attorney could be. He was almost never this upset.



“What the fuck, Jammer?” I finally said. “I mean, you don’t need to– “



“Bullshit,” he shot back. “I’ve been doing this for four years and I’ve never seen anything this fucking cold. You forget, Tim, I’ve known you for years, and I’ve been there to see how you treated her. First chance she gets to dump you and go back to him, she takes it. You do anything to deserve this shit? I don’t think so. You treated her like a fuckin’ queen.”



He lit another cigarette and took a deep drag, settling down as the smoke whisped back out of his mouth and nostrils.



“No sir,” he continued. “I haven’t been doing this that long. I’ll give you that, okay? Still, I’ve done dozens of these by now. I’ve seen where they leave for abuse or affairs or money.” He laughed, choking on the smoke he’d just inhaled. “Seen one where he left her for another man. Try that shit sometime you wanna question whether you’re still pretty or not. Poor chick.”



He stared off at the wall to our side. “She ain’t coming home, Tim. Get that through your thick skull right now. She ain’t coming home. But if I’m wrong–if she does try to come home–you stay the fuck away from her. She’s bad karma, man.”



“It’s the kids,” I tried to explain. “She’s always felt guilty about the kids and all.”



“Then she needed to get over it,” he said. “But she didn’t. And now she’s screwing you over to try to fix her last mistake.”



He slid the papers in front of me and tossed a pen on top of the Marital Settlement Agreement.



“So what’s it gonna be?” he said. “You wanna move on with your life before it’s too late? Or you wanna wait around, prolong the misery, and hope she comes back to try fixin’ this mistake with you once she sees she can’t fix the last mistake with that poor bastard?”



I looked at him. Jammer was the second person in a week who’d referred to Steve as the poor bastard. He was the one getting her, I was the one losing her, and he was the poor bastard.



“She’s fuckin’ boogered, Timmer. So sign the goddamned Agreement already, willya?”



I signed.



Six weeks later, we were divorced.



I didn’t even have to go to court. Jammer covered it all for me. He told me she cried while she gave the brief testimony.



“Like she was already having second thoughts,” Jammer described her.



Yeah, well fuck her. Jammer was right: We were done, and there’s no use in crying over spilt milk.



She made her bed, now she could sleep in it.



With Steve.



While I slept with Ernie.



I can’t help but feel I may have gotten the short end of the stick on this one.



And Ernie, too. Maybe he was the poor bastard.



THIRTEEN



The good thing about living in a small town is that everyone is there to help you when things go wrong. The bad thing about living in a small town is also that everyone is there to help you when things go wrong.



You see, it’s nice having friends and family to rely on. And not just work friends, either. I’m talking about friends who you’ve known your whole life; friends who remember your first girlfriend and breaking your arm in football, friends who remember your folks and remember when Uncle Jack was a hellraiser in high school before he quit drinking the hard stuff and joined the Marines.



The problem with such tightly knit groups, though, is that there reaches a time when you need to quit being reminded that your life has gone to shit. There comes a time when you just want to be anonymous so you can forget and move on. Unfortunately, that becomes difficult when everyone looks at you with a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment, maybe a touch of sadness thrown in, and tells you that things will get better. Or tells you that you’re a great guy and you’ll soon find that special someone. Or tells you that you’re better off without Nina or that Nina will live to regret leaving.



All told, it didn’t take me long to tire of the endless sympathies and withdraw from people. Two months after the divorce, I was still squirreled away in the kitchen all day and home alone all night. I spurned Jammer’s pleas to go out chasing skirts and turned down endless offers for a drink at the bar or a party at someone’s home.



Instead, I stayed with people who left me the hell alone. In the kitchen, there was Nicole all day, Uncle Jack at night, and Clara flitting back and forth to pick up orders. Nicole had never mentioned my divorce, which made sense where she barely knew me and had never met Nina. Uncle Jack had already said his piece, as had Clara, and neither seemed inclined to raise the issue further. And of course, there was Ernie. Though he couldn’t talk, I will admit that Ernie’s eyes looked at me with sadness and sympathy: He was sad about the longer times between his morning and evening meals and sympathized that I probably hadn’t eaten lately, either.



So there was my routine. Get up at six, feed Ernie, get ready for work, and get there by seven-thirty, an hour and a half earlier than before. Get a ton of paperwork done until Nicole showed up, silently work with her prepping the meals, cook lunches, clean up the kitchen, then do the afternoon prep. Soon, I was staying later and later with Uncle Jack, which visibly alarmed a hungry Ernie, then go home about seven-thirty or eight. Once home, time to feed Ernie, enjoy the comfort that only a spoiled rotten ball of wrinkled fur can provide, and go to bed by eleven. Get up the next day, repeat cycle.



Weekends were the worst, so I started working them as well. All of them. I’d get all of my housework done, splitting up what needed to be done between Saturday and Sunday mornings, and be back in the kitchen by nine.



There wasn’t much to do on weekends; the high schoolers we had managed the grill, and all that needed to be done was roasting some prime ribs and baking potatoes on Saturdays. Sundays we had no special, so I spent that time getting my shit together for the upcoming week.



Before the divorce, Uncle Jack and I alternated working weekends. Steve had alternating weekend visitation, so Nina and I both scheduled ourselves to work on those weekends and spend our evenings together. With no kids–or Nina–to keep me busy on the open weekends, though, I decided to take over for awhile and give Uncle Jack a chance at getting in some late autumn golf before the snows arrived.



Then I had an epiphany that started with a refrigerator full of rotten food. It was early on a Saturday morning in mid-November, just shy of three months after the divorce, and I realized I was hungry. This was the first time in a long time I could even remember being hungry. I had been eating nibbles here and there at the restaurant, cruising along on autopilot so far as food was concerned. But this particular Sunday morning, I was hungrier than hell, and I got out of bed and shuffled to the frig to find something to make.



When I opened the refrigerator door, the smell of spoiled food damned near knocked me unconscious. I was stunned, staring at the packages of meat molding under the cellophane wrappers and the milk spoiled so bad it was clotted. And that’s when I realized I hadn’t eaten at home–hadn’t even opened the refrigerator door–in months. Shit you not, I was embarrassed at how pathetic I had become.



After wheeling in the garbage can from outside and emptying everything in the refrigerator, I jumped in the shower, got ready, and went into town for some grocery shopping.



I was standing in the produce section, sorting through the baby red potatoes, when I heard him behind me.



“I’m getting the feeling you don’t like me anymore,” Jammer bellowed.



I turned, as did nearly every other head within twenty feet, and smiled. “Hey.”



“Hey yourself, my man,” he said, wheeling his cart straight for mine. There had to be fifteen bottles of booze in the cart along with a couple of cases of pop, drink mixes, and some bags of lemons and limes.



“Party?”



He grinned. “What gave it away?”



I shrugged and smiled. “Just a sixth sense.”



He narrowed his eyes. “Is that the same sixth sense that tells you when I’m dropping by and helps you clear out before I get there?”



“You sayin’ I’m avoiding you?”



“Precisely.”



“Okay,” I said, “guilty as charged.”



“But you’re doing better now?”



His voice dropped, all serious now, and he put his hand on my shoulder.



I nodded. “Yeah, I’m getting better.”



He slapped my arm. “Good. Then you’ll be at my house about seven, right?”



I started to say something, but the look on his face stopped me. The look got more intense, and he put his hand back on my shoulder and squeezed until it hurt.



“Right?” he repeated.



“Of course,” I said before my arm went numb. He released the pressure.



“Good,” he said. “Then bring the beer. Maybe five cases.”



“You’re not getting beer?”



He laughed. “Not now I’m not,” he said. “You’re in charge of it now. That way, you don’t show up there’ll be no beer. I’ll tell everyone you blew them off and they’ll get all pissy with you instead of me. Capisce?”



“Capisce,” I responded.



“Then we’ll see you tonight,” he said, turning his cart back toward the checkout lanes.



I finished my shopping, wondering the whole time who would be at Jammer’s party.



He was known for having some real blowouts, which was to be anticipated given his predatory single male status. Young, handsome, successful, unmarried lawyers seem to have few problems attracting female attention.



If only I was more handsome.



And unmarried instead of divorced.



Why did the divorce feel like a stigma, like a stamp that I was a failure in relationships and with women in general?



FOURTEEN



I lugged three cases of beer through Jammer’s front door at ten to seven that night. Looking around, I was amazed to find out the party was already in full swing. Nirvana was belting out “Come As You Are,” twenty or more people were standing around chatting and drinking beers, and Jammer was in the corner surrounded by three ladies.

“Over here, Timmer,” he called when he saw me, waving me toward the cooler on the floor to his right.



I lugged the beer to the cooler, opened it, and started putting the cans in.



“Ice?” I said.



“Back in a sec,” he said to the women.



A minute later, he was back with a big bag of ice.



“Just three cases?” he said, pouring the ice over the beer I’d already stacked in the cooler.



“Rest is in the car.”



“C’mon,” he said, “I’ll help you.”



“Just three left,” I said. “I’ll get it.”



He ignored me and took off through the door. He had two cases in hand by the time I got to my car. He nodded at the third case still sitting on the back seat.



“I tell you to bring five cases, you bring six,” he said. “Gotta tell you, I love the way you think.”



It was easy to relax with Jammer’s outgoing cheeriness, and I felt my nerves calming as I followed him back into the house.



“Thought this didn’t start until seven,” I shouted above the music.



“They usually can’t wait,” he shouted back, coming to a stop in front of another empty cooler. “People started showing a couple of hours ago.”



I looked around, recognizing most of the faces in the crowd. There were people we’d gone to school with, a few older couples, and at least a half dozen younger women. Jammer was never one to waste an opportunity to get single women drunk and in his house. Having a big party to get them drunk while already at his house was like luring moths to the flame.



“Oh my,” Jammer said, looking over my shoulder. “And just in time, too.”



I turned around and saw Jenny DiMarco step in the door and appraise the crowd.



Jenny DiMarco, the Miss Everything of the Class of ’99. Class president, Homecoming and Prom Queen, All-State Girls’ Volleyball, State Finalist in the 440-relay. Oh, and did I mention incredibly intelligent and even more incredibly drop dead, tuck-your-tongue-back-in-your-mouth gorgeous? And looking at her standing there, I quickly noticed that the years since high school had been more than kind. She had gone from looking like a teenage version of Sophia Loren to the adult version without missing a beat. Classic Italian beauty without the mustache and dowdy housedress.



“She’s back in town,” Jammer said in my ear, speaking low enough so that only I could hear. “Divorced, fed up with city living, and back here to stay.”



“How long?” I asked.



“Three weeks ago. She was at your place the night she got in. That’s where I saw her. Kind of why I’m having this little soiree.”



I nodded. Jammer and Jenny had dated quite a bit during high school. The look on his face told me he wouldn’t mind a chance at getting back into her pants now.



“You dating her?”



He shook his head. “Perish the thought.”



From across the room, her eyes turned and met mine. There I was, like a deer in the headlights, unable to turn away. Jenny DiMarco, the featured star of my adolescent masturbatory fantasies, was looking me dead in the eyes and . . . holy shit! . . . she was beginning to smile and walk toward me.



I turned to Jammer.



“Is she– “



“Looks like it,” he said, smiling with resignation. “The ole Jammer strikes out again.”



“Hey Jammer,” Jenny said, leaning in and pecking his cheek before turning to me. “And you. Tim Franklin.”



She leaned in and kissed my cheek. She smelled like silky spice, and her lips were cool and soft against my cheek.



“Hi, Jenny,” I managed to choke out.



She stood back and took me in. “My my,” she said. “You seem to have grown up quite a bit since I last saw you.”



I had been a runt in high school, my growth spurt not hitting until half way through my senior year and continuing for another two years. Jenny had disappeared to college, marriage, and a career by then, though. We hadn’t seen each other since high school graduation, and I doubt she even bothered to look at me then.



“How about something to drink, handsome?” she said to Jammer.



“Coming right up,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.



“So, Tim, how’ve you been?”



I shrugged. “Good.”



She looked down, then back to my eyes.



“How long has it been?” she said.



I stammered.



“C’mon,” she said. “You look like you haven’t eaten a decent meal in forever, like you haven’t slept well in even longer, and the indentation on your ring finger is still there.”



“Little more than five months since she left,” I said. “‘Bout three since the divorce.”



She nodded. “And you forgot to take off your wedding band until about six or seven weeks back, right?”



I nodded, looking at the faint circle around my ring finger.



“Figured as much,” she said, slipping her arm through mine and pulling me through the crowd toward the kitchen. “C’mon, let’s go find someplace with fewer people.”



The kitchen was crowded, too, and I couldn’t make out who all was in there. Something smelled delicious, though, and I realized I was hungry.



There were plates lining the countertops, neat arrangements of hot and cold appetizers, and I reached over and plucked two of something as Jenny grabbed her drink from the passing Jammer, then pulled me through the crowd and out the back door. Once outside, I handed one appetizer to Jenny and took a bite of the one in my hand. Chopped chicken liver pate on a toasted slice of sourdough baguette with a crackling of what looked and tasted like crunchy, smokey chicken skin on top.



“This is really good,” Jenny said, chewing.



I nodded. “Great idea with the chicken skin on top. Really great idea.”



Jenny walked toward a garden bench at the edge of the outdoor lighting, sat, and patted the bench next to her. I followed her command and sat. I sipped my beer, she took a drink of whatever was in her glass.



“Heard you just went through the same thing,” I said, taking the initiative.



She nodded and turned away, looking into the darkness as she spoke.



“It was final seven months ago.”



“Bad?”



She nodded. “Took over a year.”



“Why? You have kids?”



She snorted. “I don’t,” she said, emphasizing the first word. “Turns out he has two, though. Both fathered while we were married. So I told my lawyer to go after him for anything he could get me. Damn the torpedoes and all that.”



“And?”



She turned back and looked at me. “And I should have taken Jammer’s advice from the get go. I called him when it all started, get a referral in the city. He told me to just get out of the marriage as soon as possible. Instead, thirty grand in legal fees later, I ended up getting an extra fifty grand above the original offer.”



“So it paid for itself.”



He eyes focused in on mine and held there as she spoke, her voice a hiss. “It was more than a year of pure, unmitigated hell for another twenty grand. So no, it didn’t pay for itself. I’m still pissed off, and I’m as mad as ever because it just dragged everything out a lot longer than it needed to be.”



I wasn’t even thinking when I took my jacket off and draped it over her shoulders. I definitely wasn’t thinking when I then pulled her into my arms and held her spicy, warm softness against my chest. I must’ve been in a fugue state when I reached over and kissed her forehead and said, “Well, it’s over now. Might as well quit being pissed off about it.”



It was strange, like I was alone and talking to myself. Jenny DiMarco in my arms was forgotten as my own anger and hurt and sorrow vanished for a moment in the chilly evening air. Really, I told myself, how long could I go on being pissed off and alone and all that shit?



I was shaken out of my reverie by a pair of hands stroking my back.



“You’re getting chilly,” she said.



In response, I pulled her tighter against my chest, enjoying the warmth of her breath against my neck.



“I haven’t been laid in months,” she whispered.



I froze.



She kissed the base of my neck, flicking the tip of her tongue against the skin.



“You don’t have to hold your breath,” she said between kisses, her lips brushing up toward my earlobe.



Have you ever been in a situation where all of your dreams looked like they could come true and you were suddenly scared shitless that your dreams would come true? That’s where I was: Jenny DiMarco, more gorgeous than ever, previously totally unattainable, coming on to me. And there I was, terrified to move for fear I’d wake up and the dream would end.



The kissing stopped, and I looked down into the deepest, darkest eyes in the universe.



“I don’t really want to stay here,” she said. Her fingertips found my crotch and traced lightly over the outline of my excitement. “Doesn’t seem like you want to stay here, either.”



My mouth opened, but no words came out. This couldn’t be happening.



“Say something, Tim,” she whispered. Her face was going taut, her eyes pleading for me to say yes.



“But you’re . . . and I’m . . . . What about Jammer? You’re his guest. His date, right?”



She shook her head. “Jammer told me you’d be here. Called me this morning and said if I wouldn’t go out with him, at least I could hang around the party and try to keep you company. Cheer you up and get you out of your shell.” “Is that what this is?” I said, my voice uncertain. “Try to cheer me up? Was this his plan?”



“No,” she said, pulling away from my tone and huddling in on herself. “I figured I’d show up, say hey, chat for a few minutes here and there, and get home early.”



“So what changed?”



Her eyes went soft when she spoke. “When I walked in,” she said. “The look on your face when you saw me. The way your eyes followed me the whole way.”



“But there were twenty guys looking at you the same way.”



She laughed at that. “Oh no there weren’t. There were twenty guys mentally undressing me as I walked across that floor. There was Jammer trying to figure whether he could get a quick score in tonight. But your eyes, they were different.”



“How so?”



“They gave a brief glance at the rest of me, then stayed on my eyes. The others looked at me with lust, Tim. And you looked at me with admiration. With . . . .”



“Enchantment,” I said.



She smiled. “It’s been a long time since someone looked at me like that. And besides, you’re a helluva lot better looking than you were in high school.”



We sat for a few minutes, just staring at each other and trying to figure out what the other was thinking. I finally broke the silence.



“But we barely know each other.”



She shrugged. “I’m not asking for a date here, big boy.” She gave a sad laugh. “God knows neither of us is ready for that yet, right?”



I nodded.



“I don’t know,” she continued, sorting it out in her mind. “It’s like I’ve been alone and pissed and . . . just not wanting to be with someone for so long that I think I owe it to myself to get over it. At least take a step.”



Her face got all mischievous on me, a glint in her eye and a pleasant curling of her lips exuding her intentions.



“And I’ve got urges,” she whispered conspiratorially. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone. A man. Especially a man that looked at me like you did tonight. Like something other than a piece of ass. And . . . well . . . you know . . . it’s really been a long time.”



I smiled. “I know.”



“You, too?”



“Yeah,” I said. “I suppose I have urges, too. And tonight is the first time in a long time that I remembered those urges.”



Her eyes flashed at this. “So you want to get out of here?”



I stood and held my hands out, helping her from the bench and walking hand in hand with Jenny toward the front of the house. Who the hell was I to turn down a dream I’d had for fifteen years?



I shot a quick glance toward the kitchen as I left. Nicole was standing over the sink, washing some pots and pans. Her eyes were following us, the expression on her face unfathomable.



Curious, I thought. What’s she doing here?



My thoughts were broken when Jenny squeezed my ass and said, “So, your place or mine?”



“Mine,” I answered. “And last one there loses.”



“Loses what?”



I leaned in and kissed her before answering. “Loses their clothes first.”



She kissed me again, her tongue finding mine as she pulled me close and kissed me nearly to death. Her hands were all over me, and I was lost in the intensity of our passion. Then she broke the kiss and started laughing.



“What’s so funny?” I said, disappointed at the sudden break in the kiss.



She held up my car keys, dangling them in front of her. “Guess who’s getting naked first?” she said, tossing the keys onto the front porch before turning and running toward her car.



“You cheated,” I yelled to her fleeing back before scrambling toward the porch.



FIFTEEN



Ten minutes later, I turned into my driveway and parked behind a black Porsche.



“Took long enough,” Jenny called from the front porch.



I walked down the sidewalk. She was sitting on the top step, her feet on the sidewalk and her upper body leaning back, her arms behind her. Her jacket was unbuttoned, and I sucked in my breath as I took in the slim legs in tight jeans and proud breasts straining against her blouse.



“Not fair,” I said, coming to a stop in front of her and looking down at her grinning face. Her brown hair was cascading loose around her shoulders, her smile an evil grin promising great things to come.



“Strip,” she said.



“Here?”



She nodded. “A bet’s a bet. Now strip.”



“It’s forty-five degrees.”



“Oh well.”



I kicked off my shoes, then started unbuttoning my flannel shirt.



“Slower,” she said. Her eyes were traveling up and down my body now, sparkling with excitement. Her grin was bewitching, her tongue sliding over her lips hungrily.



I complied with her direction, pulling my shirt from the waist of my jeans before going back to my shirt buttons. I felt the goosebumps popping on the skin of my chest and belly.



“You’ve sure gotten mighty good looking, Tim Franklin,” she said, gazing at my now exposed chest before looking a little further south. “And grown in all the right places, I see.”



I laughed, finishing with the buttons on my shirt but leaving it on.



“The socks,” she said. “Get the socks off next.”



“No,” I said.



Her eyes flashed at mine. She was enjoying the game.



I unbuttoned my jeans and unzipped.



“The socks first,” she repeated.



I stepped closer to her. “Help me.”



Her face told me that this was a good answer. She leaned forward, her palm feeling my chest and leaving blazing heat in its wake down my stomach. Her other hand went around behind and cupped my ass, while her palm continued its journey downward, over my straining cock, and down the inside of my thighs.



“The longer it takes you to get out of those socks,” she said, leaning in and kissing my hardness through the underwear, “the longer until I get to play with my new toy.”



Fine, I bent to her extortion. I peeled the socks off and stepped closer to her. My crotch was so close I could feel her hot breath against my abdomen.



“I like,” she said.



Then her lips were kissing my belly. I felt a tugging at my waist, and my jeans were sliding down my hips and over my legs.



“I like a lot,” she murmured. She pulled my underwear down, still kissing my belly and flicking her tongue against my skin. Forty-five degrees might as well have been ninety-five. I couldn’t remember when I’d been so aroused, and my body temperature was near boiling. The goosebumps were gone.



I kicked out of my jeans and underwear, leaving them in a pile on the front sidewalk. Say what you will, but there are definite benefits to living on three acres in the country. Getting naked with a goddess in your front lawn without prying neighbors tops the list of country living benefits.



Jenny’s hands continued stroking my torso and kneading my ass, her mouth tasting my hips and stomach. I was past excited, suddenly worried I’d let loose before getting a chance at doing more.



“Let’s go inside,” I pleaded.



In response, she slowly stood as her mouth moved back up toward mine while her hand brushed down under my cock.



“Not yet,” she whispered into my ear before sucking in my earlobe. “Now it’s my turn.”



Not sure how she wanted to do this, I decided to take over the lead. Now that I was naked, save for my open flannel shirt, it was time to get her equally disrobed.



I started slowly, pulling her blouse from the waist of her jeans while I leaned in and kissed the side of her neck. Her skin was silky smooth, cool, and taut. Her breath sucked in a bit when my thumbs brushed over her nipples on the way to the top button of her blouse. I continued kissing and nibbling on the side of her neck and around her ears while my hands made leisurely work of her buttons.



“Please,” she whispered into my ear before sucking on my earlobe.



“Please what?” I said. Her blouse unbuttoned, I pushed it open and again brushed my fingertips over her hardening nipples before looking down at the sexy, lacy fabric of her white bra.



“Please hurry,” she responded with a slight shudder at the movements of my fingertips around her nipples.



I ignored her request, kissing her full on the lips and seeking out her tongue with mine. She groaned into the kiss, and I felt her hands going to the buttons on her jeans.



“Slower,” I murmured, pushing her hands away before cupping her ass and pulling her into my naked hardness.



She met my grinding hardness in kind, rubbing her crotch up and down while kissing me deeper.



Breaking the kiss, she warned, “I can’t wait much longer.”



“Too bad,” I said.



I slid a hand up the naked skin of her back and flicked her bra strap, freeing those perfect, pale olive-skinned orbs from their lacy white encasement. The contrast between her skin and the white bra was mesmerizing, and my lips were drawn to her dark nipples. I sucked in first one nipple, then the other. Jenny ran her fingers through my hair, keeping my mouth on her breasts. Her breathing quickened when my tongue swirled around her small, dark brown areolae and outward to the sides and bottoms.



“Please, Tim,” she repeated again. “Tease me the second time, not the first. I’m really, really . . . oh.”



My hand was pinching one of her nipples hard while my mouth blew the frigid night air onto her wet nipple. The effect on her was electric. Her eyes rolled back and she ground her pelvis harder into mine.



She was almost ready, so my mouth went to her ear and whispered, “Strip. Now.”



Jenny didn’t have to be asked twice. She shrugged out of her blouse and bra and had her jeans off within seconds. And the vision that greeted me caused me to suck in my breath. Jenny’s dark skin was smooth and taut, stretched over beautiful, proud breasts and flat belly that ended at the white line of her white silk thong. Her legs were likewise toned and smooth, dancer’s legs if ever I’d seen a pair.



“Cat got your tongue?” she teased, her hand grasping my happy soldier and pulling me toward the front door.



I followed like a lovesick puppy, my pecker throbbing in her tight grip.



Once in the living room, I kicked the front door closed behind me before picking Jenny up by her ass and carrying her–her legs entwined around me and tongue locked in feverish battle with mine–to the couch. Setting her on the couch, I broke the kiss, pushed her shoulders back, and trailed my lips and tongue down to her panties.



Her hips jolted in shock as I kissed over the small triangular patch covering her mons. I looked up at her face, and her eyes were locked on mine, staring intently. Her lips were barely parted, her face begging me to get on with it.



“Who’s in charge now?” I said, grinning.



“Don’t push your luck,” she said.



I traced my tongue in lazy circles over the silky triangular patch, her breath coming in gasps as I got closer to the small bump of cloth covering her clit.



“Say you cheated,” I said.



“Never,” she gasped, her hips jumping as I flicked over the nubbin of her clit.



I circled my tongue away and to the soft sides of her inner thighs, tickling the downy softness of her flesh.

“Say it,” I whispered.



When she said nothing, I traced the tip of my tongue slowly over the material covering her lips, stopping short of her clit before going back to her belly and then legs.



“Say you cheated,” I insisted.



She was whimpering with the anticipation, but she refused to break. That, of course, was fine by me. Experience had long since taught me that anticipation heightened arousal and response, and I was enjoying playing her like a fiddle. So I upped the ante my brushing my fingertips around her breasts and areolae, carefully avoiding the sensitive flesh of her nipples.



“Tim,” she murmured, her eyes half closed, “I swear to God that if you keep this up I’m going to rape you.”



“Then say it,” I said.



“No,” she said.



And like a shot, her hands were under my arms pulling me up and over until I was flat on my back on the couch. Before I could react, I felt the intense wet heat of her mouth sucking in my cock and saw her hips looming up over my face.



The intense sensations were almost too much. I almost lost it immediately. Then the musky, spicy scent of her pussy inches from my face focused my mind elsewhere.



My hands darted to Jenny’s asscheeks, pulling her to my mouth. One finger slid the thong aside, and my tongue started darting at her pussy. I felt her moaning around my cock, and her hips started rocking against my assault. Within seconds, I felt her take me to the back of her throat and hold me there as she moaned and gasped around me. Then, as I concentrated on holding myself back, she broke contact with me and sat up straight, crying out in her orgasm as she mashed her soaking pussy into my face.



After ten or fifteen seconds, Jenny wheeled on me and kissed my face, ignoring the juices coating my lips, chin, and cheeks. I kissed her back hungrily, my hands cupping and kneading her ass.



“Oh my God,” she murmured through the kisses. “That was . . . . Oh my God.”



I just kept kissing her, letting her set the pace now. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes, I felt her hand reaching back and grabbing my prick, guiding it to her entrance as she sat back on me. We both moaned into the other’s mouth as she sank on me.



“I’m not gonna last long here,” I warned as her ass came to rest on the top of my thighs.



She ignored me and started grinding slowly against my pelvis. Not an up and down movement, but a circular grind around and around. Her breath was coming in short gasps, speeding up as she continued grinding into me. I watched her lean back and rest her hands on my legs, throwing her head back and picking up her breathing, her breasts thrust high as her grinding increased in urgency.



“I’m close,” I warned, reaching up to palm her breasts, squeezing her nipples.



“Like that,” she said, starting to rise and fall on me until she was going up and down the full length of my prick.



“Jen,” I again warned, “I’m close.”



“Go ahead,” she said, leaning into me. “It’s safe.”



She covered my lips with hers and I felt her hot breath shooting into my mouth as her orgasm neared and she clutched me tightly by the shoulders.



I reached back and grabbed her ass with both hands, setting her pace faster as my cock erupted and I came with a long groan. That triggered Jenny’s orgasm, as well, and she groaned long and low as she clutched me tighter and mashed her breasts into my chest.



We held like that for a few minutes after we were done, Jenny hugging me tightly as we both caught our breaths.



“That was almost worth waiting for,” she murmured into my ear.



“Almost?” I said.



She chuckled. “I don’t care how good you are. Six months is a long time. No one could totally make up for such a long dry spell.”



I stroked her back, kissing her neck.



“You know,” she said, pushing herself up and grinding her hips around my softened cock. Then she screeched.



“What?” I said, turning to follow Jenny’s eyes as her screech turned to laughter.



I saw Ernie sitting on the recliner, watching the two of us.



“He looks so sad,” she laughed.



“Probably scarred for life,” I offered. “Go outside,” I said to Ernie.



He ignored me, looking at us with those play-with-me-now eyes.



Jenny stood, grabbing my softened member and giving a firm tug up from the couch.



“Let’s take this away from prying eyes,” she said.



I let her lead me into the bedroom, closing the door behind me.



It had been months since either of us had done the naked tango with another, and I’m pretty sure we both did our damnedest to turn our dry spells into floods in one night.



As for me, I succeeded. I hadn’t been more thoroughly laid in ages. Jenny seemed sated, too, which probably guaranteed me a repeat performance.



The repeat, if any, could wait a few days, though. I was seriously afraid Little Timmy was going to fall off from excessive use and abuse.



SIXTEEN



We both awoke at about the same time, seven or so.



“Breakfast?” I offered.



“Something light,” she murmured.



I hopped out of bed, pulled on my boxer shorts, and went out to the kitchen to make some omelettes. Ernie saw me, heaved himself off the couch, and followed.



“Food?” I said to him.



He looked back at me like I was a piece of shit for leaving him alone all night. Flat tail, dark eyes boring a hole through me, impatient look on his muzzle.



“Suit yourself,” I said, turning my back.



Ernie gave a light woof as I pulled some eggs, cheese, and butter from the refrigerator.



“You can wait until we eat, Mr. Attitude,” I said to him.



“Who you talking to?” Jenny called out.



“Ernie.”



“Oh,” she said, like my answer was natural.



A few minutes later, Jenny joined me in the kitchen as I whisked the eggs and small chunks of butter together.



“I said light,” she frowned, seeing the butter in the eggs.



“It is,” I said, smiling at her.



Jenny was dressed in one of my t-shirts. And nothing else. I thought at first she had replaced her thong, but then she stretched and the t-shirt rode up her belly, exposing the small tuft of darkened pubic hair just above my dream world.



“Quit staring,” she said through a yawn, smiling as she did so.



I did, pouring the eggs into a nonstick pan and stirring them briskly for a moment before turning off the heat and covering the pan.



“What’s for breakfast,” she said.



“French omelettes, toast, and juice. It’s light, I promise.”



Ten minutes later, we were settled at the dining room table, eating our breakfast while Ernie scarfed through his bowl of food at our feet.



“So,” I said between mouthfuls, leaving the word hanging.



“So,” she responded.



“Does this mean we’ll see each other again?”



She took a bite of her toast, looking at me while she chewed.



“Probably,” she said after she’d swallowed.



“Probably?”



She looked at me a moment, her face unsure. Then she put the toast down, crossed her arms in front of her breasts, and leaned over the table.



“You’re not, like, in love with me or something, are you?”



I hesitated. Honestly, I’m not sure what I was. Somehow, though, it just didn’t seem–



“You’re a knight, aren’t you?” she said, interrupting my thoughts.



That caught me by surprise. “A what?”



“A knight. You know, a knight in shining armor. Chivalry. Save and protect the damsel and all that crap.”



I didn’t know what she meant, and my face must have made this clear to her.



“We talked about guys like that–like you, I think–in a support group I was in while the divorce was going. Knights, the therapist called them. Guys who, if you sleep with them, they tend to fall in love almost immediately.”



I shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s love here,” I started. “Still, it’s something, isn’t it?”



She laughed. “Sure, Tim, I guess it could be. But you promise you won’t make it more for awhile, okay?”



I couldn’t hide the disappointment on my face, and Jenny reached over and put her hand atop mine.



“Listen, Tim, we don’t even really know each other, right?”



I started to say something, something about how we’d known each other since we were little, but she cut me off.



“Think about it before you speak. You don’t know what foods I like, what movies, books, my favorite color. None of it. You don’t know what aggravates me, whether I’m a bitch at the end of a long day. These are important things here.”



“But I’ll get to know those things. You’ll get to know those things. I’m pretty easy to get along with.”



She smiled, but I couldn’t tell if it was pity or sadness. Either way, it wasn’t happiness.



“Tim, you’re more than easy to get along with. That’s part of your problem. You’ll put up with me being a bitch for the rest of your life just so you can make me happy and provide for me.”



I pondered this. She sounded like a sex symbol version of Uncle Jack. And everyone else, for that matter, who had described my marriage with Nina.



“The point is,” Jenny continued, “you deserve to be happy, too. That’s the problem with knights. They put their own happiness ahead of everyone else’s. You shouldn’t do that, Tim. You don’t need to do that. You deserve to be happy, too.”



I thought about what she was saying. And I thought again for the millionth time about my marriage with Nina. Had I ever really been happy? Or had it just been satisfaction that I could provide for them and make them happy?



Was I some kind of pathetic fucking martyr?



I looked into Jenny’s eyes. “Okay,” I said, my lips curling into a smile, “if I promise not to fall in love with you, can we still spend the occasional night together?”



Her smile now turned to one of genuine happiness. “Well, I know I don’t want to go another six months without.”



“It’s settled then,” I said, pushing our plates and leaning over the table toward her.



I kissed her, long and deep. I could taste the toast and strawberry jam she had just eaten, and for some reason it fueled my fires. I really liked toast and jam this way.



“To seal the deal,” I said after breaking the kiss, “how about we break in the dining room table?”



She laughed before pulling my head back toward her suddenly passionate mouth. She pinched my nipple and I yelped into her kiss.



“You just be a little more gentle this time,” she mumbled. “I’m a little sore down there.” She twisted my nipple harder to reinforce her point.



In my defense, I tried to be gentle. But toward the end, she was egging me on to go faster and faster.



Still, I really did try.



Any problems she had walking for the rest of the day were as much her fault as mine.



And there’s no need to go into how much therapy poor Ernie was going to need after having to again watch us go at it in front of him.



SEVENTEEN



When Nicole showed up in the kitchen on Monday morning, I was humming an old Hank Williams tune while chopping onions.



“Someone’s in a good mood,” she said.



I turned and looked at her, tears from the onions streaming down my face. She laughed, surprised and delighted at the tear-streaked face smiling back at her. This was a first: The first time in all of these months I’d seen Nicole in a moment of unguarded emotion. She was normally so tightly in control of herself it was impossible to figure out what she was thinking or feeling. I liked it.



“You seem to be in a pretty good mood yourself,” I said.



She shrugged. “It was a good weekend.”



I remembered something I’d seen on Saturday night and spoke without thinking it through.



“Jammer’s,” I said. Her body went taut and the smile vanished.



“You datin’ him?”



Her eyes told me I’d missed the mark by quite a bit.



“Like I’d ever date that pig,” she said.



“He’s not that bad,” I defended for my friend. The friend I agreed was a pig where women were concerned.



“Not that bad if you’re looking to get used and cast aside,” she shot back, hands on hips.



“Whoa there, little girl,” I said, surprised at her vehemence and trying to settle things down. “Did he try something?”



Her look told me he had.



“What happened?”



She stared at me for a moment before answering.



“He’s been chatting me up lately,” she said. “Getting my tables and chatting me up. I mentioned I really liked this.” She swept her hand toward the kitchen equipment. “Cooking, y’ know? So he says he’s having a party and, if I’m really good at it like I say, maybe I can cater the party. He’d pay me.”



“So you were catering Saturday night?” I said, remembering the appetizer that was so damned good.



She nodded. “I had the night off, and I really need the money. So I agreed to do it. He’d pay for the supplies, and then he’d pay me fifteen bucks an hour for the cooking, serving, and cleanup.”



“I only tried one thing,” I confessed. “It was incredible, though.”



She nodded at the compliment, but no smile was forthcoming.



“Later in the evening, way after you and . . . whatever her name was . . . way after you left, I was cleaning up. Maybe around ten or so. Jammer came in to help and was a bit handsy.”



“You told him to stop?”



She nodded.



“Did he stop?”



“No until I dumped a tray of meatballs on him and left.”



I laughed.



“It’s not funny,” she said. “He hasn’t paid me yet. I’m out almost two hundred bucks on the food, and he owes me another hundred and fifty for the work.”



“He’ll pay you,” I assured her. “He may be a pig, but he still wants a shot at you. He’ll pay you to keep that gate open.”



“He’ll never have a shot whether he pays or not.” She tied on her apron and muttered something.



“What?” I said.



She ignored me and we passed the morning cooking in silence. She made the butternut squash soup and some homemade cinnamon and sugar croutons for garnish while I concentrated on the Hungarian goulash special for the day. (And I mean real Hungarian goulash with seared chunks of chuck steak and caramelized onions and button mushrooms in a fragrant, spicy paprika-infused gravy to serve over egg noodles. I realize it doesn’t go the best with butternut squash soup, but both had enough adherents among the clientele that I didn’t dare change a thing.)



Nicole was back in the kitchen after the lunch rush, helping me clean up, when we next spoke.



“So that liver pate you made Saturday night,” I started.



She only grunted in response.



“Was that chicken skin on top?”



“Yep.”



“It was really good. I mean really, really, really good. And a good idea.”



She stopped scrubbing the pots and pans, her back still to me as I washed down the stainless steel counters.



“Thanks, Tim.”



She remained still, like she wanted to say more or expected to hear more. I decided to take a stab at it, hoping I guessed right this time. Would I say the right thing or just piss her off?



“You got any other ideas like that you’d care to share with me sometime?”



She wheeled around. “You’d be interested?”



I nodded, pleased with myself. Score one for Tim, he’d finally said the right thing today.



“Tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll show you something tomorrow.”



“Why not now?”



She shook her head. “Tomorrow.”



“You gonna give me a hint here?”



“Nope.”



I laughed, and she smiled for the first time in hours.



Just before we were done cleaning, Nicole spoke up again.



“You were right,” she said.



“About what?”



“Jammer,” she said. “He came in for lunch and apologized.”



“And paid you?”



“Yeah,” she sighed. “Fuckin’ men.”



“Men?” I teased. “Plural?”



“Pretty much all of you, it seems.”



“All of us? Even me?”



She didn’t answer, though. She didn’t say anything to me the rest of the time she was there.



Nicole was one hard nut to crack. Every time I thought we had a rapport going, she closed in on herself.



Nevertheless, she was an excellent cook. Better than Uncle Jack.



And way better to look at, too.



EIGHTEEN



Nicole was already in the kitchen, cutting up the Tuesday delivery of fifty whole chickens, when I got there the next morning at seven-thirty.



“Bit early,” I said, hanging my jacket and pulling down my apron.



“You wanted me to show you some ideas,” she said, concentrating on the chickens. “You just go and do your paperwork and come back up in an hour or so.”



“I’ll help,” I offered, tying the apron strings and picking up a knife.



She stopped chopping and looked at me.



“Out,” she ordered.



I complied. No use arguing with a woman holding a knife.



Fifty-five minutes later, I wandered back into the kitchen.



“You’re early,” she said, not bothering to look up at me or the clock.



Nicole was threading strips of chicken skin onto wooden skewers, and a sauce was cooling on the stove behind her.



“What’re you doing?” I said, then pointed to the saucepan with the mysterious sauce. “And what’s that?”



“Just wait,” she said, her face a mixture of flustered and nervous.



She took eight skewers and laid them across the grill. The air was immediately filled with the scent of sizzling chicken, and I watched as she turned the skewers after a few minutes.



“Glaze,” she said, picking up a brush and spreading the glaze over the grilled side while the other side cooked.



When the heat hit the glaze, an exotic smell hit the air. It was ginger and cardamom, some chiles of some kind, and a sweetness I didn’t recognize. I leaned back against the wall behind me, folded my arms, and watched.



Once the glaze was on all of the skewered skins, Nicole drizzled some vinaigrette over some julienne cucumber, carrot, and red bell pepper in a small bowl. Using her hand, she mixed the veggie mixture, then mounded some in the middle of each of two appetizer plates. Her movements brisk and experienced, she sprinkled some chopped peanuts onto the veggies before turning and taking the skewers off the grill in two pairs, fanning four across each appetizer plate.



Finished, Nicole looked up at me while slowly pushing one plate across the counter toward me. She was in full Nicole mode: No words and no emotion.



I looked at the plate before me. It was attractive, which is underrated when creating a dish–particularly an appetizer. The colors in the salad mixed nicely and added brightness to the dark, crispy skewers of chicken skin. The peanuts, I knew, would add crunch, contrasting nicely with the cool salad and the hot, crackling skins.



I grabbed two forks to my left and slid one over to Nicole before picking up a skewer and taking a bite.



The flavor of the grilled chicken skin exploded in my mouth. There was, first and foremost, the flavor of the skin itself, initially crisp, but yielding to a chewy, chickeny flavor with mild, caramelized sugar undertones from the glaze. Then the rest of the glaze hit, more an afterthought than an up front punch. Taking another bite to finish my first skewer, though, I felt the heat from the glaze building. Not an inferno, mind you, but I took a forkful of the salad to see what the cucumbers, carrots, and red peppers would do. The fresh crunch of the cooling vegetables, contrasted with the salty chopped peanuts, was the perfect accompaniment.



Holy shit! I thought. Without a word I polished off the rest of the appetizer in quick dispatch.



I looked up at Nicole. She was staring at me, waiting for my assessment. She had eaten only one skewer and a small bit of the salad. Her fork was sitting across the plate, indicating she wanted no more. So I gave her my assessment by stealing her plate and eating the rest of her’s.



Finished with both plates, I waited for the tingling of the peppers in my mouth to fully cool before speaking. The heat dissipated, then fully disappeared in a few minutes. Perfect.



“Price?” I said to start.



“Five bucks.”



“Why?”



To most of you, this will seem a silly, pointless question. To a chef–or experienced person running a kitchen–this question is all important. Think about it: I’m in business to make money. The simple formula for a restaurant, particularly one like the Bar and Grill, is to charge three times the cost of the food, thereby covering food costs as well as all associated salaries, overhead, equipment, utilities, and so on. So the real question here is how expensive were the ingredients she used, and could we justify making and selling this appetizer for the five bucks she proposed?

I was face down on a table, withering in pain from something being inserted into me.



“Oh shit.”



“It’ll only hurt for a minute.”



“It’s been about five minutes, and it still hurts,” I snapped back.



“You’re the one who wanted this, now just man up.”



The pain didn’t let up. In fact, tentacles of it exploded through my torso. I was told this was going to make me feel great. I believe I was misinformed.



“Ouch. Dammit Kelly, that hurts.”



“Don’t be such a baby.



The elbow being jammed and twisted in what I was told was my rhomboid major was there to work out a trigger point that theoretically was the bain of my existence. Whatever it was, getting rid of it was a bitch.



“Shit!”



“I’ve worked on 80-year old women that don’t whine as much as you.”



Kelly lightened up a bit, kneading the area with fingers as opposed to attacking it with blunt instruments. She applied some Zheng Gu Shui, an Asian liniment that is advertised as having a cooling and pain relieving effect, but don’t believe everything you read, then stuck her elbow back into the muscle.



“Ouch.”



“This is where you carry your stress. If you carried it in your ass, as opposed to your traps and rhombs, relieving it would be a gas. Get it, gas out of your ass.”



“Funny.”



“Sometimes I crack myself up.”



She worked on the area between my shoulder blades in a quasi-gentle manner, though there were still bites of pain that shot through me as she tried to loosen my muscles. Based on experience, I would more than likely feel better a day or so later, but be back on the table in three weeks going through this all over again.



“All right, that’s enough torture for the day,” Kelly said, and began long strokes with her finger tips from my shoulder to my butt in what she described as the relaxation portion of the therapy.



She dribbled some warm oil on my back, and softly rubbed it into my skin as she worked her way up and down my back, and then my glutes, squeezing and releasing my butt muscles before making her way down my legs and feet.



From the balls of my feet, Kelly kneaded all the way up my calves and the back of my upper legs along my hamstrings. She lightly grazed my balls as her hands again moved to my ass and lower back, and worked her thumbs up along the muscles on either side of my spine. This was nice.



With a playful slap on my butt Kelly said, “Okay, now turn over. I think you deserve a happy ending after what I’ve put you through.”



I’ve known Kelly for about ten years. Our first meeting pretty much went just as this one had. I had gone to her for a massage to get rid of a nasty Charlie horse I’d picked up while playing hockey. She put me through an agonizing therapeutic sports massage, during which we chatted, I griped, almost cried, she laughed, and we generally hit it off as well as two people can when one is face down for an hour and the other is inflicting searing pain.



At the end she said she felt guilty for all she put me through, asked me to turn over so she could gently work my neck and pecs. After about ten minutes of this she said, “Oh, what the hell,” and finished the treatment by going down on me, prefaced of course by the declaration that she never, ever did this. To clients that is. Once she got started it was obvious she had given more than a few blow jobs in her day.



After that first massage, Kelly removed my towel and found a fairly flaccid penis, but brought it to life by flicking the tip with her tongue. She covered the head of my cock with her mouth and began to suck hard, back off, then inch down a bit, and repeated this process until she had completely devoured me.



She held me firm in her throat for a moment, and then slipped back toward the tip, without releasing the grip her lips had on my cock. Apparently well skilled at breathing through her nose, Kelly began to rapidly descend and retreat, her mouth never leaving what was now a pulsating organ. She cupped my balls, gave them a polite squeeze, and deep throated me in a blink of an eye. In the time it took me to say, “Oh shit,” I was exploding in her esophagus.



Naturally I went back for more massages, but there were no more happy endings in the therapy room. That would only happen later, after we’d had gone to a movie or out to dinner, and then we’d do just about anything imaginable, and both were extremely happy at the end. After a few weeks we were inseparable, and I quickly determined that Kelly was the ideal woman for my needs–a beautiful massage therapist with a modest inheritance and no gag reflex.



Kelly pulled her t-shirt over her head and got up on the table. She slid her full breasts across the soles of my feet and over my toes as she moved upwards, and began to lick and suck on my balls. She rolled one, then the other, around her steamy mouth before taking them both in at once; and played around with them with her tongue before letting them loose with a plop.



Kelly had this way of creating what feels like a vacuum around my dick while drawing it into her mouth. She oh so slowly engulfed me, inch by precious inch, until she had my entire length wedged in her throat. She held me there for a moment, and then backed off the same way, actually sucking hard while letting me slowly slide out.



She repeated this for a few minutes, and just as I started to feel an orgasm beginning to build, she pulled off and asked if I was close to coming.



“I’m definitely headed in that direction. Why, is there a problem?”



“I’m horny as hell, and I was thinking about fucking you if you can hang on long enough.”



“I’ll do my best. Please jump on board.”



Kelly quickly shed what clothing remained, and got back on the table. She was very self-aware sexually, and knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. She planted her feet on either side of me, got up on her haunches, and lowered her moist, tepid pussy onto my cock. This was her position of choice when she wanted to come quickly.



She was in control, and all she needed from me at this point was to lay still and stay hard. This wasn’t a tough assignment.



Years of experience with my lover taught me that when she was in this position she was in heaven. With mouth agape, lower lip pulled tight across her bottom teeth, eyes closed and a hint of her upper teeth glistening in a knowing smile, within minutes Kelly was panting and moaning, and quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm.



There were no worries as to whether or not the table was sturdy enough to handle this.



After a few months of us dating, Kelly had become so comfortable with our relationship that she had a girl friend join us on the massage table. Kelly was where she is now, and her friend straddled my face as the two of them kissed and grinded themselves into multiple orgasms atop me. The memory of that night inched me closer to coming, and I had to refocus on staying hard and still.



“Oh god, this feels so good,” Kelly moaned as she glided up and down my slick dick.



I reached up and began massage her breasts, pulling and twisting her nipples, and this began to set her over. Kelly’s breathing became deeper, but sporadic, as she focused purely on her carnal needs.



“Please don’t come yet,” she begged. “I’m almost there.”



Kelly raised herself up, almost to the point she was off my dick, and then slammed down hard on me. She did this one, two, three times before settling in on me, her pussy gripping my dick as orgasmic ripples flowed through her body.



Quivers scurried up her torso, her eye lashes fluttered and boobs jiggled as she came off an impressive orgasm. Arching backwards, she flipped her hair out of her eyes and exhaled as though she’d been holding her breath for a month.



“Oh god, did I need that,” she said, still somewhat disheveled. “I’ve massaged two hot guys and three hotter women today. You don’t know how bad I needed that. Thanks for hanging in there.”



“I’m surprised you didn’t have a go at one of them,” I said with a sneer.



“It was everything I could do to mind my manors. I had this blonde, first time client, who had the biggest boobs I’ve ever seen. I just wanted to flop my face between them, just like guys do,” Kelly said, and she readjusted her position so she was now on her knees.



“And the men?”



“Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind, but I knew this was waiting for me when I got home,” and with that she squeezed my prick with her vaginal muscles. I almost lost my load right then.



She leaned over, gave me a full kiss on the mouth, and started to gyrate her hips. Even her pussy was more than capable of giving me a massage.



“Come inside me. I love it when I feel your come fill me up.”



I grabbed Kelly’s hips, and jerked her toward me as I thrust up into her. The quick, unanticipated maneuver sent a shiver up her spine.



“Oh shit,” she yelped. “That felt surprising wonderful.”



She followed my lead and quickly began to move her hips back and forth, faster and faster. Kelly had me on the brink, and I noticed beads of sweat collecting above her top lip; a telltale sign of an impending orgasm.



“Oh god, another one,” Kelly said as she began to shudder. “Oh how I love your cock.”



“I can’t hold out any longer.”



“Fill me baby; fill me with your precious come.”



I thrust up into her one last time, getting my cock as deep into her as I ever have, and began to shoot streams of jism into the hottest fuck on the planet.



Kelly came once more during my orgasmic episode, and fell on top of me, her damp, tangled black hair across my face, her glimmering breasts smashed against my chest. It took a few minutes for us to catch our breath and gather ourselves.



She finally rolled off of me, and gave the tip of my dick a quick kiss. As she went off to the shower she said, “Why don’t you make pass through crap-in-the-park, and see by chance if there’s anything at all worth looking at for the B&B.”



For the past 20-years or so the small bedroom community where we live has hosted an event called Art in the Park. For about the last 19-years or so I have suggested that they call in Crap in the Park, so the name would truly reflect what was being sold under all those white tents.



From a pure numbers perspective it was a smashing success. More than 300 exhibitors, I can’t bear to call them artists, display whatever it is they’ve concocted over the winter—paper mache lanterns, faux driftwood carvings, empty wine bottles dolled-up to be ersatz vases, macramé thingy bobs, and the like.



Thousands of people walk through the town, great for the restaurants and bars, buy stuff, and make a mental note to come back and visit when there aren’t thousands of people walking through the town. It would also be great for me, next year, when the local bed & breakfast I decided to snag out of foreclosure is ready for guests again.



I was kitty-corner from the action, and walked across the street to enter the swarm of people in search of the last great piece of American kitsch. I didn’t have far to go.



Three booths in was a guy who was customizing name plaques using old license plates. Utilizing tin snips he would cut out letters and/or numbers, and hot glue them to a plank of pine wood. Who wouldn’t want something like that hanging in their den?



I walked around for about an hour. In that time the thermometer climbed into the high nineties and a layer of humidity crept in and smothered the crowd; great weather for walk amongst a thousand strangers. I had come about full circle when I noticed something completely wrong and afoul for the given circumstances. In the second to last booth, right across from the license plate guy, was someone who actually had the audacity to put oil on a canvass.



Sitting at the back of a tent, in what little shade she could find surrounded by impressionist paintings, was a woman, probably in her late thirties, looking entirely bored and put-out while fanning herself with the event program.



“You have some nerve,” I said, “Showing up at this place with what could pass for actual art.”



She gave me a somewhat vacant stare, then said, “The registration brochure said 100′s of artists and artisans.”



“The brochure lied. I take it this is your first time here.”



“Yes.”



“Other than being lied to, how are you doing?”



“I’m hot.”



“Yes you are.”



This time I was on the receiving end of a more piercing stare, but it was followed by a chuckle.



“You said it, not me,” I said. “But I do happen to be in total agreement. But enough about you, tell me, is this your work, or are you stumping for the artist?”



“It’s mine. Only a complete nut bag would be sitting in this heat humping someone else’s work,” she said.



“Yes, I suppose if I was out here humping I would want it to be for my own satisfaction, not someone else’s,” I countered.



Blank, bored stare followed by a shaking of the head and increased fanning of a sweating brow.



The woman got up out of her director’s style chair. “I guess I’m just filled with innuendo and double entendres this afternoon,” She was wearing a tie-dyed sun dress, which may have come from a couple of tents down, that clung to her body thanks to the damp summer air. Her hair was raven black with streaks of crimson and bronze, tied back in a ponytail. Her cheek bones were high and flushed from the heat, accenting deep, dark eyes. She stuck her hand out and introduced herself as Emma.



“Hi Emma, I’m Mark, and I really do like your work.”



“Really, or is that just the line you feed to all of the starving artists out here.”



“Well, again, you’re just about the only artist out here, and I only use that line on attractive, female impressionists.”



“So it’s fresh material.”



“Basically.”



Most of Emma’s paintings were of sea sides and landscapes, but what really caught my eye were a couple of boathouses featuring, old mahogany power boats, probably Chris Craft or Century.



“My water period,” she said when I probed deeper. “I spent a few summers in the La Cheneaux Islands in Michigan’s upper peninsula on Lake Huron. Absolutely gorgeous about five months out of the year.”



The wind began to pick-up, knocking over a number of paintings, just in time for me to stop talking and making a fool of myself. I helped her tidy up the tent, and spent a few minutes looking around, seriously admiring her work.



“What’s this going to be?” I asked, pointing to some paint on a mostly empty canvass.



“That Victorian home over there,” Emma said, pointing across the street. “Beautiful colors and lines. I started it this afternoon after I got set up, but it got too hot.”



“Well if it’s anything like the rest of your work it should be wonderful. I’ll take it.”



“What,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t even know if I’m going to finish it.”



“Well, you have to finish it if I’m going to buy it”



“But why do you want something that you haven’t even seen.”



“I’ve seen your work, and I like the subject matter. You’re painting the town’s bed and breakfast, which I happen to be part owner.



Just then a gust of wind blew down the street, disrupting most of the tents and their wares, followed by an absolute deluge.



“Shit,” Emma yelped. “Where in the hell did this come from?”



There was minor pandemonium as the fair-goers ran for cover, and the displayers grappled to keep merchandise dry and unbroken.



“What can I do to help,” I asked, as Emma scurried around with no apparent plan as the wind and the rain steadily picked up.



“Shit, shit, shit. My van is about a half mile from here. This is a fucking nightmare,” she yelled. “Take those paintings off the brackets, and let’s put what we can under this plastic.”



Emma wasn’t the only one cursing, as it seemed it was every peddler for themselves once the rain broke. The crowd had thinned out quickly, many probably into bars, restaurants and stores, others to their cars or homes. I gathered the paintings up as fast as I could, and Emma covered them one by one.



A flash of lightening lit up a late afternoon that had become eerily dark, followed quickly by a clap of thunder.



“That’s awfully close,” I said. “What do you think about hightailing it over to the B&B before we end up in Oz?”



“Seriously, that’s okay.”



“It’s my place, and I don’t think you have any better options.”



We grabbed a few paintings each, dashed across the street and put them in the foyer.



“I’ll go get some more while you dry these off. There’s some paper towel in the kitchen.”



It wasn’t letting up, and by the time I had returned for the third time water was collecting in the street, as the storm sewers couldn’t take the massive amounts of rain.



Emma trailed in behind me. “How many more?”



“Just a few, I can get them.”



“Okay, I’m going to see about Linda,” Emma said.



“Who?”



“Linda, the tie-dye queen. This is hers, and she’s a friend of mine,” she said as she tugged on her soaking wet sun dress. “You don’t mind if I bring her over do you?”



“No, not at all.”



I took the last of the paintings over to the B&B, and about ten minutes later two women in sopping wet tie-dye sun dresses hit the porch carrying large plastic storage containers.



“Come in, come in. Hi, I’m Mark, you must be Linda. Is there anything else I can run over and get for you?”



“No, no, this is great, thank you. Everything else is locked down in what is supposed to be water tight containers. I doubt if anybody is going to go around ripping people off during this monsoon. Once it stops, I’ll head back over. Thanks for giving me a place to escape, it’s quite lovely.”



Linda was the winner of the wet, tie-dyed sundress competition; that is if your one to go solely on a tight, slick fit over very large breasts. She was about ten years younger than I had Emma pegged for, stout, not chunky, with cropped red hair and a sunburst tattoo on her right shoulder. I was thinking lesbian.



Emma had more of an athletic build, with nice breasts outlined in wet blue, orange, yellow and red waves, and a terrific ass. These two were definitely the most interesting pieces I’ve ever brought home from Art in the Park.



“Now what?” said Emma, as she twisted off the band in on her pony-tail and shook out her hair.



I had a couple of ideas. Kelly wouldn’t be home for awhile, not that she would mind other than me not waiting for her, but passed on articulating them for the time being.



“We’re not fully functional yet, but the rooms are ready. Why don’t you each go upstairs and find yourself a room, and grab a hot shower. There should be soaps, shampoo, and lotion, as well as robes in each of the baths. Please help yourself to the wine on the dresser.”



I futzed around in the kitchen a bit, and tried to tidy up. We were at least a month away from being able to open for the public, still hadn’t received an occupancy permit, but the place was capable of handling a few guests.



Kelly was still at the store. I texted her that we had guests, and to bring back some steaks and salmon, Romaine and other salad fixings. Probably more than what the so-called starving artists were going to have as it was. And speaking of them, I wondered where they were. It’d been about an hour since they headed upstairs, so I wandered up there to make sure everything was fine.



The first door on the right was open, and I peered in. It looked like one of the two had been here, but no noise was coming from the bath area. I wandered around a bit before hearing some movement down the hall.



I probably should have knocked, but I’m not sure it would have made any difference. Sliding my head inside the door I found my guests. Emma was sprawled out on the bed, each hand firmly clenching a clump of bed sheet and sporting a look that bordered between agony and ecstasy, as Linda, planted between her legs, deftly delivered what was causing the animation on Emma’s face.

I come in and see you on the couch, rubbing that wet pussy. Your pussy is nice and meaty, puffy with nice little lips. You see me and smile. That’s all I need. I kneel down for a closer look. You smell so good and your fingers are slippery. There’s a little droplet of juice running down your ass, spotting the couch. I lift your leg up, licking the droplet off of your ass, licking up to the source. You feel my hot breath on you as my big, warm, wet tongue folds open your lips and dips into you. I wiggle my tongue, hearing the wet noise it makes in you. You let out a moan and grab my hair, pulling me up and down. I lick you from top to bottom, stopping to suck your pussy lips into my mouth and nibble them. You taste so good.



I put a finger in you: just the tip, easing open your tight hole as I probe the opening. I spread you with my fingers, looking at that hot pink hole. I spit on your pussy, a long string of saliva lands on your clit and my warm spit runs down your pussy. I go down and lap it up. We taste really good together like that. I ease another finger into you, just the tip. Your pussy is really tight with two fingertips in you. I suck at your clit, wrapping it in my soft lips. It pops in and out as I suck it. I pull my fingers out of you and your hole stays open for a second, then slowly closes.



I unzip my fly. I haven’t come in days. My nuts feel like golf balls in my tight sack. A droplet of precum is oozing from my cock, hungry for you. It dribbles down the side as I sit down, pulling you up by the hand. You know what to do.



I brush your dark hair aside so I can watch you work my dick. I tell you I want you to look up at me. My dick throbs in your hand. My nuts feel so good in your mouth. You lick up from my balls, up my shaft and swirl around the head. Then you take me in. Yours lips brush my shaved patch as you fuck me with your mouth. My balls tighten up, my dick twitches and throbs. I’m close. I ask you where you want it. You open your mouth and jerk me fast and furious. I let out a moan and my balls squeeze hard. My dick jumps in your hands and I shoot a long pearly jet of hot cum into your open mouth. It hits the back of your throat and splashes onto your tongue. One little glob misses your lips and hits your cheek, dangerously close to your eye. I run my finger down, wiping it off and I put it into your mouth. You suck my stud gravy off of my finger and you look up at me with those beautiful eyes.



My dick is still twitching from coming so hard. You bend down and suck it for a bit, then you stand up. I sit up straight on the couch and you come to me, kneeling on top of me. Your tits bob in my face and I lick out at them as you fumble for my dick. I grab your ass and the small of your back as you guide my rock-hard cock to your pink opening. You grab my dick and tease me, rubbing it up and down your soft meaty pussy; wetting the head with your juice. I pull you down on me and you arch your back. Putting your hands on my shoulders, you throw back your head and moan. I suck on your exposed neck, sucking and biting as I pull you down on my pole. You wiggle your hips as you hit bottom. My hard cock refuses to bend. It is like fucking a piece of wood. I’m filling you up. Your pussy squishes on my dick. You are taking me all in. It’s tight but not uncomfortable.



You bounce up and down on me, slow at first; then faster. I put my hands on the inside of your thigh to help support your frenzied fucking. I look down and see your pink pussy swallowing up my cock. It expands and contracts as it rides up on my dick. Your pussy hole bulges a bit as the head is dangerously close to popping out. Then you slam back down on me. Your breathing is short and your heartbeat is strong and fast. You let out a little cry every time you come down on me. Your ass slaps on my thighs. Your tits are bouncing; the perky pink nipples brush my cheeks. I turn my head to suck on one but your pumping pops it out of my lips. You arch your back and moan. I feel you getting really slippery. You stop and shudder as you let out a cry. Your pussy wrenching down on me like a velvet clamp. Your legs twitch and you muffle your cries into my shoulder as you come. You stay there for a moment, your pussy clamped down on me. Then you wiggle your hips and slowly ease me out of you.



My dick is rock hard. If it was softer you might not have gotten me out. I stand up and kiss you hard, brushing the hair out of your face. I turn you around and bend you over the couch. You look at me over your shoulder as you arch your back. That sweet pussy tucked between your thighs pops out at me. I kneel down to lick the juice off of your ass and thighs. I grab your hips as I lick your asshole and your still-gaping tight little hole. I stand up and press my head to your pussy. You ease back on me; pushing. My head flattens as you mash it against your pussy, finally it pops in. You let out a little yelp. God you’re tight.



I let you take control for a minute as your slowly expanding pussy accommodates me. When I’m all the way in I grab your ass and spread your cheeks so I can watch. I use long, slow strokes in and out of you. Your pussy flares a bit as it reaches the head, then tightens up as the shaft goes back in. My dick glistens with your wetness. I can smell your hot pussy as I spread your ass and fuck you. You work your hips against me and I fuck you with harder, shorter stokes; my balls slapping your waxed mound.



You’re going to come again. I feel my balls stirring. I slow down before you come; you look back at me with a scolding look. I slap your ass and laugh at you. I back off so you won’t come yet. My balls start tightening and my dick starts twitching and throbbing. I fuck you hard hard and fast, bottoming out in you. Your pussy quivers and tightens on me. I lick my finger and put it in your asshole, easing it into you. I can feel my dick through the wall of your pussy as I hammer you. I put my hand between your shoulders and mash you into the cushion. You moan like a crazy woman as you come on me. I feel a hot gush as you splash my balls and my shaved patch.



I pull out of you and your pussy juice squirts out on me. I spin you around and grab your hair behind your head and kneel on the couch. I pull you down on my dick and you choke for a second before you swallow. I mash your head down as my balls let go. You gulp me down, feeling the warm sticky goo slide down your throat. We both collapse in a hot sweaty heap.

Breen’s story..



So I visit home for some groceries and cash from the parents and somehow my pussy gets licked by the neighbour.



My college course workload is fairly easy so I hopped on the train and went home for a surprise visit. Both of my parents were off doing their own thing on this Friday afternoon. I had left my house key at school but our neighbour had a key to our home and we had one for theirs. Worked out good for all the kids, no worries about carrying a key everywhere.



Unfortunately the neighbour wasn’t home. Then just as I was about to break into the kitchen window I heard a car next door, a diesel smart car. John owned this funny little car and it fit his outgoing personality. I yelled over to him and asked if he could let me into my house.



John smiled and said he would bring the key right over. I wondered what he was smiling at until I looked down and saw that my v-neck shirt had opened up and my breasts were more exposed than I wanted. I had an ‘aha’ moment realizing that John must have liked what he saw.



All of the sudden an idea came to my mind.



John and Diane were a cool couple, sharing drinks with me, smoking weed with my dad and having great parties. I knew John pleased Diane cause they left their bedroom window open in the summer and she was loud. He must be good at the sex thing.



When John came through the adjoining gate and handed me the keys I asked him in for a drink. John seemed reluctant at first, he was trying to be a gentleman. I told him I wanted to say thank you upstairs in my room. Not too subtle but hey I am a college gal and not a bad looker so I figure he might be interested.



I have been a swimmer since I was young and my legs and ass are really toned due to training. John watched me when I sunbathed in the summers too so I knew he wasn’t a prude.



John said sure. We walked upstairs and as we entered my room I turned and said I needed to change first.



I pulled my shirt up and John stood there and smiled. Then he did something I wasn’t expecting.



He asked me to stop.



Then he said, let me do that.



He walked over and turned me around. His hands gently lifted the shirt the rest of the way off. My skin was beginning to get tingly and covered with goose bumps. John expertly undid my bra, the small demi-cup style, and massaged my shoulders a bit. The he kissed my neck. I was being seduced. I wanted to be the seducer but this felt so nice.



John asked me if I wanted to continue, I panted yes.



John’s story..



Friday and the weekend is here. Time for a few drinks a puff and some seriously relaxing. Then I hear Breen calling my name. Breen left for college this past August and she must have come home for a visit. She asked me for the key to her house, which we had in case of lost keys.



Her long hair fell off her shoulders in a mess, she must have been trying to work a window open or something. I got the key and went next door to let her in. Breen said she wanted to thank me and that I could come in and have a drink with her. Cool I thought, those tits were falling out of her top and I smiled at them, er her.



Her body was really lean, she was a swimmer and laid out all summer tanning in a small bikini. I have jacked off a few times thinking about her. Now she was climbing the stairs in front of me and I getting a hard-on watching her ass sashay just inches away.



In her room she said she needed to change and began to lift her top off. I asked her to stop, then I said “let me do that”.



Breen carries on



His hands slide down my sides and reached around to undo my jeans. He eased them down over my hips and I stepped out of each leg, spreading my feet apart as I did. My pussy was drenched. I wasn’t a virgin but this was different, he knew what he was doing.



John turned me around and told me to lie down on the bed.



John.



This young woman was like a goddess. Her skin was smooth and tanned her breasts were round and firm, not too big, and the nipples small and hard. I slide her body out of the jeans and I could smell her womanly scent, she was hot and ready for sex. I had a plan.



Breen.



I laid down on the bed and John knelt beside me on the bed. He started sucking on my tits and nibbling on my nipples. Just enough teeth to make it almost hurt, wow that felt good. My panties were soaking wet, I wanted to be fucked, like hard. John started kissing my belly and with his tongue began massaging my cunt through my panties. This was new. What was he doing. John pushed my panties down and I slide my legs up and out. His tongue traced the edge of my bush. This guy was making me blush. He spread my pussy lips apart and licked my cunt from bottom to top. I shivered and felt a gush of juice trickle down my ass. He licked the slick juice up and circled my back hole. I never had a guy do that before. Then John sucked my cunt lips and put his finger inside me. An orgasm erupted from my body as he licked my clit and massaged what turned out to be my G-spot. Then he kept going. My hips lifted up to his tongue. In place of his fingers went his tongue. I fucked his tongue and squeezed his head with my legs as another orgasm left me weak.



John.



Breen laid down and I dove onto those nipples like a cat on catnip. I sucked her nipples into my mouth and heard her gasp and moan as I squeezed her breasts and nipples. When I bite softly her moans got deeper. Listening to her body I licked my way down to her cunt. With her panties still on I massaged her cunt through the fabric, it was soaked and beautiful. I worked my tongue into the opening of her pussy and felt her clit emerge from it’s hood. I slide her panties down and Breen spread her legs more for me to continue. Her body was so tight I almost came just looking at her. I spread her pussy and licked her from asshole to clit tasting this fine woman’s love juice. I began to focus on her clit, sucking and massaging it while my finger found the G-spot hard and swollen inside her pussy. The muscles around her pussy began to spasm and I knew she was about to cum. I kept this up and she almost squeezed my head off with those strong legs as a second orgasm



drained her.



Breen.



Wow. That was so intense I said to John as my ability to speak came back. I felt totally relaxed and spent. Here I was laying naked in front of John, he still had his clothes on. That had to change. John I said now its my turn to suck on something. John replied that he would love to but he would have to take a raincheck. We planned a visit back at my college dorm at another time. Wow, do I have a story to tell my girlfriends.



John.



My face was covered in pussy juice and as I wiped it on her sheets she said she wanted to suck on my cock now. I had to stop this fantasy but said I would visit her dorm soon to receive her offer.



Breen.



My girlfriends are going to want a piece of this guys tongue.



John.



My cock may never get soft until I go visit Breen and her girlfriends, maybe she will have a party.



Until then I will have to have my memory of the hot tight body of Breen to keep comming.

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