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A Little Yearning

By: avonasac



At twelve to fifteen percent of total weight and a size of one to two square meters, human skin is the body's the largest organ. As a cool wind came off the north Texas plain, flushing off the baked-in heat of late afternoon, Katie Prado could feel every inch of hers, from the bristling hairs at the base of her neck to her sun-reddened shoulders, to where the band of her short pleated skirt chaffed her damp back, along the expanse of her long bare legs to her where her toes pinched in the tips of last year's shoes. In late September, the setting sun seems to drop right out of the sky, and the temperature can drop twenty degrees in an hour. The refreshing wind was already starting to feel a little chilling. Or perhaps it was just nerves.

This can't be right, she thought, as she took the note from where she had tucked it in her sports bra. It was a half page of yellow ruled paper, the purple ink a little smudged and the paper curling a bit from the damp. She unfolded it carefully and read it in the light of the bright floodlights, still turned on though the team had gone to the showers after practice and the stadium was empty save for a lone custodian cleaning up the benches at the far end of the field. In a curious loopy hand, the note read: MEET ME AFTER PRACTICE ON THE NORTH SIDE OF GYM. I'M HOT FOR YOU! XXX LOVE, DWAYNE.

The north side of the gym at Gusher Community College was an odd place to meet. In fact it was a little creepy. It was a narrow passage between the hulking back of the gym and the featureless brick wall of an adjacent school maintenance building, blocked at one end by a rank of the bleachers facing away toward the football field and at the other by a couple battered dumpsters sequestered behind a padlocked eight foot chain link gate. Access to the space under the bleachers had been fenced off as well, but generations of students had managed to avoid this impediment by the simple expedient of tearing loose a section of chain link where it butted up against the wall of the gym to give access to the littered shadowy space underneath the bleachers.

Careful not to snag her cheerleader's sweater, Katie squeezed through the narrow gap and threaded between the rusty stanchions to come out into the alley behind the gym. The floodlights, pointed the other way and blocked by the looming bleachers, cast a subdued glow over the asphalt strip, littered with flattened cups and smashed soda cans, yellowed scraps of newsprint and stray crumpled socks. There was a scattered assemblage of battered sporting equipment: blocking skids, volleyball poles mounted on concrete-filled tires with drooping torn nets, a couple empty ball bins. Halfway down the alley a large metal box with Carrier Air lettered on the side partially blocked the way. A couple large metal ducts connected it to the building and it echoed between the brick walls as its fans thrummed and a compressor thumped with a runner's pulse.

"Dwayne?" she called softly, and then a little louder. "Are you there?"

She was startled as, with a distant ka-thunk, the stadium lights were extinguished. Now the only light in the alley came from a distant light set in the wall above the dumpsters at the other end. 

She looked around forlornly, feeling abandoned. What had she been thinking? 

Dwayne was a star tight end on the football team. He was also the acknowleged property of Kathy Bonney, aka Chiclet, the head cheerleader of her squad. As such he was definitely off-limits. Besides, apart from this note, left in her locker, he had hardly shown any sign that he was even aware of her existence. Just single look, that was all. At the end of practice yesterday, as the football team was filing off the field and the cheerleading squad was cooling down on their adjacent patch of grass, she had popped a Russian right in front of him. Even though she was just a freshman, Katie had a more extensive background in gymnastics than any of the other girls on the squad, and no other girl could jump so high or achieve that perfect split. 

Well, that had certainly caught his attention! He had walked right into the rail surrounding the field and practically fallen on his face. And then Chiclet had come over to chew her out for grandstanding in front of the football team. (As if that wasn't what cheerleaders were for. . .Duh?!) 

"Piglet" is what Chiclet had dubbed her, since "Kathy" and "Katie" were too often confused, and Katie often wore her hair in pigtails. She didn't like the nickname, but it had stuck. The gum-snapping Chiclet was, after all, in her fourth year at the two year community college, the acknowledged wet-dream of every athlete and the fashion icon of every girl. Katie was just fresh out of braces and still a little uncomfortable with the curves her body had recently developed. 

A couple of the other players had kidded with her after practice, but she only had eyes for Dwayne. She had a foolish crush on him, she knew, but she just couldn't seem to shake it. Watching him racing down the field, juking and jiving past defenders as he faked and froze them hopelessly in his tracks, he was pure poetry. Whenever she thought about him, it just made her go all warm inside. Today, however, Chiclet had intercepted Dwayne after practice and drawn him aside, and Katie hadn't seen him since. Perhaps, Katie thought hopefully, he had just been delayed. 

Tentatively, she picked her way down the dim alley. There was no door to the gym on this side and some small windows high on the wall were dark, but halfway down the alley, almost obscured by the bulk of the air conditioning unit, there was a frosted glass window at ground level that was ajar, spilling some light into the gloom. As she got closer she could hear the noise of laughter and shouting. 

The window was hinged at the bottom and ajar by only a few inches at the top. Curiously, she bent down to look. Apparently it vented part of the boy's locker room, which was below grade on this side of the building, and she found herself looking down on what was evidently a corridor between the locker room and the showers. Just below her vantage point, the boys of the football team were padding up and down the concrete corridor, slapping hands and snapping towels, shouting and yelling in the boisterous afterglow of a hard afternoon's practice under the blistering sun. Though some of the more modest had wrapped their towels around their waists, for the most part they were naked. 

Katherine had never seen such a display before, and she didn't quite know how to react. Shocked, bemused, somehow embarrassed. She straightened up and turned away, looking around. She thought she'd heard a noise. "Dwayne?" No response.

She stepped away from the window, hesitated, then returned to kneel again beside it, repulsed but fascinated by the parade of moist reddened flesh. 

For the most part she couldn't see their faces. Those on the far side of the corridor were only in view below their shoulders, and those closer up were almost directly below so she could only see the tops on their heads. However their butts, she thought, were quite as individual as any face, each one subtly yet distinctly different. Big, little, round, pear-shaped, some droopy and marbled, others firm, slightly concave on the sides; some were flat, some almost bulbous, some with a short crack, others with a longer one, some swarthy, some quite hairless and pink. 

And their cocks were even more distinctive. Apart from the length, some were circumsized, some not; some had fat round glans, others narrow, almost pointed tips. Some had a distinct curve. Some jiggled up and down while they walked, while others swung from side to side, and yet others seemed to swing in little circles. Some peeked out of a thick black bush that hid their balls altogether, while others were just lightly downed revealing tight little nutsacks, or ones that drooped and bounced against their legs as they walked. Katie watched, unable to tear her eyes away.

At first, her puss seemed to itch with that kind of prickly sweat that you get from clothes that are chaffing. Unselfconsciously, she rubbed it as she watched the boys. Soon she noticed her panties were moist. Pulling them aside, she found her puss was wet and sticky. Parting the lips with her fingers, she spread some of the moisture up and down and around the little nubbin at the top. That felt better. 

Soon she could no longer deny she was turned on. She remembered the day a couple months ago when she had accidentally walked in on her stepfather one morning, peeing in the toilet, his penis still turgid and stiff from sleep. Blushing red as a beet, she had hastily excused herself, gone back to her bedroom and standing with her back pressed against the door, fingered herself till she had come for the first time in her life.

Now, with the fingers of her right hand making little circles in the moisture leaking from her puss, she pushed up her sweater and bra with her left hand. As the cold air washed over her nipples, they stiffened and become almost painfully sensitive. One at a time, she teased them as she slid her fingers up and down her breasts. 

Totally immersed in the scene before her, she almost levitated when all of a sudden the loud woosh of the air conditioning unit right beside her shut off without warning. Now the only noise was the muted chatter of the boys echoing up from the corridor below. In the resulting quiet she heard a faint scuffle behind her. Turning awkwardly on her knees, she found herself looking up at a boy dressed in shorts and a Wildcats sweatshirt standing right behind her. His hands were in his pockets, his face in shadow under the hood of his sweatshirt.

"Dwayne," she gasped. Awkwardly, she found herself all at once trying to tug down her sweater, extract her hand from her panties, and get up off her knees. 

His voice was no more than a whisper. "I saw what you were doing." He took her left arm by the wrist before she could get up and placed her hand on the bulge in his shorts. "I was watching you."

She could feel the hardness twitching under her palm and feel the warmth underneath the thin cotton fabric.

She struggled to get her feet under her, but he held her there. Then he hooked his thumb under the waistband on his shorts and pulled them down. "Look."

She stared in dumb shock at the rampant cock not more than a foot away from her nose. If it had been any closer, she would have been cross-eyed. Like a mouse cornered by a cobra, somehow she found she couldn't move, couldn't take her eyes off of it. It was about six inches long (though from her vantage point it looked bigger) and had a decided curve so it stood almost vertically before her, a nasty splinter of flesh veined with thick ropes of blue and topped with an angry purple plum glistening with moisture. Unblinking, she watched with rapt fixation as a drop as clear as spring water oozed from the tip and ran down the seam to disappear into the folds of flesh which rimmed the bottom of the glans. 

Mutely he placed her hand on his shaft. It jerked under her touch and she pulled her hand away, but then she reached back for it. She was amazed by the touch of it, the surface so soft and velvety, yet underneath, so rock-hard. The warm skin was loose like the hide of dog, so as she moved her hand unconsciously up and down it slid smoothly, without resistance. She licked her lips, unaware she was panting as her pulse hammered in her chest.

He was breathing heavily too, as if he had just made a fifty yard run. He reached down to paw at her breast and his chest heaved as he emitted a low groan. "Wait! Oh, no! Oh, shit!"

She hadn't moved her hand up and down more than three times when suddenly the air was full of pearly droplets. She jerked her head to the side as a thick ropey strand spattered across the bridge of her nose. Squeezing her eyes shut, she could feel it landing everywhere: in her hair, on her lips, on her sweater and the tips of her bare breasts.

She tried to protest as he shuffled forward, backing her against the wall, but the "No!" that emerged was no more than a breathless squeak, and she found his cock prodding insistently at her lips. She seemed to have to no strength. And rather than pushing him away as she thought she wanted them to, her hands reached out seemingly of their own volition to clutch his legs as she unclenched her jaw and let him push inside. The smell, the taste, the heat of him was overwhelming, and she could sense nothing else, not the cold asphalt scrapping her knees, nor the coarse hair on his legs brushing her erect nipples, nor the rough bricks cutting into her back. In the corridor below, the rowdy boys passed by obliviously.

But she wanted to say, "Stop, let's go back and start over!" This wasn't how she had imagined it would be. They seemed to have skipped over all the warm and fuzzy parts in an unconscionable rush. Where was the part where he dropped to his knees to tell her how much he adored her; where was the kissing and snuggling; where were the long sighs and companionable silences that punctuated the ardent claims of undying devotion?

Moaning and mumbling incoherently, his buttocks clenched, he rocked forward on the balls of his feet. His cock, which was a little rubbery at first, became hard as oak as her lips closed around it. The round knob swelled alarmingly as he nudged another inch into her mouth. She reached up to wrap her fingers around the base of his cock to prevent him from going any deeper.

He exploded again and her mouth filled with a fluid as thick as warm molasses, yet acrid and salty as brine. The overflow ran down from the corners of her mouth to dribble off her chin. With a desperate toss of her head, she pulled loose from him as all the strength seemed to go out of his grip. She bent over and spit it out into her palm, looking at it curiously. In the darkness the little frothy puddle seemed to gather all the light in a milky opalescence. 

There was a distant clatter from the front of the alley as a group of boys ambled past on the other side of the dumpsters. She shrank back against the wall, but they passed without even glancing back in her direction, and when she turned back, he was already gone. Through teary eyes, she just caught a glimpse of him as he disappeared into the shadows under the bleachers. The odd thought struck her that he wasn't running at all like he usually did. 

Once again she was alone. Though it seemed like much longer, it couldn't have been more than a five minutes that had passed since she turned to find him there. Wiping her face on the arms of her sweater, she rose shakily to her feet.

She wanted to cry out for him; she wanted to run after him, but she couldn't risk attracting attention. She wanted to scream with frustration. Surely, this meant he loved her, she told herself. They just got carried away by circumstances. But how could he run off and leave her like that? Her eyes brimmed with tears. 

Brushing off her skirt, she was about to leave when she caught sight of a folded piece of paper lying on the ground. It must have fallen out of his shorts. It was half a sheet of yellow ruled paper. With hands that were still trembling, she unfolded it. In purple ink in a loopy hand, it read: "MEET ME AFTER PRACTICE ON THE NORTH SIDE OF THE GYM. I WANT YOU! PIGLET." The "I" in PIGLET was dotted with a little heart.

Uncomprehendingly, she read it again. Nothing made any sense to her. Water dripped from her chin. She didn't know if it was tears, snot or sweat. She looked up sharply as she heard what seemed to be the muffled rattle of footsteps coming down off the darkened bleachers. And the wind was picking up, so perhaps she only imagined it: a distant laughter. 

A Little Yearning Ch. 02



Jim Donne came awake with a start to the sound of the back screen door banging closed. He had fallen asleep at his desk chair with his dusty running shoes propped up on a stack of student papers. The cursor on his computer was blinking beside the bold declaration: CHAPTER TWO, just where it had been yesterday and days before.

He had gone for a run at dusk, a long one, and then after coming home and throwing on a dry shirt had pulled up the chair to his desk, energized, and started correcting papers. The first one had put him to sleep. He drained a tepid glass of water that had sweated over another poor student's essay, rendering the first paragraph illegible, and called, "Katie? You home?"

He heard the bathroom door close and then the shower turn on. He picked up a paper and a red pen. "The Ambilavence of Othello," the title read. He drew a circle aound "Ambilavence" and marked the paper with a big F-. It was one of the more common downloads off the web. He knew them all. Sometimes, if the student bothered to change the title and the first few sentences, he would let them slide by with a D, but this one was rote. He looked at the name: Dwayne Studemeyer. One of the jocks--it figured. Fifteen minutes later he was starting to doze off again when he heard her in the kitchen.

"Did you get something to eat?" he called. He heard the clatter of plates and running water. She was doing the dishes, without prompting. That's odd, he thought. He was half way through marking another paper when she appeared in the door of the study. She had on a bathrobe and her hair was done up in a towel.

"Did Mom come home yet?" she asked.

"She called earlier. They're still bogged down with inventory. She said she'd be back tomorrow afternoon." He stifled a yawn. "Want me to fix you a bite to eat?"

"I'm not hungry. I did the dishes." She came and sat down on the rug beside his chair, folding her legs under her. "Will you brush my hair for me?" 

Turning, he took the brush she proffered, unwound the towel and starting gentling unknotting her long chestnut hair. "I haven't done this for a while," he remarked. They passed about five minutes in comfortable silence. "You're quite the young woman now, Katie."

She stiffened at this remark and then it seemed she stifled a sob.

"Katie?" He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him, "What's wrong?" He lifted her chin up. Tears glimmered in the corners of her dark brown eyes.

"Oh, Poppi," she cried, leaning forward to put her arms around his middle and nestling her face against his stomach. 

"Katie?" When she still didn't answer, he suggested helpfully, "Would you like to call your Mom? I have the number of her hotel."

"She wouldn't understand!"

Katie's mother, Carmen Prado, was a successful Vice President of Sales for a large fashion retailer. Katie was the child of her first marriage--her father had abandoned them while Katie was still in diapers. Jim Donne, who taught English at Gusher, had met Carmen while she was taking night classes for her MBA. Since they had married, some eight years previously, Carmen had risen rapidly through the corporate ranks. She was frequently gone on business trips that took her throughout the country and occasionally abroad. This often left Jim, as Katie's stepfather, to deal with the tribulations of her teenage years. Carmen was a driven executive and had high expectations of Katie. As Katie matured there had been increasing friction between them, and Jim was often called into play as the peacemaker. 

Whereas Carmen was ambitious, high-strung and temperamental, Jim was more deliberate and soft-spoken. Carmen was still in her mid-thirties and he was almost ten years older. In contrast to her rapid rise, his was a history of diminished expectations. He had taught at larger and more prestigious schools, but he had not fulfilled his academic promise, and had left more than one of them under a cloud. He had a hard time saying no, and with his curly hair and spaniel's eyes, it had been all too easy to yield to the temptations of eager coeds and bored faculty wives, leaving behind a detritus of broken hearts, hastily-arraigned abortions and marriages run off the tracks.

He stroked Katie's hair with his hand. "Boy trouble?"

She nodded.

"You can tell me, Katie."

She raised her head and looked at him. "You won't tell Mom?"

He raised his eyebrows. "As serious as that, is it?" he smiled. "A little yearning is a dangerous thing."

She stared at him, unblinking. Sometimes, she could be just as tough as her mother.

"Cross my heart," he said. "It'll be our secret."

She bit her lip. "After practice, I met this guy behind the gym. . ."

"Who?"

"Just this guy, O.K? And he. . . He. . ."

Jim stiffened, sitting up straight, suddenly understanding.

"Katie," he said softly. "Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head.

"Did he have sex with you, Katie?"

She nodded. "No! I mean he. . ."

"Perhaps we should call your Mom."

"No! You promised! Please, Poppi, you don't understand." Clutching him tightly about the waist she buried her face in his midsection. "I think he. . .I thought he loved me." And he could feel the tears wetting his shirt as she choked out, in fits and starts, the story of what had happened behind the gym earlier that night. 

Jim went though a tumult of emotions as she sobbed out her story. At first he was bewildered, then angry, frustrated, saddened, hurt, and angry again. Then, to his growing dismay, he felt his cock start to harden. 

Tears sometimes had that effect on him. It had started long ago with his first girlfriend, Mauna. Like Carmen, she had a been an irresistible force of nature: beautiful, vivacious, flirtatious, sexually-charged. But she was also tempestuous, jealous, vengeful. They would fight; they would break up, and then inevitably, they would make up. Then there would be tears and make-up sex. Incredible make-up sex. "Jimmy," she would whisper, her breath damp and warm in his ear, "I want you to fuck my mouth." And then she'd go down on him like a tornado. Or, "Jimmy, I want you to tear off my panties--with your teeth." Or, "Jimmy, hold me down and take my ass." 

Now he shifted uncomfortably as his erection grew uncontrollably, right where Katie's firm young breasts were pressed into his lap. 

"It'll be all right," he said soothingly. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her back off his lap, and as he did so, her robe fell open, the oblique light of the desk lamp limning the perfect contours of her creamy breasts. He caught his breath. He couldn't take his eyes off them. He could feel the wetness at the tip of his penis seeping through the thin material of his running shorts. 

She looked up into his eyes, making no effort to cover up. She bit her lower lip. Slowly, her left arm came around and her hand settled on his penis. With a feather touch she traced its contour where it tented his shorts. They stayed like that for a moment while, mutely, while his eyes questioned and hers pleaded. . .or maybe it was the other way around.

Abruptly, he rose to his feet, pushing the desk chair back. "Show me what you did," he said hoarsely. She didn't hesitate. Reaching up, she drew his shorts down. His cock sprang out between them, crimson at the tip and already so hard it almost vibrated. 

"Ooh, it's big." She mouthed the words without saying them, taking it gently in hand. She angled her head away, examining it out of the corner of her eye. "You won't squirt on me?"

"Show me," he insisted.

Bending forward she trapped it between her breasts and lowered her head to gently rub the tip between her parted lips. Opening her mouth a little wider, she traced the apple shape of the underside of the glans with the tip of her tongue. Slowly she engulfed it. Then she drew her head back and held it up to look at it, the purple-red knob glistening in the soft light from the desk lamp. She traced the thick vein on the bottom of the shaft with her fingers, then drew the skin back again. An involuntary groan parted his lips. She took it in her mouth, deeper now, feeling a connection more intimate than anything she had ever experienced. In the stillness she could hear his breathing deepen and where her breasts pressed against him, feel the muscles in his legs and abdomen tighten as he rocked forward on the balls of his feet. 

Her right hand traced its way down her belly to cup her mound and gently probe at the moist lips of her pussy. Her face flushed as she sucked harder on his cock, pressing on the underside with the flat of her tongue, and she moved her head in an unconscious rhythm as their breathing became synchronized, rising and falling.

Jim licked his dry lips, his ragged exhalations whistling through his nose. He cupped her head in his palms. "Stop," he said, "Stop, Katie."

Slowly she released him, looking up, her lips wet, her eyes questioning. 

"My God, you're beautiful," he said. "If you do that any more, I won't be able to control myself."

"I know," she smiled. 

In slow motion, she took him in her mouth again. She felt his legs start to quiver. She stroked him with her left hand while with her right she lightly cupped his balls, sliding her forefinger up the slick crease between his clenched thighs to press on the bud of his asshole. 

Usually, Jim could see it coming out on the horizon: that wave that crested higher than the others. And like any savvy surfer, he would kick off and ride it in, savoring every moment of that slow-building crescendo. But this time, there was no warning; when she touched him there he grabbed onto her hair like it was a rope thrown to a drowning man. Every muscle in his body stood out in stark relief as he gave an incoherent cry and came like he'd been flung across the room. She pressed her hands against his belly to keep him from ramming his cock any deeper and gulped as her mouth filled with his cum.

He fell to his knees beside her, taking her in his arms.

"Wow, Poppi, that was like. . ."

He closed her lips gently with a kiss. Talking during sex had always seemed somehow inappropriate to him, like talking in church. At any rate, sex wasn't like anything else. You could only compare it by pointing out the dissimilarities--it was an exercise in absurdity. Sex was like golf except that you always hit a hole in one. Sex was like a gourmet meal except that you always ate the same dish. Sex was like racing except that you always strove to come in last, and everybody won. 

He lay her down on the crumpled bathrobe, admiring the way the light played across her long curves. Most women look better with a little clothing, even if it's only a bikini, to add a certain allure. But no fashion could improve upon the adornments which nature had bestowed upon Katie. What immortal hand or eye could frame that fearful symmetry, indeed. 

He molded her breasts, teasing her nipples erect, then smoothed his hands down her lithe waist to the swell of her hips. Gently he urged her legs apart. Lying down between them he admired the jewel of her sex, her mound flushed and plump, the light downy triangle of hair matted with moisture. Placing his thumbs on either side, he parted the glistening lips. She pressed urgently up against his hands. He kissed her there, running his tongue up and down, then probing with it as she moaned. He eased one finger inside her, pressing gently until he met the hymen. She was hot and tight. His tongue found the stiff little button of her clit and he sucked it into his mouth. She started to drum her feet on the carpet as she bucked under him. Biting down on her hand, she stifled her inarticulate cries.

Katie had almost come earlier in the evening, during those frantic minutes behind the gym. And she thought she might have come with him just then when her stepfather erupted in her mouth, but now as she crested on her own swelling wave, she realized that those earlier sensations were just glimmerings of the real thing, the rosy fingers of dawn, a mere prelude to the day. 

And now here came the sun.

She thrashed under him, arching her back as he held her down with difficulty--Christ, but she was strong!-- his mouth pressed unrelentingly to her shuddering pussy. Her eyes were wide open, but she wasn't seeing. Katie screamed but she didn't hear herself. Her whole world seemed to collapse in upon itself, focused on that point of contact, and time held its breath as one tidal wave, then another and another thundered through her.

Finally, when she was still, Jim released her. He kissed her sex lightly, then her tummy and her breasts, then the back of her neck as he drew her to him, spoon-wise. She nestled her head on his arm. "You won't ever leave me, Poppi," she murmured. He couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement. Then she gave a sigh and without further ado fell instantly asleep.

For him, sleep would not come so easily. First came the guilt, of course. But this was not the first time he had given in to impulse, and he knew himself well enough to know it wouldn't be the last. He had learned to be fatalistic about relationships. Whatever control you fancied you had over them was momentary and illusory. Baudelaire said it best: "Avalanche, veux-tu m'emporter dans ta chute?" (Avalanche, would you take me in your slide?)

His eyes roamed idly about the room till they came to rest on the screen of computer, where the cursor still blinked after CHAPTER TWO. Seeing it, seemingly every time she came into the room, Carmen had asked him once why he didn't use his screen saver. "That is my screen saver," he'd said ruefully. He had a good Chapter One; he knew he did. But for over a month now he'd been blocked, and he just couldn't seem to push past it. 

Now, unexpectedly and without even trying, it came to him: the first sentence of Chapter Two. He thought about it for a moment, turning it around in his head. It was good, and he could see where it went. Like a flash of dry lightning, he could suddenly see it all, and the next line fell into place, and the next. Lazily then, as drifted in and out of sleep, he wrote the rest of it in his head.



A Little Yearning Ch. 03



They were out at the old abandoned limestone quarry in Dwayne's pickup one afternoon the week before when the idea first came to her. The sun was hot, but a cool breeze came off the deep blue pool and they had spread a blanket on the scrub grass under the old sycamore. There were a couple subs and a six-pack in the ice-chest, and on a midweek afternoon, they had the quarry to themselves. The quiet stillness lay like a thick blanket over the place. Even the flies and the grasshoppers seemed to move slower. Dwayne, however, with a couple beers in him, had the usual thing on his mind. 

"I won't put it in," he promised. "Come on, I just want to rub it up against you down there."

"You see this, Dwayne?" Kathy Bonney held up her hand. "This here silver ring means I made a promise before God. I promised my second virginity to the Lord, and the only man that gets to fool around down there will be my husband."

Dwayne's confounded expression evidenced his struggle to grasp the concept of "second virginity." However, his hesitation was only momentary. "Well, shucks, girl, let's get married!" he said, not deterred. " Right here before God I'll make my vow! We can take care of the legal stuff tomorrow."

Chiclet gave a sigh. It wasn't that she didn't care for Dwayne Studemeyer, though she wouldn't go so far as to say she loved him. And indeed, one day, if things worked out, she might even marry him. 

When it came to romance, Dwayne didn't quite get it, but he wasn't a mean boy, if a bit dumb and reckless, and she wasn't immune to the same temptations of the flesh that he pursued with such single-mindedness. However, she had the discipline which he lacked. Chiclet was all too aware of her own limitations, and she didn't plan on spending the rest of her life in this small town, aspiring perhaps, like her Mom, to the position of assistant manager at the Walmart. Dwayne could be her passport out of here. Already scouts from three big schools had been nosing about. There was no denying his talent on the football field, and if he made it to the big time one day, he could be pulling in serious money. 

That is, if he didn't blow out a knee first. She wasn't ready to hitch her pony to that particular wagon yet. She would keep him on a short leash and wait and see. And that's why she couldn't give in to his persistent demands. It wasn't the risk of pregnancy—in spite of her vow, she took precautions--it was a question of being in control. She knew how to manipulate boys, and giving them what they wanted just wasn't the way. You had to hold something back, and the more you guarded it, the more desperately they had to have it. So, his country charm and rangy body notwithstanding, she'd give him enough to keep him panting after her and not running after other girls, but there was just no way he was going to round the bases to home plate until the deal was sealed. And if that left her a bit frustrated too, it would just have to be tolerated.

Having sensed he'd about used up his limited verbal skills, Dwayne was now opting for the more direct approach. He threw one leg over hers, dry-humping her while his hand groped under bra and he nibbled and licked at her ear. "Come on, Chickie, you know you want it."

Pushing him off, she sat up. "Not now, Dwayne. It's too hot. I need to think."

Shrugging, he turned to pop open another beer. He went over to the truck to scrounge some empty beer cans from the trash that littered the cargo-bed and lined them up on a ledge across the way, then he they took the .22 down off the gun rack and started plinking at them, the shots reverberating flatly between the narrow walls of the quarry. 

Chiclet's gaze remained on the truck. It had been on her mind. Last month, Dwayne had wrapped her VW bug around a tree. They'd been coming back from a party. He was drunk, but she was even more so, so she'd let him drive. Drunk or sober, Dwayne drove like he ran, with the same effortless grace and recklessness. That evening, with one hand on the wheel and the other trying to get down her pants, the recklessness had overbalanced the grace. They'd been knocked about a bit, but they'd been wearing their seatbelts. Beyond some bruises, they'd been O.K., however, the car was totaled. 

Since then they'd had to depend on his battered 1991 Ford pickup. That was all right for runs out the the quarry, but the big winter dance was coming up, and Chiclet had her position as head cheerleader to consider. She shuddered as she pictured herself arriving at the dance in that sun-faded, fly-specked rattletrap. It was just unacceptable.

Then there was the issue of Piglet. She regarded Dwayne with narrowed eyes. There was no question the lissome freshman cheerleader was smitten with Dwayne; any fool could see that. Until lately, Dwayne had seemed to be blissfully unaware of her interest. But recently Chiclet thought she had detected a sidelong glance or two, and just yesterday he had, with studied casualness, brought up her in conversation. "How's she working out, that new girl?" That was enough of a red flag for her to know she had to do something immediately to nip this in the bud. She wasn't about to lose her ticket out of town to some gawky little wannabe. 

And that was when it came to her, how to kill two birds with one stone. She had to grin at her own deviousness. 

"Dwayne?" Standing up, she waited till she had his full attention before stretching languorously. "Are you ready for inspection, soldier?"

He hurried over and came to attention, grounding the butt of the .22. "Yes, sir. . .ma'am."

"Wipe that silly grin off your face, boy!" she growled, eyeing him up and down. Chiclet had a powerful voice, honed by years of cheerleading and she could modulate it with the ease of a concert pianist, from sweet soulful treble to hard brassy bass. When she was sweet, she could charm the birds out of the trees, but when she chose, her voice could cut like a knife and flay the hide off a bull. She smoothed his tee shirt over his shoulders and, continuing to look him right in the eye, her hands dropped lower to trace along his belt. "What's this in your pocket, soldier? Is this a weapon?"

"Sir, no sir! That's a MRE, sir. That's my little MRE!"

"It doesn't feel so little to me, soldier," she said, tracing the length of his erect cock where it pressed against his pants leg. "Are you sure this is a regulation MRE?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to inspect it." Unfastening his buckle, she whipped the belt roughly off his pants and looped it in her hand. She popped open his fly and unzipped him, pushing his jeans down past his knees. His cock sprang erect. They had played this game before and he was primed and ready. She caught it in the loop of the belt draping from her hand. "That is definitely not military issue," she said sternly. She walked around behind him. "Eyes front! Tuck your chin in! Square those shoulders!" She whacked him on the buttocks with the belt. "Straighten up, you spineless sniveling shit-for-brains." 

She was wearing denim cutoffs and a cotton blouse, unbuttoned, with the tails tied around her midriff. Now she loosened the knot and he could feel the hardness of her nipples as she pressed up against his tee shirt. He reached back with his hands for her, but she slid quickly back out of reach and whacked him again with the belt. "Hands at your sides, soldier!"

She rubbed up against him again, and reaching around his waist, guided his cock through the loop of the belt, clinching up it behind his balls. Letting the loose end fall, she reached between his legs to draw it up tight along the crack of his ass. She gave an experimental tug on it, making his cock bob up and down. "Dwayne?" She whispered softly in his left ear. "Do you think I could borrow your Daddy's video camera?"

"No way he'd lend me that, Chiclet. After we backed over his boom box we borrowed, you know how he feels."

"Maybe you could just sort of borrow it without telling him?"

"Why, what do you want it for?"

She took the end of the belt and slid it up and down the crack of his ass. He started breathing deeper. Again, he reached back to paw at her.

She gave a sharp tug on the belt.

"Ow! Damn, Chickie, that hurt!"

"Keep your hands to yourself, soldier!" She growled in his right ear.

Her nipples brushed across his back. She said softly in his left ear, "It's for us, honey. It's a surprise. I think you'll like it."

Dwayne, who had a limited ability to focus on more than one thing at a time, was already thinking triple-X video. Still, he hesitated. "Jeez, I don't know. He is going up north to service some pump-jacks, and he'll be gone for a couple-three days, but he'd be awful riled up if he found out I took it."

She put her hand on his chest and slowly drew it down, tracing the contours of his rippled abdomen to where the root of his cock strained out of his bush. Lightly she drew a nail along the top of his erection and rubbed ever so softly on the tip. Involuntarily, he jerked his pelvis forward.

"Stand up straight!" she yelled in his right ear.

"Dwayne?" she whispered in his left. "It's just for an evening, all right?" She closed her hand around his cock and slowly pulled back the foreskin, rubbing her finger underneath the glans. "Your cock is so big!" She stroked the skin lazily back and forth. "O.K. honey?"

"O.K. Yeah, God. O.K. I'll get it for you," he gasped.

"Soldier, do you really think I don't know a weapon when I see one?" She demanded forcefully in his right ear. 

Reaching around with her other hand, she cupped his balls, pressing her body tightly up against him and stroked him faster. She stood on tiptoes and peered over his shoulder as his legs started to tremble. He was literally in the palm of her hand now, and she felt a delicious sense of control as she yelled, "Go Wildcats!" 

He gave a lurch and she watched the cum jetting from his cock in long spurts as he cried out.

"Soldier, why didn't you warn me that thing was loaded?"

As he sagged on his feet, she eased the belt off his cock. "I must admit, that got me a little excited, honey. Whatever can I do to relieve myself of the awful strain?" 

He reached back to fondle the cheeks of her ass as she pressed up against him. Stepping back, she took his hands and drew them together. "Hey!" he exclaimed as he felt the belt cinch around his wrists. She gave him a nudge forward which caused the pants bunched around his ankles to trip him up so he fell to his knees.

"Now, if I can trust you to behave yourself, I might let you watch."

She came around and stood in front on him, close enough so that if his hands had been free he could have--and would have--grabbed her. Reaching into the ice chest, she grabbed a dripping handful of ice cubes. She brushed her hand down one side of her unbuttoned blouse and then the other. The moistened cloth molded itself to her full breasts. Her swollen nipples showed pink through the thin white fabric. Dropping the ice cubes, she drew her cool moist hands slowly up her bare legs to her shorts. "Ahh, that feels good."

Slowly, she unzipped her shorts, revealing low-cut pink panties. She turned around, wriggling her ass in slow motion as she drew her shorts down over her hips. She kicked them aside and turned to face him. Her pubic hair shadowed the thin material of her panties and there was a blot of moisture lower down where it clung to the lips of her pussy. She spread her knees a little, opening out the juncture of her thighs, and drew up on the waistband of her panties, stretching them even tighter over the folds of her sex. 

"Show me your pussy," he urged her. "I want to touch it."

She swayed forward, just out of reach but close enough that he could smell her moist, musky scent. His reinvigorated cock was nodding up and down. She lifted up his chin with her finger and bent down to give him a long kiss, their tongues wrestling. Straightening up, she pushed her panties down just far enough so that a bit of her bush showed above the waistband. She reached down inside and cupped her hand over her mound.

"Don't tease me. Let me kiss it."

"You like to be teased."

"And you like to be licked," he retorted.

Her finger slid up and down the lips of her pussy, spreading the moisture. She slowly pushed one finger inside. Then she drew it out and held it out to him, glistening. She drew it along his upper lip, letting him smell it, and then she put it in his mouth.

"You're driving me crazy," he said, as she petted herself again, putting in two fingers. When she withdrew them, her panties bunched lower, revealing the slightly gaping folds of her sex, the crimson button of her clit peeking out from under its hood. 

"Do you want to taste me some more?" she asked, letting him suck on her fingers again as he groaned, thrusting futilely forward with his pelvis, his gaze locked on her dripping pussy. The more frustrated he got, the more it excited her. She took off her panties off and bent down to gingerly wipe the pre-cum off the purple head of his cock. She could tell he was close to exploding, and she had to resist the temptation to wrap her hand around him, knowing it would make him come instantly.

Using the fingers of one hand, she spread open her labia for him, revealing the glistening coral pink flesh inside.

"God, you're beautiful," he said.

She teased her clit with the forefinger of her other hand. "Does that excite you?"

"You're going to make me come."

"You can kiss it. Just once."

She leaned forward. He drew in her scent, his nose buried in her neatly trimmed bush, and slowly ran his tongue up the length of her sensitive lips.

Her legs shuddered and she stepped back. 

"Come back," he begged her.

"Hold still," she said. Cupping his head in her hands, she impaled herself on his tongue, rubbing up and down until finally he sucked hard on her clit. She could feel the blood rushing through her at breakneck speed. 

With a growl, she pushed him back and pinned his shoulders to the ground with her shins as she squatted atop his face, coming violently as he rudely thrust his tongue again into her pussy. The cum fountained from his neglected cock three feet in the air, splashing on her back and butt. "Don't stop," she grated through clenched teeth as he coaxed two and then three orgasms from her. At last she collapsed beside him. 

She kissed him and drew herself close, giving a sigh of contentment.

"Honey?"

"What?" she murmured sleepily.

"This beer's kinda backin' up on me. Aintcha gonna untie me now?"



A Little Yearning Ch. 04



William Bonney was under his jacked-up 1991 Camaro on a creeper, changing the oil, when his sister came into the garage. He finished torquing the drain-plug, and looked over the engine for leaks, ignoring her. She had on her cheerleader's uniform. He could see the pink tennis shoes with the matching little pompoms of her low-rider socks sticking out the back. She was standing there tapping one foot impatiently.

"Billy," she said, "You know I'm here."

Billy sighed. He came out here to work on his car when he didn't want to be bothered. Last night, after the encounter with Piglet behind the gym, he'd hardly slept at all. He felt like bugs were crawling up and down his spine and his brain was inflated with a dull, throbbing headache. He hadn't had a appetite for breakfast and his stomach was growling. Whatever his sister wanted, he knew it wasn't going to do wonders for his peace of mind. He slid out from under the car, squinting in the morning light angling in through the open garage door. She was standing close enough so that he was virtually looking up her short pleated skirt to where her pink tights outlined the mound of her pussy.

She shifted her legs open an almost imperceptible amount, letting him have a good look.

"I'd offer to help you up," she said, raising an eyebrow, "but I think you like the view better down there."

Chiclet teased him unmercifully. They were the only two children of their doting parents, and three years younger than Cathy, he'd always been under her sway. Their personalities were very different. Billy had always been shy. Like his sister, he wasn't academically gifted, but he had knack with machines and he was good musician--he played sax in the marching band now at Gusher. Chiclet, on the other hand, was outgoing and vivacious, a born leader. It had always been just second nature to boss her brother around. Indeed, you could say she'd cut her baby teeth on him. 

When they were younger, she had been more physical with him. She didn't hesitate to grab him and thrown him to the ground, pull his hair, or lock her arm around his throat and choke him till he gave in. Their parents had laughed it off as the normal roughhousing that siblings engage in. However, that phase had stopped when he was about eleven. They'd been wrestling on the grass in the back yard one day and she had with some difficultly pinned him on his back. He was almost her size by then, but she was still stronger and more agile. They were both suddenly surprised by the hard lump of flesh that jutted up below where she straddled him, grinding her pelvis into him. Billy trembled with a strange sensation, and then he went limp, blushing. They both looked down at the stain spreading on his pants.

"Mommy!" Chiclet yelled, jumping up to run indoors, "Billy hurt my wrist!"

Since then, she had learned to depend on the more tradition feminine wiles to dominate her brother. But she could sense his growing resentment.

"What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

"I need to borrow your car."

Billy sat up abruptly, just about braining himself on the edge of the open car door. "Not on your life! I can't believe you have the nerve to even ask me that after what you and Dwayne did to the Bug," he sputtered.

Chiclet had purchased the VW when she had started Jr. college. However, she wouldn't have known even where to find the dipstick, and considered a car to be the modern equivalent of a horse, i.e. a recalcitrant animal that needed to be broken to the will by dint of the hard use and measured neglect. When she blew up the engine after two years, Billy had rebuilt it. He'd also hammered out the dents, primed and painted it. Ostensibly, then, it had been theirs to share. That hadn't worked out so well. Eventually, he'd saved up enough from his part-time job bagging groceries to buy the old Camaro. 

"That wasn't my fault," she insisted. "Besides, Dwayne said the steering was loose."

"The only thing loose in that car was you," he retorted, angry more than anything else at having his mechanical ability called into question.

She smiled at him sweetly. "Billy, you know I appreciate all the work you did on the Bug. I'm asking you nicely. Please, honey, it's just for the dance, and I'm really going to need it." 

Straddling the creeper she squatted down over him, just brushing him lightly so he could feel the heat coming off her. "You know I'd do anything for you, Billy."

He frowned. Inexorably, he felt his cock start to harden. 

He tried to push back under the car with his feet, but she bore down firmly on his erection, trapping him.

"Billy, that's disgusting, I'm your sister," she whispered, looking him right in the eyes. And then she said, with a knowing smile, "You were watching me, weren't you?"

Billy blushed beet red. He squirmed under her as his cock turned rigid as a spike. 

He had indeed been watching her, and she knew it, and somehow that excited him even more. 

It was last Thursday evening and their parents had gone out to the movies. Billy had come out of his room to use the upstairs bathroom. Chiclet was taking a shower--he'd heard the pipes running water. The water wasn't running any more, but he could tell she was still in there from the light coming under the door. He heard the hair-dryer go on. That meant she'd be in there for another hour at least, the thought disgruntledly.

Billy went downstairs to pee. Coming back up the stairs in his stocking feet, he decided to go into his parents bedroom and look through the stash of men's magazines that his father kept on the top shelf of their closet. It was dark in the room, but he didn't bother turning on the light. He wasn't really supposed to the be sneaking around in there and there was enough light coming in the window from the streetlamp outside to see his way around. 

He crossed the room and opened the closet door. There was a box of books on the floor which he used as a stepping stool. He was sorting through the Playboys and a couple of Hustlers when he noticed a glint of light coming from the back of the closet. 

Last summer the house had been repiped and the plumbers had cut out a section of the back wall of the closet to gain access to the plumbing behind the vanity in the bathroom. They had neglected to patch the drywall here in the closet, so his parents, after a number of fruitless attempts to get them to come back, had finally just taped up a square of cardboard to cover the hole. The cardboard was sagging loose now, Billy could see as he slid aside some of the clothes on hangers. Pushing it aside, Billy realized he was looking at the back of the wall-mounted mirror which surmounted two-sink vanity. Over the years the moisture had condensed on the back of the mirror, degrading the silvering, which was streaked and flaking away in places, especially along the bottom margin. The light was coming through the mirror, and he found that if he bent close, he could actually see right through it in places. 

What he saw held him in rapt fascination. Chiclet was standing in front of the mirror with the hair dryer in one hand, brushing her hair with the other. She didn't have a stitch of clothes on and her skin was pink and flushed from the shower. 

As Billy pressed his eye to the back of the mirror, he brushed up against the hot water pipe and burned his shoulder. He flinched and let out an involuntary "Ouch," and then froze. Had she heard him? 

Carefully, he looked again. She hadn't reacted. She put down the hair dryer and pulled up a high stool and, leaning forward, started plucking her eyebrows with a pair of little tweezers. Her full breasts were hanging almost right in front of him. Billy licked his dry lips. She got some Q-tips from the drawer and teased some earwax out of her ears. He was beginning to see why she took so long in the bathroom. 

Then, however, she did something which quite literally took his breath away. She got a hand mirror out of the drawer and set it on the vanity and seated herself on the edge of the stool with legs spread wide. She was examining her pussy in the mirror, and coincidentally, giving him an excellent view as well. He shifted uncomfortably on his knees as his cock strained against his jeans. She reached in the drawer again and came up with the electric clippers that their mother had used to trim his hair when he was a kid. She snapped a comb on the end and started to trim her pubic hair, stopping periodically to brush through it with her fingers.

Billy unzipped his jeans and let his cock spring out. This was too good to the true. Her pussy was nothing like the air-brushed artifacts in men's magazines. It looked as fresh and pink and pretty as rosebud after a rainstorm. 

Then she did something that didn't make any sense to him at first. She was rubbing up and down on her pussy, but with the smooth back of the clippers. She spread her legs some more and he saw moisture glistening there. Then he understood. The clippers got quite warm when you used them, and they vibrated. It was sensation he had always enjoyed as a kid when he got a crew-cut. 

Now she moved the clippers down lower, stroking the folds of her labia. The skin on her chest flushed as she breathed deeply, pushing out her breasts, and he could see her nipples harden and swell. A thin line of sweat beaded her forehead just below the hairline. She gave a low involuntary groan, pushing the vibrating clippers firmly into place, and then suddenly she was mewling like a kitten as her legs trembled, reaching out to grasp the edge of the counter as she almost came off the stool. 

Billy gasped and shook as his cock exploded, spattering cum into the back wall of the closet.

Giving a contented sigh, she calmly wiped between her legs with a washcloth, then began to clip her toenails. 

Billy didn't sleep much that night.

Now as she squatted over him in the garage, he felt that familiar feeling of helplessness wash over him.

"You were watching me in the bathroom," she repeated. "I heard you." Taking his silence for assent she put her hand out, "Now give me the keys, Billy."

Billy didn't need to be prescient to see exactly what was going to happen. She and Dwayne would get drunk like they always did, and the first time one of them put the pedal to the metal, that would be the end of the Camaro. 

"No!" he yelled, pushing her off of him and getting awkwardly to his feet. He looked at her and he blanched.

Chiclet was going to make some snide remark about him copping a feel, but then she looked down to where his eyes were fixed. Outlined against the swell of her full breasts, there were two big greasy handprints staining the pink fabric of her top. 

"Look what you did!" she shrieked.

Uh-oh, Billy thought. Now the claws come out.

"I tried to do this the nice way," she said, biting off a string of profanity and controlling herself with a visible effort, "But I can see that's just not going to work. So we'll just have to do this hard way. One way or the other, Billy, I'm having that car."

He shook his head.

"I want to show you something. She grabbed her backpack from where she had set it on the workbench and took out a video-cam.

"Where'd you get that?" 

"Never mind." Opening the little screen, she fiddled for the moment with the buttons on the control panel, then held it up to him. He had to strain at first to see the images, but suddenly he understood what he was looking at, and he felt a cold sweat wash over him.

"Last n-n-night," he managed to stammer. "You were there?"

"You're such a dork! You really don't have a clue, do you? Of course I was there. I set the whole thing up. Did you really think little Miss Hotpants would be so eager to meet you behind the gym? I doubt she even knows you exist."

"But. . ."

"Piglet thought she was meeting Dwayne, you moron. I was just hoping to get something to show him what a little tramp she was. I hardly expected you to jump her like that. What on earth were you thinking? But it's just as well. In the dark, as quick as you were, apparently she mistook you for Dwayne. You can bet she'll stay away from him now, and I doubt she'll tell a soul what happened."

"Dwayne?" There was long pause while the world rearranged itself under his feet. "Oh," he said in a small voice, "You wrote the note."

"What, now you're going to cry? Christ, I could almost feel sorry for you."

"But. . ."

"Damn it, just give me the keys! I have copies of this tape, and I could be very careless where I left them lying around, you know? You're lucky you're not in worse trouble."

"But how am I going to get to school?"

"That's not my problem," she stuck out her hand. "Ride your bicycle."

Billy fished the keys out of his pocket. He didn't have the will to resist anymore. She stashed the video-cam in her backpack and tossed it in the car. Starting up the Camaro, she revved the engine for a moment, shooting him a defiant grin. She yelled something over the bass beat of the mufflers. It sounded like, "What had Masso kissed?" 

He cupped his hand to his ear. "What?" Who was Masso, he wondered? 

She burned rubber down the driveway before fishtailing onto the street and roaring off. What could he do? Who could he turn to? He tried to concentrate, but he couldn't fit his thoughts into any coherent pattern, the emotions and images that welled up in him were so strong. He brushed away the tears running down his face, smearing his cheeks with grease. 



A Little Yearning Ch. 05



Billy rang the doorbell at one in the afternoon. He knew Katie didn't have class that afternoon, and he hoped he'd find her home alone at that hour. If not, he'd leave her a note. However, when the door opened he was aghast to find himself face to face with her mother. 

Arlo, Texas was a nice-sized town. It was big enough so that everyone didn't know everyone else, but nonetheless, small enough so that everyone did gossip about everyone else. Katie's mother, Carmen Prado, had been born there, and in many ways her life had been quite remarkable. Even before she'd occasioned a certain amount of jealous admiration for her success as a sales executive, she'd been the stuff of urban legend. If fact, they even had a name for her: Las Tijeras.

Carmen had been raised in the barrio, south of Eighth Avenue, where chickens and stray dogs roamed the potholed streets. She was a happy little girl and did well at school. However, by the time she got to high school her striking Spanish beauty and proud nature had led to a series of short-lived romances that derailed her studies. Then, when she was a senior, she had met Elton. He was twenty-two, the older brother of a classmate, a handsome white boy from down around Waco who'd just gotten out of the service. Carmen ended up pregnant. Elton did the right thing and married her. She dropped out of school when she began to show, and shortly thereafter Katie was born. Elton took a job driving a delivery truck for a local bottler. It wasn't long till she began to suspect he was fooling around on her. 

One Sunday morning, Elton woke to the most exquisite sensation. Carmen had his cock in her mouth. "Don't stop," he begged her. He was already close to coming. 

"Elton?" she said sweetly. "Honey?" He opened his eyes to find her kneeling between his legs. She was slowly stroking his straining cock with one hand. In the other she had a large pair of scissors.

Now here is where the tales diverge. Some say she just threatened him. Others insist that Carmen did in fact subtract a few inches from his dick, or that she only nipped off a bit of foreskin as an object lesson. Whatever, the truth of the matter, Elton threw his good boots in the back of his pickup and took off down the highway, never to be seen again. Left to raise their infant daughter, Carmen found strength in herself which she hadn't known existed. 

Now, at the age of 36, she had matured into formidable woman. Today, she was dressed stylishly in a cream linen blouse with wide lapels that flared over a red bolero jacket, a matching skirt cut to mid-thigh, nylons, three inch heels. Even in the heels, she was a couple inches shorter than Billy, but she seemed to be looking down at him nonetheless. His mouth went dry, and the sweat which had plastered his tee shirt to the small of his back chilled him. Her eyes went to the bicycle which he had parked beside the porch and then to Billy. 

"Pi. . .Katie. . ." he began, but she raised her hand to cut him off. She had a cell phone at her ear. 

She listened intently for a moment, then said, "Hold on, Harold. Someone's at the door." Then to Billy she said, "Katie's not here. She should be back soon." She glanced at the schoolbook in his hand. Billy was about to turn away when she said, "You can wait for her if you like." 

She held the screen door open for him while she continued to talk on the phone. Something about inventory, it sounded like.

Billy glanced curiously about. It was a large ranch-style home near the junior college. The cool dim living room was very orderly. Spot-lit paintings with Southwestern themes graced the walls. There were well-thumbed books and some Kachina dolls on shelves, leather furniture and native area rugs, architectural magazines neatly fanned on a spotless glass coffee table. Carmen looked at Billy's stained tee shirt and dusty shoes. She muted the phone on her shoulder as she said to him, "You can wait in her room. Down the hall to the right." Continuing her conversation, she tapped across the floor in her heels toward the kitchen.

Katie's room was livened with a barely restrained clutter of books, clothes and knickknacks. A row a stuffed animals lined the footboard of her neatly-made bed. There were two antique armoires on this side of the room flanking the door to the hallway. To his left, gymnastics posters and trophies decorated the walls above the bed. On the right, double windows with drawn mini-blinds let in a filtered light. On the other side of the bed, her desk and a chest of drawers stood on either side of the closet door. Loose papers and notebooks threatened to bury the keyboard on her desk. 

Billy was crossing the room to her desk, when his attention was caught by the jumble of clothes stacked atop the dresser. He turned back to the door and looked down the hall. Faintly, he could still hear Carmen talking in the kitchen. Billy eased the door closed and then stepped across the room to the dresser. He opened the top drawer to find a colorful jumble of loose underwear. Billy took a pair of puce panties and held them up to his face. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. Faintly, he could smell the musky fragrance of her. All the sexual intoxication of that night came rushing back to him. The blood raced through his body and in the quiet he could hear his pulse hammering in his ears. As his cock grew rigid, he listened intently for her mother. He would hear her if she came down the hallway in her heels. The danger excited him even more. He squeezed his cock through his shorts. He longed to stroke himself. He wanted to come on her panties.

He was standing like that, the panties pressed to his face and his hand on his cock, when the door opened. Not the door to the hall, but what Billy had taken to be a closet door. It was, as he could see now, the door to a bathroom which connected to the office.

"She'll be late, she called. . ." Carmen stood in the door. For a moment, they were both too shocked to even react. With preternatural clarity, Billy watched the large vein in her neck swell as the blood rushed to her face and her cheeks flushed scarlet. He stood rooted to the spot, almost as if it were happening to someone else, as she drew back her arm and slugged him.

Billy rocked on his feet and almost went down. The diamond ring on her finger cut his cheek and he tasted blood. She was screaming at him, and from the number of mierdas, chingadas, putas and pendejos mixed into the rapid-fire Spanish, it was clear she wasn't too happy. He tried to move around her, but she shoved him back till his legs hit the desk chair and he sat down hard. Then she was raining open-handed blows on his head as Billy held up his hands, trying to ward her off, yelling incoherently, "I didn't. . .I'm sorry. . .I didn't mean to. . .stop, I'm sorry. . ."

He tried to get up from the chair, but she spun him around and shoved him under the desk where his legs were blocked. Then she took his wrists and yanked them back behind the chair. Before he understood what was happening she had tied his hands behind him with some pantyhose she had grabbed from the open dresser drawer.

She turned him around to face her. "You son of a bitch! You come into my house and . . ."

He flinched as she raised her hand, but then controlled her anger with a visible effort. " Now, you listen to me, Dwayne," she said.

"But I'm not---mmph!" Billy's protest was cut off as she stuffed the puce panties in his mouth.

"I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen." When Billy tried to yell through the panties, she slapped him dispassionately. "Shut up!"

She sat down on the bed facing him, smoothing her skirt, close enough that their knees were almost touching. "When I was a young girl, just about Katie's age, I got involved with a man and--well, let's just say I came to regret it. I want to make sure Katie makes the right choices in her life. I don't think you're one of those right choices."

He shook his head vigorously. "Mmph!"

"There's no sense in denying it. Katie hasn't said a word to me, but I'm not a fool. I found her top in the laundry with semen crusted all over it. And this in her pocket." She held up a piece of yellow note paper, written on with purple ink. She smiled with her mouth, not her eyes. "So you see, I think I understand quite well what's going on."

She reached over to the desk where there was a large bowl full of odds and ends: pens, pencils, rulers, scissors. . .

Scissors! Oh, my God, thought Billy, please don't pick up the scissors!

She took a twelve-inch wooden rule in her hand. "I think we need to come to an understanding." She poked him in the stomach with it. "You won't be coming around here any more." She poked him in the groin. "You won't talk to my daughter any more." She poked his penis where it bulged under his shorts. "You won't see my daughter any more." She looked him right in the eyes. "You won't even write to my daughter any more." She poked him some more. "Is that clear?"

Billy groaned. He looked down at his lap where a stain was spreading over the front of his shorts.

Carmen glanced down and she flushed red. "You fucking animal!" He thought she was going to hit him again, but instead she reached over and grabbed the scissors.

Billy tried to scoot away, but the back of the chair was already up against the desk. He shook his head violently, his eyes wide.

She took the scissors and cut up the leg of his shorts to the waist. His cock poked out, still rampant, cum dribbling down the shaft. Desperately, he tried to will it to deflate. 

Carmen hefted the scissors thoughtfully for a moment. Then she put them down and picked up the ruler. She poked at his erection experimentally.

"You just don't take no for any answer, do you?" She slapped it, watching it bounce from side to side. 

"Plmm," Billy tried to say, begging her. 

She searched his eyes. "Why are you still hard?" She slid the point of the ruler along the underside of his cock and pressed it to his belly with the sharp corner. Billy groaned involuntarily. "You sickening pervert. I'm old enough to be your mother. You should be afraid of me, chico." 

It wasn't till she said it that Billy realized that it she was, in fact, what was exciting him now. It was those fierce eyes under those dark drawn lashes, those long lips with the dark wine-red lipstick. It was that icy air of disdainful sophistication, the scent of the expensive perfume. He was afraid of her of her, but somehow, in some kind of emotional synesthesia, that was what turned him on. She was impervious, untouchable, so far above him as to be entirely unapproachable for any number of reasons, and he was helpless to resist.

She looked down at his cock again, and that was all it took. He came again, even stronger than before, the cum spurting up high into the air between them. She shrieked, jumping to her feet.

She slapped him, rocking his head. "Look what you did!" Taking off the bolero jacket, she brushed at it ineffectually with a tissue from the box on the desk. Grabbing him by the hair, she held it up to his face. "That's a fifteen hundred dollar suit!" Pulling the panties out of this mouth she thrust it in his face. "We'll see how you like it, douche bag. Go on, clean it off."

"What?"

"Lick it off, I said." She pressed the rough fabric against his mouth. The cum tasted slimy and bitter. He made a face.

"Now here," she said, pointing to a smear on the her linen blouse just above the waistline. She bent forward, her breasts grazing the top of his head. Billy licked at a fold of the loose linen. "Here," she bent down to present another stain on the lapel and Billy found his nose in her cleavage. The blouse hung loosely as she bent forward and he could see she wasn't wearing a bra under it. "And here." She moved to the side and her found he was licking the thin material right over her breast. He could feel the nipple swell under the fabric. He licked at it slowly. She put her hands behind his head to guide him to the other nipple. "And here." 

Straightening up, she unbuttoned the blouse, letting it fall from her shoulders. Billy gazed enraptured at her creamy breasts, the madder-toned areolae and crimson nipples for a moment before she nuzzled up to his lips again. He rolled his tongue over the hard nipple. 

He could feel her breath deepen as she crouched over him, gripping his thighs between hers, and the hem of her skirt brushed the head of his cock, teasing it. Her panties were hovering just out of reach and he strained fruitlessly to lever himself up off the chair. She ran her fingers through his hair and then dug her nails into his shoulder. He could feel her legs begin to tremble. At was all too much, and he came again without warning.

Carmen felt the warm, heavy drops spatter on her panties and sprang up. She hiked up her skirt to look. "My God, you came again?" There was no anger this time, just disbelief. She looked at his stiff cock with unabashed curiosity. "You're a real energizer bunny, aren't you? Look what you did to my panties."

He hardly needed the invitation. His eyes were locked on her pussy where it swelled her black satin panties. 

"Do you want to clean them for me?"

She cocked one leg up on the edge of the seat and he slouched down a bit. He licked and kissed her thighs, then the waistband of her panties, then down to where her bush pressed out against them. Finally he started licking where they clung tightly to the moist lips of her pussy.

"Do that, yes, do that." She reached down and pulled the flimsy material aside and pressed her nether lips on his. 

Billy had never even touched a real pussy before. He wanted to pause a moment and just feast his eyes on it. "Don't stop," Carmen said. "Don't stop."

Closing his eyes, he ran his tongue up languidly along the groove, probing between the wet lips, marveling at the slick heat of it. "Don't you stop," she kept repeating, till the warm liquid ran down his chin and she started thrusting rhythmically at him, bending his head back as she grabbed onto his hair. "Oh, God! You're making me come!" she wailed.

Finally, she let him up for air. Taking a step back, she just stood there a moment, panting, her skirt hiked up about the waist, her linen blouse hanging off the belt behind her, a rip in one of her stockings, her hair in snarls. She was a complete mess, but Billy had never seen anything so classy in his life. She drew a finger up her slit and raised it to her mouth, sucking on her fingers. Billy strained at the bounds on his wrists. His cock felt bruised and sore and he thought maybe he had come again--he had lost track of how many times now--and when he looked down there was a gob of sperm oozing down the drooping shaft. 

She took his cock in hand with a feathery touch, sliding the foreskin up and down. Then she bent down and took the rubbery shaft in her mouth. Billy moaned and spread his legs. She cupped his balls with her hand. He swelled up till he filled her mouth. It wasn't like before. It was fire and ice, pain as much as pleasure as she swiped her tongue over the tip of his cock and her lips clung to his shaft as her head bobbed up and down.

Holding his cock, she straddled him. With one smooth motion, she engulfed him in her pussy. 

Billy thought it was like being jerked off by the hand of God. It was as slick and smooth as an Electraglide pushing ninety on the Interstate, yet he could feel every fold and ridge inside her gripping him firmly. He thought he was going to come again immediately, but he was too drained, and the goal seemed to recede even as he sped toward it. Gradually, she picked up speed, bouncing up and down as she fucked him frantically, digging her nails into his back. The springs in the chair squealed in protest and she started to grunt rhythmically and then she was yelling in Spanish, urging him on and Billy felt the rush coming from way, way far down, till finally he shuddered up to meet her, sobbing into her shoulder as she mashed her breasts against him and screamed in his ear. "AAYYYUHH!"

Afterward, spent and still, she appraised him with something almost like shyness in her eyes. She kissed him on the forehead. 

"Sometimes," she said, "quantity has a quality all of its own."

"What?"

"Come back on Thursday," she said. "Next week."

"Will Katie. . .?"

She shook her head. "I don't want you seeing my daughter, Dwayne," she said firmly. "I can think of five good reasons why. But who's counting? She won't be here. I will."

Billy sighed. "I'm not Dwayne." 



A Little Yearning Ch. 06



Professor Donne was stuffing papers in his briefcase, getting ready to leave, when someone rapped on the jamb of the open office door.

"Got a moment?"

He latched the briefcase and looked up. She was an attractive coed of medium height, but her height was the only "medium" thing about her. She was wearing a pair of white Daisy Duke cut-offs and a pink tank-top with spaghetti straps that clung to her well-toned mid-section and firm breasts like saran wrap. From the front, her broad shoulders and narrow hips gave her an athletic, almost boyish appearance that was belied when she turned by the jut of her full breasts and round bottom. Her blond hair hung straight to her shoulders and was cut in bangs across her forehead over wide-set green eyes that regarded him coolly while a hint of a smile played over her generous mouth. She didn't wear much makeup, just a hint of eyeliner and some lip gloss, but she didn't need it. She looked vaguely familiar to him, but he was fairly certain she wasn't in any of his classes. He would have remembered.

"I'm sorry, are you one of mine?" he asked, settling back into his chair.

"One of yours?"

"My students. I'm Jim Donne. My office mate, Professor Owens, has already gone for the day."

"No, I'm not, but I did come to see you, Professor Donne. I hope I'm not too late." She came over to stand beside his desk. Jim tried not to stare at the outline of a nipple ring in her left breast.

"Not at all," he shook her hand. Her grip was warm and dry and lingered maybe a second longer than normal.

"I'm Kathy Bonney. It's about this paper." She set her backpack on his desk and took out the essay.

"The Ambilivance of Othello. Yes, I remember this, but it's not yours."

"Dwayne's my boyfriend," she explained. "Don't you think that grade is a bit harsh? It's a well-researched paper. I can't see there's anything wrong with the writing. I just don't understand."

"Kathy, I'm sorry, but don't you think it would be more appropriate for me to discuss this with Dwayne?"

"He had football practice. Anyway, we, ah, worked on it together. Please."

Jim sighed. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk. It was a straight-backed chair with a hard wooden seat so as not to encourage students to linger during office hours. She perched erect on the edge of the seat, her brow furrowed, and crossed her arms which threw flawless breasts into prominence.

"When I said that paper was not yours, I meant it was neither yours nor Dwayne Studemeyer's. That paper was written in 1998 by a graduate student named Michael Eiger. The original title was "Othello's Indecision," and it's been floating around on the web since then as a popular download. Since your boyfriend submitted it as own work, he could be brought before the Dean and expelled for plagiarism. And you acknowledged being involved as well. I'm really doing you both a favor by just giving him an F." 

Jim spoke matter-of-factly, but he wasn't beyond taking some pleasure in making her squirm a little and--who knew--more than once this sort of thing had led to a mutually beneficial exchange of favors. If a beautiful girl walks into your office dressed--or rather half-undressed--like that, that would be the obvious implication.

She pushed out her lower lip in a pout that he would have loved to sink his teeth into. "You don't understand. With an F, Dwayne won't be eligible to play. He may as well be expelled." She stifled a sob and a couple tears traced down her cheeks. It was, to give her credit, better than average acting. 

Jim came around to perch on the front of the desk. He offered her a tissue. "Perhaps we could work something out. A makeup."

"It's really all my fault, Professor Donne, please don't make him suffer for it." She fixed those big moist green eyes on him. It was like an galvanic shock being delivered directly to his scrotum. "Dwayne's never going to learn Shakespeare. I told him I'd help him out, and I intended to, but I just ran out of time."

"What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive."

"Lady MacBeth had it easy," she snorted.

"So you do know some Shakespeare?" 

She shrugged. "A little bit. I had drama in high school. We never staged the Scottish play, but I read it on my own. I was a bit of a Goth back then. Witches, you know." She waved her hands in the air over an imaginary cauldron. "Fair is foul, and foul is fair. Hover through fog and filthy air."

"You surprise me."

"Don't judge me on my looks, Professor."

"It's rather hard not to. Please call me Jim."

"You know, I've been at this school for four years." There was an edge to her voice. "Teachers that don't know me, they think I'm not too bright, or I just don't care. Really, they don't get it. People spend their teens and twenties trying so hard to grow up, and then, when they hit thirty, they suddenly realize that the happiest years of their lives are already behind them. And what was the hurry? Then they spend the rest of their lives trying to recapture something they just carelessly threw away." 

He nodded. "We spend the first part of our lives regretting the things we've done wrong. We spend the last half regretting the things we never took the chance to do. We always seem to be looking back or looking forward. It's not easy to live in the moment."

"Yeah," she said. "Well, I enjoy being me."

"Kathy, I don't make the curriculum, and I'm not unaware of the folly and futility of trying to teach Shakespeare to football players. But if I can manage to interest at least one student, I'll take what I can get. If you will write me a paper, I'll pass Dwayne." 

"Really? Thank you so much." She smiled at him and it was like someone had turned on the light in the room. "I won't disappoint you." She stood up to go.

"And Kathy?" 

She turned in the doorway.

"I'm not doing this because you're a remarkably attractive girl, though you certainly are. I really would like to encourage your love of literature."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Oh, my shoe lace is coming undone," she said, and turning her back, she bent down--way down--to tie it. Her shorts hiked up over that sculpted ass and the crotch pulled tight to reveal the line of a pair of pink panties underneath. 

She took her time retying her shoes, then she turned to face him again. "Don't pretend you don't want it, Professor. If I'd really wanted to seduce you, your pants would be down around your ankles by now." She pinned him to his seat with a look. A smile played on her lips, but those big unblinking eyes weren't smiling. There was a glint of something like anger there. "But like I said, what's the hurry?" 

On Friday evening, Jim was out running at dusk when a low-slung red hatchback with IROC lettered on the side purred up alongside, pacing him along the dusty road on the edge of town. The passenger window rolled down and he saw her sitting at the wheel.

"Hey, Professor, I thought I recognized you. Can I give you a lift?"

"I'm running." 

"Well, I can see that. Come on, I won't bite."

He slowed a walk, reluctantly. "I read your paper, Kathy, and I found it to be quite adequate. In fact, it was surprisingly good. I've given Dwayne credit for a 'B' in the course. If you'd like to stop by my office some time, I'd be glad to go over it with you."

"Thanks, but it wasn't that. I just thought you might like to go for a spin, that's all." She favored him with another one of those five hundred watt grins. "Living in the moment?"

He couldn't help but grin back, even though he didn't like having his run interrupted. But Carmen was out of town and Katie was spending the night at a friend's so he didn't have any pressing need to get home. "I'm all sweaty."

"O.K. by me." She reached across and unlatched the passenger door. As he settled into the seat she accelerated smoothly down the road, the throaty rumble of the exhaust swirling with the dust in their wake.

"You know, sometimes it's just nice to talk with an older guy. Boys my age only have one thing on their mind."

"And what makes you think older guys like me don't?"

She laughed. "Oh, I know you do. I'm just saying that's not the only thing on your mind."

Jim trailed his arm out the window enjoying the cool evening breeze. While she concentrated on the road, he let his eyes roam over her. In contrast to the other day, she was dressed in conservatively in a loose embroidered cotton blouse and matching skirt that ended at mid calf, open-toe sandals. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail, accentuating the angles of her face. She wore some blush, mascara and coral lipstick. The makeup put a few years on her and gave her an air of maturity. Before, she could have passed for eighteen. Now she looked more like thirty.

"Nice car."

"It's my brother's, actually. I've got it on a sort of permanent loan."

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

She laughed. "Well, we could talk about cheerleading, or lit-ter-a-chur. . . You're not really into small talk, are you?""

"I'm not particularly good at it."

She shot him an appraisingly glance. "You keep in good shape, don't you?"

"For an old guy, you mean?"

"You don't think we have a lot in common, do you?" she asked, reading his mind. "I don't think we're all that different." Downshifting, she turned off on a county road that led out to the west where some light still lingered in the limpid pastel sky though the ground was cloaked in darkness. "Do you think it's possible for a guy and girl to be completely honest with each other?"

"I may be a little too cynical, I suppose."

"But you've never really tried it, have you?"

"On the contrary. I've tried it several times with uniformly disastrous consequences."

"What I mean is, we talk at each other, but most of the real conversation never gets said, does it? It's under the surface, or it's assumed. Or people are afraid to say what they really mean," she said with the endearing enthusiasm of one who has just discovered a truism.

"You want the truth!? You can't handle the truth!" Jim quoted ruefully. 

She looked at him quizzically. Either his Jack Nicholson impression really sucked, or she had never seen the movie.

"Is that like a dare, Jim?"

"I guess," he smiled. "So why don't you go first? Tell me why you picked me up."

"You don't think I just happened upon you back there?" She stuck out her bottom lip.

"You're not answering the question."

"Do you want to kiss me, Jim?"

"Since we're being perfectly frank here, I'd like to fuck you."

"Now you're just trying to shock me."

"Don't be coy."

"You just think you want to have sex with me. You're married, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Don't you love your wife?"

"I do."

"And you don't want to hurt her, do you? So you don't really want to have sex with me, you're just being macho."

Jim reflected on what incalculable damage a syllogism could do in the hands of a cheerleader.

She looked at him for a long moment--he was tempted to tell her to keep her eyes on the road, but those emerald eyes were mesmerizing, catching the lights of the instrument panel, red and yellow sparks. "See this silver ring? You know what it is?" She held up her hand.

He nodded. "I've seen them. You pledged your virginity to God, right?" 

"My second virginity," she corrected him.

"What happened to the first one?"

She didn't reply for a moment, her eyes focused far in the distance. Then she slowed and pulled the car over onto the gravel shoulder. "You know, in three years I've never talked about that to anyone. But I think perhaps you would understand. Would you drive for while?"

She got out and came around the back while he scooted over the gearshift into the driver's seat. 

"Just keep on straight." 

"Aren't you going to put on your seat belt?"

She tucked her legs under her and shifted in her seat to face him. "I'll have to trust you to keep your eyes on the road." She paused a moment to recollect. 

This is the story she told him:

I came out here one evening after a game to party. There were quite a few of us--football players, some girlfriends, the pep squad. We'd won a big game, we had few beers, everyone was excited. I caught my boyfriend making eyes at another girl. We had words and he left with her. I was hanging with two brothers who were on the defensive line. As it got later more people starting drifting off till before I knew it, there were just the three of us left. 

It was already way past curfew, so I figured, what the hell. We had a few more beers. Then the two of them got in a pissing contest. I mean literally. Joe, the younger one, had the advantage when it came to height and distance, but big Ronny had more staying power. They were hollering and I was giggling, but once they had their dicks out, things started to get a little strange. They were passing each other these looks, you know, like I'd seen them do on the field when they were getting set to ambush a running back. Joe'd go low and Ronny would come in high and they'd have to carry the poor bastard off the field on a stretcher. 

You know, I can handle boys. I mean, I could have defused the situation, but suddenly, I don't know, it was like I wanted to see how far they would go. It's sort of like driving a fast car. You just want to keep pushing it a little closer to the edge. But you don't really know you've reached it till you spin out of control, do you? 

"O.K. Chiclet, now it's your turn," Ronny said to me. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You drank as much beer as we did, and you're not half our size. Don't tell me you don't have to go." 

"Not in front of you, I'm not."

"Go around the tree. We won't watch."

Well, I did have to pee something awful, so I stepped around the tree and took off my panties, hiked up my cheerleader's skirt and squatted down. It was such a relief. I was feeling a little woozy, and I must have closed my eyes for a second. When I looked up they were both standing there leering at me. Ronny had my panties and was sniffing at them. He went to pass them to Joe and I made a grab for them. Joe lunged for them at the same time and got and handful of my top instead and when I jerked back he pulled it down. I ran for the car. I was going to lock myself in, but they caught me rounding the picnic table. Ronny was a big, blond farm boy and built like a barrel, but he was fast. He scooped me up like stray poodle and sat me down me on his lap. 

I was kicking and yelling at them, telling them to stop or they'd be sorry. Standing in front of me, Joe was rubbing my nipples between his fingers. His hands were calloused but he was surprisingly gentle with them. His cock was jutting right in my face. I turned my head. "Make her lick it like that old collie bitch of yours, Joe," Ronny said. Ronny was rubbing his hard cock up and down the crack of my bare ass. I was angry and scared, but at the same time my butt has always been very sensitive, and my pussy was starting to get hot. 

Ronny lifted me up a little higher and stuck his cock between my legs. "Let's see if she knows how to drive a stick shift," he said. He put my hand on the head of his cock where it jutted up between my legs and he jiggled me up and down as effortlessly as an inflatable doll. I could feel the juice oozing out of my pussy and covering his cock as it rubbed between my lips. I guess the head of his cock was just normal size, but it seemed little to me because his cock was so fat. I could hardly get my hand around it. I covered my palm with the moisture leaking out of the tip and started to jerk him off. I wanted to make him come before he could stick it in me.

My legs were starting to shudder, and my pelvis began to twitch. I was trying desperately not to get excited, fighting it every step of the way. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction. But it seemed the harder I tried, the more excited I got. I'd never felt like that before. It was a different kind of intoxication, more insidious than alcohol. I looked up at Joe. He was rubbing his cock back and forth on my lips. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead and his mouth hung open and I could tell he was already close to coming himself. 

"No, I don't want to," I said, but even as I mumbled the words I let him push inside. My tongue felt as sensitive as my pussy. The slick heat of his cock was overwhelming. It was like a live wire, and all the tension gathered in him seemed to surge into me. It tipped me over the edge. I started to come, gripping Ronny's big cock with my fist between my legs, riding him like a bull. 

"There she goes!" Ronny yelled as I moaned. Joe immediately gave a grunt and started spurting his thick cum over my tongue. There was so much, it was running out the corners of my mouth. At the same time I could feel Ronny start to climax too. He was bouncing me on his lap like a small boat on a rough sea. He just kept coming and coming, flooding my stomach and legs and bush with wave after wave of sticky cum. 

When Ronny relaxed his grip I jumped up and gave Joe a smack across the face and then I stomped on Ronny's instep and threw an elbow at him. I may as well have tried to punch a forklift. That really cracked him up. "You don't even have cleats on, girl," he chuckled. 

Again, I tried to make a dash for the car, but Joe caught up with me and picked me up by the waist and threw me face down across the picnic table. He held me down while Ronny held his sticky cock to my face and made me lick it till he got hard again. Joe wedged himself between my legs. He was running his finger up and down my pussy. Just as Ronny pushed his fat cock into my mouth, Joe eased two fingers inside me. "She's all gooey," he said. I was humping his fingers uncontrollably. Being manhandled like that, by the both of them--I'd never been so excited before, not even after a couple hours of petting in the back seat. That first orgasm hadn't eased the pressure at all, it just made me more sensitive.

I knew what was coming next and I didn't want him to. Not like that. I often imagined how it would be when I lost my virginity: how I would condescend to bestow the ultimate gift on some fortunate boy after a suitable amount of begging, pleading and groveling. To be taken like this in a sweaty rush, spread-eagled across a sticky picnic table, it was so wrong. But when Joe put his cock to the lips of my pussy, I didn't even hesitate. I slammed back onto it as hard as I could. I was coming again before he was even fully inside of me. Later, I was sore, but right then, as he tore through my hymen, that wasn't even on the list of things I was feeling.

They both took their time, the second time around. I was up there, somewhere I'd never been before, sort of looking down at myself like it was someone else. Every time I'd start drifting down off the clouds, they'd pick up the pace and I'd be flying again. Eventually, they hit a kind of rhythm, bouncing me back and forth between them, and when Joe finally came down to the short strokes, puffing and yelling, Ronny pulled out and let go all over my face. 

I lay there too exhausted to move. My bruised pussy was oozing and my belly stuck to the table. Joe threw himself down on the grass, covered in sweat like he'd just run a marathon. Ronny went over the car and got his sports bag out of the trunk. He took out a towel and wet it and wiped my face for me. Then he went around behind me. I felt this cool liquid spread across the cheeks of my ass, running down the crack. Then he starting massaging me, the oil warming as he kneaded it into my lower back and butt and thighs.

I raised up on my elbows. "No, I can't do any more," I said in a small voice.

He just made shushing, clucking noises at me, like you'd calm a horse. He was very good with his hands. He knew just how much pressure to use. I could feel my muscles go all soft and spongy and this warm lethargy washed over me. I almost drifted off to sleep. Tenderly, he was smoothing his hands softer and softer over me, running his fingers up the inside of my thighs, easing his thumbs down the crack of my butt, lightly over my anus to where the lips of my pussy gaped opened. Unconsciously, I started to rock back against him, wanting him to press harder. "No, I can't," I begged him. But he kept teasing me till I was bucking up off the table. When he finally parted the lips of my pussy with the head of his cock, I was desperate for it.




A Little Yearning Ch. 06



I pushed back against him and the head lodged inside me. It was like someone was trying to stick a half-liter water bottle up inside me. Even with the oil, it just wouldn't go any farther. It was stuck. He didn't try to force me, he just held on to my waist, maintaining a steady pressure as I rocked back against him, letting me control it. The slow, smooth friction, the fullness was driving me crazy. Gradually, I forced myself back onto his cock, opening myself up to him till with a final desperate thrust I got him all the way inside. I could feel his pubic hairs rubbing up against my butt. 

"Ah, Chicklet, that's too good." He started rooting at me with quick powerful thrusts. 

I arched my back and my ass came up off the table as he set me off. I could feel the warm liquid running down my legs and belly and I gripped the edge of the table and shoved back at him as hard as I could, meeting his thrusts. "Don't stop. That's it. Fuck me. Fuck. Me. Hard! AAAHHHYYY!"

The dawn was just starting to light up the hilltops by the time we left the quarry. They didn't say much on the ride back. They dropped me off at my house just before dawn. I just had time to clean up and climb into bed before my parents got up. They never found out what happened that night, but I was in trouble enough for being out past curfew. I was grounded for a two weeks. . .

Jim glanced over at Kathy as she finished her story. She had this wistful look on her face. 

"What happened to the boys?" he asked. "Did they get in trouble?"

She smiled. "Well, it's funny, you know. After I thought about it, I wasn't all that mad at them. Perhaps I really didn't have a choice, but I felt better about it if I told myself that I did, that at some level I must have wanted it to happen. And it was the most intense sex I've ever had. On the other hand, I couldn't just let it go. Boys will brag, and girls will gossip. My reputation could have been ruined if word got around what had happened. So I started a rumor that Ronny and Joe were gay, that I'd seen Joe going down on Ronny in the back seat of a car. One evening not long after that, a bunch of the guys on the defensive line took them out behind the gym one evening and just beat the crap out of them. They transferred out of state."

"You're not kidding, are you?" Jim asked, shocked. 

"They raped me, didn't they? What would you have done?"

"Remind me not to get you mad."



A Little Yearning Ch. 07



"Turn off here," Kathy said to him.

The Camaro shook as they rumbled over a cattle grate. The moon was up behind them as they approached a low line of hills and Jim could see the darker shape of a cut opening out before them. The walls of a box canyon rose above them as they continued on the pot-holed road, crossing corrugated patches where the asphalt had crumbled away altogether. The road curved around and they found themselves suddenly surrounded by the towering walls of an old limestone old quarry, light and creamy in the moonlight, rising in blocky stages. 

The road sloped down gently to a flat patch where the scrub grass was welted with tire tracks. The area was studded with small pines, most not more than twenty feet high, however, among them rose a giant old sycamore, no doubt predating the quarry operations and left in place for its shade. The scorched remains of a modest shack stood not far from it, reduced to not much more than a chipped slab with a few scraggly blackened stubs of framing. On the other side of the sycamore, a narrow graveled margin circled a still pool of water, glinting black as the car lights swept across it. Between the water and the old tree stood a battered picnic table. Nearby, to complete the amenities, a single rusty barrel was overflowing with crumpled cans and wrappers.

"Very romantic," Jim said hesitantly. In the glare of daylight, he thought, it would probably be revealed as depressingly shabby, but in the forgiving moonlight it did have a charm about it; there was even a sad grandeur to the water-streaked limestone faces rising sheer up from the black pool. 

They pulled up facing the picnic table. "Leave the headlights on," she said.

Jim got out of the car and ambled over the picnic table. He wondered why she had asked him to leave on the lights. Kathy came around and paused in front of the car. She put her handbag down on the hood and took out her lipstick and makeup compact. As she stood there, fixing her face, the headlights backlit her and the dress which he had taken to be so conservative was suddenly revealed to be as thin as gauze. It flowed around her figure like a shimmer of light, revealing every detail of her curves in the sharpest silhouette. 

His cock had been tumescent from the time he got into the car with her. And the story she told him had excited him so much that his running shorts were already damp with moisture leaking from the tip. Now his erection tented the thin material, jutting out obscenely in front of him. 

She walked up to him. "What do you think?" she asked.

Jim pulled her to him, kissing her for the first time, tasting the fresh waxy lipstick.  She opened her warm lips to him and met his probing tongue with her own. But when his hand slid lower and cupped her butt and pulled her to him, she pushed him away.

"No," she said. "I didn't come here for that."

"I thought you wanted us to be honest. I want you. I want to make love to you."

"I can see that," she said with a glance at his shorts. "I think you'd better take me home now."

"What? Why'd you drive me out here?"

"I don't know. I thought. . ." She turned her head and he could see tears brimming in her eyes.

"Hey," he reached out to take her arm. " I don't understand."

Kathy slapped him hard across the face, catching him completely by surprise. "Don't touch me!" She turned and starting marching back to the car.

Jim caught up with her in a couple strides and grabbed her around the waist. "Wait. Let's talk about this."

She struggled in his arms. "No, leave me alone." At the same time her ass was grinding against his erection. Jim slid his right hand down to cup her sex in his palm. She tensed her legs as he rubbed his fingers along her lips. She was sopping wet and the thin material quickly became saturated, clinging to her folds. "No, don't." She tried to elbow him but he pulled her closer. His other hand sought her breast, sliding his palm up the taut curve of it to trap her nipple ring between two of his outspread fingers.

She jerked to the side and spun out of his grasp. He grabbed for her and caught the neck of her blouse at the back. It ripped loose with a noise like a zipper, splitting down the seams. She stumbled on the loose skirt and he reached her again just as she came to the car. He spun her around to face him as he backed her up against the passenger side door. She tried to cover her breasts with a shred of fabric. He kissed her again, mashing her warm lips to him and smearing her lipstick. She turned her face away. He could feel her tears on his cheeks. He pressed himself against her, grinding his erection in her abdomen. 

"Don't touch my pussy," she said, rubbing herself against his leg.

Jim slid his hand down and tore aside the thin fabric. The moisture was running down her legs. He slid a finger up inside her. She was burning hot. The tight walls of her pussy clung to his finger. He pulled it out.

"No," she gasped.

Deliberately, he inserted two fingers. Her whole body went rigid. She reached down and clutched his hand to her and buried her face in his shoulder.  She shook violently for a moment, and then he had to struggle to hold her as she went limp in his arms. He grasped her around the waist and laid her down on the warm hood of the car. "Don't fuck me," she said.  He bent forward over her.  "Please don't fuck me."

Jim stripped off his shorts and flung them aside. He bent down to nuzzle her pussy with his tongue as she squirmed under him, relishing the sharp, pungent taste of her. Like him, she must have leaking with excitement for a long time. Then he grasped her legs just above the knees and raised them up and shoved his cock into her. Digging his toes into the hard-packed earth, he started pounding her remorselessly, holding nothing back. The suspension squeaked as the car bounced on its shocks and the headlights swept up and down across the trees, causing their silhouettes to dance madly on the canyon wall.  "No, don't fuck me," she yelled. "Don't fuck me Harder. . .HArder. . .HARDer!" 

He pinned her down with a final thrust, flattening her ass against the hood of the car, and held her there as his cum pulsed out into her.

He kissed her again, taking his time.  

"No," she murmured. And as he made to rise off of her, "No," again. She clutched him around the waist, digging her nails into his back. "No," she breathed in his ear. He felt her pussy contract around his softening cock. 

He rose up on his elbows and looked down at her. The skin of her chest was flushed and her firm breasts rose and fell as she breathed deeply. The tip of her tongue showed through her parted lips and her brow was furrowed, her eyes gazing over his shoulder and far away. She was using her pussy to milk him, grasping his cock firmly with rhythmic contractions. It felt like she was sucking him in even deeper.  He began to jerk his hips in response as his cock swelled again to its full length. Slowly he eased it out till just the head was tickling her lips. He used his hand to plow it up and down the groove, then rubbed it firmly back and forth across her clit. He plunged it in her. Slowly, he drew it out and began again. She began to quiver.

Jim pulled out and stood over her. "Give me your mouth," he said. He pulled her off the hood by the waist so she was kneeling in front of him. 

She shook her head. "No."

He cupped his hand under her chin and turned up her tear-streaked face. "I'm going to fuck your mouth," he said roughly. "I want to watch you suck my cock." He held her head with one hand and guided the head of his cock to her lips with the other. "I know that excites you," he said as she wrapped her lips around him. "You can't help yourself." 

She swiped her tongue over the glans and then drew him in deeper, holding him for a moment before withdrawing again.  "Lick it," he ordered her. "Touch yourself." She held it up, nibbling up and down the big vein and then licking the underside of the glans. He leaned forward as she brushed her lips down his shaft and licked at the tight sack of his balls. He went up on his tiptoes as her tongue slid back along his scrotum and prodded between the clenched cheeks of his ass. She was running her hand up and down his shaft as she grazed his asshole with her tongue and he had to grab her hand by the wrist to stop her.

"No, not yet." he said. Lifting her up under the arms he turned her around, hugging her to him, rubbing his cock up the crack of her ass while delicately circling her clit with his finger.

"Don't," she said, "Don't, it's too sensitive."

He bent her over the hood of the car. She arched her back so her butt jutted up in front of him, its smooth swelling curves thrown in relief by the soft moonlight. The reflected light of the headlights glinted off the moisture in the shadows between her legs. 

"Don't fuck my ass," she said. Jim leaned forward, his cock just grazing her pussy. He wondered if he'd heard her correctly.

"Please don't fuck my ass."

He leaned over her and grabbed her handbag and spilled the contents out onto the hood. There was a small tube of vaseline lip gloss. He squeezed it all out onto his finger, easing it down the crack of her ass till her found the puckered little button. Slowly he eased his forefinger inside her. She gave a deep moan. He eased it out and then in again a little deeper. She reached back between her legs and pressed the head of his cock to her clit. Rocking back and forth, she was gradually nudging his finger deeper inside her. 

He drew his finger slowly out and slid the head of his cock up till he was prodding at her. Gently he cupped the cheeks of her ass in his hands. She came up on her toes and pressed back on him. She was so tight, but his cock was as rigid as cast iron and wouldn't bend. He pressed her butt cheeks apart with his thumbs and gave a deep grunt as the head popped inside. She started making rhythmic little "ohs" as she continued to bump back against him, pushing him deeper. She was circling her clit with two fingers, faster and faster. He wanted to make it last, watching his cock slide in and out of her ass, but he couldn't restrain himself any longer and he started to pump in and out, pushing her down. She spread her hands on the hood of the car and he watched the waves ripple across her round ass as she butted up against him. 

"Don't come in my ass," she said. "Oh, god, oh, no, oh, no. . .OOOOh!" The tension went out of her legs as she came. He was banging her relentlessly.

He broke out into a sweat and the cool air just seemed to make him hotter. He felt his balls tighten and the head of his cock swelled till it seemed it would burst and then it did and he was saying, "Kathy. . .Kathy. . .Kathy. . ." as he shot his sperm into her. 

She collapsed onto the car. Gingerly, he pressed the cheeks of her butt apart and eased out of her. 

For a while, they lay there draped across the hood of the car, Jim on his back beside her, too spent to move. 

"You ripped my dress." She rummaged in the back seat of the car and found her cheerleaders outfit in her gym bag. 

Jim followed her with his eyes as she changed. She wouldn't meet his gaze. "Are you all right?" he asked. 

She gave a curt nod. "I'll take you back now," she said.

She didn't say much on the ride back. He asked her again how she felt. She shrugged, shot him a quick smile. "I guess I'll be sore tomorrow."

"That's not what I meant. What I want to know is, am I going to have the defensive line showing up at my door tomorrow? Did I step over the line back there?"

She smiled. "Do you think you really had a choice?" She pulled the car over to the side of the road, leaned across and kissed him. "You older guys are just too complicated, you know."



It was about an hour later, after dropping Jim off a block from his house, that Chicklet returned to the quarry. She pulled up by the picnic table again and doused the lights. Stepping out of the car she looked around. There was no sound but the rustle of the dusty sycamore leaves and the whisper of the wind in the pines.

"Billy?" she called.

"I'm here," he said, coming up behind her. 

"Did you get it? Let me see."

Billy was visibly upset, his face drawn and pale. "Are you all right? You told me not to interfere, no matter what happened, but I didn't expect. . .  I don't understand.  What's going on, Sis?"

She held out her hand. "Give it to me, Billy. I'm not in the mood, all right?"

His hand shook slightly as he passed over the small video-cam. Eagerly, she sat down at the picnic table and opened up the small screen. She fiddled with the controls for a moment in the moonlight.

"I already rewound the tape," Billy said.

"You watched it?" she asked him. When he didn't answer she turned to look at him. Her gaze panned down to his pants. She could make out the outline of his erect cock against one leg and a darker blotch on the fabric of his jeans. She turned down her mouth. "Of course you did. Pervert."

Billy blushed. "What are you going to do with that tape?" he asked.

"I don't know," she mused. "I thought. . . Well, he said he's going to pass Dwayne, so. . ." She shrugged.  " I guess it would be cool just to have it, you know."

"You're the pervert," Billy accused her. "You know what I think? I think the tape's not even all the important to you. You just wanted to know someone was watching you, didn't you? You just wanted to make me watch you. You're some kind of exhibitor."

"Exhibitionist," she corrected him.  "What's the matter, Billy, are you jealous?"

"I'm going to tell Mom what you did."

"Don't be an idiot," she said dismissively. "You want to explain to her why you sat by watching your sister get raped and recorded it on video?" She pushed "Play" on the camera and the little screen came to life, bright and vivid the moonlight. The voices were muted but audible.  She watched as they embraced, as she spun away and Jim caught her and ripped her dress. He bent to taste her pussy and then began to fuck her. Behind her, Billy shifted uncomfortably on his feet. 

She turned to look at him. He wouldn't meet her gaze. "Tell me, Billy," she asked him. "What was your favorite part? Was it where he licked me, or where he came in my pussy, or where he stuck it up my ass?"

"Please don't, Sis."

"Don't what?"

"Don't talk like that. Don't tease me."

"Or what, Billy? Are you gonna come in your pants again?" He turned away. She grabbed him by the arm. "Go on, I want you to watch it, Billy. Watch what a man does."

On the little screen Jim Donne was between her upraised legs, making the car rock as he fucked her with short powerful strokes. Billy groaned. She could see the beads of sweat along her brother's forehead. 

"Take it out," she said.  

"What?"

"You heard me. Take it out."

Hastily Billy unzipped his jeans and awkwardly extracted his rigid member. He wrapped his hand around it and started to come right away, spattering the table. "Oh, God!"

"Jeez, Billy, get a grip, will you." Chiclet snatched up the camera.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help it." Billy sagged on his feet but continued to massage his erect cock. "Show me the rest. Please."

"Aren't you done? No, I don't think I will. You said you were going to tell on me," she mocked him in a mincing voice.

"I didn't mean it. Please, Kathy."

She considered for a minute. "Not till you show me a some respect. I think a little groveling might be in order. Get on your knees."

She turned on the bench to face him. "Billy," she said. "From now on, I fucking own you. If I ask you to do something, you're only question is going to be 'When?' Now lick my feet."

"What!?"

"Was that a 'When?'" She was fiddling with the controls of the camera. "I guess you don't want to see the rest of this after all."

He bent down to kiss her shoe, tasting grit.

"Not my shoe, moron. Take it off. I said lick my foot."

Billy slid off her tennis shoes. He bent to lick her instep. He made a face. It smelled like old socks.

When he went to pull away, she put her other foot on his head, holding him down. Truthfully, Kathy wasn't all that into having her feet slobbered on, but his obvious reluctance spurred her on. "Now this one."

He looked up. She was video-taping him. "Now the bottom," she said lifting her sole to him.

Billy gave a sharp intake of breath. "You aren't wearing any panties." 

"Oh, yeah." She put down the camera and hiked up her short pleated skirt to look. "He filled me with so much stuff, it was leaking out of both ends. They got so nasty, I tossed my panties out the window." Parting her legs, she ran her finger along the lips of her pussy, spreading them open. "I'm still all gooey."

Billy was frozen like a deer in the headlights.

"You want to lick it, don't you? You want to taste his cum on me."

Billy shook his head.

She smiled. "Yes, you do. You'd do anything for me now. This is what you dream about it, isn't it?"

"No. Not like that," Billy protested, but his hand was locked on his angry red cock, and a line of moisture ran down his knuckles.

Kathy stood up and propped her butt against the end of the picnic table.  She held up her skirt. "Come here, Billy. You're going to lick his cum off me."

"No."

"What's the matter, are you homophobic?"

"I ain't no homo."

"I'm not going to ask you twice."

Billy shambled across to her on his knees. Unconsciously holding his breath, he bent forward. Her pussy was rose red in the pale light, the lips puffy and coated with a whitish sheen. The smooth flesh of her thighs was scratched and mottled, and he could smell the sharp tang of her sex. He was painfully erect.

Impatiently, she grabbed him by the hair and pulled him forward, burying his nose in her matted bush which was crusted with dried semen.

Tentatively, he licked at the lips of her sex. The taste was acrid and salty. He ran his tongue gently up and down the folds of her pussy, licking the stubbled flesh where she had shaved the lower part of her mound and the closely trimmed hair of her bush. Softly he teased the hard little bud of her clit out from under its fold. He paused to look up at her. 

"Go on," she encouraged him, surprised by the tenderness of his touch on her bruised flesh. "That's good." Her eyes were bright, her lips parted. Her breathing pushed out her breasts against her spandex top, the nipples two little exclamation points.

Billy traced the contours of her sex with exquisite slowness, easing his tongue into every fold and cranny. He ran his hands up the back of her legs to cup her ass in his hands, holding her to him as he probed deeper. He felt her legs quiver as he pushed inside her, pressing up against the top of her channel to flick at her clit as her withdrew.

The dappled moonlight seemed brighten as Kathy's pupils dilated.  All her senses quickened. She could hear the rustle of some squirrel in the fallen sycamore leaves. She could smell the tang of the pines and the wetness of the still artesian pool. 

Before, she had felt too drained to even contemplate coming again. She was just going to make him taste her pussy, she told herself, and rub her juices all over his face. And then, when his desire overpowered him, when he no longer wrinkled up his nose and was lapping at her eagerly, she'd push him away. She'd leave him livid with frustration. She hadn't expected this sudden arousal on her part. Like a drug, it seemed the more she did it, the more she wanted.  She tried to still her shuddering, tried to slow her breath and relax her clenched muscles, but in the end, the feeling was irresistible, and all the holding back just meant that when the damn burst it was that much more overwhelming.

She dug her nails into his scalp and crushed herself to him, groaning from deep in her belly as her pussy spasmed and flooded with moisture.




A Little Yearning Ch. 07



As she sagged against the table, Billy took hold of her hips and turned her around, pushing her face down, her butt jutting in the air. He pressed her cheeks apart and she felt his tongue search out the puckered bud of her asshole.  "Oh, God!" she gasped. No one had ever teased her like that before. She couldn't believe how intense the sensation was. She had hardly recovered from her first orgasm when she was caught in the throes of another as his tongue rasped on nerves that were even more inflamed, if possible, than her poor abused pussy's.

As she shook uncontrollably Billy rose up behind her. He took hold of her shoulders, pressing her face and breasts against the table and thrust his cock hard into her pussy.

"NO, Billy!" she screamed at him. "That's not funny." The edge of the table cut into the front of her thighs as started humping her for all he was worth. "Don't. . .don't. . .don't," she gasped, till with a final thrust that jounced the whole table forward he slammed into her as deep as he could go, his tight, hairy balls mashed up against her clinging lips and clit. His hands clutched at her desperately and she could feel his cock pulsing inside her as Billy's most fervent fantasy came true.

He released his painful grip and Kathy sagged on the table, her muscles turned to water. The drool had run out of her mouth and coated her cheek where it pressed against the table. She tried to lever herself up and pushed back at him with her butt, trying to bump him off her. To her surprise she felt his still erect cock pressing now at her asshole. 

"NO, BILLY! Don't you dare!"

But unlike the first time, when Jim had, in a sweaty delirium, shoved his sizeable cock into her with difficulty by main force, Billy's smaller, curved member seemed to be just the right key for this particular lock, and he slid in past her loosened sphincter before she even thought to bear down and lock him out. She tried to shake him off but only succeeded in seating him deeper. He bent forward over her to press his lips to the back of her neck, holding himself up on his elbows, just barely making contact where her ass pressed against him, and she found herself slapping her ass back against him, using her knees to push up and back at the same time. She was on fire down there and the warm sticky fluid running out of her sopping pussy and down the inside of her legs did nothing to cool her.

Billy eased back a little more and now she was desperately slamming back onto his cock, and he held still, letting her beat at him like a storm surging on a rocky point. He was in control now, they both sensed it. "Fuck me," she whimpered.

"Say it." He pushed into her, matching her rhythm.

"Please. Fuck me. Please." Billy grabbed the side of the table to steady himself as she flailed under him, arching her back and using her thighs to drive herself back on him.  The trees and distant stars seemed to whirl about his head, and he held on for dear life as their frantic coupling crescendoed and he shot a final desperate dribble of cum into her depths as her willing flesh seemed to melt under him.



A Little Yearning Ch. 08



Jim Donne was having one of those dreams that you don't want to end, where time is a presence that's lurking just over the horizon, while here and now everything is in amber, suspended for the moment in a golden glow. He was lying beside Katie, his stepdaughter's body molded in his hands, kissing her, while at the same time he could feel her sucking at his straining cock, and he knew if he allowed himself to come, he'd wake up, and so he was trying to push her away and embrace her at the same time, poised on a precarious balance. But the horizon came creeping closer and the light was growing and finally he did awake.

He was lying in bed on his side. At his back he could feel Carmen's warmth, her round butt lightly pressed against his. The sheets were tangled below his waist and his cock was rigidly alert in the cool morning air. Katie was bending over his side of the bed, dressed in a light cotton robe, and she had a hold of him, rubbing the moist head of his swollen cock between her thumb and fingers with a feather-light touch. When he opened his eyes and looked at her she held her finger to her lips. She pulled back the edge of her robe and ran her fingers up and down her pussy, gathering up the moisture there, then reached down to tease his cock some more.

Jim was paralyzed for fear he'd wake up Carmen; his eyes darted around the room. He shook his head at Katie, but she just smiled, her eyes on his cock. He wondered how long she'd been there. He was close to coming already, his muscles tensed to fire, and if he didn't do something quick, he'd lose control entirely.

Slowly, careful to make as little noise and commotion as possible, he drew the covers down off his legs and eased out of bed.  Carmen stirred slightly in her sleep, but didn't wake. He pushed Katie firmly toward the door, grabbed his robe and followed her out of the room.

When they were out in the hallway, he grabbed her by the shoulders, "Are you fucking crazy!?" he hissed, trying to keep his voice down and his rising anger under control. "Do you want to wake up your mother?"

Katie giggled, reaching out for him. "I'm sorry, Poppi. I missed you," she whispered, tucking her head into his shoulder. "Don't you like me anymore?"

"You know I love you, Katie. But let's not be stupid." He took her arm and drew her down the hall toward her bedroom where they could talk with less danger of being overheard.

He thought he smelled alcohol on her breath. Last night her friend Anita had come over to visit. They were still up when he went to bed, watching an old movie with Carmen in the den. "Have you been drinking?"

She giggled again. "After Mom went to bed."

"You know how I feel about that." But it was hard to take a suitably stern tone with her, standing in the hall with his hard-on poking out the front of his robe.

She hugged him again, pressing his cock flat between their bellies. "Come back to my room. Mom went to bed real late. She won't be up till after noon."

"What time is it?"

"About six. I couldn't sleep."

"I thought Anita was going to sleep over."

She took hold of him. "She left early; she had to go to Mass."

He allowed himself to be drawn down the hall, noting to himself ruefully that he was being literally led around by his cock.  Inside her room he locked the door behind him, then stepped across the room to lock the door to the connecting bathroom as well. He looked at her rumpled bedding. "Anita forgot her jeans?"

"She borrowed a dress from me."

"We can't do this now, Katie. It's too risky." He strove to keep the uncertainty out of his voice, but he was weakening.

Katie let her robe fall the floor. "Look at me. Don't you want to?"

"That's not the point." She was just so beautiful, he thought, his eyes playing over her lithe figure: the way she stood, her back arched, one foot turned out with a dancer's unselfconscious grace.  "Anita told me. . ." she hesitated.

"What?"

"She said she saw you talking to Kathy Bonney. She was in your office."

He was at a loss. "She's a student. That's why I keep office hours."

"Were you attracted to her?"

"Is that what this is about? For Pete's sake, Katie, she's just a student."

"So am I."  "She came to talk to me about a paper, that's all. Why, are you jealous? I don't understand."

"You have to watch out for her. She's. . .manipulative. Just promise me. O.K?"

"She's just another student to me, Katie," he insisted.

She took his hand. "Come around to the other side of bed," she said.

"Why?"

"I want you to stand in front of the armoire so you can watch in the mirror."

"No, Katie, no." But he allowed himself to be drawn along.  She knelt down in the front of him, and began to stroke him. Taking some of the clear fluid welling from the tip of his cock, she spread it around the glans, admiring the way it plumped and purpled. "You like it when I do this, don't you? I like it too."


Jim felt his knees go weak as she started nibbling and licking on the tip. "Let's lie down."

She shook her head. "No, I want you to stand right there. I want you to come on my titties."

Leaning closer she cupped her breasts, trapping his cock between them. Her skin felt incredibly soft and smooth as he thrust up between them, and she lowered her head to brush his cock with her lips at the top of his stroke.

He began working his cock slowly up and down. He wanted it to last, but it had been building for too long and he knew he couldn't resist her ministrations any more. He gave a long moan, expelling all the air from his lungs.

She pulled back and took him in her hand as he came, stroking him firmly as he shot jet after jet over her chin and neck and breasts.

"Oh, Katie. Oh, my God," he said.

"Oh, Poppi. Oh, wow," she said.

"Dios Mio!" said the armoire.

"What the hell?!" Jim took two quick strides across the room and threw open the doors to the tall armoire.

Katie's friend Anita was crouched on her knees, her nightgown hiked up around her waist, her right hand clutched between her legs. She squealed and flushed, shrinking back between the hanging clothes. "Oh, my God. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mr. Donne," she said.

Katie rolled back on the carpet, her hand to her mouth as she tried futilely to suppress her laughter.  "What's going on?" Jim demanded.

"I'm sorry, Poppi." Katie said. "She wanted to watch. Didn't you, 'Nita?"

Anita nodded.  Jim rounded on his stepdaughter. "What did you tell her? You told her all about us?"

Katie nodded, unabashed. "We were just talking, and. . .sharing secrets and things. You know I wouldn't tell anyone, but she's been my best friend for, like, forever. I'm sorry, I guess I shouldn't have."

"I promise I won't say a word to anyone, Mr. Donne," Anita said in a small voice.

Anita was one of Katie's oldest friends and in past years they had been inseparable companions. Since their birthdays were less than a week apart, they frequently celebrated them together. However, last year, when they were seniors in high school, something had happened which had driven a wedge between them.

Steve Ramirez was good looking boy in their class: slim, well-groomed, ready with a smile and a joke, not a jock, but with an athletic bounce to his walk. He played trumpet in the band and got good grades. He'd pursued Katie at first, but he was a little too brash for her. They'd gone to a movie once and he'd tried to get his hand down her pants before the previews were done. She'd had to elbow him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of his sails.

He then took up with Anita. Almost a head shorter than Katie, Anita's breast and hip size measured the same, though she lacked Katie's trim waist. The effect on Anita was voluptuous, bordering on overripe. She wore clothes that were a little too tight and glasses, but with her bleached blond hair, caramel skin and flashing dark eyes, she didn't lack experience with boys. She had strung Steve along for a while, reluctant to take up with him so soon after he'd dumped Katie. Finally, when his persistence paid off and he'd become her serious boyfriend, he'd done his best to alienate her from Katie. 

This last year, however, Steve had been away at school in Tulsa on a scholarship. According to Anita, he'd become increasingly distant, calling and writing less often, till finally it came out that he had another girlfriend at school--a "real" blond, he'd let slip to her. And he'd dumped Anita for this "blond-pussy bitch," as Anita called her. 

When the breakup came Anita called Katie, crying on the phone, and Katie had instantly put aside whatever ill feeling lingered between them. "Come over this evening, and we'll talk," she said.

They had dinner together and afterwards sat with Carmen watching an old movie. After Carmen went to bed, they snuck some beers from the fridge and went back to Katie's room. Anita borrowed an old nightgown and they got under the covers together like old times. Katie was wearing a long tee and panties. They talked about school and then they got to talking about Steve. 

Anita cried some more. Had she gone all the way with him, Katie wanted to know? And Anita admitted that she had. And then Katie wanted to know what that was like. Soon, in the dark, sharing a pillow, Anita was spilling the most intimate details of their relationship. Yes, she had taken him in her mouth, too, but she wouldn't let him come there. No, he hadn't kissed her down there--but he had put it in her ass once. She hadn't liked that very much; he'd been too quick and rough and she hadn't let him do it again.

"But what about you, Katie?" she'd asked. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Katie hesitated at first, reluctant to get into it, but finally had ended up telling Anita everything: what happened behind the gym, and later with her stepfather. "Oh, Katie," Anita said, hugging her tightly, "You poor thing, you've been through a lot." 

As she pressed up against her, Katie could feel the warm damp of Anita's pussy against her hip. She turned to Anita and hugged her back. She kissed her on the cheek and tasted her tears. Tentatively, she brushed her lips against Anita's and was surprised when her friend responded ardently, kissing her back hungrily, pressing her breasts between hers, wedging one of her legs in between Katie's.  Katie stiffened as Anita's hand dropped down to squeeze her butt and then drew forward along her hip. Gingerly Anita slid her palm down Katie's abdomen to touch her where her bush pressed out against her panties. At first, Katie clenched her legs closed but gradually she relaxed as Anita gently stroked the juncture of her thighs. 

"Oh, Katie, I've wanted to do this for a long time," Anita breathed in her ear as she reached down inside Katie's panties and cupped her pussy. She drew out the moisture and spred it around her lips and then pushed her finger up inside her. 

Katie clutched her tighter. All the talk about sex had excited her to no end and she'd been dripping wet for half an hour already. As soon as Anita slid her finger inside, she whimpered and ground her pussy on her hand. Anita threw back the covers and pushed her on her back. She pulled down her panties and started kissing and licking her pussy. It wasn't at all like with Poppi. That had been simply overpowering as he'd held her down and forced his hot tongue inside her.  Anita was more tentative as she charmed and wheedled and coaxed her with feather-light touches of her fingers and lips and tongue till Katie couldn't bear it anymore and she'd grabbed Anita's head and mashed her lips down over her pussy while she bucked under her, coming with abandon.

Afterwards, Katie looked her deep in the eyes. She could feel Anita trembling under her hand as she held her lightly by the hip at arm's length. "You want me to do that to you, don't you?" Katie asked. " I want to. But there's something I want you to do first."

"Anything, Katie."

"I want you to fuck Poppi." Katie had told her.

Now, as Jim stood in shock in front of the armoire, Katie came over to take Anita by the arm and lift her up. She hugged her, staining the nightgown with the semen that was dripping from her breasts.  "Did you see that?" she asked excitedly.

Anita bit her lip, "Uh-huh." She shot Jim a bashful glance and covered herself reflexively where the nightgown showed damp between her legs. Her gaze settled on his cock. It was starting to droop a bit and a large drop of cum clung to the tip.

Katie pulled her over to the bed and pushed her down. She drew up the smaller girl's nightgown above her waist, and put her hand between her legs. "You're soaking wet!"she exclaimed. She pushed her legs apart. "Look at you!" Slowly she pushed two fingers into Anita's pussy. Anita gave a groan and her eyes rolled up. "I'm going to make you come!" Katie said roughly.

"Don't, Katie," Anita begged. "Please. Not like this. I'm embarrassed."

Jim stood beside them. He put his hand on Katie's arm and started to protest, but the words died in his mouth.

"Look at this," she said.

Her two fingers buried in Anita's pussy, with her thumb she teased her friend's clit out from under its hood. It stuck out a quarter inch beyond her labia, engorged and crimson and as fat as her little finger. Her inner thighs were wet with fluid and Katie's fingers were making a squishing sound as she rocked them in and out. She flicked the clit back and forth with her thumb and Anita bit the edge on one hand to keep from crying out as her whole body went rigid.

Katie turned to look at him. "She wants you to fuck her." 

"What?!"

She looked down at his nodding cock, the tip an angry purple. "Don't tell me you don't want to."

"No, Katie. I wouldn't. . . It's just not. . ."

"She's not a virgin. She's done it plenty of times with her boyfriend but they broke up. I want to watch you put it in her."

"But Katie. . ."

He jerked as he felt Anita's hand close around his cock. She pulled the skin back, admiring the way it swelled under her touch. "I never saw one this big," Anita said in a small voice. She was panting as Katie's thumb drew circles around her clit. "Do they get bigger when you get older, like old men's ears and noses?"

Katie took his hand and placed it on Anita's pussy. She squirmed under his touch. "Careful, don't touch her there," Katie said, nodding at enflamed clit. 

"You can put it in me." Anita said. " I've got birth control. I want you to."

Her pussy was steaming hot under his hand. He rocked forward involuntarily as Anita's hand worked up and down on his shaft.

"Lie down behind her," Katie said in a brook-no-opposition voice that reminded him of her mother.

Jim went around the bed. Katie pulled Anita's nightgown up over her head and then lay down beside her. Jim took hold of Anita's leg just above the knee and lifted it up. She gave a deep sigh as she felt his cock slide between her thighs, brushing the lips of her pussy. She pressed her firm round butt back against him.

Katie looked Anita in the eyes, her head resting on the pillow beside her. "I'm going to put his prick inside you," she said. "I want to feel it going in. But I won't allow you to come yet. I'm going to make you so horny it hurts. I'm going to tease you till you're begging me, and then I'm going to kiss you down there and make you explode in my mouth."

Just hearing her talk like that almost brought Anita off right then. Her eyes rolled up and she started to quiver as Jim's cock rubbed against her. Katie grabbed one of her nipples and pinched it hard, bring her back down to earth.

Katie took hold of Jim's cock just behind the glans and rubbed plum-shaped knob back and forth, gradually easing it into the smaller girl's pussy. She kept a firm grip as he thrust, only allowing the head inside, her fist rubbing between Anita's thighs. Slowly, she let her grip slide further down till he was digging first two, then four inches inside the tight, wet channel.

"It feels so big," Anita gasped.

Jim grabbed her around the waist and was ramming her more frantically now as Katie's hand slipped down to the root of his cock.

"I'm gonna come, Katie, I can't help it," Anita sobbed.

Katie pulled him out, squeezing his cock tight behind the glans. "Not yet."

"No, no," Anita squirmed. "Put it back in. Please."

"You promise not to come?"

"I can't help it. Please, Katie. I have to come."

Katie inserted his cock again and let it slide between her fingers as he thrust up to the hilt. Anita whimpered and Jim felt her pussy clamp down hard on his cock, trying to hold it there.

"Take it out," Katie told him. "Not yet."

Reluctantly, he withdrew. Katie slid down, nipping at Anita's swollen nipples, poking her tongue into her navel, nuzzling at her matted bush. Anita was breathing in deep shuddering gasps now. Katie took Jim's cock and sucked hard on it, savoring the taste and heat till she sensed that he too was on the verge. Then she slid the tip all the way down along the slack lips of Anita's pussy.

Anita stiffened. "Not there, Katie. That's the wrong hole." 

Still pressing the tip of his slick cock to her friend's puckered asshole, Katie clamped her mouth down hard on Anita's throbbing clit.

Anita went off like a bottle rocket, impaling herself forcefully on Jim's cock as she bucked under Katie's tongue . "Take it out. It's too big!" she begged frantically.

"You hurt my feelings when you took up with Steve," Katie said, working her fingers remorselessly deep inside the spasming pussy.

Anxious not to hurt her, but too far gone to pull out, Jim tried not to move as Anita gradually nudged him deep inside till she was finally banging her butt up against him, his cock lodged firmly up her ass. Gradually, her heaving subsided, leaving her panting.

Katie flicked again at Anita's clit with her tongue.

"No, I can't, not again."

Katie starting licking with long strokes of her tongue till Anita lost the power of speech and coherent thought and barely heard her when Katie paused to say, "I'm going to make you come again, 'Nita. I'm going to make you come so hard it hurts."

She slid her hand down to cup Jim's balls and gently dig her nails into him. Then, when he started rooting uncontrollably with his cock, she slipped her fingers back into Anita's pussy and took her clit and started sucking on it as greedily as a newborn sucking on her mama's teat.

Jim grabbed her hips and starting blasting his sperm deep inside Anita as he pumped frantically into her ass. Katie felt the warm fluid gush out over her hand as Anita threw back her head and squealed like a dog when you've stepped on its tail. Her own pussy spasmed in sympathy and she too shuddered and came and the liquid ran down her thighs and between the cheeks of her butt.

Gingerly, Jim drew his cock out and eased Anita's leg down.

She flopped limply on her back and smiled at him. "Mmmm," she said.

He bent forward to kiss her tenderly. "You're so beautiful, Anita. You can use me as a sex object anytime you want."

Katie threw an arm over her friend and snuggled in close. Her eyes were at half-mast, already drifting off to sleep. Jim got up and looked down at the two of them stretched out there, their skin flushed, the sweat still beaded on their brows and their bushes matted and wet above their reddened pussies. He threw a cover over them got out of there before he started to get hard again.

Padding down the hall, he poked his head into the bedroom where Carmen was still sleeping as he'd left her. The human mind is a funny thing, he reflected. He knew his body lacked the stamina to get it up again so soon but still, as his eyes lingered on Carmen's body draped under the thin clinging sheet, his heart filled with the pang of longing for her. Admiring the swell of her hips, the way her hair draped down her neck, a nipple peeking out from the crook of her arm, he wanted to rip the covers off her and fuck her in the ass just like he'd taken Anita. Women. . . he wanted them all. He understood them well enough to realize it was his empathy for them that made him attractive to them. But his own emotions were more of a mystery to him. Was it simply lust or was it love? One part of him didn't know, the other didn't care.



A Little Yearning Ch. 09



"Wow! Would you look at that!" Anita grabbed Katie's arm and pointed across College Blvd. The white Hummer stretch limo idling in the parking lot behind Howie's Hamburger Hut was about as inconspicuous as Moby Dick wallowing in the municipal plunge. "Let's go check it out."

Crossing the street in the middle of the block they found a small crowd gathered around the limo. The driver, spotless in a gray uniform complete with peaked cap, was standing with his arms crossed a few steps from the car, his posture deterring any of students from approaching too closely. He had the practiced implacable look of a sumo wrestler and the solid torso to go with it. His broad face was pocked and brown and a line of prison tats showed above the edge of his starched collar. "Let's ask who it is," Anita said. "No, 'Nita," Katie tugged at her arm, intimidated by the man. But trailing Katie behind her, Anita walked up the driver and flashed her best smile. His chin dipped a barely perceptible amount as he took her in, his eyes invisible behind his mirrored glasses.

"Is it somebody famous?" Anita asked him.

He rubbed his fingers against his thumb.

"Rich?"

He smiled at her, big white teeth with one gold incisor. He said something in Spanish in a low voice and Anita giggled.

Just then the passenger door at the rear of the limo flew open and to their surprise, Chiclet jumped out, her eyes squinting in the sunlight. Her face was red, her lips drawn tight. She stormed across the parking lot right past Anita and Katie, not even seeing them, and pushed through the crowd, leaving a murmur in her wake.

"Wow," Anita said, "I could practically see steam coming out of her ears! What's up with that, homes?" she asked driver.

He half-turned away from her, holding his finger to the ear-piece in his ear. Then he looked at Katie and asked her something.

Katie had trouble understanding him. It sounded like asked her how many ears she had. She just looked at him, mouth agape.

"He wants to know how old you are." Anita elbowed her.

"I'm eighteen."

"You go see," he motioned her over to the car.

"Hey, what about me?" Anita asked.

"You wait."

Katie walked over and poked her head into the open door, hesitating as her eyes struggled to adjust to the dim interior. She felt the driver's callused hand on her elbow as he boosted her up the step and eased the door shut behind her. There were black leather benches along both sides of the limo, contoured to accommodate mini-bars on each side. It was cool inside, the air conditioning running, and the heavily tinted windows made the scene outside look far away and one-dimensional. Toward the front a bluish shaft of sunlight angled down through the tinted panel of a moon-roof. Though there was easily room for more than a dozen to sprawl on the benches, she could make out only two forms in the shadows at the front of the cabin on the other side of the moon-roof.

"Please, come in." 

She went forward hesitantly, one hand brushing the bench as she bent under the low roof.

At the front, sitting on the broad bench than spanned the width of the limo just behind the driver's partition, there were two young men. Her eyes went first to the one on the right. He was slim and carefully dressed in a white linen suit coat and slacks, his shirt half unbuttoned. His face was very pale, with a long neck and prominent nose, his high forehead artfully framed by disheveled blond curls that hunt to his shoulders. "Please," he gestured her forward. He had an accent, though it wasn't Spanish like the driver's. But there was something else about him, a kind of presence that drew the eye, like that pale suit that floresced against the black leather upholstery. He wasn't handsome like a movie star, but Katie immediately thought he was the most attractive man she'd ever met.

Her eyes fixed on his, she hardly even noticed the other boy at first, but then she glanced to her left and gave a start. She straightened involuntarily and bumped her head against the headliner. She felt her face glow with heat as she blushed all the way down to the roots of her hair. Slouched in the corner in a pair of jeans and a faded Wildcats tee shirt was Dwayne Studemeyer.

"Hi, Piglet."

"Don't call me that," she said to him sharply. She turned to the other man and held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Katie Prado."

"Enchante," he said, taking her hand in both of his. "Lucien de Rubempre. But my friends call me Lucky." He patted the seat beside him. "I'm pleased you could join us. I was just asking Dwayne--" (he pronounced it with two syllables: Du Wayne) "--who is that strikingly beautiful girl out there?"

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"He's a real Count," Dwayne said.

"I was looking over some of my father's business interests in Tulsa when Dwayne's father invited me to come down to see a cockfight." Lucky laughed. "It was very colorful, but I'm afraid I'm better at handicapping the horses. But then I hear that there is to be the big football game here. . ."

"Lucky's just a bettin' fool," Dwayne interjected. The Frenchman's eyes had not left hers since she sat beside him. His arm was draped across the banquette behind her and she was very conscious of the touch of his leg pressed against her. She loved the lilt of his voice. "You know, we have the football in my country, but it is all entire a different game. We do not have the cheerleaders."

He took her hand in his. "If you were in my country, you would look a fashion model, of this I am quite certain."

Katie giggled. She could listen to him talk all day.

"You would permit me to take your picture?" He held up a small camera.

"Cheese," she said. The flash left stars dancing in her vision.

He turned to the mini-bar behind him. "If you like, Katie, I have some wine here from our estate that I would like you to taste." He poured her some in a flute. It glowed ruby in the soft light. She had never been much of a wine drinker, but this was light and fizzy, tangy, not sour. It was cool going down but warm inside. The bubbles went up her nose and made her eyes water. She finished off the glass and handed it back to him.

"That's really good. It's sort of like champagne, isn't it?"

"Yes, but from a different terroir, so we can't call it that, you know." He leaned toward her and lowered his voice confidentially. "Tell me. . .Dwayne, he is your lover?"

Katie reddened and shot an puzzled glance at Dwayne. "What? Did he tell you that? No, he's not. He's Chiclet's boyfriend. You just met her--the one who left here in a huff?"

"I assure you, Dwayne has said to me nothing, but I sense you have a story with him, no?" "What do you mean?"

"When you came in and saw him, I think you were surprised. You blushed." Lucky took her hand in his palm, stroking it softly with his other hand. "I do not mean to make you feel uncomfortable, Katie. I am just trying to understand."

"Perhaps you ought to ask Dwayne, then," she said, holding her chin up, the corners of her mouth turned down in a moue of disapproval.

"Whoa there, gal." Dwayne held up his hands. "I'm sensing some hostility here."

She turned on him angrily. "You're nothing but a big jerk, Dwayne Studemeyer. I can't imagine what I ever saw in you. You're just an arrogant, self-centered, fatuous, conceited JERK! When you asked me to meet you behind the gym I thought you liked me. And then, just because I was. . .I was. . . well, you just jumped on me!" She bit off her angry tirade and buried her face in her hands.

Dwayne was staring at her with his mouth agape. "Nobody ever called me fat before," he sulked. "I don't know what yer talking about."

"There, my dear," Lucky soothed her, putting his arm around her and drawing her closer. "I'm sure this was all just a misunderstanding." He raised his eyebrows at Dwayne.

"I never laid a finger on her, cuz. I swear."

"Liar!" she sobbed into Lucky's shoulder. "Here, little one, let me dry those eyes," Lucky said. Tilting her head up with a finger under her chin, he dabbed at her cheeks with his embossed handkerchief. "Your distress makes me sad, my dear, but it only makes you more beautiful."

She threw her arms around him and kissed Lucky full on the mouth.

"Well, if that doesn't take the cake," Dwayne said.

"I must confess my humble attempts to understand your American mores have left me more puzzled than ever," Lucky grinned ruefully.

Katie snuggled up to him. "I like the way you talk." Her hand went to his open shirt, tracing lightly across his chest. "What's this?" she asked, feeling the chain dangling there.

"That's my lucky piece. Let me show you." He drew it over his head and held it up for her, a pendant about the size of an acorn the color of melted gold, with a silver cap through which was threaded a braided silk cord. "This is amber. Sometimes, after a storm, it washes up on the shore near where I live. One day when I was a boy, I found this. If you look closely you can see the inclusion."

It rotated lazily in the light. She tried to fix her eyes on it. "It's hard to see."

"Just relax your eyes," he said. "Amber is like warm honey. Imagine it flowing down your body, soothing all your muscles. Can you feel that?"

"Umm."

"Inside there is a little fly, so tiny. He's so small, but if you look closely, you can see his wings flutter."

The amber swayed back and forth, catching reflections from the recessed lights. It didn't sparkle like the facets of a diamond, rather the light shimmered and pooled on the curves of the polished surface. She found her eyes drifting apart till she was seeing double. She pulled them back into focus. The wine was making her tummy glow.

"You can see him buzzing in there, the little fly. Do you see him?"

The pendant seemed to swell in her sight somehow as she fixed her gaze on it, and the rest of the world to diminish. "Uh-huh." "Good girl. Now just relax. You're warm and comfortable."

She laid her head on his shoulder. She could feel his voice vibrating in his chest. It felt good, like a cat purring.

"You're not mad at Dwayne anymore, are you? He thinks you're very cute, you know. He told me so."

"I nev--" Dwayne started to say, but Lucky shoot him a look that silenced him.

"He did. And he's very sorry. He didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Really?" she said in a small voice.

"I'm sure if he hurt you it was quite unintentional."

"I never did that before," she said, her voice no more than a whisper. "When he put his thing in my mouth, you know. It like startled me. I didn't know what to do."

Dwayne's jaw dropped. Lucky grinned.

"You must always do what comes naturally, my dear. But now I'm sure we can now put all that behind us. You must forgive Dwayne."

"I guess so."

"Go on, embrace him and make it up, as you say." He turned her gently to face Dwayne on the other end of the bench. She lowered her head and let Dwayne give her an awkward peck on the cheek.

"Here, I must take your picture together," Lucky said cheerfully. "Like so." He posed her so she was kneeling in front of Dwayne, half-turned toward the camera. He motioned them closer together. "Now you must smile for me, Katie. You are so beautiful when you smile."

Katie felt a hard bulge in Dwayne's jeans. She drew back.

Dwayne laughed. "It's not what you think, girl," he said. He drew out a thick roll of bills and showed it to her. "Me n' Lucky have a bidness arrangement." He grinned ruefully. "Chiclet doesn't approve. That's why she just broke up with me." He smoothed Katie's hair off her brow. "I'm not sorry, neither."

Katie leaned in to him. The flash went off as Lucky took another picture.

"What a handsome couple. So very American. Dwayne," he suggested, "I think you should take off your shirt and show Katie that you are not so fatuous."

"Wanna see my six-pack?" Dwayne asked, pulling his tee shirt over his head. He rolled his belly, playing to the camera. Lucky took another picture, Katie's arm draped across Dwayne's leg.

"It would be best if you should take off your jeans too, Dwayne," Lucky said.

"What?! But then I'd be nekkid."

Katie giggled.

"All the famous sports stars in my country, they pose in the nude. This is well known."

"Really?" Dwayne pursed his lips. "Does your country even have any sports stars?" he asked doubtfully.

"But of course. This is normal. Do not be afraid."

"You think I'm chicken?" Dwayne hiked his butt up off the bench and stripped his pants down over his shoes and tossed them aside. "See?"

"Formidable!" The flash went off.

"It's all tiny," Katie said, covering her smile with her hand.

Dwayne blushed and moved a hand to cover himself. "Well, you're starin' at it, ain't you? Let's see you take your top off, then."

Katie looked at Lucky, narrowing her eyes. 

"But of course, at the beach it is customary to go topless in my country," he shrugged. "It is no big deal."

Still holding the Frenchman's gaze, Katie unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall open. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath. The sight of those ripe, perfect breasts left both the young men speechless for the moment. Katie felt their gaze press on her. She tingled at the nape of her neck and shivered momentarily. Then she felt the heat as her nipples engorged and swelled erect.

"Now that's a big deal," Dwayne finally said, clearing his throat.

"We must have a picture," Lucky said, holding up the camera. "Lean closer, Katie. Dwayne," he motioned.

Dwayne put his arm around her shoulders. She glanced down and then hurriedly looked away. "Uh-oh," she said. "It's not small any more." The flash went off in her eyes. Katie blinked rapidly, her brow furrowed. She didn't know what to think or do. She felt adrift. She sensed that Lucky was attracted to her--she certainly was attracted to him--but what was she doing here on her knees beside Dwayne? "Look at it, Katie," Lucky suggested.

She looked at Dwayne's rearing hard-on.

"You can touch it if you want." Lucky said. "Go on."

She raised one hand unconsciously to her mouth. She couldn't take her eyes off it, mesmerized. Dwayne's leg trembled where it pressed against her. She could sense he was holding his breath. The events of that night behind the gym came flooding back into her mind: the way his cock jumped in her hand like a wild thing, the feel of the warm heavy drops on her face, the smell and taste of him, the whole of it indelibly imprinted on her memory. And then she realized. . .

It wasn't Dwayne's cock! I mean, she thought to herself, that is Dwayne, so that must certainly be his cock. But it wasn't the same cock. It was as if a spell had been broken. "No! I won't!" she cried, surging to her feet and banging her head. The door seemed so far away, down at the other end of the limo, but the moon-roof was practically overhead. She clawed back the opening and started to clamber out onto the roof of the limo. She got her right arm out and then her head. The light dazzled her. The surface of the roof was scalding hot, shimmering in the heat.

She could hear Lucky and Dwayne shouting inside. Their hands clutched at her. She felt, rather than heard, a crunch as her elbow connected with someone's face. She kicked out and thudded into something soft. One them had his arms around her waist, trying to haul her back inside, while the other latched onto her leg.

She registered the small crowd behind the restaurant as a multicolored blur. There was Anita waving to her, calling out.

"Let me go," she said breathlessly. "I'll scream."

She felt fingers walking up her ribs, tickling her. She tried to yell, but it came out as a sort of hysterical chortle. She tried to call to Anita, but her friend was backing away. No, it was the car that was moving! The limo eased away from the crowd, bouncing as it swung its long body out of the parking lot and accelerated smoothly down the street. She spread her legs to keep her balance and felt a hand slide up her skirt to clutch at her panties. Their hands seemed to be all over her, grasping, cupping, smoothing, kneading.

One of them pressed his lips to her breast and rasped his tongue over the erect nipple. She tried to push him away. He caught her wrist and put her hand to his mouth, sucking on her fingers. For some reason this felt even more intensely erotic to her than the hand groping at her tender pussy, eliciting an involuntary groan. Her panties were already soaked where the deft, busy fingers plucked at them. The trees were whipping by closely overhead in a kaleidoscope of green shade and bright golden sunlight. People on the sidewalk were turning to gawk and point. Some of them waved.

The limo made a sharp turn and she felt her feet coming out from under her. Her free arm scrabbled at the smooth roof of the limo, trying to get a purchase. With a screech, she came down in a tangle of arms and legs on the carpet. She was lying half atop Dwayne, his hard cock jutting up between her breasts. She tried to press up off him, but Lucky was sprawled akimbo across her legs.

"Get off me!" she said, desperately pushing back at him. He put his hands around her waist and hoisted her ass up in the air. For a moment, she thought he was trying to help her to her feet. But then his hands slid down to the cup the cheeks of her butt where she was most sensitive, pressing them apart and she felt his cold nose slide down the crack of her ass and his warm lips fixed onto her throbbing pussy like a limpet. She exhaled roughly as his tongue probed at her moist coral lips, teasing them apart. "Oh, God." Involuntarily, she bucked back at him. His tongue slid forward, dancing over her sensitive clit. She mewled like a kitten as her bones went all rubbery. Dwayne entwined his fingers in her hair and drew her head down to where his cock bobbed between them. It brushed velvety against her cheeks as she tossed her head. She was panting. He took her by the scruff of the neck, wiping her parted lips across his member as it jumped and jerked on his rigid belly.

Lucky pulled his lips away from her engorged pussy. "No," she murmured as she felt his hand brush up between her thighs. Something hard and smooth, about the size of the first joint of her thumb, pressed against her slit. She thought it must be his lucky charm. She felt the cord hanging down, tickling between her legs. And then, yes, she could hear a buzz as it started to vibrate, the little fly. She gasped as he pushed it inside her. This was nothing like the strident rush of fingers and lips playing over her skin, coaxing, caressing. Inside, outside lost their meaning as her whole body, starting with her pussy, dissolved into a churning heap of yearning flesh. "Uhna, uhna, uhna, uhna. . ." she panted, the saliva dribbling from her mouth. Lucky wrapped one arm around her waist as she thrashed under him. Dwayne pressed her open mouth down over his straining cock, stifling her cries, and she wrapped her lips around it, drinking in the heat.

Slowly, Lucky pulled on the string till the little pebble popped out. She pushed back against him, murmuring needfully. "Nononono. . ." She tried to pull her head up, but Dwayne pressed her firmly down on his cock, squirming under her, his chest heaving, as her urgency communicated itself to him.

She froze as she felt the lips of her pussy spread apart by what she instantly sensed was the head of Lucky's cock, so much bigger and hotter than the little pebble. He held her firmly, her legs quivering under him. Her pussy seemed to suck him in till he was lodged so firmly against her hymen that she could feel the blood raging through his veins, pulsing in his cock. His buttocks clenched, his legs corded, he was as still as a diver poised on the edge of the high platform.

"Don't move," he whispered to her. 

She felt him touch her belly just below navel. He pressed the little vibrating nubbin to her and then drew it slowly, ever so slowly down toward her pussy. Her whole body vibrated with an anticipation that stoked her frenzy, so when her finally pressed it firmly onto her clit, she exploded again instantly.




A Little Yearning Ch. 09



With a frantic surge of her powerful hips she drove herself back onto him, splitting her hymen and driving the head of his cock all the way up to her womb. She could feel his balls pressed against the lips of her pussy.

Lucky strove to match her rhythm as she jerked frantically under him. She cried out as he inadvertently came out, his cock bumping against her belly, and squirmed uncontrollably as he pressed the head again into place and pushed into her.

Dwayne held head in a vice-like grip as his throbbing cock started jetting into her mouth. She clamped down hard on him as he cried out, "Goldamn!" She swallowed what she could, but some of the flood of cum dribbled back down the shaft of his cock in rivulets. He let his hands fall aside and she lay her head down on his sticky stomach, still heaving as he breathed in ragged gasps.

Lucky had found the right tempo and he was banging into her with full strokes of his thick cock, watching it pump smoothly in and out of her dripping rosy pussy. She thrust her ass up in the air as she matched his thrusts, her toes digging into the carpet. She didn't know how many times she had come already as the waves of pleasure broke over her one after the other, tumbling her in their froth. Lucky picked up the pace, hammering into her with such force her knees came up off the carpet. His belly and balls were slick with sweat as he slapped up against her.

"Sacre con!" he yelled. She could feel the warm cum squishing inside her, coating the lips of her pussy, clinging to her like warm honey as it ran down the inside of her thighs.

Lucky gave her a pat on the behind. He buttoned up his pants and took a can of diet Coke from the ice bucket. Sprawling on the bench he smiled at her with half-lidded eyes as she came to her knees, swaying in front of him. He popped open the Coke and slurped at it. She brushed self-consciously at the strands of hair plastered to her forehead. There was an unintelligible squawk from the intercom and she could feel limo draw up to the curb.

"This is your stop," he said. He took a linen napkin, dipped it into the ice bucket, then wrung it out. "Here, clean yourself up."

Katie peered out the tinted window. "But. . ." They must have cruised for miles, but now they were back just down the street from her house, three blocks from the college. She wiped her face with the cold napkin and started to button up her blouse. "I don't understand."

"Time to go," Lucky said.

"But I thought. . .but I want to stay with you," she said. He shook his head. 

Her lip quivered. "I thought you liked me." A minute ago she seemed filled with bubbles. Now abruptly everything had gone flat; she felt like sobbing.

"But I do like you, Katie."

"Then why can't I stay with you? Just for a while. Please. I'll do anything you want."

"This would be inconvenient. I have affairs I must attend to. I'm sure you understand. Dwayne, would you help our friend?"

Katie blew her nose on the napkin. Dwayne handed her purse. "I'm sorry, honey," he said, hiking up his jeans.

"Don't you touch me, Dwayne Studemeye." She shot him a sharp glance. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

She turned to Lucky. "Will I see you again?" she asked him plaintively.

"But of course," he assured her. "I will be at the big game tomorrow. Afterwards, perhaps we can meet?"

"That would be nice," she brightened.

Lucky held up his diet Coke. "Till then."

Dwayne opened the door for her. When she stepped down to the curb he said, "Katie, hold on a minute," and hopped down after her. "I really. . ." But when she looked at him he bit his tongue. "Here," he pressed something into her hand. Katie opened her palm. It was Lucky's charm. "Wait!" she cried. But the Dwayne had already closed the door behind him and the limo was pulling away.

Katie shrugged. She held the pendant up to admire it. In the bright sunlight she could see there was a thin line that bisected the amber. And something inscribed in very small letters on the rim of the cap. She held it up to her eye. CHINA, it read.

That's funny, she thought, Lucky didn't look at all Chinese to her. Then she felt like such a fool. But still she couldn't hate him for it. Even then, she couldn't help liking him. He was so smooth, so charming. He was a true artist.

A con artist. 



A Little Yearning Ch. 10



The noise was like nothing Dwayne had ever heard before. The press of sound boiled up from the bleachers and seemed to echo off the washed out, milky vault of the night sky. There was a packed house in the small stadium of Gusher Community College and the crowd was at a frenzy. The defensive lineman hunkered down in front of him was saying something to him--he could see his lips moving--but Dwayne couldn't even hear him. 

I just need to focus, he kept telling himself. Focus and you'll be fine.

When he was a boy, Dwayne's father used to keep a longhorn bull. It wasn't what you'd call a money-making proposition. Longhorns don't fatten up worth a damn, and the bull didn't earn in stud fees what it cost to keep him. His Daddy just liked the look of him. He never docked his horns. Dwayne was put in charge of looking after the animal, and he treated him with the respect he deserved. That bull was ornery as Hela monster, and quicker than a snake. He'd sooner hook you than look at you. Once one of Daddy's drinking buddies who'd been on the rodeo circuit let a few beers get the better of his judgment and jumped in the paddock with the bull, just to show how he could work him. Well, it took that clown about two seconds to realize he was in over his head and the bull gored him in the butt cheek as he was trying to scramble the hell out of there. Tossed him right over the rail fence like a big rag doll.

They rushed the old cowhand to the clinic, bleeding like a struck pig all over the bed of the pickup, and his Daddy was cursing out the bull, swearing he was going to put that animal down, but Dwayne could tell the old man was secretly sort of proud of that bull. He'd never had a name for him before. He wasn't the sort of man to go around naming farm animals, for chrissakes. But after that he took to calling him "Dilemma."

Now Dwayne was thinking about that bull, along with a lot of other bullshit that he really shouldn't have been thinking about now, when all he really needed to do was to focus on the game.

If there'd been a two minute warning in college ball, they were past it now, coming up on the last minute of play. His brain was skittering on ice it seemed, while everyone else was slogging through the water. "Y'all don't get many opportunities like this," the coach had told them at halftime. There were scouts from half a dozen big time colleges in the stands tonight. Trotting back onto the field, Chiclet had pulled him aside. She'd pointed them out, a tight little knot of men in sport coats with measured smiles. 

"I put in a good word for you," she said. "They've got their eye on you, Dwayne. You can do this, honey. You can shine." 

And she was right. He could do this. He'd played a good game so far, probably the best in his life. The teams were well matched. Early on, Tulsa had proved they could shut down Gusher's wide receivers so the coach had been depending more and more on his ground game. The Okie quarterback was throwing bombs, but the Wildcats had chalked up four interceptions already. They'd traded the lead back and forth all game, but now, late in the fourth quarter, Gusher was behind on points and short on time and those short snaps up the middle were all they had left. In the clutch, Dwayne was their go-to guy. 

Dwayne wasn't in the habit of questioning his own impulses. But just this once he felt something akin to regret when he contemplated his deal with Lucky. Whatever had he been thinking? That fat roll of bills was just too good a feeling, bulging in his pocket like that. So now it came down to this. All he had to do was throw the game. And look like a champ while he was doing it.

It could have all worked out fine, he thought. Up until the day before, the bookies were giving Tulsa six points to win. And if fate had smiled on him, Dwayne could have shaved a couple points, made Lucky a very happy man, and still impressed the scouts by leading the Wildcats to a narrow victory. But then at the last minute Tulsa had lost one of their best receivers to the flu and the odds, coming down to kickoff, were even-steven.

The Tulsa lineman opposite him shouted something to him again. He would have ignored him--opposing linemen were always talking shit to you, trying to break your concentration--but something caught his attention subliminally. He glanced up at him.

"I said, you know Chiclet?" the guy repeated. 

"Who the hell are you?" Dwayne asked.

"Old friend. I'm Joe."

Well, if he wanted to break Dwayne's concentration, he'd done it now. However, their conversation was interrupted by the snap and then Dwayne was twisting through the mad press of bodies, caroming off defensive linemen like a pinball. 

He saw daylight, faked left and then broke down field. He could hear Joe pounding along close behind him. Ten yards down field, he spun around in a tight J turn, just like he'd been doing all night. Joe had been waiting for the move and he was right there, both feet planted, between Dwayne and the quarterback, unseen in his pocket behind the frantic pawing mass of linemen trying to break through to him.

But this time it was just a feint. Dwayne turned full circle and now he was sprinting flat out down field for real, and Joe was a good six steps behind and fading. He could hear the frustrated cry behind him as he broke into open ground and the end zone was coming up fast. He knew the ball was already high in the air. He didn't turn to look for it. He would just lose it in the lights. But he could see it with perfect clarity in his mind's eye as it arced lazily down. 

Just a yard short of the goal, he cut sharply to the left, the half turn allowing him to acquire sight of the ball just an instant before it landed. However, as he did so he found his vision almost blocked by the onrushing bulk of another lineman, heading at him with the speed of an express train. Behind him, Joe was angling in on him, his body canted forward like a runner breasting the finish line.

As if he was standing above himself, Dwayne saw it all as it happened. He saw himself going up to reach for the ball in an impossible one-handed catch, plucking it down from the sky as the two opposing linemen closed in on him simultaneously.

There was a crack as the three bodies intersected at the same instant, loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd and then an abrupt silence descended over the stadium as five thousand people caught their breath. 

Dwayne didn't feel the impact; even the sound of it seemed a distant echo. He was falling in slow motion, like an instant replay, and he had all the time in the world to remind himself, "Don't forget to drop the ball."

The last thing he remembered was wondering why the ground felt so soft--just like a feather bed--when he came down. 

*

After the game, Chiclet was crossing the parking lot to her car, still dabbing at her caked mascara, when she looked up to find Lucky pacing along beside her. She glanced back--his stretch limo was following at a discrete distance behind them, the motor idling silently so just a faint crunch came from the gravel under its wheels.

"It goes well?" he asked. "How is he?" He was dressed in a pair of dark blue cowboy boots, tan slacks, a soft brown leather suit coat and a dark blue silk shirt. His collar was unbuttoned, his hair a carefully deconstructed blond nimbus framing his intent features. He had a red Wildcats baseball cap with the price tag still pasted under the brim perched on the back of his head. 

She smiled involuntarily at the incongruity and then wiped at her cheeks roughly with her palm. "They're taking him to County General for an MRI. He's badly concussed. They think there might be neck trauma."

"Yes, that was a true smash he took," Lucky affirmed. "He must have been unconscious before he even hit the ground. Imagine my surprise when he held onto the ball. And fell into the end zone. And scored the winning goal. This was quite unforseen. In the event, it has caused me some embarrassment."

She stopped and turned to face him. "You're embarrassed!?" she asked incredulously, her voice rising ominously, the color returning to her cheeks.

Lucky shrugged. "An embarrassment of a financial nature. Dwayne and I had an arrangement." 

"Yeah, I figured. Well, I'd say Dwayne more than earned his money and frankly, if you bet more than you should have, that was your risk to take."

Lucky shook his head ruefully. "It's not a question of what I bet. It's the bets I covered, and those I could not lay off in time. Even if Dwayne did return the money I paid him it would do little to remedy the situation."

"Serves you right as far as I'm concerned, mister."

Lucky fixed his warm brown eyes on her. "I understand you are upset, my dear. It was very rude and insensitive of me to think so much of myself at a time when you and Dwayne are in such distress." He touched her lightly on the arm where it was held rigidly at her side, her fist clenched. "I am truly sorry for all that has happened. Dwayne has been a good friend to me. If there is anything I can do to help, you have only to ask. I have already talked to the hospital and made arrangements for Dwayne to have a private room, and I am having a specialist flown down to look at him."

Chiclet immediately felt ashamed of her reaction. "Gosh, that's very kind of you. I don't really blame you for what happened. It was Ronny and Joe, those bastards. It's just. . ." She was crying again, the tears running freely down her cheeks, a line of mucous leaking from her nose. "He was so close you know. Those scouts were really impressed with him. They told me so. Now who knows what will happen?"

Lucky nodded. He handed her his starched handkerchief. "Yes, it was an amazing performance. And I am sure all will be well in the end. He is young and strong. He will heal. I am certain he has a bright future ahead of him." He put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You will see. It will all be well."

"I must look a mess," she apologized, daubing at her eyes and then blowing her nose. Awkwardly, she proffered the balled-up hanky.

"You keep it. I have others," he grinned. 

"I'm sorry I was sharp with you. I misjudged you."

"It is a stressful situation. None of us are at our best," he shrugged. "I was going to go to the hospital now. Perhaps I will see you there?"

"O.K. then." They had come to her car. Impulsively, she turned and gave him a hug. "Thank you, Lucky." She opened her purse to find her keys.

"You will be O.K?"

She nodded. "I feel better now." 

He turned back to his limo but before he had taken more than a few steps she cried, "Wait up! Look at this!" She stamped her foot in frustration, then kicked the quarter panel of the car. "Those damned Okies let the air out of my tires. Goddamn it to hell!" She looked ready to cry again.

"Shall we call a mechanic?" he suggested, coming over to her.

She shook her head. "That would take forever, this time of night. Look, you said you're going over there. Could you. . .?"

"Of course I would be delighted to give you a ride to the hospital," he smiled brightly. " I have to make a quick stop at my hotel, but it will only take a moment. Come along, then." He opened the door to the limo and cupped her elbow to help her up the step.

"You're a good friend, Lucky."

"Not at all," he said, self-deprecatingly.

*

The ride to Lucky's hotel didn't take more than ten minutes. The Cow Palace was a fixture in Old Town. It was a four-story, sprawling, ramshackle old structure, known familiarly as the Cowpie, which harkened back to a simpler day. There were newer hotels out on the edge of town adjacent to the interstate that did a brisker business at a better price, however the old hotel made up in charm what it lacked in amenities. It had ceiling fans, not AC; metal, not card keys; dial phones and a leather-bound guest register. Its old bar with the embossed tin panels and battered mahogany fixtures, complete with bullet holes, was a popular watering hole for the business community, and the so-called Presidential Suite upstairs (said to have hosted Calvin Coolidge on one occasion) was home to a game of high-stakes poker that drew a select handful of local luminaries. 

"You can wait in the car if you'd like," Lucky said. "My driver will wait here with you. I just have to change. I won't be long."

Chiclet felt a little uneasy at being left alone with the hulking driver in the dimly-lit parking lot. "I have to use the restroom, if that's O.K."

"Of course. Come along then." 

Lucky slid the partition back and leaned forward to murmur to the driver, then led her into the hotel.

There was still a fair smattering of people in the lobby and milling at the entrance to the adjacent taproom and restaurant, and Chiclet, still in her cheerleader's garb, drew some admiring stares as they crossed the worn burgundy carpet. They took the elevator up to the third floor, then transferred to another which took them to the top floor. "Just a moment," Lucky said as they walked down the hall toward his room. "I have to say hello to these people." He knocked at a door.

After a moment, it was throw open by an older man in faded jeans, a western shirt with the tails hanging out and an immaculate cowboy hat. Lucky leaned forward and whispered to him softly. Chicklet couldn't hear what he was saying. She looked curiously over his shoulder. In the center of the room under a wobbly ceiling fan, there was a round green baize card table. The five other men there were all looking toward them, squinting in the smoky air. Lucky waved to them. "Gents." 

"O.K. then," Lucky said, turning away and taking her arm. "Those are just some friends of mine. I will see them later," he explained as he continued down the hall. His room was at the end. He showed her to the restroom and then went to the closet and pulled out some fresh clothes which he laid out on the king-sized bed.

Chiclet locked the door and used the toilet. She splashed some cold water on her face and blotted it dry before freshening up her make-up. She felt much better when she came out some minutes later.

"That's better," Lucky remarked, "You haven't forgotten how to smile." He finished buttoning up his shirt. "Would you like a small glass of wine perhaps? I have a bottle from my own estate."

She shook her head. "Oh, no. I don't feel like drinking. I'll take a soda from the mini bar, though, if that's all right."

"But of course. Allow me." Lucky took out a bottle of wine and a can of diet Coke. He poured himself some wine, threw some ice cubes into another wine glass and poured her a soda. 

"Your health," he said, handing her the glass and then clinking it with his own. The crystal chimed melodiously in the quiet room.

He sipped at his wine. She downed hers and then stifled a burp. " I was really parched."

He waved her to one of the arm chairs. "Make yourself comfortable, my dear, while I finish up. I won't be long." He went into the bathroom. She heard the water running, and then the whine of the hair dryer. She laid her head back on chair. It had been such a long day and now it was starting to catch up with her. She found herself starting to nod off and jerked awake. She went to get up but her feet were far away and it just didn't seem worth the bother. 

"I'll just take a five minute nap," she said to herself as she watched the ceiling recede.

Lucky came out of the bathroom and finished dressing. He went over to the mini-bar and emptied the glasses and then rinsed and dried them. When he was done, he came over to look down on her, asleep in the chair. He reached down and shook her gently by the shoulder. When this didn't rouse her, he pinched her hard on the upper arm. She gave a snort but settled immediately back into a heavy sleep. Lucky picked her up and laid her down on the bed. Slipping off her shoes and socks, he placed them neatly beside the end table. He brushed the hair gently back out of her face and stood there admiring her for a minute. Then he lifted her skirt and took off her panties. He drew the blanket up over her and dimmed the lights in the room, then, whistling softly to himself, went down the hall. 

*

It was shortly after midnight. The poker game had been underway for a while and the participants were well lubricated by the time Lucky finally arrived. "There he is!" Frank Harris, who owned a local car dealership, waved him to an empty seat. He tilted back his two thousand dollar silver-belly Stetson Diamante and said, "We were beginning to wonder if you'd skipped town on us, Sonny." 

"But Frank, I would not for to miss this game," Lucky assured him. He had changed into pressed Levis and a tan shooting jacket with leather patches on the shoulders. He had a string tie with a silver-mounted turquoise and a splash of pink cloth at the pocket of the jacket. If you're going to play poker in Texas, Lucky believed, half the fun was dressing for the occasion. Unbuttoning his coat, he slid into a seat, nodding familiarly to the other players. He was acquainted with them all and he'd seen them at the football game earlier that night. Now he owed them money for they were, to a man, boosters of the local Wildcats. He would be expected to settle up at the end of the night. In addition to Harris, there were five others: Jim and Arty Mitchell, local bankers with extensive real estate holdings; Momo Casanova, boss of the local service workers union with side interests in vending machines; Spence Ashbee, an personal injury attorney and city councilman and Henry Miller, the local Justice of the Peace.

Jim riffled the cards. "The game is seven card hold-em. Table stakes. Buy-in is five grand. Small blind antes a hundred. Arty there is handling the bank."

Lucky pushed a large roll of bills across the table. 

While Arty was counting the money, Lucky reached in his breast pocket and pulled out the pink fold of cloth tucked in there. He held it up to his nose and sniffed delicately, then placed it on the table. He had their attention.

Henry cleared his throat. "That looks to me like a pair of women's panties you have there, son," he ventured after a moment's silence that fell upon the table.

Lucky nodded. "Belonging to the lovely young lady you saw me with a moment ago."

"The cheerleader?" Frank asked, goggle-eyed and few beers to windward of the others. 

"That's right." Lucky paused. "It is a sad story, I am telling you. The poor girl was well fatigued. Since she has broken up with her boyfriend, I understand she has been having sex with several others of the football team. Her parents have disgraced her out of the house, and she has no place to rest. She had much to drink and she was begging to me. . ." He bit his lip. "I must be giving her a sedative to calm her. A strong sedative. She is in a sleep very deep. When she awakes I doubt that she will have little remembering of what happened to her. She is in my room, down the hall." 

Lucky gathered in his chips and stacked them neatly. He folded the pink panties next to the chips and put his room key on top of them. "If one of you gentlemen felt the need of some relaxation later in the evening--just to lie down for a short while, that is to say--my room is very convenient. To make the evening more interesting, perhaps you would consider accepting this as a wager for, let us say, another five grand?"

There was a prolonged silence as the other men at the table chewed over the proposition.

"I don't know," Jim pursed his lips, nodding his head slowly up and down.

"Too steep for my blood," his brother Artie protested.

"Why, hell, the best chippies in Tulsa don't go for more'n two large the night," Momo blustered.

Lucky allowed himself a smile. Tacitly, they had moved on past accepting the proposition to negotiating a price.




A Little Yearning Ch. 10



"Well, we ain't no Okies, neither," Frank said, as if Momo had somehow impugned the integrity of the great state of Texas. "Hell, I'll go showdown with you right now, Sonny," he said to Lucky, pushing a pile of chips forward. "Did you see the legs on that girl?"

"This is highly irregular," Spence drawled. "I dunno. What do you think, Henry?" By common consent and custom, Henry arbitrated any disputes that arose during the game.

Henry pursed his lips. "Well, as you gentlemen know, I'm just a simple Justice of the Peace, elected to office by the great people of this state and without the formal legal training of my esteemed colleague Spence here. . ."

"Come on, Henry," Frank was squirming in his seat. "Just give us the verdict. Do we except the party favor as legal tender or not?"

Henry shot Frank a look that had withered more than a few demonstrative miscreants into instant, abashed silence in his courtroom. In spite of his folksy manner, Henry was not a man you would wish to cross. He had friends in low places. "Don't rush me. Even the Constitution had a preamble." He looked around the table, and judging the general tenor of feeling on the matter, said, "Yes, barring objections, I would say yes, we do. First, you understand, Lucky, we'll need to send someone down the hall to verify that there really is a girl in your room."

Lucky nodded. "But of course."

"I'll go, I'll go," Frank waved his hand.

"Perhaps two men would be better," Lucky suggested.

Henry nodded. "Yes. We don't want anyone jumping the gun, do we?" he said, glaring at Frank. "Momo, you and Spence go have a look-see. They'll keep an eye on each other," he assured Lucky. 

*

"If he's as good at poker as he is at running a sport's book, I doubt that dude's going to hold onto those panties very long," Spence said to Momo as they went down the hall.

"You wouldn't care to make a side wager on that, would you?" Momo remarked. "He's no fool, that Frenchie." He used the key to open the door.

"Do you think he already. . .?"

"What the hell are you whispering for?" Momo asked.

"I don't want to wake her up."

Momo looked down on the shorter man. "You think talking might do it, but porking her won't?"

Momo went through the small sitting room into the bedroom and turned on the bedside lamp. The girl lay with her hair spread out on the pillow. They stood for a moment, listening to her breath. Momo stepped over the to the bed and pulled down the blanket.

"What are you doing?" Spence asked nervously.

"I'm inspecting the merchandise," Momo said gruffly. He sat down beside her on the bed. Momo was sometimes called "the Butcher," which gave him a rather fearsome and quite undeserved reputation. In truth, as a young man he had worked dressing carcasses in the stockyards of Chicago. He had over-sized hands bristling with coarse black hair which he used with surprising gentleness to brush the hair off Chiclet's brow.

"She's gorgeous," Spence whispered reverently.

Momo grunted. "Pretty women ain't nothing but trouble. The prettier they are, the more trouble." He slipped the straps off her shoulders and rolled down her top to reveal her breasts. He molded them gently, brushing lightly over the nipples, which blushed at his touch. "The genuine article," he remarked. Spence made an uneasy noise deep in his throat.

Running his hand down her taut belly, Momo pulled up her short skirt. He nudged her legs apart and ran his hand up her thigh to where her neatly trimmed bush showed dark against her pale skin.

"You shouldn't. . ."

"Shut up, Spence." Momo cupped her sex in his hand and deftly probed with his middle finger.

"What are you doing!?"

Momo held his finger up to his nose and sniffed appreciatively. "You know, with some experience you can tell a lot about a woman by the way her pussy smells. You can tell if she eats meat or if she's one a them veegans. You can tell if she wears cotton panties or nylons. You can tell if she's kind-hearted or a stone-cold bitch. You can tell if she's been getting poked regular-like. You can even tell if she likes it or not. A Shy-town city girl don't smell nothing like a farm bred, corn fed blond, and an East Coast, Ivy league, high heeled broad don't smell like a bead wearing, bleach blond California girl. Good pussy shouldn't smell like nothing, it should smell like something. It's gotta have a certain bouquet, a kinda tang to it, you understand? Here," he grinned, holding up his wet finger, "you wanna smell or are you just gonna stand there nursing that hard-on?"

Spence took a half-step back, pulling his hand out of his pocket. "I think we've seen enough," he said. "We should be getting back."

Momo shrugged. "Well, take a good look then, cause it might be your last." He drew the blanket back up over her and tucked it carefully into place. 

The rest of the players had been chatting amiably while Spence and Momo were away. The room fell silent as they came back in. They slid back into their chairs. Spence just gave a short nod.

"How is she?" Frank couldn't forbear asking.

"Just like fine wine," Momo said. "She's great." 

"Some are born to greatness. Some achieve greatness. And some have greatness. . .thrrrust upon them!" Henry remarked. "Deal the cards, Jim."

*

After the game, Carmen and Jim drove their daughter Katie over to the hospital to see how Dwayne was doing. By the time they got there, the ER doctor attending him had started an IV and taken some X-rays. Initially, Dwayne seemed to be doing well. He was alert and protesting. He wanted to get up and go home. But later he became dizzy and relapsed into unconsciousness. There was trauma to the cervical vertebrae and his brain was concussed and swelling. They gave him some steroids and something to help him rest. When the doctor came out to the waiting room, he looked somber. 

With Dwayne's prognosis uncertain, Katie wanted to stay. There were five girls from the cheerleading squad there, as well as some boys from the team, so Carmen and Jim decided to go home and leave her there with the others. "I'll get a ride home, no problem," she said. And after all, if she was going to be out late, what could be a safer place?

They were on the way out of the hospital when they ran into Billy Bonney. He had just driven up on Dwayne's old pickup and was trotting up to the entrance. He came to an abrupt halt. "Mrs. P-p-prado! Professor Donne!" His eyes darted back and forth between them. "I'm looking for my sister. Have you seen her?"

"The other girls are in the waiting room, but I haven't see her, Billy," Carmen said.

"I'm just looking for my s-sister, that's all," he stammered, stuffing his hands in his pockets and then taking them out, shuffling his feet, his Adam's apple pumping up and down. "Er, O.K. then." He sidestepped around them and hurried into the hospital.

Jim laughed. "What's he so antsy about?"

"I guess he's just nervous about Dwayne. That's Chiclet's brother, you know."

"He is?" Jim turned to watch him go into the hospital. "How do you know him?"

She shrugged. " I got him an after-school job in the stockroom down at the store. He's very energetic. He seemed to know you. Is he in one of your classes?"

Jim shook his head. "Not that I remember."

"How about Chiclet? Didn't you have her?"

Jim coughed roughly, bending over.

"You O.K., honey?"

"Sorry, frog in my throat." He thumped his chest. "No, Dwayne's in my class, but not Chiclet. I've just seen her around with the other cheerleaders, you know."

"Yes, you'd tend to notice her, wouldn't you? She's certainly attractive."

"Well, if you prefer that kind of uber-blond," he said, slipping his arm around her waist. "Myself, I prefer a more sophisticated kind of lady."

*

The girls from the cheerleading squad were sitting together on one side of the hospital waiting room, looking glum and pale in the florescent light. They gathered around Billy as he came in, glad of the interruption. 

"Has anyone seen my sister?" he asked. "She told me she was coming over here, but as I was leaving the stadium I saw my, er, her car sitting in the lot with the air out of the tires. I thought maybe she might have gotten a ride over."

"She hasn't been here. Have you tried her cell phone?"

"All I get is her voice mail."

"Maybe she went home," one of the girls suggested. "She was kinda freaked out."

"I guess. Well, if you see her, tell her call me, would you?"

Billy gave a nod to them and started back out of the hospital. He was just outside the entrance when he heard someone call out his name. He turned to find Katie hurrying after him.

Billy's breath caught in his throat. Talking with the other girls, he had been trying hard not to stare at Katie, afraid his emotions would be plainly written on his face. Unlike the other girls, she had changed out of her cheerleading outfit. She had on a short skirt and ankle boots with three-inch heels, a high-necked blouse under a fitted jacket. She wore a wine red lipstick that went well with her complexion and her hair was tied back. She looked like she was dressed up for a date. 

"Hi," she said. "I'm Katie."

"I know," Billy said. He caught himself staring at her breasts and made himself raise his eyes to her face. She smiled at him and he could feel his hands starting to sweat. He wiped them awkward down the sides of his jeans. Say something, he told himself, but continued to stare at her in dumb awe.

"The other girls call me Piglet. But I don't really like the name," she said. 

"I know. . .I mean I know who you are. I've seen you around." An understatement if ever there was one.

"Listen," she said. "I think I can help." 

Stepping closer she took him by the arm. Billy gave an involuntary jerk. It was like a jolt of electricity had jumped between them. Didn't she feel that? he thought. She was close enough her breasts brushed against him. Close enough for him to smell her. 

Katie looked down curiously to where she was holding his arm. She could feel him trembling. He must be really upset. "It's O.K.," she said, putting her arms impulsively around him and giving him a hug. "We'll find your sister." She took a half-step back and looked him in the eyes. "I think I know where she might be. I left the locker room right after Chiclet. I saw her heading for her car, then I lost sight of her. But as I was leaving in the car with my parents, I saw Lucky's limo up ahead of us. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, but I'm thinking maybe she left with him."

"But why would she do that?" Billy asked. "You know she doesn't like Lucky. She told me he was a bad influence on Dwayne. That's exactly what she said, 'a bad influence.'"

"You don't know what he's capable of, that French guy." Katie agreed.

She was not being entirely straightforward with Billy. Outwardly she looked concerned, anxious to help, but an ugly welter of feelings churned just below the surface of her calm demeanor. She was all mixed up about Lucky, prey to emotions that caused her to regard herself with more than a little shame and self-loathing. It was obvious she was no more than a passing fancy to him, a toy to be used and carelessly discarded, and yet she still found herself attracted to him. What kind of spell had he exerted over her that she still had these feelings for him? He had abused her trust, made her do stuff that she never would have consented to, and still she was hoping he'd take her out? Didn't she have any self-respect at all? But yet he really hadn't gotten to know her, she told herself. His feelings would change when he got to know her. 

Just before the start of the game they'd met in passing. He was with a group of older men and she was with the squad. Lucky waved to her and smiled and yelled something. She couldn't hear him over the noise. He beckoned to her, but she had to go. After the game, she told her parents she was going over to the hospital with some of the other girls. Then she'd gone to the locker room and gotten all dressed up and fixed her makeup and went to look for his limo. It had been easy to spot across the parking lot. She hurried, awkward in her heels. She was just in time to see Lucky usher Chiclet into the car. She yelled but they didn't hear her. She almost ran after them and would have made a real fool of herself. Instead, she just stood there with tears running down her cheeks, thinking how much she'd like to go after the both of them with a baseball bat. 

By then, the other cheerleaders had already left for the hospital, so she got a ride over with her parents. Her Mom had eyed her curiously, but hadn't asked why she was all dressed up.

At the time, she hadn't even considered that Chiclet could have been tricked, rather than just plain seduced, into the limo. But now that she thought it over, it seemed more than likely, especially given the information that the air had been let out of her tires. That had Lucky written all over it. 

"But how are we going to find them now?" Billy asked. "They could be anywhere?"

"I know where he's staying," Katie said. "I gave my mother a ride to work the other day so I could borrow the car. The store's down in Old Town. There was a white Hummer limo parked at the Cowpie. It's right down the block. It must be where he's staying. How many of those do you suppose there are?"

Billy nodded gravely. "I'm going down there."

"Wait," she said. "When I was just a kid my Aunt Claudia worked there part time as a maid. She used to baby-sit me, and sometimes if she had to she'd take me into work with her. I know that hotel like the back of my hand. I'm coming with you."

*

When they got to the hotel, Billy cruised around the parking lot in Dwayne's motley pickup. They found Lucky's limo parked out back. 

"Do you think they're in there?"

Katie considered for a moment and then shook her head. "It's possible, but I'm guessing he's probably taken her up to his room. There's no light coming from the back of the limo, and why bother to drive back here if you're not going to use the room? Park the truck. We'll go in and see."

The high-ceilinged lobby of the grand old hotel was still busy with people at twelve-thirty in the morning. The sound of live western swing was coming from the hotel bar, washing across the space where knots of people still clustered about the padded furniture and potted plants. Flanking the entrance to the bar were a couple manikins, one dressed in a Gusher football jersey, the other in a cheerleader's outfit. A banner draped across the entrance read "Go Wildcats!" 

Katie glanced around the lobby and grabbed a brochure some salesman had left on one of the tables. "You wait here," she said to Billy and then strode across the room confidently to the reception desk. She scrawled something across the face of the brochure and waited for one of the two attendants to come down to her.

"I'd like to leave this for Mr. Rubempre," she said.

"Certainly, miss. Is there anything else we can help you with?"

"No. Thank you." She idled by the counter, leafing through a display of tourist handouts while the night clerk turned to place her message in one of the cubbyholes that were ranked on the wall behind the counter. He blocked her view as he slotted it into place as she had anticipated he might, which is why she had used something larger than a simple note. The folded brochure stood out plainly in the cubbyhole. Above it was lettered in faded gold: Room 415. Beside the cubbyholes there was a pegboard for the room keys. There were two keys for every room. One of the keys for 415 was not there.

"He's there," she told Billy, drawing him across the lobby to the elevators. "Come on."

"What are we going to do?"

"The simplest thing would be to just go up and bang on his door, don't you think?" 

"I don't know," Billy said nervously. "Couldn't we just call him? Wait. This elevator only has a buttons for three floors."

"You have to get onto another elevator at the third floor. There're only about a dozen suites on the fourth," she explained.

At the third floor, Katie led him down the corridor to the right. Turning a corner, they could see the landing for the fourth floor elevator. There was a security guard slumped on a stool beside the elevator, his nose buried in a newspaper.

Katie frowned and drew Billy back around the corner. "I didn't expect that. I doubt he'll let us past unless we have a key or the desk calls to clear us."

"Maybe we should just call Lucky on the phone?"

"And what good would that do? He could be hurting your sister right now. Come with me," she said determinedly. Grabbing him by the arm, she went back into the elevator and returned them to the lobby. Once there she turned down the hallway past the front desk, along side of the restaurant. Toward the back there was a door on one side that gave access to the kitchen and a loading dock. On the other side of the hall was an unmarked door that led into a small changing room for the staff. She had Billy wait in the hall while she ducked quickly inside, then she came out to let him in.

"This is where the cleaning crew change," she explained to him. "There's no one on duty at this time of night, but I doubt the security guard would know that. He's just an rent-a-cop they hire for special occasions."

"A cop?" Billy swallowed. "What special occasion?"

"I don't know, but you can bet he wasn't hired by Lucky just to keep us off the fourth floor so don't worry about it."

She was flinging open the lockers and examining the uniforms hung inside. "Hah!" she said, holding up a pass key she had found in one of the pockets.

"What, do we just show him that?" Billy asked. 

"No," she considered. "There's no tag like a room key." She pulled out a blouse and skirt and held it up against her. Then she started to take off her jacket. "We'll have to change," she said.

"You're not going to dress me up in that," Billy said. "No way."

"Come on, Billy," she said. "We don't have time to argue about this. There's no other way. I can't handle Lucky by myself."

"Do you expect me to pass for a cleaning lady? Are you crazy?"

"He won't even give you a glance," she assured him. "When you put on that uniform you become invisible, believe me." She eyed him speculatively. "Here, this should fit. Take off your jeans and put it on."

"I can't," he insisted.

"Why not?"

"I'm not wearing any underwear," he said, reddening.

"Oh, for Pete's sake. Here. I won't look," she promised him. 

Billy turned away from her and took off his shoes. He glanced over his shoulder. She was searching the other lockers. Quickly he stripped off his jeans and pulled on the white blouse and blue skirt. "This is a really bad idea," he said. He caught sight of himself in a mirror across by the door. He looked like a teenage boy in a Halloween costume. He wouldn't fool a blind man.

"Here!" Katie said exultantly. "I thought I'd find one."

"That's a wig," Billy said. "I'm not wearing that."

"Come on, it doesn't have cooties," she said. "Hold still." She slipped it over his head and pulled it forward and down. "Perfect," she said, tucking in few stray hairs.

"I'm not doing this," Billy said. "I've got tennis shoes on."

"No one's going to look at your feet. Let's go," she said impatiently. "One more word from you and I'll get out the lipstick." She pushed him toward the door and out into the hall. 

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he accused her. But he was used to being bossed around by Chiclet. It was easier just to go along.

Facing the wall, Billy sidled down to the elevators in an awkward side-step. They rode up to the third floor with an older couple who only had eyes for each other. As Katie had predicted, as two maids they were just part of the wallpaper. The couple were chatting animatedly about the music, and the man kept reaching out to touch his companion on the arm or the shoulder or the hip. He had a wedding ring. She didn't. Billy thought he could have been wearing a big red clown's nose and they wouldn't have noticed.




A Little Yearning Ch. 10



When they got off the elevator, Katie whispered, "Just stay close behind me." Billy hurried to keep up with her as she strode briskly down the hall.

The guard shook down his paper as Katie walked up to him. He wasn't ignoring her, far from it. He smiled broadly, his eyes gleaming. She had discounted her own beauty. He said something to her and Billy suddenly realized he was speaking Spanish. Now we're really screwed, he thought. But Katie gave a demur laugh, her eyes cast down, and answered him back. The guard turned to push the button for them and continued to talk to Katie until the elevator arrived. He hadn't even glanced at Billy. 

"I feel sick," Billy said to her as the elevator started its slow, creaking ascent.

"There's a poker game in one of the suites, he told me," Katie explained. Billy trailed behind her as she went down the quiet hall. She pulled up in front of 415 and rapped on the door without hesitation. 

They waited for a moment. She knocked again. "There's no one here," Billy said with evident relief. "Let's go."

Instead, Katie took out her passkey and opened the door. "Wait!" Billy said. "You can't just go in there. What if someone comes?"

Ignoring him, Katie stepped inside. Reluctantly, Billy followed her. He wasn't going to wait alone out in the hall. He eased the door shut behind him.

They found themselves in a well-appointed sitting room, one of the armchair lamps casting a dim light. The door to the bedroom was ajar. Katie stepped forward and fumbled for the light switch.

"She's here!" 

Billy pushed her aside where she was bending over his sister. She shook Chiclet gently by the shoulders. "Come on, sis. We've got to get out of here. This is no time to be taking a nap."

"It's no use, he drugged her," Katie said.

"Wake up!" Billy shook her more roughly.

"Sssh!"

"Wh. . ." Billy started to say, but then he heard it to. Someone was talking outside the door. They heard metallic grate of the key in the lock.

"Quick!" Katie hissed. She took him by the arm and shoved him into the closet across the room opposite the foot of the bed. She squeezed in after him and pulled the door to but didn't latch it so they could still see out through the crack. 

They heard two men murmuring as they crossed the sitting room and came into the bedroom. Billy held his breath, expecting any moment they would cross to the closet and throw it open. Instead they went directly to the bed where they bent over the sleeping form of his sister.

The first man, taller and heavier, had a swarthy complexion and curly black hair going white at the temples. He wore slacks and a dress shirt with French cuffs, unbuttoned at the top. The other had his suit coat on, his tie neatly centered, his thinning blond hair combed back from his forehead. He kept glancing at the door behind him and unconsciously wringing his hands. 

It was a tight fit in the clothes closet. Billy's back was up against the wall and his head butted up against the shelf overhead. As Katie bent forward with her eye pressed to the crack in the door, her butt was pressing up against his groin. Billy made a soft uneasy sound deep in this throat as he shifted on his feet, and Katie turned to him and held her finger up to her lips. "Quiet!" she mouthed silently at him.

Leaning forward he could see over her shoulder into the room. They were staring straight across the room at the foot of the bed as Momo drew down the cover and sat beside Chiclet. Billy felt Katie tense up, then he noticed it too: the small nickel-plated gun in an ankle holster revealed when his pants rode up. His voice was indistinct but Billy could see plainly as the man pulled down Chiclet's top and fondled her breasts, and then lifted her skirt, nudging her leg aside and caressing her pussy with his big, hairy hand. 

Katie was trembling. Billy put his arms around her. That seemed to reassure her and her shaking subsided. But now he was presented with a more pressing problem. As Momo's finger began probing his sister's pussy, Billy's cock started to swell uncontrollably. Surely Katie could feel it now through the thin skirt as his rigid member jutted up between them? But she didn't shrink away. He could feel her respiration deepen. Her tense body seemed to radiate heat. 

Tentatively he slid his left hand up to cup her breast. He could feel her heartbeat quicken. He half-expected to get an elbow in the ribs. When she didn't protest at this, he began to gently caress her, marveling at the unique combination of softness and firmness. He could feel the nipple swell under the fabric of her blouse as he rubbed his fingers across it. Almost imperceptibly at first Katie was bumping back against him, trapping his cock between the firm cheeks of her butt . He rocked up on the balls of his feet as he started to grind against her. His right hand, fingers splayed out over her abdomen, slipped lower till she caught his wrist to stop him. She locked her fingers into his. 

Billy could see Momo raise his finger, trailing moisture, to his nose. He was droning on about something to the other man, but Billy wasn't listening. His eyes were locked onto his sister's pink, moist pussy, its swollen lips glistening in the shadow between her thighs. His arms tightened around Katie as he hugged her tighter. The world seemed to contract around him as he closed his eyes and buried his nose in her hair. The scent of her was intoxicating. She was bumping back against him more insistently. Billy's head was floating as he seemed to lose contact with the floor, drifting dream-like, his whole world narrowed down to the feel of the supple curve of her butt pressing up against him. He felt a gut-wrenching surge begin rise up from deep within him that he was powerless to stop. . .

Without warning, he was catapulted forward as Katie threw open the door and burst out of the closet. Billy's arms wind-milled as he stumbled and fell face-first to the carpet. Someone grabbed his shoulder.

"Don't hurt me!" he yelled.

"Get up, for Pete's sake," Kathy said, pulling at his arm. "They left. Can't you see?"

"I'm sorry," he said, clambering awkwardly to his feet.

"Never mind. We've got to get her out of here. We don't know when they'll be coming back. Can you carry her?"

"I can pick her up but we can't just carry her out of here. What if someone sees us in the hall? What about the guard?"

She considered for a moment. "Try to wake her up," she suggested. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going? Hey, wait, you can't leave me here!" But she was already out the door.

Billy went to the mini-fridge. There was a selection of bottled beverages and a small cardboard bucket of ice in the freezer. He took the ice bucket and up-ended it over his sisters head. "Come on, Sis, wake up!" he said, shaking her shoulder. The ice pooled around her neck with bits stuck in her hair but she didn't show any sign of coming to. Billy tugged on her arm. "Come on. Come on. I don't know what the fuck is going on, but that guy has got a gun and we can't stay here! You gotta wake up," he pleaded with her.

He almost threw himself under the bed as he heard the door open, but it was only Katie. She was pushing a cleaning cart. It had a bucket and mop and a vacuum cleaner at one end, a stack of folded linens and cleaning products on the other and in between a laundry basket .

"Quick, get her into this," Katie instructed him. 

Billy grabbed his sister under the arms and half-dragged out of the bed. Katie got her legs and together they swung Chiclet over the laundry basket. She dropped into it in a boneless sprawl, butt first. Billy pushed and pulled at her till he got her legs and arms inside and Katie threw the blanket in on top of her. Chiclet shifted in her sleep and began to snore softly.

Katie stuck her head out the door to check the way was clear. She gave a Billy a nod. They closed the door softly behind them and started down the hall toward the elevator as fast as they could push the cart, leaving a wake of personal-sized shampoos and hand towels behind them. They were almost to the elevator when it chimed. Someone was coming up. 

Katie used her passkey to throw up the door to the room nearest the landing and they wheeled the cart inside just in time to shut the door as the elevator doors opened.

They heard a muted conversation pass down the hall as Billy stood with his back against the door. 

"I can't take much more of this," he said.

"We'll stay here," Kathy decided with a quick glance around the empty room. "Until she wakes up. No one's taken the room yet and they're not likely to at this late hour, so we're safe here. Help me get her out of the laundry basket."

They wheeled the cart into the bedroom and manhandled the limp girl onto the nearest twin bed with some difficulty. It was a lot harder getting her out of the basket than it had been getting her into it. Chiclet was still unresponsive and didn't wake up in spite of the rough handling. When they finally had her stretched out on the bed, they looked at each other, suddenly feeling awkward.

"You were really brave, Billy," she said. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"No, you were," he said. "You were amazing. And I was like"--he crossed his arms over his face and screeched in a falsetto voice--"'Please don't hurt me!'"

Katie giggled. Then Billy was chuckling too, and soon they were both bent over laughing hysterically. 

Katie wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled at him. When she did that, Billy felt his knees go weak. She came over to stand at the foot of the bed with him, her arm lightly brushing against his.

"Your sister didn't have her panties on," Katie remarked, her face thoughtful, looking down on the unconscious girl. "Do you think Lucky might have already, you know. . .?" Chiclet was breathing roughly, working her jaw in her sleep. Under the shadow of her short skirt, they could see the darker patch where her thighs came together. Katie leaned forward and lifted her skirt. "I don't see anything. . ."

Billy made a strangled sound deep in his throat. She turned to look at him. He immediately hung his head, his eyes on the floor, but his face was red with embarrassment. There was a small damp spot where the head of his erect cock tented the thin skirt he wore.

"She is hot, isn't she, your sister?" Katie teased him. "I bet you've fantasized about making it with her, haven't you?"

Billy shuffled awkwardly on his feet. He shook his head. "You don't understand. It's not her at all. It's you. I'm so in love with you," he blurted out. "Ever since the first day I saw you when you were in that pink blouse and leotards trying out for the cheerleading squad. You looked so beautiful, I couldn't take my eyes off you. And ever since. . . But you never even noticed me. I know I'm not a good athlete or handsome or even smart or anything. But you're so wonderful, I couldn't. . . I just. . . It's all I think about," he finished miserably, his eyes brimming with tears.

Katie was touched. She turned and wrapped her arms around him, trapping his arms down at his sides. "I'm so sorry, Billy. You're a sweet boy. I didn't know."

Billy's shoulder was snuggled into the valley between her breasts and where his hand hung by his side he could feel the back of his fingers rub against the warm swell of her mons as she pressed up close to him.

"You're shaking like a leaf," she said. "Shush. . .there now," she leaned her head against his shoulder. "It's O.K."

Billy's chest heaved as he stifled back his sobs.

"Billy," she said softly, clutching him tighter. "Look at me, Billy." 

He turned to meet her unblinking gaze, lost in those rich brown eyes like he was being drawn into a whirlpool.

"Be still," she said. She drew her hands down across his shirt till he felt her fingers tugging at his waistband. She eased her hips back for a moment and he felt the skirt fall down to pool around his ankles. Then she hugged him tightly again, pressing her pussy up against the back of his hand. He felt her right hand drop down to rest on the curve of his naked butt while with her left she brushed down across his belly to close her fingers firmly around his erection.

Billy's eyes rolled up as her touch sent what felt like a few thousand volts coursing through him. "Look at me, Billy," she said. 

She held his eyes as she stroked him.

Billy had been tumescent, if not in strident erection, ever since he had first run into Katie at the hospital. Now the relentless pressure, the distillation of all those hours and days and months of frustrated desire was released in an instant. He cried out as he started to come, his pelvis jerking forward as he blasted all that yearning in six mighty jets up into the air.

"Gosh. That was a lot," Katie said. She looked down on the prostrate form of his sister, spattered now with gobs and gooey strands of cum all the way from her knees to one large drop that shone like a pearlescent beauty mark on her cheek close by the corner of her slack mouth. Something about the sight gave her a striking sense of deja vue. Katie looked down at the red-tipped member clutched in her sticky fingers.

She shrank back, dropping him like a hot potato and frantically wiping her hand on her skirt. 

"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "You bastard! That was you! That was YOU behind the gym that night! I couldn't see his face. . .I thought it was Dwayne, but then I found out it wasn't, but I didn't know who. . .but it was. . ." She pointed at his jutting cock accusingly. "It was YOU!"

Billy plummeted from heaven to hell in a heartbeat. As quick as the flip of a coin, one giddy moment of unparalleled bliss had become a nightmare of shame. He knew that look on Katie's face. It was remarkably like the one that her mother Carmen had given him that day just before she started raining slaps and punches and curses down upon him.

"I'm sorry," he said, shrinking back and holding up his hands placatingly. "I didn't mean to. She tricked me," he pointed at his sister. "She made me do it."

"Oh, how could you?" Katie cried bitterly. "I thought Lucky was cruel, but you're worse by far." Her lower lip began to quiver, but her eyes sparkled with rage. "You said you loved me. How could you treat me like that? Is that what you think love is like?"

"Oh, God, please don't cry," he shook his hands futilely as the tears started to spill over onto her cheeks. He sank to his knees. "I've been a fool. I am a fool. I'm an idiot. Chiclet told me you wanted me. She even told me that you'd done. . .done that with some other boys. That you liked it. I don't know why I believed her. She was just using me to get at you. She thought you were making eyes at Dwayne. I can see that now. But I wanted so much to believe her, that you liked me. I wanted to believe her so bad. I just got carried away. I never meant to hurt you. Please don't hate me," he pleaded desperately. "I couldn't bear that." He hid his face in his hands, sobbing.

"I'll never forgive you, Billy Bonney," she said coldly, "Or that monster of a sister of yours. To think that I came up here to save her from Lucky. I should have left her there to be used. It would have served her right. Fuck her. And fuck you, too."

"Please, Katie. . ."

"Shut up," she snapped. "You disgust me. Stand up."

He thought she was going to hit him as he got awkwardly to his feet. He deserved it. In fact, if it would help her get past her anger, he welcomed it. So he didn't raise his hands to defend himself; he just hung his head in shame, glancing at her from under his lowered brow.

"Look at her," Katie said to him. "Look at your sister, Billy." And when he did, she bent down and drew up Chiclet's skirt. Roughly, she pushed her legs apart. "That turns you on, doesn't it?"

"No, Katie, I don't. . .please, don't. . ."

"Don't pretend you don't want to. Look at you," she said, nodding at his erect cock. "All this bullshit, love this and love that. You're really nothing but a brainless dickhead, ready to fuck anything that moves, aren't you? A sick dickhead. You'd even fuck your own sister. Go on then," she said. "Fuck her."

"I don't want. . ." he started to say, but she stepped around behind him and shoved him roughly, his feet tangled in the skirt, down onto the bed over his sister.

Billy caught himself with his outstretched hands. Katie sprawled onto his back, forcing him down onto his sister. He felt her reach around his waist and fumble for his cock. When her fingers closed around it he gave an involuntary groan. Her breasts pressed against his back. She was stroking him, nudging him forward.

"Lift up her legs," she ordered him. Billy didn't even think to resist. She was right, he thought. Her assessment of him was entirely correct. He was a dickhead.

She was using his stiff cock like a dousing rod, questing around in the dark space between Chiclet's thighs. A deep moan told Katie she'd found the mark as the head of Billy's cock was enveloped by the warm, clinging lips of his sister's pussy. She gave him a push on the butt just like you'd set a swing in motion and he started pumping in and out, helpless now to stop. 

She came around to stand beside the bed. Billy was bent over Chiclet, propped up on his arms, his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open as he slapped into her wet pussy, the mattress squealing in protest. 

"Harder," she instructed him flatly. She bent forward and pulled down Chiclet's top to reveal her breasts. Roughly she tugged and twisted the nipples till they engorged, leaving red welts from her fingers across the creamy skin. "Open your eyes. Look at her, Billy. Don't pretend you're fucking someone else."

Billy opened his eyes. He looked at his sister and froze. Chiclet's eyes were open. She was staring up at him, uncomprehendingly.

"Dwwayne?" she slurred. "Wha. . .Billy? Billy, is that you? What happened to your hair?" She was gulping big breaths as if she'd just come up from a long immersion underwater. She shook her head to rid herself of the cobwebs clouding her vision, trying to reconcile reality with the sight of her brother's red face hovering over her in some bizarre fright wig. "Billy, what are you doing? Get off me." She tried to lever herself up on her elbows. 

Katie pushed her down. "Don't stop," she said to Billy. "Fuck her till she's sore." Billy was looking down at his cock, big, fat and red as it pumped in and out between his sister's thighs.

Chiclet looked at the younger girl for the first time, still half convinced this was some sort of weird dream. Her face flushed with dawning comprehension as her brain finally registered the signals her body was sending to it and Billy's persistent pumping started to have its inevitable result. She sagged to the bed, sighing as the first orgasm overcame her. It was one of those quiet, feminine ones that kind of sneak up on one, a warm opiate gush of sensation that washed through her, flushing away all her tension, all her apprehension. "Oh, my," she murmured, tottering on the verge of unconsciousness. "Ohhh. . ." Her eyelids fluttered as she looked back at Katie, an unformed question on her lips. 

Katie's hand had come to rest on Chiclet's breast. She could feel the beat of her heart, the engorged nipple hot under her palm. 

She jerked as she felt Chiclet's hand on her leg, her palm brushing up Katie's thigh under her skirt till her fingers softly brushed her panties.

So intent was Katie on her vicarious rape, using Billy as her tool, so preoccupied with her anger and resentment, she hadn't realized until that moment how sexually charged she'd become by Chiclet's vulnerability. When Chiclet touched her there she gave a little yelp of astonishment, but whatever qualms she might have had on a purely cerebral level, her pussy reacted without ambivalence. What had registered as a nagging itch now burst into flame as Chiclet's insistent fingers stirred her like a crucible brimming with quick, molten fire.




A Little Yearning Ch. 11



To be a good gambler, one must have a certain aptitude for numbers, the capacity for self-analysis, a working knowledge of human nature and above all, Lucky believed, the soul of an optimist. That he did have such an optimistic bent, Lucky firmly credited to his fortunate childhood.

As a boy, Lucky had always maintained good relations with his father. The older Rubempre, already in his mid-fifties when Lucky was born, was a distant yet kindly man and as a single parent his one fault may have been a tendency to indulge his only child. 

Colonel Docteur le Comte de Rubempre was a figure of some mystery to the village of Rubempre which sprawled at the base of the old chateau which he inhabited, a mystery which he was at pains to maintain since he was in truth--like the Holy Roman Empire--neither a true Colonel (though he did have the uniform and assorted medals, bought at a Paris flea market), nor a real Docteur (thought he did have an ornate certificate in Latin hung prominently in the sitting room, purchased from a diploma mill in Lyon), nor a born Comte (the chateau and the title had come with his marriage to the impecunious widow Rubempre).

As a young man of undistinguished parentage and uncertain prospects, Lucky's father had gone straight from the lycee to clerk in his small town pharmacy. In the days before the war, they had still compounded in the back room some of the old patent medicines such as blue mass and opodeldoc and Dr. Pierre's Pills for "women's complaints" (the chief complaint being unwanted pregnancy) which were sold under the counter to the local country folk. When, in the fifties, a new wave of cure-alls had supplanted the old favorite formulas based mostly on alcohol and laudanum, he had parlayed this experience into a tidy fortune in mail order herbal remedies. After a life devoted to the single -minded pursuit of profit, he had retired from business at the age of fifty-one, removed himself to the country, married advantageously and settled down to the life of the landed gentry, his days passed in overseeing improvements to his chateau, puttering about in his small laboratory or tending to his vines and livestock.

After several years of a harmonious if not passionate marriage, the pregnancy of Madame de Rubempre had come as a bit of shock to the both of them: though younger than the count by a decade, she was already in her early forties by then and had, in spite of her earnest application, never conceived by her previous husband; and neither had the Comte, in spite of a long line of mistresses before his marriage and more recently a predilection for nubile young housemaids, ever fathered a child. In due course, however, the Comtesse was delivered of a beautiful baby boy. She subsequently fell prey to post-partum depression, and an overindulgence in some of the Comte's more potent remedies soon led to her untimely demise. 

As a child Lucky was given into the care of a succession of young nannies who were decidedly patchy in the quality of their mothering skills though uniformly impressive in their bust size and replaced with regularity when the older Rubempre tired either of their pursuit or subsequently of their charms. Lucien attended the local primary school and was a gifted if sporadic student. When he was old enough to show an interest in women, the younger housemaids were given to understand that they would be rewarded to gratify his curiosity. When he was old enough to drive, he was given a car (though not driving lessons--this he was expected to puzzle out on his own). For his part, the old man sought to impart a certain expertise in the efficacy of various herbs and chemicals, a subject upon which he was well-versed; and an education in the ways of the world, a subject upon which his instruction was rather more eccentric. 

On the question of finances, his father had this to say to him. "Money can be gotten in several ways, Lucien. You can inherit it. You can accumulate it by dint of a steady and applied penury. You can steal it. . .Balzac said that behind every great fortune there is a crime. However, a true master of finance will avail himself of none of these common resorts. He will create money."

"You mean like counterfeiting, Papa?" 

The old man puffed up his cheeks and blew out a breath. "Certainly not."

"Well, then, how do you create money?" Lucien asked.

"Well, that is the trick, isn't it?" his father replied with a wink.

By the fourth time the deal had gone around the table, Lucky had a pretty good feel for the other players. Poker is a game of personalities, and table stakes, where the bet is only limited by the amount you have at hand, even more so. The other players in the game were all well-acquainted--you might even say bored--with each other. For this reason they were always glad to invite the occasional guest to sit in. The addition of another player freshened it up for all of them.

Lucky's unique wager also added another, quite novel dimension to the game.

Lucky had been careful not to throw his room key into the pot too hastily. In spite of the manifest impatience of some of the other men, he held it in reserve as the deal moved around. He didn't want to lose it so soon in the game because he quickly saw how it could become an irresistible lure. Frank Harris had already gone all in on him twice in the first two rounds. The first time, Lucky could probably have bested him--would have, as it turned out--with pocket eights, but he folded. On the second occasion, Lucky saw the bet. Since he had at that point somewhat fewer chips on the table than Frank, he was literally moving all in--he had little available cash to buy back in should he lose. But he had Frank figured for two pair, which he imagined his three kings would comfortably beat. As it turned out, Frank didn't even have that--it was an outright bluff. Lucky had doubled his stake. 

Chastened but undeterred, it was obvious that Frank was determined to have that room key, and he wasn't going to let the small difficulty of having no good cards stop him. The other players were a bit more level-headed (and a bit less drunk) but, Lucky thought, equally determined. Jim and Artie played like the bankers they were: cautiously, weighing the odds, bluffing tentatively and only pro forma. If either of them pushed out a large wager, the rest of table invariably folded, so they won little, but on the other hand, they were too quick to fold promising cards, so they lost little as well. 

Momo, like Frank, was inclined to bet on the come and was determined bluffer. Caught in a losing hand, he would hang on determinedly till the last card, raising the bet at every opportunity, a strategy that could cost him dearly. Spence was rather the opposite: timid to a fault, he could be sent running by the least show of resolve. If Momo hadn't made enough money off of him by sheer bravado and lousy cards, he would soon have been forced from the game. 

Of them all, Henry was the hardest to figure, Lucky thought, and of course, this made him the most dangerous. After a couple hours of play, Lucky and Henry were the big winners at the table. The bankers were holding about even. Spence was down to a small fraction of his original buy-in. Momo had bought in again at five grand. Frank was the big loser, having bought in again three times so far and his fourth stake about half eroded.

Momo was just shuffling the cards for the next deal when there was a soft rap on the door. "Now, who the hell could that be?" Henry asked.

Artie went to answer it. It was the security guard from the third floor. He whispered to Artie for a moment. Artie turned and said, "Frank, it's your wife. She's downstairs and wants to come up."

A groan went around the table. Frank's wife was one of the main reasons they had a security guard down there. (The risk of being strong-armed was negligible; the risk of being busted by the police was nil.) She was very good looking woman, his young trophy wife: early thirties, blond eye-candy with a dancer's figure and a model's face, but she was also a very high-maintenance pain in the ass, and her stunning looks were not matched with a charming personality. She was a belligerent drunk prone to fits of jealousy.

When Frank had first courted her, he thought he had found the perfect woman. Not only was she was gorgeous, athletic, immaculately groomed and dressed to the nines, but she was a tigress in bed. At first, they couldn't get enough of each other. She would do things--suggest things, even--that other women had never done with him. And she liked to talk dirty while they were making love. At first, he found this to be quite a turn-on. However, as time went on and the first blush faded, he found it to be a little off-putting, and later as they settled into married life, it came to be downright annoying, and he sometimes had to suppress the urge to clamp a hand over her mouth and say, " I AM fucking you. And in fact I AM fucking you as HARD as I can already."

When he was a teenager, Frank had liked to work on cars. He had a knack with mechanical things. He could make a motor purr. He had a cute little Volkswagen he had customized, and one day he decided to put a bigger engine in it, something better than the glorified air-cooled lawnmower engine it came with. He got a Porsche engine from the wrecking yard and at length shoe-horned it in there. It taught him a lesson. You could have too much of a good thing. After that, the car was just downright scary. Driving it, he felt like he was strapped in a tin can with a firecracker shoved up his ass and the fuse lit. Sometimes, that's just how he felt being married to Hailey.

"Go down and talk to her, Frank," Henry suggested. "We can't have her coming up here. You know what a scene she caused the last time."

"You didn't tell her I was here, did you? Is she drunk?" Frank asked. 

Artie turned to the guard, who nodded solemnly.

"I think that's a yes to both," Artie said. "I think I can hear her yelling from up here."

"I'm not going down there," Frank shook his head. "No way. Just tell her to go home. Tell her there's no women up here, and I'll be along later."

Artie said, "He says she's in no shape to drive."

"Damn it, Frank, she's your wife," Momo said. "Take care of it." But Frank made no move to get up. His face was as pale as his hat.

"Perhaps I can help," Lucky suggested. "I'll have my driver take her home. I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Excuse me for the moment." He rose from the table, taking out his cell phone, and stepped out onto the balcony to call Carlos.

Carlos Herrara wasn't too upset at being wakened, though he'd been asleep for less than a couple hours. He was half-expecting it. When Lucky had left with the young girl, he'd told Carlos to gas up the limo and then get some sleep--they might be needing to leave in a hurry. Carlos didn't know exactly what Lucky was up to, but he didn't need to know all the details to know it was something that was more than likely to blow up in his face, and usually in the middle of the night, if experience was any guide.

"All goes well," Lucky assured him. "I have covered the football bets. However, there is now a small complication. One of the player's wives is downstairs at the third floor elevator causing a hell and disrupting the game. Can you take her home?"

"No problem, boss. Go back to your game. It is already taken care of."

Throwing on his suit coat--he had gone to sleep in his clothes--and shoes, he went upstairs. He heard her before he saw her. The woman was pacing the landing on the third floor. The elevator was just coming back down. She accosted the security guard as he got out, her brassy voice echoing down the corridor.

"Well? Did you tell him I was here? Where the hell is he, then?"

"Si, missus, I tell him. But he is very busy at the moment," the guard patted the air with his hands. "He cannot come down right now."

"Well, that's just not fucking good enough. You're gonna goddamn take me up there right now!"

Carlos came up behind her and took her gently by the arm. "Ma'am?"

"Who the hell are you?" she spun on him. "Take your fucking hands off me." She was taller than Carlos, almost two meters, he guessed, a beautiful woman with an athletic look. Her shoulders, bare in her black mid-thigh cocktail dress, showed some definition and her calves swelled attractively over her three-inch heels. 

"They say I am to drive you home," he said. "Please, if you will be coming with me. I have the car."

"I'm not going anywhere until I speak to Frank, goddamn it. He's holed up there with some skanky bimbo. . ." She started toward the elevator, shoving the security guard aside.

"No, lady, please. . ." Carlos reached out to grab her.

As he caught her arm, she turned on him quick as a snake, striking him on the side of the head with her bulky Prada purse. There was a meaty smack and Carlos saw stars. She had something heavy in there. 

"Puta!" he hissed fall back a step, rubbing his cheekbone gingerly with his hand. 

"I warned you! I'm going up there to see my husband. Don't you try to stop me, grease ball." 

Carlos circled her warily, a fixed smile on his face. She looked mad enough to spit fire, but he was watching her hands.

She lashed out with her foot. A slower man, or one without Carlos' trained reflexes, would have gone down with a solid shot to the balls--game over--but he turned his hips to block the move. He caught her foot on the upswing and she went down with a thud.

The security guard blanched. "This is not good, amigo. Her husband, he's an important man."

Carlos ignored him. "You want to play rough?" he asked her. He stood over her, his arms crossed. "You are a bad woman! You have very much to drink and you have no manners. Now I am taking you home."

She clambered to her feet, brushing the hair back out of her face. Deliberately she kicked off her heels. "Oh, so you think you're a tough guy, pushing over women, you fucking pussy. I'm going to kick your ass." One of the shoulder straps of her dress had broken and it hung down on the right, showing the swell of her breast almost to the nipple. Hiking up her skirt, she settled into a karate stance.

Carlos started to laugh, but it was cut short as she feinted to the left and then caught him full in the abdomen with a round-house kick. He hunched over, trying without success to draw a breath. She danced back, light on her feet. Carlos regarded her with narrowed eyes. Apparently, she wasn't quite as drunk as she let on. 

She rounded on the security guard. "You want some of this, old man? I've done karate, tae-bo, krav maga. Now give me that damned elevator key before I fuck you up!"

As her attention was diverted, Carlos lunged for her. Brushing aside her fist, he wrapped his arms around her and took her down, using his weight to pin her on her side. She squealed as she turned under him. She raked her nails down the side of his face, narrowly missing his eye. He caught her wrist. He was lying sprawled across her as she shrieked at the top of her voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a knot of people forming down the hallway. Keeping his back to them, he eased up off her and pulled her up off the floor. As she straightened up, spitting profanities at him, unseen by the onlookers he gave her a short, sharp poke in the solar plexus. 

The whole hotel went suddenly silent, it seemed, as the air whoofed out of her and her mouth made an O. 

His arms around her, Carlos drew her close and whispered in her ear. "Now we are going to walk out of here and you will behave yourself like a lady and not like some chola borracha or so help me God I will beat you black and blue, yes?" He dug his thumb into her arm just above the elbow and watched the pain light up her eyes. 

"All right, then." Turning her to face the people down the hall, he locked her hand in a come-along hold behind her back. He grabbed her purse with his other hand. 

"It is O.K. now. The lady fell down, but she is all right. Everything is all right now. You can go back to bed, please. We are sorry to be disturbing you." As he advanced on the small crowd they fell back against the walls to let them through.

When they were in the elevator going down to the ground floor, Carlos pushed the button to stop them between floors. He let go of her hand and turned her to face him. He tied up the strap of her cocktail dress and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She was breathing heavily and she gave off a sickly smell of booze with a tang of sweat and some very expensive perfume. There was still fire in her eyes, but she had calmed somewhat. She looked at him as if she was seeing him for the first time.

"Do I know you?" she asked, swaying slightly on her feet.

"We have not been introduced," he said in a gentle voice. "What is your name?"

"Me?"

"They did not tell me your name. Such a beautiful lady as yourself, I should be embarrassed to be saying, 'Hey you, lady. . .'"

"I'm Hailey."

"I am honored to make your acquaintance, Hailey," he said formally. "My name is Luiz Carlos Herrera Calderone." He held out his hand. "You can call me Carlos."

"You hit me," she said.

"I am sorry."

"You HIT me ON PURPOSE."

For a moment he thought she was going to attack him again as she glared at him through narrowed eyes. Carlos regarded her impassively, leaning in toward her. She shook her head and gave a brittle laugh, and then abruptly she was crying, the warm tears spilling down her cheeks. He put his arms around her and she rested her brow on his shoulder, hiccupping and sobbing. 

"I don't know why I did that," she said, the words spilling out of her in a rush. "Sometimes, I just get so angry, I don't know why I do those things, I get so angry and then I'm ashamed of myself. I work like hell to make him happy, you know, and then he just ignores me, or he talks to me without looking at me. He'll be watching some young girl go by and he won't even look at me. Do you know how hard I work at looking good? I go to the gym, I get my nails done and my hair done and go to the tanning salon and shopping for clothes. I even take singing lessons. Just so I'll look nice, you know. Why can't he look at me? I had my nose fixed and botox and collagen. I even had a G shot. That hurt! And then I see him ogling these teenagers and it just makes me feel so angry and old. He's got this young secretary down at the dealership he takes out to lunch, and I know they're up to something. I want to have a baby but I'm afraid that I'll get fat and he'll say I'm a pig and go off with somebody else 'cause he can be so damned hateful. I don't know why I got married. He was so nice to me before we got married. I'm sorry I took it out on you. . .?"

"Carlos."

"It's not you, Carlos, it's fucking Frank."

"Fuck Frank," Carlos agreed solemnly.

She giggled. "Yeah, fuck Frank."

"You want to get a cup of coffee with me, Hailey?"

She nodded, her eyes cast down. "I feel better now. I'm not so mad any more."

They crossed the lobby to the bar but the place was packed and the noise was tremendous. Carlos took her by the arm and drew her aside to the restaurant across the hall. The door was closed but there was a waitress still inside wiping down tables. Carlos rapped on the door. She came over shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, we're closed," she said through the door. She was a young Latina in a burgundy outfit cut low in the bodice with a short pleated skirt and a little white apron tied around her waist. Stray wisps of hair were hanging about her face from where it was knotted in a bun. She looked flustered and tired.

Carlos held a hundred dollar bill up to the glass. "We'd just like to have a cup of coffee."

She unlocked the door and cracked it open. "There's nobody here, sir. I'm just closing up."




A Little Yearning Ch. 11



"If you could stay for a while, I would be very grateful," he said, pressing the money into her hand. He looked at her closely. "You seem familiar to me. Do I know you?"

"I don't think so," she said, but then it came to her. She hadn't recognized him at first without the peaked hat and shades, but it was the limo driver. She'd talked to him out back of the Hamburger Hut with Katie the other day. "Well, the kitchen's closed but I guess I could find you some coffee. Come on, then." She locked the door behind them and led them to a booth with a wrap-around bench in the back near the kitchen out of sight of the entrance. "My name's Anita." The bass notes from the band across the hall were making the floor vibrate, but the restaurant felt peaceful with the lights dimmed.

Anita went back to the kitchen. Hailey took her purse from where Carlos had placed it on the table. As she opened it up, Carlos caught a glimpse of a small nickel-plated pistol. There was also a hip flask, a fat roll of bills and the usual jumble of cosmetics, brushes and bottles.

He reached over and picked up the small gun.

"Oh, that," she said. "Frank gave me that for protection. It's not loaded, though. You don't think I'd shoot somebody? I took the bullets out."

Carlos dropped the magazine and checked it was empty, then he racked the slide. He deftly caught the cartridge which ejected from the chamber, then slipped the gun back into her bag.

"Oh, my face is a mess," she said mournfully, dabbing at her eyes with a cotton ball. "Ouch!" She put her finger to her lips. The mirror of her compact was broken.

Anita had just come back with their coffee. "You just wait here, I'll take care of you," she said to Hailey. She went into the kitchen and came back with a hot washcloth and towel. She sat down beside Hailey on the bench. "Let me do that, honey," she said, gently wiping at her cheeks and brow with the washcloth and then patting it dry. "Boy, I'd hate to see what the other guy looks like."

Hailey shot a glance at Carlos. For the first time, Anita noticed the scratch marks on his cheek. "Oh," she said, "I'm sorry. Did I stick my foot in?"

Hailey laughed. "No, we're friends now, I guess."

"I'll just finished straightening up then. Call me if you need anything," Anita said, going back through the swinging door to the kitchen. 

Carlos took the chased silver hipflask from her purse. He unscrewed the top. Tequila, it smelled like. He poured a slug into his coffee. 

Hailey took a sip of her coffee. "Give me some of that," she said.

"This was full. What were you drinking before?"

"Martinis."

"You shouldn't mix them. You'll get sick."

She took the flask and poured a generous shot in her coffee. "I thought the idea was to get me to drink some coffee. Here, I'm drinking it, all right?" She sipped some and then made a face. "Must be an acquired taste." 

"It's not so bad," Carlos said, tasting his. "I am from Columbia. When I say this to Nortenos, they say to me, 'But the coffee in Columbia, it is famous. It must be much better down there, no?' But I tell them, 'No. All the good beans, they sell to the North. If want a good cup of Columbian coffee, you must come to U.S.A.'"

Hailey laughed. "Do you miss it, your home?"

He tugged at his collar to reveal the blurry blue tattoo on his neck. "I was in prison there. This is not a happy place."

"That's terrible. What did you do?"

Carlos regarded her for a long moment. Men didn't ask that question.

"You don't want to talk about it?" she asked, sliding a bit closer to him on the bench.

He shrugged. He pointed to the counter next to the swinging door that led to the kitchen where there was a jumble of accessories--mixing bowls, spoons, cutting boards, etc. "You see those big pepper grinders over there? In my country we call that a 'Rubirosa.' You have heard of Porfirio Rubirosa. no? A very famous man in Latin America. Lover, playboy, race car driver, diplomat, polo player. . . One day, he is driving his Ferrari in Paris. He has fifty-six years of age and has just married his fifth wife, a nineteen year old French movie actress. He run into a tree and kill himself. It is July 5, 1965. You wonder how I remember this date? That is easy, for that is the day I am born.

"Now, I don't believe in what they call reincarnation. I am a good Catholic. But sometimes I wonder, you know, because all my life I been like a poor man's Rubirosa. 

"As a boy, I grow up in the jungle. My father was a famous curandero. One day it happens that I am guiding Don Emilio and his guest, a foreign doctor, deep in the jungle. Don Emilio, he is a big man, very important; he is not the Presidente, no, but he rule what is like a small country down there with absolute power. Dr. de Rubempre, he is looking for medicine. They are attacked by a black cayman and their canoe, it capsizes. The guards, they dare not shoot. I jump in the water with my machete and save them." Carlos pulled up his sleeve to show her a ragged scar that wrapped around his left arm from his wrist to his elbow.

"Gosh," Hailey said, tracing the marks lightly with her fingertip. 

"After that, the Don love me like a son. He take me into his house and train me as a soldier. He make of me one of his bodyguards. Now, Don Emilio, he has a daughter younger than me, a very beautiful girl, Graciela. A good Catholic girl. We fall in love. This is very sad, of course. I am indio, you know, so I am not a suitable one for marriage to such as she. But we are young and foolish. We run away together. We have three days, three wonderful days. Then they find us. They bring us back. Don Emilio, his rage is terrible. He beat his daughter. And as to me, he use the whip." He unbuttoned his shirt to show her the ridges of white scar tissue crisscrossing his chest and shoulders. 

"Oh, my God," Hailey whispered softly, "You poor man." 

"They lock me up, but I escape into the jungle. For many days I am wandering, bleeding and heart-broken. I am thinking to kill myself, but I am found by some indians. They make me well again. But I cannot abandon Graciela. I sneak back; I try to see her one more time."

"That's so romantic," Hailey exclaimed, her breast pressed against the side of his arm. 

"No," he shook his head. "This is crazy. Again I am caught. This time, the big man, his anger has cooled. He say to me, 'I should kill you but I will not. That would be too kind for you.' So instead he invite me to her wedding. In handcuffs, I sit in the back between two guards, to watch her given in marriage. Then the Don throw me into prison to rot. You know, Rubirosa, he fall into the shit many times. He is arrested for murder, but released. He is caught cheating on El Flor de Oro, but Trujillo forgives him. He betrays his wives, but they shower money onto him. He fall into the shit, but he always come up smelling like a gardenia. Myself, I have not luck like this," he sighed.

Hailey listened raptly, her fingers idly playing over his chest. His skin was brown and hairless, his belly firm as a brass buddha. She scooted closer till her leg was pressed against him. He put his hand on her knee. "Did you ever see her again?"

Carlos shook his head. "She has five children now."

"That's so sad." She rested her head on his shoulder and he moved his hand up her leg. She parted her thighs and sighed as his fingers brushed her panties. For a while he did nothing more than rest them there. When he felt the warmth start to dampen, started to rub gently against the lips of her pussy. She smiled as he turned his head to kiss her, and as her lips parted and his tongue sought hers, he deftly pulled aside her panties and slid his finger deep inside her. Her hand slid down his belly to his pants and slipped inside his waist band. Her eyes flew open in surprise. "Oh, my goodness," she said, her eyes darting involuntarily across the room to the counter where the pepper mills stood in a row. She laughed. "Oh, I see."

"Do you know what I want you to do?" he asked.

There was a long pause while her hand softly explored inside his pants.

"Yes."

He looked at her.

She shook her head. "Oh, I'm a good girl. I couldn't do that." She grinned at him, her eyes glittering, her tongue showing between her parted lips. "But I bet you could make me."

When Anita finished cleaning the counters in the kitchen she took the coffee pot and went back to see if they wanted a refill. She had peeked out the porthole in the kitchen door at them occasionally, saw them talking, then his arm around the pretty woman as she snuggled closer to him. Strangely, at this she felt a little pang of jealousy. There was something about him that she found intriguing, even attractive, in spite of his formidable presence. She wondered at the twist of fate that had brought him here at this hour.

When she went back to the table, she didn't see the woman at first, and assumed she'd gone to the restroom. When she got closer, Anita saw she was sprawled across the bench, her head on his lap. He was leaning back, his arms spread, his eyes half-lidded.

"Oh," she said, taking a step back, embarrassed.

"It's O.K." he beckoned to her, "She passed out. I was just sitting here thinking about long ago."

"Would you like some more coffee?" she asked. She could hear the woman softly snoring.

"Please," he said, motioning for her to take a seat across the table. "You've been very kind. Will you take a drink with me?" He held up the flask.

"We're not allowed to drink. But technically, I'm off work now," Anita smiled. "Sure." 

He emptied the dregs out of the lady's cup into the saucer and poured her a couple fingers of tequila, then added some to his own cup.

"No," he laughed as she sipped at the potent liquor. "All at once. Like this." With a flip of the wrist, he tossed it back down his throat. "Is best with some limes and salt."

She knocked back the drink and then bent forward coughing. "Oh, that burns," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. It warmed her belly. It had been a long day and the buzz felt good.

"You know, when I first saw you at the door, I thought I knew you," Carlos said. "But now I realize it is because you look so much like someone I once knew," he said. "It is your mouth, but especially the eyes. She was someone very dear to me." Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his. "My name is Carlos."

"Carlos?"

"Yes. May I call you Graciela?" 

"Who's Graciela?"

"The most beautiful girl in the world."

She laughed. "Can I have another one?" she asked him.

Anita was on her third drink by the time Hailey suddenly woke up. They had been sitting talking about this and that--sports, the weather, nothing important--feeling comfortable with each other, when the pretty blond popped up off the bench.

She looked around wildly, her face pale, eyes darting back and forth, completely disoriented. "Wha. . . I don't feel so good."

"Uh-oh," Carlos said. "Where's the bathroom? I think she's gonna be sick."

Perhaps he shouldn't have said that, Anita thought afterward. Maybe it was the power of suggestion, but no sooner had the words left his mouth than the blond retched. She put her hand up in a futile gesture to hold it back but all that did was to redirect the vile torrent that came gushing from her mouth. It went everywhere. It spewed down the front of her designer dress, slopped onto on Carlos' shirt and lap and spattered across the table onto Anita's uniform. It was over in an instant, and then Hailey sank back onto the bench and began to cry.

"Shit! I am so fired!" Anita exclaimed, jumping up to dab ineffectually at her uniform with a napkin. "Just look at this mess! I've only been working here a week. I really need this job."

"It's O.K." Carlos shrugged imperturbably. He looked in his coffee cup and then pushed it aside. "It's all right, now, Hailey." He patted the blond on the shoulder. "You just stay right there." He turned to Anita and said. "I am sorry for this. I will take charge of it. Do not to be worried. You got cleaning stuff in the kitchen, right? Rags, a mop, bucket? I will clean up the mess. I am going to clean it up so good they will never know anything happened. I am much practiced in cleaning up messes, believe me. But I need you to take care of her," he nodded at Hailey. "Here's the key to my room. It's close. You take her there and get her cleaned up, all right? You too. Here," he peeled off a bunch of bills from Hailey's roll and handed them to her. "For your trouble." 

Anita wondered what it would take to rattle this guy. But she felt reassured. "O.K.," she nodded.

They got Hailey up off the bench. Anita used the small hand towel to brush off the worst of the mess right there. She gave Carlos her restaurant key and he let them out, locking the door after them. Taking Hailey's hand, she guided her across the lobby. They drew some stares but no one came over to them. Hailey had her eyes cast down, her mouth drawn tight. She was gripping Anita's hand like a life preserver. Fortunately, they were alone in the elevator to the first floor. Anita wrinkled her nose. In the close space they reeked. It wasn't far to Carlos' room.

Anita threw the key and Hailey's bag onto the dresser and led Hailey straight into the bathroom. After turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature, she sat Hailey down on the toilet seat and took off her shoes. She toed off her own soft-soled work shoes then pulled Hailey into the shower stall with her, fully dressed. They stood for a while, just letting the warm water cascade over them, washing the mess off their clothes and out of their hair. Hailey sighed and then started to laugh, turning under the spray, and then Anita did too. Things could be worse, she thought. At least she wasn't stuck cleaning up the mess.

"I think your dress is probably ruined," Anita ventured. "Dry clean only, I bet."

"I'm afraid I did that already," Hailey said. "Here," she said, turning her back to Anita, "Undo me."

Anita slid down the zipper and the tall blond pulled down her straps and wriggled out of the dress. It puddled about her feet and she kicked it into a corner of the shower stall. She turned to face Anita, shaking her hair under the jet of water and then pulling it back out of her face. She shucked off her panties and threw them on top of the dress. "That feels so much better," she said, throwing her head back to let the water splash onto her face.

Anita's rather strict upbringing had imbued her with a strong sense of modesty and she swallowed a little uncomfortably at the proximity of the flawless body. Hailey was one of those rare women who look even better without clothes than with them. The water streamed down between her full breasts and sheeted across her flat belly. Her pubes was shaved to a neat little landing strip. Her skin was an even brown without tan lines, almost as dark as Anita but a more crisp golden hue. The muscles rippled in her long legs as she shifted her stance. Her beauty was almost breathtaking for all that she wore it casually, almost carelessly. Without conscious thought, Anita reached out and touched her lightly on the arm. "You're so pretty," she said. "You should be a model."

"I tried that once. They said I wasn't skinny enough," Hailey made a moue.

"Well, I should let you get cleaned up," Anita put her hand on the door of the shower stall.

"Don't be silly. Let's get you out of that stinky frou-frou," Hailey said. She took Anita by the shoulders and turned her around and unzipped her, helping her off with the dress and then unhooking her bra. Anita felt exposed. Her mouth was dry and she had to stifle the impulse to cover her breasts, embarrassed to call attention to her strident nipples.

There was a bar of some kind of deodorant soap in the soap dish and Hailey rolled it between her hands and then started to lather Anita's back. She sighed as Hailey kneaded her shoulders, then gave a little shiver as the blond slid her hands up her sides under her arms, brushing the sides of breasts. "That tickles." 

Hailey slipped her fingers into the waistband of Anita's panties and pulled them down, soaping her butt with strong fingers. Anita's pussy gave a sharp pang as Hailey's fingers delved into her crack and she gave involuntary moan, covering it up with a laugh. She turned to face the blond, batting her eyelids in the spray, and took the soap from her and started to wash her shoulders. Tentatively, she brushed over Hailey's breasts, feeling the nipples engorge under her palms. Her hands were trembling as she smoothed down Hailey's sides and stroked her belly, then came back again to her breasts. She looked Hailey in the eyes. 

"That feels nice," Hailey said quietly, her voice just audible over the rush of water.

Anita slid her hands under Hailey's armpits and cupped her shoulder blades, pulling her closer. She was trembling all over now. "Hold me," she said, tilting her face up and standing on tiptoes to brush her lips against the blonde's. Hailey responded by sliding her hands down to cup Anita's butt and draw her closer. They kissed softly, lips and noses barely brushing against one another.

The water cascading over them seemed to get hotter as Anita pressed against her. She kissed her hungrily now, and her hand, seemingly of its own volition, slid down Hailey's side and across her belly to cup her pussy. Hailey caught Anita's wrist. "Wait," she said. Anita held her hand poised, feeling the heat soaking into her palm, the faintly stubbled skin of the blonde's shaved mons and the startlingly softness of her labia. The warm water trickled down between her fingers. She watched Hailey's face. Hailey had her eyes closed. Her brow was furrowed, her nostrils flared; her lips parted as she ran her tongue over them. Anita's pussy was throbbing as she ground it against Hailey's thigh.

Gradually, Hailey eased her grip on Anita's wrist. She leaned her head down till they were cheek to cheek. "I've never done this before," she whispered in her ear. She slid her hand down till it was cupped over Anita's. Anita started stroking her softly, easing the top of her palm away to let the water trickle down, gently probing with her fingertips. She could feel the lips swelling under her touch, the slit between them easing open as she worked her middle finger along it.

Hailey caught Anita's hand as she slipped her finger deep inside and held it still again. Anita could feel her heart thumping in her chest where their breasts nestled against one another. Hailey's ragged breath was warm in her ear. Holding Anita's hand locked in her grip, Hailey started to grind her pussy onto the stationary finger. "Oh my God." She turned her head and sought Anita's lips, pushing her tongue into the younger girl's mouth. Then she let go of Anita's hand and wrapped her arms around her, thrusting her pelvis forward and parting her thighs. Anita responded by pumping another finger into her, the rhythmic squishing now apparent over the white noise of the cascading water. 

Hailey was gasping for air, her whole body rigid as an iron bar, each stroke of Anita's fingers ringing through her like a hammer blow, vibrating from head to toe. "Oh, Anita," she murmured. "That feels so good. Don't stop. Please, just like that. Oh, there. Oh, God. Wait. I can't take it. Oh, no, don't stop. Like that. Oh my God. Wait. Oh, God. No. Go on. Faster. Oh, yes. Now. Don't stop. No, wait. You'll make me come. Stop. Please. Oh, no, don't stop. Oh, my God, Oh, no, ooooohhhh. . ."

As Anita's fingers whipped up a froth inside of her, Hailey gulped and moaned and finally gave a high shuddering cry and all the tension ran out of her and she sagged against the smaller girl. Anita held her hand still, her fingers still deep inside. Each time she tentatively moved her hand the big blond would give a little cry and her whole body would jerk, her over-excited pussy quivering on a knife edge between pleasure and pain.




A Little Yearning Ch. 11



Gradually Hailey's breathing returned to normal. Anita started to slide her fingers slowly out, but the blond gripped them with her internal muscles. "No, don't," she whispered. "Not yet." She looked Anita deep in her eyes, cupping her face in her hands. She bent to kiss her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, then her mouth, taking her time now, with no sense of urgency, her pussy sucking lazily at her fingers, sighing softly. Slowly she slid her hands down Anita's slick body and delved her fingers into Anita's pussy where it pressed against her thigh. 

Anita was close to climaxing already and she gasped as Hailey started probing at her slit, sliding her finger easily inside as deep as it would go then withdrawing it slowly to finger her aching clit. "You're so cute," Hailey said, driving her stiff finger into her with more force now. "I've never been with a woman before. It feels different. It makes me want to do things. You're so adorable. I wish I had a big cock to fuck you with. I'd put it in your mouth. Then I'd fuck your pussy with it till you screamed. I'd make you come over and over again. I want you so bad. Fuck me with your fingers again. My pussy is on fire. I'm going to make you come. Just like that. Please. Fuck me. Make me come too. Now."

Anita jerked uncontrollably as Hailey's fingers stabbed into her. She felt like she was falling. She hooked her fingers into the blonde's pussy and clutched desperately at her, crying out incoherently as they came together. 

For a while, then, they just held on, leaning into each other under the steaming water, Hailey panting, Anita sobbing with pleasure.

"Come on, let's get out," Hailey said with a little chuckle. "My legs are starting to wobble."

They dried each other off. Anita found them a couple bathrobes in the closet. She took two coat hangers and hung up their dresses on the side of the shower stall to drip dry. Leaving the wall-mounted space heater running in the bathroom, they went into the bedroom to talk. The room was simply furnished with Victorian era furniture: a queen-sized brass bed, a well-padded easy chair, a mirrored dresser and a small writing desk with a straight-back chair. Hailey went over the dresser and started to rummage in her purse. "Look at this," she said, noticing the framed picture which Carlos had left there. It was a casual shot, the colors faded with time, just three by five, of a young couple sitting at a beachside table in the shade of a cabana. He had his arm around her shoulders, looking rather serious, but she was beaming with a beautiful smile. It took a moment to realize that was Carlos, a skinny youth who looked like he hadn't had his first shave yet with tousled hair and liquid brown eyes. 

"That must be Graciela. He told me about her," Anita said. "He says I remind him of her."

"She must have been just about your age when the picture was taken," Hailey remarked. " And look at Carlos. Such a cute boy."

"It's sad what happened." Anita said, telling her the story. "Sort of like Romeo and Juliet, don't you think?"

"Come on," Hailey said, drawing her over to the bed. " I've got an idea."

She took her purse and dumped out the contents on the bedspread, picking out a selection of make-up bottles and containers and pencils and brushes. "First we'll do your hair," she said. "I'm going to make you up to look just like her." She started combing out Anita's hair with quick, expert strokes. 

"Did you go to beauty school?" Anita asked, laughing.

"Uh-huh, when I was younger. I worked in salon for a time, before I met Frank."

"That's what I'm doing, going to beauty school. I really like it. I go in the afternoon, and work here evenings. I'm on my second semester now. When you're done, can I do you?"

Hailey pulled her close and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She whispered in her ear. "You just did, twice. And I loved it!"

Anita blushed. "You know what I mean." She was a modest girl, and though she sometimes got carried away by her youthful yearnings and did things in the heat of the moment that she never would have even considered, given a minute's calm reflection, she still felt embarrassed to talk about it. 

When Hailey was done combing out her hair, she braided it in pigtails and tied them off with ribbon like the girl in the picture. Then she started applying some foundation to Anita's face. She used darker tones on her cheeks to make her face a little less rounded and along the side of her nose to make it appear more aquiline. A paler shade highlighted her brow and chin, then she brought out the cheekbones with some blush. She did her eyes next, light on the eye liner, lengthening the eyebrows, referring back to the picture which she had propped up on the end table. She penciled in the outlines of Anita's lips to conform to the rather fuller lips of the girl in the photo and found a lipstick to match. 

When she was done, she drew Anita over the mirror. 

"That's incredible!" Anita marveled, turning her face side to side. "It makes me feel like a movie star or something. You're really good at that, you know. I could learn a lot from you." 

They sat down again on the bed facing each other and Anita started to make up Hailey. Anita's hip was warm where it pressed against hers and Hailey closed her eyes, sighing at the feather-light touches on her face. 

"This isn't working," Anita complained. She wiped at Hailey's cheek with a cotton ball. "Here, turn this way."

Hailey put her hand on Anita's leg and nudged a little closer. She leaned forward a little, letting the front of her bathrobe gape open.

"I feel like I'm smearing finger paints on the Mona Lisa," Anita complained. "I'm not making you look any better. I'm just muddying up the water."

Hailey bent forward to kissed her. "You're so sweet." 

Anita laughed. "Stop. You're going to mess it up."

"You're such a doll," Hailey said. "This is really turning me on." She slid her hand up Anita's leg under her robe. 

Anita pushed it back. "Come on, now. That's not fair. Don't distract me."

Hailey was excited even more by Anita's reluctance. The normal give and take of men and women didn't often give her the opportunity to play the role of aggressor. She took hold of the belt to Anita's robe and cinched it tight. 

"What are you doing?" 

Hailey put her hands to lapels of Anita's bathrobe and jerked them back and down over her shoulders, exposing her breasts and trapping her arms at her sides. She bent to take a nipple in her mouth. 

Anita giggled, "Stop. It's too much, too soon."

"Have you ever been ravished? I'm going to ravish you."

"I bet you were really rough on your dolls when you were a kid, weren't you?"

Hailey turned up the bottom of Anita's robe and urged her thighs apart. Taking the hairbrush, she started lightly brushing through the short curly hair of her bush, lightly trailing the bristles across the light down that coated the sides of her mons. "Your pussy is so pretty. I can see it blushing." Turning the brush around she slid the handle up and down the moist lips, spreading them apart with the thumb and forefinger of her other hand. Anita had her eyes closed, biting her lip. Slowly Hailey pushed the handle inside her and started working it in and out. "You're so wet." 

Her clit was bulging up out of its hood like a little ripe cherry, a shiny, radioactive red. Hailey had never seen one so big. She bent down and took it in her mouth, rolling her tongue over it and then sucking on it hard. Anita bucked under her. Hailey's own pussy was burning as she ground herself against Anita's leg. She drove the handle into her faster, brushing the coarse bristles against her tender lips at the depth of each stroke. Anita started to shake. There was no long build up this time. They were going from zero to sixty in ten seconds flat.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY GRACIELA!?"

Hailey jerked her head around to see Carlos standing in the doorway. His shirt was spotted with perspiration and he swayed slightly as he stood with one hand on the doorjamb. His other hand held the collar of his coat and the empty hipflask. Dropping the flask and his coat to the floor, he crossed the room in three steps and picked Hailey up bodily with one arm around her waist and the other grabbing her hair at the nape of her neck. She cried out as she was half thrown, half-carried across the room and dumped face-down across the broad arms of the padded armchair. Gaping, Anita was still jerking like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

Hailey felt the cool air on her butt as her robe was thrown up over her head. Carlos started slapping her on one cheek then the other, saying, "You are a bad woman. SMACK. My little Graciela would never do such a thing. SMACK. You are nothing but a puta. SMACK And I will show you how putas are treated. SMACK." She heard him unzip his pants. He kneed her legs apart and her sopping pussy offered little resistance as he drove his massive cock into her with a single shove.

"AAAAYYYY," she yelled as he started fucking her, still slapping at her angry red butt.

"What are you doing?" Anita cried, clambering up off the bed. "Stop it. You're hurting her." She pushed at Carlos ineffectively. 

"She likes it," he hissed, humping her harder, bouncing Hailey's butt up off the chair. His cock wouldn't fit fully inside her and three inches of the thick shaft showed even at the depth of his stroke. "Don't you, puta?"

Hailey moaned.

"Stop it!" Anita whacked him on the brow with the hairbrush. "Stop it. I love her."

Carlos looked at her, dumbfounded, hurt in his eyes. His breath reeked of tequila. "Stop it," she repeated in a smaller voice. She reached down and closed her hand around the base of his cock. She could feel the big vein underneath throbbing against her fingertips.

"What are you doing? Don't stop. Oh God, don't stop now." Hailey sobbed.

Without breaking her gaze with Carlos, Anita slapped her hard on the butt with the hairbrush. "Shut up."

Like an expert rider who controls a horse only by the subtle pressure of her knees, without resorting to reins or bit, Anita used her soft touch to slowly back his cock out of Hailey's clinging pussy. She slid it up between the cheeks of Hailey's butt. Grasping it just behind the head, she pulled the foreskin back, watching the head swell and darken to a deep purple.

"I would do anything for you Graciela. You know that," Carlos said, the perspiration running in rivulets down his face. 

"Ssh." Anita stroked him. Her touch was light as smoke. Hailey bumped back against his balls, moaning. Anita slapped her butt again. "Be still."

A clear fluid was welling from the tip of his cock, running down the underside over her fingers. Quivering, it stood proud as an obelisk, monumental. "You oughta have a separate zip code for this thing," she murmured.

"I have never loved anyone else. I have always loved you."

"Is this what you call being faithful?"

Carlos looked abashed. "I'm sorry."

"Do you think you can behave like a gentleman?"

He nodded.

"If you want to play with us, you're going to have to play by the rules."

Carlos frowned. There were rules? 

Anita slid the head of his cock down the crack of Hailey's butt. She started brushing up and down the lips of Hailey's pussy, pausing to rub it in little circles around her clit. Hailey was grabbing at the base of the armchair with her hands, biting the fabric of the padded arm to stifle her moans. Anita started poking the head into Hailey's pussy and then withdrawing it. Gradually, she let more and more of the big cock inside. Then she pushed him back and withdrew it again. 

Hailey was throwing her butt into the air, waving it in circles, pleading, "Please don't tease me any more. I'm going to come. Make me come now, Anita, please. I'm so close." 

Anita stepped around behind him. She reached around and unbuttoned Carlos' shirt and drew it down off his shoulders. She loosened her belt and opened her robe. Carlos could feel her nipples grazing his back as she pressed up against him. It sent shivers up his spine and raised the hair on the nape of his neck. He reached back to touch her. He could feel the crisp matt of her bush and lower down she was wet and warm. "Now your other hand," she said. He was rubbing both hands up her legs and softly across her pussy. He felt her wind the belt from her robe around his wrists and knot it.

"What are you doing?"

"My rules," she said, coming around to stand beside him. 

Carlos could have broken loose the cord, but he didn't try. He wanted to see what Graciela would do next. 

"I could make you come," she said, taking him again in her hand. "But if I did that you'd call me a puta wouldn't you?" She pouted. He groaned in frustration as she toyed with him. "You were mean to Hailey. Now you're going to make it up to her. I want you to lick her pussy. Have you ever eaten the pussy of a puta?" She pushed him to his knees. "Isn't she beautiful? Look at her." Anita straddled Hailey's butt and reached down to spread her cheeks wide. "Go on."

Carlos leaned forward and thrust his tongue roughly into Hailey's pussy.

"No," Anita said, grabbing him by the hair. "Not like that. Softly. Make love to her."

He started nibbling tentatively at her lips, running his tongue lightly up and down her pussy. Hailey bucked. "Oh, that's right. Please. Oh, God, that's it, right there. Oh, I can't stand it any more." With a grunt she thrust back at him, impaling herself on his tongue and started to come. Carlos kept his mouth pressed to her as she spasmed. As he felt the tension go out of her, he surged to his feet. His desperate cock homed in on her gaping lips, and he thrust it into her in one swift push and started fucking her with short impatient strokes.

Perched onto top of Hailey's butt, Anita was fingering her pussy with her left hand. With her other she reached up to grab Carlos by the hair. She bent his head down and put her lips up to his ear. "Yes, now," she breathed, and thrust her tongue into his ear. Her breasts rubbed across his chest as his eyes rolled up in his head and his spine arched and he threw his head back with a guttural shout and shot again and again into Hailey's pussy.

Spent, Carlos staggered back a couple steps and sat down on the desk chair, his ribcage heaving like a bellows. Anita slid down off Hailey's butt and came over to sit in his lap, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head on his shoulder.

Cupping her hand to her tender pussy, Hailey went into the bathroom. 

"O.K. you untie me now?"

"Why? Are you worn out?"

"No," Carlos assured her steadfastly.

"Well, let's just see then." She wriggled her butt, shifting around so she was facing away from him, and parted her legs to reach down for his cock. She drew it up, trapping it between her legs. Even limp and drained as it was, a good five inches lay across her lap. Anita cradled it in her palm while running her fingertips lightly over it.

Hailey came back with a bath towel wrapped around her breasts. 

"Come here," Anita said. She tugged on the towel. Hailey bent down to kiss her.

"Look what I've got," Anita smiled, stroking the member which now jerked in her hand. She squirmed on Carlos lap, rubbing her pussy on the thickening shaft that jutted up between her legs. "You want to play with my big cock?" 

Hailey pushed Anita back onto Carlos' chest and covered her breasts with little love bites, sucking on her nipples till they swelled erect. She tickled her belly with her tongue. Then she was on her knees in front of them. Urging Anita's legs apart, she took hold of Carlos cock. She kissed up and down the slick shaft and then slid her lips around the swelling knob, sucking hard on it. Anita tensed her thighs, pushing back and up against Carlos and Hailey started teasing her pussy with the head of his cock. When Anita couldn't take any more, she settled gingerly down onto it, opening herself up. 

"Oh, Graciela," he sighed, kissing her neck.

Planting her feet on the floor and spreading her legs wide, Anita rode slowly up and down on his cock. Hailey had one hand spread on her belly, the other wrapped around the base of the rigid member. Anita reached back to pull Carlos' head closer with one hand and he nibbled on her ear; with the other she reached down and pulled Hailey to her. She shuddered as Hailey's tongue rasped across her clit and she started to come. As her legs trembled and then went weak her weight drove his massive cock even deeper inside her. She felt like he was splitting her right up the middle and she went off like a string of firecrackers. The warm juice was running down her thighs and onto his balls as she slapped onto his lap. Carlos put his hand over her mouth and she realized she'd been screaming. She bit down hard on his finger. The taste was electric.

Afterward, Carlos sat on the side of the bed while Anita got dressed in the bathroom. The covers were strewn across the floor and Hailey was sprawled out on the rumpled sheets, her legs akimbo. "Hey," she said, nudging him with her knee. When he looked at her, she yawned, covering her mouth, then ran her hand down her body, brushing over her nipples and the long flat muscles of her stomach to rub absently at her pussy. She arched an eyebrow at him. "Why so glum?"

He frowned at her. Now that his head had stopped spinning, he found her insouciant display unsettling somehow. He was embarrassed by his actions as well. Carlos was not given to self-analysis. He accepted things as he found them, and himself as he was. He had done terrible things in his life. He had murdered men--and worse. But they were all in the service of his Patron, and afterward he had felt little if any guilt. This was different, and Hailey's evident lack of remorse, the glow of her nakedness as she stretched languidly, the sated half-smile on her lips, made him feel a little queasy. All this struck him as wrong somehow and he was finding it difficult to view things with his accustomed bemused detachment. He found himself annoyed at her and irritated with himself. So he hunched his shoulders and looked away, not answering her.

Anita came out the bathroom wiping futilely at the wrinkles on the bodice of her damp uniform. She balanced on one foot as she slipped on her soft-soled shoes. "I've got to get going. I've got an early class tomorrow."

"I'll walk you out," Carlos said. 

He got up and went into the bathroom. He took Hailey's dress and tossed it onto the foot of the bed. "Get dressed," he told the big blond, "and I'll take you home."

"Do I hafta?" she pouted.

Walking across the lobby, Anita slipped her hand into his big paw and gave it a squeeze as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and Carlos felt completely disarmed. He wished now that he could start all over with her. It felt like they had gone at it backwards. Her cool touch made him feel like a teenager giddy with expectation, but at the same time he felt so old, like he was looking down at her across a gulf of years that could never be bridged. He was not used to dealing with emotions. They were a weakness he was trained to avoid, and now he felt as unbalanced as a boat taking on water as they welled up unbidden from some unseen rift. 

Her car was parked out back. She rummaged in her purse for her keys. "See you, then," she flashed a smile at him, her eyes darting to his and then away, her teeth white in the dim light. 

"I am feeling embarrassed," he said, reaching out to touch her gently on the forearm. "Usually, I don't drink. The boss says I do not handle it well." He looked down. "I hope I did not to offend you."

Anita tossed her head, swinging her dark mane of hair back over her shoulder. She looked aside as she said, "I could make a whole list of 'Don't Usuallys' myself. It's late. We'll both see things clearer in the morning."