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Counting

By: jthserra



He counted his life, subdividing himself in syllables. Patterned, a certain order, like rhyme and verse, the world possessed a rhythm and it called his name. Joseph, two syllables, he liked the sound. "Jo...seph," he pronounced slowly, feeling himself roll languidly off his tongue.

Calligraphy added proportion to his name. Carefully he lettered, "Van Hauptman," then held his head back and looked at it. When written properly it had a regal appearance: "Joseph Van Hauptman," he repeated. It resonated off the mirror as he roughly dragged a razor over his face. It was strange watching Joseph Van Hauptman doing something as mundane as shaving, eating and yes, even fucking.

Suddenly becoming more, he laid down the razor, walked from the bathroom and then watched himself as he ran his hand over his wife's breast, lingering at the nipple, pinching the dark colored nub. In spite of his touch, she remained so quiet, so giving in her manner. He kissed her, letting his tongue mingle with hers, teasing it before pulling her tight to him and burrowing his tongue deep into her mouth.

He gasped for air, breathing hard into her mouth, watching her chest rise and fall with their shared breath. He kissed her neck and then traced downward, up the flattened mound of her breasts. Finding her nipple, he drew it into her mouth, toying with it, circling it with her tongue as he watched her face, gauging her response.

Pausing now, he looked down upon her, her breasts two small mounds on her chest, two nipples leaning off to the side. His saliva glistened on her, sparkling in the bright light. Letting his mind wander, he counted syllables, needing order, a distinct pattern. He recited his name, "Jo...seph Van Hauptman. I am Jo...seph Van Hauptman, Van Hauptman is me." There. . . there was some order, something he could grasp. It became a poem, an offbeat haiku of himself, complete in syllables.

Looking at her pale face, her two eyes staring distantly, he smiled and then returned to her breasts. Her skin was cool to his touch, so soft and limp as he continued kissing down her body, over her stomach and into the dark curly hair. Finding her lips, he ran his tongue down her fragrant cleft, dipping into her, circling slowly, tasting her.

Joseph moved closer to her as he pressed his cock over her breasts, feeling the stiff nipple fold under his soft skin. He ground himself on her, feeling her shift beneath him, his balls dragged over her flesh. He moved then, crawling around over her, moving his knees between her outstretched legs. He moved his cock to her opening, still wet from his mouth, and gently eased himself inside her.

Feeling the slightest warmth, he pressed deep into her loose folds, feeling her slowly open to him, as he leaned onto her, kissing her mouth. Feeling his passion rise, he breathed hard, watching her chest rise as he exhaled, seeing her skin jiggle as he rammed himself to the hilt, sensing her yield completely to him for the first time. His savage thrusts came in waves as he counted again, five hard ones, then seven softer, followed by five more hard thrusts. Closer and closer now, the pressure build up in his balls and then as he panted out loud, "...three, four, fiiivvvee..." he came, arching his back, pumping her full of his hot cum.

He collapsed, falling upon her cool body, his skin a light tan on her pallid gray. Catching his breath, he kissed her one more time and then slowly withdrew, using his hands to press her legs back together.

He'd been losing his mind, but he had a grip now and he would be fine. He repeated a haiku as he crawled over his wife's body and climbed off the bed. She lay still while he looked at her, still wet from him, and he pondered her. She was disorder, she lacked rhythm, rhyme, she was noise, disarray, and the sound and sight of her had ruined his count, his patterned life. Even now she disrupted his thoughts, lying there, naked, so quiet -- unsightly. He would need to clean her up. Even though he moved her legs together, his cum leaked out of her.

But first, he needed to write. He picked up the pen and carefully began his calligraphy. "Joseph Van Hauptman," he whispered. It looked so regal; it sounded so poetic. He wrote his haiku, pausing at each letter as the ink delicately soaked into her pale skin. There was so much more order now – now that she lay there so quietly. 

Counting Backwards







Counting Backwards



Work was actually a good thing. There was always something to do there. If it was slow, well, there were returned movies to put back, and when those were all taken care of, I could always go around looking for videos people had decided against renting and put back on the wrong shelf, in the wrong section. I could keep myself busy for quite a few hours this way, but then Kacie would be there in my mind again and I'd feel guilty on top of it for trying not to think about her. And for succeeding.

Then I'd think about something really small, something I thought I'd completely forgotten about, like forging an absentee note for Kacie in the school parking lot for the day before when we'd skipped to go to the park with some friends. The note was going to be from her father because he'd never written notes for her before and this way our teacher wouldn't know what his handwriting looked like. I remembered telling her how paranoid she was being, that it didn't matter if I wrote the note or she did.

"I just can't, Danny," she'd said. "Please?"

And so I did it. What did it matter? No one would ever know if it had or hadn't been done with his hand. 

"Danny, can you come help me cash out?" Melissa, another one of the girls who worked at Back Bay Video, was standing in behind me. "My register is short again." 

It took me a moment to understand what she had said.

"Sure. Are we locked up already?" 

"Yeah." 

I followed behind her, watching her yellow pony tail bob back and forth. I was still a little dazed. Sometimes a night went by so fast that the end didn't seem real. 

"I just can't figure out why it's short," Melissa said, handing me the register print out. 

"Did you count the drawer twice?" I asked. 

"Three times," she said, looking concerned. 

I checked her math, counted the money, checked the math again. "Did you have any voids?" 

"No."

"Well, then it looks like you're missing about ten dollars." 

"Shit," she said. "Beth's going to kill me. Or at least fire me." 

"Don't worry. I'll talk to her. It'll be okay." 

"Can't we just do what we've always done?" 

I looked at Melissa as though I didn't know what she was talking about. 

"You know," she said. "Can't we just say that we found a couple of videos in the return box and the customer insisted that they weren't late and refused to pay the fee?" 

"No." I began to wrap up her money in the cash out sheet. 

"Why not?" 

I placed the money in its bag and dropped it into the safe. "Because Beth will get suspicious." 

It was almost three months after the funeral when Mrs. Sullivan called me. The conversation was a little awkward. I could tell she wasn't sure what to say, and it felt odd for her to ask me how I was doing. She, if anyone, had more right to be miserable than me. I was glad that she cut to the point and said she was calling to see if I'd help her go through Kacie's room on Saturday and that she ended the call once I told her that I would. 

When we spoke on the phone, we'd agreed to meet at noon. I was a little early. It took Mrs. Sullivan a few moments to answer the door. 

"Come on in, Danny. I wasn't expecting you so soon. I was just finishing the dishes." 

I stepped through the door and off to the side and waited. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. If I'd been there for any other reason, I would have just gone straight ahead to Kacie's room, but I just stood there, not sure what to do with my hands. I stuck them in the pockets of my jeans and attempted a smile, more like sucking in my lips than anything else. I asked her how she was. 

"I'm okay," she said. "I have my good days and bad days." 

I looked at my shoes and shifted my weight. 

"Well, how about something to drink? I think there's some cola. Or would you like a cup of coffee?" 

I wanted to say a beer would be nice. "Coffee's fine." 

I felt cold in Kacie's room. Seeing all her stuff was odd. I kept thinking these used to be her CDs, her posters, her clothes. Everything doesn't just disappear when someone dies. There's always a ghost, some shoe on the floor, or worse, a picture that reminds you. 

"Kacie was really attached to you," Mrs. Sullivan said holding out a framed photograph of the two of us at Hampton Beach. We were in our bathing suits, our hair wet and plastered to our heads, grinning, our arms around each other. The picture must have been taken the day we went to the waterslide.

"I always felt a little guilty that Kacie never had a brother or sister. I did my best with her. I tried to be there for her, but I sometimes thought that maybe she was a little lonely. Kacie and I got along well, but I don't think she was comfortable talking to me about some things, you know?"

I shrugged and smiled awkwardly. "She loved you a lot." 

"Yes, I believe that," Mrs. Sullivan said. "But a girl sometimes needs someone other than her mom to talk to. You were like a sister for Kacie." 

Mrs. Sullivan's composure caught me a little off guard. I hadn't expected her to be so calm, but she went through Kacie's room, touching things and talking about memories and not crying. I was relieved, and I relaxed. I knew she still hurt, but as she opened drawers and placed clothes in boxes, she kept telling me that it wasn't bad to remember and get a little sad. Mrs. Sullivan told me that she'd been in Kacie's room every day since Kacie took her life, but that she couldn't start packing things up right away. Now she was ready to start a little cleaning at least, as she'd put it on the phone. 

"I wanted you here," Mrs. Sullivan said. "Because I thought you could help me decide what things Kacie would have wanted to keep. I think I'm going to send her clothes to the Goodwill, but if there's anything you want, of course you can keep it. I thought you might like this picture of the two of you." 

I said, thank you, I would. I also took an old sweatshirt of Kacie's. In the bottom drawer of her dresser I found a shoe box. In it were all sorts of old letters, notes passed back and forth in high school. Kacie had kept all of them. Next to the shoe box was Kacie's checkbook. I wrapped it in the sweatshirt I had set aside. Kacie had always said she'd teach me how to balance my own if I'd wanted. Mrs. Sullivan taped up the last of the boxes she was going to send to Goodwill and sat down on Kacie's bed. I began to go through the letters, reading them. A lot of them were from me. 

"Danny, I don't know how to ask you this," Mrs. Sullivan began. 

I froze. 

"But, did Kacie ever say anything to you about being unhappy?" She looked at me, hopeful, her eyes wet. 

"No," I said and looked at the letters scattered about me on the floor. 

"I know that even if there was something Kacie couldn't talk about to me, that she'd tell you." 

It was hard knowing more about Kacie than her mother, but I still didn't have the answer she was looking for. 

"I can't explain it," I said. "I'm sorry. I don't know." 

Mrs. Sullivan nodded, then stared up at the ceiling. 

"Margaret?" Mr. Sullivan was home. His voice made my heart skip a beat. I hadn't expected him to be there. It just didn't seem right. He was never at the Sullivan's home any time I'd ever been there, almost as if he wasn't a part of Kacie's life. I didn't want him to be a part of her death, either. 

"Oh, here you are," he said entering the room. "Hello, Danny." 

"Hi," I said flatly, without looking up. 

He stayed in the doorway, fingering the sleeve of Kacie's blue windbreaker hanging on the door. The little comfort I'd found in Kacie's room surrounded by her keepsakes disappeared. I watched him caress the material of Kacie's jacket and doubted his pain. Anger began to swell in me, my muscles tensing. He couldn't possibly be hurting. He didn't love Kacie. I couldn't imagine him loving her the way I did. It just wasn't possible, the way she hated him. 

"We were just packing up some things," Mrs. Sullivan said. 

"Good," he said. "I think it's time." 

He turned to me. "Thank you, Danny, for helping us get rid of some of these things." 

"Jim! How can you say that?" Mrs. Sullivan started to cry. "Kacie's belongings are not just things to be thrown away!" 

"Margaret, you know that's not how I meant it." 

Mrs. Sullivan got up and left the room and I began to gather the letters and put them back in the box. 

"What have you got there?" Mr. Sullivan asked me. 

"Some letters Mrs. Sullivan said I could keep." 

"Mind if I look at them first?" 

"Well, I think they're kind of private," I said putting the lid on the box, picking up Kacie's sweatshirt and standing to leave. 

"I'm sure there's nothing that private in there. I'm Kacie's father. I just want to see them." 

Even if there wasn't anything private in the letters, I didn't want him to have them. Kacie wouldn't have either. I knew she told her father even less than her mother.

"They're just letters from friends." 

"I think I have a right," he said. "You can have them after." 

He held out his hand for the box. I couldn't give it to him. 

"No." I walked over to him and stopped, waiting for him to let me by. 

"Just let me see them," he insisted, gripping my shoulder. 

I was shaking. His knuckles were white from the grip he had on me. My face grew hot. I was scared as well as angry, but I couldn't give in. Kacie had trusted me, but she never trusted him. 

"No." 

"Danny..." 

Something broke and I fixed my eyes on his, hoping to channel my fury into a single, white flame that would reduce him to ashes, to nothing. 

"I said no. I don't think she'd want you to." 

"Kacie was my daughter." 

"Look," I hissed. "Kacie may have been your daughter, but she never liked you. She hated you." 

He stood there for a moment, his lips stitched together. I couldn't tell if he was angry or hurt. I broke free and made my way into the living room where Mrs. Sullivan was curled up on the couch, holding Kacie's graduation picture and crying. I was crying then, too. 

"I'm sorry," I said, pausing for a moment. Then I walked out the front door. 





Counting Down



He's on his knees before me. He's bigger than I am. When he is allowed to stand his 6'4" frame towers over my height of 5'3", but when he's tied to the table or forced to kneel it makes little difference. His hands are tied behind his back and then tied to the cuffs around his ankles in a form of hogtie.

"How many clothes pins can we get in a row along the little seam that runs from your little asshole to the head of your cock?" I ask him as I run one across his nipples.

"As many as you wish my Lady."

He answers so sweetly. His eyes are cast toward his feet.

I ask him with the sugary tone of a little girl, "Will you count with me my poppet?" I see his face contort in anticipation of the pain, I swear I see him thinking, Great no gag and I have to count; this will take some self control.

"Yes, my Lady." He answers.

I undo his hands from his feet and tell him to bend over the table in front of him with his ass spread wide. I retie the ropes around his wrists and secure them to the table and the counting begins.

"One, Lady. Two, Lady."

His voice is calm.

"Six, Lady. Seven, Lady."

He's starting to whimper a little.

"Eleven, Lady. Twelve."

I swear I could do this all day long. I watch his body jump slightly with the addition of each new pin.

"Eighteen. Nineteen Lady."

I love listening to the quivering tone in his voice as he counts higher. I add more clothes pins.

"Twenty-three, Lady. Twenty-four, Lady."

I've run out of room. Sweat has formed on his body like a lightly sprayed mist.

"I love the way your body gives you away my pet. Is this too much for you?" My voice drips with a light acid. His voice is shaky as he strains to control his whimpers.

"No Lady, you pleasure is never too much for me."

"Well, that's all the room there is. How many are there poppet?"

"Twenty-four, my Lady."

I tap the end of the clothes pins with my leather paddle.

"Answer me correctly!" I bark at him.

"It has taken twenty-four clothes pins to run completely along the seam from my little asshole to the head of my penis.

I don't allow him to call his member anything but his penis to remind him that it is not an object of power.

"Good boy." I turn to leave the room. "Now, I'm going to get the first surprise for you. Be a good boy and wait here for me." I leave the room giggling to myself because telling him to wait is a moot point since he's still tied to the table.

I'm gone for about 5 minutes--just long enough for the circulation to be cut off from his skin as it is pinched in the clothes pins a little bit longer. I return with a chilled bucket of ice.

"Now I'm going to remove the clothespins slowly one by one. Count backwards as they come off. When I'm done I want you to tell me what you feel."

"Twenty-four, Lady. Twenty-three, Lady." He's having trouble controlling his tone as he feels the sting of their removal.

"Nineteen, Lady. Eighteen, Lady." He flinches with every pin removed. "Twelve, Lady. Eleven." His gasps have turned to little squeals. "Seven, six, Lady." 

I keep removing the pins on after the other. I grab a piece of ice and prepare to rub it along his seam as I remove the last pins.

"Two, Lady. One, Lady." I start rubbing the ice along his flesh. "Lady, it feels hot and then cold, so cold." He's panting as he flinches at the sensations. He's done so well with the pins so I decide to give him a reward.

"I'm leaving for a short while. I'm leaving you tied here so I won't be long. When I get back I'll have a second surprise for you."

"Yes Lady, as you wish Lady." I leave the room smirking at what's next.

I walk into my play room. I see that my toy is still tied bent over the table where I left him. I have donned my favorite toy. It is a beige leather harness. The buttery smooth leather is warm on my skin. The leg straps for the harness frame my ass like a heart. I have my favorite dildo fastened in the ring. It is a 6x1 1/2 inch electric blue dildo, the color is the only non-phallic component in this toy's appearance, but then again I've always preferred the brightly-colored toys. I grab the lubricant and put some in my hand. I walk to where he can see me and order him to open his eyes and look at me. I stroke my dong enjoying the feel of the shaft in my hand. He watches me as I stroke it up and down; it begins to glisten with the wet lube.

"You know what's coming next, don't you my poppet?" I ask him

"Yes, Lady."

"Tell me what it is, then, so I know you're not lying."

"You're going to fuck my little ass."

"Yes, my toy."

I move behind him and kneel so my shaft is at level with his sweetly-clenched hole. I apply lube directly to his skin before I gently slide myself into him. He starts moaning as he feels his rectum stretch to accommodate me. I behind thrusting. I love the smack-pop sound of my body against his as I thrust into him. I swear I can feel his tight little asshole clenching around my dildo, almost like its silicone surface is my own living skin sliding through him. His moans are as lovely to hear as any woman's. They serenade me towards culmination. I grab his hips as I thrust harder, his giant hands reaching back, grabbing my thighs begging me to thrust harder and deeper. I feel sweat dripping off my face. It falls onto his lower back and mingles with his own mucky scent. The vibrator in the hidden pocket of my strap vibrates without mercy forcing me from one earth shattering orgasm to the next. I see his buttocks clench, he's about to cum, I'm sure of it.

"Please Lady, don't stop. I need you now," he whimpers between gasping moans. I thrust in hard and hold it in, the end of my phallus deep in his body.

"Why should I let you cum? Tell me what you have done to deserve that release." I'm teasing him but he doesn't know it. I have every intention of letting him cum, just not yet, not like this. My hand reaches around and grabs his long hard cock. I'm squeezing it as hard as I can. He looks back toward me.

"I have done all my household duties, my Lady, and cooked you the dinner you have said was so delicious." I slap his right ass cheek as hard as I can.

"Those are your regular duties!" I snap. "What extra things have you done to deserve to cum?" He drops his head.

"I am sorry, Lady, I didn't mean to upset you. I have done..." I slap his ass again, not letting him finish his sentence. 

I pull out of him and remove the harness from my body. I drop it in front of him and untie him from the table.

"Clean that up and put it away, then clean yourself up. When you have finished with those tasks meet me in the dining room." I bark the order at him, perhaps a little too roughly.

While I wait for him to complete these tasks I go and put on the new fishnet body stocking I bought. Its black thread strikingly dark against my pale skin. I slip on my black stilettos and my sheer black robe, the one with the red roses on it.

I walk to the dining room admiring the click of my shoes against the floor. I look around the room. I notice his bowl on the floor still has the table scraps I put in it when I finished my dinner. He must be feeling guilty about something to have not eaten his meal. Maybe it was the new recipe he cooked for me. He may have been worried it displeased me and is waiting for a beating.

He is kneeling next to my chair eyes cast to the ground, hands clasped behind his back. I look at his body still glistening with the sweat from me fucking his ass. His monstrous cock is the hardest I've seen it in a while, I haven't let him cum all week. I open my robe to reveal my breasts as they emerge through the webbing.

"Look at me poppet." I say coolly. I can tell he thinks it's a trick. He glances up and immediately drops his gaze back to the floor. "I said look at me you insolent slut!" I growl at him.

"Yes, Lady." He answers in a whisper and raises his head. His eyes trace visibly up and down my body.

Cautiously he asks, "May I have permission to speak honestly Lady?' 

I nod.

"That is a very nice new outfit; it compliments your beauty, Lady." He is still watching his words and his tone carefully. He must be afraid I am tricking him into another beating. I spread myself over my dining room table.

"Come to me my poppet." I beckon sweetly like a little girl trying to coax a kitten to her. I drop my robe to the floor. "Make love to me, let me feel how much you need me, maybe then I'll let you release."

His cock fills me, it is sweet ecstasy. My cunt is dripping wet from fucking his ass. Hell, I cam so many times doing it I'm surprised there's not a puddle in the room where I did it. The smell of our sex fills the room like incense. I rake my nails down his back and see goose bumps arise on his flesh.

He whispers, "May I grab your hips Lady so I may love you deeper?"

I grin.

"You know I love feeling you as deep as I can."

He grabs me, and pulls my pelvis closer to him with each thrust. He's so long and thick I can see my abdomen move up and down with his thrusts. We're fucking so hard and fast I know I'll need him to carry me when we're done.

"Oh poppet, you are so good at all you do, cum for me now, you deserve it."

"Thank you Lady."

He starts pumping more determined now that he knows he can cum. His back arches, eyes clench, jaw snaps open as he moans through his orgasm. He's pulsing in me as he fills my pussy; it is bliss to be filled.

"When you've caught your breath carry me to my room, I think I need a rest now."

"Yes Lady." He picks me up off the table and carries me to my room. He lays me down on my bed. I pull him down and kiss him sweetly on his sweaty brow.

"Wake me in an hour poppet. Use this as your free time."

"Thank you Lady."

To Be Continued...



Counting Down the Storm



"So that's it then?" 

She just lay there and didn't respond. He didn't expect her to; she had said enough. He lay there quietly too, not wanting her to know he was crying. He hadn't expected this. Well he had, actually. Fuck, he didn't know what he expected. She was never an open book.

He reached down to the side of the bed and fished his cigarettes from his jeans, knocked one out and lit it, took a long drag and set the pack on the nightstand. She leaned over him, her soft breasts pressed against his chest as she reached for his smokes. "When did you start again?" he asked.

She moved back and tucked the sheets under her arm, contemplating her cigarette. "Today," she said, a small cloud of smoke escaping her lips. She looked at him, his tears obvious on his face. "You okay?" It was his turn to be quiet.

He pushed the sheets back, stood up and wandered over to the balcony doors. There was a chill in the room, or was it just her? He wrapped his goose-fleshed arms around himself and stared at the random streams of water running down the glass and the night lights of the city shimmering through the rain. 

A flash of lighting illuminated the horizon. He counted in his head, "one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, four one..." a clap of thunder. It was an old habit: calculating the distance of the storm. He took a long drag from his Marlboro and opened the doors. Wind blew a spattering of rain onto his naked body as he stepped out. It felt good, every drop washing her smell from him.

"What is it called?" He pondered, "Vertigo? The pull from below, the sudden urge to step off the edge, to fly." He could feel it pulling at his soul. "Come to me, just jump and it will all be better." He stood hypnotized, looking longingly at the sidewalk below. A few cars splashed through the streets and a siren off in the distance raced to an unlikely fire in a rain-soaked city. 

"What are you doing?" She asked, "You're going to catch a cold. Come in, I'll bring you a towel." He didn't see her standing at the doors, the comforter wrapped around her shoulders––he couldn't, she was outside of his vortex, the black hole surrounding him from the moment she had told him.

They had just finished making love. It wasn't really making love; they never made love. They fucked. There had never been any love to make. He realized that now. Was that all he had been to her? A surrogate penis, a cock to fill her emptiness? He flicked his cigarette over the edge and watched it drift down, like he wanted to do. Little red specks (of blood) dotted the sidewalk and then were quickly extinguished. His mind was wandering, his thoughts darting, what had she said? "I've met someone else." Was that all? Who was he? Had she said that much? He couldn't recall. Every time he tried to, this voice kept saying, "Come to me, just jump and it will all be better." He pressed his waist against the cold metal and leaned over.

"Damien." She broke his hypnoses. He stepped back. She stood there at the door holding a towel. He could see her now. He could see everything. 

He took it from her and went inside. "I'm sorry, it's just..." she couldn't finish. There was no apology, no explanation that could make things better. Is that why she had allowed him to come to her?





Counting Down the Storm



A red flashing light bounced off the walls of his dark bedroom, the answering machine indicating four messages. He didn't hear the phone ring, but after two bottles of whiskey, he probably couldn't have heard a freight train rumbling over his head.

"Damien," the first message started, "It's Jeff. Where are ya buddy? I thought we were going to meet at nine to go over the specs for the proposal for this afternoon? Call me and let me know when you want to meet. Bye"

"Damien, it's me again." Next message. "Where the hell are you? It's ten to one, the meeting starts in ten minutes. You better be here."

"Damien, what the fuck man? I was really counting on you. Are you all right? You never do this. Please call me." He sounded agitated. Damien figured he'd get over it. Jeff had done most of the work anyway.  

"Damien, it's Amy." Her soft sweet voice filled his heart, last night now forgotten. "Jeff called looking for you. He said you didn't show up for work today. Are you okay? Look I'm really sorry about last night..." Everything came back to him in a flash of anger. He took the machine and yanked it out of the wall. It crashed into the dresser and pieces scattered across the floor.

"FUCK YOU!!!" He screamed, looking at the tape, its guts strung out on the floor. Then he cried. The tears flooded down his face. He couldn't stem the flow. He slunk down to the floor and let it all out.

He needed a drink. He needed a drink more than he'd ever needed anything in his life. "What do you need a drink for?" the voice of reason asked him. He ignored it and haphazardly got dressed then walked to the kitchen, taking one last look at the tangled mess of tape ribbon and plastic.

He fumbled around the cupboard and found the prize: an unopened bottle of Crown Royal. He shook with anticipation. He quickly unscrewed the cap and poured the hot liquid into his mouth. His anxiety floated away as the liquor burned it's way down his throat and into his belly. The steady onrush of emotion and pain ceased, then faded away.





Counting Freckles



I think that many of our tastes are formed when we are quite young and tend to stay with you forever, or at least that's been my experience.

This is a story about my growing up, and hope you enjoy it.

****

1. The love of my life.

The first moment I saw her, I knew I wanted to marry her. She was a tall slender woman with flaming red hair who looked like a movie star to me. I watched every move she made all day, every day, and her beauty was unmatched by any woman I had ever seen. She had perfect white teeth that sparkled when she smiled, and that face would light up the room at those times. Her face, neck and arms were covered with freckles, and I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life counting them. 

Although she was in her thirties she dressed in the fashion of the sixties, with long flowing skirts and loud colors. She used to wear a green and rust colored paisley dress that was a particular favorite of mine, and days she wore that were special indeed. 

There were a few obstacles that stood in the way of my quest of this ravishing goddess. One of the major problems was the fact that Mrs. Murray was married. The other thing standing in my way was the fact that she was my teacher. My third grade teacher. These were quite formidable problems, although at the time I didn't understand why. All I knew was that I loved her.

I excelled in third grade, so much so that if you reviewed my report cards from my school career, it looks like someone else stood in for me that year. I wanted so much to please her that I studied every night and did my homework willingly and thoroughly. 

When Mrs. Murray would make the rounds of the room, the times when she would stop by my desk would almost cause me cardiac arrest. I would watch as she would point at my paper, but my eyes were fixated on her pale freckled arms and the downy hair that covered her forearms, so light in color it was almost invisible. 

At times like those I would attempt to make contact with her, brushing my arms against hers in a clumsy and childish mating ritual. I didn't know whether she noticed this or not, but I was too oblivious to know or care.

Mrs. Murray would always explain to us the virtues of natural living and eating right, and when I saw the see would eat fruit and granola as snacks, I followed suit. This despite the fact that I would have much preferred the candy bars and chips all the other kids munched on. Not me, at least not when I was in Mrs. Murray's classroom.

As I had mentioned, Mrs. Murray was married, and I hated her husband. Not that I knew him or anything, but he was living with the love of my life so I despised him. I thought of ways of winning her away from him, but one day in the spring he came to visit Mrs. Murray at school, and he came into our class to be introduced to us.

As I looked at the tall and handsome man in his Marine uniform, my heart sank. He was like a living G.I. Joe, and we all stared in awe at this man with his chest full of medals as he told us what he did in the service.

This became a geography lesson, as Mrs. Murray rolled down a map and explained where Vietnam was. This was where Sgt. Murray was going to be headed pretty soon, and it seemed like it was on another planet. We all got to shake his hand as we left the classroom to go lunch, and I dawdled enough to be last even though my desk was at the front of the room. I was hoping he would leave so I wouldn't have to shake his hand, but he was persistent, so I grabbed my lunch and walked up to him at the doorway.

"This must be Adam," Sgt. Murray said as he held out his hand. "I've heard a lot about you, young man."

I watched my hand disappear inside his massive paw and tried to give him a handshake that would make him wince. Looking back at this it must have been comical, but he didn't laugh and just shook my hand. I was very polite and smiled before walking down the hall. When I made the turn to go to the cafeteria I saw them kiss each other in the doorway, and it was then I decided that I hated him, and I hoped that he would get shot.

2. Time passes.

I really didn't hope he got killed, but the thought did cross my mind for one brief second. I also thought that pretty soon I would be old enough to join the Marines, and then I would be an even bigger hero than Sgt. Murray was. Then Mrs. Murray would fall in love with me.

Next year I suffered through fourth grade with a miserable teacher who could not possibly compare with Mrs. Murray, but I did make a point of running into Mrs. Murray in the halls as often as possible. Additionally, I would stay after school and drop by her room to offer my services. You never could tell when you needed someone to go clap the erasers against the wall outside to clean them.

I'm sure I was a major pain, but Mrs. Murray never failed to greet me with a smile. Several times I was allowed to go outside and clean the erasers for her, and I did so with an enthusiasm unmatched in blackboard history. What she thought of this grinning and goofy kid who would race back to her room covered with chalk dust and somewhat lean erasers, I can't imagine.

Toward the end of my fourth grade year, Mrs. Murray didn't come in to school for a couple of days. I was worried that she had gotten sick, but it turned out that was not the case. Something far more serious had happened.

Sgt. Murray had been killed in Vietnam. Just like I had hoped for, if only for a second. The news did not bring me the joy that I thought it would. Instead, it brought a sense of guilt that was overwhelming me, and I went through the last couple weeks of school in a daze.

Mrs. Murray did not return to school those last couple of weeks, and I was left to stew in my guilt for the entire summer. The next September on the first day of the school year I raced past her classroom, almost hoping she wasn't there. She was there, however, and I spent the day trying to avoid her. 

By the end of the day, I could no longer live with myself, and so after the school day ended I went down to her classroom. I had a speech in my head all prepared to give to Mrs. Murray when I entered her room, but when I saw her my mind went blank. She was just as beautiful as ever, although the smile didn't seem quite as bright and the face not quite as glowing when she saw me at the doorway.

"Hello Adam! How's fifth grade so far?" Mrs. Murray asked.

I stammered and stuttered a minute before it all came roaring out of me. Through the tears I explained to her how it was my fault that Sgt. Murray had been killed. I had wished it to happen, although only for a second, and I really didn't mean it. I only thought it because I loved her and wanted to marry her and spend the rest of my life with her. All this while bawling like a baby and peppered with "I'm sorry" over and over again.

I found myself in Mrs. Murray's arms, hugging her as tight as possible while she comforted me and tried to calm me down, because I was hyperventilating and damn near going into convultions. Finally I managed to get a little control of myself, in large part to Mrs. Murray's soothing voice and her rubbing my back.

"It's all right Adam," Mrs. Murray said, even though it sounded like she was crying too. "It was nothing you did or thought that caused what happened. It just happened."

"Really?" I asked sniffling. 

"Really," Mrs. Murray said as she looked at me with watery eyes of her own. "You can't wish for something like that to happen, even if someone did mean it. If wishes worked like that, Jerry would still be here, because I wanted him to come home more than anything. I never wanted him to leave either, just as badly. So you see, it wasn't anything you did, and I know you're fond of me just like I'm fond of you. So don't ever think that way."

"Okay," I managed.

"Thank you for being so honest with me Adam," Mrs. Murray said as she dried our tears with her handkerchief. "We're still going to be friends, aren't we?"

That was something she didn't have to worry about, because from then on I made a vow to myself that whenever she needed me I would be there. Any time, any place. Of course, the call never came, but I kept stopping by the classroom until I had to go to another school for junior high.

Even then, I would stop by a couple times a year after my school day was done to see how she was doing. She aged gracefully, remaining as beautiful as ever throughout the ensuing years. 

As I grew older and went to high school, I met girls and went on dates like everybody else. Nice girls all of them, but they all had a fatal flaw. They weren't Mrs. Murray. None as beautiful, none as caring, and none as kind as she was.

3. High school graduation.

Mrs. Murray surprised me by coming to my high school graduation. I guess she had always made it a point to attend them each year to see the students she had taught, but in my mind she was there for me. After the ceremony she came up to me as I stood around with my folks, and I excitedly introduced Mrs. Murray to them, even though they had both met her years ago.

"After all the years and all the teachers he's had, I think you're the only one that ever made an impression on Adam," my mother said to my embarrassment.

"Adam was one of my favorites too," Mrs Murray said as she handed me an envelope. "Decide which college you're going to yet Adam?" 

"Probably SUNY, but I got accepted at a couple of others too," I said, and then turned so that my folks couldn't hear. "I was kinda thinking about joining the Marines first though."

The look of joy on Mrs. Murray's face vanished as the words came out of her mouth, replaced by a look of horror.

"No. Go to college Adam," Mrs. Murray said in a cold voice. "Go to SUNY, get an education and have a wonderful life."

Mrs. Murray leaned over and kissed me on the cheek while putting that wonderful smile back on her face before leaving to say hello to some other kids from her past.

I opened the envelope which contained a nice card in which she wrote how proud she was of me and how special I would always be in her life. It was signed Joyce Murray. Joyce. All those years and she had been Mrs. Murray, and I had never even thought of her having a first name. Joyce. How perfect.

How beautiful, I thought as I watched her talking to Jack House, one of my classmates for the last dozen years. How incredibly attractive she still was, dressed simply but smartly in a long sleeved dress that was short enough to show that she still had incredibly great legs.

Joyce. That was how she signed the back of the leather bookmark that she had put inside the card as a present. Follow your dreams, it read, and was signed simply, Joyce. I wanted to follow my dreams, that was for sure, and my dreams were the same then as they had been for as long as I could remember. 

4. Making deliveries.

That spring I had gotten a job driving around a VW bug for a drug store, making deliveries in this little 'pill cart', as it was referred to. I beat the crap out of that little car as I made my rounds on the weekends, enjoying listening to that engine whine as I drove the thing into the ground. The boss was amazed at how fast I got deliveries made, but he wouldn't have been so choked up had he seen the way I drove when out of sight of the store.

Summer meant I could work full time, and one day as I took the box of orders to the car to put them in a logical sequence for delivering them, one name caught my eye. Joyce Murray. I had no way of knowing if it was 'my' Joyce Murray or not, but I saved that one for last and raced through the rest of the orders in record time before delivering that order.

The house was a nice little split level that was beautifully landscaped, and when I rang the doorbell my heart started to pound rapidly. The was no answer to my ringing, and because there were prescriptions in the order I could not leave them without a signature, so I went around to the back of the house. There was a car in the driveway, so at least someone was home.

As I came around to the back, I saw her. Mrs. Murray. Joyce. She was just getting up from pulling weeds in her flower bed, and when she glanced up and saw me, her eyes lit up as she walked up to meet me.

"Adam, so nice to see you," she said while looking at me curiously. "What brings you here?"

"Uh, the stuff you ordered from the drug store," I said holding the little bag up. "I couldn't leave it at the door because of the prescriptions."

"Of course Adam," Mrs. Murray said. "Come inside so I can pay you."

I followed Mrs. Murray up the deck stairs, enjoying the view of her long legs from behind, and seeing her freckled thighs for the first time. The pale down on the back of her legs sparkled in the sunlight, and I almost fell up the stairs when I missed a step due to my careful inspection. 

By the time we got to her sliding back door my erection was as hard as steel and throbbing, and as Mrs. Murray let me in I tried to position it so it wasn't quite so obvious.

We chatted as Mrs. Murray went into her purse and dug out her checkbook. She was wearing a sleeveless denim blouse, and as she wrote out the check my eyes devoured those beautifully sculpted arms, so incredible slender yet shapely with the outsides of them densely coated with freckles. 

The blouse stopped at the shoulders which seemed to be equally endowed with more of the same, and my imagination raced at the thought of taking that blouse off and seeing for myself.

It occured to me that I never seen Mrs. Murray wearing a sleeveless blouse before, which was just as well, because I was having trouble staying in control as it was. The insides of her arms were a pale china white in comparison to the outsides and after Mrs. Murray finished writing the check, she reached up to hand it to me.

As I leaned forward to take the check from Mrs. Murray, my eyes caught sight of something incredible. I only got a glimpse for a second, but when Mrs. Murray's arm lifted, I saw a large tuft of flaming red hair sprouting out of the deep hollow of her armpit.

Her arm came down as quickly as it went up, but there was no mistaking the fact that Mrs. Murray had hair under her arms. Not a little stubble, or a few stray hairs, but incredibly hairy armpits. While a few of the hippie chicks in school didn't shave under their arms and I thought that it looked kinda sexy on them, it was something altogether different to see Mrs. Murray like that, and I found it was incredibly exciting.

For the rest of my visit I longed for another glimpse of that exotic sight, but the opportunity did not arise. I left after a few minutes, awkwardly walking back out to my pill cart with my erection ready to explode.

"Stop by and say hello anytime Adam," Mrs. Murray said as I walked down her driveway.

"I will," I assured her, and gave an enthusiastic wave as I pulled away, hoping to get one in return, but Mrs. Murray had already headed back to her gardening.

I drove like a maniac down to a deserted road nearby where I pulled off on the side. Looking around to make sure no one was around, I skipped into the woods where I dropped my pants to my knees and peeled my underwear carefully off of my swollen cock. The cotton was stuck onto the tip of my dick because of the cum that had been leaking out of it for the last half hour.

I took my cock into my fist and gave it a couple of brisk pulls while my mind replayed the beauty of Mrs. Murray. It took less than a minute for me to cum, and after the milky fluid had spurted onto the ground I felt ashamed at what I had done, and so I quickly pulled my pants up and got back to the car.

Over the next month I got the chance to deliver a couple more times to Mrs. Murray, and even volunteered to help her out around the house with chores. I felt I was making progress toward winning her affections, and waited for the chance to make my move. Clearly I could not live like this for the rest of my life, and I had to tell her how I felt.

I went with my family on vacation for a week in late July, and while it was fun and all that, I couldn't wait to get back home by the end of the trip. I drove past Mrs. Murray's house the day after we got back, hoping to see her doing her yard work or something. I didn't see her and the car was not in the driveway, but I did see something that was disturbing. On the manicured front lawn was a 'FOR SALE" sign.

5. The final delivery.

I made a point to drive by Mrs. Murray's place several times a day for the next week, hoping to see her car in the driveway so that I could talk to Mrs. Murray and find out where she was moving to. Maybe to an apartment nearby, I thought, since a big house like this was a lot for a widow to take care of. How many times I had imagined moving in there myself.

In early August, I drove by and there was a big SOLD sticker over the realtor's lawn sign. Still no sign of Mrs. Murray. I had almost given up hope of seeing her again, when one afternoon while I was turning in the keys to the pill cart, the owner gave me a couple of orders to deliver on my way home. I didn't mind doing that since he was generous about slipping me money for gas when I used my own car.

I took the two bags and headed for my car in the back of the drug store. The one order was way across town but when I saw who the other order was for, I delivered that first one at top speed. After I dropped that one off, I had one delivery left, which was the bag with Joyce Murray's address on it.

Mrs. Murray's car was in the driveway so I pulled behind it and raced up the stairs to her door. She opened the door and greeted me as I reached for the bell and let me in. The house was full of boxes stacked up all over the living room, and the sight was depressing.

"Oh Adam. I'm so glad I got to see you again before I left," Mrs. Murray said as I followed her into the kitchen. "I was going to drop you a line to give you my new address anyway, but I did want to say goodbye to you personally."

"I saw you were selling the house," I said nervously. "Where are you moving?"

"Florida!" Mrs. Murray said excitedly.

"Florida?" I groaned in response. "How... why are you going all the way down there?"

"I've been thinking about it for a few years, and when the opportunity came up to teach down there I finally decided to go for it. My old bones just can't take any more of these brutal New York winters," Mrs. Murray said with a chuckle.

"You're not old," I said while my heart broke into a million pieces. "You can't just leave like this."

"The moving truck comes tomorrow morning and I drive down right behind it," Mrs. Murray said, and as she spoke I guess she noticed that I was not taking this well at all.

"There's nothing for me up here anyway, Adam dear," Mrs. Murray said as she put her hand on my shoulder.

"Yes there is!" I said. "I'm up here."

"I know Adam," Mrs. Murray said with a smile. "And you can come visit me any time you're down that way. I'd like that very much."

"I don't think you understand," I choked out while trying to stay in control of my emotions, and not doing all that well at it. "I love you."

There. It was out there at last, and my words hung in the air in the awkward seconds of silence that followed.

"I... I love you too Adam," Mrs. Murray finally said. "You've always been my favorite student..."

"I don't mean like that," I blurted out. "I love you and I want to marry you and be with you for the rest of my life."

"Adam honey," Mrs. Murray said as she reached up and put both her hands on my shoulders. "Adam, I'm very flattered that you feel this way, but I'm an old woman. I'm going to be 50 next month. What's a young boy like you want with an old bag like me anyway? There's plenty of girls your own age who would love to be with you."

"I've already been with plenty of girls," I exaggerated wildly. "It's you I love, and you aren't old. You look exactly the same as you did when I was in your class. You're still the most beautiful woman in the world."




Counting Freckles



Mrs. Murray's eyes twinkled at that and she squeezed my shoulders tightly and sniffled a little.

"So sweet Adam," Mrs. Murray choked. "You've always been such a sweet boy."

"I'm not a boy anymore," I said with a false bravado. "I'm eighteen. I'm a man."

This "man" was on the verge of fainting, and my knees were knocking together so hard that I thought you could hear it as I stood in front of Mrs. Murray and leaned toward her. After all the years of looking up at Mrs. Murray I was now eye to eye with her, and those emerald green eyes never looked so wide as our faces drew close and I kissed her.

It was just a tiny peck on those luscious full lips of hers, but it meant all the world to me, and it meant a lot that she didn't slap me or throw me out either.

"Adam... we can't, I can't do this to you," Mrs. Murray said. "It just isn't right."

So I kissed her again. Her back was against the kitchen cabinets, and as I kissed her again, I felt my erection press against her. Mrs. Murray must have felt it too, because she looked startled after the slightly longer kiss ended.

"Please... Joyce," I addressed her for the first and only time of my life.

Mrs. Murray's hands came up to my face, caressing my cheeks and running those long fingers through my hair. She was ever-so-slightly shaking her head no, and was still doing so even as she drew my face up to hers. This time the kiss was mutual, and it was no peck. 

My hands went up and down Joyce's back as we necked passionately. I ground my crotch into hers, and she responded by moving against me. After we broke our embrace, the next thing I remember was being in Joyce's bedroom, but I have no memory of how we got there.

6. Joyce's bedroom.

Joyce's bedroom was in much the same disarray as the rest of the house, but the bed was still there and still had bedding on it. Mrs. Murray and I stood face to face next to the bed, and she slowly began unbuttoning my shirt.

I had no idea what to do next because I would have to knock her arms away to get to her blouse buttons, so I undid my belt and let my jeans drop to the floor. My shirt opened up, and Joyce's hands ran across my chest as she pulled the garment off my shoulders.

I had worked my underwear over my gooey erection, and after Joyce got my shirt off of me, her hand traveled down my body and through the modest tuft of pubic hair above my dick. I shivered as her fingers slipped through the hair, and then I felt Joyce's hand grasp my cock.

"Omigod Adam!" Mrs. Murray said in shock as her hand slid up the length of my erection.

When I looked down at Mrs. Murray's long freckled fingers gripping my cock, the fantasy I had played out in my mind ever since I had figured out what sex was began playing out exactly as I had always dreamed. However, my ensuing reaction was something quite different from the scenario I had envisioned.

I came. Whether it was from Mrs. Murray's gentle stroking, or should I say 'stroke' of my member, or from the way she had seemed to approve of what she was holding, didn't much matter.

I bent over slightly when I realized what was about to happen, and as I let out a started squawk I watched helplessly as jets of cum spurted wildly out of my cock, spraying the floor and Mrs. Murray with the milky goo in spasms that didn't seem to stop for the longest time.

As for me, I wanted to die, or maybe just crawling away in shame as I watched this nightmare unfold around me, but I fought back the urge and just stood there in utter humiliation as Mrs. Murray held my dripping dick.

"I'm... sorry," I said as I tried to avert my eyes from Mrs. Murray's.

"It's alright Adam dear," Mrs. Murray said as she lifted my chin with her hand. "That's actually the nicest compliment you could pay an old lady like me, that I could excite you so much."

"Please! Please stop saying that you're old," I insisted. 

"Okay Adam," Mrs. Murray said as she took my hands in hers. "Now where were we?"

Mrs. Murray brought my hands up to the top button of her blouse, and when I finally looked up at her she smiled and looked at me with eyes that told me once again everything was going to be fine.

My hands were trembling so badly that I was wrestling the buttons more than undoing them, but Mrs. Murray was patient and let me struggle through it. The freckles that I had long fantasized about were there in abundance, coating her shoulders and the upper part of her chest to where the bra blocked the view.

A bra. I had taken exactly two off in my life before this, and had experienced limited sucess at the effort. My hands reached up and grabbed the white quilted cups and I felt my first padded bra in the process. I reached around Mrs. Murray to do battle with the clips, but she leaned over and whispered in my ear, even though there was no one else to hear.

"Front hook Adam," Mrs. Murray whispered. "I'm afraid you're going to be very disappointed though."

As long as I was able to get Mrs. Murray's bra off without ripping it off, I was going to be happy. I didn't care about how big her breasts were anyway. I knew she was very slender, but had never given much thought to what her breasts looked like. Now, as my fingers found the tiny hook hidden behind a tiny blue flower, I was about to find out.

Miraculously I managed to unhook the bra like I had made a career out of doing it, and as I pulled the cups away I watched as Mrs. Murray's breasts came into view.

Oddly enough, the first thing I noticed was that the freckles pretty much ended where the bra had begun, and the skin below was a breathtakingly whiter shade of pale. The bra fell out of my hands as I stared at Mrs. Murray's chest.

Mrs. Murray was flat-chested. Her breasts were tiny buds that were barely perceptable. Her nipples were another thing altogether; puffy red cones the size of strawberries that jutted out pertly and begged to be touched.

My hands came up and cupped her tiny breasts, and I felt the rubbery aureola stiffen in my palms as I masssaged Mrs. Murray's chest. My eyes came up and met hers, and she looked at me in a vulnerable way, almost frightened that she had not met my expectations.

"They're so beautiful," I croaked as my mouth came down and enveloped the right bud, feeling the pebbly surface against my tongue as I swirled around it before going to the left one.

Mrs. Murray gasped as I went from breast to breast in an attempt to devour the little morsels. Never before and never since had I seen such an erotic sight as those magnificent buds, and my enthusiasm was welcomed by Mrs. Murray, who held my head tightly as I enjoyed them.

"Oooooh," Mrs. Murray said softly while I sucked on the rubbery tips, and as she put her hand on top of my head my attention was diverted. As Mrs. Murray's arm raised, I found myself staring at the thick tuft of hair that virtually exploded from the deep hollow of her armpit, and the gentle floral scent that I inhaled was equally pleasing.

My hands slid up from Mrs. Murray's rib cage and my fingers "accidently" strayed under her arm. The hair was so fine and soft that it was almost like touching a cloud, and while I wanted so badly to do much more than that, I decided that she might think I was even more weird than I already appeared to be.

Instead I continued kissing her chest while my hands came down to the button on her jeans. I surprised myself by not fumbling with the obstacle, and after it came undone I pulled them down her incredibly long legs. Mrs. Murray lifted each foot for me and I tugged the jeans off of her, and I found myself with my face right in Mrs. Murray's crotch.

Mrs. Murray was wearing rather fully cut white panties, but even the generous cut of the underwear could not contain the red hair that sprouted out from the insides of the leg holes. My hands came up to the elastic top of the panties which was just below the indentation of her pert navel.

As my trembling fingers eased the panties down, a thin strip of hair became visible just below her navel, a burnt orange in color. As the panties came down, the thin line of hair became thicker and darker, finally leading up to the immense triangle of thick hair that blanketed her womanhood.

I don't remember whether Mrs. Murray eased herself down on the bed or I helped, but there she was on her back as I found myself spreading her freckled thighs and lowering my head into the wild jungle of hair.

I had only done this to one other girl in my life, and this part of a woman's body was still pretty much a mystery to me. That girl's pussy bore no resemblance to Mrs. Murray's thickly furred grotto, and I initially feared that I wouldn't be able to find the opening, but my nose perked up at the scent of an apparently aroused woman.

I burrowed my tongue through the bush, which was wonderfully soft and sweet smelling, and found my target with no problem. I wiggled my tongue around, and worked it up until I encountered a little nub, and when my tongue scraped up against it I felt Mrs. Murray jump.

At that reaction, I started lapping wildly at that general area. How good it was, I don't know, but Mrs. Murray was running her hands through my hair and making little whimpering noises so I kept going. Her noises got a little louder, and the combination of those sounds, the sweet taste of Mrs. Murray's pussy, and the feel of me grinding into the mattress as I tongued away had brought my cock back to life.

Fearing that I would lose control and cum, I pulled my head out from between Mrs. Murray's legs. She seemed to try and keep my head down there as I rose, but I didn't dare take the chance and screw up again because I was getting really excited.

The next thing I remember was being between Mrs. Murray's legs with my erect and dripping cock springing around wildly in front of me. Mrs. Murray reached down and took my cock in her hand and drew me toward her. 

"Please be gentle with me my baby," Mrs. Murray said huskily. "It's been a long time for me, and you're very... well endowed."

I didn't think I was all that big, but I loved being told that I was. What I loved even more was slowly pushing my cock between the lips of Mrs. Murray's pussy. She was so tight that I had to push a little bit, and when I felt the head of my cock pop in, I stopped for a second.

Mrs. Murray was squeezing my biceps in her hands with a strength that belied her appearance, and her head was straining off the bed. Every vein and muscle in her neck and shoulders was bulging as I slid myself into her, and I felt her pussy contracting and convulsing around my cock violently as I went deeper.

When my cock made it in to the hilt Mrs. Murray let out a scream that she seemed to try to supress but could not, and the sound brought a shiver throughout my entire body. I began pulling out of her, fearing that I had hurt her somehow. When she began thrashing around beneath me while I retracted myself, it suddenly occured to me that this was not pain. It was pleasure. Mrs. Murray was having an orgasm.

I began thrusting in and out of her as fast as I could, and Mrs. Murray was scratching and clawing at me like an animal. She calmed down for a few seconds but started bucking and screaming again as I kept humping.

I could not last, at least not nearly as long as I wanted to. The sight and sound of Mrs. Murray going crazy as a result of what I was doing was too much for me. I exploded inside of her, and as my cock spasmed Mrs. Murray's hands cupped my ass cheeks, pulling me close as I came.

It might not have lasted very long, but at least I had not totally screwed up. By the flushed and dazed look on Mrs. Murray's face, I might have done alright, and I eased down beside her on the bed and rolled on my back, both of us staring at the ceiling. 

7. Resurrection.

My heart started beating normally again after a few moments, and I turned to face Mrs. Murray. She was still staring up into space, with her hand behind her head, seemingly deep in thought.

The soft glow of the setting sun that bled in through the blinds cast a beautiful glow on Mrs. Murray as my eyes enjoyed the view. As she laid on her back her breasts had completely disappeared except for those amazing aureolas that seemed to blossom even fuller to make up for it.

With her upraised arm, I got an incredible and unobstructed view of the wild spray of hair that seemed to explode out of the deep recess of her armpit. I stared at Mrs. Murray's underarm as if hypnotized, and the combination of her tiny breasts and the unshaven armpits gave me a whole new outlook on how very different a woman could be yet still maintain her femininity. She looked so wild yet so soft at the same time, and I thought she looked incredible.

"That was so very nice Adam," Mrs. Murray said, breaking me out of the trance I was in. When she looked over and saw me staring at her underarm, she looked startled.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Murray said in embarrassment as she started to bring her arm down. "That's not very nice of me."

"No, don't," I said, and grabbed her arm on the downswing and raised it back over her head. "It is nice... very nice."

I brought my hand up and ran my fingers softly through the lush growth, not caring for the moment what Mrs. Murray though of what I was doing. She shuddered as my fingers reached the inside of her bicep where the hair stopped.

"Did I tickle you? Sorry," I said as I looked up, feeling myself blush over what I was doing.

"No, it doesn't tickle," Mrs. Murray said as my fingers retraced their path and went back through her underarm. "I'm very sensitive there."

I noticed that her eyes were sparkling a little, and Mrs. Murray smiled when our eyes met again.

"Nothing. It reminds me of something that Jerry used... never mind," Mrs. Murray said. "Us old hippies die hard," she said with a smile.

On an impulse I leaned over and kissed the inside of her bicep, and then slowly nibbled my way down through the almost impossibly soft fur, and Mrs. Murray arched herself off the bedding with the back of the head as I nuzzled my way through the thicket.

"Adam, that's so..."

I didn't know what that something was, but I had already begun poking my erection into her hip when she started speaking, and the shocked look on her face was priceless.

"Adam, you have to be kidding!" was what I think she said next. The answer to that was no, I wasn't.

This time I lasted a lot longer, and as we went along, I got an education in a variety of new positions. They were all new to me, but I tried to be a quick learner. One minute we were sitting on the bed gently rocking in each other's laps, the next minute Mrs. Murray was on all fours with me humping over her like a madman.

My hands ran all over her back, across the galaxy of freckles that I had so often fantasized about, and soon I was clutching Mrs. Murray tight as I felt her cum once again.

I finally came, with Mrs. Murray on top of me straddling my cock and playing me like an instrument. Her pussy worked over my cock as she humped me, and I struggled to withstand her efforts to make me orgasm.

I was just about ready to tell her that I was ready to go all night when she began to sway wildly on me. When she reached up and grabbed her hair, stretching and writhing, I was glad that I had kept my mouth shut, because the sight of her made me erupt inside of her. 

Mrs. Murray smiled as my cock jerked inside of her, and she kept riding until my orgasm eventually ended before finally easing down off of me and cuddling up in my arms.

8. The end is near.

I must have dropped off for a few minutes, because when I opened my eyes the sun had gone down and the only light was coming from the hall light. Mrs. Murray had her back to me and I was holding her in my arms. I leaned forward to kiss her neck before nibbling my way down her shoulders. If there was a little more light I would have taken the opportunity to count her freckles like I had always dreamed, but seeing as the lighting was less than perfect I had a better idea.

"Oh Adam, you are insatiable!" Mrs. Murray said as she felt something between her butt cheeks that was very hard. I gently ground up against her, hoping for another lesson.

"Well..." I said softly.

"Honey, I have a big day ahead of me tomorrow," Mrs. Murray said as she turned and raised herself up. "The movers are coming early and I've got to drive quite a ways. Besides, I'm just not used to all this, and I'm kinda sore down there!"

I might have pouted a little at hearing that, but I really don't think so. Anyway, Mrs. Murray started to get up and roll off the bed but then stopped. She looked up at me and then slowly bent over me.

"You always could melt my heart," Mrs. Murray said, just before she grabbed my erection.

As I watched in disbelief, Mrs. Murray bowed her head and ran her tongue over the crown of my cock. She looked up at me and smiled before wrapping her lips around me and sliding her mouth down my cock as her curly red locks fell down over her face.

I groaned loudly as Mrs. Murray's head bobbed up and down, engulfing my cock in a moist and wonderful embrace. Reaching down, I pulled her hair up so I could watch this magnificent sight. Her tongue danced along the underside of my cock while her mouth slid up and down in a relentless rhythm.

There was no teasing here, as she was intent on making me cum, and cum quickly. Even if it hadn't felt so wonderful, the sight of Mrs. Murray sucking and licking my cock would have done me in fast enough, despite my wanting this moment to last forever. 

I tried to warn her that I was about to cum, but she didn't seem to care, and she only hastened the process by taking me deeper and harder. When I began to cum, she swallowed my seed eagerly while working her fingers around the base of my dick to try and milk every last drop out of me. Even after I stopped groaning and moaning and my cock had begun to wither, she kept sucking until I finally pulled her off of me.

Our eyes met and her head came up, and I smiled when Mrs. Murray's tongue darted over and captured a little drop of semen that had tried to trickle out of the corner of her mouth.

"Get dressed baby," Mrs. Murray said as she patted my thigh before she climbed off the bed and walked out of the bedroom on her way to the bathroom.

Out of all the moments of that evening, the thing I remember as much or more than anything else was the graceful way she glided across the room. So smooth and almost cat-like, her lithe and sleek figure still magnificent after all these years, she looked back at me on the bed and smiled just before she turned the corner.

9. The end.

I thought about trying to see if I could talk her in to letting me stay the night, but decided against it. No point in ruining what had been the highlight of my life by pushing things, so I got dressed and used her facilities after she exited them.

Looking at myself in the mirror I looked ragged but not very different than I had a few hours earlier. I was different though, and I would never be the same again, and the feeling that gave me was bittersweet. After I got myself together I moved slowly out to the kitchen, while muscles that I had never used before screamed their discontent.

Mrs. Murray had a check for her delivery in her hand and I felt silly taking it, but realized how it would look if I told her to forget it. We walked silently to the front door as I searched for words that would possibly be enough to describe the way I felt.

"Adam, I hope this hasn't changed the way you feel about me, because I would hate myself if it did," Mrs. Murray said, and I noticed her eyes were as watery as mine were becoming.

"Well, when I got here I was in love with you," I choked out. "Now I'm leaving and I'm still in love with you. Maybe more."

"That's good," Mrs. Murray said. "What we just shared was very special to me, I want you to know that. I certainly wasn't expecting it to happen, but now that it did I'm very happy."




Counting Freckles



"Not as happy as I am," I assured you. "I waited a lifetime for this day, and it was even better than my wildest dreams."

"I hope it was worth it," Mrs. Murray said. "It was wonderful, and it will never happen again. You know that, right Adam?"

No I didn't know that, and while hearing it hurt a little, I guess I understood. I stepped to the side and let Mrs. Murray open the door for me, but as I started to go outside she stopped me.

"I wasn't ever going to tell you this, but I feel like I have to," Mrs. Murray said. "You probably don't remember this, but one day my husband Jerry came to visit me at school just before he got shipped out."

"He was wearing his uniform, and he spoke to us about being in the Marines," I said interrupting her. "You took out a map and showed us where Vietnam was. Then it was lunch time and we all went down to the cafeteria," 

Mrs. Murray's face lit up as I rattled on about that day she thought I had forgotten.

"Everybody in our class shook his hand as they left, and I was the last person in the room," I continued. "I shook his hand and left the room, and when I turned the corner I looked back and saw him kissing you, and that's when I was sure I hated him."

Mrs. Murray laughed that musical laugh that never failed to make me smile, and shook her head in disbelief.

"I guess you do remember after all," Mrs. Murray said. "Well, what he had said before we kissed was very important to me. He said that you were so adorable that it was no wonder that you were my favorite. Then he said that when he got home he'd be out of the service for good and we were going be able to finally start our family, and hopefully have children just like you. Those were the words I had waited all my life for. As it turned out..."

We stood at the doorway and cried in each other arms for a long time, and when I finally did step outside we were both drained physically and emotionally.

"Have a wonderful life, Adam," Mrs. Murray said.

Epilogue.

I have had a wonderful life. I've also remained in touch with Mrs. Murray, or should I say Mrs. Barnett, since a couple of years ago she got married to a teacher she had met down in Florida.

I was invited to the wedding and made the trip gladly. Over the years we had seen each other several times but had never said a word about that day we shared, but there was really no need to, because we had already said everything that two people could say to each other.

I shook Mr. Barnett's hand as I moved through the reception line, and after introducing myself his eyes lit up.

"Oh, you're the fellow Joyce always talks about," he said while he pumped my hand enthusiastically. "Her favorite student ever!"

"She's the most wonderful woman there is," I told him. "Everything I ever really needed to know in life, I learned from her. I think you happen to be the luckiest man in the world."

Have a wonderful life yourself, Mrs. Barnett.

*****

Thank you so much for reading "Counting Freckles". I hope you found it an enjoyable read, and as always I appreciate any and all comments.



Counting On You



Carrie had just arrived home to what seemed like an empty house. 

"She must be upstairs already.", Carrie whispered to herself and headed up the stairs. 

It was after one in the morning and she had just had a long night after the awards show with barely enough time to spare to make it from the Vegas Airport to her L.A. home where she was now. 

Outside her bedroom door, Carrie slowly turned the doorknob and opened the door trying not to let it make a sound. Satisfied that the only sound, was a light brush of the carpet along the bottom of the door, she stepped inside and closed the door. 

Lying before Carrie on the bed was her girlfriend, Kelly sleeping in sweatpants and a sweatshirt because she was sick.

Of all months to be sick, she had to be sick in April because that was Kelly's luck. Kelly had a curvy figure but you could not tell that from her current wardrobe. 

There was something about the sight of her peacefully sleeping there that still made Carrie's stomach get butterflies.

Carrie lightly took off her shoes placing them next to the hamper and, lifting up the covers, gently slid into bed. She then placed her hands on Kelly's waist, spooning her. 

"Mmm. Baby, I missed you.", Carrie whispered against her girlfriend's neck. 

Slowly waking up staring straight ahead Kelly smiled and said, "You are such the romantic. I missed you too. You've been gone what? A day?"

Carrie said, "Oh are you making fun of me?"

"Who me? No neverrrr. Not when you spoil me with presents. By the way, where is the Entertainer Of The Year Award anyway?", teasingly moving backwards into Carrie.

Carrie said, "Oh there is no way that I'm giving you that.", hugging her closer. She continued "Haha. They took it back to engrave my name on it. It should be here in about a month. They can't really have our names on them already. Kinda ruins the whole surprise backstage. So does that mean that you managed to stay up late enough to watch me win?"

Yawning, Kelly said, "Yeah barely. And I don't appreciate your little joke to Matthew that you'd like to see those boots."

"Oh really?", Carrie said "Well don't you think that we'd need to send the gossip rags somewhere else for a while since they all of a sudden 'think' that you're a lesbian?"

Kelly sighed, "Yeah."

Carrie said, "And you did hear me say that I was joking right after it. You're not jealous are you?" 

Kelly said, "You know, I wasn't until then. It's weird. But I kind of became a little jealous when you said that." 

Carrie asked, "Seriously?"

"Well look at him. Who wouldn't be?"

"Kel, I only want to look at you. Besides, you also heard me say that I missed you and wished that you could be there."

"Yes, that maned me feel bever."

Carrie said, "What the hell is bever?"

Kelly tried to breathe through her nose to no avail. Finally, she managed, "Stupid friggin cold. It's all draining out." 

Carrie said, "Aw honey, you're still that sick? I'm going to go downstairs and make you up some hot chicken noodle soup to help clear up your sinuses so that you can breathe easier and get some sleep. The steam will do you good." She kissed the back of Kelly's left shoulder blade and slid out of bed. 

Kelly rolled onto her back and said, "Babee?" 

Carrie turned from the door and said, "Yes?" 

Kelly said, "Thang goo." 

Carrie tried to hide her laugh, "You are so adorable when you're sick." Then she dodged a throw pillow which Kelly had literally thrown at her. Still laughing, Carrie left the room.

About 10 Minutes Later

Carrie was able to get into the bedroom by lightly backing into the door, while holding the tray steady as well. She had not shut the door all the way when she had left the room, which now she was grateful for. "Kel, I'm back.", Carrie whispered because she was not sure if Kelly had fallen back asleep. 

Kelly sat up and then responded, "Honey, why are you whispering? I would need to be awake to eat." 

Carrie sat opposite Kelly carefully on the bed while balancing the tray on her knees. "I don't know." 

"Well alrighty then.", Kelly said, instinctively grasping the tray but Carrie did not leave go. Then she said, "So how can I eat if you won't give me the bowl?" 

Carrie said, "Sit there. I'll feed you."

"I'm not an invalid."

"Oh my God. Why won't you just let someone help you for once?"

Kelly said, "Okay okay. You can spoon me my meal. I feel like the Queen of England or something.", sarcastically. 

"Hey."

"What?"

Carrie said, "I love you."

Kelly smiled and said softly, "I love you too, Care."

"Good. Now shut up and eat." Carrie gently spooned some noodles out of the bowl. She blew on the spoon to cool it off. Kelly ate in silence, letting her girlfriend take care of her. 

After most of the broth was gone, Kelly was finished. Carrie got up and placed the tray on the computer desk. As Carrie was walking back over to the bed, she asked, "So are you feeling a little better?" 

Kelly inhaled and found out that, for the first time all night, she was able to breathe through her nose. She exhaled and said, "Yes, I can breathe a little now. My nasal passages are clear for the moment. It'll be easier to sleep without waking up in the middle of the night."

Carrie had taken her place once again on the bed sitting opposite Kelly. "Good. I'm glad." 

Kelly took another breath and said, "That was just what I needed. Thank you." 

Carrie smiled. "I know just what I need right now." She leaned into Kelly on her hands. Carrie placed a tuft of Kelly's hair behind her left ear and said, "Come here.", lightly kissing her lips. 

Kelly softly kissed back and laid her body back on the bed, lying down as Carrie moved her body on top. While continuing making out, Kelly's left hand found it's way to rest on Carrie's slender back, while her right hand found its fingers entwined in Carrie's mane of blonde. Surprised at this sudden turn of events, Kelly breathed out, "Wait. Wait what are we doing?"

Carrie stopped the kiss and looked into Kelly's eyes. "What's wrong?", searching. 

Kelly said, "Aren't you afraid of getting sick? I'm still contagious." 

Carrie said, "You don't have any cold sores do you?"

"No."

"Then there's nothing to worry about. Besides, I've already had the flu mist spray. So I'm good.", Carrie said, kissing her again.

"Where was I when you did?", Kelly moaned against her lips.

"Mmmm, probably not listening to the Doc's *kiss* advice as usual."

"Why wouldn't---mmph mmm.", Kelly tried to respond but Carrie had silenced her with a kiss. 

Then Carrie said, "Are you going to talk all through this? Because if you are, I'll tell people how you really lost your voice."

"You wouldn't!"

"Shhhh.", Carrie claimed her lips once more.

Kelly spread her legs out a little more to get comfortable with the weight of Carrie on top of her. Carrie licked Kelly's bottom lip, and then kissed her again. Their bodies slowly writhed against each other. 

After making out for a full minute more, Carrie left Kelly's lips to teasingly lick her neck, using just the tip of her tongue. Kelly breathed a silent exhale hard. With Kelly's eyes closed, Carrie licked the fingers of her own left hand and moved them down Kelly's shirt. She kissed and suckled on Kelly's neck as her hand moved further.

Finding the waistband of Kelly's sweatpants was easy. Carrie's hand slid between the fabric and skin. She repositioned her body back up so that she was fully on top of Kelly to begin kissing her again. Carrie whispered, "Shhh relax." Kelly let her body relax and instinctually, her legs spread further out. Carrie's hand found the top of Kelly's mound as it lightly tickled her skin with her fingertips moving down. 

Kelly breathed harder as her body moved against Carrie. Finally finding the opening of Kelly's entrance, Carrie's middle finger slid right in the slickness and her index finger followed. Kelly moaned. Against Kelly's lips, Carrie said, "Well somebody is aroused." 

Kelly moaned, "Oh my...shit." 

They continued making out as Carrie rubbed her fingers on her lover's clit.

It was getting hot and Kelly wanted to take her sweatshirt off. She broke the kiss quickly to ask Carrie if she minded. "Would I mind?", was her response, "Anything to see your body, KellBell. I might just cream my jeans right here." Carrie lifted the sweatshirt off and chucked it. 

Carrie laid herself on top of Kelly's now totally nude, sweaty body. She pecked Kelly's lips, and massaged Kelly's breasts. One than the other. Carrie brought her head down so that her lips went around Kelly's right areola, then she flicked the nipple with her tongue and did the same to the left. Coming back up to Kelly's lips, she darted her tongue halfway in and out slowly before making out again. Kelly writhed her body in pleasure. 

Carrie broke the kiss once again and said, "You know...I haven't eaten all day today." 

Kelly said, "I'm sure that there is some of that soup left." 

Carrie smirked, "I had something else in mind.", sliding her body down.

On her stomach between Kelly's legs, Carrie barely touched her fingertips onto Kelly's upper thighs, causing a mini shudder and mild pre-cum. With her thumbs, Carrie massaged the undersides of Kelly's thighs and reached in her face to lick and kiss her girl's inner thighs. All Kelly could do was moan. 

Carrie moved her head in further and let her tongue find the bottom of Kelly's opening. She proceeded to lick from the bottom to the top. "Mmm.", escaped Kelly's lips. Carrie kissed the top of Kelly's nub before gently spreading the folds open with her thumbs. She flattened out her tongue and licked around the entrance. Next she moved in, grabbing the underside of Kelly's thighs as the girl's calves and knees were over Carrie's shoulders. 

Now that she was in a better position both comfortably and for giving pleasure, Carrie moved in with her slithering tongue at it's intended target. Kelly let out, "Uhhhh. Mmm." Carrie slid her tongue up and down the folds, going past them to the inner folds and pushed deeper with her tongue up and down. Sideways her tongue went, it went flat, it thickened out, it moved to Kelly's clit to give a few well deserved flicks to tease. Then the tongue went back to probing the black hole. 

Kelly felt the warm heat of Carrie's tongue on her womanhood while gyrating her body into the giver. She looked down to see Carrie between her legs giving her cunnilingus and it turned her on even more. Carrie said, "Mmm. You taste so good." Kelly moaned into her and reached down to push Carrie's face deeper into her core. Now Carrie concentrated solely on Kelly's clit, clamping her mouth down so that it was an almost air tight seal and sucked and sucked. 

"Uhhh ohh.", Kelly breathed, "Fucckk. MMM." 

Kelly knew that she was almost there. And Carrie knew as well, especially judging from the current juices that were now emanating from Kelly's core and running down into the crack of her anus. So Carrie dug deeper and Kelly pushed deeper, biting onto her lower lip. Carrie licked up and down the folds again, this time shoving a couple fingers inside, thrusting hard in and out. Then she took them and rubbed them against Kelly's clit. Kelly could feel the fire build and the electricity start to course through her veins. Kelly's chest was heaving as she said, "Uhhh oh God....fuck. Uh Uh Yesss. Come on...mmm. Fuck me, Carrie." 

With Kelly at the paramount, Carrie dove in with her mouth and bit down, sucking hard on the clit before her. Kelly put her hands on the back of Carrie's head, urging her on, not wanting her to let go. "Oh shit. Fuck my pussy right...there...Oh oh uhhhh. I'm coming...uh uh uh....ooooo......huhhhhhh." Kelly felt the powerful surge through her body and she rode out her orgasm and let go of Carrie's head. She leaned back and breathed heavily trying to catch her breath back. 

Carrie looked up and smiled, letting go of her lover's thighs and got up. She went to the set of dresser drawers and pulled out a set of pajamas. Carrie then crawled back into bed beside Kelly who was still breathing hard. "Hey beautiful.", Carrie whispered. 

Kelly opened her eyes and asked, "Were you talking to me?" 

Carrie laughed and said, "Yes, Baby. Calling myself that word would be a bit narcissistic don't you think? Anyway, here." 

She tossed the pajamas to Kelly. "Put these clean ones on so you don't get a worse cold in the middle of the night." 

Kelly said, "Alright.", and slid them on with Carrie helping her button the top shirt. "Thank you for taking care of me--in more ways than one. I love you so much."

Carrie said, "Of course. I always take care of my Girl. Now let's get some shut eye." They spooned with Carrie on the outside hugging Kelly to her body. After a few moments, Kelly heard a faint mumbling which sounded like numbers. Carrie had her index finger on Kelly's left shoulder and was saying, "1, 2, 3, 4..." 

Confused, Kelly said, "What, the hell are you doing?" 

Carrie said, "Nothing. I'm just always counting on you. That all." 

Kelly said, "Oh. My. God. You are such a dork." 

They both laughed while going to sleep, Carrie said, "Well either it's the jet lag from the flight and no food today or it's the fact that I'm punch-drunk in love. I'll take the latter."

THE END



Counting the Days



I stopped marking the days leading up to Valentine's Day on the tenth of February. Dennis was renewing his commitment to his wife and I had to accept that. I gave my best friend, Danielle, the ingredients for the gourmet dinner I had planned so that at least someone would be able to benefit from its aphrodisiac qualities. I was thankful that Valentine's Day fell over the weekend so that I didn't have to be subjected to the nauseating "look what my man did for me" squeals that came around the clock as bouquet after bouquet was delivered to the office.

At the close of the day a bouquet of the biggest, most perfect red rose buds came into the office. Anticipation built up inside me while the delivery man searched his clipboard for the recipient's name. When he said Molly Green's name instead of mine, I was crushed and hated myself for being so.

When I got home I tried not to look at my cell phone so that I didn't have to face that Dennis wasn't contacting me. At the same time I willed Dennis to call me, text me, something to let me know he was thinking about me. The silence was deafening. I busied myself by cleaning up around my apartment. With nothing left to clean I began organizing my closet and drawers. There, I came across every piece of lingerie Dennis had purchased for me. Some I had modeled for him before the purchase, when he snuck into numerous dressing rooms. Others he slipped into my desk drawer while I was his personal assistant five years ago.

Five years. I had been with Dennis longer than his two year marriage. He was giving me up for someone who had everything I now knew I wanted. At first, getting together with Dennis was strictly for fun. The benefits of fucking the boss made the day go by faster because we rarely worked. When we did work we worked hard though, we played harder. Dennis had enough money lining his pockets that my off hours were fabulously lavish and decadent. Life with Dennis was wonderful. He assured me that the marriage was, in essence a business decision, a social maneuver. It was to be something to get us both to the top. 

I wanted him back. I pulled out a red bra and panty set. I had planned to wear it for the dessert following our Valentine's Day meal. I laid it out on my bed and planned what to do.





Counting the Fun



When I arrived at the hotel room, you met me at the door with a smile and a blindfold. 

"Close your eyes." You tell me as you tie the blindfold securely in place. I do as I'm told and suddenly find myself in darkness. You kiss me deeply and lead me into the room, dropping my keys, bag, and sunglasses on the table. I step out of my sandals and then you lead me farther into the room. I envisioned you leading to the bed, but we go farther than that, and I am left to trust you completely. You are quiet as you move me with you, having me walk directly in front of you, close enough that I can feel your body heat but not your body. I try to slow down and stop to make you touch me, but you press me ahead of you, not saying a word.

"Stand here." you say, as you step away from me. I can not see anything, but I can hear you moving around. The sounds in the room are loud as you left me standing alone, wanting you. Within moments, however, I feel you in front of me, then I feel your mouth on mine, kissing me deeply. I move my arms up to you and feel your naked skin under my hands. The sounds I heard were you removing your clothing. My body is suddenly on fire with the thought of you standing there naked and me not able to see you. Your hands move to my waist and you grab my shirt, pulling it up over my head. With my arms above my head, you lean down and kiss my breasts, trailing your hands lightly down my arms, almost tickling with the light touch. You reach around me and unclasp my bra, sliding the straps down my arms and off my body.

Once again you kiss me before leaning down and taking my hardened nipple into your mouth. My body arches instinctively toward your mouth, sounds of pleasure escaping my throat. I run my fingers through your hair and along your shoulders as you suck on my nipple and knead my breasts. My body continues to move into you, undulating with the stimulation. I can feel the heat build in me, the first twinges of orgasm already starting. You recognize the sounds that escape me and continue to suck on my nipples, bringing me to my first orgasm. As my body starts to relax, you stand up and kiss me softly. "One." I hear you say and I start to giggle. I now know what your objective is, and can't help but laugh.

You trail kisses down my mouth, my neck, between my breasts, and down my stomach as you unbutton my shorts and slide them down my hips and legs. You help me step out of them, and I assume you toss them into the pile of clothing that inevitably ends up on the floor when we're together. I know that you are kneeling before me, and I want to see you, but as I reach up for the blindfold, you simply say "don't". I put my arms down as I feel your magical and talented tongue slide between my hot wet lips. I gasp with the sensation and moan with pleasure. My body is already sensitized from my first orgasm, and your mouth on my pussy makes me writhe with pleasure. My breathing quickens and more moans escape me, getting louder with my increased pleasure. I can't help but to squirm as I feel your tongue and mouth on me, bringing me closer and closer to another climax. You grab my hips firmly, holding me in place as best you can. The tight grip on my hips sends me over the edge and I scream my pleasure into the room, my body spasming, my sex hot and wet and trembling under your tongue. 

You move back up to kiss me, and I taste myself on your mouth. "Two." you say to me and I giggle once again. "How many are you shooting for?" I ask. You don't answer me, but you grab my hair tightly, controlling my head with your hand and I feel myself smile with pleasure and gasp with anticipation. The grip you have is just slightly painful, and the sharp sensation is almost enough to send me over the edge once again. My breathing quickens and I can sense you watching my face, reading my emotions. 

"You like that?" you ask. 

"Oh yes," I breathe in reply, "very much."

"Good." You say as you move your hand down, guiding me to the floor in front of you. I smile as I get on my knees in front of you, reaching out to take a hold of you. I wrap my hand around your hard cock and guide you into my mouth, taking your swollen tip past my lips and into my throat. You keep your grip on my hair, pushing my head towards you, forcing yourself deeper into my throat. I work my tongue along your shaft, sliding you in and out of my mouth. You use your grasp on my head to guide me, achieving a quick and deep rhythm. I feel my body working up to another climax and moans escape my throat when able. Suddenly, my body convulses in orgasm and you pull my head away from you, making me stop sucking you. 

You pull me to my feet and I smile, "three" I say, and hear you chuckle. You take the blindfold off me as you kiss me, holding my body to yours. I realize that we had been standing in front of a table that has a mirror behind it. I smile at you and you turn me around, facing the wall away from you, pulling my hips to you. I feel your cock press against my behind and bend over, leaning on the table. You guide yourself into me and grab my hips, smiling at me in the mirror as you thrust yourself deep into me. I've never watched myself in a mirror before, and it is mesmerizing as I watch you thrusting behind me, my body moving into yours, my breasts bouncing with the movement. 

You thrust deeper and harder into me, watching me in the mirror as I watch you. My body is already extremely sensitized, the feeling of you pounding into me is wonderful, and the images in the mirror are amazing and I feel myself building up once again. I see my face showing the pleasure that I am feeling, no hiding from the raw emotions in my body. The sensations begin to overload me again and I cum, screaming hard and loud. I glance at your face and see pleasure in your eyes. "Four." you say, as you pull out of me and throw me onto the bed.

I scramble up onto the bed and you climb on top of me, pausing to lick my sensitive and swollen pussy as before moving up my body. I open my legs to you and you slide into me again, rubbing along my sweet spot and quickly sending me into climax. My body shudders again and again as you begin a slow rhythm on top of me. I can see you trying to count in your head as you feel my cunt clamp onto you with each orgasm, milking you into me. Your rhythm quickens and I raise my hips to move you deeper into me, loving the feeling of you thrusting deep and hard in me. I cum a couple more times and you thrust one last hard time and I feel your hot juices explode into me, sending me over the edge yet again. You kiss me as we climax together, mouths and tongues working while our bodies shutter with pleasure. 

"Did you lose count?" I asked, giggling as you move off me and next to me. Our bodies are covered with sweat, both of us thoroughly spent and satisfied.



Counting To Eleven



This is reworked from a shorter story that I wrote several years ago, so if certain references seem a bit dated that'll be why. Some rough play here but all consensual. As usual with my stories, there's a fair bit of talk before, after, and during the sex.

"RFS" is the Rural Fire Service, a large volunteer-based fire-fighting service.

*

I booked the snakes for St. Patrick's Day. I'd like to say it was because of my innate sense of the perverse. But truth be told, I didn't even notice the date until after I'd hung up the phone, written it in my diary, and started typing up the permission note.

Everything has to have a permission note, because god forbid the parents who pay to send their seven-year-olds to John Wren Grammar School should find out after the event that they've been playing with snakes. At that point it's much too late for the word "non-venomous". People get quite irrational about our scaly friends.

Of course, that's exactly why I wanted to do it. Get in early, let the kids discover the beauty of snakes, nip those prejudices in the bud—well, that and it meant an hour when I could relax a little and let somebody else front the class. I love teaching, and I love the kids, but it's hard work. So when I read in the paper that Prehistoric Park were available for shows I jumped at the opportunity.

Sad story there: they had a small zoo, but a few months earlier it had caught fire. They'd lost half of their animals and most of their buildings. While they were rebuilding they started doing road shows with the animals they had left to keep the cash flow going. I'd called them up and learned that for a modest fee I could get a demonstrator, assorted turtles, lizards, a baby crocodile, and five different snakes including a red-bellied black and a tiger snake. 

I reluctantly decided to say no to the venomous ones. I didn't think they'd be any danger to the kids, not with a competent handler, but the risk to my career was another matter. John Wren Grammar lets me teach in jeans and spiky hair because a marketing consultant told them they need to rebrand themselves as an Innovative And With-It School Of The Future, but they still have the same old conservatives on the board, and people like that get quite lathered up about silly little things like tiger snakes.

I finished the permission note—just the right mix of reassurance and vague noises about intellectual enrichment for your little genius-to-be—and sent twenty copies home in grubby bags and lunch-boxes. Sixteen of them came back in time, which is pretty good. None of the parents refused, although I had to reassure a couple of them that under no circumstances would I allow their children to be bitten. 

At least, not by the reptiles. By lunchtime on St. Patrick's Day my cheery good humour was getting distinctly strained. Little Mickey Carver, the class troublemaker, had been teaching his classmates the "tradition" of pinching anybody who wasn't wearing green. Meanwhile Andie McKenna's parents, who ought to have known better, had dressed her in bright orange from head to toe. It was just as well none of the class knew enough Irish history to understand the provocation, and I wasn't about to enlighten them.

It was a relief when the bell rang and my charges stampeded for the playground. I retreated to the staff room—it was unseasonably cold and windy outside—and occupied myself with a biscuit and a hot chocolate as I thought about the McKennas. I have a lot of patience for children, but none for parents who go out of their way to make my job difficult, and this wasn't the first provocation from that quarter. If they wanted to play games, well, I'd give them something to think about.

I knew they both worked. I entertained myself with the thought of sticking them with the sort of project that requires hours of parental assistance. A papier-mâché volcano might be a nice touch: a trip to the hardware shop, lots of work, and lots of mess. But it seemed unfair to punish all the other parents, and besides I didn't have space in my classroom for eighteen papier-mâché volcanoes. 

What else did I know about them? Andie had recently drawn a stick-figure that Alan Turing himself couldn't have decoded, but which she told me was her father singing in the shower. That gave me an idea... and just as I was working out the details, my phone rang.

"Hello, Linda speaking."

"Hi, it's Judy." She worked the front office; I had let her know to expect a visitor. "There's a Kate Sutherland here for you. I've signed her in, she said she'll meet you in the car park."

"Be right there!"

I pulled on my jacket and made my way to the front of the school. She was standing in front of her car, a battered old hatchback dusty enough that I couldn't be sure of its original colour. 

Kate herself was a little shorter than me, and I thought a year or two younger. She had the sort of slightly-boyish face that I find hard to resist, and she was dressed in boots, khaki pants, khaki shirt...

"Hi! I'm Linda. You know you look like Terri Irwin in that outfit?" Very smooth, Lin. Bet she's only heard that a few hundred times.

"I know, believe me, I know. I used to do this stuff in jeans and a flannel shirt, but everybody expects Crocodile Hunter these days. Gotta give the public what they want. Help me with these?"

She popped the hatch open. In the back of the car she had a stack of Tupperware boxes along with a satchel, a perspex screen, and a long metal stick with a hook at one end. "Won't need the hook today, but if you can take the bag and those two I can handle the rest. Are you okay with carrying snakes?"

"Sure, I love 'em." Each of the boxes contained an old pillowcase, and they shifted and squirmed as I picked them up. 

"Last time I did one of these at a school, the teacher flipped out and dropped three boxes when she realised there were snakes in them. God only knows what she thought they'd be." 

We carried the boxes in, chatting as we stacked them behind my desk and cleared some space for her to show off her animals. Kate was doing a Master's in biology, working for the reptile park to supplement her research grant. It wasn't too long since I'd been an impoverished student myself, so we commiserated. 

"Kate, if you don't mind leaving the critters with me and waiting in the staff room for a few minutes, I'll call you when we're ready. The bell rings at quarter-to, but it takes a little while to get them settled."

"Fine by me. I could do with a cup of tea."

I pointed Kate towards the staff room, then sat back in my chair, looking at the boxes. I could hear a scraping noise from one of them—maybe a turtle, or the crocodile?—but before I had time to resolve that question the bell rang and the teeming hordes appeared. Henry first, clutching his book; he'd have spent all lunchtime in the classroom reading if I'd let him. Then a gaggle of girls, Alice Chan and her friends, who played hopscotch nearby. Mickey, and that was unexpected; he was usually one of the last to show. One by one, in twos and threes, they straggled back into the room, and I started counting heads. 

By the time I got to fifteen the noise had risen considerably, and I had to break up a group who'd started the pinching game again. But Mickey, who ought to have been in the middle of it, was sitting quietly at his desk, looking towards the front of the class. Something wrong? I'd have to check that later. Sixteen, seventeen... close enough.

"Hush now, ladies and gentlemen." As I talked Andie slipped through the door, grass stains all down the front of her dress. With any of the other kids I'd have wondered if they'd fallen over or been in a fight. With Andie, it was more likely she'd been lying on her face hunting for grasshoppers, or perhaps rubbed it on herself to fit in for St. Patrick's. She had an unconventional approach to life's challenges.

"Now, does anybody remember what we're doing this afternoon?"

"Reading!" chorused half a dozen voices.

"Not today. Anybody... Mickey?"

"Snakes!"

"That's right!" 

Just on cue, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!"

Kate walked in, smiling at the class. A couple of late-comers attempted to sneak in behind her. I pretended not to notice them.

"Children, this is Kate Sutherland from Prehistoric Park, and she's here to show you something special."

"GOOD AFTERNOON MISS SUTHERLAND!" All together, just like I'd taught them. Almost a miracle.

Kate beamed at them. "Good afternoon, children! Now, who can tell me what snakes are like?"

"Cold!" "Scaly!" "Poisonous!" "Thin!" "Nasty!" "Slimy!"

"Well, let's see about that." Kate nodded to me, and I passed her the first box. She popped the lid off, reached into the pillowcase, and pulled out a rather handsome-looking snake, red and black and orange, about four feet long and as thick as my thumb.

"This is Rory, and he's a corn snake. He comes from America." She held him up and walked forwards to give the class a better look. "He won't bite you, he only eats small animals. Now, would anybody like to pat him? You can touch him if you're gentle."

Mickey's hand shot up. I tensed a little, expecting a St. Patrick re-enactment, but when Kate held out the snake Mickey just reached out and stroked his back. It was the first time I'd seen him do anything gently.

"That's the way. Now, what does he feel like? Is he cold?"

"No, he's warm. Just a little bit."

"That's right. If he was outside he'd be colder, but he's been curled up where it's warm. Snakes like warm places. Now, is he slimy?"

"No! He's smooth." Mickey was still stroking the snake.

"Yes, he's got nice dry scales. Now would anybody else like to hold him?"

Kate took Rory around the class, showing him to each of the children while explaining where he came from and why he was called a corn snake. Some of the children looked a little nervous but none of them ran away, and most of them ended up patting him. Alice Chan even let him coil around her hand before Kate retrieved him and continued talking.

"Now the next one I'll show you is called a Children's Python, from Queensland." 

I handed her the next box—our fingers brushed—and she wrapped Rory around one arm before producing a smaller snake, dappled grey-brown. "Can anybody guess why she's called a Children's Python?"

And so on. I settled back and watched the show, assisting Kate by handing her the new boxes as required and stashing the old ones back behind the desk -- though Rory didn't come back, and I figured she was saving him for an encore. Now and then I got to handle one of the snakes, but mostly I had one eye on Kate and one on the children, making sure none of them were getting into trouble.

But Mickey, the closest thing I had to a problem child, was rapt. He stared at the snakes and hung off Kate's every word. I made a note in my diary: snakes for art class, snake description for creative writing.

Meanwhile, Kate continued. Once she'd finished with the snakes she showed off three baby turtles, each small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, and a gecko with bulging eyes and translucent skin. Then at last the pièce de résistance, the crocodile. He was about two feet long, adorable to look at, and utterly ferocious. Kate set him on the floor and used the perspex screen to keep him at bay as he charged at her trying to bite. After a few minutes of this she picked him up, snapped a rubber band over his jaws, and let the children stroke his back while she explained the differences between alligators and crocodiles.

"Well, I'm afraid that's all we have time for today!" They awww-ed, and she nodded, packing the crocodile away into the largest of the boxes. "But if you want to learn more about animals, come visit us at Prehistoric Park! We'll be re-opening in June. Thank you for being such a lovely audience!"

I stood up. "Well, what do we say?"

"THANK YOU MISS SUTHERLAND!" 

"Now, children, time for PE! Don't forget your sports clothes! And wash your hands, you've been handling animals!" I watched as they grabbed their bags and charged out the door to the gym. The bell meant a free period for me, and I was going to use the time to prepare for their next class. But first to finish up with our visitor.

"Thanks, Kate. That was really lovely."

"You're welcome. Your kids are so well-behaved!"

"I wish they were always that good! Let me help you with these." I picked up one of the boxes, but she seemed hesitant, a little awkward. "Something up?"

"Yeah." She sounded half embarrassed, half amused. "It's Rory. He's, um, tangled up in my bra. Could you give me a hand?"

"Oh! Oh, sure. Let me just get the door." I locked it, to avoid having to make unconvincing explanations to any passing colleagues, and came back to her. "Is it...?"

"At the back." She tugged her shirt loose from her waistband and leant forwards with one hand on my desk to support her. I stood behind her and lifted her shirt, trying to concentrate on the job in hand and not on any other aspects of the situation. Like the things that would be so easy to do, the things I'd done last time a woman had offered me her back like this... and definitely not to think about how nice that back would look with a few stripes.

Where was I? Oh, yes, removing the snake. He was twined around the back-strap of her bra, and although I was doing my best to be professional about it, it was impossible to get at him without contact. (You don't have to feel guilty about enjoying it if there's no way to avoid it, right?) Kate flinched as my fingers touched her skin; as I tried to pull Rory away she rocked backwards, bumping against my hips.

Damnit, woman. Don't tempt me.

I couldn't blame him for wanting to hang on, and I didn't want to hurt him by pulling too hard. If I couldn't get him to let go, then I'd have to resort to unfastening the bra—but just as I was trying to think of a professional way to broach the subject, he moved his head, and I was able to dislodge him and pull him loose like a colourful piece of spaghetti. I stepped back with four feet of mildly disgruntled snake in my hand as Kate straightened up and tucked in her shirt again.

"Thanks so much for that. I thought you were going to have to take my bra off there."

"Oh, I wish." 

Had I really just said that? Oops.

But she didn't react, just turned to put Rory back in his pillowcase. "Well, um, I'd better get going. I'm taking a lab at three-thirty, and I need to drop these fellows home first."

I helped her out to the car and thanked her again. As she drove off, I reassured myself that there was no serious damage done. Even if she'd heard, even if she'd realised I'd meant it, she didn't seem offended. I still felt a little silly for blurting it out, but it was a nice thought.

The rest of the afternoon passed peacefully enough. By the time my kids got back from P.E. they'd burnt off some of their energy, and mental arithmetic practice kept them out of mischief until the final bell.

As they were leaving I stopped Andie and chatted with her for a few minutes. By the time I was done, we had agreed that her dad would be coming in for Show and Tell to sing to the entire class. I was only sorry I couldn't see his face when he found out he'd been volunteered; they do say most people are more afraid of performing in public than of death.

When she was gone I worked out the next morning's lesson plan, made sure I had the books I needed, and picked up a few odds and ends to leave the floor clear for the cleaners. I was about to lock up and go when I noticed something on the bench next to the door: a Tupperware box, not quite empty.

Oops. I'd had that box in my hand when I went to lock the door. I must have put it down there before coming to rescue Kate from Rory's clutches.

I tried calling Prehistoric Park, but nobody was answering the phone. Then I realised I had Kate's number from when she'd called me from the car park. I was about to dial it when I remembered she was teaching a lab class, so I resorted to text.

Hi, this is Linda. I think you left a python here.

No immediate reply. I occupied myself with a book for ten minutes, and was just considering whether I ought to take it home for the night when my phone buzzed.

Oh no! In lab two more hours. Can come back 6:30?

Have to be out by six for lockup. Can drop her off later if you live near the uni?

I do. Would be awesome. Will call later. Tkx!

About half an hour later, just as I was pulling into my driveway, my mobile rang.

"Hi, Lin here."

"Hi, it's Kate. Sorry about that, I was in the middle of stuff and couldn't talk. I can't believe I left her there." 

"My fault. I had the box in my hand when I went to lock the door, and I left it on the bench there."

"Oh, okay. No harm done. You sure you're OK to drop her round?"

"Yeah, I'm headed that way tonight anyway for my film group." I wrote down her address and agreed to meet her there about half-past six. 

As I drove, I considered the situation. I was still feeling bruised after splitting with my girlfriend six months earlier; it had been a friendly break-up as these things go, but still quite painful enough. 

I knew I wasn't ready to start dating again—and in any event I don't date people I've only known for a few hours—but I thought it might be nice to hang out with an attractive and intelligent woman. Who knew, if the vibes were right, I might even do some idle flirting.

She must have heard me arrive at her apartment, for she had the door open before I could knock. I noticed she'd changed clothes: jeans and flannel, just like she'd mentioned before. 

"Hi Linda, thanks so much for doing this! Usually I count the boxes when I load them into the car, but with all the trouble Rory gave me I forgot."

"It's really no problem. This little lady's very well-behaved." I gave her the box and stood there on the doorstep, unsure whether to prolong the conversation. I've never been good at talking to people my own age, never been sure what to say and what to leave unsaid, and I was still trying to figure her out: queer, or just a straight woman with a thing for practical clothing?

As I stalled, Kate tilted her head. "Hey, you're a snake person, right?" 

"I sure am."

"Would you like to see the others? If you have time?"

"Others?"

"I have lots more here. Looking after them until the park's rebuilt."

"Oh, I'd love to! Film doesn't start for another hour."

"Well, then, welcome to my humble abode." She stood back from the door and waved me in. The place would have been tidy if it hadn't been so full of reptiles and related paraphernalia: boxes stacked along the hallway, glass tanks on every flat surface, a bucket of gravel, crickets and mealworms for the lizards. I didn't check her freezer, but I was willing to bet it was full of frozen rats and mice.

Kate gave me the guided tour, mentioning where each of her animals had come from and describing their different habits and personalities. My interest in reptiles is amateur; I love them and I can tell you the basics, but when it comes to sexing a snake by its scales I'm lost. She was a professional and it showed.

As she explained the characteristics that allowed one to distinguish between Morelia spilota spilota and Morelia spilota variegata, I contemplated a different problem: how to identify the elusive Homo sapiens sapphica. I'd been on the lookout for clues: a box set of "The L Word", a Sarah Waters paperback, that sort of thing. But there was nothing, not so much as a Tegan and Sara CD.

On the other hand, there was nothing that obviously said "straight". No Valentine's cards, no photos of boyfriends. As far I could tell from her shelves the most important man in her life was David Attenborough. And there'd been something more than accidental in the way she'd reacted when I'd touched her back under the bra-strap. 




Counting To Eleven



Answer unclear, ask again later.

After showing me bearded dragons, long-necked tortoises, and an assortment of other attractions, she came to the last two tanks. They occupied the whole of what had once been her kitchen table. "This is Struan." She crouched in front of a particularly imposing-looking snake. He was almost completely black. As she talked he moved to follow her behind the glass, tongue flicking at the air. "One of our trick-question snakes. He's a tiger snake, but some of them are so dark you can't see the stripes. He's a bit stroppy, so I won't take him out."

I nodded in thanks. I trusted her handling skills, but tigers have enough of a reputation that I was happy to leave Struan where he was.

Kate picked up a steel rod with a curved end, a smaller version of the one I'd seen in the car. "Now this one,"—she opened the last tank and reached in with the rod—"is Bela. Named for Lugosi." She pulled out the rod with Bela wrapped around the end, and took hold of him by the neck. He was black like Struan but with a bright red underbelly that reminded me of a vampire's cape. "Bela's my favourite. Nobody cares about the red-bellies because they're not venomous enough, but I think he's lovely. Would you like to hold him?"

She held him out to me, and I accepted him very carefully. A bite from a red-belly wouldn't kill me, but it would ruin my day nevertheless, so I followed her cues and grasped him firmly just behind the neck. As I ran my other hand down his smooth sleek body to support his tail, Kate continued talking. "We've had Bela for six years, and he's very tame. I could just reach in and pick him up, and he wouldn't bite, but better safe than sorry. Accidents happen."

We stood there, me holding Bela, Kate stroking him, her hands between mine. She had finished talking, and just at that moment I couldn't think of anything to say. The pause in conversation became a break, the break became a gap, the gap stretched out into silence, our hands so close that I could feel her warmth, and yet not quite touching. And for all that I knew it was probably a bad idea, I wanted to sleep with her. 

I tried to think of some way to break the ice, but it's hard to be witty when you're holding a venomous snake. Time passed, and before I could come up with something suave the moment passed. 

Kate cleared her throat, and I did likewise, and handed Bela back to her. "Thank you so much for this, it's been really lovely. I should get out of your hair now and let you have dinner in peace."

"Oh, it's no trouble. Any excuse to show off my babies. Let me show you out."

We squeezed down the cramped hallway and she opened the door for me. "Thanks again for dropping her back, Linda."

Last chance.

"Thanks for the tour!" Before caution could get the better of me, I stepped in and kissed her. It was supposed to be an ambiguous sort of kiss somewhere between her cheek and her mouth, one that left room for Kate to tell herself: perhaps Lin's just one of those demonstrative people who always kisses her friends goodbye. 

But I ended up a little too close to her mouth for that, and I lingered on it a little too long. And still I couldn't quite make out her reaction: she didn't encourage me, but nor did she push me away.

I moved back and looked her up and down. "Unless you'd like me to stay?"

"Um." Was that a trace of a blush? "Didn't you have a film to see?"

"I can skip it. Reviews aren't that great. I'd rather hang out with you. But only if you're okay with that." Then I added, "If you say yes, I will kiss you again later. Just so we're clear on that. And if you say no, I'll stop bothering you right this instant."

"Um. I don't... look, how about you stay for dinner and we can talk about this? But that's not a yes to anything else."

"Fair enough. I promise to behave."

The kitchen was cramped even for one person, so after washing my hands I got out of Kate's way while she chopped up vegetables for a stir-fry. I didn't feel like arguing with Struan and Bela over ownership of the dining table so I sat down on a beanbag near the TV and occupied myself with a textbook about Australian snakes. (I chose the one with the shiniest pictures; I can deal with scientific jargon if I concentrate, but that evening I had other things on my mind.)

After a little while I got to something that surprised me. "Hey, Kate, there's a picture here that looks like a snake giving birth. Don't they lay eggs?"

"Some do, some don't. Copperheads have live young, and I think some tigers. Hey, wanna hear a story about copperheads?"

"Sure, why not? "

Dinner had begun to sizzle on the stove, and she raised her voice to be heard over it. "Guy I knew, worked as a RFS volunteer. Out fighting a big fire around Christmas time, saw a copperhead stranded on a rock. Didn't want to leave it to get burned so he grabbed it, but he didn't have a bag for it. So he just tucked it into the cuff of his overalls."

"That doesn't sound very safe."

"I think it's pretty sturdy material. Anyway, he went back to the fire. It was pretty bad, he was working two days straight without sleep. Got home, threw his overalls over a chair, completely forgot about the copperhead, fell asleep."

"Uh-oh. "

"He woke up about a day later, then he remembered the snake and went to check. You know what he found?"

"No snake?"

"Thirteen snakes. Mum and twelve babies."

"Seriously?"

"Yep! Well, dinner's ready, come get it."

She gave me a bowl of stir-fry and I returned to my beanbag; she sat opposite me in another. For a few minutes we ate in silence—it was pretty good stir-fry—and then she spoke up.

"Linda, I like you, but I'm not looking for somebody at the moment, not until after I finish my Master's. I can't focus on work and study and a relationship."

"Fair enough. Me, I split up with my ex back last year and I'm still licking my wounds." I crunched down a piece of broccoli. "So I'm not good relationship material at the moment. Plus, I don't know you well enough to be talking about that."

"Oh." She frowned. "So then what were you asking...?"

"I'm not looking for a relationship." I set my bowl down on the carpet. "But I'd very much like to go to bed with you. If you're interested." 

"I don't really know what to say." She sounded flustered, but at least she was smiling.

"Traditionally the popular answers are 'yes', or 'no'." 

But 'yes' is a difficult word. Sometimes it helps to offer a different language, so I added, "Or you could kiss me."

She thought about it, and then she leant over to where I was sitting and kissed me on the lips. 

I wanted to glomp on her like a Venus flytrap, but I knew better than to rush things. Instead I just returned the kiss, letting her get comfortable with it, and then I gradually sank backwards into the beanbag and let her follow me down. Only when she'd settled her weight on me did I allow myself to bring my hands around her waist and stroke the small of her back. 

Her kisses were tentative, perhaps a little clumsy, but I didn't mind at all. I found it rather cute, and I like to be the more experienced one; I think it's a power dynamic thing. She was a little slower in putting her arms around me, but eventually she seemed to realise that I wasn't about to phone up a moving van and then she let herself get into it. We made out like two teenagers, still both fully clothed, just enjoying the physical contact.

Eventually my right hand drifted up past her collar and I began stroking her neck. That got a reaction, a sigh and a relaxation of her body, and I began exploring that sensitive area, mapping out the zones that triggered that shiver of pleasure. There was something else in the way she reacted, too...

"Kate?"

"Hmm? Yuh?" 

I found a spot just behind her ear that made her eyes roll back in her head. "Can I ask a personal question?"

She giggled. "Can it be more personal than the last one? Go ahead."

I ran my left hand down her back, brought it across to stroke down her left arm, down to the back of her hand. "How do you feel about submission?" And I closed my fingers and thumb around her wrist.

She tensed, breathed out, went very quiet. Then she inhaled again and said, "Am I that obvious?"

I held her wrist a little tighter, pulled it back a little. "'Fraid so, cutie. I was getting a certain vibe. Just now, and back in the classroom when I had you bent over the desk."

"Oh?"

"I thought how easy it would be to twist your arm up behind your back, hold you down. And I felt like you knew that too." Slowly but surely I was pulling her wrist behind her as she lay atop me.

"Oh my." She seemed to be very comfortable with her hand pinned behind her back; the other was stroking my face. "You'd have done that?"

"I certainly thought about it." And I shifted out from under her, still pinning her left arm, and as she settled into the beanbag I rolled on top of her, straddling her legs. "I think with your arm behind your back and me holding you down, you'd have had a lot of trouble getting free."

"And then what?"

"Hmm." With my other hand I loosed her shirt from her jeans, slid it up until I was enjoying the same view of her back that I'd had earlier that day, minus snake. "Well, I could have spent some time mauling your breasts." And I slipped my hand up under the strap of her bra, around to the front, cupping her breast with her nipple between my thumb and forefingers as the others began to knead and claw. Not gently; I have strong fingers, and contrary to the lesbian stereotype, fingernails long enough for serious scratching. At first I just let her feel the pressure and the edge, then I began to circle and squeeze, fingers closing around her soft flesh like claws.

I half-rose, sitting astride her, letting go of her hand so I could work my other hand under her as well, pushing the bra up so I had both her breasts in hand. "Kate, I'd like to hurt you just a bit. Is that okay?

"Mmm-hmm." There was a dreamy quality to her voice.

I rolled her over onto her back, taking in the sight of her: face a little flushed, hair rumpled, breasts exposed to my gaze. I could see little crescent-shaped marks where my fingernails had been. I traced them with my fingertips, spiralling in towards her dark areolae; then I started to pinch and claw again, digging my nails in, holding tight. She gasped and whimper, I felt her flinch with every squeeze, but she didn't try to get away. She was breathing heavily now.

"I could have tormented you like this for quite a while." Pinch, scratch, squeeze. "Tested how much it took to make you cry out." I gave both breasts a sudden fierce tweak, nails sharp against her nipples. 

"Ah!"

"And then..."

"Mmm?"

I bent down to whisper in her ear. "You know how it is, sweet. You're pinned down, and you can't do anything about it, and you're thinking maybe Miss Linda will be content just to torment your breasts." Another tweak-twist-pinch, another gasp. 

"And then she covers your mouth"—I matched my actions to the words—"so nobody can hear you if you squeal. If you need to safeword, baby, grunt three times. Show me."

"Unh. Mrf. Mf."

"Good girl." I gave her nipple another hard tweak, made her squeak into my palm. "Then you feel her hand coming down, reaching for her belt, and you realise you're not going to get to keep your pants on." I took the loose end of the belt, pulled it undone. "And as she's popping your buttons and undoing your zip, you're thinking just how exposed and vulnerable you'll be once she pulls them down. And more helpless than ever, with your pants tangled around your knees."

I tugged them down, hard, along with her underwear. No time for niceties. "Shame I'm not packing tonight, cutie. If I was..." I ground my hips against her, hard, and she pushed back against me. "But I'm sure I can think of something. Let's take this to the bedroom."

I took her by the hair, pulled her up to her knees, and strode down the hall as she scrambled after me on hands and knees.

"Ow! Meanie!"

"That's 'Miss Linda' to you. Got it?"

"Ow! Yes, Miss Linda, before you go in can I tidy—"

"No."

Her bedroom was furnished in Late Modern Impoverished Student style. It had the sort of mess I'd expect of a grad student's room, with a toppled stack of photocopied journal articles and a pile of laundry on the floor. But all I cared about was that there was a bed—a nice high one—with no snakes on it. 

"Before we start, where do you keep the party supplies?"

"Let me get them for you." She scrambled over to a bedside table and ferreted around with her back to me. After searching through a couple of drawers she handed me a box of blue nitrile gloves, and a couple of sachets of lube, then scowled at something in a plastic bag. "Well, that's a bit sad."

"Hmm?"

"All my dams are expired. Like, a year out of date."

"No worries. Got a pair of scissors?"

"Somewhere around." She found them and passed them over.

"Here's one I learned in teaching college." I pulled out one of the gloves, snipped off four fingers, and slit them down the side, so that they opened flat with the thumb in the middle.

"Resourceful."

I pulled a glove onto my right hand—it was a tight fit—and grinned at her. "Now, where were we?" I pushed her face-down over the bed, her legs hanging off the end. She'd left her pants behind somewhere on the way to the bedroom but she was still wearing the flannel shirt; I wormed my hands under her, opened most of the buttons at the front, then yanked it back over her shoulders so it was helping me hold her arms back behind her. 

"Now, time for a spanking." I swatted her arse, a warning of things to come. "I think a nice round dozen strokes to begin with. How does that sound?"

"Yes, Miss Linda?"

"Good. Count, please." And I began.

SMACK!

"One. Thank you, Miss Linda!"

"Such good manners."

SMACK! On the other side, two hand-prints starting to show on her bum.

"Two! Thank you, Miss Linda!"

SMACK! "Three! Thank you, Miss—"

SMACK! "—Linda! Four, Miss Linda. Thank you!"

I picked up the pace. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! "Five, Miss Linda! Si-six, Miss Linda! Seven, Miss Linda! Eight, Miss Linda!"

Almost there, but I thought I ought to draw it out a bit. Her bum was reddening nicely, and warm. I stroked it, letting my fingertips brush against her pussy from time to time. Every time I got near she bucked against my hand, and I had to tut-tut. "No, dear. I decide when. And 'if', for that matter."

She sighed. "Yes, miss."

SMACK! "Nine, Miss Linda! Thank y—"

SMACK! "Ten, Miss Linda, thank you!"

I stalled again, ran my nails over her increasingly tender backside, traced her labia: matched parentheses that seemed to contain some heat, and a little dampness. "Almost there."

SMACK! "Eleven, Miss Linda, thank you!"

SMACK! "Eleven, thank you miss!"

"Hmm?"

"Eleven, ma'am." 

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, ma'am. Nine, ten, eleven."

SMACK! "Eleven, thank you miss!" SMACK! "And eleven, thank you!"

"Well, if you're going to be like that, let's get comfortable. And take off that shirt. Yes, the bra too." I released her, and as she hurried to obey I moved a pile of papers aside and sat on the edge of the bed. Then I pulled her across my knee and resumed spanking. With her top gone I could enjoy the sight of her bare back, and this position let me connect a little harder, which both of us appreciated. At least, I assume that's what the squirming and gasping was about. I had a firm grasp on her hair so she couldn't go too far.

Every so often I'd pause the spanking and switch to stroking her instead, rubbing her burning cheeks with my palm or slipping my fingers down to wander suggestively close to her pucker, drifting past, probing between her legs to see how she was doing. (Answer: hot and bothered.) 

Then I'd start again, showering smacks over her buttocks and the backs of her thighs, as she did her best to keep count. I was going faster and she was a little out of breath, so I'm not sure that she managed to count every stroke, but at least she was making the effort. 

Faster, harder... and every time I stopped, my fingers would intrude a little further between her legs, probe a little deeper, and her legs would spread a little wider. Eventually I slipped my ungloved left hand under her to play with her breasts some more and maul them even as the right fondled her pussy. Pleasure and pain, sweetie.

"How do you feel about getting fucked, girlie?"

She gasped as I squeezed her nipple to emphasise my words. "Oh... do I get a choice?"

"Not really."

"Please."

Still holding onto her breast with my left hand, with my right I reached for the lube—not that I really needed it, but it never hurts. I opened the sachet with the help of my teeth, squeezed it between my fingers, and rubbed them together to spread them around. 

"It's your lucky day, Katie." And as I sank my fingernails into her breast as hard as I could manage, I thrust my thumb into her, fingers rammed against her clit. I knew she was already near the edge from the spanking and the teasing she'd experienced, and it didn't take much to push her closer: a few thrusts and twists of my thumb, fingers chasing her clit. "You're going to come for me. For someone you only met a few hours ago, and now you're naked in her lap. Give it up for me."

That was enough to roll her over the edge, and she squealed, and shuddered, and froze in my grasp. I swear I could feel her heartbeat pulsing against my fingers as she went completely rigid, legs clamping around my hand. "Oh, oh, oh..."

Then suddenly she was pulling away from my hand. "Enough, stop."

"Sure!" I released her immediately. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. I mean, I mean, it's good. Really good. But sometimes I get so sensitive after coming, can't bear to be touched there." 

"No problem." I ruffled her hair and let my hand rest in the curve of her back. "Otherwise okay?"

"Mmm. Yeah. But I think I'll be sore in the morning."

"I'm not surprised. My hand's stinging a bit too." I was stroking her back, fingertips swirling around the bumps of her spine like eddies in a rocky stream. "Well, catch your breath, cutie, and then it'll be time to do something for me."

"Yes, miss." She'd twisted around so she could look up at me. "Or would you prefer I said 'make me'?"

I couldn't prevent myself chuckling. "An excellent question. Both are good, but right now 'yes, miss' will do nicely. 

"Mmm. Give me a couple of minutes." She lay there in my lap, almost purring as I stroked her. It seemed like a good time to ask something that had been on my mind.

"One more personal question?"

"Oh?"

"Do you have a kid?" From the way she tensed up, I knew I'd hit the mark. "It's not a problem if you do. It's none of my business. I was just curious."

"Yeah. I do. There's a photo of him over on the bedside." It took me a moment to see it; it was lying face-down. Had she done that while she was getting the gloves?

I reached over and picked it up. He was a cute lad with a gap-toothed smile; I didn't need to guess his age because he was sitting in front of a racing-car birthday cake with a '5' candle. 

"He lives with his dad and stepmum. I visit on weekends. I'm sorry, I should've said. I just thought you might have a—" She broke off.

"That I might have a problem with it?"

She nodded.

"Nope. I like kids, I'd be a pretty crappy teacher if I didn't. And if I ruled out everybody who wasn't a Gold Star lesbian, fuck, I'd be a sexually frustrated hypocrite. Besides, this is just sex, remember?" I stroked her cheek.

"Thanks." She gave my knee a squeeze. "How did you know?"

"Your areolae." I slipped one hand under her and tickled her there. "That colour on a white woman usually means a woman who's been pregnant." She also had a few stretch marks on her belly—nothing too obvious—but it seemed impolite to mention that.




Counting To Eleven



"Sharp eyes. Yeah, it was... sort of an accident. Kind of thing that happens when you're nineteen and trying to convince yourself you're not really gay. Also when both people involved are a little too drunk to use a condom properly."

"Whoops."

"Best part? Telling Mum and Dad I was pregnant. And Dad's first words were 'well, at least you're not a lesbian.' 'Well, actually, Dad...'"

"Oh, ow."

"They're mostly okay with it now. But it took us a while to get there. Anyway, I need a toilet break. Be right back."

"Go ahead."

By the time she got back I'd undressed and was sitting back on the bed, propped against a couple of pillows. "All good?" I asked.

"All good. So...?"

"I like a bit of attention to my breasts. Lips and tongue and just a little nibbling."

"Of course." She climbed onto the bed, lowered her lips to my breast, but just before she made contact I caught her and pulled her up for an impromptu kiss on the lips.

"Now, back to what you were doing."

She knew her stuff. Dainty little strokes of her tongue, and the warm pressure of her lips, and a pleasant suction as she drew my breast into her mouth. She caught my nipple between her teeth, pulled back a little—enough to be firm, not painful—and her tongue played over the top of it.

"Mmm. That's it." I was stroking her hair with one hand (all the better to hold you there, my dear) and I slid the other between us, found her breasts again, fondled and cupped them. Gently this time; I suspected they'd be bruised from my rough handing, and I didn't want to distract her from her business.

As she suckled on me, she slipped one hand downwards, but before she could get where she was going I caught her by the wrist and pulled her away.

"Mmph?" She still had her mouth full.

"Some other time, that would be lovely. But tonight you're going to use your mouth, and only your mouth." I stroked her hair again, and then I pressed downwards, my meaning clear. "You can use your hands to hold this in place." And I handed her the makeshift dam, helping to position it where it needed to be, and pushed her down. "Get to it."

"Yhff, mth Lmmda." 

Kate lapped at me like a cat at a bowl of milk, every flick of her tongue giving me a little shiver of pleasure, bringing the blood to my face and my chest and my groin. At one point she tried to pull back and tease, but I wasn't having any of that; I pulled her hard against me and crooked my leg around her, foot planted firmly in her back. "That's it. Lick, little kitty. Hard, now." One hand on her forehead, one at the back of the neck, and her tongue fluttering and wriggling and pressing. 

I held back as long as I could, breathing out to take the edge off every time I felt the shudders rising and threatening to overwhelm me. But every time, the tension built a little higher, until at last I let the waves take me. "Yes, fuck, fuck, fuck, yeeeeees..." And I crushed her against me, ground my pubis against her mouth, until I was well and truly done. Then I let her go and we lay on the bed side by side.

My eyes were beginning to close when Kate spoke. "Linda? I know this was just sex, but you can stay the night if you like."

"I was going to ask. I'd feel like a bad top if I abandoned you right after." Not to mention the top-drop I always seem to get after the first time with a new partner. "Although I'll have to leave early, need to drop by home before I get to school."

"Sure. I'm a heavy sleeper, if you can't wake me, feel free to let yourself out."

Not long after, I drifted off to sleep, still pleasantly tingling, hoping Kate might be up for a repeat one of these days. At five a.m. my alarm went off and I shut it off quickly, then padded out to the bathroom for a quick shower before leaving. 

And that's how I found out where Kate kept the crocodile.

Thank you for reading! I welcome feedback. I don't post often, so if you want me to let you know when I have a new story out, you can use the Contact tab to give me your email address.

My story "A Stringed Instrument" is eligible for the 2013 Clitorides Awards in the "Best Gay/Lesbian/etc" category. Voting runs March 1-April 14; see my user profile for a link. 

The copperhead incident happened to somebody I knew. 



Counting to Ten



My pussy is wet again, soaked at the thought of getting your cock into my mouth again. I hum as I move around the house, trying to keep my thoughts off of what I would really rather be doing. There are chores to finish, and I want the house to be presentable when you get here. I've already taken one break because I needed to finger my pussy. If I stop again, I won't get everything on the list done.

I glance at the clock, then at my list. I have about twenty more minutes until you should be here, and still three things to do. Trying to hurry, I grab the broom and sweep up in the kitchen. Almost unconsciously, I run my hands up and down the length of the broomstick. I remember, in my single days, fucking myself with whatever I could find that even slightly resembled a cock.

I laugh at myself, getting my mind back on the task at hand. I finish sweeping, but there is not enough time to mop before you get home. I go down to the last chore on the list and instantly I regret not reading the entire list first. You had wanted me to go to the store and pick up some supplies.

I groan in disappointment and look at the clock again. Ten minutes? Not enough time. What the fuck am I going to do?

I hear the garage door open and I groan again. You are home early, catching me with two undone chores and wet panties. I run up the stairs, stripping off clothes as I go. I am always to meet you naked, kneeling and waiting for you in the middle of the bedroom. I take a minute to throw my clothes into the hamper, then smooth my hair at the mirror. 

I can hear you entering the house through the kitchen, and I know I am caught. I kneel on the floor, my hands resting on the tops of my thighs, my legs open wide, my head down. As I listen to you mount the stairs, I wonder how I am going to explain myself. 

Damn. I'm in trouble again.

I glance at your feet as you enter the bedroom. I almost feel sorry for you—you are dressed for work, in a suit and tie, busy all day with meetings and clients. As a teacher, I have the summer off, free to complete chores for you, or nap if I have time. Or watch a porn and get myself off.

When we had first gotten together, you had made the rule that I could not masturbate without permission. But soon you realized that I am often overcome with a wet, aching pussy. I got in trouble a lot for getting off without permission. The rule was dropped when you tired of punishing me. Besides, sometimes you will call home to see if I am laying in bed, fingering myself. How many times have you wanted me to come to the office to relieve you under the desk? 

And how many times have I? I giggle at the thought.

"I don't know why you are laughing, little one. You didn't finish your chores, even though you had all day. What the fuck did you do with all the time?" You are angry, I can hear it in your voice. Shit, if you had a bad day on top of me not getting everything done, I'm in trouble.

"I don't know Master. Time just got away from me." 

"Little bitch, I don't believe that for a second." I listen to the everyday sounds of you undressing, laying your clothes on the bed. Without being asked, I get up and hang the clothes up neatly, then reach for some loungewear. I want you to be able to relax. 

Once changed, you sit down in the chair beside the bed and snap your fingers. Instantly, I am kneeling before you, awaiting your next command. I feel, rather than see, your smile.

"Go get the crop," you order. I stand up to run into the other room, but you grab my hair and keep my on my knees. "Crawl and get it. You will get a swat for every second you are gone, so make it quick."

I bolt across the floor, making you chuckle. Seventy seconds later, I am back in front of you, holding the crop in my mouth. "Only 70 this time pet. Last time you took almost three minutes. What an improvement!" 

Yeah, right. Last time you hid the damn thing, and I couldn't find it. You have no idea how pissed off I was... or maybe you do. In any case, I took the 180 swats like a pro. I'd like to think your arm was worn out before my ass, but I doubt that was the case.

"Turn around little bitch. Put your shoulders on the ground and your ass way up in the air." I do as you command, wishing that the carpet gave me more to hold on to. The first ten swats are easy, because you are not swinging that hard. As you begin to swing harder, however, my hands knot into fists and I lock my jaw. After twenty-five swats, tears begin to flow.

At forty swats, I am finding it impossible to stay still. I am moaning and groaning under the crop, trying to get away without really getting away. "Last twenty," I hear you say as the crop falls again and again. Suddenly you stop. "I want you to count the last ten, pet."

Damn. "Yes Master."

One on my upper right thigh, a sweet spot. "One." One on my upper left thigh, another sweet spot. "Two."

"No, no, pet. That was one. Ten on each side. Come on, you know better. Now we have to start over."

Fuck. "Yes Master." Again, one on the right. "One." The crop falls again, another on the left. "One." Suddenly, four in succession on the right. "Two, three, four, five." And then two quick swats on the left. "Two, three." And then you move back to the right. Four on the right. "Four, five, six, seven."

"No, no, pet. That should have been eight on the right. Now we have to start over again." I can almost feel you chuckling. 

Five quick swats on the left side. "One, two, three, four, five." Four quick swats on the right side. "One, two, three, four." Two on the left. "Six, seven." You are moving quickly, and I am starting to have trouble remembering what number I am up to on each side. Three more on the right. "Uhhh... five, six, seven." Two on the left. "Damn, I don't know!"

You are almost giggling now, so giddy in your amusement. "Oh, pet, come on. You went to college. You can count to ten. Let's try once more. Ready?"

I grit my teeth. My ass is on fire. "Yes Master."

Eight quick swats on the right side, and I count to eight. Four quick swats on the left side, followed by me counting to four. Two more on the right, and I thankfully finish counting to ten. Two more on the left, and I count "Five, six." 

You switch back over to the right, and I don't know how to respond. I stay silent. Big mistake. "Oh, pet, come on. What comes after ten? I know you can do it. Say it with me... e-lev-en. Can you say that? E-lev-en. And then Tw-el-ve. I know you can do it."

I groan. "Does that mean I have to start over?"

"Yes pet." 

Fuck. It's going to be a long night.