0 comments/ 18528 views/ 2 favorites Shortcut By: hollygrace The first time Tess shook his hand, she knew that eventually they would fuck. David, newly hired in her company, had leaned across her desk casually, his perfect white cuff showing from his jacket sleeve, to clasp her hand in his own. He didn't shake it hard, or grind her knuckles against one another. He merely took it in his own, applied gentle pressure, and released it. The feeling of his hand sent tingles into her belly, tendrils of warmth into her limbs. She had shifted in her chair, amazed at the gathering wetness between her legs. She had crossed her legs defiantly, noticing the ring on his left hand. He's married, she told herself. The inner Tess, who had taken in his feigned innocence and his subtle glance at her breasts, said "Who gives a shit?" But she had done nothing to encourage him. Three months later, they met in the copy room. Tess was cursing at the copier, David frowning at the coffee pot. She threw her papers down on the counter, pushed her auburn hair behind her ear, and looked at him. He turned and met her gaze. "Want to get some coffee?" he asked, grinning at her frustration. "Yes, please, get me the hell out of here," Tess smiled back, anxious to get outside and smoke, get away from the building, get him alone, finally. As they walked down the street, David changed places with her immediately so that he walked nearest to the street. Good breeding, good clothes, she thought, feeling the wetness again and wondering where the hell it was coming from. He placed his hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street, and then veered down an alley dominated by brick. "Shortcut," he said, "and can I have a drag of that?" She passed him her cigarette and wondered what shortcut meant, exactly. The sky was threatening rain, and neither of them had an umbrella or a nearby awning to duck under. But she followed him anyway, curious about where he was leading her. She didn't have to wait long. In the alley, he dropped the cigarette to the ground, and put his hand again on the small of her back. He guided her to the left, where a small staircase led down to a garden level apartment. She went down the stairs first, her heart hammering a staccato beat in her chest as it began to rain. He pushed her back against the wooden door, one hand on her chest, cupping her breast. She moaned against her will, and felt her pussy tighten. His mouth met hers, their tongues touching, and she reached out to feel his cock inside his pants. He was hard, harder than she expected, and his fingers found their way inside of her shirt to pull on her nipple. She unzipped his pants and took out his cock, rubbing her thumb in slow circles around its tip. He leaned against her, thinking how badly he wanted to feel her, to fuck her. She turned to face the door, guiding his hand into the waistband of her black tights, encouraging him to pull them down to her thighs. He did as she wished, then slipped his finger into her pussy and felt her wetness on his hand. She fucked his hand hard, pushing her ass back against him, feeling him grow even harder. He pivoted her around and dropped to his knees in front of her, tearing her tights down her legs as he pushed his tongue onto her clit. Tess pulled his head into her, legs going weak, but refusing to buckle. His tongue formed a delicate route from clit to pussy, tasting her, teasing her. Finally, as she was ready to come, he pushed a finger into her ass. She moaned as his finger went in, and immediately felt herself orgasm. Her come ran down her inner thigh, which he caught with his mouth, tongue licking and savoring the taste of her. She pulled David upright again, and fell to her bare knees on the pavement, pulling his cock to her mouth, plunging him deep inside her throat. She trailed her teeth gently along the length of him, hearing his breath catch as he whispered words she did not hear. Tess clasped her hand around his cock and stroked as she sucked, cupping her other hand around his ass and pulling him closer. He wrapped his hand into her hair and pulled, rougher than she imagined he would, which only made her hotter. She felt him stiffen, knew he was ready to come, and abruptly stopped and got to her feet. David stood behind her, lifted her hair and kissed the nape of her neck, inching her body against the door. She closed her eyes, and felt the wood against her chest. Opening her eyes, she felt him push into her, and she gasped and pushed her ass backwards to meet him. He grasped her hips with both hands, pulling her body to meet his cock. "Yes, David, faster, harder," she spoke to the wood, her hair falling in damp curls around her face. He pounded her pussy desperately, finding rhythm in the movement of her body and the steady fall of the rain. His shirt was wet, his hands slick as he felt her tighten around his cock, and she writhed as her second orgasm overtook her. He rammed his cock into her harder, her abdomen striking the door as her come ran freely down her legs. He cupped both of her breasts, squeezing her nipples between thumb and forefinger, hearing her screams echo in the stairwell. And he came harder than he had ever come in his life, knowing the force of it was bouncing inside her and setting her off again. His legs shook with his effort; he saw tiny sparks behind his eyelids when he squeezed his eyes shut. His cock plunged into her one last time, and then they rested against the door, still feeling the echoes in their bodies, and the rain dampening their hair. At the corner they parted, each going their own way back to the office, adjusting clothing and reliving what had just happened. Tess sat at her desk late that afternoon, her hair dry and pinned up with a pencil, still feeling his cock piercing her, shuddering with pleasure at the memory. David sat in his office down the hall from her, still feeling her hair in his hand and his cock deep in her mouth, lost in the fantasy of meeting her again. The next morning, as Tess stood outside the building smoking, David walked up from the parking lot, his perfect cuff showing from his jacket sleeve, and said, "Hey, Collins, can I have a drag of that?" He took the cigarette from her hand and turned toward the coffee shop, looking over his shoulder to see if she was following. Shortcut Home for the long break after spending most of the year away at college, Alison was enjoying the break. She'd spent a few days reacquainting herself with the neighbourhood, finding it encouraging that nothing had changed. This afternoon she had been pottering around in the back yard, doing the odd bit of gardening and just relaxing. Doing a little judicious pruning of a bush, Alison noticed something red hidden beneath the shrubbery. Reaching in she groped around, found something smooth, grasped it and extracted – a frisbee. She laughed. A smooth flick of the wrist sent her old frisbee flying in a graceful curve. She hadn't lost the knack, she thought, running to catch it. Amused, she practised a few more time, getting in a little fun and exercise. One last flick, a run and a jump, and the frisbee lifted slightly on a gust of wind, slipping past her reaching hand and gliding over the hedge and into the Stafford's place. Alison muttered a gentle curse. She had always had rather a strained relationship with Mr. Stafford, who did not like children trespassing in his yard, retrieving balls and various other items that seemed to wander over the hedge on a regular basis. Not that she was exactly a child, any more. Alison sighed. She was not going to traipse around to his front door and politely ask if she could go and get her frisbee. She'd rather lose it. Eyeing the hedge, her thoughts turned towards her old tunnel. Was that still there, she wondered. Walking over to the hedge, Alison bent down and checked the growth around the old tunnel. While the tunnel was decidedly smaller Alison thought she could scramble through if she broke off a few branches. She could be through, grab the frisbee and be back, and Old Stafford would never know. Deed followed thought. A few careful breaks to get rid of some unwanted branches and Alison was able to scramble quickly through, on hands and knees. Darting over to where her frisbee lay, she flicked it back across the hedge and started her return journey. Unfortunately, she only started it. She'd barely started scrambling into the little tunnel when she was brought up short by a tug on her hair. Reaching up, Alison found her hair was snagged by a twig, which she promptly tried to break. It was, she quickly discovered, very awkward trying to break fat little twigs when they're green and supple, stuck in your hair, and you can only use one hand to get at them. Relieved to find the twig finally yield, Alison was then dismayed to find her wriggling around had managed to get her hair even further entangled. Muttering to herself, she set to work to try and get free. That was the stage she was at when she felt someone nudge her foot. "Well, well," said a laughing voice. "If it isn't little Alison, back from school and up to her old tricks. Haven't learnt much while you've been away, have you? How old are you now? Sixteen? Seventeen?" Alison groaned and fumed at the same time. Mr. Stafford, out of nowhere, precisely when she didn't want him. And he knew how old she was. She'd even received an eighteenth birthday card from him. "I'm eighteen, and you know it," she grumbled. She sighed. "Can you get my hair loose, please? It's all tangled." "All in good time," came the laughing response. A hand gave her a gentle slap on the bottom. "Do you remember what I said the last time I found you vandalising my hedge like this." A sudden mental flashback showed her running away laughing while Mr. Stafford had been yelling after her, threatening to blister her bottom if he ever caught her screwing around with his hedges again. "Um, not really," she prevaricated. "Please, my hair?" "Your hair can wait its turn. I think we'll both agree that I owe you this." Alison cringed, waiting for a hand to slap her bottom, then gasped as she felt Mr. Stafford's hands reached for her waist. They closed upon her tights and started rolling them down, collecting her panties along the way. "What are you doing?" she squealed, as she felt her bottom being bared, exposing her rump and privates to the sky. "Just clearing the playing area," came the jovial response, firmly pushing panties and tights down to her knees. "In case you've forgotten, I promised to spank you if you stuffed around with my hedge," she was reminded. "I assure you, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me." A hand came down with a firm spank on her bottom, raising a yelp from Alison, which turned into a gasp as the hand then slid slowly over her bottom and rubbed between her legs. Her eyes widened with indignation. Before she could protest the hand withdrew, then returned with another firm spank and again it went exploring. Things progressed from there, each spank being followed by some interested exploring of her body, with Alison's protests being completely ignored. What was worse, in Alison's opinion, was that she found the mix of spanking followed the exploring to be exciting, arousing her. It had to stop. "You have to stop. Please. Enough," she gasped out. "Stop which?" came a goading answer. "This," as a hand spanked hard against her bottom, "or this," as the hand then slid down between her legs, this time easing her lips apart as it went and slipping between them. "Yes, that. Both," gasped Alison, squirming under his touch, appalled to find herself pushing her bottom and pussy towards him. "But if I stop this, I'm likely to do something else," came a gentle hint. "Are you sure you don't want me to continue playing?" Not giving her a chance to answer, the playing continued, with spanks bouncing off her bottom followed by more torment as fingers slipped between her lips, finding and exploring her moist, hot passage. "Just stop, please," she groaned, wondering why she felt let down when his hand finally dropped away. His hand didn't stay away she found. It came back, spreading her lips, holding them apart so something could move between them and slide into her. Alison froze in shock, knowing that Mr. Stafford was taking her in earnest, his erection already deep inside her and sinking deeper. "What are you doing?" she squealed. "You can't do that." "Actually, I think you'll find I can and have," came the reply, hands settling on her hips and holding her steady while Mr. Stafford drove fully in. Alison was aghast. She was being ravished in the open in the middle of the day. If someone came in or looked over the fence they would see her, bent over and taking a cock while she wriggled against it. And she was wriggling against it, Alison found, her hips enthusiastically driving themselves up and down, eagerly accepting this invader. The pair of them came together with enthusiasm, while Alison's scattered thoughts tried to come together. "You're raping me," she gasped. "I can't believe you're raping me in the middle of the yard like this." "Please. I'm insulted," came the laughing reply. "This isn't rape. It's consensual." Alison fumed. Not rape? Who did he think he was kidding? She hadn't asked for this, and now he was bouncing her up and down at the end of his cock and saying she'd agreed? She idly though of trying to pull away from him, but gave it up as a hopeless task. She was practically locked onto him and she didn't have the will power to stop. Her bottom continued to bounce against him. "I didn't say you could do this," she managed to gasp. "You just jumped me." "Maybe," came the reply, "but you didn't tell me I couldn't and you haven't asked me to stop. Do you want me to?" Alison opened her mouth to give a resounding yes, but only managed to squeal as she felt Mr. Stafford give an extra hard thrust, jolting her entire being. Groaning, she subsided, letting him do what he would. Alison moved with the rhythm that Mr. Stafford was drumming into her, squealing and squeaking as he drove her slowly towards a climax. She gasped as she felt his hands pushing up her top and freeing her breasts from her bra. She squealed as his hands closed over her breasts, squeezing them, then gave a strangle scream as she felt her climax rushing upon her. Mr. Stafford slammed into his victim, releasing his pent up energy into her, laughing as he heard her trying to strangle her scream as she orgasmed. Finally slowing down, he held her, feeling her faint shudders beneath him. Alison was shocked. Yes, Mr. Stafford was carefully freeing her hair, but she was certain he shouldn't be doing that while his cock was still inside her. Not that she dared complain. Finally free, she had to make a choice. Which way to go? It was an easy choice to make, actually. There was no way she was crawling back into her yard, effectively naked. What if her parents saw her? Sighing she backed into Mr. Stafford's yard and stood up. He was standing back, admiring her, she saw, and she glared at him as she hastily adjusted her clothes. It was odd, she thought. She'd always considered him to be an old man, but he was only about forty, and apparently quite fit. Her mind prompted her about the way he'd been bouncing her off his cock. OK, very fit she decided. She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but he beat her to it. "Don't go busting up my bushes," he told her. "Next time I probably won't be so gentle." Fuming, Alison turned and stalked out of the yard, spurning her little tunnel. Unfortunately, a little voice was goading her as she went. "If that was gentle, what would next time be like?" Not that there'd be a next time of course, but she just couldn't help wondering. Shortcut Home There is nothing I wouldn't give not to have seen it. If I could erase it from memory I would. But see it I did. It appeared suddenly, a stutter in the corner of my eye. I turned my head slightly expecting to see a fox or a cat, maybe a drunk, the usual scavengers or miscreants with business in a skip at the back of the shops in the dark of night. Instead I saw ... it. At first the shape of it puzzled me, its silhouette an oddity. Curious, I stepped closer. Oh how I wish I hadn't. Beyond the deserted car park, past the red and white striped security barrier, the world went about its business. There were kids in masks and costumes with sacks of goodies they'd collected in an orgy of trick or treating, traffic snarled from the parkway and, undoubtedly, there were people sat in homely living rooms watching soap operas. For me, the terror would come soon enough. Expecting to see some night creature, an innocent example of wildlife, I took yet another step closer to the skip. The thing, whatever it was, stood half in shadow at the fringe of weak, yellow light, a last gasp from the street a couple of hundred yards away. Whatever it was I felt its stare and I shivered. Goosebumps prickled my skin. "Don't be such a wuss," I mumbled to myself. "Giving yourself the heeby-jeebies. It's probably more afraid of you than you are of it." I stared into the shadows as a blast of freezing October air whistled around the corner and reminded me that I should really be at home, indoors, snug and warm in my flat. Just as I dismissed the oddity, it was bound to be a rat or something, it moved. That was the moment my world shifted. For me, nothing would ever be normal again. I lost my job, my home, and very nearly, my sanity -- and I'm not too sure about that last bit. With me standing less than four feet away I expected the creature to scramble away in a scrabble of claws and fright. Nevertheless, it stood its ground. My first impression was of a child, improbable given where I was, but since there were kids out and about on the estate not too far away, not impossible. That was what immediately came to mind, one of the trick or treaters had wandered away, got lost and ended up here. At first I could only make out an outline -- an elongated body, bulbous at the bottom, with thin, spindly arms and legs. The ... thing stood on two legs, about two feet in height; its head seemed overly large in proportion to the rest of it, with no visible facial features since it kept close to the shadow's edge. Then, for reasons known only to it, it moved forward. It stepped into the light. I think it wanted me to see. Like it knew how disturbing seeing it would be to one of us. As though it goaded me -- and took pleasure in knowing. Even then, in those first moments, my mind, of course, refused to believe what was right there. A veil slid across the empirical and I simply refused to accept the evidence of my own senses. This had to be an elaborate practical joke. The lads in the pub, the boys I worked and drank with had cooked up this scheme. They knew I'd take the shortcut home and they'd set this up. It had to be a puppet, some sort of remotely operated thing ... Vaguely humanoid features regarded me. The details are blurred, but the eyes, the deep green of its eyes showed an intelligence, malign and corrupt as it might be, probably the better of mine. Whatever I saw, it wasn't an animal. I'm certain it could think, it could reason. And then it ... grinned at me, if you can call that hideous thing it did with its mouth a grin. It wasn't until later that I felt the wetness down the front of my jeans and realised I'd pissed myself. Looking back it had to be that smile that caused me to let go, but at the time I didn't know what I'd done. The thing took a chitinous step forwards. It tilted its head to one side as it examined me and I felt a tingle -- the sort of sensation you get when you feel a sneeze coming on -- but this was inside my head. I mean right in the middle of my brain. The vile, obscene bastard probed me somehow. I felt whatever power the beast possessed ripple through my thoughts. More than a physical sensation, I tasted metal and could smell something like burnt toast. A second or two later a chasm opened in my guts and I experienced the same dreadful ache I'd known when I lost my parents, the terror I'd felt at fourteen, bereaved and all alone. Then, it stepped back a pace and melted into shadow. The next I knew it had gone and I'd managed to stagger into the temporary comfort of the street. Then I became aware, like waking from a bad dream, that I was crying, sobbing really, and that I'd wet myself. The residue of that event, like a sigh from the sewers, stayed with me. I can smell the stink of it now. Of course insomnia and paranoia followed in its wake. I tried to convince myself that I'd seen a fox, a cat, anything other than that awful fucking thing ... Every time I closed my eyes and tried to sleep I'd see it again; I'd see that grinning, evil countenance, and feel the sadness that its filthy, contaminated contact with my brain caused. Whatever it did inside my head -- whether it fed somehow and that I nourished it in some way, or even if it was just fucking with me for its own perverse enjoyment -- it left something with me. I know something of its intent. Not that I can articulate what I mean, it's just a feeling, or maybe an intuition, but whatever I know or feel it's a gift from the monster, a cancer, and I've no doubt it'll kill me. And what I mean by that is that I'll kill myself when I reach the end of my sanity. I don't hold out much hope for anyone else either. At night, lying in bed wide awake, things got so bad that I had to look under the bed to make sure it wasn't lurking there. But to be able to check meant I had to cross a galaxy of fear to reach the light switch. I imagined an insect-like claw reaching out from under my bed and closing around my ankle ... Afterwards, having gathered together the strands of courage enough to scuttle across six feet of carpet to switch on the light and eventually check down there, I'd have to search the rest of the house. I looked in cupboards, behind doors, and I even checked the fridge. Now the problem was, because I'd been away from the bedroom, I imagined that the thing had taken the opportunity to hide under the bed while I was busy elsewhere. And so it went on ... My life imploded. The job went. Who needs a bus driver who can't concentrate? Not being able to pay the rent meant I lost the flat. I took to sleeping rough in public places, which, at night, was actually preferable to being indoors alone. I took comfort from being around people, even night people -- dossers, thieves, madmen, anyone; they were all preferable to the alternative. That's why I'm here. I'm reduced to begging strangers for cups of tea in railway stations in the endless hours before dawn. All around us now, cocooned inside citadels of ignorance, people, millions of them in this city alone, are sleeping peacefully, or fucking, or even killing each other -- the lucky bastards -- but I know something is out there. What did I see? Not a clue. Perhaps some smug bastard of a scientist left the door to an alternative dimension ajar. Maybe it came from Mars. Perhaps it was always here, living among us, and it chose me as the unlucky lottery winner. It doesn't really matter anyway, the main thing is that it is here. Thanks for listening to me. And thanks for the tea, I appreciate the kindness, but I suppose this is your train coming in now? You'll be on your way soon -- and good luck to you. I wish you well. You probably think I'm a nutter, talking like this, but time will tell. A year to the day since I saw it and the kids are out again, tonight, in their masks and their costumes. But I saw them again earlier today, and I say them for there were two this time, in broad daylight, not skulking around in shadows in the night. They're coming ... coming to do something bad to us. Next time you're lying there, in bed, in the dark, hope there isn't one of them there with you.