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In the Cone

By: RetMarut



Usually Adriana crept in around 4 o'clock in the morning. Crept into Ransome Farrell's apartment that was. She needed more than stealth to enter the building itself. At that time of morning the doorman slumbered. Though rarely must tenants press the chimes. Rattling the door handle always awakened him.

A sound sleeper himself, Farrell learned of her arrivals after she slid beside him in bed. From habit and heat he slept naked. Although his apartment provided air conditioning, Farrell preferred open windows and fans at night. He saved climate control for torrid days.

Actually any reason served for disrobing Adriana. Medium height, she had a strong brown body. Still in her early 20s, Adriana's ripe tits jutted, her ass bubbled high. Although of humble stock, she strode confidently. Especially in stilettos whose arches further emphasized their owner's calves. 

Casual observers might've mistaken such taut limbs and squared shoulders as athletic attributes. Muscles and posture didn't derive from scheduled workouts but were rewards of a lifetime of stoop labor. 

Until recently she, her family, had toiled on Argentine estancias. Realizing they weren't getting ahead, much less anywhere else, the family pulled to Buenos Aires. There they simply prayed that honesty and willingness to work hard might prove beneficial. 

Instead Adriana's beauty counted towards much more. In Buenos Aires her parents gained menial labor. Of age to work, the city insisted Adriana's three younger siblings attend school yet. She herself distributed fliers on downtown sidewalks. 

Like all recompense after Argentina's financial crisis, she earned peon wages. Naturally ambitious but modest by disposition, Adriana knew Buenos Aires offered better. 

One afternoon she wandered around the Ricoleta neighborhood. World renowned for its cemetery, the whole area counted as one of the city's premiere locales. All those tourists and Evita worshippers needed drinking and dining places after visiting the necropolis. Therefore, commerce abhorring a vacuum, restaurants filled abutting streets. She sought work at them all.

Even if the parilla or trattoria required another set of hands, it rejected hers arbitrarily. Of good character as she was, Adriana wasn't "presentable." 

Her Guarani-Afro-Castilian heritage conferred exotic loveliness. Thick wavy coal-black hair cascading upon her shoulders framed a heart-shaped face. Jade eyes transfixed the world while her button nose complemented full easily smiling lips. 

Unfortunately the same mixture cursed her. In so many words "decent" Argentine society considered her too morena. Had there been openings for dishwashers or bussers then her complexion would surely have found greater favor. 

But those jobs always went to men and boys. 

She almost despaired. In the end, though, lingual skills trumped accepted prejudice. 

The last establishment entered desperately needed wait staff. With the manager about to quash hopes, Adriana mentioned her English proficiency. The manager switched languages. This reaped flawless replies whose tones would've been familiar in Kent.

Long before ex-Nazis fled Allied justice, British immigrants brought their expertise, aspirations and customs to Argentina. Adriana came of age in a settlement stamped by Anglia. High tea and empanadas were not exclusive of each other. Bilingual teachers imparted more than lessons, but accents as well. 

The manager recalculated priorities and demands. He knew Adriana's brown presence would likely dissuade certain clientele. Yet any losses would be more than recouped through the rising numbers of tourists, particularly the English and Irish. Not to mention the burgeoning increase of norteamericanos. The last of whom not only ordered copiously, but tipped generously. 

The man played his hunch. He hired Adriana. As he later told her, she also served to spur the other waitresses. Though each of her co-workers professed English fluency, many spoke it with hesitance at perhaps an intermediate level. At best. Moreover, being "presentable," being pale complexioned, having Caucasoid facial features, with "good" hair, all served indifferently. Again at best.

To a woman each believed the crisis which had reduced Argentina's standings struck them particularly hard. Instead of happy to have landed steady paying jobs, they looked upon their labor as penance for others' sins. Working beside an indio like Adriana merely increased their resentment. 

Intolerable as they found the situation, unable to ignore it as well, Adriana endured. Outcast status improved her industry. So much so even those shunning her the hardest recognized the financial disparities.

Radiant rather than sullen, cordial instead of snappish, the "disagreeable" waitress enhanced customers' dining pleasures. Again, riding a hunch, the manager dismissed a hostess and replaced her with Adriana. Regardless of how the servers behaved afterward, Adriana, the establishment's first face encountered, set the initial tone. 

Which was how she met Ransome Farrell. 

Tall, sinewy, character lines seaming his tanned handsome features, the polite, well-dressed customer chatted with a faint Mexican accent. Having watched more than several telenovelas, the majority of which were produced in Mexico, she recognized his tone. However, he was no companero.

Not brash, neither impulsive nor predatory, the stranger conducted himself laconically. He possessed quiet confidence of a man in his late 40s. Farrell's stillness lured her. 

Ordinarily after seating guests Adriana returned to her station at the restaurant entrance. On this particular evening she looped and hovered around his table. 

Farrell was ordering when he confused the waitress through a Mexican usage. Reflexively answering in English, Farrell apologized. Which confounded the poor girl further. Adriana interceded, untangling the misunderstanding.

The waitress gone away with his request, a curious Adriana attempted nervous small talk. In English she asked from where in the United States he came.

Her accent momentarily caught him short. Recovering, he responded, then added, "I guess I'm a real gringo." 

She corrected him. "No. Here you are a norteamericano. Or if you meet the wrong people, a yanqui." 

"I'm sure none of them say it as sweetly as you," Farrell said. "So I gather you're visiting from, um, Sussex?" 

She laughed easily. Her smile illuminated his table. Adriana said her explanation was "involved." 

"It's okay. I'm at a point where I have plenty of time to listen." Farrell asked her name then introduced himself. 

"Maybe ..." she started.

"Certainly!" he finished.

Had Adriana blinked she would've missed Farrell's inference. The hostess resumed her station, duties alternating among fanciful implications. 

After his meal, Farrell handed her his card. His presumptuousness gladdened her. The card listed "security consultant" as his profession, an unknown New York corporation his employer. On the card's reverse he'd written a Buenos Aires phone number and address. The street impressed her greatly. Its proximity disclosed his affluence. She walked by those buildings daily and dreamed. 

Farrell insisted she phone him. Of, if she preferred, visit. Obviously he'd been around for awhile because he apparently already knew the local game. However unlike the resident players, he didn't leer. Or wink. His bare offer sufficed. 

That alone separated him from the moneyed and privileged men who patronized this restaurant. Daily she and her co-workers handled propositioning customers seeking "girlfriends" or wondering whether they were available for off-premises activities. Mainly of the horizontal relaxation variety. 

Not-so-clever semantics aside, the extra money too good to refuse, Adriana chose and went with several suitors. Each man shared the same trait: he generated her self-loathing. 

Those interludes began promising enough. The evening's gentleman caller would escort her to Puerto Madero or one of the Palermos. There in the latest club or eatery deigned essential to be seen attending they'd invariably meet likewise acquaintances. The men would exhibit their dates before their fellow selects much as one could prized human livestock. 

Adriana often thought the condescending conversation swirling around her worse than the night's eventual desultory sex. Until the congress itself proved her wrong. Again. 

Sometimes one or two of the other girls among the group shared her plight. Through eye-rolling they commiserated and mocked their respective peacocks. 

Most merciless were those women who attained and flaunted elevated statuses: wives, fiancees, true girlfriends. Could the disdain between the two have been any cattier? Perhaps animosity stemmed from the "respectable women" being aware of how they only randomly avoided the others' fates. 

Spring jumped hot in Buenos Aires. Late October and afternoon temperatures already flirted in the humid upper 80s. These nights at Farrell's Adriana readily took advantage of his shower. She luxuriated under the strong water jets. Before Buenos Aires she'd never known grime. One had either been either filthy or spotless.

After toweling off it was onto the easiest, most enjoyable part of night. She stretched beside him atop the sheet.

Sound sleeper as Farrell professed himself, the fresh scent of a warm woman never failed rousing him from all but medicated slumber. He rolled towards Adriana. Their mouths melded, arms embraced and legs entwined. As always, when his boner grew between them, she wiggled against it increasing the provocation. 

Her tensile curves yielded under his touch. What little stress remained after the shower ebbed completely under Farrell's caresses. 

When he wasn't tasting her mouth, his tongue and lips delighted themselves upon the black nipples splashing across most of either succulent brown breast. His kisses on Adriana's undulating belly tickled. Farrell's licking those delicate folds among the brush hiding them quieted her into moist bliss. 

Once she soared, Farrell rolled on a rubber then poked his cock deeply through what he'd formerly engaged orally. The shift couldn't have been more transformative. 

His strokes brought out Adriana's dervish. The body beneath him became an eager coil. Given entirely to reflex or rapture, she flexed and bowed, joyous sighs hollowing her mouth during his every drive. 

Farrell came mindlessly. Fierce deluges. Always. Unlike him, Adriana tried extending climaxes into one or two short eternities before her own floods left her empty but sated. 

At midday the pair woke. She habitually stretched away the night's kinks. When she felt quite playful Adriana exaggerated her calisthenics. During these moments, stage yawns heralded swinging limbs that brushed his face or jarred his own reclining flesh. 

Farrell's bed was wide, its pillows plush. The bedroom as well as small balcony off the living room looked eastward. Noon sunlight flattened perspective and eliminated shadows. 

Properly stirred, Adriana unmoored herself from their comfort and padded into the kitchen. There she'd brew coffee and place several medialunas into the microwave. 

While she performed these minor domestic chores, Farrell reluctantly left bed. He showered quickly but thoroughly, a holdover from his military service. Since Argentina didn't require exacting personal fastidiousness, just style, he shaved every other day. 

Casually dressed though always sporting freshly buffed leather shoes, Farrell vacated the bathroom for her. Early on they showered together. However, their scouring too often became upfront sexual frenzy. They lost a lot of time besides wasting water that way. 

Despite decades away from his desert home, Farrell still saw water as a more precious commodity than gold. 

Showered and dressed in sporty fashion, Adriana joined him for coffee and pastry. While Farrell kept one ear cocked on the TV (tuned to international versions of either CNN or the BBC), she chatted. Her conversation kept him current about work, home or the latest celebrity speculation.

After Adriana finally accepted his offer, she approached him as if a supplicant. That first evening she wore a blue sheath dress which left scant imagination and no doubt behind her purpose. At his door he understood why the doorman's voice fluted over the house phone. Farrell himself started breathing faster as Adriana entered his apartment. 

Their arrangement surprised her. He was generous. While she never expected onerous conduct, Farrell's seigniorial demands lightly beggared her. Sex, certainly, but he never humiliated her. She also needn't stand at his beck and call. He even encouraged her to seek someone better. Which adhered her closer to him. 

She and her family crowded rooms in La Boca, a colorful neighborhood by day turned seedy by night. Given night bus schedules, Adriana faced potentially threatening home commutes. Safe as Buenos Aires presented itself to foreigners, the metropolis held certain risks for Portenos. Particularly to those residing beyond affluence. 

She'd worked months without being molested in the slightest. The evening came closer when such grace would expire. Farrell suggested and Adriana, as well as her family, accepted an offer to spend work nights at his apartment. The next day would provide sufficient time and light to travel safely and visit family or fulfill errands before returning to work. Her nights off he graciously allowed Adriana communion elsewhere. 

His accommodations suited everybody. For Farrell and Adriana obvious reasons. Her family also benefited. One less mouth to feed five days a week. Her absence freed space in an otherwise crowded abode. 

In the months she'd worked at the restaurant her colleagues' relations towards her had thawed. From alienation to grudging tolerance. The few genuine friends made in Buenos Aires all clustered with her in La Boca. Maids and nannies mostly. One got close enough to exchange womanly confidences. 

Adriana counted Mariel as her amiga. Although she disparaged her as an enormous gossip, Farrell suspected the chatter two-way. 

Among Mariel's inexhaustible topics, her boyfriend Omar. According to Adriana's secondhand accounts, Omar possessed absolutely no redeeming traits. That was other than ready cash. Money alone allowed him to treat Mariel boorishly. 

Omar lacked charm, education. But having a puny manhood was his worst deficiency. He suffered from his inadequacy. Omar made sure Mariel suffered with him. 

Other than complete emasculation, Farrell wondered could any vain Latin male endure a more debilitating condition? He imagined acute torments staggered Omar. 

Therefore, unrestrained by care, or simply from spite, Mariel had no compunction about denigrating her boyfriend and his immature winky. She also maintained the same secrecy regarding his income's source.

The last was the sole facet concerning Omar which interested Farrell. Mariel's boyfriend was a thief. If Mariel should be believed, he ran with a second-story crew. Recent upscale home burglaries had spackled Buenos Aires' better neighborhoods. The items stolen specific. Portraiture and small statuary. What jewelry the crisis hadn't banished into deposit boxes into for safest keeping had already been redeemed to keep its former owners afloat. 

To inflate himself in Mariel's esteem, Omar talked a lot. He spilled his entire compendium of crime. Which Mariel told Adriana, who informed Farrell who listened half-heartedly.

His own troubles burdening him, Farrell listened politely to Adriana all the while storing Omar's information out of habit. He could be handy. Trading up knew few limits. 

After Adriana left, Farrell might repair to his office. Such as it was. "Bureau" fit better. A desk and chairs, ostensibly his, occupied four walls holding several bland American Southwest landscapes. He shared a business suite's secretary. Farrell only appeared to check routine departmental emails on the company network PC. 

The suite's fellow dwellers segregated themselves during his visits. They maintained such distance that he truly wouldn't have recognized them on the sidewalk. Just as well. 

The dry official story augmented by juicier transcontinental scuttlebutt repelled them. As was intended. The fewer people who pried, the less subterfuge required. Moreover, they weren't ex-pats or Argentine employees, merely United States nationals passing through Buenos Aires on their corporate stations of the cross. Shortly a few should rotate back stateside where surely subpoenas awaited. Ignorance about him would render any grand jury appearances brief and useless. 

On those many sunny afternoons Farrell skipped the office, he found refuge in Buenos Aires' numerous diversions. Calle Florida, its narrow stretch a pedestrian zone, presented shopworn couples tangoing for change amidst leather goods barkers and clip joint enticers. 

If he tired of being accosted by desperate clerks and faded beauties proffering trinkets assuring good fortune, Farrell wandered among their freshly-minted though just as persuasive sisters hazarding downtown's crowded business concourses. Countless times heartbreaking brunettes attempted cajoling him into taking English lessons or purchasing disposable cell phones. And there were always more assured possibilities should he immerse himself among the swarms of wives browsing in the Galerias Pacifico, the art lovers at Museo Nacional or those unfocused yet ambitious coeds beautifying the environs around the Social Sciences college.

Early into his Argentine exile Farrell haunted these hunting grounds. His newness, his immediate susceptibility towards Argentine female charms were rewarded. First weeks in town one after another tan, lithe, high-strung, easily persuaded, r-rolling belleza coaxed away from some Calle Arenales boutique window. During the women's browsing respites they joyously responded under him. Afterwards, inevitably, each would compliment him on his sheets' high thread count. 

His new everyday confirmed his choice: Buenos Aires, the superior refuge to Costa Rica.

Not that he tired of such catch and release but for the most part Adriana satisfied him. Furthermore, she reminded him of his origins.

Before Argentina he'd been too busy for substantial reflection. Adriana's fiery acquiescence, her luscious darkness topped by a black shimmering cowl, returned Farrell to his simple fevered youth. At least the better aspects of it.

Then only basics ruled. Warm women. Cold beer. Hot barbecue. Had he stayed in his boyhood mining town, denied his unformed ambitions and skipped education to extract ore, such would've been the extent of his life today. 

But Farrell uprooted himself. He struggled initially at university. Studies were easy. It was the 25,000 campus strangers who befuddled him. Acquaintances who became lifelong friends like Ian Abercrombie and Paul Lowery, among other city folk, flatlanders, greenhorns basically, eased his entry into the greater world. He accepted a campus recruiter's promise of becoming a gentleman whose uniforms would carry gold insignia. After Desert Storm and throughout the peaceful 90s his career disillusioned him. 

Fortunately, Ransome Farrell fit Roderick Quinn's criteria. If not for Quinn, Farrell wouldn't be in Buenos Aires. Nor ever would he ever have worked in New York. 

Adriana knew her place. She never asked how Farrell came to Argentina or his duties. Raging curiosity might've boiled in Adriana but she tamped that down with a heavy lid. Sofia, the frisky little something he kept on the sly as change of pace to Adriana's servility, didn't query him either. Sofia was so self-centered only those who could do their utmost for her mattered. More than that was unimportant.


In the Cone



The sole recipients given fuller understanding of his situation were the Thursday Afternoon Club, Autera his cutout from the Foreign Ministry, and Wallman, Farrell's consular nemesis. 

The Thursday Afternoon Club was a misnomer. Comprised of Mick, a Brit ex-pat, Tommy the dodgy Anglo-Irish "business agent," and a melancholy German engineer named Karl, the quartet started gathering at the aforementioned time. However, their shape shifted as weekends proceeded. 

While all made time for Thursday libations, Karl's and Mick's visits to the Oasis, an Avenida Callao café, hinged on that single day. Friday evenings Farrell joined Tommy for the latter's extended nightcaps before sliding around the block into Kitty O'Shea's tavern. There Europeans and North American tourists, students, professionals were complemented by young Argentines seeking legs up any way possible.

Inside, Farrell might find Karl reluctantly acquiring "a friend" as Mick winnowed candidates to be his next week's 19-year-old girlfriend. Tony, the managing bartender, soothed their rail yearnings. After midnight until 6 or 7, Kitty's dim loud rooms were chockablock, the bar itself bedlam. Despite that, having beforehand greased Tony's preferences for expensive malts, they guaranteed themselves immediate service minus finger-snapping. Of course during the rush things got mislaid. Like their tabs.

In another time and place, Farrell might've seen Tommy as a mentor. A shady one, but mentor nonetheless. Charming as he was, a felonious scent trailed the aging Irishman.

A brooding introvert, Karl's dark intensity drew women. Not one for small talk, the German's weighty utterances somehow translated into ladies catnip. His reluctant success aside, Farrell speculated how Portenas reacted after ever learning Omaha had been his favorite overseas posting. Omaha!?

Of his three newly found buds, Mick sat closest to Farrell in temperament. A still fit former 50-year-old Royal Navy seaman, England's civvy street promised Mick nothing. A career spent sailing left him restless. Both the Argentine climate, milder than Britain's, and opportunities after the crisis sold him on relocation. Despite aversion to learning Spanish, his hard work and punishing hours, the kind he swore Argentines avoided, awarded him wealth and its concomitant leisure time. Hence his rapid turnover in 19-year-old girlfriends. 

In fact Farrell had saved Sofia from Mick's thresher. She was either on deck or in the hole; her number up after a fortnight at least.

Should Sofia have ever considered her possible speedy elevation then likely quick disposal, she failed even faking gratitude towards Farrell. He didn't know whether her attitude derived from the crisis, but she lived full speed for that moment. She easily forgot yesterdays while letting tomorrows tend to themselves. 

"Now!" could've been Sofia's mantra.

Months before Adriana and perhaps dozens of girls ago for Mick, the trio and whoever the Englishman ravished that week spent a weekend at Mar del Plata. It must've been mid-spring because traffic on Route 2, the most direct road to the South Atlantic seaside town, flowed. Any later in the season and vehicles would've inched on asphalt. 

Mick drove a large, powerful, dark sedan. People often mistook it for some high official's. The attention prompted Mick to carry two necessities: cash for police bribes and a pistol in case highwaymen required dispatching. Although in Argentina away from her bigger cities such distinctions were difficult. 

In Mar del Plata Sofia minced around the beach in two-piece bathing suits designed to weaken men. While fabric bands obscured her tasty bits, they disclosed one long waspish figure, lean limbs, high ass, flat belly. Once male imagination finished riding that 21-year-old, eyes saw the face of a sharp-looking pillager. Sofia must've been one of the few women in Buenos Aires who wore her hair short. Rather than manage shimmering lanks or bouncing curls, she kept her bangs brief and above her collars. Boyish as her coif was, Farrell recognized hers as that of a huntress. 

Glinting brown eyes, noble nose and a mouth whose brilliant white teeth could just as easily rend as maintain the platform for rubbery responsive lips sized up prospective lovers. And for years yet that's all men would be to Sofia. Providers of cash, good times, decent fucks. 

She'd witnessed how the crisis had erased society's careful tending and planning towards the future. After the crisis the future no longer existed. Should there ever have been a repeat financial failure, Sofia wanted a worthwhile past which she could fall back upon. 

Mick registered them in a downtown hotel's two bedroom suite. By day the strand was the place to be. After sunset smart frolickers deserted it and the beachside inns to the riffraff. 

Sofia lived ravenously. She never seemed to over-consume, be it Champagne, cocaine, cigarettes or carne. That zest suited her well in bed. 

Compared to Buenos Aires clubs, Mar del Plata's were too tame. No nights lingered beyond 2 a.m. Maybe that's why it seemed her skin still emitted fever, as if she lounged under the sun yet. 

With Sofia, Farrell didn't exert himself through much foreplay. He wondered if that were her concession to him or was she always revved. Somehow the matter never arose in conversation. 

She enjoyed prancing around any room in bra and tanga, Champagne flute clasped between slim fingers. Topped as those glasses were, madcap as she behaved, not a drop of elixir ever spilled. 

Farrell thought she teased him more for the undergarments rather than any sprite-like attitudes. Early on he learned how cosmopolitan Argentine women valued expensive dessous. Some combination of being contained in such finery and near-naked exposure before her man enhanced seduction. Whatever. The lace he bought pleased Sofia into pliancy. 

Long and active beneath him, Sofia's hips ground into his. This swirl kept him attentive. His hog couldn't just plow straight ahead. Satisfaction came through matching her gyrating then stuffing her with his strokes. It was a dance. A sex dance.

She continually forced his remount. Her motion swung Farrell between frustration and impassioned anticipation. Only his imminent hammering spurts restored all semblance of achieving gratification. Innate male strength ended Sofia's elusiveness. His iron insistence and simple rhythmic beat lent them hot sweaty percussion until their last smacks of exhausted joy. 

Long as Farrell drove her, a fuck never finished Sofia. After an impatient rest, the respite he suspected she thought a necessary condescension to his age, she stopped snuggling and delved into his crotch. Wide as her mouth was, it became a wet vise around his stirring meat. 

Adept as Sofia was at sucking dick, his joint's girth caused drooling. If she licked him hard enough, she gave his pubic beard a rain forest soaking. 

Not shy in the least, Sofia asked Farrell two bold below the waist questions. First, the bracelet around his ankle; second, the lengthy scars marring his penis. He had no shame answering both. 

The chunky nickel circling his ankle maintained memory of an MIA Vietnam airman. Perhaps she might've regarded such dedication as poignant but Sofia's youth left her ignorant and indifferent to the United States' long-ago Southeast Asian misadventure. However, his gnarly penis fascinated her. 

Before he released the mundane facts behind the scars, Sofia had already created a passionate scenario. One full of longing and abandonment. Farrell admitted her version sounded better than the truth.

During his own late 70s teens, Ransome Farrell considered himself a rowdy. Then he wore shoulder-length hair, while his face was unlined and chest thicker. White t-shirts, jeans cinched by saucer-sized brass belt buckles, and shitkickers the sartorial norm then. 

Small and insular as his town was, it nonetheless settled into social strata. These layers were best exhibited then hardened in high school. 

Rowdies, sons and daughters of miners and mechanics, anyone wearing blue or gray collars, people who got dirt or grease ground into their skins, occupied that wide middle between the recognized gentry and Mexicans. Although he and his kind aspired upward, the males usually found succor and solace in the bottom.

Farrell tracked after a girl accustomed to buying lace, not sewing it. She'd strung him along, let him sniff beaver, but damn if she let him or any other of his shitkicker buddies sample it! She was one of many virtuoso dick-teasers with whom he'd grown up. 

Boys like Farrell dragged their blue balls around to the Mexican side of town. Only decades later did he wonder if those girls fucked because their reflective communities cemented them that role or were they collectively really so licentious. 

It was a question asked by an older experienced man because the boy only saw Mexican girls as cum-dumpsters. Whether she behaved demurely or slutty, the convenient brown honey remained indistinguishable in his eyes. Available. Approachable. Fuck meat. 

Farrell reflected that owing to miscegenation fears, as well as the possibility of contracting every disease known to humanity, even the most sensitive pecker accepted latex. Which probably accounted for the higher percentage of sexually transmitted ailments and unwanted pregnancies among that area's high and white girls. 

That was Farrell's first brush with rich irony. 

His last summer at home before escaping to the state university, Farrell underwent his common weekend torment: no pussy from the plucky pink girl of his vivid dreams who verged on womanhood. 

While working up honest sweats inside his pickup, that girl would knowingly rest an innocent palm on the permanent boner straining his jeans. If the stars were perfectly aligned, and she didn't puke those beer-chased tequila swigs, she'd let him expose his hose. Though she'd take matters in hand, they never continued beyond hand jobs. At least not with anybody in his circle. 

She refused to snap lips around anything so alive and ugly. And if she were adverse to sucking dick, how would she let him repeatedly bury his rascal in her snatch?

Only Mexican girls kept his whiteout level low. In school, their society in general, the two groups eyed another warily. Until the weekends. 

Farrell ran into plenty of classmates creeping stiffly around el barrio. Again, years later, he wondered how high resentment against gringos had been. At the time the question never disturbed his horizon. 

His trawling netted a piece vaguely familiar from high school hallways. Speaking Spanish got him over. As usual. Linguistic ability solved most problems before they arose. 

Liquoring and lying done, he drove them out towards the local motor court which served respective generations as their no-tell motel. Fairly clean amenities, few bedbugs, cheap rooms, but best of all thin walls. Couples who screwed loudly there often did so more to impress other hourly nomads than express extreme satisfaction. 

On that night the girl Farrell poked well knew for whom she substituted. Boozing loosened her tongue. She spoke in nasty torrents. She disparaged Farrell's ruby dream sun queen. Worse, her harsh insinuations sounded true. 

Motivated into frenzy, Farrell couldn't have fucked her harder if he'd gotten running starts. Nonetheless she kept talking. Tired of her talking, no, tired of her hectoring, he slapped her into teary silence. Believing order restored, Farrell prized apart her jaw and stuffed his hog into her echo cave. A mean fistful of her hair held her head steady. His anger brooked no deviation. She had other ideas.

The Mexican girl didn't chomp on Farrell's dick. 

Her teeth merely ground into him. His yanking her head back likely added to the abrasions' severity. 

Once free of her oral bear trap, Farrell stumbled out of bed into the bathroom. Under its weak yellow light he expected seeing flayed skin seeping blood. He'd known excruciating pain. He would know excruciating pain. Those instances were mild against that night. 

Cock slumped in basin, he inspected its wounds. Raw skin trailed along too much of his dick. Crimson shined in several splotches. The blood enraged him most.

Farrell stalked back into the bedroom. Fighting impulses to beat the shit out of her, he instead fumbled around clothes he'd stacked on a chair. Amid his clothing Farrell found his persuader in its holster. A snub-nosed .38.

He rarely packed. But el barrio evenings sometimes required handy backup. No cholo liked any gringo venturing into Mextown to drink his fill, take his pick, have his way with whoever spread her legs, then scoot after drying his dick on the curtains. Mostly because circumstances never offered them reciprocity in the Anglo part of town. 

As a gringo, Farrell knew one thing which could spoil the afterglow of effortless sex was a drunk, resentful, knife-flashing cholo. A gun at a knife fight favorably ended the conflict, one way or another. 

That long ago night the gray steel wasn't to straighten out any ese, but for a puta. And she got shit-scared upon seeing his gun. Fervid pleas to Jesus and Maria tumbled from her blubbering lips. Neither answered soon enough.

Farrell plugged more than the .38's barrel in her mouth. Cocking his weapon filled the cheap room. 

"You have a temper?" Sofia asked.

"I had a temper," Farrell said. 

Certainly he could've let his thumb slip off the hammer. The resulting mess would've been loud, yes. But she was the only person better than Farrell who knew he'd never be convicted. She also had to have known she'd join the multitude of "just another dead Mexican."

Sofia's eyes flashed. "But you didn't kill her." 

Farrell barely shook his head. "I was intent on going to college. A trial, any kind of trial, would've bound me there. Blowing her fucking head off wasn't worth staying any longer than necessary." 

Sofia asked what he did next. The distance between present and past closed. Farrell justified the terror trembling through the girl's body; the kind which loosened her bowels. Farrell spoke as the young man he had once been. 

"I got my belt. Then I busted her ass every which way it could be busted. By the time I finished maybe she wished she was dead. But me kill her? She wasn't worth killing." 

Sofia needed hearing nothing more. Her esteem for Farrell visibly grew. She nodded, then attended his dick again. Flesh pole in tender fingers, Sofia devotedly tongued each remnant of that night. Circuit completed, she must've sucked until hairs on his balls tickled her nostrils. 

Her enthusiasm included an insistence he understood but only later fully obliged during their own arrangement. Their first night in Mar del Plata Sofia's bony ass blotted his view while she blew him. Throughout their consequent sexing she never sucked off Farrell on her knees. She rather stretch herself ass up/head down along his torso.

When settled, Farrell consciously scheduled meetings with Autera after screwing Sofia. Her agitation left him revived and ready. Just the sort of attitude more and more sessions across from the mild-mannered Autera demanded. By the information the mid-level go-between delivered Farrell needed relaxing beforehand. 

Wallman, Farrell's own black cloud, his permanently affixed shitheel, elevated Rod Quinn's picayune indiscretion (doubtlessly on administration orders) into a Southern Hemisphere vendetta. In their usual redoubt, a classy, airy Art Nouveau inspired café, Autera jolted Farrell by telling him Wallman had actually wangled IMF leverage into this otherwise minor affair. 

"Christ!" Farrell said. "The fucking IMF! Is my junior Javert crawling to the fucking cardinal next!?" 

"The IMF could be a real problem, Senor Farrell. They have Argentina by the balls. Unlike Senor Wallman's previous attempts, should they bring pressure it would be difficult to ignore or monetarily salve." 

Normal Latin American lassitude adequately frustrated Wallman's letter and long arm of the law dictates. Steady greenbacks across the right palms further thwarted the consul's rectitude. However, International Monetary Fund intervention could potentially transform Wallman's 99-yard drives into instant inches and goals to go.

"This Wallman," Autera said, "he's determined. What happened to make him so implacable? Someone fuck his mother, his wife, his daughter, and his dog the same night?" 

"If only," Farrell said. "Then even I'd understand such a raging hard-on." 

"Regret it as I must, senor, there's only so much more that can be done on your behalf. Surely Senor Quinn will understand." 

Farrell nodded. Autera continued. 

"Deflecting your State and Justice Department entreaties is simple. Clearing any irregularities with your work visa was child's play. But this Wallman's bypassing official channels for direct appeals is beyond even our considerable evasive skills. Admire the senor as his friends do, the time approaches when tio's hand forces ours." 

Autera let that marinate before adding, "Has the senor considered relocation to perhaps a less susceptible refuge? Say, Uruguay or Paraguay? Or Brazil? Chile?" 

Farrell grinned. "Uruguay maybe. I heard the whorehouses are great there. And if it ever comes to Paraguay they'll never find me in the Triple Frontier. That way Wallman might think I was dead and get off my ass. Finally. Brazil's out. I don't speak Portuguese."

"And Chile, senor. What about Chile?" 

"Too Catholic," Farrell said. 

Autera nodded agreeably. "What the senor needs is greater leverage to counter Senor Wallman's. Perhaps Senor Quinn has something which can bolster the image of our higher officials. Appealing to their vanity should significantly blunt Senor Wallman's stubbornness."

"I wouldn't put it past Roddy Quinn to know of an untapped oil field nearby," Farrell said. "But the only problem with that would be the Argentines would need to drill in a disputed tract near the Malvinas." 

A complacent Autera let Farrell's humor pass. "Somehow you must find yourself in a position where our government can show greater face and tell yours 'hands off.' Otherwise there will be regrettable consequences." 

Autera sighed. His helplessness stayed with Farrell throughout the day. He carried it into night. And when Adriana arrived, the despondency still weighed on him. 

Seeing him awake surprised the hostess. Her cheery smile refreshed Farrell. After slipping off her shoes, he massaged Adriana's feet. In his kindest voice, Farrell made a request of her:

"Tell me everything about Omar again."



In the Conference Room



"Make an excuse, head back to the office." Her voice in my ear was more thrilling than if she'd had her hands all over me. I was sitting with 9 of my coworkers at a dinner table and suddenly I could feel myself getting wet. I nodded just the slightest amount to show her I'd heard. 

"I gotta run, told my roommate we'd go grocery shopping, here's my money." And with that she was off, her tall, strong, lanky frame disappearing down the street. I could barely contain myself. I wanted to leave immediately, but I couldn't, it would be too obvious. I sat through what felt like days of us figuring out the check, all putting in our cash, splitting the right amount on our cards. Finally, finally we all got up to leave. I looked in my purse and made a show of rummaging around. "Crap, I forgot my Ipod at the office. I'll see you all tomorrow!" I didn't wait in case one of my friends offered to walk me, but I did try not to literally race down the street toward the building. 

I got in the doors and nodded to the doorman. He nodded back, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I suppose it wasn't. I got in the elevator and my heart started to pound. We'd never done anything, just flirtation, stray gestures that landed on a thigh or a waist, talking lips too close to ears, but nothing solid. I didn't know what was about to happen. Floor 6 dinged and the doors opened. I stepped out into the hall and looked to my right. There was a light on, She really was here. 

I punched in the code, 5696, had to try it twice because my hands were shaking. I opened the door to the office and realized the only light on was the light in the conference room. The door was ajar and I walked in, seeing her sitting at the head of the table. "Come here." I obeyed, silently. She put her hands on my hips and positioned me leaning against the table right in front of her. She looked me up and down, taking my whole body in with her eyes, the black tank top, across my breasts and taught stomach, hair brushing the tops of my bare shoulders, the short grey skirt, work appropriate but easily pushed up out out of the way, the black kitten heel pumps at the bottom of my long legs. And then she stood, her tall body seeming to envelope mine before she even touched me. She hovered for a minute and then leaned over kissing me ferociously, clutching at my hair, taking my whole body under hers and she leaned me back down on the table. Suddenly my hands were above my head clasped in one of hers. She pushed my skirt up my legs until it was out of the way and slid her hand down my flat pelvis, under my panties, to find my wet cunt. I was helpless underneath her as she pulled teasingly at my skin, swirled around my clit, tentatively pressed at my opening. I whimpered and tried to free my hands but she had them tight, stronger than me and more determined. Soon my blank panties were pulled down my legs, getting caught on the heels that had fallen half off of my dangling feet. 

"if you move your hands from this position I won't let you come." She was looking directly into my eyes and I knew she was telling the truth. I nodded just the slightest amount again and she released my hands, running hers down the length of my body and sitting back into the chair at the head of the table. She rolled toward the table and with both strong hands grasping my thighs she attacked my clit with her tongue. She pressed and pulled, she swirled around it and flicked against it. She was making my whole body shake and my hands were desperate to move from where they'd been told to stay. I needed to grab at something, to hold onto something, to grip into skin, not to leave my hands impotently lying above my head. 

She snaked one hand up my leg, under my shirt and found one nipple. It felt like she was doing the same thing to my nipple with her fingers as she was to my clit with her tongue. I was moaning, laid out on the conference table like a meetings agenda. Or a holiday feast. And as she slid one long slender finger inside me my moans became screams. She slipped another inside and I began to buck on the table. The pads of her fingers found my gspot and began to rub it in rhythm with her tongue on my clit. And I couldn't stop myself, my hand flew down to grab at her arm. 

It all stopped immediately, her hand on my breast was gone, she pulled out of my cunt, her tongue stopped. She reached down and pulled my panties up, roughly, slid me forward on the table and pulled my skirt down. 

"You didn't listen. We'll try again another time." She walked out without another word and I sat on the table empty and aching for release.



In the Convertible



I picked her up from work in my new convertible. She was stunning in her skirt and tank top. Melissa had said she loved convertibles so when I got mine I had to show it off. We made our way out of the city and hit some country roads where we could drive fast and enjoy the beautiful day with the top down.

We were cruising along when I felt a hand very close to my crotch. I looked over at Melissa and she smiled with this fuck me face. She started to rub my cock as it grew in my shorts. When she felt it was hard as a rock she leaned down with her head inches away from the bulge in my shorts and unzipped them. My cock jumped out of the tight restraints. She jumped as my 7 inch cock almost hit her in the face. She looked up at me before she swallowed my dick whole. Her lips barely fit around the outside of my cock as she continued to suck me in and out of her warm mouth. It was evident that she was very experienced in pleasing me orally. I had her pull her top up so I could see her perfect C cup breasts. She played with them as she licked the head of my cock. It was hard to stay on the road with the attention she was giving my dick so I pulled over to the side of the road to a spot that was barely visible from the road. She pulled my shorts all the way off as I removed her top. I told her I had to taste her pussy before I came. 

I picked her up while we kissed heavily. We made our way to the back seat where I laid her on the top of the back seat. She put her feet on the headrest of the front seats so I could get full access to her pussy. I finally got my first taste of her sweet pussy. It tasted like fresh strawberries. I licked all around her pussy lips and gently nibbled on them to tease her while she begged me to suck on her clit. She wanted to cum so badly, but I wanted her to not only cum but flood my mouth with her juices when she cums. I licked the opening to her pussy with long soft strokes. She was moaning very load now and began to try to play with her clit herself. I stopped her and said it was all mine. Her clit was now very swollen and was begging to be sucked. I began by slowly caressing it with my tongue. Then I picked up the pace and Melissa began to scream she was cumming. I sucked her clit into my mouth and continued to use my tongue on her engorged clit. She grabbed my head and started fucking my face with her soaked pussy. Then I moved my tongue down to her hole and prepared for the flood of her juices that I desired. I was not disappointed and she filled my mouth with her juice. I could not get enough to satisfy my thirst for her cum. 

I let her clit rest for a minute while I slipped a finger into her wet hole. After a few strokes I was able to get another finger in. Melissa began to moan again and telling me how great my fingers felt inside her. She threw her head back from the pleasure I was providing. Her hips moved in unison with my fingers in and out of her pussy. I started to lick her clit again as Melissa moaned that she wanted to cum again. I began to fuck her pussy hard with my now three fingers while I sucked her clit harder and harder to make her cum again. Melissa screamed as she came for the second time with more juices than the first. I licked her pussy clean and told her I had to fuck her. 

She pulled me between her legs and placed my cock at the entrance to her wet pussy. In one motion I slowly slid all 7 inches in. Her pussy felt so tight and warm wrapped around my dick. I continued to fuck her as she lay back on the trunk of my new convertible. Her smile of pure enjoyment made my dick even harder. She played with each nipple and squeezed her perfect, perky tits while I kept a steady rhythm at a moderate rate. I wanted to enjoy this feeling before I came. I pulled my dick out and rubbed it on her clit before sliding it back in. Melissa really enjoyed the feeling of my hard cock covered in her warm juices rubbing on her clit. Then she said she wanted to ride me. So I sat down on the trunk and she sat on my cock. She leaned forward to hold onto the headrest on the front seats. Melissa was grinding her pussy hard against my crotch as she rocked up and down the full length of my cock. She fucked me like this as her breath begins to quicken and she moved faster and faster as she moaned louder and louder. I knew she was cumming again. She screamed as she came and pushed back hard on my cock to make sure it was as deep as possible while she came. 

After she caught her breath I told her to bend over the back seat so I could fuck her from behind. I sat back to admire her beautiful ass sticking up in the air waiting for me. I slid my hard dick in as I stood on the back seat and rammed her hard with my initial thrust. She gasped as I went deeper than before. She told me to fuck her hard and that she wanted it so badly. I could not disappoint her so I really started to fuck her soaking wet pussy. She held her ass checks apart for me to get deeper and deeper. She moaned with each thrust as I pounded her pussy. I could feel my balls slapping her clit each time I buried my cock in her hole. I knew it would not be much longer before I came. She was now playing with her clit as I fucked her and telling me she was going to cum again. She begged me to fuck her harder and harder. I told her I was cumming just as I shot my load deep into her pussy. When she felt my hot cum hit her pussy lining, she came again and screamed louder than ever before. Her body shook as it held onto my pulsing cock. I slid my cock slowly out of her pussy and as I did, Melissa took it into her mouth to clean both of our juices off of it. When she was done, she kissed me so I could taste the wonderful flavor our bodies had made together. We finally put our clothes back on and headed back to my house for another round after dinner.



In the Cool Night Breeze



It was our first vacation for just the 2 of us in more than 7 years. Marc and I had been married for 13 years and had 3 children. We were very happy, but we had lost some of our "couple-ness" in these years of parenting and really needed to find that spark again. I wanted to be sure that we would still have each other when our parenting job was done. I found someone to stay with the kids and booked our room and off we went.

It was a quiet drive to our hotel on the coast. I was wondering how the time would go. Would we be able to connect? Marc was quiet, too, but I didn't know for sure what he was thinking. If the twinkle in his eye as he turned to grin at me was any indication, however, his thoughts were good ones.

When we arrived at the hotel, we checked and, with our one small suitcase, headed to the elevators to our 5th floor room. 

Elevators are not my favourite thing. I always tend to stand on the side and hold on...as if that will help if the thing falls to the basement. I was staring at the numbers over the door and felt a hand brush my backside. I looked over at Marc, but he was staring at the numbers, too, with just a hint of a grin on his face. Just before the doors opened, he gave me another squeeze. 

We opened the door to our room and I immediately began to explore. It was a beautiful suite that was certainly a few steps up from our usual inexpensive family-friendly accommodations. There was a small kitchen area, a private bedroom with a king-size bed, and a living area with a couch, desk and some chairs. Beyond these was a door opening out onto a patio with a view of a golf course.

I turned from my exploring to find Marc watching me. He raised his hand and gestured with his finger for me to come to him. I took a step and then laughed and said, "No!" and ran the other way. He chased after me and quickly cornered me in the bedroom. He grabbed me and held me close as I laughed and struggled to get a way. He reached around behind me and put his hand on my backside and gave it another firm squeeze as he stopped my laughing by putting his mouth on mine in a deep kiss. Before long I forgot to struggle and was pushing myself against him and feeling his hardness through his jeans. "That's better, " Marc grinned as he came up for air.

"Now, how about we order room service tonight?" I agreed that that would be a great idea, but I still wanted to freshen up after those hours in the car, even if we weren't going anywhere. As Marc made the phone call, I went into the bathroom for a quick shower. I let the cool water rush over me knowing it would make my nipples harden, something which Marc loves. I ran my hands over my body, caressing my breasts and down between my legs. I was really anticipating the evening ahead.

After just a few minutes, I got out and pulled on a satiny yellow thong and a loose knit yellow halter dress with no bra. I went out to the bedroom and Marc, still in his great-fitting jeans, had changed into a soft striped shirt that I love. It's a fabric that I just can't keep my hands off of. He grinned at me, proud of himself, and walked out to the living area. I followed and joined him on the couch to wait for our supper. 

We sat close together and Marc put his arm around my shoulders and was running his fingers up and down my shoulder blade. I glanced up at him and saw him looking at the front of my dress where the cool shower had indeed done the trick. When he noticed me watching him, he reached a hand up and lightly ran his thumb over me. "I love your tits. I want them in my mouth." As he started to push my dress out of the way, room service knocked on the door. I laughed at his groan as he stood up and adjusted the front of his jeans before answering the door.

An unexpectedly romantic choice for our meal was brought in. A tray of cheeses and crackers and fruit and some creamy looking dips was placed on our table. There was a small bottle of wine and 2 glasses. Marc opened the bottle and poured for each of us. After a sip, he dipped a piece of melon and held it to my lips. It almost dripped and so I giggled a bit, but we did our best to be as romantic as these scenes always are in the movies...without the benefit of shooting another take when it goes wrong. 

We fed each other with one hand and touched each other with the other. I ran my hand over Marc's chest and he stroked my leg, under my dress, inside my thigh. Gradually his hand moved higher and higher up my leg and just when he would have brushed my panties, I stood up and moved away from the couch. It wasn't easy. As much as I wanted him to touch me, even more did I want the evening to last. I smiled at him and moved to the glass door, opened it and walked out onto our balcony.

The night was dark with no moon; just a sky full of stars. There was a light breeze stirring the skirt of my dress. For several minutes I stood at the rail and looked out. Before long, I felt Marc standing close behind me. He put a hand on either side of me and spoke softly in my ear, "This is the last time you are running away from me tonight. You have been very naughty." Raising an eyebrow, I looked over my shoulder at him and replied, "What are you going to do about it?" In response, he raised one hand off the railing and untied the halter tie of my dress and slid the elastic topped bodice down over my breast, exposing it. He held and fondled my breast, rolling my nipple between his thumb and finger. I could feel myself getting warm and aroused again. With his left hand, he pulled my body into his and pressed his hardening cock into me. He turned me enough so that he could finally get his mouth on me. "I want your tits in my mouth."

He wrapped his lips around me and flicked me with his tongue. I couldn't help but moan in delight. Marc pulled the other side of my dress down, leaving both of my breasts exposed. He knows that being outside, even in as simple and safe a way as facing an empty golf course, turns me on unbearably.

Suddenly, Marc stood up straight behind me and took hold of my arms, placing my hands back on the railing. From somewhere he produced the tie from my green satin bathrobe and wrapped it around my wrists and threading it through the railing, tying me in place out on that balcony. This was new and unexpected. I wasn't sure what to think, but when I felt the burst of warmth and wetness between my legs and decided not to think at all.

Marc's quiet voice reached my ears. "You were very naughty this evening." He put his hands on my hips and pulled me back so that I stepped away from the railing. I was partially bent over with my breasts free to the night air. Marc lifted up the back of my dress and the cool night breeze caressed me as his hot hands did. The sensation was incredible. "You need to be punished for your behaviour." Smack. Marc's hand landed on my backside. I jumped in surprise and started to turn away, but he grabbed my hips and held me in place. "You're only getting what you deserve." Smack. 

I didn't know what to think. Marc had never done this before. "Your ass is mine." Smack. He didn't spank me hard enough to hurt, just enough to sting a bit. Smack. I began to moan and move back to meet his hand. "Stand still," he commanded quietly. With that he put his hands on my thong and pulled it down to the middle of my thighs so that I couldn't move my legs very far at all. Smack. "Keep your ass in the air."

Another smack and then he slid his hand between my legs and felt my wetness. He lightly ran fingers back and forth, just barely touching me. "Please..." I moaned. Smack. "Stand still." It was such delicious torture to force myself to be still as his hands roamed my body. If I moved at all, I received another spank. Marc's left hand reached around to squeeze my nipple and his right was between my legs. He was pushing a finger into my wet hole when I suddenly felt more pressure as his thumb pushed into my backside. I froze at the sensation and he slowly, slowly pushed into me.

"Your ass is mine, " he said again in his quiet voice and suddenly I began to realize what he meant. My heart began to pound and I tried to turn to look at him. His hands came off my breast and out of my body and another sound spank landed on me, so I stayed still. 

I heard the sound of Marc unzipping his jeans. He lowered them and stepped close again. Grabbing my backside with both hands, he pulled my cheeks apart and rubbed his hard-on against my ass and then between my legs. I so wanted to move with him, to meet his strokes, but I didn't dare for fear that he would stop. 

After several minutes of caressing me, Marc stood up and I heard a small click followed by a cool wet feeling being spread on my backside. He put lubricant on me and on his finger which he gently pushed inside of me. I could hear him stroking himself as well. Marc moved close to me and I could feel his hard heat pushing at me. Again he said, "Your ass is mine." 

Slowly he pushed and I could feel the amazing sensation of him entering me. I closed my eyes and gave myself up to the ecstasy of it. Ever so slowly, pushing, pushing until he was all the way in. Without a thought I moaned, "Oh, yes, fuck my ass." My words made Marc move inside me and me began to slide in and out, slowly. It was the sweetest torture. "Fuck my ass. Oh, Marc, yes!" And with a few more strokes, Marc pulled out and came on my ass. 

I was so hot that I felt completely out of control. Marc was standing behind me still and gently rubbing my ass. I turned my head to look at his face and said, "Eat me." Marc's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't move. "I said, 'Eat my pussy!" Leaving me tied, Marc removed my thong the rest of the way and knelt between me and the railing. With his face on between my legs I could feel his tongue sliding over my pussy and teasing my clit. I moaned and moved myself against him, riding his face. He grabbed my ass with one hand and moved his finger and thumb in and out of me with the other. The feeling of him in my pussy and my ass and his tongue on my clit was more than I could bear and with a muffled scream I came with the most fantastic orgasm I had ever had.

Reaching up, Marc untied my wrists and stood in front of me. He took my dress the rest of the way off, but he was again fully clothed. He held me against his chest telling me he loved me. As he leaned down to kiss me, I grinned and turned and ran away...



In the Cooler



There he was, just like every Tuesday. Gen looked forward to this day at her dreary job at the gas station. This was the day that Jay came. She knew he was married, but that didn't stop him from flirting outrageously with her and even though she had a boyfriend she encouraged him. On Tuesdays she would get ready for work with him in mind. Sometimes she would masturbate in the shower thinking of his long lean body and wondering if the rest of him was built the same? 

Gen's boyfriend, David, was the answer to any girls prayers- nice, good looking, wealthy, and great in bed, but she couldn't seem to get Jay out of her system. It made her feel awful to betray David by thinking of another man this way, but it was hard to ignore her thoughts of Jay while David was out of town all week long working construction.

Every Tuesday Jay walked in the door of the store to do his ordering and asked her if she would come in the cooler with him. It was an ongoing joke that they both played, he would ask and she would laugh and tell him she was too busy with customers. He would go in the back and do his thing while she stayed up front waiting for him to come back and flirt with her a little more before he continued on his way.

This Tuesday was no different, Jay walked in and asked her to go in the cooler. Gen giggled and gave the usual excuse, but today she was feeling a little horny. So after he went into the cooler she followed him undoing another button on her blouse to give him a clearer view of her ample 44D breasts. She knew what she was doing was wrong, a customer could walk in at any time. If she got caught she would definately get fired and he probably would too if his company found out.

She began filling the shelves inside the cooler making sure to lean far enough over so her could see her nipples getting hard from not just the cold air but also from his intense gaze down the front of her blouse. She was starting to get wet when the buzzer sounded, someone had come into the front of the store. She brushed her breasts against his arm on the way out of the cooler sending a chilling thrill through her body.

While she was up front she could think of nothing else but getting back and wondering how far they would take this little joke of theirs. It was apparent he was taking his time waiting for her to return because it had never taken him this long to finish his order. Gen's shift was over and her replacement took over the front counter so she decided to go back into the cooler and pretend she was helping Jay.

She began to fill the shelves again watching Jay watch her. It turned her on knowing she could have that affect on him and she really hadn't done anything. He began to move closer to her, but she was a little nervous so she backed up even though she wanted him to touch her. She was all but dripping through her jeans and she noticed he was just as aroused as she was. His khakis were tenting out leaving her no doubt his manhood was long and lean just as she had imagined. The guilty pleasure she had dreamed of in the shower was now becoming a reality. She was glad she had taken the time to shave herself that morning.

Feeling bolder, Gen pretended to need something off the shelf behind Jay, pressing her body past his in the close quarters of the cooler, she could feel the heat radiating off his body. As she turned to go back by he suddenly grabbed her by the arms and shoved her against the racks. Even though they had joked about this many times, this time it was serious. 

Gen felt his warm hands caressing her breasts through her blouse and knew he could tell how aroused she was. Without asking he knew not to kiss her mouth knowing it would ruin the moment so he brushed her long brown hair off to the side and began nuzzling her neck. This drove her up on her tiptoes sending ripples of pleasure down her spine. She grabbed his blonde head and pushed it into her breasts. One experienced hand made short work of the rest of her buttons while the other undid the hooks of her bra. The rush of cold air made her nipples rock hard and when he took one in his mouth it was erotically painful. The warmth of his tongue stroking around her areola heated her whole body.

He quickly worked his way down her abdomen, licking, sucking, and kissing everywhere his lips touched. When he slid his tongue into her navel she thought she would cum. This was so thrilling yet scary at the same time, what if someone caught them? It was hard for Gen to be quiet, she normally was quite loud during sex. If someone opened one of the front cooler doors surely they could hear her?

Jay quickly unzipped her pants and pulled them off. He carried her to a stack of 12 packs and set Gen on top of them spreading her legs wide so he could finish the trail he had started down her stomach. He gently nipped the inside of her thigh and showed great appreciation for her clean shaven lips. He ran his warm tongue up one side and down the other, she shivered, but not from the cold. As he opened her wider she felt his thumb rubbing her sensitive clit. His thumb was soon replaced with his hot mouth. Jay was no rookie, he knew just where she needed to be licked at the same time pushing his long fingers in and out of her pussy. Gen knew she was about to have one of the hardest orgasms of her life. she quickly put her fist to her mouth biting it hard enough to draw blood as she climaxed over and over. Jay just kept licking up every drop of her juices as she exploded all over his face. She thought she was going to pass out the orgasm was so intense.

Knowing they were pushing the chance of being caught Jay quickly dropped his pants and pressed his glistening head to her pussy lips. With one quick shove he was deep inside her well lubricated hole. Gen moaned loudly sure they were going to be found out . Jay's long cock filled her to the brim, it almost hurt but it felt so good. He pounded into her slow and hard and after just a few strokes she was cumming again. Her pussy lips pulled him deeper squeezing him hard, she could see he was about to blow. Popping his cock out of her pussy Gen jumped off the stack she was perched on and knelt on the cold floor in front of him. Looking teasingly up she licked the tip of his long shaft before quickly taking him into her mouth. She couldn't fit all of him in her mouth so she sucked and licked what she could using one hand to stroke the base while she handled his balls with the other. She could feel him starting to tense up getting ready to unload so she sucked and pumped him harder. Hearing him groan she knew he was cumming so she opened her throat wide drinking down his salty offering, taking every drop he gave her.

Gen began to cry and Jay looked as guilty as she felt, neither of them were sure what they had gotten themselves into. He helped her up off the floor and they both slipped back into their clothes. Then all of the sudden Jay began to laugh, Gen thought he was crazy until he explained that even though they had both been joking about this for months he never thought she would actually go for it nor was he sure he would either, and never in his life did he think he would ever be going at it in a cooler! 

As they began to walk up to the front of the store Jay loudly thanked her for "helping" him get his job done then walked out the door saying he'd see her next week. Gen thought to herself that a week was going to be longer than usual...



In The Corner



He tells me to stand in the corner and at that moment the moisture between my legs begins to flow. He knows this punishment is one I hate quite vehemently, but as usual His powerful voice commanding me runs straight through my body and right to my heated core. It always makes feel so childish; like I am a hyper kindergartener sent to the corner to calm myself, a naughty child caught with my hand in the cookie jar sent to think about the error of my ways. I know that I deserve it and so I move to follow His orders, looking to return to His good graces. I stand facing the wall- mere inches away from touching the solid barrier, my hands to my sides and my eyes staring straight ahead. I remain quiet and as still as I can, not willing to give Him any reason for more dissatisfaction. Staying immobile is always the worst part for me. I'm such an energetic person that even a few minutes of stillness weighs heavily on my mind. I long to shake or wiggle- something to break the monotony of staring straight ahead. He knows how hard this is for me- then again He seems to know all. I hope that He is at least proud of my effort. I can never manage staying this still for too long. 

Though I can't see it to be certain, I am sure that He is sitting in His armchair with His paper open as He reads the latest news. But now I can feel His gaze on my bottom, the full roundness accentuated by the tight black skirt hugging my globes. I unconsciously shake my bum; drawing more of His attention as he scrutinizes my body, pooling more heat between my thighs. I start to fidget and wiggle- so much for holding out. I hear a shuffle of movement behind me and I'm sure a reprimand is coming my way. However, instead of a harsh tone reaching my ears, His smooth voice washes over me as He orders me to lift my skirt. I move automatically to comply, bunching the fabric around my waist as I feel His gaze rake over my ass. The next order is to remove my panties and an almost undetectable shiver runs through me at His words and tone. I hook my fingers onto the sides of the lacy material, slowly sliding them down my hips, bending over to follow the thin cloth to the floor. I step out of them and kick them to the side, straightening up and re-bunching my skirt. "Now the skirt," His voice wraps around me, so authoritative and consuming and I am lost. I reach behind me, unzipping the zipper and unclasping the clasp; I let it drop to the floor. 

"Rub your clit for me," He says. "Slowly..." I reach down and circle the hard nub of nerves, gasping and shivering. I start to place my hand on the wall, looking for a way to brace myself. Before a single speck of flesh can touch the surface I receive a smart swat at my ass, causing me to jerk my hand back. I didn't even know He was so close. I brace my legs further apart; just like I'm sure He wanted me to. I resist the insistent urge to speed up, knowing better than to do so without order. I continue my torturously slow pace on my clit instead, breathing coming out in short pants and my body shaking from the short sparks of pleasure. Then He tells me to move my finger down and plunge it into me, all the way to the second knuckle- no hesitation. I move quickly to comply, driving my finger into my tight, wet center. My knees start to buckle as I follow the pace He sets for me. My finger pumps in and out of me slowly as I try to rock my hips and stay standing. I increase the tempo at the command of His voice. I gasp when I feel His chest at my back, His hand snaking around to join my hand nestled between my thighs, renewing the attentions at my clit. I cry out softly, a moan escaping my usually quiet demeanor. He wants to hear me today, I can tell. He won't rest until I cry out for Him. Oh, I am in for it now... 

A voice at my ear orders me to add another finger and speed up. I plunge it in aside my index finger and speed up until I reach a legato allegro rhythm, smooth and lively- a rhythm I enjoy in my music. His finger at my clit increases in haste and my knees buckle as I resist the urge to lean back against Him. My panting is harsh and quick as I try to find the mind to ask the treasured question that might allow me my release. I struggle to find just enough air to let the words fall from my lips. "Sir, may I cum?" I'm so close that I can taste it, but of course He says, "No." I huff in frustration, my hips moving to meet my fingers as I fuck myself soundly, so ready to fall over that edge. His other hand reaches around and wraps around my wrist. I moan in horror as He removes my hand, drawing my fingers away from my needy pussy only to replace them with His own. He fucks me fast and hard, plunging in and out, leaving me with only half a mind. I'm desperate now, needing only for Him to let me cum- to make me cum. "Sir," I cry out again, "Please, Sir, may I cum?" My breathing becoming more erratic as I let my body fall against His chest, no longer able to stand on my own and needing His support. His teeth nip at my ear before His deep arousal laced voice whispers His permission in my ear. I come undone in His arms, walls clamping around His fingers as my body convulses, a low muted keen falling from my lips. 

Still unsatisfied with my less than vocal display, He continues forcing in and out of me. His fingers at my clit speed up, if that is even possible. My hands reach back to clutch at Him, needing something to hold on to and keep me grounded in reality as I start to lose all sense of sanity. My eyes scrunch as I'm pushed passed one orgasm and rushed straight into another. I'm a cum hungry slut right now. I want nothing more than to cum again for Him. I need to cum again for Him. The beginnings of a scream rise from my throat and my nails dig into whatever purchase I can find. My walls clamp down harder around His finger, almost tight enough to still His movements as I shout out my orgasm. His hands slide away from my body as I fall down from my high, holding me safe and close to His body as He supports me. I catch my breath as my head leans back on His shoulder, eyes close with a contented smile spread on my face. Then I feel His fingers at my lips, rubbing them slowly across my soft mouth as He orders me to lick them clean. My eyes open to stare up into His own as my lips leisurely encompass his fingers. I lavishly bath them with my tongue, sucking away any trace of my juices and nipping at them. He smiles down at me and I know that He is again happy with me. 

I will never look at a corner the same way again.



In The Country



One of the great things about living in a rural area is the privacy. I know most people want the hustle and bustle of the city or the convenience of the suburbs but to me nothing beats the freedom you have in the country. 

I've lived in the city, lived in 3 actually. I hated every minute of it. 

Too many people all in a hurry to get nowhere and each of them thinking that what they're doing or where they're going is the most important thing in the world without taking the time to consider that all these other people have lives, each as important as theirs. 

But in the country you can go at your own pace, you can just stop and watch the friggin flowers grow if you want and not have to worry about being in someone's way. And the country also makes it easier to enjoy sex outside without as much worry that someone is going to come along. 

The week had been a relatively boring one as far as life went...

So there I was jogging down the dirt road that leads from my house. It was hot, as in surface of the sun hot. This was a different heat than the city, there it was just sort of stuffy due to the buildings and all that concrete and steel, but out here...the heat was just insane. 

By the time I hit the first mile I was soaked through in sweat. It was just pouring off me in a rain. I left the road and headed into the wooded area that ran along the creek. Although not much cooler, the shade did help. I walked along one of the trails I had been meaning to explore pretty much ever since I had moved into the house I lived in. 

This one wound it's way deeper into the woods, to the point that you couldn't see the road and could barely hear the occasional car that traveled up and down it. The trail came out to a relatively open area, and continued on down toward the creek. 

In the distance I could hear muffled voices and the occasional splash of water as someone jumped into the creek. As I made my way closer to the water I heard a sound I knew all to well: The groan of someone getting fucked. 

I made my way closer while still having a place to hide. As I moved to where I could get a better look I saw a girl who lived no very far from where I do getting fucked by the boy who works at the grocery store, while 2 other boys I didn't recognize stood around jacking off waiting for their turn. 

The girl was humping her hips up to meet the guys thrusts, driving him into her harder. No shy wallflower was she. For about 10 minutes they pounded into each other in a frenzy. As soon as he finished the next guy took his turn. 

Buy the time the last guy started I had my cock out and was jacking in time to her thrusts. A few seconds before the guy came, so did I. 

That had been as intense a sight as any I had seen in a long time. 

She stood up and started to get dressed, putting on a barely there bikini before pulling on a pair of skimpy cut off blue jean shorts and a tank top and the guys pulled on their shorts and t-shirts. I slipped away before they decided to leave. 

All the way home I kept running over in my head what I had saw, how the girl had taken everything they gave her and seemed to want more. I was getting hard even while jogging, no easy feet I can tell you due to the size of my cock. 

I didn't know what I was more excited about, the girl, whose body was as perfect as any I had seen, just fucking with such an abandon or the thought of having the chance to fuck her with that same wild abandon. 

I made it back to the house, took off my shorts and after a quick drink of water jacked off again to the thoughts of what it would like to bend the girl over and hear her moans as I worked her pussy and ass over for an hour or so.

Later, as I fixed dinner,I thought about how excited I had gotten over watching the gang bang and how it might be interesting to try a little something in my, somewhat as of late, nonexistent sex life. 

Over the next few days I would jog the same route as before hoping to see either the girl or the guys at the secluded rock, but sadly I never did see them. 

The one good thing about this spot was that it WAS secluded and since I had been the only other person there for the past week I didn't see any reason to let it go to waste. I stripped off my clothes and dove into the water, it was cool and refreshing and for the next half hour I was 12 again, swimming in the pond on my uncles farm. 

I got out and laid on the large rock, and dried off in the heat. My mind kept returning to the girl and the guys I watched that day, her tight body slick with sweat, her moans. And all I could think about was sliding up in that tight pussy of hers and making her cum her brains out, bending her over, lubing up and stretching that asshole open as she grunted and writhed under me begging me to keep going. 

At these thoughts my dick woke up and needed my attention. No one was around so I started jacking, just taking my time, feeling my balls bounce as I did. I was working up to my orgasm when a couple of the guys from the day before stumbled down...I shot a massive load on my chest as they watched, followed by a second, third and fourth. I arced my back off the rock as I did so, I could only imagine the thoughts these guys had going thru their heads as they saw me stroking my cock as I came. 

As I said I AM huge. Not just my cock but my balls as well, they are large and I cum an enormous amount. Some of my ex-girlfriends loved it, loved the fact that I could cum more than once and each time just release these huge loads. 

As I gasped for air and calmed down a bit I stared at the guys and saw them look, not at me, but my dick and the huge amount of cum running down my chest. They finally looked up at me and were embarrassed, whether for me or because of me I wasn't sure. I told them to excuse me and then I dove back into the water to clean myself off.

Climbing back out I grabbed my clothes and tried to make small talk, they kept sneaking glances at my dick, still half hard. It was funny to me, I don't truly have a problem with being nude in front of strangers, don't have a problem with people openly staring at my dick, hell, I don't really have a problem with being watched while having sex.

I told them that I didn't mean for them to see me but sometimes you just had to take care of business. I started back down the trail, glancing back as they just stared dumbfounded at each other. I was curious to know how long it would be before their friends and, more importantly, the girl would learn about what they saw. 

And what just might happen when they did.



In the Country House



I sat there in my floral print skirt and white top. I looked at my watch. It was now 8:21 p.m. I was sitting there waiting for Mark, who was to have been my date that night. He was suppose to pick me up at eight o'clock, but he was late. Not even so much as a phone call, and I, Rachel Jeannette McCarthy, will not wait more than twenty minutes for any date to show up.

My father was sitting in the recliner watching television. I looked over at him. I bet he never stood up a date in his life, and if he couldn't make a date, I'm sure he was the type of man polite enough to call the girl up and tell her.

My Daddy is tall and very handsome. I'm 18 years old and a senior in high school, and I've even heard some of my female teachers talking about him, days after a parent/teacher conference or something of the sort. The thing is, both girls and women just love my father, but the poor man is so naïve, that he has no idea of his affect on the opposite sex.

Daddy has been married to my mother for nearly twenty years. The last several months I noticed a change in my father. He was a little crankier now a days, and whenever I saw him there always seemed to be an uncomfortable situation going on in his pants, if you know what I mean. And no longer did I heard sighs or moans from my parents bedroom. Let's face it - Dad wasn't getting any. I felt bad for him. Nearly every human being needs or wants sex, and my father was no different. I sighed.

I had put such work into getting ready for this date because I had had a crush on Mark for months, and when he finally asked me out I was thrilled. I stood up, "That's it, I'm not waiting anymore. If that jerk-off doesn't want to show up, fine by me." I was more angry than I was sad.

I went upstairs to shower, to get all the make-up off my face that felt like pancake batter. After showering I dried off and slipped into my pajamas. I thought I was a cute girl, and other people have told me that I am. I have wavy blonde hair, blue eyes and a little button nose. I stood about 5'2" and 100 lbs. My breasts were small, but as I always say, it's not the size of the breasts, it's how you use them.

I heard the front door slam downstairs. My Mom had just come home. I went down just a few of the stairs so I could see into the living room, without myself being seen. Daddy was standing there kissing my Mom's neck, "Honey, please, just tonight. Just tonight let's make love, ok?"

My Mom backed away from him, "No, Don. I'm very tired and I just don't feel like it."

Daddy was a gentle, patient man, and I rarely saw him get angry, but I could tell he was steaming just by the expression on his face. I ran back into my room. A few minutes later I heard my Dad yelling.

"A grown man shouldn't have to beg to fuck his wife!" 

"Maybe I don't feel like it Don! It's your damn overactive sex drive that's causing you problems!" I heard my Mom yell.

They went on yelling for several more minutes and I heard the front door slam again. I looked out my bedroom window to see Daddy getting into his car. The tires squealed as he backed out into the road. A minute later I heard Mom coming up the staircase, I quickly shut off my lamp, so she would think I was asleep.

What was going on? Why didn't my Mom want to sleep with Daddy anymore? I mean, he was handsome, he was sweet and I'm sure he was very good in bed. A guess maybe a daughter shouldn't think that way about her father, wondering what he's like in bed, but I wonder about it anyhow.

Was Mom cheating on him? Was she going through Menopause? I didn't know. I pulled my nightie up to my boobs and let my hand slither down between my legs. I started to stroke my pussy in the dark. I felt folds of flesh and wetness and a tuft of hair and a little button that was clit.

I put my finger inside and then another. I had only had sex once before, so I was still very tight; I could barely fit two fingers inside myself. I imagined Daddy's big body hovering over my little one, making love to me, pushing his big cock in and out of me. His lips and his hands on my girlish breasts. His lips near my ear whispering naughty things.

My fingers worked furiously and I came very hard, and then a moment later I came again. I lay there in bed, sweating and panting. I intended to go to the bathroom to clean up some, but I was so tired that I just drifted off to sleep.

I awoke the next morning with the sunlight streaming in through my bedroom window. I went downstairs to start making breakfast. I was in the mood for a thick pile of French toast. I stood at the stove making my breakfast. I was the only one that was up. Both Mom and Dad were not home because neither of their cars were in the driveway.

A minute later Daddy opened the kitchen door.

"Morning sweetheart," he said and kissed my forehead.

"Morning Daddy, do you want some French toast?"

"No thanks baby."

I never did care much for coffee, but my Dad did so he began making some. His closeness was making me a little squirmy. I wondered if my closeness had that effect on him.

"Rachel, sweetie, did you hear the fight your mother and I had last night?"

I nodded and went over to hug him, "I'm sorry Daddy."

"About what sweetie?"

"Well, about the....problem that's going on between you on Mom."

He hugged me to him and rubbed my back. I could've sworn I felt something hard pressing against my belly. I looked up into his green-blue eyes. He gently leaned down and gave me a soft kiss on the lips. We stood there for an awkward moment and then quietly went back to our French toast and coffee.

He sat down with his cup of coffee at the table. I scooped the French toast from the pan and put the slices down on a plate. Pouring my orange juice I could feel his gaze.

I cleared my throat. It's funny how when someone clears their throat, it kind of signifies a new chapter in the conversation.

"So, where did you stay last night?" I asked him as I sat down with my breakfast across from him.

"I stayed at your Uncle Greg's house. You know, that bastard could beat me at Tiddlywinks forty years ago, and he can still beat me today. Forty years? My God, I'm old," he said chuckling.

"Come on Daddy, don't talk like that. You're still young."

"Thanks honey."

I grinned at him, "Tiddlywinks?"

He chuckled again, "It was the only board game he had. We were bored as hell last night. That bastard didn't even have a deck of cards."

I smiled at the thought of him playing the children's game, I thought it was so cute. Sometimes he and I still played board games. Like Scrabble, Monopoly, etc. I would play with my girlfriends if I could, but I guess they thought they were a little mature for Reading Railroad.

"Honey," my Dad said. "I'm sorry you had to hear that fight last night. Especially that type of fight we had. It's just that, well -"

"You're not getting any?" I said abruptly.

He couldn't help but laugh at that, "Yep. That's pretty much what's going on."

I put my hand on his, "I'm sorry Daddy."

"It's ok princess, it's not your fault."

I smiled at him. The phone rang, I thought it was probably my friend Kim, so I went upstairs to my room to answer the phone. She was 18 like me, and I had a feeling I knew what the call was going to be about.

"Hello,"

"Hey, it's me," Kim said.

We started to talk about her boyfriend. Kim was a virgin, but she hadn't even given him oral yet. In fact, she hadn't given anyone oral yet and was asking me for advice.

"So Rachel, how do I do it?"

I giggled, "Well, to start off with, it's best to do it when you're necking, that way both of you are all hot and bothered. Can you tell if he has a big one?"

"Rachel!"

I laughed, "I was just curious! Anyway, start off by stroking him with your hand. Actually, it might be easier than you think because the guy usually shows the girl how he likes to be touched. One thing to remember is that the underside of his cockhead is very sensitive, so be very delicate." I could feel my pussy getting wet, I loved talked about cocks.

"And also," I continued. "Don't ever try to deep throat him the first time, unless he's very small."

"What's deep throat?" she asked.

I smiled and turned on the sexiest voice I could muster, "It's when you take every inch of his delicious cock and put it into your mouth, so that part of it goes down into your throat. Mmm, I just love doing that."

"Rachel!" she scolded me again. "You're cock-crazy!"

"Maybe so, but I'm having the time of my life." 

Rachel laughed, "You sound like such a slut."

I laughed with her, "Oh and another part to remember is, don't put any part of your tongue or finger near is asshole, unless he asks you to. The thing is, some boys are very homophobic and they're afraid if they like something in their ass, that that will make them gay. Another thing to remember is always keep eye contact while you're sucking him."

"Always?"

"Always. That turns a guy on so much, you wouldn't believe it. A couple other things to remember is rub his balls when you're sucking him off, that makes him feel great, and always swallow unless he wants to do something else."

"Swallow it?"

"Swallow it all. Oh, and don't ever let his cum get in your eye, because it stings like hell." I heard a little click sound. "What was that?" I asked.

"I don't know," Kim said eagerly. "Now, tell me more."

We talked some more about the art of cock sucking and then we hung up. I continued to lay in bed and think about cocks I had sucked and screwed. I had sucked two cocks, and had only had sex with one boy, so it's not like I slept around. I headed downstairs.

"Hi Daddy, I thou-"

I walked into the living room with my Dad sitting on couch, jacking his cock. He saw me and quickly shoved his dick back into his pants.

"Sorry about that baby," he blushed. 

I giggled, "Do you want me to leave or -"

"No, no sweetie. Um, let's go on the patio, hmm?"

"Sure."

We walked out onto the patio and sat in our chairs in the sun. I thought about my conversation with Kim. Jeez, that girl must be - Wait a minute! Oh my God! Daddy must've heard what we were talking about! I heard a click over the phone and then I see my Dad masturbating. He must've heard the whole the conversation. He heard what we were talking about and it excited him. Oh jeez. 

Daddy talked about my grandparents. See, every summer since I was little my parents and I would go to my grandparents house. They lived out onto a farm. Well, not really a farm. It was just a nice house out in the country. They had a little lake outback that was fun to swim in. Daddy and I talked about the trip. We were both looking forward to it, and we were going in a few days. The phone rang.

My Dad said he'd get it, and so he went out into the kitchen to answer it. I couldn't really understand what he was saying, but I soon found out when he came to sit down on the patio.

"What's going on Daddy?"

"Oh honey, it was your Mom. She's staying with your Aunt Paula for a couple weeks, so she won't be going to grandma and grandpa's this year."

"That's too bad."

"Yeah, she and I have just been arguing so much lately. Maybe it's best she and I stay away from each other for a while."

"Maybe...Daddy, can I ask you something?"

"Sure sweetheart."

"Why isn't Mom, you know...."

"Putting out?"

I blushed, "Well, yeah."

"We're both getting old honey. She just doesn't feel like it anymore. I shouldn't be talking about this with you baby."

I leaned closed to him and held his hand, "You can talk to me about anything Daddy."

He turned to look at me. His hair shone and his eyes sparkled in the sunlight. I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead he patted my hand and thanked me.

A few mornings later Daddy and I were riding his truck, heading toward my grandparents house. The drive was several hours long and we talked about school and work. And Mark.

"I can't believe he stood you up, boy he really fucked-up doing that," my father said. "But maybe it was for the best, he probably would've tried you to do things that you might not want to do. But then, who could blame him? You have an incredible....um, damn, never mind."

I smiled at him, "Body? An incredible body? Is that what you mean to say Daddy?"

He swallowed, "Well, I, um, I don't want to lie to you, but yes, that's what I was going to say. I'm sorry princess."

"Don't be sorry Daddy," I kissed him on the cheek.

After a couple hours of talking we sat in tired silence. Tired though we were, I could feel the sexual tension in the air that felt so thick. Even though it was days after the phone call, I kept thinking about my conversation with Kim and how Daddy had heard the whole thing. I expertly talked about cock-sucking. Did he think I was a slut? Did he think I was easy? Did he still trust me? I didn't know. I knew he heard the phone talk, but he didn't know that I knew.

We pulled into a gas station and he pumped the truck full of gas. I got out of the car, "Daddy I'm just going to use the bathroom."

"Okay darling."

I went into the bathroom, tinkled, washed my hands and fixed my make-up a little. I put on a little more lip gloss and combed my hair.

I walked back out to the car. There was a cute guy about to fill up his Toyota. I smiled at him and he returned the smile. He looked to be about 27 or 28. I had to pass him to get to our truck.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi," I said to him.

I stood there to talk to him. We stood there flirting for a few minutes. I put my hand on his car and tilted my head, giggling at his jokes.

"Oh, you're just a doll!" I said to him.

I felt a strong arm on my elbow. It was Daddy, "Come on Rachel, I think it's time you left this young man alone." He lead me back to the truck.

We got in and he handed me a bottle of soda and a bag of chips that he got from that station. He opened his bottle of Coca-Cola. He shook his head, laughing, "You just can't keep away from the boys, can you honey?"

I giggled, "Not that I want to."

"Rachel!" he scolded me then chuckled. He drove out of the gas station and down the road. "Anyway, that boy was way too old for you. He looked nearly 30."

I rolled my eyes, "Oh please. Daddy, I'm 18 now. Plus, age doesn't make any difference to me. I actually think older men are much cooler than boys."

He accidentally spit out the Coke from his lips and started to cough. I covered my mouth to stifle my laughter. He pulled to the side of the road and wiped off the steering wheel and his mouth.

We arrived at my grandparents house a few hours later. Before we even got out of the truck, they came out to see us.

"Oh, Don! Rachel! It's so good to see you!" shrieked my grandma. "Where is Carol?" 

My Dad explained to them he and my Mom weren't getting along too well. We walked into their house with our luggage. My grandparents were cute. Neither one of them stood over 5'4".

"My Rachel, you've grown!" said my grandpa.

I laughed, "Thanks gramps."

"Wouldn't you know it - she's getting bigger and I'm getting smaller!" he laughed and reached for my suitcase.

"Oh Grandpa, it's ok, I'll get that."

My Dad and I went upstairs with our luggage to our usual rooms. I walked into my room to find it empty, two of walls peach and two of them white. My grandma walked up behind me, "Oh dear, I forgot to tell you. We're painting your old room, and we had to move everything out, you know how it is. You'll have to sleep in your father's room." She took my hand and lead me to Daddy's bedroom.

I walked into his bedroom to find two twin sized beds and my Dad unpacking. "Don dear, Rachel will have to sleep in this room with you. We're painting the other one, you know, the one she usually stays in."

He swallowed and his face looked flustered, "I understand Ma."

I saw a lump appear in Daddy's pants. He slipped his hands in his pockets.

"You two must be famished. I'll have Grandpa help me cook us a big dinner."

"Thanks," Dad and I said in unison. Grandma disappeared downstairs. Daddy and I stood there, each at our beds, unpacking our clothes and putting them in the drawers. My suitcase was wide open and in one of the corners I had stuffed some bras and panties. Daddy eyed that part of my suitcase, looking at the lace and cotton and silk.

I finished putting away my clothes and snuggled into bed for a nap. I was tired from the seven hour drive. A little while later, someone was shaking me gently. It was Grandpa.

"Come on Rachel honey, it's dinner time. Would you like some turkey and mashed potatoes?" 

I nodded groggily, "I'll be down in a minute Gramps, just let me wake up first."

"Anything you say miss," Grandpa said and went back downstairs. I lazily got up and straightened out my clothes.

"Hi sugar!" Daddy walked into the bedroom. 

"Hi Daddy," I raised my arms above my head to stretch and yawn. My shirt slipped up and showed a good five inches of my tummy. "Oops," I giggled and pulled my shirt down.

At the dinner table, we told my grandparents about what was going on with us and they informed us what had been going on with them. I was stealing glances at Daddy, and I could sense him stealing glances at me. He was so handsome. I can't believe Mom wasn't giving him any. If I were married to man who looked like that, why I'd suck him so - 

"So Rachel," said Grandma, interrupting my thoughts. "Are you seeing any young men right now?"

I shook my head.

My Grandma shook her head, "You're a beautiful young lady, doesn't anyone in your town catch your eye?"

"Ummm..."

I couldn't tell her it was my father who was catching my eye! So I gave a quiet "I don't know" and finished my supper.

The four of us walked out in the living room to "catch-up". With the heavy meal, that stuff in turkey that makes you tired and the conversation, I fell asleep on the couch. I was awakened a couple hours later by my grandparents saying good night to my Dad. I quickly shut my eyes and knew that if Daddy saw me asleep, he'd have to carry me in his arms to my bed upstairs.

I heard my grandparents go upstairs and I soon felt Daddy's presence over me. I felt his strong set of arms gently scoop me up and we went upstairs. It felt so good and I got so horny. I felt his bare arm hooked under my bare thighs as he carried me.

Going into our bedroom, I felt him softly lay me on the bed. Then I heard his feet patter over to his dresser and then down the hallway to the bathroom.

I opened my eyes all the way now and laid there for a few minutes. Daddy came back in with his pajamas on, a t-shirt and boxers.

"Hi Daddy," I said quietly.

He jumped, "Oh darling, you scared me, I thought you were asleep."

"I just woke up a minute ago."

I grabbed a pair of panties and a baby t-shirt and went into the bathroom to change. I normally didn't wear such a small t-shirt to bed, but I thought I would tonight, to tease Daddy some.

I came out of the bathroom in my pajamas and walked into the bedroom and opened the window, letting the moonlight and air streak in. It was a muggy night. I laid on top of the blankets so Daddy could see more of my body. He was laying in his bed, trying to get comfortable.

"Night Daddy," I said.

"Night Princess."

For the next fifteen minutes I heard Daddy wrestling with his blankets, making the bed squeak, trying to get into a comfortable position.

"Are you alright, Daddy?" I asked.

"Oh hell, I just can't get comfortable. I - honey?"

"Yes, Daddy?"

"I heard your phone conversation with Kim."

"I've talked with her a lot on the phone Daddy, which conversation did you mean?" I asked innocently, knowing full well what he meant.

"Well, you know that day you were talking to her about how to, well, how t-to suck a man."

I sat up, faking surprise, "What?"

"I heard you sweetheart."




In the Country House



I laid back down, not saying anything.

"Are you mad at Daddy, sugar?"

"No, Daddy," I said quietly.

"Sweetheart, I didn't know you knew all that. I mean, how to suck a boy off and everything. I was just so amazed when I heard that."

I laid there not really knowing what to do. So I pretended to be angry. That sounded like a normal reaction.

"Oh! How could you just listen in like that! I don't do that with your phone calls!"

I looked at him angrily. Or at least I tried to. He was such a beautiful man. He really could've been in pictures. Maybe I was a little prejudiced? Maybe. Not that I gave a damn either way though.

He came over and sat on the edge of my bed, "Princess, I'm sorry. When the phone rang I picked it up and once I started to hear the conversation, I-I just couldn't stop. The curiosity got the best of me."

I sat up and crossed my arms in a pouty huff.

"Sweetheart," he continued. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't believe those kind of things could come out of your mouth. When I was a teenager, girls just didn't seem to be into that sort of thing. Young women have certainly changed." He held my shoulders and looked into my eyes. I looked into his. "I know it was wrong to listen in. Could you ever forgive Daddy, baby?"

I nodded and giggled. He smiled at me. He gave me a quick kiss on the lips and then sat up straight again. Then he looked at me with one of the sweetest expressions I'd ever seen, and gently held my chin, bringing his face close to mine. I let out a heavy breath against his lips in anticipation. His lips softly touched mine. I tilted my head and kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and raking my fingers up his chest. I opened up my mouth for him and we began kissing passionately.

He sat up straight again and smiled, "Girls didn't know how to kiss like that either when I was a kid."

I giggled. He gently took my hand in his and lead me down the hallway and down the stairs.

"Where are we going?" I whispered.

He held his fingers to his lips. We went out the back door. Once we were outside he spoke in his normal tone of voice.

"You want to go skinny dipping with your old man?"

I grinned, "Sure."

"Hop aboard."

I jumped onto his back so I could ride piggy back down to the lake. I was giggling and he was laughing as we ran. The lake was down a hill, so it couldn't be seen from the house. Since he was holding me piggy back, his hands were on my bare thighs. He let me down off of his back.

"Your legs are so soft princess. Daddy loves your legs." 

He wrapped me up in his arms again and kissed me. Then we started to undress. I was completely naked and ran out into the water. I could feel his eyes on my body. I was shoulder-deep in the water. Daddy still had his shorts on. I smiled at him.

He took off his shorts and I could see his huge cock, so hard, completely erect. He came into the water with me and held me in his arms. I could feel his cock up against my stomach. We kissed frantically, madly, as if we couldn't wait just one more minute.

"I love your cock Daddy," I said to him.

He kissed me even more passionately at this statement. "Oh baby, I just love your sweet little body."

I was stroking his cock underneath the water as we kissed. His hands were making their way up and down my body, caressing me. He gently slid his hand between my legs, feeling my bare, soft pussy.

"Oh fuck, oh shit. You have just about the sweetest little pussy I've ever felt. Daddy loves it so much baby. Mmm, and you're so tight too. I love you sugar."

I moaned, "I love you, Daddy."

He took my hand and we ran up to the grass. I laid down on my back and looked up at him. I spread my legs wide. We wasted no time, we were so hot from our kissing and playing together. He slipped his cock inside and towered his big body over mine. I sighed as he started pushing it in and out, frantically.

I moaned, "Oh god Daddy, that feels so good."

He grunted, "Baby, I haven't had a fuck in at least three months. I've never had such a tight little cunt either." He moaned and leaned down to kiss me.

I ran my fingers up and down along his bare chest. He pulled at my legs up so he could fuck me from a better angle. He started to fuck me even harder than before.

"Oh baby, little sweetheart, you like what Daddy's doing to you?"

"Mmm hmm," I whimpered. 

"Oh fuck," I started to feel his cock jerk and I felt a load of warm sperm shoot into my pussy. About the same time I came, my pussy grasping at his cock. After we came, he collapsed on top of me and laid on his side next to me.

We were both panting hard. When we caught our breath he spoke, "Baby, I hope you don't mind...I've jacked off thinking about you."

"You do?"

He nodded.

"I play with myself too and think of you Daddy."

"Oh honey," he moaned and started to play with my breasts. We both decided that after such an exhausting and much-needed fuck, that we should go to bed. We put our clothes on, my sweaty body stick to my clothes, and once inside, we collapsed into our beds in a deep sleep.

Over the next several days we were able to play with each other some, but we were never alone long enough to be able to fuck. We were getting off thinking about each other and we both knew it.

The morning that we had to leave, the four of us were sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast. The strap of my spaghetti strap top fell off my shoulders showing the fleshy, upper part of my breasts. After I was sure Daddy had a peek, I pulled up the strap.

"I'll be right back," he said and went down the hall into the bathroom, careful to put his hands in his pockets as he walked.

My grandparents were involved in going to church in the community and telling me all about it, but I wasn't paying much attention. It had been almost ten minutes since Daddy left the table. I excused myself and went down the hall and turned the corner to were the bathroom was. I stood at the door and heard grunts. I gently knocked on the door.

"Daddy are you alright?"

The grunts stopped and he quickly opened the door and he pulled me inside the bathroom with him. His cock was hard and standing up. He locked the door.

"Come on baby, suck Daddy," he said in a low voice.

I smiled and kneeled down on the bathroom tile, taking him into my mouth. I wrapped my warm mouth around his dick and started to suck on him, slurping slowly.

"Oh my god, oh shit, what a sweet little cocksucker you are. Can you suck me a little faster honey?"

I wrapped my lips around his cock and started to suck him faster.

"That's a girl. Oh precious, oh angel you make Daddy so happy. That's it sweetheart, suck it for your daddy, show him what you can do."

I looked up into his eyes the whole time, his thick flesh in between my lips and in my mouth. He held the sides of my head and started to fuck my face, lightly groaning all the while.

"Oh baby, yesss, I'm about to cum."

He shot his warm gooey cum into my mouth and I swallowed it as fast as I could, but some slipped out from the corners of my mouth. When he was done, he slipped his cock out from my lips. I darted my tongue out to lick up the cum I had missed.

He pulled his pants up and zipped up. I stood up. He gently kissed me and thanked me for the best blowjob he'd ever had.

And hour later we were saying good-bye to my grandparents, and piling our luggage and our bodies into the car, we went on home again.



In the Court of the Transfer Queen



The rest of the group was too tired after an evening wasted building a stupid, pointless diorama for Professor Duncan's Anthropology class to notice that Annie and Britta headed out of the library in the same direction. That in and in itself wasn't that unusual; only Abed, if he'd thought to think of it, would have found it suspicious that two women who lived in opposite directions of the campus would park in the same parking lot. But he didn't, and even in his subconscious didn't add it on to the building flood of realization that would burst on him later on in the year about what was going on between his two friends.

Even Troy, though, probably would have raised an eyebrow if he'd seen them both get into Annie's rusty old Honda.

Annie Edison wasn't concerned about that as she fastened her seatbelt, though. She was much more concerned about what was going on in the head of the woman in her passenger seat.

She'd been acting... distant. In a way that went beyond the way they acted around each other, now, when the rest of the group was around. That was just discretion. It was a necessity, unless they wanted to deal with Shirley's judgment or Pierce's condescension or whatever Jeff would end up taking away from this whole thing.

That was not brushing her hand along the small of Britta's back as she painted in the black fur of the Australopithecus, not feeling the warmth of her flesh through the soft wool of her flannel shirt as the blonde flicked the brush with practiced skill. It was trying not to catch her eye during those little lulls in the day, or, if she couldn't resist, to at least try not to get lost in her gaze for too long.

It wasn't being rude. It wasn't trying to pick little fights, trying to get under her skin throughout the day. It wasn't flat out pretending she wasn't there. Even now, when they were alone, driving to her stupid apartment, Britta was just staring out the window. Annie had almost pulled out of the Greendale parking lot and she still hadn't said anything.

"Is anything wrong?" Annie asked, in a careful, controlled way.

"Why would anything be wrong?" Britta asked in return, her tone icier than the glacier Troy had made for their diorama. A lot icier, actually, since that had just been Papier-mâché. Annie exhaled, frustrated. If that's how she wanted it...

"Alright," Annie said. They were silent for the rest of the drive.

The day had started out so well, too. They'd finally started their fundraiser for the BP oil spill, and it had been a really big hit. People had gathered around in the center of the quad to see their diorama. The one just she and Britta had made together, over nights of Rom Coms (Annie's choice) and Thai food takeout (Britta's). The one Annie had decided to make when she saw Britta crying over a photo of a pelican, covered in a toxic mix of oil and mud. The reddish brown muck coated the wretched animal's feathers, and it was crumpled, pathetically, in a small heap on the shore.

"The poor little birdy!" she'd said, sobbing. "It's just stuck there."

Annie had thought raising almost $500 dollars in one day would have helped. In fact, the mental image of Britta, cradling that poor bird in her arms and beaming, had helped keep her bright and chipper through the hours they'd spent shilling for donations.

But Britta hadn't acted happy about the total. At first, when she'd just been quiet and slightly sullen, Annie had just assumed that she'd felt bad about not raising nearly as much as her. But as her sort-of-kind-of-but-she-doesn't-like-labels girlfriend had grown less and less passive in her aggression she'd come to think that that explanation wasn't enough.

Annie was still fuming as they pulled up in front of Britta's apartment. She pulled her car into an open spot and parked.

"Do you even want me to come up?" she asked, not bothering to hide the anger anymore.

"I don't know. Do you want to come up?" Britta was staring out the windshield, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Yes!" Annie shouted, feeling her face redden. "I want us to go up there and tear each other's clothes off, and then I want to touch you and kiss you and taste you and do all the other things to you that I've wanted to do all day! And I want to do them until all this stupid awkward energy you keep putting out goes back to wherever the hell it came from! Until we can just be together again."

Britta stared. She looked a little shocked at her outburst. But it was brief, and small, and then the frown was back.

"All right," she answered, setting her jar and nodding. "You'd better come up then."

#

The door to the apartment slammed behind them. Annie's fingers were quick and nimble as they danced down Britta's shirt, unbuttoning each button as the other woman forced her backwards. She heard a cat jump up, skittering out of their way. Her heart beat lightning quick in her chest, and she already felt the desire starting to drip out of her. She pushed the flannel shirt and leather jacket together off Britta's shoulders just as her foot caught the edge of the bed.

Annie's back hit the mattress with a squeak of shifting bedsprings and Britta pursued her, capturing her hands above her head as she pressed her into the cotton sheets. The blonde attacked the nape of her neck, kissing it as Annie bucked and struggled under her, trying to dislodge her, to get back some measure of control of this situation. She was the one who was supposed to be angry here, darn it! But it was no use; she was at Britta's mercy, here on her back. She wondered, briefly, if she'd made a mistake in strategy trading space for clothes so brazenly in their grapple on their way into the apartment. Then Britta straightened, lifting her upper body away, and the way the moonlight hit the pale skin of her smooth, naked breasts made them appear almost luminous made Annie realize that was a stupid question.

"I caught you," Britta said. Annie's eyes flitted up to her face. She was grinning down at her, and there was a feral gleam in her eye.

"Did you?" Annie asked, lifting her hips again, but slower, more gently, no longer trying to escape. She ached so much it almost hurt but if she twisted in just the right way she could scrape herself against Britta in a way that might almost come close to satisfying her if it weren't for the layers of clothing separating their flesh. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I wonder what all those men you were flirting with today would do, if they had you like this," Britta continued, not answering her question.

"Flirting- what?" Annie said, blinking rapidly, a little bit of the huskiness leaving her voice. But then Britta's knee slid into the crotch of her panties with a light but unyielding pressure and she gasped.

"Oh come on." Britta grabbed both Annie's wrists in one hand, running the other down her body to caress and squeeze her breast through her cardigan. "You know they fantasized about it, when they were giving you that money today. About how much it would take for them to buy you. To be able to have you at their mercy like this. To be able to touch you, anyway they wanted." The hand ran under her shirt and Annie arched her back, pressing herself into Britta's touch. "To hear you beg and moan."

"I didn't-" she breathed, "I don't know what- God, Britta don't stop." She bucked harder under her, gasping. Annie couldn't process what Britta was saying, not when the red hot need was welling up in her like this.

"Tell me," Britta said. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"T-touch me..." Annie's cheeks reddened, and she turned her head, looking away. Britta had never made her spell it out like this before; usually she just... did it. And Annie had... reciprocated in kind, of course. She was a bright girl. She'd like to flatter herself by thinking she'd been a quick study. But there hadn't been a lot of verbal discussion about any of it.

"Where?" She asked, whispering right into her ear now. "Where do you want me to touch you?" Verbal specification. That was also new. Annie couldn't do much to respond beyond moaning.

Britta released her wrists and Annie's arms slid slowly apart to hang limply above her head. "Is it here?" Britta asked, pulling her other hand out from under Annie's blouse so she could unbutton it, pulling it open. "Is it these?" Fingers traced the swell of her bosom, their touch light as a feather, and Annie's voice hitched in her throat.

"M-my breasts?" Annie asked, squeaking, as Britta pulled her bra off. She felt the tips of her thumbs tease the edges of her areola. "My –oh– my ni-hhhi-pples." She gasped as Britta flicked them.

"No... I think it's lower, isn't it?" Britta said, running a hand down the right side of her body, her fingers grazing across her ribs along the way. Annie's eyes fluttered shut as Britta reached under her skirt to rub at her inner thigh. "I think it's this, right? It's so warm under here, and you're quaking and shivering so much, Annie." She gasped as fingers tickled at her opening through her panties. "And you're so wet!" Britta kissed her cheek. "Where do you want me to touch you, Annie?" she asked again.

"M-my v-vagina," Annie said. She felt Britta's hand on her cheek and she turned, her eyes blinking half-open.

"Your cunt," Britta corrected. "I want you to call it that. Say it that way. Cunt."

Annie took a deep breath, letting it out with a shudder. "My cunt," she said, not stuttering at all. She felt proud of herself.

Britta smiled, pressing into the crotch of her panties, pushing at her lips through the cotton. Annie gasped, all composure lost, and the smile broadened into a grin. And then Britta was leaning forward, kissing her, swallowing Annie's cry of pleasure into a whimper before it had even left her throat.

The kiss gave her something to latch onto. Kissing was familiar. They'd managed to murder all the confusion and awkwardness out of that one through simple repetition. It was kissing after last year's Tranny Dance that had started this whole thing; it had been spontaneous, and crazy, and for the first half of this last summer had been the event Annie had regretted the most in her entire life, even more than getting hooked on Adderall. 

And then in the second half of the summer, after Britta had turned up on her doorstep late one night, mascara streaming down her face, blubbering about how she was sorry and that she was the worst and the most awful and she was going to leave Annie alone forever if she would just give her a chance to apologize for taking advantage of her, it had become even more familiar. They'd done it. A lot. They'd moved on to other things too, eventually, but between that and all her practice with Vaughn, Annie considered herself something of an expert at it by now.

So it was with no small amount of pride that Annie the noted the flush on the blonde's cheeks as she pulled away. The redness didn't add any embarrassment to Britta's visage, though; if anything it made the gleam in her eye and the crook of her brow appear more feral than ever. Annie squirmed against Britta's hand, and licked her lips.

And tasted something familiar. She frowned. Realization hit her. So that's where that tube went, she thought.

"Did you go through my purse again?" she asked.

Britta's grin faltered. "Huh?"

"I told you to ask first!" Annie said, her tone half-chiding, half teasing, and she slapped Britta lightly on the hand. The blonde looked nonplussed. "You taste like my lip balm," she explained.

Britta's eyes widened in understanding. Then the grin crept back onto her face. "Well, we can't have that, can we?" Then she was a flurry of motion, sliding down the bed, yanking Annie's soaked panties off her legs as she squirmed, excitement flaring up in her core again. Britta's hands came around under her legs to grip each thigh, holding her tight. Spreading her open. Then she licked, hard and slow, bottom to top, pressing her tongue into her folds and dragging them up along with it. Annie yelped, bucking against her face as a feeling of pure electricity arced from the path of her tongue directly up her spine, lighting up every nerve in its way. Her thighs twitched, helplessly, and her eyes rolled back in her head. She clenched, hard as Britta caressed the little nub at the top of her opening.

Annie panted, recovering. Then Britta did it again, slightly faster, and Annie was a little more vocal in her appreciation. The third time she cried out again. Then she grabbed the sheets around her, clawing at them helplessly as Britta clung to her tighter. Then she arched, her back fully leaving the bed before she crashed back down. The strokes came too quick to separate after that, and Annie began to work her hips along in time to them, gyrating against Britta's mouth. She squealed, crying out as the blonde kissed and licked and nibbled at her.

"So sensitive..." Britta murmured, rubbing at her clit. She took Annie's delicate little lips into her mouth, sucking on them as she stared up at her from between her legs. The sound was wet, and loud, and Annie loved it. She held Britta's gaze, even as she felt her mouth go wide, ecstasy spiking through her like a thunder bolt. But it lingered, sinking into her, and she screamed Britta's name as she shook violently, almost breaking out of the blonde's hold. But she held on, and through the white, prickling haze filling her vision Annie could see the triumph in her face as she drank in her orgasm, her tongue and mouth twisting and flicking at her pearl.

Annie wasn't entirely sure what happened after that. It was all heat and light, exploding over and inside her, swallowing her up. The next thing she knew, Britta's lips were on hers, and her tongue was in her mouth, and they were kissing again.

Annie didn't taste bubblegum, anymore. 

They broke away, and her arms tightened around her lover's waist and she breathed deep, burying her nose in her blond hair. The thumping of her heart still reverberated through her chest, but it pumped contentment and tranquility through her veins instead of raw adrenaline now.

"Do you think any of those boys could do that to you?" Britta asked, as her lips grazed Annie's clavicles. The brunette frowned, blinking. Is that what really had her so upset? Fundraising? It seemed so silly, so minor, but there had been a possessiveness, an almost desperation, in the way she'd been made love to tonight that wasn't normally there. So she pushed Britta onto her back, rolling over on top of her at the same time that she reached into the small nightstand next to the bed.

She'd learned where Britta kept her vibrator a long time ago.

"Is that what you think?" Annie said, answering Britta's question with a question as her fingers undid the button of her jeans. She kissed her, gently, on the cheek. "That I was thinking about them, today on the quad?" Her fingers found moisture as they rubbed along the cotton of Britta's panties. "I wasn't. I was thousands of miles away. With you."

Britta scowled and looked away. The move exposed her neck, and Annie took advantage, kissing it. She could feel the blonde's heart pounding through her lips.

"You and me, down there in Louisiana, working in the muck. Trying our best to undo all the damage greed and selfishness had caused." She pulled Britta's jeans down to her knees, pushed her panties out of the way. "I thought about it the entire time. I wanted to go there with you. I knew I never would, knew I didn't have it in me to be that spontaneous. To just drop everything and go with what I felt. So I daydreamed."

"Annie..." Britta gasped as her fingers beckoned inside her. Annie shushed her, setting the vibrator on the lowest setting and rubbing it slowly up and down her inner thighs. She nuzzled her neck again.

"I do that a lot. Daydream about you. Things I want us to do. The future we might share. And it's so hard, doing that sometimes, when I'm trying as much as I can not to slip up and give the others something to gossip about. And I can never tell you about it, because I know, Britta, how much it would scare you. How much I'm scaring you right now, telling you this." She could feel the blonde's heart beating, thudding in her chest, as their breasts pressed together. Annie teased at her clitoris with the sex toy, turning up its motor. "And so I kept them to myself, my little daydreams, so I wouldn't make you feel uncomfortable. But sometimes uncomfortable feels good. Sometimes the resistance can be sweet and torturous at the same time, can bathe you in pleasure even as it rubs you raw.

"Like when I said cunt." Britta cried out again as the vibrator slipped inside of her, displacing Annie's fingers which began to pluck and twist at her clit. She smiled. "Yeah, I know you really liked it when you made me do that. So you owe me. You're going to listen to me, now. I love you, Britta Perry. I want you all the time. I want your scent in my nostrils and your taste on my tongue and I want to feel your skin against mine. And I want it always."

"C-can't..." Britta managed. She was shaking, trembling all over. Annie shifted, turning onto her side and cradling the blonde in her arms. She could work the dildo into her faster from this angle.

"Why not?" Annie asked, turning her head, making eye contact again. Britta's pupils were tiny little black dots in an ocean of blue. "Why can't you, Britta?"

"C-Cause," she said, squeezing her eyes shut, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm bad. I'm no good, Annie. Tried to tell you. Tried to run away. Didn't work. I'm selfish. I couldn't stay away from you. I'm bad. I'm a bad person. I'm a bad person." Her voice became higher, shriller as she spasmed, cumming. Annie squeezed her tightly in her arms.

"No you aren't," she whispered, over and over. "You aren't. You're mine."

#

They lay in Britta's bed for a while, spooning. Annie ran her fingers through Britta's hair, feeling her chest rise and fall as she struggled to recover.

"Don't go," Britta whispered, finally.

"What?" Annie asked, kissing the back of her neck.

"Tomorrow. Don't go. I want you to stay, for the weekend."

Annie smiled. "Okay."