Caught between worlds, outcast Persian woman must choose
————— Orkideh —————-
I graduated on a Saturday during the second week of June, almost nine months since I said goodbye to Jackson. I was both very proud and very disgusted with myself for how well I lived the lie after I returned to my life with Brian. My emotional state upon my return left me feeling ill deep in my gut, which actually helped me sell the story that some intestinal bug had kept me from flying and delayed my return home.
Brian’s dedicated attention to me while I “healed” actually helped me reorient my emotions to focus on him and our future. On my third day after being home I made passionate love to him, tears flowing down my face the entire time. He thought my flow of tears was due to the fact that I missed him and loved him so. He was half right.
One month after graduating, Brian and I were married. It was actually a beautiful day on which I was genuinely happy. It was not a conventional wedding, however. Our original plan was to hold a western wedding ceremony in the US and also fly to Tehran and have a Persian wedding there. Of course, the best laid plans always get shot to hell. My student visa was about to expire. Both Brian and I had secured new jobs at the University of Chicago but the U.S. was instructing me that my application for a green card would take months to complete and I would need to go back to Tehran while they processed the request.
It was totally political and outside of the norm. There are thousands of international students earning degrees in the U.S. who get jobs here after their graduation, and never are made to return home while their green card applications are processed. The reason it was happening to me was because the war rhetoric was quickly heating up, and I wondered if they suspected that I had information detailing the secret agreement between the U.S., Israeli, and Iranian governments.
Faced with my deportation and the danger that it posed to me if I were to return home to Iran, Brian and I decided to alter our plans and have a rushed courthouse wedding to secure my residency, keeping our plan to later fly to Tehran to have a Persian wedding that my parents and extended family could attend.
Since it was only going to be a courthouse wedding we did not go out of our way to invite anyone or make any special plans. But our friends from graduate school surprised us. They all flew into Chicago and planned an impromptu mini reception to celebrate our union. The girls also took me shopping for a nice dress and then took me for a spa treatment and to get my hair and makeup done professionally. My middle sister also flew down from Montreal.
The guys took Brian out to rent a tuxedo and to the barber shop so they could all get hair cuts. As Brian later confided in me, they also made a stop at a strip club for a 20 minute bachelor party that consisted of one round of shots and one lap dance. Throughout the day we took tons of pictures which our friends ended up putting together for us in a wedding album. It turned out to be a really special day and I cried genuine tears of joy.
Brian and I thought there would actually be time to make our plan for a second wedding in Iran a reality but the universe had other ideas. On the day of our courthouse wedding in Chicago, Israel and the U.S. began a bombing campaign of Iranian nuclear enrichment sites, starting a war and bringing my life into further turmoil.
The outbreak of war felt like a particular failure for me and my friends who had been sent the secret “controlled war” memo. Part of the reason for my guilt was that we had essentially been paralyzed by fear. Our first strategy had been to send the file to Wikileaks and to The Guardian, the UK paper that had co-published many of the leaked U.S. diplomatic cables back in 2011, along with the New York Times and the German paper, Der Spiegel.
We decided that our friend in Ontario would send her copy of the file and the rest of us would keep ours hidden for safekeeping. However, the intensified persecution of Wikileaks had destroyed their ability to get out any new information, and The Guardian said that they would not publish the memo because they couldn’t authenticate it by having a separate source verify its contents. There were no other U.S., Israeli, or Iranian government officials who knew or were willing to acknowledge that such an agreement had been made. What did happen, however, is that our friend in Ontario soon disappeared. It left the rest of us scared to death and feeling that war was just inevitable.
Iran retaliated after the initial bombing wave by blowing up a few American ships in the Persian Gulf and bombing American bases in Iraq and Afghanistan from which America was launching its aerial bombardments. Casualties were moderate on both sides but many more Iranian citizens were dying and being dismissed as collateral damage. But when American service members started dying the atmosphere for Iranians living in the U.S. became very tense and dangerous. Mosques started being burned and vandalized on a regular basis while gunmen started entering Islamic places of worship and going on shooting sprees.
Brian and I were living in Chicago where I felt relatively safe. When I found myself in areas outside of a major city, it was a different feel altogether. Even though I didn’t wear a hijab in the U.S., “towel head” and “rag head” were phrases I started hearing regularly in reference to me, often ending by telling me to “go home.” Brian and I vowed that we would take no more road trips until things calmed down, only traveling to major cities by flight, never by car.
My parents had to flee Tehran because the conditions there had gotten so bad. Leaving in the night, they ran north to the Caspian Sea and from there caught a boat to the small country of Azerbaijan. From the coast of Azerbaijan they coordinated with a larger group of refugees who paid a truck driver to smuggle them west across the country to the border of Armenia. At the Armenian border they were only allowed to cross if they gave up all their money. Before the war, the money my parents had would have been more than enough to bribe the border guards. However, the Iranian currency had depreciated so much since the sanctions started and then became virtually worthless once the war started.
Penniless, they somehow made it through Armenia and into Turkey. From there, my brother had friends in the Turkish consulate’s office in Malaysia who arranged to fly my parents out of Turkey so that they weren’t living in one of the tent cities that lined the Turkish border with Iran, where all the other refugees were sent.
For the rest of our family the ordeal had been nearly 180 days of pure hell. We knew that our parents were going to try and leave but we didn’t hear from them the entire time they were on the run. We did not know if they were alive or dead or captured or in a refugee camp somewhere. My father wouldn’t tell us what they had to do to survive, and he forbade my mother from talking about it to the rest of the family. It was all so stressful for me that I started seeing a therapist, afraid my anxiety would tear my life to shreds if I didn’t get it under control.
Even though my parents were safe with my brother in Malaysia, for which we were grateful, they had to leave Tehran with nothing. They had to leave the home where they had raised our family and all that was in it. All of their belongings, all of our childhood memories — gone. We knew dozens of families who shared the same fate. We knew hundreds of people who fared far worse.
Perhaps as an escape from all the turmoil of war, and certainly because we were genuinely in love, Brian and I made love all the time over the next two years of our marriage. As the war dragged on and the mainstream media outlets lost interest, I stayed glued to my computer hungry for any news from home. Often Brian would peel me away just after I read some bad news, making love to me as a way to distract my thoughts.
Brian also wanted to start a family right away hoping that a child would bring a new source of joy into our lives. I loved children and missed my nieces and nephews terribly, but I was much more ambivalent about having a child of our own. Many mornings taking my birth control pills Brian would ask me if I really wanted to do that. I would just smile and tell him that I was still enjoying “practicing” making a baby with him, not ready to do so for real.
Occasionally my thoughts drifted to Jackson during our lovemaking. I always berated myself when it happened because I really loved Brian and I was happy to be married to him. As much as I tried not to think about my affair, however, there were a few things that I just really missed. I missed the euphoric feeling of falling in love with Jackson because of the intense connection we shared. I missed his unique perspective on the world and the philosophical conversations we had, so drastically different from the ones I have with Brian. And, I missed the thing that I tried to suppress most of all: the raw, feral passion with which he owned my body and made it his. I missed the insatiable hunger in his eyes when he went down on me. I missed the maniacal way that he slammed himself deep inside me. Perhaps most of all, I missed how we both were able to indulge our deepest, most secret desires for all the smells and tastes of each other’s bodies.
Increasingly, my mind was also drawn back to the naughty, kinkier things he did to me — how hard I came as he devoured my pussy while his soapy index finger invaded my rear under the pretext of cleaning me, and how wickedly divine it felt when he attempted to kiss me back there. Despite the instinctual shame I felt in realizing we had an audience listening to us while he fucked me in the airport restroom, I could not help but reflect on how liberating it was to not have to hide my sexuality for threat of persecution. I wanted desperately to feel those sensations and emotions again.
After the second year of our marriage, the frequency with which Brian and I made love slowed down and I began masturbating in the shower to thoughts of Jackson tasting my body all over and not resisting him when he began licking my taboo spot. I fantasized about having his finger back in my tinier hole then imagined him ravishing me and fucking my brains out. In this secret fantasy life, those kinky acts came to symbolize the ideal of good foreplay and a closer intimacy. Nothing got me hornier, nothing made me wetter, nothing made me feel guiltier.
When I realized that I had lost the battle to fight off these fantasies, I tried to channel them in a positive direction. I often came out of the shower after masturbating to my secret desires and pounced on Brian, sucking him until he was hard then laying him down on his back and riding him until I had fucked myself senseless. After an explosive orgasm I would roll over and let him finish however he wanted. Invariably, he fucked me hard and fast in either missionary or doggy style until he pulled out and came all over my breasts.
A part of me felt guilty every time for using him to satisfy a fantasy I had about being with someone else. Ironically, I must admit though that channeling all my pent up sexual desires in that way strengthened my marriage. Brian was always pleasantly surprised and went to campus smiling those days when it happened in the morning and he went to bed with a smile on his face when it happened in the evenings. He would always treat me like a princess for the next few days afterward, sending me sweet and flirtatious text messages during the day and randomly buying me little appreciation gifts. He was such a good man, and my guilt was abated a bit knowing that I was making him happy.
I discovered something about myself in this new form of our sex life, however. In my previous sex life I had been a mostly passive lover, letting the guy dictate our lovemaking. An electric charge came over me when I was assertive with Brian, putting him on his back and taking my pleasure and dishing out his. As much as I love it when my man loses control and fucks me senseless, I discovered that I also love to give just as good as I receive.
This was solidified in my mind one night when I was riding Brian and didn’t roll over and let him drill me after my first orgasm. I was so feverishly worked up that I kept grinding on top of him until he lost control. It was beautiful and thrilling for me to have him thrashing and contorting uncontrollably underneath me, completely overtaken by the orgasm that I gave him.
Two sides of me had gradually developed: one side that loves to be ravished by my man and another side that loves to do the ravishing. The problem with my new-found assertiveness was that I felt more and more entitled to my secret fantasy life where I was having more soulful, edgier and kinkier sex with Jackson. And that just left me feeling more and more guilty.
As guilty as I may have felt, I couldn’t stop my mind from continuously drifting back to that time with Jackson and wishing that I could capture those feelings again. My rational mind knew that the intensity of the interaction I had with Jackson was at least partially dictated by the fact that all the passion, respect and admiration we felt for each other had to be expressed in a concentrated 36-hour window. I knew that in spending a life with someone you just don’t maintain that level of intensity. At least that’s what I told myself. Armed with that knowledge I wasn’t tempted to break up my marriage and go looking for Jackson. I resolved that it was okay to have a secret fantasy life, I just needed to feed her hunger enough to keep me from doing something stupid that could wreck my relationship and hurt Brian.
By the third year of our marriage, I began reading erotica in the bath tub in the evenings and using that time to feed that hunger. I searched for romantic stories that had any hint of my secret desires. Stories of forbidden love that eventually boiled over into an intense fire also were favorites. By far, I received the most pleasure from stories where couples break through their mental taboos and include some foreplay that involves a little butt play preceding the actual sex. Invariably those stories made me cum the hardest. I felt like a teenage girl again, using the shower hose to spray against my clit until I came, thrashing about in the bath water.
My only problem with the stories that had a little anal foreplay was that they often progressed to full anal sex. I skipped those sections because they just didn’t appeal to me. A finger or a tongue felt nice back there but I couldn’t imagine Brian or especially Jackson putting his whole cock in my tiny orifice. That would surely hurt. I also couldn’t imagine ever being clean enough given how much deeper a penis would be in me. I just couldn’t imagine getting his cock all the way in me without making a dirty mess.
One day having lunch with a gay male friend my curiosity got the best of me as to how they dealt with those issues and I asked him about the cleanliness and the pain. He gave me a sly look that made me turn beat-red. I protested, insisting that my curiosity was nothing more than random. He just grunted. He knew I was lying.
“Orkideh, I’ve known you for years. The woman I used to know would have been squeamish at such thoughts,” he insisted, his eyes piercing mine, trying to discern my true feelings. I continued my protests but he was not convinced.
“The look in your eyes says it all, girlfriend! If I didn’t know any better I would swear that you are having your own personal ‘behind the green door’ moment, Orkideh” he said to me. I didn’t get the reference.
“‘Behind the Green Door’ is this famous adult film from the 1970s about a woman who comes out of her shell and totally loses herself in debauchery,” he laughed. I punched him in his arm feigning anger but my blushing gave me away. He teased me for a little while but finally gave me the details. He explained to me the different and extensive preparation that clean anal sex requires. He also explained how one needed plenty of lube combined with slow gradual stretching to lead up to the size of a fully hard penis in order to avoid any pain or discomfort. He then confided in me how some people get off on the pain but I stopped him before he could go any further. I just needed to satisfy my curiosity as to whether it was possible to do it cleanly and pain-free.
I still wasn’t quite convinced that I wanted to try it, though. I know men have a prostate so it can feel good to them, good enough to ignore those other issues, but I couldn’t understand how a girl could get any pleasure out of it. Those doubts began to change when I started reading more stories with anal foreplay authored by women. As women explained the psychological thrill they got from being so naughty, the physical pleasure they got from being so full, and the emotional pleasure they received from the greater intensity of anal sex, the mental blocks I had against it started to crack.
I started masturbating to all manner of anal stories and I had a visceral flashback to my time on the plane watching movies with Jackson, and seeing the titles of the adult films interspersed with all the other movies he had on his computer, all with anal themes. I suddenly felt like I understood him better, understood the passion he was trying to achieve with me when he started cleaning my dirty little hole in the shower and then when he tried to stick his tongue in there while he was eating my pussy. I also remembered the last time we had sex in the airport and how desperately I wanted his fingers in me back there but was too afraid to voice the desire.
I yearned to be back in that hotel with him again, to give into those desires and to achieve that intensity so I could at least have experienced it one time in my life. After a while, that became the only fantasy that could get me off. I lay in the bathtub every night dreaming that I never made him stop, that after licking me back there Jackson had pinned me to the bed face down with my but raised in the air then slid his cock into my forbidden hole by “accident.” Only I never stop him. In the fantasy his breath is hot and ragged in my ear sending tingles down my spine as he fucks me hard and deep, groaning at how tight my hole feels. He demands I tell him how much I love it, too, how I wanted it, and he gets off on making me ask for it. Nothing made me cum harder and nothing made me feel guiltier, because in my entire upbringing only filthy whores did the kind of things I was dreaming about.
On one occasion, when the desires flared up in me to the point where I was desperate for release, I got out of the tub and practically ran naked through our house looking for Brian. I found him in our study and fucked him senseless while he sat in his chair, a bit out of guilt but also because I needed to be filled as my fingers just did not satisfy me that day.
Soon I began to invite Brian into more of my showers, urging him to wash my back hoping that he would go lower on his own. He never did and I knew it was partly my fault. When we first got together he had learned of the taboo nature of anything sexually related to anuses in my culture and my own revulsion at anal play. To be fair, how could he then realize how much I wanted him to play with me back there?
He always started out demanding to wash my breasts and he would get rock hard after playing with my nipples, letting them run between his soapy fingers and taking the time to tweak and twist each one. He loved the look of my breasts when they were all soapy and I knew it made him think of cumming on my chest which he craved more than anything. Usually on days when we shared a shower like this he would fuck me afterwards until I came and then pull out to cum all over my chest. Then he would rub his cum into my skin while he kissed me, leaving my breasts shiny and sticky.
When I would ask him to wash my back I began wiggling my ass back against his erection, moaning as his hands went lower. But inevitably he would always stop. One day I got up my courage and moaned to him to go lower and wash me completely. I finally got his fingers in the cleft between my cheeks but still he never attempted to push inside to wash my tiny hole.
One Saturday morning after he had spent time working my nipples and getting me all excited with his erection pressing into my back I whispered to him that he should wash me thoroughly, inside and out. He took the hint and did it as I leaned against the shower wall with my eyes closed, almost cumming from the long neglected stimulation. It was all I could do to not start rubbing my pussy and let my fingers dance over my clit while he cleaned me. I needed to know his reaction first, if this was turning him on. He stopped and I turned to thank him for his gentle care of my body and pushed myself into his arms. The throbbing erection he had a second ago from washing my breasts had depleted. My mood went from sexy to feeling dirty, and not in a good way. My heart sank.
I never asked him to do it again. I couldn’t enjoy it if it didn’t turn him on as well. I appreciated him being a willing lover but I knew that the only way our expanded love play was going to work was if I got him to take the same pleasure out of doing things to my ass as I did in having them done. For a while I wondered if I had become some kind of sick pervert. After all, why should any rational person enjoy sticking their finger or their tongue in someone’s anus? In the end, it didn’t matter. I had a thirst that wouldn’t go away and it wasn’t going to be quenched at home. The battle was on to see if I could live the rest of my life without ever getting that hunger fulfilled.
I lost that battle on my 35th birthday in the third year of our marriage. It should have been a beautiful day. I had just completed a successful third year review with my department chair who proudly told me that I was on a good pace to receive tenure. But Brian and I were fighting because he really wanted to start a family and I was starting to think that I didn’t want to have kids. Perhaps I would adopt one day, but I really wasn’t feeling like making the total life transformation that brining children into the world requires — at least not yet. There was something in me just not ready to give up my current life just yet and make the transition.
There was a broader context to this fight. Back in Iran, the government was trying to reverse the trend of declining birth rates and had decided that the best way to do so was to ban women from studying certain subjects in university. Around sixty percent of students in Iranian universities are women, due to how well women typically perform on the national college entrance exam. The government felt that by banning women from majoring in things like engineering and accounting that they would be less career focused and have more babies starting earlier in their lives. In all, women were banned from over seventy majors. It had made me so angry that I became even more insistent that I did not want to give my life over and put my scholarship on hold to start making babies.
On top of the fight I had with Brian, I received a letter from the Iranian embassy that day. Word of my dissertation’s publication into a book had reached the Irani government. Since the war had broken out with Israel and the United States, our government had become even more intolerant of dissidents, if that was even possible. The Western aggression had, as predicted, strengthened the political standing of Ahmadinejad and increased the appeal of Islamic fundamentalism. The war had brought to pass everything we had been struggling against in the Green Movement.
It had put myself and others like me in an impossible position. I was living comfortably in the U.S. after completing my Ph.D. at an American university, but I was angry at the false accusations made by the U.S. of an Iranian nuclear weapons program that helped start the war and angry at my own government for how it had treated those of us who wanted to achieve change without fighting, without violence, without war. Now that my dissertation research, (which offered a critique of Islamic fundamentalism as a response to Western neo-colonialism), was published into a book in both English and Farsi, the Iranian government was trying to do everything it could to retaliate.
The letter warned me that there would be consequences for any Iranians who worked with me and also notified me that my permission to travel back to Iran had been suspended permanently. This I found pretty devastating, as a part of me had always hoped that since the Iranian government had gotten the war it wanted that their anger with me would blow over, and I may someday get to travel back there. My exile meant that the place where I grew up was now completely lost to me. I hated the Iranian government but I loved the friends and family that I left behind. The thought that I may never get to see some of them ever again just crushed me.
I also received the news that one of my dearest friends and a fellow poet back in Tehran had committed suicide in protest of his living conditions. He had been under house arrest and banned from writing publically or teaching in the university for the past five years, and finally he had just had enough. He had been a supporter of the Green movement and a dear mentor to me. The government had not outright killed him because he was so well known and well liked, but living in isolation had got to him over the years.
Trying to process all that had happened to me that day, tears ran down my cheeks as I sped home to meet Brian for my birthday dinner that he was planning. I was so lost in my thoughts that it took me a minute before I noticed something in my rear view mirror.
“Bloody fucking hell!” I yelled upon seeing the flashing red and blue lights behind me. I pulled over, continuing to curse under my breath. My heart was racing. Illinois had become a “proof of citizenship” state, meaning that the police were cross deputized as immigration enforcement. The officer took my license and read my name, fumbling the pronunciation. I tried to correct him, and that seemed to just make him angry at me. He asked if I had proof of citizenship and I pulled out my green card and handed it to him. When he saw that my nationality was Iranian, his attitude took a further turn for the worse. Ultimately he decided to write me two tickets: one for speeding and one for an expired inspection sticker. I was pissed off!
I called Brian to let him know that I was going to be late and told him how pissed I was at what happened. He explained that the second ticket I could get dismissed if I showed the court proof that I got an inspection. But for me, that wasn’t the point. I was angry because it was an instance where a person has discretion as to how they will treat you, and the officer chose to try to screw me over as much as he could and I knew it was because I was Iranian. Brian sounded sympathetic but he didn’t get my anger. As I hung up the phone I had a powerful flashback to a conversation I had almost four years ago with someone who would perfectly understand my anger and frustration.
I didn’t even think it through when it happened. For the past four years I had often been tempted to call his number but I never did. I often told myself that I should delete his phone number just to avoid temptation but I could never bring myself to do it. That day, sitting on the side of the road after receiving two citations, I scrolled through my address book to find Jackson’s name. I typed “miss you so much right now” into my phone then hit send.
I didn’t even know if the number was still valid. I knew he had likely moved on yet my heart was racing nevertheless. When I didn’t get an immediate response I figured that the number was probably no longer good or that he was probably married and living his life and really didn’t want to be bothered. I told myself that I was relieved not to have started something that could only turn into a mess but honestly my heart sank not to hear back from him.
I went to dinner with Brian but my mood was really low. When I told him the other things that had happened he just took a minute to hold me. That night he made gentle love to me, our fight put behind us — at least for the time being. I went to bed that evening with a weird mix of emotions — grateful for Brian, depressed about my country, sad about the loss of my friend, and heartbroken that my Jackson was truly gone. I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep, and thought about all the things that had brought me to this day.
When I woke up the next morning I went to call my parents. It was just their bed time in Malaysia, and I needed a good cry with my mother. I went to where the phone was charging on the dresser and saw it blinking with a message. My heart stopped as I punched in my password and read it.
“Thought about u every day for past 4 years. Never thought I’d hear from you again. Couldn’t stop shaking since I got your txt. Sorry I couldn’t respond right away. U ok?”
————– Jackson ————
For the first six months after we left each other in New York, I thought about Orkideh every minute of every day. I found her poetry online and downloaded all of it, even the poems in Farsi, and read one of them every day as a way of trying to be close to her and be in her head. Something in my heart always knew that the love we shared was too powerful for her never to come back to me. It took me two years to figure out I was wrong; two years to fully open my heart to another human being; two years to trust love again.
I came to that realization quite by accident. As it turned out, Orkideh and I have a friend in common, a woman who is also an anthropologist. One day while looking at this friend’s facebook page I noticed that she had posted new pictures of herself with a group of other friends all dressed up. I began scrolling through the pictures to see that they were at a wedding. My heart stopped and my breath caught in my throat as I realized that it wasn’t just any wedding, but Orkideh’s wedding. I didn’t even know that they knew each other so I was doubly surprised. I shouldn’t have been given how small the academy is — probably less than three degrees of separation between any two of us. The pictures of Orkideh were absolutely beautiful. More disturbing for me was how happy she appeared exchanging vows with Brian, the man she had chosen over me. It looked to be a small wedding but a joyous one.
That day a small part of me died. In its place, something else was reborn. A new will to move on with my life and cherish our short time together but let it go. I continued to think about her all the time but it wasn’t with the longing and expectation that once consumed me. Eventually I met Aisha, who turned out to be really special. We dated for two years and then got engaged.
Hearing from Orkideh caused me to go through some serious soul searching. We made plans to talk on the phone on a day where we could both find some private time on our calendars. I think we were both nervous — I certainly was. My hands were sweating and shaking as I found her name in my phone and hit the talk button.
Hearing her voice for the first time in four years brought all my memories of our two days together flooding back into my mind. My emotions overtook me and I couldn’t help but get aroused reliving the intimacies we shared. Orkideh seemed to feel the same way. We talked for two hours catching up with what had taken place in our lives since we left each other in the New York airport.
“It was harder to say goodbye to you than I thought it would be,” I told her, “a lot harder.” Admitting that broke the tension and signaled that the time for small talk was over. Catching up was nice but we needed to deal with our emotions that were still there and obviously still intense. Before we could get into it, however, she announced that Brian had just pulled up in their driveway and that we would have to continue the conversation later. I hung up the phone frustrated.
Late that night at around 2:30 AM I couldn’t sleep. I snuck out of bed laying next to Aisha and gingerly tiptoed up to our upstairs closet to retrieve an office box labeled “files,” tucked away in the very back. I took off the lid and lifted out the stacks of random papers that filled most of the box. At the very bottom I located a manila envelope that had “GREEN” written on it. I put the envelope aside, tucked the other papers back into the box and returned the box to the closet. I grabbed the manila envelope and headed into the upstairs bathroom and locked the door.
Inside I pulled out all of Orkideh’s poems, the pictures I took of her getting dressed in the airport after we had sex for the last time, and the pair of her tiny green lacy panties that I kept from that occasion. I kept them in a small ziplock bag though they had long ago lost her scent. For the whole first year after we met, I would spread out her pictures before me and masturbate with her panties pressed into my face. Smelling her always got me off. Once I decided to move on, I put all my Orkideh memories in that envelope and tried to tuck them away. Once I had decided to marry Aisha I should have gotten rid of them but I just couldn’t — that was never an option.
We began talking on the phone once-a-week, laughing, catching up, lightly flirting, but never breaching the subject of taking it further. In hindsight, I think learning that I was engaged caused Orkideh to struggle with what she truly wanted. One day she finally blurted out that she wanted to see me. I was tempted but by the end of the conversation I made it clear — I was happy in my new life and I did not want to do anything to jeopardize my relationship with Aisha. I could hear the excitement drop in her voice as I explained my intentions to uphold my commitments.
It was not an easy decision but I was nevertheless proud of myself for my strength. However for the next two weeks after our conversation my life nearly turned upside down. I couldn’t stop thinking about Orkideh and it started affecting my sleep. If my waking mind was strong, my sleeping mind was weak. The memory of Orkideh invaded my consciousness nightly. I was strong enough to practice fidelity during the day but in my dreams I was a serial adulterer. I’d toss and turn all night and when I did manage to sleep I’d wake up aching with need for her.
Aisha got the best of it. Never before was I one to wake her up in the middle of the night for sex but suddenly I was doing just that every night. It never satisfied that hunger in me, though. On the contrary, it just made me feel guilty, making love to her while dreaming of Orkideh. Something had to give.
After three weeks of this it occurred to me that I had settled for less than true love in binding my life with Aisha’s. I remembered the conversation I had with Orkideh when she was feeling guilty after we made love for the first time. After another week of soul searching, I picked up the phone.
“I’m thinking of doing something that I shouldn’t,” I said to her. She was silent, waiting to hear what I had to say. “It can only happen once, Orkideh, just once. After that, we can’t stay in touch, we can’t call each other, we can’t email each other, we can’t be friends on Facebook,” I continued.
“Of course I understand,” she said, excitement creeping into her voice.
“I’m getting married in June so after we see each other we won’t revisit this and I need you to not speak of it again. Can you promise me that?” It was de ja vu all over again.
“Yes, my love,” she answered simply. We began to discuss a strategy for seeing each other and finding a date.
—————– Orkideh ————–
Our only question was when and how. I had an idea, however. My family was planning for us to all get together in Montreal for my sister’s wedding and to celebrate the Iranian New Year on the Persian calendar, what we call “NowRuz.” As a little girl, some of my best memories were of our extended family gatherings every year for NowRuz. The Persian New Year occurs on the first day of spring, early morning on March 20th in Iran and late night on March 19th in the US. But since my sister was planning her wedding for late April, we decided to combine the two celebrations.
It had been 8 years since we were last able to be together as a family for NowRuz and I cried every year only participating by phone from thousands of miles away from everyone else. This NowRuz was especially critical for us to spend as a family because since the war had broken out all of our lives had become engulfed in turmoil. Because I had family in Montreal the Canadian government was easier to deal with in terms of getting a visa. We planned for everyone to converge on Montreal for two weeks. I couldn’t wait to see everyone again.
My sister asked me to come a week early to help her with her last minute wedding plans. I told Brian that my sister needed me two weeks early — it was the least untruthful story I could com up with. I asked Jackson if he could meet me there so we could spend that extra week together. He agreed, and his excuse was that he needed to go to Montreal for a conference. Since I knew the city, I told him that I would take care of the hotel reservations, making sure to find a place on the other side of the city from my sister’s house. With our plans all set, the only problem was that it was only February. I feared that I may lose my nerve before April, that guilt may get the best of me. I feared I couldn’t wait that long even more.
When late April finally arrived I was a bundle of nerves, simultaneously giddy with excitement and sick with shame. I reasoned that it was just one week, one week for myself in exchange for a lifetime dedicated to another. I didn’t for a second believe that made what I was doing alright, but it was what I could live with.
According to our plan, I arrived in Montreal a day before Jackson to secure our hotel room and do some of my own personal preparations. I treated myself to a manicure and a pedicure, then visited a hairstylist. I wanted to look and feel my best. The impulsive urge also came over me to do something I never do: wax. I’m not particularly hirsute and I don’t like the prepubescent look so didn’t want to remove all my hair down there. I nervously told the woman to just remove the hair from around my labia and the hair just below that, lying to the woman about the latter and telling her that it was merely for the sake of appearance. In truth I was relishing the still vivid memory of the fiery sensation that his fingers, lips and other appendages brought to my skin down there. I wanted to experience all those sensations again, with nothing between his skin and mine.
I met Jackson in the airport the next day wearing a hijab and big dark sunglasses. I was trying to be as disguised as possible lest any of my other family members were arriving early as well. Plus, my sisters had so many friends here and we looked so much alike, I couldn’t take the chance that anyone could even think that they recognized me. So nervous was I that I was sure the people standing next to me could hear my heart palpitations thundering through my chest. My stomach was growling too as I was far too nervous to eat anything that morning.
When I saw him emerge out of the crowd walking toward the baggage claim area where a group of us were waiting, my breath caught in my chest. His piercing gaze scanned the area and when he zeroed in on my form he made a beeline for me with a hungry look in his eyes. He tried to kiss me and I had to put my hand on his chest to stop him.
“You can’t kiss me here in the airport,” I whispered, trying to contain my own excitement and fight the urge to bury my face in his neck so I could taste and smell him there. “I have family in the city, more family flying in, and friends of family here, too. Plus, I look a lot like my sister. Someone may think they recognize me thinking that I am her.”
He looked at me like I was crazy for telling him he couldn’t touch me after all this time, coming all this way. And then there it was: that feral hunger in his eyes that I had missed so much. His tongue came out to lick his full lips and for a moment I feared that he would rip my clothes off and devour me right there in front of everyone in the airport. I felt my sex clench just at the thought. After four years the chemistry between us was still electric. One look from him and moisture was already forming between my legs.
He followed me to the elevator and we waited patiently, discretely holding hands among the crowd also waiting for the lift. When it arrived and the door opened he pulled me back, letting everyone else go ahead. He pushed the button again. When the second elevator arrived we were alone and he quickly rushed me inside. Jackson punched at the “close door” button frantically, anxious for the doors to close before someone else could join us. As soon as they did, we had a thirty second ride to the lower baggage claim level. When the doors opened again I was out of breath, panting with my makeup smeared all over my face.
His mouth slammed into mine and bent my head backwards as his tongue invaded my lips. He pinned my arm behind me so I couldn’t push him away, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he was not going to be denied my kiss or my taste. We both moaned as our meshed lips began to rediscover one another. I sucked his full and pillowy bottom lip between my teeth and chewed on it as my hunger grew. His tongue invaded my mouth first but only by a split second. My own appendage played urgently in his mouth, sliding sensually against his. I forgot about my caution and sucked at him, hungry for the taste of his saliva in my mouth.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he growled into my ear as he inhaled deeply while sucking my neck. The rush of his exhale blowing into my scalp sent chills down my spine. Then his lips were attacking mine again as I felt his growing erection press into my stomach. My body’s reaction to his stiffening shaft was immediate and my nipples reacted in kind as the dampness spread between my legs. I threw my weight against him to feel his hardness press into me even further.
When the elevator slowed to a stop Jackson pulled away from me just as suddenly as he had pounced on me a minute ago. The doors opened and there was a family of five standing there, waiting with two carts full of luggage to lift upstairs. If I was cooler I would have played like nothing was happening. But in my mind they knew from the guilty look on my face that I had just been making out and dry humping a split second ago. I felt my face flush with embarrassment as I grabbed Jackson’s hand and ran out of there, unable to look any of them in the eye. Jackson was chuckling behind me, all the way to the parking lot.
I rented a car for our weekend together. During the ride to our hotel I would not let him touch me, not wanting to take any chances as to who might spot us.
“You’re killing me!” he complained, “not letting me touch you, not letting me taste you.”
I thought about for a moment then a wicked grin broke out across my face. I decided to tease him, knowing that I’d more than make up for it back at the hotel. I lifted the hem of my dress and spread my legs a bit. Jackson reached for me instantly and I slapped his hand away.
“You can look but don’t touch,” I scolded him.
“You fucking tease” he hissed at me but he was smiling, enjoying our little game. And look he did. I tried not to blush as his eyes drank me in and undressed me. I glanced down to see the view he was getting and almost died of embarrassment. I tried to clamp my thighs shut to conceal the wet spot breaking out over my red lace panties but a strong hand on my knee held my thighs firmly apart. Then I heard a rush of air going into his lungs. He groaned at the puissant aroma wafting up from my lap and permeating the small sedan. I smelled myself and got even wetter.
Seeing as I wasn’t going to relent and let him touch me, Jackson took hold of my free hand and sat back in his seat, breathing deeply through his nose. With each breath his erection bobbed in his slacks, heavy with the promise of what he would do to me the second our hotel room door closed behind us.
The tension was so thick it was like we couldn’t even talk. There were a million things I wanted to catch up with him about but every time I opened my mouth it seemed like all I could do was drool over how bad I wanted to be kissing him. We hadn’t just missed physical intimacy with each other. We had missed our deep conversations and I had especially missed his sense of humor. But I found it hard to center my thoughts on those aspects of our relationship because my mind kept distracting to how much I also missed his smell, the taste of his skin, the taste of his sweat. It was like we were paralyzed to act on all the different ways we missed each other until some of the physical tension was released.
When we finally got to our hotel room our clothes came off immediately. Our tongues dueled while we clawed at each other’s clothing. Finally naked, Jackson wasted no time on preliminaries. He pushed me onto my back on the king-size bed, grabbed hold of my ankles and then pinned them behind my head as he slammed his full length into me. The force of his initial plunge took my breath away even though I was so wet he slid into me without discomfort. His thrusts were raw, almost brutal as he worked out four years of frustration in me. I pushed my pelvis up to meat him, letting him know the frustration was mutual. My treacherous sex oozed its gratitude at finally consummating the adulterous act that had possessed my mind and body for so long, filling the room with a juicy chorus of sin.
We never changed positions and his thrusts never slowed, only became more powerful as our intensity increased. Beads of sweat pooled on his forehead before rolling down his nose and landing on my face. I flinched initially then opened my mouth to catch the next one on my tongue, hungry to savor all parts of him before the weekend was over.
Watching me, a lascivious look came over his face as Jackson’s own hunger got the best of him. In a flash his shaft was out of me, replaced by his face buried in my sex. He pulled up just as quickly and slammed back into me, his entire visage now slick with my arousal. I locked my fingers behind his head to pull his face down to me. My nose crinkled as the smell hit me. His entire face reeked of me. Instinctively I licked it clean. I felt his excitement surge inside me at the kinkiness of my act and just as suddenly he was out of me again. I thought he was going back for another taste but instead I soon felt a slimy slab of rigid flesh land across my face. His direction was unmistakably clear without uttering a word. I complied with his command greedily.
Before I could fully satiate my own hunger he just as quickly pulled himself from my mouth. I groaned my disapproval only to hear him give a sinister chuckle, soon muffled by my other lips as his tongue snaked deep into me. On like this we continued, licking, fucking, tasting, baptizing each other in sexual fluids.
————– Jackson —————
I was nearing the point of no return when I finally saw it: that slight grimace of pain that interrupted Orkideh’s look of ecstasy every time I bottomed out in her pussy. I could feel it at my tip — that point where my dick reached the back of her sex yet continued forward into painful territory. I don’t know what came over me. Instead of slowing down or decreasing the force behind my thrusts, I let go of her ankles to let them dangle over my shoulders and cradled her head into my chest, then I slammed my hips into her with all the force I could muster. She screamed in my ear and I couldn’t say whether it was from pleasure or pain or a mixture of both.
If I could have felt them, her nails digging into my back would have told me the answer. It didn’t matter. As my ears took in the music of her screams, I fucked her with all my being, lost in the snug warmth of her body, until I flooded her passage with my seed in a vain attempt to mark it as my own.
It was only once my senses finally returned to me that I felt Orkideh trembling in my arms and gasping for breath with her face pushed tightly into my chest. I released my iron grip on her and allowed her legs to fall by her side. I knew I had hurt her but I struggled to find the appropriate words to express how I felt about it. I wasn’t exactly sorry but I couldn’t figure out why.
“Are you OK?” I finally asked. She nodded affirmatively, though she couldn’t look at me.
“Did I hurt you?” I whispered softly. She shook her head at first then nodded in honesty. Her arms came up to hug herself about the shoulders, her body was still shaking slightly.
“Did I scare you?” I asked more seriously, moving her hair out of her face. Again I got an initial denial followed by an eventual affirmation. I looked down at her body to check for physical signs of what I had done and that’s when I saw it. For both of us our entire pelvis regions were soaked. It wasn’t sweat, it wasn’t saliva, and it wasn’t my cum splattering out of her. That’s when I realized that she wasn’t just shaking from pain or fear — she was trembling because of how hard she came. I immediately pulled her back into my arms to rain soft kisses all over her face.
Orkideh reached to caress my face and then gasped in horror. I was perplexed until she turned her hand around to show me what had shocked her. The tips of her fingers were bloody, scrapes of dead skin underneath each fingernail. My blood, my skin. My back was still stinging and at that point I realized that she had given me more than just surface scratches. Orkideh didn’t apologize either — she simply took each bloody fingertip into her mouth and licked it clean. We shared another kiss, laced with the tint of iron.
As we lay we tried to make sense out of what had happened. Was my purposeful infliction of pain a reflection of my resentment toward her for choosing Brian over me? Did she desire the pain to punish herself for the guilt she was feeling? I moved down on the bed to lightly kiss the abused petals of her tender sex, gently licking up the mess we made. Soon we were like two big cats, licking each clean after sharing a kill. Only then after the tension release were we able to start a normal conversation. It was like we had picked up right where we left off four years ago.
————– Orkideh —————-
Over the next four hours we talked and laughed and made love, then talked and laughed and made love some more. We reacquainted ourselves with each other’s bodies, rebuilding trust. As we talked I kept rubbing my face in his neck or in his chest as he smelled my hair, I had just missed so much the feel of his body pressed into mine. He was built so differently from Brian — more muscular in his thighs and in his backside, and the hairs on his body were coarser than Brian’s. When he wrapped his legs and arms around me I loved the feel of those coarse hairs and hard muscles pressed into my soft skin. My body craved that feeling as I clung to him, like a favorite dish your mom used to make when you were a child. It made me tingle all over.
We fell asleep then woke up tangled in each other’s limbs and talked about what I had been through that led me back to him. As it turned out, Jackson and I were struggling through similar feelings: genuinely loving our respective partners while trying to suppress a nagging ache from deep within that felt like something was missing.
Our growling stomachs dictated when it was finally time for us to get up. We showered together, reliving the memory of our first encounter. This time, however, I turned around and eagerly offered my ass for him to clean. He looked me up and down, marveling at the transformation that had taken place in me. The woman who was scared to let him touch me there four years ago was now bent over and offering this forbidden act of intimacy without hesitation.
Bastard that he is, he teased me and didn’t go directly to quench the desperate hunger I had for his touch back there. Instead he began washing my shoulders and working his way down my back. By the time his hands were right above my rear I was up on the tips of my toes with my back arched, trying to get his fingers to go lower.
When his soapy digits finally breached my cleft I moaned in appreciation, my eyes closed, mouth agape, head leaning against the shower wall. With no shame I arched my back even more and spread my legs a bit to give him fuller access to me. His own desire got the best of him and I finally felt his index and middle fingers began to play around my forbidden orifice, rubbing soap into the tiny wrinkles surrounding the hole. My hips began to push back against him and he finally ended my torture when his middle finger slid into me. I sighed with relief.
I felt even better when I felt the searing heat of his erection press into my side as he took a step closer to me. He had just cum twice already — there was no logical reason in the world for him to be that hard again so soon. I reached for it, groaning as I wrapped my fingers around his girth. A groan from his own lips resonated in my ear before I felt his teeth sink into my shoulder blade, his tongue soothing my skin between bites. I couldn’t help but think back to Brian and how touching me back there had failed to excite him. I should have been overcome with guilt but instead all I felt was raw lust. But then again, it wasn’t just lust. A huge part of me felt like I was where I belonged. My secret self, the part of me that I had kept hidden from the rest of the world all my life, finally felt at home.
Hunger and sore pussy be damned, I needed him back inside me. We rushed from the shower without bothering to dry off. Though aching with need, the nervous look on my face conveyed to Jackson that I need to take baby steps. Like always, Jackson seemed to understand my needs without me voicing them. He took me doggy style while his strong hands held my cheeks lewdly apart. Though I couldn’t see it, I felt his intense gaze centered on the tiny aperture above my pussy, making it tingle and twitch in nervous anticipation.
I heard a slight slurping sound after one of his hands relinquished its iron grip on my left butt cheek. In a spit second the hand had returned, only now with one moistened digit dancing around my little pucker — teasing, prodding, before finally demanding entrance. By my body’s reaction Jackson had a clear indication of just how I felt about his thumb sliding up into my ass while he fucked me. The obscene sounds of his cock sloshing around in my sodden pussy made it obvious.
His thumb was much thicker than the middle finger he used on me in the shower, and my body took a moment to adjust to the increased girth. No sooner than it did, his hand was gone again, leaving my hungry little hole achingly empty. I whimpered in protest. A sharp intake of breath stunned me silent, as my ears tried to confirm what I was hearing. Another sharp intake of breath, this time followed by a low groan reverberating from somewhere deep in his chest. He wasn’t, was he? My face buried in the blankets, I was too afraid to look back.
More slurping sounds, this time louder, more frenzied than the last. My heart skipped a beat. Surely he was preparing a new finger to slide into me. He wouldn’t possibly… would he?
I babbled indecipherable gibberish when I got my answer a second later, as the same thumb from the same hand slid back into my ass — wetter than it was when it had left me last. My left brain was disgusted. No one would have ever known it though, because my right brain was on fire and sent urgent messages to my pussy to relinquish more of my juices.
I got so wet that Jackson’s ferocious strokes were losing all their good friction. The harder he fucked me the wetter I got. He had a perfect rhythm going: slamming into my pussy while pulling his thumb out then forcing his thumb back in when he withdrew from my pussy. I felt a second set of hands come to my backside to hold my cheeks spread open for him and realized they were my own. This allowed him to concentrate on fingering me and to also get a better grip on my hip so he could fuck me harder. My pussy flooded with joy.
At one point I got so wet that Jackson withdrew from me and forcefully turned me around to face him. Then he took his dick and used it like a butter knife to spread my creamy slime all over my face. He never let me suck him, though, and again I whimpered my discontent. Just as suddenly he spun me around like a rag doll and started fucking me again.
I lost it and came all over him not two seconds after his pudgy digit and thick cock found their way back into my holes. He rode me through my orgasm, his loud grunts joining my screams as my body convulsed beneath him. I thought he was cumming with me but no sooner than I felt my orgasm begin to subside than he was spinning me around again before spearing through my lips.
He exploded in my mouth, yelling my name and bucking wildly into my throat. His legs gave out and he came toppling down on top of me. I hung on for dear life as his spurts continued, determined not to lose one drop, drawing blood with my fingernails dug into the firm cheeks of his ass. When my head hit the bed his hips came crashing down into my face, forcing his cock to slam down into my throat as his wiry pubes smothered me in the pungent smell of our union.
Worried that he was hurting me he tried to roll to the side but I held him in place. He lifted up on extended forearms and I knew he was looking down at me with my forehead pressed into his taught abs. I struggled to suppress my gag reflex while tears streamed down my face but I was determined not to lose that battle. I swallowed continuously, giving the head of his dick a nice throat massage in the process. I eased my grip on him when I finally needed to breathe. He raised his hips until just the tip of his now softening flesh was between my lips, dripping the last drops of his climax onto my tongue. He watched me take a lung-full of air through my nostrils, twitching happily at being filled with his raw male musk. I guess that triggered something as I was caught off guard when his hips slammed back down, smothering my face and filling my throat again.
Soon his hips started an involuntary rhythm and he was face-fucking me. He could tell from my reaction that I loved every second of it. Miraculously he started getting hard again but it became more difficult for him to slide comfortably into my throat and for a second I feared that he really might hurt me. Then, without taking his cock out of my mouth he turned around to face the other direction. We were suddenly locked in a 69 with his face buried back in my sodden pussy. Before I knew it I was being throat fucked again.
In that position the entry was easier but it was harder to breathe as his low hanging balls slapped me in the face and smothered my nose, blocking my nostrils. But Jackson was oblivious to my predicament, lost in the intensity of it all. I was so turned on by the passion with which he was taking my body that it didn’t matter. His tongue and lips worked wonders on my clit. My pussy gushed while I slammed my hips up into his face, fucking his mouth while he fucked mine.
Ice cold water woke me up. As I gasped for air and in shock I tried to stop an imaginary fist from breaking my face anymore. When I realized I was leaning against the rear bumper of my car I relaxed a little and tried to focus my eyes on the five people standing around me. “You can take care of yourself all right.” One of them said and I instantly knew it was darling step sister. Dressed in a tight red halter, baggy jeans, her trenchcoat, and blood still on her boots; She looked like a bizarre mix of ancient royalty and modern biker with her pants billowing out around the tops of her knee-high boots.
I tried to shake the grogginess as Fallan helped me to my feet. They explained to me that the guy that sucked punched me was Debbie’s boyfriend that Katie was trying to piss off. “Looks like it worked.” I tried to joke but it hurt to smile. Sammie was walking to her car when she heard the scuffle and saved my ass. The other two goth girls managed to drag her away before she killed him, and Katie and Gracie got me into my car for a getaway in case any of Debbie’s friends decided to help her ex-lover. “Gracie drove my car?” I asked and looked over my shoulder to make sure my Monte Carlo was still in one piece.
“No, stupid, Katie did.” My little sister answered rolling her eyes as she walked around me and sat on the back of my car. She was obviously not having a good time standing around with three goth chicks and the nerdy little sister of a girl she idolized a few hours ago. “He’s awake, can we go home now?”
I frowned and said “Stow it runt.” Then I realized we weren’t at anyone’s home. “Where the hell are we?”
“Old cemetery on the outside of town. ” Sammie answered. “Not many people come out here, as everyone who knew anybody buried here is also dead.” When I noticed her looking at me funny, I had to ask, and she told me to hold still and that “this is gonna hurt.” before grabbing my obviously broken nose and putting facing it forward again.
“Looks better already.” Katie said. “Now when your black eye goes away and the swelling in your lip goes down, you can get back to work.” I glared at her and flicked my eyes at Gracie, while Sammie put her hand to her face and just shook her head. Fallan sighed heavily and I heard Trish mutter something derogatory. Katie visibly stiffened and said. “I’m just going to sit in the car.” and scampered past me to get to a door.
Gracie looked at all of us like we were nuts, “Since when do you have a job?” she sneered and went to join Katie in the car.
“Those have to be two of the most brainless chicks on Earth.” Trish commented and instantly wished she hadn’t.
Sammie got within inches of her before speaking. “Don’t you EVER talk about my sister like that again.” Then grabbed the larger girl by the hair and pulled her to the ground. “Now apologize to Jason for insulting his family.” She ordered and stepped aside so Trish could look at me. Fallan had a wicked little smile on her face and I was starting to wonder what pleasure she got out of seeing Trish tortured. The blond muttered an apology and Sammie let go of her hair. “We’re leaving.” She added wiping her hands off on her pants. She tossed Fallan the keys to her Tiburon and walked over to me. “I’m glad you’re okay.” She muttered. “I was really scared when you passed out.”
I smiled down at her and gave her a hug. “I’m glad you were there, especially since your car was parked nowhere near mine.” I accused. “You were following me to try to make up for our fight this morning, weren’t you?” Sammie nodded and I smiled despite my split lip. “Good.” I told her and kissed her, careful to keep her vampire fangs from touching the more tender parts of my mouth.
Sammie let go of me reluctantly. “Just follow me out of here okay?” she said as she backed away, holding my fingertips with her own. “It can get pretty twisted on these old back roads.” I followed her closely as we drove through what looked like a scene from the calm beginnings of a horror movie. Old barns and overgrown fields scattered clumps of trees choked with kudzu and wisteria. It was nearly an hour before I saw anything I considered modern civilization.
“So, did you Sammie kiss and make up?” I asked Katie after glancing in the back and noticing Gracie had fallen asleep with her headphones on. When she didn’t answer I looked over at her and noticed the slender brunette was blushing nearly as red as Sammie’e taillights and a wry smile was playing with her mouth. “Do I even want to know what she did to you?”
Katie shook herself from whatever reverie she was caught in before speaking. “You could say that… And you probably do, but it was more what I did to her.” She answered both my questions before turning to look out the window at the now scattered houses and occasional sub-development passing by. “Your sister has a beautiful body.” She added under her breath, almost like she was embarrassed to admit it.
I looked over at her. There was something adorable about her sitting there almost in a ball on my car seat in her baggy shapeless jeans and her bulky hooded sweatshirt, staring through her own reflection daydreaming about whatever depravity Sammie had unleashed on her. “Yeah I know.” I confirmed, putting my eyes back on the road and making sure Sammie hadn’t sped off somewhere. “So… Do I get to hear it?” I asked after another mile and Katie sighed, fogging up her window
She looked over her shoulder at Gracie, still snoozing. “If you can’t wait, I guess I do owe you.” Katie adjusted herself in her seat, twisting underneath her seatbelt to face me more than front. “She took me back to some rooms that were being rebuilt or worked on or something, and told me if I didn’t want to get handed over to Debbie and her ‘friends’ that I’d get undressed.” She was still blushing and now she was fidgeting with the edge of her sweatshirt. “I didn’t want to at first, but then Fallan- who I thought was your girlfriend the other day- came over and started helping Sammie take her clothes off.”
Katie’s smile got bigger. “Seeing her like that made me feel like whatever what going on, it would be okay. I know it seems silly, but not being the only naked girl in the room just made it not so bad. So,” paused Katie looked down at her shaky hands “so I took my clothes off too.” She said with a deep breath. “Then Fallan stood back and Sammie made me stand up straight, shoulders back, chest out, chin up, you know? And she… examined me. She just walked around me, looking and touching; just her fingertips or her fingernails all over my skin.” Katie stopped with a shudder, and I asked if she needed me to turn the heat up.
“No.” she laughed and pushed my hand away from the knob before returning her hands to her sweater and herself to the burnt-out classroom. “When she was done looking at me, she took my glasses off and handed them to Fallan, who gave her some kind of leather rod, like the thing you whip horses with.” She nodded quickly when I asked if it was riding crop, I’d seen Sammie carrying it before. “But she left me and sat on a stool that Trish brought in from another room and crossed her legs. She looked so beautiful, Jason, sitting there with her big leather boots on and those black rings in her nipples, with her hands on her knees holding that… crop… she looked like one those pinup girls from the 50s.”
Katie’s eyes had closed by that point, but she kept telling me what happened. “Sammie got me to come closer and she started playing with me with that leather crop; smacking my chest with it a little, tickling my sides, rubbing across… um, downstairs. Then she put it on my shoulder and pressed down, telling me to get on my knees. So I did, and she moved her legs; opened them; put her feet up on the rungs of her stool.”
I glanced over at Katie when she stopped talking and saw that she was still shuddering, and now licking her lips slowly. Her arms had disappeared inside her sweatshirt and I could only imagine was she was playing with under there. I adjusted the erection straining against my zipper and made sure Gracie was still snoring before urging Katie to continue “And then?”
Katie let out a small whimper before she started talking again. “An then… she put the riding crop on the back of my head and pulled me closer to… closer to… um, her. She kept pushing, I knew what she wanted me to do, but I’ve never done anything like that before, I was scared. I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn’t want her to be… disappointed…” Katie admitted quietly and licked her quivering lips again. “But she pulled me so close I didn’t really have a choice, so I just started licking.” Katie shuddered again and another whimper crawled out of her mouth. It didn’t take much imagination to know her fingers were busy in her pants.
“She made me keep my hands on her knees so I couldn’t…” Katie trailed off with a badly concealed whine. “But I had to keep looking at her face, even while I was licking her. Oh, Jason she tasted so good. It was soft and moist like… like the inside of an orange, but it was so warm and a little salty and she started moaning and got wet… Wetter even.” Katie started rocking in her seat, and I was having some trouble focusing on the road or Sam’s car in front of me. “She leaned back against Fallan, and Fallan started messing with her boobs. I could feel Sammie’s… Mmm… her juice was running down my chin and I just kept trying to lick it all up.” Katie started keening with each breath and I knew she was about to give into her own fingers.
“Then Fallan kissed her!” Katie hissed. “I was so horny, but I couldn’t move my hands, and Sammie was moaning and pushing her… her… Pussy at my mouth, and Fallan was pulling on the rings in Sammie’s nipples and… and I… Oh dammit Jason, I was so fucking jealous!” Katie was getting loud, and I was worried about Gracie waking up, but was loathe to stop the mousey girl next to me before she got herself off.
“Then I felt her twitching.” Katie mewled. “She was moving and shaking in my mouth and then it tasted even better. It was so good, I just tried to drink it all; drink her… So good… so beautiful…” Katie trailed off again, rocking against her own hand and half moaning, half whining with her eyes clenched shut. Her breathing became erratic and she shook all over. Finally, she fell back against the leather seat with a loud and satisfied sigh. Her right hand still shoved down the front of her too-large jeans. I waited patiently as she caught her breath and came down from the afterglow. “Sammie pushed me back so she could up, got dressed, and left without another word.” She eventually said as we reached interior of the city, close to Trish’s house. “Fallan stayed behind and helped me clean myself up and get dressed. She gave me my glasses back and told me to go. That’s about the time you got jumped… Sorry.” She apologized in a low voice as she pulled her hands free of her pants and pushed them back down her sleeves.
I gingerly touched my swollen eye. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.” I told her, looking over at her still heaving chest and her flushed face. “I’m sure you’ll make it up to me sooner or later.” Katie smiled at me and I noticed we had pulled up in front of Trish’s house. I saw Fallan get out and lean her seat forward so the larger girl could climb from Sammie’s cramped back seat.
Trish wasted no time getting into her front door, sparing one quick look at my car before she disappeared from sight. Fallan walked back to my car and I had the window down waiting on her. “Sam says to give us Gracie and you can take Katie home.” She told me, leaning down and putting her head in my window. I couldn’t help but smell her hair and I almost instinctively moved to try and kiss her. My head was pounding and I was wondering if it was because of my injuries or if I was just horny from listening to Katie. “I’m staying with you tonight, my father’s pissed but he’s flying home to see my grandparents in the morning.” Fallan explained further when she noticed me staring a little a little too intently.
I shook myself out of it and blinked a few times. I pointed over my shoulder at my baby sister and said “She’s out like a light, just let her sleep.” Fallan frowned at her but nodded. “I’ll see you at the house.” I watched to make sure everything was okay. Fallan stood outside Sammie’s Hyundai talking, pointing, and finally shrugged heavily. After a few seconds, she turned to me and waved goodbye, before disappearing into inside the car. It wasn’t too far to Katie’s place, and the guard at the gate was a lot more helpful since Katie was in the car with me and had a passcode to get in.
The sun was sinking behind her cookie cutter neighborhood’s skyline when I pulled up to the house. “You could’ve let me out at the gate, Debbie’s boyfriend is probably still here.” She told me and I just shrugged. I doubted that after the way Sammie had stomped on his face and ribs that he’d be up to fighting anyone soon. Katie climbed out and before I could pull away, she circled my hood. When I turned to ask her what she needed she grabbed my head and pressed her lips to mine. I winced, but she didn’t relent until our tongues had met, retreated, swirled around one another, and separated again. “Thank you.” She whispered when she let go, and I watched her run to the door and disappear inside.
As I was passing the gatehouse on the way back out of the sub-development, I Gracie move in the back seat. She scrambled over the seat and plopped down next me. “How many damn girlfriends do you have?” she asked after snapping her seatbelt on.
I didn’t want to know how much she heard, out of fear that it was everything. “Watch your mouth.” I scolded and turned towards home. I had to play twenty questions with mom about the fight, which Sammie had already broken the news about. I told the half-truth and said I asked out the wrong guy’s girlfriend, and then begged her not to contact the school or the police or make a huge deal out of it. “It’s far from the first fight I’ve been in, just let it die.” I finally told her when she was done freaking out. I finally got to the kitchen after exchanging hellos and “You should see the other guy.” with Samuel and dug some Excedrin out of the medicine cabinet.
“We told them you beat his ass.” I heard as I was washing down the pills. I turned to see Sammie sitting at the table with Fallan, sharing a big bowl of cinnamon ice cream. “So do everyone a favor and forget I own Mr. Zappy and that I flattened that guy’s skull.” I plopped in a chair next to Sammie and nodded. “Good. Here.” She said and held a spoon to my lips.
“Thanks.” I said around the frozen glob, “Should’ve put it on my face though.” Before I could think otherwise, Sammie pressed the back of her spoon to my eyelid and I nearly fell out of my chair in shock. “Thanks.” I mocked, but held it there as Fallan fed Sammie with the remaining spoon. “By the way, Katie thinks you’re some kind of goddess.” I told my step-sister as I laid my aching head on the table.
Sammie made a rude noise with her lips before speaking. “She only thinks it?” She took another spoonful of dessert from Fallan before continuing. “The way she was lapping at my cooch earlier, you’d think she had already applied for worship of me to be a recognized religion.” Sammie smiled and waved away the next bite Fallan offered her. “She was good at it though. I have to admit I completely accepted her apology.” She said turning and watching me lift the spoon from my eye as it had gotten warm.
I nodded and smiled a bit myself. “Yeah she told me all about it on the ride home.” I confessed. “Fingered herself while she talked, it was pretty hot.” Fallan’s face screwed up around her spoon in her mouth, and I saw Sammie had a worried look herself. “Gracie was asleep in the back seat with some horrible rap music blasting in her eardrums.” I dismissed with a wave. “But, she did see Katie kiss me when I dropped her off.”
Sammie rolled her eyes and sighed. “Why do you have to be so damn good looking? And charming? And good in bed?” she complained with a smile. She was in an odd mood considering a few hours earlier she was on the verge of killing someone. I chalked it up to relief I wasn’t seriously hurt as I decided to fill an icepack and try to get some homework done before dinner.
Later that night I woke up on the couch with a lukewarm sack of water on my face and an infomercial for a Ronco food dehydrator on the TV. I popped a few more headache pills and made my way upstairs, trying to keep quiet and not wake anyone up. I paused outside Sammie’s room for a moment and heard a muffled moan from behind the door. I snorted and shook my head, considering letting myself in, but deciding not to risk ruining Sammie’s oddly cheerful mood from earlier. No sooner than I had put my head on my pillow though, there was a light but rapid knock on my bedroom door. “It’s open.” I said, not wanting to lift my aching head to go and turn the knob myself.
I was surprised to see Fallan enter instead of Sammie. She stood in front of my door for a few long seconds, almost like she was unsure of what she wanted. It gave me a good chance to drink her in while she was standing there in one of my old undershirts and pair of red cotton panties, with her normally pinned or tied back hair hanging in disarray around her face. She chewed on her bottom lip and I realized this was the first time I’d ever seen her without any makeup on. Fallan’s eyes met mine and she tried to speak, cleared her throat and then tried again. “Your room’s nice.”
I almost laughed, but just smiled at her. “Thank you.” I said and moved to make space on the bed. “Would you like to sit? Or lay down?” I asked and she nodded, making her way to the bed. “I figured you and Sam would still be busy.” I admitted, but still happy she had decided to join me. Fallan lay in the bed and made of a point of getting close to me and laying her head on my chest. I could still smell her perfume, but now mixed with it was the scent of sweat and sex. It was a good mix and I didn’t bother hiding my excitement.
Fallan sighed. “Sammie’s been asleep for hours.” She admitted, and I wondered about the moaning I had heard. “I was masturbating because I couldn’t sleep, and waking her up is like asking for a foot in the ass.” I smiled, thinking of the first and only time I tried to interrupt Sammie’s nap for sex, and silently agreed. “I saw your shadow under the door,” Fallan went on, “so I figured I’d come see if you wanted to help me get to sleep.” She turned her head to look up at me and before anything else was said I was pressing my lips to hers. I couldn’t help but notice her mouth still tasted faintly of Sammie’s cum.
I turned on my side slightly and ran my hand down her side, lifted up her shirt, and slid my fingers underneath the waistband of her panties. Still wrestling tongues, I pushed my hand down between her legs and across the soft hair covering her mound on my way to find her slit. Her lips were slightly swollen and already slick with her lube. I dipped my fingers between them and drug them upward, making her moan into my mouth as I opened her slightly on my way to her clit. I drew slow circles on her button with my middle finger, relishing her twitching hips and louder moans each time I passed over it.
We separated for a breath and found ourselves staring into each others eyes as I slowly worked her over-sensitive clit. Fallan’s arms circled my neck and my waist, holding me close as she started to shudder and buck her hips towards me. Her mouth hung half open and her moaning was interrupted as her breath caught in her throat as something powerful was building up between her legs. “Oh… Oh, God, Jason!” she nearly yelled and attacked my mouth, nearly pushing me back on the bed as she tried to hold in a scream and grind her pussy on my hand at the same time.