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Estuary

By: Belengo



Estuary: (n) - that part of the mouth or lower course of a river in which the river's current meets the sea's tide.

*

Bethany and Carlton had been married for eight years. High school sweethearts, they were almost a textbook cliché. Carlton had been a football player. He was never the star of the team or the most popular, but he was shy, sensitive, and he had an athlete's body. In the years since, he'd let himself go a little, too busy with work for working out. Bethany, on the other hand, was the captain of the cheerleading squad and the homecoming queen. That was years ago, but the curvy, golden haired, and long legged girl that turned all the boys' heads hadn't changed much. At 33, she still fit easily into her squad uniform. 

It was that homecoming dance she was thinking of just then. Another boy, Kurt Lancing, was the homecoming king. He was brash, charming, and had on several occasions made his interest in her known. Tall, blonde, and with eyes like Caribbean water, Bethany was helplessly attracted to him. That night, when the obligatory courtly dance came around, Kurt had held her close. Too close, at least for Carlton's taste. She'd never seen him so jealous. They had fought and nearly broken up over it, but later that night they'd made up and had the best sex of their relationship. Still, the hurt look in Carlton's eyes as he watched the dance haunted her. The sex did too. Still, here she was on the brink...

Carlton managed his father's real estate agency and Bethany had her own career in education. This kept them both incredibly busy, but they made time on the weekends for a little R&R. That Saturday had started like any other. She and Carlton met their usual friends at the usual club for the usual "night out". Carlton had never been much of a dancer, so she usually danced with her best friend Eliza. Eliza was a cute, 5'2" brunette with short, cropped hair and an androgynous physique. They'd met in college and become fast friends. Back then Eliza called herself "experimentally bi". Bethany was curious enough, but Carlton was against it so it'd never gone further than the exaggerated flirting that continued still. That night, however, Eliza was no help. Earlier that week Eliza had broken her left ankle in a game of racquetball. She arrived at the club, with the help of her longtime boyfriend Scott, in a cast. 

Eliza met Scott in her final year in college and he was the oddball in their white collar circle. A guitarist by trade and a painter when he found the time, Scott was very much the starving artist type. Like Carlton, he'd been an athlete, but he still worked out regularly and had washboard abs that Eliza loved showing off. That aside, he also had shaggy, dirty blond hair and eyes that reminded Bethany of the same deep water she'd almost drowned in at the dance so long ago. 

"Why don't you just go without me?" Eliza asked. 

"I don't want to by myself," Bethany answered and it was the truth. On the few occasions she had gone by herself, she'd felt too self-conscious, worried about upsetting Carlton, to let go and have fun. Eliza was her security blanket. 

"So make Carl take you," Eliza answered, raising her voice a little. It was no use. Carlton was oblivious. The company wasn't doing well and this had been a particularly bad week. Carlton was already on his sixth drink and engrossed in venting at Scott and their other friends. Recognizing defeat, Eliza offered, "Take Scott." 

Bethany waffled, "No, I couldn't..."

Eliza scoffed and nudged Scott, drawing his attention from Carlton's rant. "Beth wants to dance. Wanna go with her since I'm gimp?"

"Sure," he answered, giving Bethany a reassuring smile. Not waiting for the predictable excuses, Eliza tapped Carlton's shoulder.

Bethany watched Eliza and her husband exchange some words. The music was too loud for her to make out what was said, but she could tell that Carlton was well on his way to drunk and more concerned with continuing his rant than talking to Eliza. Bethany turned her attention to Scott, who was watching Eliza with an amused grin. She was attracted to him and the prospect, unlikely as it was, of dancing with him set her on edge. She felt a blush rise when he turned and caught her looking, but Eliza provided a convenient excuse to look away. Carlton had dismissed her with an offhand gesture and returned to his tirade.

"He said it's fine," Eliza pronounced, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

Bethany was stunned, but Scott was already offering her a hand as he rose for the opposite side of the booth. She took it instinctually and he lifted her to join him. "You don't have to," she blurted. It was the only thing she could think to say.

Scott just chuckled and began to draw her towards the dance floor. "Hey, you're doing me a favor," he said when they were several yards from the booth. "Listening to Carl go on about how the democrats sabotaged the market was driving me nuts. Besides, I've been watching you dance with Eliza for years. Now it's my turn."

Bethany felt another blush come over her and it seemed to linger through the first few songs. She was still uncomfortable and several times she tried to spot Carlton but the crowd was too thick and the booth too distant. She knew Scott could sense her hesitance. He was hardly touching her. He was playing it safe. Scott was a good dancer. She'd watched him and Eliza dance and longed for the obvious heat they shared on the dance floor. While they moved like liquid fire, on the few occasions Bethany had gotten Carlton to dance he had been rigid and clumsy. 

"Are you sure you want to be out here?" Scott asked during a pause between sets. "If you're uncomfortable or worried about Carlton we can totally go back to the booth."

Bethany felt a little embarrassed. Had she really been that obvious and awkward? "No, I want to dance with you," she answered, then realizing what she'd said amended, "I want to dance. It's just been a while since I've..."

Scott didn't let her finish. "I understand. Why don't we go to the bar and get a couple drinks? It'll help you relax." She agreed and Scott nonchalantly put his arm around her, his hand on her hip, and led her from the floor. The bar was crowded and they had to squeeze in just to order. 

Bethany was wearing a black skirt that rose well above the knee and a short top that left her midriff exposed. As he ordered, Scott's thumb began to caress her exposed waist. It was nothing, but Bethany's entire body responded to the touch. She felt her pulse quicken and goosebumps danced down her arms. What was she doing? Bethany leaned more into Scott, allowing herself to press fully against him, allowing her breasts to press against his solid chest. Her hand went to his hip and slid her thumb into one of his belt loops. Even this was too far. If Carlton saw it... Scott just smiled at her briefly and then turned his attention back to waiting for their drinks. When they finally arrived, Bethany downed hers in a single chug. The music was playing again and she wanted to dance in earnest. Sensing the change, Scott downed his drink quickly and led her by the hand back to the floor.

As soon as they reached the floor, Scott was on her. His arms enfolded her, fingers splaying out across her exposed back. She pressed herself against him, closed her eyes, and let the music take her. Bethany loved to dance, loved the freedom and the release. She lost herself in it. With Eliza she could do so safely, but this was different. There was risk. Temptation. Scott turned her back to him, held her by the hips, and ground himself against her. She gasped, feeling him there against her, hard and aroused. He pressed his cock into her and his hands slid from her hips to her stomach. Her heart raced again and she felt her crotch begin to tingle and dampen. 

Near panic, Bethany looked for Carlton, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was married! What the hell was she thinking? Despite herself she reached back, laced her fingers behind Scott's neck, and pushed back. He responded by nuzzling her neck, his breath and lips hot against her flesh. Bethany bit her bottom lip, and caught in the moment, turned her face towards Scott. He didn't hesitate. Lifting his face to meet hers, he pressed his lips against hers and parted them with his tongue. He kissed her furiously and Bethany answered it. Oh god, she thought, what am I doing? She loved Carlton. She can't do this. She can't. 

But she did nothing to stop him. Her mind raced back to the dance, to Carlton's eyes watching her dance with Kurt Lancing. Scott's hands slowly slid upwards, and she shuddered as his hands slid over her breasts. Her nipples, already hard, rolled under his palms and she moaned into the kiss. God. Her memories continued. She and Carlton had fucked for hours that night, her fantasizing about Kurt the whole time. Her clit was throbbing and she could feel the wetness in her panties. If anything she kissed harder, forcing her tongue into Scott's mouth as his hands massaged her C-cup breasts. The set ended, but the kiss lingered several moments beyond the music before the spell broke. Bethany pulled away from him, as if only finally realizing what she'd been doing. "I need to go check on Carlton," She was already retreating. Scott just shrugged and followed her back to the booth. 

Back at the booth, Carlton was clearly drunk and nearly cationic. Eliza was still sitting next to him, so Bethany slipped in across from them. Scott fell in next to her. Eliza took one look at the two on them, grinned knowingly, and asked, "Enjoy the dance?"

Bethany, flustered and bothered, was still reeling with the gravity of what had happened. "She's a good dancer," Scott answered for them, and placed his hand on Bethany's knee below the table. Bethany startled and looked terrified at her husband, but Carlton's eyes weren't even open and he was clearly feeling no pain. 

"Now you know why I'm always so horny afterwards," Eliza smiled, lighting a cigarette. 

Scott nodded and smiled at Bethany, who was frozen like a dear in headlights. "Carl's fucked. We should probably get him home," he said, his hand sliding further up Bethany's thigh until the edge of his pinky hit the hem of her skirt. Bethany's breath was staggered and she watched her husband in terror even as she allowed her legs to spread a little more open. Scott took full advantage of this, slipping fingers underneath and petting the damp cloth. Bethany put both hands on the table and looked to Eliza as if for help. 

"You two have been drinking. So I'll drive," Eliza began, adding, "Oh, don't worry. I can still drive. C'mon, let's go." Everything was happening so fast. Before she really knew what she was doing, she was helping Scott carry Carlton to Eliza's car. It was a small green Saturn of some sort with a backseat cluttered with boxes of text books. "Put Carl up front, Beth. Scott, make some room in the back so you and Beth can ride back there," Eliza instructed as she awkwardly maneuvered herself into the driver's seat. 

Bethany slumped Carlton into the seat and Eliza fastened him in. "Thanks for the ride," she said, feeling a little overwhelmed. 

"No problem," Eliza answered, "Now hop in so we can get him home before he yetches all over my car!" 

Behind them, Scott had moved the boxes to one side as best he could, but there was still only room for one. "Hope you don't mind riding on my lap," he said. Bethany hesitated a moment, but took his hand and got in. He was still hard and she could feel him pressed against her ass. 

"Fuck, I left my purse in the fucking booth. Don't worry, I can get it," Eliza cursed, got out and slammed the door. Carlton shifted unconsciously and Bethany was alone with Scott.

Wordlessly, he put his hand back to her thigh just before the hem of her skirt. His other hand slid up her side, and he began kissing her neck. Again she sucked in her bottom lip, but offered no resistance. Both hands slid upwards. Bethany gasped. Carlton was right there in the front seat! Scott's fingers slid against her soaked panties and put pressure against her aching clit. She groaned in pleasure as he began to rub her between his thumb and first finger. His other hand slid under her top, raising it to expose her soft breast. Her legs parted more, and she slid a hand into Scott's hair. 

"Oh god... oh god," she whispered, "Oh god... yes... yessss......" The orgasm exploded across her senses. Her thighs clenched around his wrist. Her whole body ground against his hand as wave after wave of pleasure wracked her. 

"I'm going to fuck you now," Scott whispered in Bethany's ear, twisting her nipple. She could only pant and nod as he pulled her panties down with the other hand. "I know you want it." 

Again she nodded, her gaze falling back upon her sleeping husband. She could feel tears beginning to well in her eyes. It was only supposed to be a dance. Scott slumped in the seat, took Bethany's hands, and lowered them to his belt between her own legs. She just wanted to dance. She'd never let another man touch her like this. "I can't do this," she thought as her hands obediently released the belt and worked at the buttons below. 

Scott took her face by the chin and turned her away from Carlton. She quivered, staring into those Caribbean eyes, as he opened her mouth and kissed her. Bethany succumbed to the kiss, only to gasp as her hands found the hard flesh of Scott's naked cock. He was at least a third larger than Carlton. Wrapping her fist around him, she pumped him vigorously and Scott leaned his head back to moan. "Yeah, like that." Her hands openly explored the full length of his shaft, wetting themselves with his precum, and lubricating the head with it. "Now, fuck me," he commanded.

Bethany obeyed, turning in the seat to straddle him. Her knees pushed into the crack between the seats and the roof pushed against the back of her head. Eyes burning, she kissed him again as she reached between them and guided his penis. His head parted her engorged lips and she trembled as it found her yearning hole. Her mouth gaped as she sank slowly onto the largest cock she'd ever known. Scott seemed to fill her to stretching, as though her insides had only just enough room for him. Bethany's hands went to his shoulders and she began to stroke the cock inside of her. Scott's hands reach around and grabbed her ass, pulling her cheeks apart and, using her own lubricant, began fingering at her asshole. 

"Fffffuuucuccckkkkk...," Bethany groaned, cumming again. Her fingernails dug into Scott's shoulders and she surged against him, ravenously thrusting herself against him. Carlton had never touched her ass and now Scott's finger was pushing inside. She couldn't believe she was fucking another man, much less in the club parking lot with her husband inches away. She didn't care. She needed more. This time she was on the offensive. She plowed her mouth into Scott's, taking a kiss as if by force and fucked him harder. Another orgasm blossomed even before the previous one passed. Her thighs spasmed and her stomach crapped.

"C...c...cumming...," Scott groaned, now nothing more than the vehicle of Bethany's pleasure. "I'm cumming." On the brink of yet another climax, Bethany slowed and ground hard against him, moving for him like she'd never moved for her husband. She felt him release, his warm seed spreading inside of her, as his body reflexively thrust to deliver the charge. Bethany wrapped her arms around his head, clutching it to her chest as she folded against him, riding those final movements and the taboo of letting another man cum inside her into ecstasy. She buried her face in Scott's hair and panted as the aftershocks rippled across her sweating flesh.

Then the car door opened and Eliza got in. Bethany startled, but there was no way to disguise what was happening. "Eliza..." she almost moaned. 

Eliza adjusted her rear view to catch Bethany's eyes. "Still curious?" 

Bethany nodded.

Estuary Ch. 02



Estuary: (n) - that part of the mouth or lower course of a river in which the river's current meets the sea's tide.

The radio was off, but nobody spoke. The silence was broken only by inconsistent snoring, the drone of the tires, and her own labored breathing. Carlton, her husband and the source of the snoring, was slumped in the front seat, intoxicated beyond all redemption. He was going to be sorry in the morning, but Bethany was struggling not to be now. Ten years of marriage, of stability and fidelity, that was the currency of the evening. The price of a dance. If only Carlton had danced with her, just that once. Was she thankful that he hadn't? Bethany forced herself to not hear her husband, to not sense his proximity. She couldn't bear to think of seeing that look in his eyes, the look she hadn't provoked since slow dancing with Kurt Lancing at their homecoming dance so many years ago. She had to forget him, to erase his presence. This she managed with incriminating ease but, in all fairness, there were distractions.

The backseat of the Saturn Ion was cramped, with half the space sacrificed to unopened boxes of textbooks. Like Bethany, Eliza worked in education and her car was always a clutter of the evidence. Bethany had always felt safe with Eliza. But tonight, the clever and adventurous girl who had been her best friend since college was also the architect of something Bethany didn't ask for and never knew she wanted. She still wasn't entirely sure she had wanted it, but it was too late for that. Now, she just didn't want it to stop. It was getting late, and the roads, slick from an evening shower, were deserted. The strobe of passing streetlights passed through the car like dim flashbulbs. From the driver's seat, Eliza angled the mirror for a better view. Bethany wasn't alone back there. 

Their tongues danced, tasting and dueling each other. He was still inside her. Scott was Eliza's significant something. Bethany was never really sure what to call him, usually resorting to "boyfriend" when describing him to others. Eliza had met Scott near the end of her college career, when she was at her wildest and most experimental, and he was a roguishly charming art major destined to drop out. They were perfect for each other, but Bethany knew that their relationship was a promiscuous one. Until that night, it was a lifestyle Bethany had never been able to relate to. Still, on several occasions Carlton had unknowingly reaped the benefits of those long, often late night, phone calls when Eliza just couldn't wait to tell Bethany about her latest escapade. Sharing the sordid details of their flings and affairs with Bethany was one of Eliza's favorite pastimes. Eliza would talk and Bethany would fantasize. More than once she'd even locked herself in the bathroom with the phone and pleasured herself while Eliza's story, told in a husky voice amid heavy breathing, unfolded. It never occurred to Carlton to question why his wife occasionally came to bed possessed with such an inexplicable but immediate hunger.

For as long as they'd known each other, Eliza had been openly, if not enthusiastically, bi-sexual. Bethany's own curiosity had been quashed, held back by Carlton's conservative sensibilities. So they limited themselves to "playful flirting", the free intimacy of the dance floor, and the mutual masturbation of those clandestine bathroom conversations. It was safe, sterile. It was okay for Bethany to explore her sensuality in that sheltered place devoid of mornings after or consequences. Everything was different now. Only moments ago, in the backseat mere feet from her husband, Bethany had traded in a decade of faith and security. That dance had been bought and paid for. For the first time, Bethany fucked another man. Soon, she was going to fuck Eliza too. 

On empty streets, the drive from the nightclub to Bethany's townhouse was a short one, a matter of fifteen or so minutes. To Bethany, however, it felt like some terrible union of an eternity and an instant spent hovering on the precipice between guilt and ecstasy. Her eyes burned with stayed tears, but still her mouth worked against his. Scott's hands, calloused from years of fretwork and so very different from Carlton's manicured touch, slid beneath and lifted her short black top. Exposed, Bethany broke the kiss, lolling her head back and drawing Scott's mouth down towards the soft contours of her breasts. Staggered breathing yielded to a low raspy moan as he kissed then suckled her sensitive flesh. 

The world scrolled past the windows, and inches away her husband slept, but these were peripheral things, made more distant with each caress. For more than a decade, Carlton had been the only lover she'd known. He'd been adequate in that service, typically considerate and eager to please, but time had dulled their passion into predictable routines. Scott was so unfamiliar, this night so unpredictable. It had been too long since she'd felt anything new. She felt so alive, like someone accustomed to a grayscale world seeing in color for the very first time. With each compromise and rationalization, she slipped just a little farther from the person she thought she was, and with each slip, she cared a little less how far astray she was heading. Just briefly she caught a glimpse of Eliza's eyes, full of promise and anticipation, in the rearview. With that, the final ephemeral vestiges of doubt flickered and died. Bethany pivoted, wrapping an arm around the seat, and slid her hand into Eliza's tank-top. 

"Almost there," Eliza said, grinning mischievously and taking one hand from the wheel to squeeze Bethany's against her breast through the thin fabric of her top. There would be no phone between them tonight.

"Drive faster," was all Bethany could answer, before Scott demonstrated his approval with searing kiss that left her both breathless and surprised when the car came to halt outside her townhouse. Preparing to get out, Bethany withdrew her hand from Eliza, and just in time. 

"Bethany?" Carlton slurred, stirred by the stop.

Bethany twisted violently, unceremoniously releasing Scott in the process, pulled her top down and leaned forward between the seats. Carlton was still catastrophically dazed and clearly several leagues beyond anything resembling sober. He looked outside and, judging from his furrowed brow and vacant eyes, had no idea where he was or how he'd managed to find himself there. Bethany kissed his cheek and rubbed his shoulder. "You got really drunk, baby. Eliza and Scott drove us home."

"What about the car?" Carlton asked in a vague semblance of clarity. 

"Eliza and Scott are going to crash in the spare room. They'll drive me back in the morning for it," Bethany answered, only just stifling a gasp. Behind her, Scott rested a hand high on her thigh, slowly raising it into her skirt as she spoke. She struggled to hold her voice steady as fingers abandoned her leg for the damp flesh between, parted lips and threatened penetration. "We should get you upstairs and," she paused, color rising in her face, as a single finger sank into her. The pause lingered and Carlton, finally noticing it, looked to his wife with burgeoning scrutiny. Bethany was desperate. She didn't dare speak when she could only just contain the shuddering moans brewing inside her. He was getting curious. She had to do something! 

Bethany kissed her husband. Hard. Her tongue almost involuntary invaded Carlton's mouth and, despite his awkwardly drunken attempt at reciprocation, Bethany threw herself into it. Ripples of taboo arousal washed over her, subsuming her thoughts with raw, carnal sensation. She was kissing her husband while another man's fingers moved inside her. Scott not only continued, he added a second probing finger, causing Bethany to groan with pleasure into the mouth of her intoxicated husband. Scarcely contained shivers wracked her as she feebly resisted betraying the evidence of a climax that seemed to explode into the pit of her stomach. Muscles quivered and then seized, but still her husband pursued the kiss. It was a terrible rapture, equal parts unforgivable and irresistible. Gently, she withdrew from her husband, whose eyes were a mix of inebriation, arousal, and affection. She pet his face. "We need to get you to bed," she said softly. 

Carlton kissed her hand and nodded dreamily, sinking back into his fugue. He really didn't deserve this. She knew that. It just didn't matter tonight. Moments later, Bethany and Scott were helping Carlton, who was the perfect mix of dead weight and incoherent mumbling to make it a considerable chore, up the stairs and inside. Eliza followed behind, limping precariously on her casted left ankle, broken a week prior at the gym. Every few paces, Bethany looked back to her. The growing sense of immediacy was palpable between them. Each time their eyes met and each time they wordlessly reiterated a single sentiment. "Soon."

As far as townhouses went, Bethany and Carlton's was relatively luxurious. They weren't rich, but between Bethany's salary and Carlton's real estate agency, they were very comfortable. Their townhouse was strategically located in mid city, nestled amidst seven clones that were just dissimilar enough to avoid that tedious cookie cutter feeling. First floor brick exteriors, reserved for garages, gave way to broad lattice work indicative of the Tudor style for the second and third. An adjoining building of the same fashion provided spaces for guest parking along with an indoor pool, hot tub, and several other athletic amenities. The entire community was enclosed by a large stone wall, easily eight feet tall, that bristled with imposing ironwork which, while aesthetically pleasing, certainly discouraged any attempts to scale it. 

The interior was equally charming with a spacious kitchen, dining room, and living space dominated by an oriental rug and color coordinated furniture rounding out the second floor. Hardwood floors ran throughout, and the walls were lined with cluttered bookshelves populated with the byproducts of Bethany's years in academia. Carlton's sole contribution to the decor came in the form of a wall mounted plasma television, complete with an impressive array of Bose speakers. The third floor consisted of an office space, the master bedroom, and a spare room typically reserved for guests. Once or twice there had been talk of converting the latter into a nursery. This had actually been Carlton's idea, but Bethany just wasn't sure she was or ever would be ready for that. They'd never fought over it, but she kept her birth control pills out of his sight in the hopes of keeping them equally out of his mind. 

By the time Carlton was ushered up to the third floor, he was moving under his own power. Guided by Bethany and Scott, he stumbled into the master bedroom after doing the same to virtually every possible obstacle along the way. Scott paused at the doorway as Bethany walked her husband to the bed, where he promptly collapsed with the kind of gleeful chuckle that only the absurdly drunk are capable of. "Bethany?" he asked, slurring her name so badly it sounded more like "beftnee", as she took off his shoes.

"Right here, baby," Bethany answered, moving up to sit beside him to work on his pants. 

"I love you."

Bethany paused, stricken and perfectly abashed. Carlton was hammered, and his voice rang with the unfettered sincerity so common to that condition. For a moment, she was utterly paralyzed, unresponsive and reeling. She'd been hastily undressing her husband fully intending to abandon and betray him, eager to rush into the embrace of another. Her appetite unleashed, she'd even begun to envision fucking Scott and Eliza at the same time. In that instant, every previously dispelled ounce of doubt and guilt was reborn and redoubled. What had she done? What was she doing? Thoughts of escape, even suicide, raced through her mind provoked by the memory of those homecoming eyes. Unsure she'd heard, Carlton repeated himself. This time Bethany was able to conjure a smile and face his unknowing eyes. "I love you, too," she said, almost whispering. Any louder and her voice would have cracked.

Carlton smiled back. "I didn't mean to get so," he began, trailing off briefly as if searching for the right word before triumphantly adding, "drunk!"

Bethany smiled again. It took most of her strength just to muster it and will her hands back into motion at his belt. Carlton was a good man. He was flawed sure, but who wasn't? Any innocence she may have had was irredeemably lost now, another hidden cost. Just weeks ago, she'd listened sympathetically to Avery, their neighbor and occasional friend, explain how he'd caught his wife Melissa cheating. Bethany had scathingly condemned her, calling her a whore, a tramp. So what was she now? "It's okay," she said, lifting his shirt over his head. From somewhere near the doorway came the click and scrape of a Zippo lighter. That was Scott. Eliza, who probably wouldn't have wanted to struggle up another flight of stairs, always used disposables. Bethany closed her eyes, opening them to look again into her husband's. He didn't know. He didn't need to know. Knowing would only hurt him, maybe even destroy him. She would protect him from that, but it was too late for her. Even the simple sound of the flicking lighter had sent a shiver of remembered anticipation across her. "You can sleep it off. I'm going to go make sure Eliza and Scott are comfortable," she said. The decision was made. Carlton nodded sluggishly. Bethany kissed him lovingly with wayward lips, caressed his face with undeserving fingers, and moved for the door, the word "soon" slipping out almost subconsciously as she closed the bedroom door behind her. 

Scott met her in the hallway, wrapping his arms around her as she plucked the cigarette from his mouth and took a deep drag. "Everything cool?" he asked with what Bethany thought might have even been genuine concern. 

She mused over the question for the length of a second drag, while Scott tried to puzzle out the meaning of her silence. His hands, resting on the small of her back, pet her in what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring way. She released the smoke slowly, prolonging his exposure to the ambivalence for her own amusement. She had no interest in consolation, no further need for reinforcement. Her season of uncertainty had passed. "No. No, it's not," she answered, withdrawing the cigarette and taking his mouth in a demanding, invasive kiss. Momentarily set aback, Scott rallied quickly, his hands lowering to cup her ass. Not this time, Romeo, she thought. This time, she would do the taking. 

She dropped the cigarette onto the hardwood below and took fistfuls of Scott's shirt, forcing him back into the wall only inches from the closed door of her bedchamber. Whatever passion he'd experienced in that parking lot paled like a candle against the sun now. Bethany's tongue furiously dominated the kiss as her hand slid from his shoulder to his abdomen, and then to his belt. Her mouth left his and attacked his neck, kissing and teasing with teeth. How many times had Carlton benefited from the effect Eliza had on her? It was only fair, she mused, that Scott share in that bounty. He panted, uttering inaudibly, as Bethany almost violently pulled the buttons of his fly open and seized his throbbing cock. For several moments she alternated between stroking him and grinding her body against him. His hands trembled and his mouth gaped, emitting a constant whispered litany of "oh God", "Yeah", and "Fuck". She dragged her mouth down the seam of Scott's shirt, pulling at the buttons with her teeth as she went. Earlier that night, she'd allowed a man other than Carlton to fuck and cum inside her for the first time. Now, in the hallway outside of her bedroom, Bethany was going to suck his cock. 

She slid down before him, still stroking his thickening shaft, spreading the precum up and down his length. He watched, eyes half lidded and mouth still agape, as she leveled him off with her lips and gently blew warmly on his head, before taunting it with a peck. Scott clutched the doorframe over his head for support with one hand while the other moved into the golden hair at the back of Bethany's head. He fought desperately to swallow the groan that seemed determined to burst free as his shaft vanished into her soft, sucking mouth. He was bigger than Carlton, but not so much as to matter on her knees. It was his taste, saltier and perhaps a little less bitter, that struck her most, as her tongue flicked in serpentine patterns against the now throbbing penis.

Bethamy stroked him relentlessly into her ravenous mouth, and his whole body reverberated with her escalating rhythm. Suddenly, his knees buckled and she felt the surge that heralded his climax. Sounds escaped, but speech was beyond him as he released into her mouth. Her lips sealed around him, allowing none of his seed to escape. Swallowing with each squeezing stroke, Bethany drained Scott completely as he squirmed against the wall, gasping for air. When she was satisfied that he had nothing more for her, she released him with a final flourish of tongue work, and looked up into his eyes, those treacherous Caribbean waters, the tip of his cock still pressed against her lips. 

From somewhere wicked, a smile blossomed across her face. The bridge was burned, and she didn't know what would happen or who she would be tomorrow. It didn't matter tonight. Neatly, she folded Scott's spent flesh back into his trousers, refastened the buttons, and buckled his belt before returning to her feet and turning for the stairs. "Where are you going?" Scott rasped, still chasing his elusive breath. 

"To keep a promise," she answered, pausing just long enough to pick up the still smoldering cigarette and take a drag. "Wait here." Eliza was still waiting downstairs, and now Bethany was sure there'd be no distractions.



Estuary Ch. 03



Estuary: (n) - that part of the mouth or lower course of a river in which the river's current meets the sea's tide.

1:10 said one. 1:02 said the other. Eliza sat alone on the sofa, resting her ankle in its cumbersome cast, and idly wondered which one was telling the truth. Neither the cable box nor the DVD player seemed particularly credible to her. It was her left ankle that she'd broken, fractured really, in a racquetball game, and it was throbbing unpleasantly. She really shouldn't have walked on it so much. Earlier that night, her injury had kept her off of the dance floor. Now she was sitting alone in a second story living room, only accessible by stairs, while her boyfriend Scott, her best friend, and her best friend's comically drunk husband were up yet another flight of stairs doing God only knows what. Anyone else might have been prone to irritation at the situation. Eliza, however, was counting her blessings. She wasn't even overly impatient. She'd waited years for tonight. Minutes were nothing.

The townhouse belonged to Bethany and her husband Carlton, high school sweethearts who'd married just after college. That had been where Eliza met Bethany. Aside from their mutual pursuit of degrees in education, they were virtually nothing alike. Maybe that was why they'd become such fast and enduring friends. Eliza was always the wild one who experimented with a lot more than just marijuana and boys. Her hair was naturally a dark, almost glossy black, though back then, in the times before she was bound by things like maintaining a "professional appearance", she favored purple, red, or even blue. She wore it short and cropped these days, one of the many compromises made in the name of paying the bills. The rest of her, however, was still pretty much unchanged. Bethany, on the other hand, was one of those blondes you see on the cover of bridal magazines, beautiful and pristine. She'd literally been the homecoming queen. While Eliza went through lovers with carefree abandon, Bethany was strictly monogamous. She loved Carlton. She played by the rules. She was a good girl, well, at least mostly good. 

Characteristically drawn to the unconventional, Eliza had always found men and women equally attractive. It was a sentiment she frequently and shamelessly acted on. There had been a time in those early years when Bethany first expressed her own budding curiosity, but Carlton was much too conservative to entertain the prospect. In the years that followed, it became their little secret, an inside game of sorts. They playfully flirted and tempted each other on the dance floor, but it never went any further - at least, not in person. Instead, they talked on the phone; or rather Eliza talked while Bethany listened to the intimate details of her best friend's promiscuous liaisons. Typically, these conversations led to moments of heavy breathing and shared rapture. They also tended to ensure Carlton had a very, very good night. They'd never so much as kissed, but Eliza had made Bethany cum countless times. Until tonight, that had always been enough for them. Tonight, her cast had her kept her from dancing, and when she suggested that Bethany dance with Scott instead, Carlton had been too drunk to protest. Tonight, Eliza watched Bethany fuck her boyfriend in the backseat of their car while Carlton, lost in an inebriated stupor, slept in the front. Now Scott and Bethany were upstairs, presumably helping Carlton into bed, and Eliza, who was growing quite fond of her cast, was waiting patiently for her turn. 

Bethany walked slowly down the stairs, still smoking a cigarette she'd plucked from Scott's mouth. The menthol flavor mingled with the bitter aftertaste of what was now a comparatively a minor indiscretion in the hallway outside of her bedroom. The person she had been yesterday, proper and faithful, was no more. A woman with long suppressed needs and the determination to sate them had taken her place. She loved Carlton. She didn't want to hurt him, and she wouldn't. When he woke in the morning, it would be to a world of blissful ignorance where he was still happily married to a woman who only had eyes for him. She hadn't meant for any of this to happen. It didn't matter now. Bethany wasn't sure she'd change it, even if she could. Whatever had gone before, in that moment, Bethany wanted this; she wanted Eliza. Her husband was safely in bed, and she'd made sure that Scott wouldn't be equipped to interfere any time soon in what was to come. 

Eliza was lighting a cigarette of her own, the fourth since she'd arrived and, unnoticed, Bethany hesitated on the stairs and watched her. Eliza was a slender woman with an androgynous figure and bright hazel eyes. Her face was endearingly cute and, despite the fact that they were both in their early thirties, Eliza still got carded at clubs and for cigarettes. By way of description, Bethany often called her the hottest teenage boy she'd ever met. The thought made her smile. God, Bethany wondered, how long had it been? How many years of yearning and denial had it taken to culminate in this? A dozen, at least. All of the compunctions and convictions that caused her to wait so long seemed alien, foolish, and unfathomable now. Any value they had ever had was abandoned in a backseat in a nightclub parking lot. Those bridges were ablaze, and she could feel the heat passing in waves across her flesh. She was trembling, and the drumming of her pulse drowned out all of her careful forethought, replacing it with immediacy and instinct. She didn't want to just fuck Eliza, even though she could feel the hungry salivation of her lust dampening her thighs. She wanted more. She wanted to make love to her, to touch her, to please her, to hold her in the aftermath, and to be held likewise. There had been words Bethany meant to say if this moment ever came but, despite countless fantasized rehearsals and revisions, they were totally lost to her now. 

"Eliza?" was all she could manage. 

Eliza looked up from the lighter, half-lit cigarette dangling in her lips. Almost robotically, she removed and dropped it haphazardly into an ashtray, never taking her eyes off of her best friend. Standing there, at the foot of the stairs, Bethany had never before looked so desirable, so perfectly vulnerable. Eliza smiled, the expression a roguish blend of compassion and appetite, and patted the sofa next to her. Bethany obeyed, crossing the room quickly, discarding her own cigarette, and sinking into the seat so that her left and Eliza's right legs ran together. Both women were wearing the short skirts they usually reserved for Saturday nights, and even that simple contact seemed weighted with meaning and significance. Gently, Eliza raised a hand to Bethany's face and brushed her long hair back, tucking as much as she could behind her ear. Bethany's eyes closed and her face leaned sensually into the touch, turning until she kissed the back of Eliza's curled fingers. 

"Are you okay?" Eliza asked, adding, "You're so beautiful tonight," before Bethany could answer. 

"It's like one of your stories," Bethany sighed between Eliza's fingers.

"Yeah," Eliza said, slipping her hand past Bethany's lips and into her hair and whispering, "Look, Mom, no phone." As if signaled by some unseen cue, the women moved in tandem, embracing with arms and mouths. Lips, at first tentatively parted, yielded to Eliza's advances and Bethany's fingers dug into her back. For several minutes, their tongues danced with the same intimacy they'd so often stolen from the dance floor. Bethany had never kissed another woman, and it was nothing like kissing Carlton, or Scott either, for that matter. Both seemed rugged and forceful when compared with Eliza's delicate sweetness. Bethany was left, chest heaving and emotions swelling, as Eliza withdrew from the kiss, licking her lips and grinning coyly with awareness. "I'm sure Scott must've enjoyed that, you little minx." 

Bethany blushed. Just prior to descending the stairs, she had taken Eliza's boyfriend in the hallway, sucking him off and taking the full measure of his release in her mouth. The taste still lingered just below the menthol and fleeting remnants of Eliza's strawberry lipstick. Something in Eliza's amused, accusing smile made her laugh and then nod. He certainly had enjoyed it, knees buckling and panting incoherencies by the time she'd finished with him. "I didn't want him to get in the way," she confessed. 

Eliza snorted, her nose wrinkled with mirth, and for the first time since dancing with Scott, Bethany felt safe and comfortable. Instantly, they were giggling like schoolgirls, tickling and pawing at each other just like they'd done for years. It was like nothing had happened, nothing was different. Or, at least it was until Eliza kissed her again, drawing Bethany's top upwards. Bethany raised her arms, maintaining the kiss until forced to surrender it to allow the cloth to pass between them. Discarding the halter-top, Eliza took Bethany's shoulders, lowered her onto her back, and kissed a path down to the newly exposed flesh. Bethany's whole body arched upwards, hands sliding into Eliza's short hair, their bodies undulating with passion. To a building crescendo of gasped moans and whimpers, Eliza rolled hardened, sensitive nipples between her teeth while sliding hands down to wrestle with the clamps that held Bethany's skirt in place. 

The snap of each button was accompanied by a shiver of anticipation that reverberated in Bethany's voice. With tantalizing hesitance Eliza began her descent, blazing a trail of soft, subdued kisses down Bethany's quivering stomach, lingering for a moment to tease her navel with hints of the pleasures yet to come. Bethany's body writhed of its own will, her racing mind drunk with sensation. She'd never felt so acutely aware, so utterly consumed by another's touch. Her clitoris throbbed pleadingly and more urgently than her heart ever had. Her entire body begged for release. Eliza slid from the couch to the floor, removed the unfastened skirt, and cupped Bethany's knees, spreading her legs open before her. "You're so fucking beautiful," Eliza said before lowering her mouth to the cusp of Bethany's upper inner thigh. Bethany tried to answer but words were beyond her, drowned in her throat amidst a sea of near orgasmic sounds that seemed dredged from some deep, previously undiscovered place within her. 

Eliza prolonged the exquisite agony with practiced precision, the effects of her tantalizingly close kisses shot through Bethany like strokes of lightning. When she was certain that the time was right, Eliza parted swollen lips, splaying them with her fingers, and lightly flicked Bethany's need with the tip of her tongue. Bethany's eyes slammed shut and her mouth, suddenly parched, fell open. Her stomach and haunches lunged upwards, forcing her head and shoulders to sink further into the sofa's thick cushions. "Eliza... Eliza... God... Eliza," Bethany panted as Eliza's lips engulfed her, tongue moving in a furious dance of caress and feint. The avalanche began. Bethany's legs closed around Eliza's head as she bucked and thrust herself against the source of her ecstasy. Hands, momentarily flailing, found substance among the cushions and alternated between slapping and clenching them. Carlton had never been shy about going down. He was even pretty good at it, but never anything like that. Nothing was anything like that. Bethany continued to writhe, albeit less violently, her entire body buzzing in the wake of the most intense, aching climax she'd ever experienced. 

Eliza slipped away to adjust her position for the stupid cast. She really hated the damn thing, so uncomfortable and awkward. She'd noticed Scott sitting in the stairwell, watching them, and she knew perfectly well what he was thinking. He was just going to have to wait. She wasn't done yet. Fully nude and sprawled out before her, Eliza pictured Bethany as some falling angel descending into her afterglow. Certainly a monogamous life with Carlton was far from Eliza's idea of a paradise lost, but a girl was entitled a certain degree of poetic license at times like that. She supposed that made her the serpent in this little townhouse Eden. She could live with that, at least so long as Bethany didn't get hurt. The thought ended her whimsical musings, compelling Eliza to crawl back onto the sofa and into Bethany's welcoming arms. "Guess you liked it," Eliza whispered, kissing Bethany's forehead and trying not to sound concerned. 

Bethany entwined herself with Eliza and nodded. She was still breathless. "It was incredible. I... I don't know what to say. It was... you were... perfect." 

Eliza chuckled. "You keep stroking my ego like that and I might finally get off tonight." Bethany responded to the words immediately, sliding a hand between them and downward before Eliza intercepted it. "I didn't mean anything by that. You don't have to."

"I want to," Bethany answered, slipping her hand free of Eliza's grasp and tenderly kissing her. It was the truth, and it had been for years. Carlton, ironically if not typically, had a penchant for lesbian porn and, with Eliza's help, she'd learned to genuinely appreciate the sensual aesthetic of the female form. On countless "nights out," they had prowled the dance floor seeking suitable candidates for Eliza and Scott's next libertine adventure. These things, however, only served to show Bethany that she didn't really want to be with just any woman. She wanted to be with Eliza. Taking care to maintain the kiss, and avoid Eliza's broken ankle, Bethany repositioned herself to rest atop her lover. Straddling Eliza's hips, she drew Eliza up with her into a sitting position and still the kiss continued. By the time Bethany relinquished the soulful kiss, Eliza was spellbound. Bethany slid her fingers into the straps of Eliza's tank-top, removed it, and placed a hand over Eliza's heart. The hand lingered there against the bare flesh for the duration of beat, and then Bethany gently pushed Eliza back until she was propped up by elbows. 

Eyes preceded hands as Bethany explored the once forbidden terrain that lay before her. Eliza's breasts were small, sufficiently so that she seldom troubled herself with bras, but her perky nipples were extraordinarily sensitive. A frequently recurring detail in Eliza's recounted experiences, Bethany knew well the effect she was about to have. Snaking a hand between them, Bethany lowered her mouth to sample the fruit of her infidelity while eager fingers pried their way into Eliza's skirt. Deftly, she avoided overstimulating Eliza's clit. Bethany had other plans for that. Instead, her fingers sank further still until her thumb found and immersed itself in Eliza's quivering sex. Moaning convulsively and gyrating, Eliza raked her nails down Bethany's back, willingly succumbing to the rising tide of multiple orgasms. Any insecurities Bethany harbored for her lack of experience eroded with each climax she provoked.

After Eliza's fifth or sixth climax, neither had been able to keep track, Bethany withdrew her hand and, unable to resist the curiosity, brought her thumb to her mouth. Still winded, Eliza watched in sensual awe as her best friend sampled her juices. "Holy fuck, that's hot," she said amid stolen breaths. 

"Yeah?" Bethany asked, smiling around her thumb. She'd been a little afraid that she'd balk at actually tasting another woman, but in the moment it'd come with such natural ease. Aware of the effect her performance was having, Bethany cleaned her thumb with the same measure of attention that she'd used to dispatch Scott in the hallway. While she'd always been a pretty girl, Bethany seldom felt sexy, something Eliza scoffed at as ridiculous, but laying there teasing Eliza, she felt like some kind of goddess. She felt powerful, in control. This newfound sense of liberation, confidence, and self had taken root just outside of her bedroom to the orgasmic chant of her name. Now it was in full bloom. "Mmmmmm," she said, removing the digit with a moist pop, "I want more."

"I've got more," Eliza said, falling into a fit a giggles and playfully batting Bethany with a stray cushion. "You're really digging this."

Bethany brushed the cushion aside and smiled affectionately, but there was a tinge of melancholy to it. She lowered her head to rest between Eliza's breasts. Instinctually Eliza enfolded her, kissing her hair. "I feel so stupid," Bethany said.

"No, Beth, you're..."

"I am. I let this happen," Bethany interrupted, snaking arms beneath, reciprocating the embrace. 

Eliza deflated. "This isn't your fault."

Bethany shook her head. "You don't understand."

"You feel guilty for cheating on Carl," Eliza answered. She'd been dreading this eventually. 

"No. Well, yes," Bethany amended, crestfallen. "It's not that though. It's like I always wanted this to happen, even before we got married. I knew I wanted to sleep with you, but I married him anyway and just tried to ignore it. It was stupid. What's the difference between wanting and doing?"

"Like I'd know," Eliza snorted, hoping desperately to draw a smile. 

Bethany's arms tightened, pressing into her lover. She had smiled, fleeting and halfhearted as it was. "I'm being serious."

"I know," Eliza placated. Cheering Bethany up was one of Eliza's strong suits. Self examination was not. "There's a big difference, I guess."

"I don't know. I think that as soon as I started fantasizing about doing this I was being unfaithful."

Eliza's brow furrowed. "That's like saying if you think about stealing something you're a thief."

"You are, if the only thing that stops you is the fear of consequences," Bethany replied thoughtfully. Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but found herself at an uncharacteristic loss for words. "All this time," Bethany continued, "I've been setting myself up for this. I've been pretending to be something I'm not. And it's not just you. That night after homecoming, Carlton and I made love, and the whole time I was fantasizing about Kurt Lancing. I almost moaned his name! And it's not like that was the only time I've done that. I am a thief, Eliza." 

"So what are you gonna do?" 

Bethany tilted her head to face Eliza, smiling again, only with a little more substance this time. "I don't know. I don't want to hurt Carlton. Ask me again tomorrow. Right now, I want to steal your skirt." 

Eliza laughed, a mixture of amusement, rekindled arousal, and genuine relief. She hated drama. "What about the consequences?"

"I'm looking forward to them," Bethany grinned wickedly, and began kissing down Eliza's stomach. 



Estuary Ch. 04



Estuary: (n) - that part of the mouth or lower course of a river in which the river's current meets the sea's tide. 

He was sure of only two things. The first was that the sun wasn't up yet. The second was that he'd had too much to drink, way too much to drink. While his head felt like it was besieged by angry jackhammers, it was the brewing turbulence in his gut that had roused him. His stomach felt like he'd chugged several quarts of sour milk with a chaser of rotten eggs. His mouth tasted like death and tequila. Sober was still a long way off, but at least he was in bed. To some extent, he even remembered getting there with the help of his wife and her friends. While the prospect of moving wasn't at all inviting, it quickly became a necessity. Sluggishly Carlton drug himself from bed, stumbled into the adjoining bathroom, and prepared to worship at the porcelain alter of hindsight and regret. The contents of his stomach unceremoniously evacuated, he sprawled on the bathroom rug. It was a far cry from comfortable, but laying on it, preferably very still, seemed like a really good idea at the time. 

The room was still a rapidly spinning blur. Six? Maybe seven. He couldn't remember how many Sunrises he'd downed. The tequila, orange juice, and grenadine concoction was his drink of choice on their weekend excursions. Every Saturday night, he and his wife Bethany would meet their friends at their favorite nightclub to blow off steam, play pool, and have a few drinks. He would hang out with the usual suspects, primarily work friends and old college buddies, while Bethany would dance with the other wives and girlfriends. This was their ritual, though it usually didn't culminate with him being carried upstairs and put to bed. He rarely drank so much. If he was lucky, his wife and the others would attribute his excess to just another bad week at the office. He managed his father's real estate agency, and the market's instability had taken its toll. In truth, it had been a bad week for the company, but Carlton had other things on his mind. His thoughts moved back... 

*** Three Weeks Prior *** 

Bethany was spending the weekend away, attending a conference on scholastic administration. So that Friday night, a time typically reserved for "date night" when their schedules allowed, he was alone. Of their many comfortable routines, it was actually Carlton's favorite. The demands of their respective careers left both exhausted and with little spare time during the week, so when they were able to find time for each other, it often felt a lot like catching up with an old friend whose absence you'd subtly grown accustomed to. In her absence, Carlton found himself irritable and disconnected. The highlight of the night thus far had been a several hour phone call from his wife, mostly spent discussing what she was experiencing at the conference. Carlton was a good sport about it. He respected Bethany's work, but the gory details of several seminars regarding academic logistics had bored him to tears. He was almost thankful when Bethany received another call and wished him goodnight. 

It was well past eleven and Carlton was still restless, perhaps even more so than before the call. He tried to compensate for this with productivity, but Carmen, their maid, had visited the day before and the townhouse was in perfect order. That failed, he turned to television, and after several hours of aimless channel surfing punctuated by a few halfhearted attempts to read, Carlton put himself to bed. That was, after all, where date night typically wrapped up. Briefly, he had delved into his porn collection to help alleviate that particular frustration. Carlton flipped through the DVDs with the same vacant expression he usually donned while indecisively confronting the menu in line at McDonalds. Nothing appealed to his appetite, but he still wanted something. It was only after thoroughly exhausting the prospects of their collection, and it was theirs as his wife shared his proclivity for Sapphic erotica, that he decided to bend the rules. 

Bethany and Carlton lived in what could be described as an affluent, upper middle class townhouse community. Nestled near the heart of the city, where space came at a premium, it wasn't their ideal home, but it was incredibly convenient and, because the community was owned by Carlton's company, it was also unrealistically affordable. Apart from the conjoined units, there was a separate building which, among other amenities, provided residents access to an indoor pool and a hot tub. Officially, the "clubhouse" closed at eleven, but Carlton didn't feel that this particular rule applied to him, especially when it was the only thing between him and a long, soothing soak in the hot tub. 

The hot tub was located in a small alcove adjoining the spacious, chlorine scented pool room. The walls of the chamber were lined with windows, but their deep tinting ensured that the hot tub's internal lights would pass unnoticed by any unexpected observers. Armed with a fresh bottle of Merlot, Carlton slipped gingerly into the water, turned on his IPod and basked in the glory of it all. His tension seemed to melt away under the massaging caress of the jets. The wine wasn't hurting either. 

"And I don't know how you do it," Carlton belted, comically off tune. "Making lo-ove... out of nothing at all! Making looooove!" Between the volume of the IPod, the churning of the jets, and his general state of distraction, Carlton was completely oblivious to the woman chuckling at his expense. It took a splash in the face to awaken him to her presence. Carlton startled into awareness, flushing embarrassed and with a mouth full of water. "What the!?" 

The slender, robe clad woman before him was named Melissa. She and her husband, Avery, lived in the unit two doors down. They'd moved in only a few months after Carlton and Bethany had. In the years since, they'd fallen into the superficial pseudo-friendship that was born of annual community events and the occasional barbeque or birthday party. Bethany was far more into those kinds of things than Carlton, who, for the life of him, couldn't even remember her last name. She was younger than him, he in his early thirties and she in the final days of her twenties. Carlton, who regularly made such judgments, had never quite decided if she was pretty or not. Waist length chestnut hair framed brilliantly green eyes and a long, narrow face that, while not unattractive, defied his normal criteria for beauty. Bethany had described her as "interesting looking", and Carlton was inclined to agree. 

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, sitting on the tub's rim, and dipping her feet in before Carlton could answer. 

"The clubhouse is closed," he blurted dumbly. She was grinning at him coyly, ankles submerged, long, smooth legs flowing from the hem of her 

robe. 

"I won't tell if you won't," she winked, splashing him again with her feet. "Want some? Trade you for a few sips," she asked, drawing a hand-rolled cigarette and a lighter. From her first puff, the pungent aroma of marijuana filled the alcove. Carlton found himself relating to some unfortunate herd animal inauspiciously crossing train tracks. She offered the joint, and he took it, inhaling deeply. It wasn't like he'd never done it before. Several of Bethany's friends, most notably Scott and Eliza, were regular users who enjoyed sharing their vices. Melissa leaned past him, took the bottle of Merlot, downed several gulps, and returning it pushed the button to reengage the bubbles. In that instant, his eyes had been drawn to the robe's lose collar, and the hint of supple flesh below. Smoke billowed from Carlton in hacking coughs. He wasn't positive, but he felt fairly confident that there was nothing between her and the robe. "Whoa," she chuckled, retrieving the joint, "Take it easy, Carlton. No need to kill yourself. Hey, where's Bethany?" 

"Business... trip..." he answered between gasps. "Avery?" 

"In bed. I wore him out," she said, winking mischievously. 

"You... ummm... come here after hours a lot?" Carlton asked, awkwardly. Abruptly he was thankful for the bubbles. Between his stolen glimpse, her shapely legs, now glistening with the ambient moisture, and the illicit images conjured by her previous statement, Carlton was sporting a raging erection that would have been difficult to hide even with his trunks. 

Melissa shrugged, blowing rings of smoke. "You don't expect me to tattle on myself, do you?" she asked, again leaning forward to offer Carlton the joint. He took it and, before he could stop himself, his eyes drifted back to her chest, exploring the soft contours that slipped tantalizingly into shadows. Suddenly conscious of her eyes upon him, he looked up into a crooked grin. There was no way she could have failed to notice the direction of his attention. He'd been so obvious. Casually, she sat back, saying, "So, you never answered me, ya know." 

"Huh?" 

"Do you mind if I join you?" she repeated, accepting the joint and taking another deep drag. 

A mellow haze had settled over Carlton, the intoxicants working in choreographed tandem. Despite the mellow haze that hung over him, Carlton's pulse raced. The implications of her questions provoked his hardness to throb with wanton approval. Apparently he was still thinking clearly, at least below the waist. On some level, he realized that he stood at a dangerous precipice, that something pivotal hung in the balance during that moment between question and answer. For whatever reason, Carlton nodded, and Melissa passed the joint back to him, "Hold this." 

Standing, Melissa turned her back to Carlton to face a nearby wicker chair. He watched her, unblinking and breath baited, as the robe fell slack, the ties falling limply to her sides. With deliberate hesitance, Melissa shrugged off the shoulders, allowing the robe to fall until caught by her elbows, only inches above her waist. Her long hair fell unobstructed down her naked back. His suspicion had been correct. Carton unintentionally gasped, slipping a hand below the water to adjust his growing discomfort, a contact which lingered even after its initial purpose had been met. Melissa lowered her arms, allowing the terrycloth to fall in a clump around her feet. She crouched then, retrieving a battered pack of Marlboros and her lighter from the robe before laying it neatly across the wicker seat. Carlton's hand clutched himself, eyes focused on her heart shaped bottom. 

Melissa turned to face him, completely devoid of modesty. She had a dancer's body. Her breasts, moderately smaller than his wife's, were well proportioned with large nipples. Her stomach was smooth and flat, and no hair obstructed his view below it. She stood there a moment, arms at her sides. "It's okay to look," she said, somewhat amused by Carlton's valiant attempt to keep his gaze leveled on hers. "Go on," she encouraged. "I like for people to look." Hesitantly, Carlton complied, his eyes becoming the envy of his flesh as they explored every taboo curve of her body. His hand, still beneath the water and obscured by the frothing bubbles, slid into his trunks. 

After allowing several moments for Carlton to simultaneously slake and awaken his curiosity, she slid into the tub opposite him. Finally resting in so that her breasts settled at the level of the water, she reached out for the joint that had gone neglected as a consequence of her disrobing. "I danced my way through college," she said, casually blowing the ashes from the smoldering tip of the joint. Carlton was still silent, somewhat dumbstruck by Melissa's utter lack of inhibition. "Boobies got your tongue?" 

Carlton blinked. He'd caught the words "boobies" and "tongue", but not the context. "What?" 

"Shotgun?" She answered, sliding towards his side of the tub. Awkwardly, he released himself, unsure of what was happening until she was practically on him. Turning the joint so that the cherry was inside her pursed lips, she leaned forward as though to kiss him. Below the water, she rested a hand high on his thigh for leverage, causing him to gasp. Melissa responded to this by blowing a cloud of intoxicative smoke into his mouth. For an instant, the smoke gathered between them, until Carlton inhaled so deeply his lungs felt as though they might burst. Melissa leaned back, her face drifting through, and haloed by, the rippling haze. The whole room seemed somehow more vivid, comprised of textures and depths Carlton hadn't noticed before, and Melissa, rivulets of water snaking their way down her exposed chest, was at the center of it all. 

"I am so high." The words had come unheeded. 

Melissa reached past him again, bare breasts inches from his face, to fetch the Merlot and reset the jets and bubbles. "It's good stuff," she said, taking a chug and offering him the bottle, which he took and finished. "Now it's your turn," she continued, returning to opposite side of the tub. 

"My turn?" 

"I showed you. Now, I want to see," she answered, slumping in her seat. "C'mon! It's only fair. Don't be shy." 

It took Carlton a moment to realize what she wanted. Carlton had been a football player in high school, and though he hadn't kept up with himself as well as he might have, he wasn't ashamed of his body. But the prospect of showing Melissa exactly where he stood just then brought a flush of color to his ears and cheeks. As of now, he could still cling to some measure of innocence. He hadn't invited her here, and he certainly hadn't asked her to strip for him. He hadn't actually done anything, and they were both married, for Christ's sake. Nonetheless, he found himself standing, his erection both full and unmistakable. 

Melissa whistled appreciatively, her eyes focused on Carlton's arousal. "Let me see." Carlton slid his thumbs into the waistband, and stretching it to accommodate his aching shaft, let them fall down, where they vanished amid the churning bubbles. He could practically feel her eyes caressing him. "Touch it," she asked. 

Carlton wrapped a fist around the head of his swollen cock and slid it slowly down to the base. He was more aroused than he'd been in years. Slowly, Melissa raised herself to sit on the ledge, spread her legs, and sliding a hand between, parted her lips. At once, Carlton's mind was flooded with fantasies of ramming himself into her with wanton abandon. He imagined the tightness of her clenching around him, and the feel of her body grinding against him. Almost subconsciously, he continued stroking himself as Melissa slid a finger inside that coveted place, withdrew it, and began to massage her clitoral hood. Tremors of pleasure danced across his senses as he watched her fingers work furiously. With each soft moan Melissa sighed, Carlton stroked harder. He was going to cum soon. Melissa beat him to it, body convulsing with ecstasy, her climactic groan echoed across the otherwise abandoned pool room. 

Panting, she slipped back into the water and advanced on him, stopping just short of his trembling hand. While Carlton stood in the shallow, Melissa remained in the deeper portion of the tub. Carlton was stroking himself inches from her face. He stared down at her, the need to cum now more important than anything else, and did nothing to stop her as she wrapped her hand around his and joined its stroking. Precum leaked freely from him, lubricating their hands, as his hips rocked into the motion. Then without warning, she took him, her mouth closing around and taking the full length of him. Both of his hands moved to the back of her head, holding it stationary as he fucked her mouth. She moaned with delight at each thrust, humming and swallowing around him until Carlton achieved a climax that left his legs and stomach tensed to the verge of cramping. Melissa didn't shy away, taking each reflexive trust that discharged his release almost greedily. 

Carlton practically collapsed, stumbling back into the seat. His chest was heaving and his entire body was ringing like a bell. With a casual grace that would have normally shocked Carlton, Melissa fell into the submersed seat next to him, reached for her pack of cigarettes, and withdrew another joint. Carlton watched her in a daze, the gravity of the situation not yet penetrating the dense fog of his inebriation. Melissa sparked the joint and took several rapid puffs, the cherry blazing a radiant orange-red. With the same crooked grin from earlier, 

she offered it to Carlton. "I blew you, now return the favor." 

"Wait. What?" Carlton asked for what felt like the hundredth time since Melissa's arrival. 

"A shotgun. Blow me one," she answered. Reality was just finally beginning to impinge on Carlton. He'd just let another man's wife suck him off. What the fuck was he thinking? That was the problem, he wasn't thinking. If Bethany ever found out... "Hello?" Melissa asked, apparently amused by the length it was taking him to respond. "Did I wear you out, too?" 

Carlton shifted, abruptly uncomfortable, "I think I should probably go,"

"Why?" she asked so genuinely that Carlton could only stare incredulously. 

"I'm married." 

"So am I," she replied, around another drag. "What's that got to do with..." 

"I love my... ," Carlton began, the pangs of impending guilt suddenly seeming far more compelling than any previous carnal need. He could lose his wife, his entire life could be ruined, all for what? A blowjob? 

"Your wife?" Melissa interrupted, "I'm sure you do. Bethany's great, smart and pretty hot, but what does that have to do with me sucking your cock?" 

"I love... ," he tried again. 

"Love has nothing to do with fucking, Carl. You obviously jerk off. Is that love?" Melissa spoke as though intimately familiar with this argument. "People like to fuck. It feels good." 

"It's cheating," Carlton rebounded, now surprisingly angry. 

"No, having feelings for someone else is cheating. Using you instead of a vibrator isn't." Turning to face him, she trust a leg across his lap and straddled him. "Do you want to fuck me?" He grabbed her, intending to cast her off, but the sensation of her lips pressed against his semi-flaccid cock gave him involuntary pause. One of her hands held the joint, the other rested on his shoulder even as his tightened their grip in a mixture of self-deprecation and frustration. He said nothing. "We both know you do," Melissa continued, "I know I want you to, so why 

not?" 

"What about your husband?" Carlton asked. It was desperate, but he could summon no better rejoinder. 

"Like I said before, I won't tell if you won't," she answered with cavalier aplomb. "Besides, he has bullshit hang-ups, too. He loves to watch porn and then fuck. What do you think he's thinking about while he's humping away? I'll tell you. Briana Banks. Jenna Jameson. Certainly not me. Isn't that just as bad? At least I have the courtesy to be actually fucking other people when I'm thinking about them." 

What about my wife, he almost asked, but the words fell dead long before reaching his lips. Wrong as it was, wrong as he wanted her to be, there was some degree of truth in Melissa's words. Carlton had met Bethany in high school and they had married shortly after finishing college. However, during the interval between, Bethany had befriended a sexually adventurous girl named Eliza. Carlton had never cared for her, but she and Bethany became best and lasting friends. As a consequence of their friendship, Bethany became curious about experimenting with other women. She'd never openly suggested acting on it, though there had been the occasional subtle, probing hints. She had, however, developed a taste for lesbian pornography and on numerous occasions, she'd come to his bed ravenous after one of their late night phone marathons or evening on the dance floor. Perhaps he'd never thought about it before, or more likely he'd chosen not to, but as he listened to Melissa's words, everything seemed to fall into place. 




Estuary Ch. 04



"You're right," Carlton said, arms wrapping around Melissa to caress her back. He met her raised eyebrow with a crooked grin of his own. Somehow, amid the drugs, the guilt, and the willing slut draped across him, Carlton had had an epiphany. He knew precisely what needed to happen. But first, there was the business at hand. Carlton leaned forward, brushing his cheek against Melissa's, and whispered in her ear, "I do want to fuck you..."



Estuary Ch. 05



Estuary: (n) - that part of the mouth or lower course of a river in which the river's current meets the sea's tide.

* Saturday: Earlier that Night *

Sidelong around his drink, he watched them melt into the crowd. There was the brief pang, a moment of doubt, but Carlton drowned it with tequila and orange juice. His wife was heading to the dance floor, escorted by another man. He'd watched Bethany dance with another man only once before, at their high school homecoming. She had been the queen and a boy named Kurt Lancing, the king. Even now, in his early thirties, he could envision that dance with absolute clarity. How Kurt's arms had enfolded her, the way he'd whispered in her ear, and how easily Bethany had succumbed to the moment. He took another swallow of citrus and grenadine, to make the medicine go down. Tonight the man was named Scott. He was a friend of theirs, though Carlton considered him more of an acquaintance. He was the significant other attached to his wife's best friend, Eliza. 

"So what's the deal, Carl?" Eliza asked, suspicion dripping from each word. Carlton raised a quizzical eyebrow, as if in some obligatory pretense of innocence. She didn't buy it, which was convenient, because he didn't want her to. Like every Saturday, Bethany had been looking forward to their weekly night out. She'd have a few drinks and spend most of the evening on the dance floor with Eliza. They'd dance, like covetous lovers prevented from realizing their passion by some paper thin, impregnable barrier. It reminded Carlton of Dante's Inferno, which at that moment seemed all too poetic and appropriate. 

"I want you to fuck my wife," Carlton answered, casually blunt. The words, lubricated by Cuervo, had come easily enough, but in their speaking, Carlton found himself strangely aroused. 

Eliza was stunned. She'd never expected him to permit Bethany to dance with Scott. Her asking had been a ploy to cajole Carlton into dancing with his wife. Nothing more. Scott was sexy, flirtatious, and totally uninhibited; not the kind man you trust your wife to. At first, she'd attributed to his offhand approval to miscommunication. It was noisy and he'd been drinking heavily, but something in his mannerisms, the clandestine way he watched them go, provoked her to delve further. But this? This was unbelievable, surreal. "You're drunk," Eliza scoffed. 

Carlton afforded her a chuckle. He was drunk. "I decided this two weeks ago. I've been trying to find the courage to say it," he answered. He raised his glass in mock salute and quipped, "Found it!"

Eliza nearly grinned, but she was hesitant, indecisively perched between caution and pursuit. She and Bethany had been attracted to each other since college. Denied for years, the desire had matured into a pervasive fantasy, one that led them to many nights of frustrated mutual masturbation, a telephone their prophylactic and safety net. They touched only on the dance floor, simultaneously protected and inhibited by its allowances. Now possessive, conservative Carlton, the sole source of their restraint, was soliciting her to abandon it? Could she risk pressing this advantage? If she didn't, would it ever come again? Was she the predator or the prey? "Why?" she asked, "Why would you want that?"

Carlton finished his drink, swallowing slowly, allowing the question to linger. He was getting hard and savoring Eliza's ambivalence. "I had an epiphany," he said finally, while waving for a shooter girl. 

"What kind of epiphany?"

"I finally realized that love and sex aren't... umm... mutually inclusive. I know Bethany loves me. I also know she wants you, has since college. The only thing holding her back is me. I don't want her to resent me for being selfish and insecure," he answered, pausing to place his order. 

Lust and a loss of inhibition she could dismiss as the consequences of over-intoxication. This was something more. She didn't know what to do. In an instant, years of carefully established borders and expectations had been invalidated, their parameters left undefined and potentially limitless. Eliza regarded Carlton as he pivoted to address the waitress, seeing perhaps for the first time something beyond unflattering caricatures in him. Inadvertently, her eyes fell to the burgeoning evidence of Carlton's sincerity and, to her own surprise, she resisted the immediate urge to look away. Instead she looked appraisingly at the bugle in his pants. He was smaller than Scott, but certainly not ill equipped. She'd certainly never considered him that way before, either. Eliza still wasn't quite comfortable with that prospect. "So basically, you're inviting me to a three way?" she asked as Carlton's attention returned to her.

"Nope," he answered, "I don't even want to watch."

She was dumbfounded. A hand, which she'd tentatively considered resting on Carlton's thigh, withdrew. Wanting a threesome with two women was one thing. Eliza could understand that. But Carlton offering his wife up like a sacrificial lamb and then declining to partake in the subsequent feast was completely beyond her. "Why not?" she asked, her voice rife with incredulity. 

Carlton looked away, feigning pensive. "I don't want her to know that you have my blessing."

Eliza recoiled, her hair-trigger temper and quick tongue getting the better of her. "So you want her to think she's cheating on you so she can feel like shit afterwards?! That's really fucked up, you..."

"No, wait," Carlton answered, showing his palms defensively. "Listen. I want you to stop holding back and I want her to do whatever she wants about it. I'm telling you this because I want you to understand that there are no consequences. I'm going to be okay with whatever she decides. If something happens and she wants to tell me, that's great. I'll tell her I love her and nothing can ever change that. At the same time, I know she loves me. She won't want to hurt me. If she decides to protect my feelings, I'll appreciate that too."

Her outrage dispelled, Eliza sat back. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he answered, after accepting and paying for his drink, "I'm nervous though." It was the first honest thing he'd said to her. "So I'm going get shitfaced and come what may," he continued between sips. 

Eliza's hand found his knee and squeezed it encouragingly. "What happens if you wake up and it's too late to change your mind?" she asked, meeting his gaze concernedly. "You know Scott. He's probably already..."

"I told you," he intervened, moving in for the kill, "I love her. Nothing will ever change that." He watched her surreptitiously, over the rim of his glass, as the words sank in. Eliza sighed, visibly moved, and Carlton disguised his grin with citrus and agave. 

* Sunday: After Dawn *

Several hours ago, Carlton had unintentionally summoned his wife while suffering the pangs of his binge. She'd come to him, still damp with more than perspiration, and nursed him through an ugly spell of purging and dry heaving before depositing him back into bed. He was breathing rhythmically now, at last. Bethany slinked out of bed, careful not to wake her husband, and made her way to the bathroom. Near scalding water crashed against her face and ran down her body in soothingly warm rivulets as she lathered and bathed. A hot shower couldn't wash away what she'd done, but it did a fine job with the evidence. Bethany was walking a fine line between guilt and abandon. She'd betrayed her husband, forsaken their vows. She should be feeling reprehensible, and while her conscience did ache, what she felt most was liberated, sensual, and young. It was as though some fire was spreading unchecked inside of her. She tingled all over -- even the simple caress of the handheld showerhead provoked her nipples to rise to attention. 

Memories, vivid and visceral, were relived as Bethany angled her wrist, directing the pulsating stream of the showerhead to her awakening sex. Biting her bottom lip and grasping the towel rack for support, she struggled to suppress the passionate groans that threatened to betray her, and perhaps awaken Carlton. The water came in a predictable pattern, blasting swollen lips asunder and massaging her clitoris. Her hips ground against the phantoms of Eliza's dancing tongue and Scott's engorged girth. The muscles in her stomach and thighs revolted, clenching and burning as each wave of nigh unbearable ecstasy made standing more difficult. White knuckled and panting, her knees buckled under the weight and vehemence of her climax. Subsumed by the throbbing aftermath of her exquisite release, Bethany slid down the shower wall until she sat, water crashing down against her head, in a slump. 

As the furious drumming of Bethany's heart cooled, so did her blood, replacing her sated appetite with ravenous apprehension. Too far, she thought, head hung as though condemned. This has to stop. For years she'd teased herself with elaborate fantasies, all centering on Eliza. Now she was pleasuring herself to the thought of another man as well. It was so much worse than that. She no longer had to imagine the touch or flavor of forbidden, unfamiliar flesh. Would she think of Scott every time Carlton was inside her? Would she yearn for the unraveled mysteries of another woman, or the sense of fullness her husband could never match? Is this what she was, some pathetic slave to sensation? Feebly, she scavenged for some remnants of uncompromised resolve. It had been a mistake. She'd tell them. It could never happen again. 

Bethany avoided the foggy mirror as she donned her robe and brushed her hair and teeth. The soft refrain of her husband's gentle snoring followed her from the bathroom, across the bedroom, and out into the hallway. There were other sounds there as well, the fluid whine of running water and the soft undertones of muffled intercourse. Errant licks of steam trickled from beneath the door of the guest bathroom. Bethany paused outside, listening to the exchange of Eliza's staggered whimpers and Scott's sighed moans. Was she blushing? Aside from porn, she'd never listened to other people having sex before. It might have seemed trivial after the night before, but her body reacted nonetheless. Images danced through her mind, visions of joining them, of being pressed between their bodies, of knowing two lovers at once. What good was resolve when her body betrayed her so eagerly? She rested her face against the door, moisture welling both in her eyes and much lower. A hand, trembling, reached for the knob. 

No. Bethany drew back, as though from a venomous snake, and retreated downstairs. 

Coffee. Maybe that would help. "Get it together," she thought aloud. The subsequent "or Carlton will know something happened" went unspoken. The gurgling spatter of the coffee maker helped to drown out the other sounds. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. The whistle of the shower above was still turning her on. If Carlton hadn't awoken and been so violently ill, Bethany would have experienced her first threesome. Now this new fantasy was growing in the void left by the satisfaction of other curiosities. 

She poured a cup of steaming black, sipped it, then abandoned it to cool. The kitchen was flooded with crisp, warm sunlight that gave a dusty substance to the air. Bethany, almost absently, gazed out into the unmarred blue beyond the window above her sink. Only a few small specks, birds too distant to identify, disturbed the stillness. These Bethany watched for several moments, wondering introspectively if she should envy or fear their freedom. She was leaning towards both when unexpected arms wrapped around her. "Good morning," Scott said, nuzzling her neck and pressing himself against her back.

Stop. Get back. I can't do this. The words evaporated into an aroused gasp as Scott's breath and lips found her ear. The water was still running. Why was he here? She wasn't ready. No. Carlton. Stop. Don't. These words, like the ones before, found no voice as Scott's hands slid around her waist and began working the knot that held fast her robe. She shuddered as her single garment fell open. Hands, uninvited yet unchallenged, moved within to caress the globes of her breasts. Like a kettle drum, her heart exploded rhythmically in her chest as pillaging fingers found and twisted wanton nipples. "God!" she muttered only to have even that much speech denied by the invasion of Scott's tongue. Had she turned her face to him? His kiss, forceful and intense, left Bethany both breathless and gluttonous. Her tongue, refusing to heed her, pursued his shamelessly. 

Hands slid lower, grabbing her hips and thrusting them back against his crotch. Instinctually her hands slapped down onto the countertop, her blonde hair, radiant in the captured sunlight, sweeping across the marble surface. Unceremoniously, Scott bunched her silken robe, gathering it at the small of her back. She could feel his swollen intent, and she pushed herself against it, wedging the mass between exposed cheeks. A hand slid between them, releasing Scott from his pants. No. Don't. We can't. "Fuck... yessss... God... " Bethany groaned as Scott plunged into her, surging and retreating in whip-like motions. Scott's hands moved to her hips, guiding her counter-motion, as the full force of climax reduced what little cognizance Bethany had retained into whimpering rapture. 

The taunt slap of flesh rang in the kitchen, as Scott relentlessly plowed through Bethany's first climax, initiating a string of blurred release that was like nothing Bethany had ever experienced before. She was trembling terribly, caught between the rush of ecstasy and adrenaline, as Scott abandoned her abused orifice to press his cock, slick with her juices, against the only unexplored territory her body had left to offer him. Fear and lust mingled, vocalizing in a guttural groan as his bulbous head surmounted her resistance and submerged. This was a first for her as well. Carlton had never expressed an interest and Bethany had always been too reserved to suggest it. It was too late for reservations now. "Fuuuuucccckkkk...." She could feel her quivering insides forcibly expanding to accommodate the engorged flesh trespassing within. Instantly deepest agony was eclipsed by an uncomfortable yet utter ecstasy as Scott began to work her virgin breach. She'd never experienced such complete fullness, such consuming pressure, such excruciating euphoria. 

Slowly, carefully, he drove himself into her, and the groan that ripped from her throat was equal parts pain and pleasure. He paused, holding her tight, allowing her to adjust to his presence. Bethany's head hung forward, sounds, almost inhuman, escaping her gaping mouth. "Uunnnggghhh...," she grunted, held breath finally escaping. Bracing herself, she tentatively pushed her hips back against his. As the sensations threatened to drown her, Scott began to back his hips away. No sooner had his swollen head escaped than he thrust himself back into her, hard. What had started slow and gentle became quick and powerful. 

Bethany squealed, flinging herself up against him until her arms reached their full length, twisting her head in search of his mouth. Scott swallowed her subsequent moan, shoving his tongue into her mouth in rhythm with his cock below. Bethany couldn't think past the feeling of fullness inside her, and Scott took full advantage of her capitulation. His left hand snaked around her waist, diving to caress her pulsating clit. Bethany broke the kiss forcefully, her abdomen lunging her whole body forward, elbows suddenly too feeble to support her. Her face contorted as the crescendo of orgasm claimed her. Scott's thrusts continued through her trembling, his hands returning to her hips, guiding them in tandem with his.

Scott growled carnally, struggling with the exertion of resisting the pleasure wracking him. "I'm gonna," he gasped between thrusts, "cummmmm, Beth. I'm gonna..." His voice trailed off into a growl born of submission and crumbling will. Bethany, lost in a haze of multi-climatic bliss, only scarcely comprehended the words before she felt the burning sting of his orgasmic release. His hands clenched like vises on her hips, forcing her to take his full girth as he discharged again and again. Bethany could hardly breathe. Her hands clung to the sink for support. Her pulse rang in her ears and reverberated around the invader still deep inside. At least the sound of running water had stopped, though she couldn't begin to guess when. Slowly Scott unsheathed himself. His hands sliding back around her, her gathering her up and against him. Her own hands reached back to rest on his hips. Her robe slid from one of her shoulders and Scott caressed it with delicate kisses. Once again Bethany could see the vast blue above, but the birds, whose carefree flight had so intrigued her, were nowhere to be seen. 

"We shouldn't be doing...," Bethany whispered, but forsook the protest for the inviting warmth of Scott's lips. 

"There's no going back," he answered, his mouth open against hers. 

"No going back," she sighed breathlessly. It was a conscious concession. 

"You belong to us now," he said, and Bethany nodded. It was the truth...