3 comments/ 3266 views/ 1 favorites Velour Couch By: JimBob44 *Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age. ***** The sectional furniture was a contemporary rectangular design. Square cushions continued the sharp angular appearance of the one loveseat, chair, and longer couch. It came complete with square ottoman; actually a cube on wheels. "That is the ugliest fucking thing I've ever seen," Grant Johnson said to his father as the men unloaded it. Brett looked at the sectional furniture and had to agree. The material was blue velour, a simulated suede. It was too dark a blue to be called 'Sky Blue' and too light to be called 'Royal Blue.' "Oh well, some little n*gger will love it," Grant said, unmindful of the two large black men that sweated unloading the large truck. The furniture was placed toward the center of Johnson's Furniture and Appliances, modelled with squat ball shaped lamps to break the stark lines. The modeling must have worked; it was leased to a young married couple less than a month after Johnson Furniture and Appliances took delivery of it. The couple was not African-American, as the younger Johnson had surmised, though. They were, however, far too young to be married; he was nineteen and she had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday when they tied the knot. Johnson's delivery crew carried the pieces up to the third floor apartment and arranged it the way Michelle directed them, in an 'L' fashion. Neither man told the horse faced girl that the furniture was simply too large for such a cramped space. "Man, how much you want to bet we be back for that shit before three month up, huh?" one of the men said as they wheeled their hand trucks down the stairs. "How much you want to bet they miss the first payment?" the other man agreed. "Girl didn't even have the sense put her on some drawers," the first man said. "That's just nasty, pussy all hanging out and shit." "Yeah, but we know she a real blonde, huh?" the second man laughed. FIRST HOME Sammy and Michelle christened the couch as soon as he walked into the apartment. His Domino's Pizza hat was thrown onto the loveseat wing and they lay on the couch section, humping and grunting and groaning happily. Giggling like naughty schoolchildren, they sat, nude on their new couch and ate the slightly burnt pizza he'd brought home from work. Then they again humped and thrust and groaned on the couch again. The following morning, after Sammy had tripped, yet again, over the ottoman, the ottoman was moved into the bedroom The chair, they both happily observed, was perfect for her to curl up on while sucking his cock. The loveseat, when abutted with the chair, was just the right length for Sammy to stretch out on while Michelle sucked him off to a quick climax. The couch and loveseat were far enough apart for Sammy and Michelle to sit and sulk after their first argument. He sat on the far edge of the loveseat and she sat on the far edge of the couch, neither one speaking, neither one budging. Finally, silently, he got up and went to bed. It was the first time that they did not have sex. Three years later, if you asked Sammy what they had been arguing about, he could not tell you. The second day, both believing that they were right, they were the injured party, Sammy and Michelle continued the silent treatment. The third day, Sammy had decided, enough was enough. He was going to put his foot down, she was going to apologize, they would fuck and all would be forgiven. He stormed up the stairs to the third floor apartment and shoved the door open. "Oh God yes, fuck me!" Michelle screamed as Roberto grunted, groaned, and thrust his hard cock into her blonde muff. "What the fuck?" Sammy screamed. Roberto looked over his shoulder then smirked at the scrawny boy. He did not stop thrusting himself into Michelle. "Hi Honey, this is my new boyfriend," Michelle said calmly. "Listen, go wait in the bedroom until we're done, okay?" "You heard her, pussy," Roberto said when the stunned, sickened Sammy did not move. "And close that door, huh? Ain't everybody got to see my ass." Sammy did not close the door, but he did storm into the bedroom. Aw, shit no, nuh uh," Roberto said as he heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun shell being chambered. Michelle was deafened by the roar of the twelve gauge shotgun and did not react when she felt warm stickiness splatter onto her face and chest. She did not hear the second shell being chambered; she was too busy trying to move the heavy weight of Roberto as he lay on top of her, crushing her. A neighbor called 911; the police responded and found Sammy sitting on the loveseat portion, not looking at the torn bodies on the bloodied and shredded couch. He offered no resistance as the officer pulled him to his feet, read him his rights and handcuffed him. The couch was destroyed. Even if the blood and tide could have been cleaned out of the velour and the foam rubber cushions, the material was shredded by the buckshot; the springs on the abutment end were visible. The chair had a fleck of Roberto's blood imbedded in the fibers. He had been an unemployed high school dropout that had seen an unattractive blonde girl and smiled when she smiled at him. Unattractive or not, she offered him some pussy, even though she was wearing a cheap wedding ring. Unattractive or not, married or not, pussy was pussy, and pussy felt good. Unattractive or not, married or not, she liked to fuck, liked to fuck loud and hard. Her husband was a real pussy. He came in and saw his wife fucking another man and did not even try to kick Roberto's ass. One look at the little pussy told Roberto he could easily handle her husband. So he taunted the man. And when his wife ordered him to go into the bedroom while they continued to fuck, her husband did exactly that. The blood cell imbedded in the fibers remembered the shock and the sick realization that her husband wasn't the spineless pussy Roberto had assumed him to be. The ottoman had only some sweat from Sammy's shin in its fibers, only memories of an "Ouch! Damn it!" The chair had some of Michelle's vaginal secretions; she had loved sucking her husband's cock, had loved satisfying him, bringing him pleasure. The loveseat had some of Michelle's vaginal secretions imbedded in the fibers, along with some of Sammy's semen smashed down into the foam rubber of the cushions. They'd sat on it, nude, munching on microwave popcorn, watching the 'Creature Feature' playing on Channel 26. Half of a sectional was of no use to Johnson's Furniture And Appliances; Brett just wrote it all off as a loss, quadrupled its value for insurance and tax purposes, and moved on to the next ugly, overpriced sale. SECOND HOME Sammy and Michelle's bed went to Sammy's cousin Josh; he was moving out of the college dorm and into his first apartment. His roommate already had a futon and a dining room set so they didn't take the loveseat, chair, and ottoman or the table and chairs from the apartment. They did, however, take the filthy microwave, gave it a barely adequate cleaning, and used it for popcorn. The loveseat and chair, when abutted to each other, formed a full couch and Nicole, Michelle's older sister acquired the three pieces for her trailer. The nearly three hundred pound Nicole lumbered into the room, threw the two pillows and small blanket onto the furniture and then flopped down. Her heavy heel slapped into the couch and Nicole discovered something that Brett Johnson, and Sammy and Michelle did not; the loveseat had a long drawer. Nicole pulled it open, shrugged upon discovering that it was empty, and slid it closed again. "But I can put..." she said aloud and hefted her bulk out of the seat. She checked that the blinds were fully closed, tilted up to prevent prying eyes, and waddled into her bedroom. In the bedroom she checked that the blinds, which by now were stuck shut by layers of dust, were still shut, reached up into her closet, and pulled down three long latex dildos. The 12" black dildo was palmed, held flat against her hip as she waddled back into the living room then dropped into the loveseat's drawer, which was shut quickly. After darkness fell, and the only light in the Livingroom was from the 21 inch television, Nicole reached into the drawer, shut it again, checked that the trailer's door was securely locked, and then opened the drawer again. His name was Jermaine, and instead of being disgusted by her bulk, turned off by her lumps of fat, he was extremely turned on. He was six feet, three inches of ebony muscles and he roughly shoved her sweat pants and full briefs down and jammed his twelve inches of hard black cock into her hairy twat. "Oh, God!" Nicole cried out as 'Jermaine' roughly fucked her, her sweat pants and panties bunched up around her ankles. "Aw yeah, aw yeah, you one hot piece of ass; you ain't nothing but a ho, huh? You my bitch? You my ho?" Jermaine grunted as he fucked her. "Augh!" Nicole cried out as she shook in orgasm. "Clean my cock, better clean my cock good, bitch, know what I'm saying?" Jermaine ordered as he stuffed his cock into Nicole's mouth. Satisfied, and embarrassed, Nicole dropped Jermain back into the drawer and pulled her pants and panties back up. Her slimy pussy rubbed against the velour material of the cushion, imbedding some of her wetness into the foam rubber. The next day, after Nicole returned from her job at Speedier Oil Change, where she was a cashier, she microwaved herself a frozen dinner and ate on the couch while watching the evening news. As soon as darkness began, Jermaine came out, and again ordered her to fuck him, ordered her to suck him clean and then he quietly, passively went back into his hiding place. Nicole felt shame and revulsion as she undressed to shower, cursing her rolls of fat. In time, Jermaine was joined by his brother, Ramone. Ramone was abusive, vulgar, demanded that Nicole get him good and slick with her pussy juices, and then he would brutally force himself into her bowels while Jermaine roughly pounded her pussy. Nicole used some spray carpet cleaner to clean the tracks Ramone's filthy cock had left on the blue velour. The frenzied scrubbing motions imbedded more of herself into the foam cushion. And Ramone demanded her backdoor almost as often as his brother demanded her hairy pussy. And Nicole would sob in shame; she was very lonely. A few of the tears dripped into the cushion on the armrest of the loveseat and Nicole's loneliness and shame became part of the couch's memory. Her mother took an old laptop from work and gave it to Nicole; the ottoman became used to the warmth of the device while Nicole surfed the Internet. She found a dating site that specialized in BBW, Big Beautiful Women and scarcely believed her luck when some responded to her post. Gary really wasn't attracted to Big Beautiful Women. In fact, the misogynist held all women in contempt. But he found that BBWs were generally willing to overlook his boorish behavior and were usually more willing to give up the pussy. His attitude was 'Why spend a hundred bucks on a prostitute when a fat bitch will give it up for a ten dollar bucket of chicken?' He was handsome; with long brown hair he kept tied back, bulging muscles and a sweet smile. Manny's Mexican restaurant cost Gary twenty nine dollars and a few well used lies and the velour loveseat and chair got some new memories. Nicole gave the first blow job she'd ever given and some of Gary's semen dribbled off of her chin, seeping into the plush material. Gary smiled triumphantly as he alternated between plunging his cock into her slimy pussy and her stretched anus. Then he got into his pickup truck, and instead of driving to the University of Louisiana at DeGarde, where he told Nicole he was a student, he drove back to Houston Texas to the small apartment he shared with his wife and their three small sons. To silence his wife's bitter complaints, he gave her the two hundred and nine dollars he'd stolen from Nicole's purse, claiming he'd been on a job. Because her periods were always so irregular, it was nearly four months before Nicole discovered she was pregnant. The day after she discovered her pregnancy, Nicole was eating some fried chicken and a small section of bone lodged in her throat. She gasped and wheezed, she pounded on her chest, and she even reached her fingers into her mouth, trying to get at the bone. With a groan, she lurched to her feet, hoping to stagger out of the trailer. Hopefully a neighbor would see her distress and help her. She tripped over the ottoman and crashed to the floor and expired, her spittle seeping into the fluorescent green shag carpet of her living room When the normally quite dependable Nicole did not show up for her morning shift and did not answer repeated calls to her telephone, her boss called Nicole's mother. After the funeral, Derek, Nicole's cousin, agreed to take the loveseat, chair, and ottoman, along with the four bookcases and all of Nicole's beloved books. Third Home The one bedroom apartment housed three nineteen year old males; two slept in the full sized bed and the third, Derek, slept on the living room floor. He was very grateful to get the loveseat and chair that could be jammed together to form one long couch that he could sleep on. One of the three males was attending college, but he too was on the brink of flunking out, just as Derek and the third male had done. None of them worked; living off of their parents and making promises of returning to school, of studying more, of applying themselves. Derek met Doug outside of Jumpers and spent twenty dollars, the last money his mother said she would give him until she saw some signs of Derek actually trying to apply himself, on a few scraggly joints. The two sat in Doug's battered Pontiac and smoked both joints, and then the twenty nine year old Doug spotted Derek a few more. After Doug bought a case of cheap beer, they returned to Derek's apartment and smoked both joints and drank most of the case of beer. "Man, got to drop a major deuce," Derek said and Doug laughed. While Derek was in the bathroom, the front door opened. "Who the fuck are you?" one of Derek's roommates asked as he entered the apartment. "Fuck you, punk ass bitch," Doug sneered, flexing his massive biceps. "Turn your ass around, come back in and ask me nicely. "What? Fuck you, bitch, this is my apartment," the youth said. Doug slammed his fist into the boy's stomach, and then pushed him out of the apartment, slamming the door shut. "Thought I heard Marvin come in," Derek said, coming out of the bathroom. "Don't know," Doug shrugged. Marvin did come back in after he'd caught his breath. Within a week of meeting Doug, it was just Doug and Derek in the apartment; the other two had endured all they would take of Doug's loud, abusive personality and physical abuse and threats of physical abuse. Because Doug was supplying Derek with lots of marijuana, alcohol, and the occasional pill or two, Derek saw none of Doug's abusive behavior. He sided with Doug against his former roommates and friends. Derek thought, now that Marvin and Chris were no longer living there, he would take the bed and Doug would take the couch, instead of the two of them crammed together on the couch. "Nuh uh, fuck that," Doug snapped. "What?" Derek laughed, uncomfortable. "Fuck that, come here," Doug ordered. "What?" Derek said, approaching slowly. "Bitch, I fucking said 'come here' little cocksucker," Doug snarled and grabbed Derek by a handful of his hair. Derek struggled as Doug stuffed his fat tongue, which tasted of beef jerky and marijuana into Derek's mouth. He whined in protest as Doug roughly twisted his nipples. "We been fine right here, on the fucking couch; we're staying on the fucking couch, hear?" Doug demanded. "Dude, man, I'm not gay," Derek sobbed. Doug punched the nineteen year old boy in the face, knocking him unconscious. "Ever fucking make me hit you again, hear?" Doug sobbed into Derek's ear as he held the boy tightly. Derek came to, lying on the couch, Doug entwined around him. "Hey, go on, get my dick good and wet, huh?" Doug crooned into Derek's ear. "Fuck, man, come on, huh?" Derek whined. "Fuck! I'm not gay, huh? I mean, shit! It was fine, you and me, when there wasn't no room, but..." "You going make me hit you again?" Doug asked, voice rising in anger. "Huh? You going make me do that? Who the fuck said anything about being gay, bitch?" Derek protested when Doug pulled his oversized tee shirt off and again began playing with his sore nipples. A very savage slap to Derek's face stilled Derek's protests. "That's it, come on, baby," Doug crooned as he worked his fat cock out of his filthy jeans. "Come on; kiss my cock, all right? Get it nice and wet, huh?" Derek sobbed in shame and fear as he did put his mouth over Doug's cock. "Aw, oh shit, aw man, fuck!" Doug protested as he grabbed the back of Derek's head and forced more of his cock into Derek's mouth. Derek struggled mightily as he felt his mouth fill with Doug's semen "Better fucking swallow it, bitch, better fucking swallow every fucking drop I give you, hear?" Doug threatened and Derek fought against vomiting as he did swallow the bitter tasting fluid. "Aw man, oh that was good; you suck cock before?" Doug gasped, finally releasing Derek's head from his tight grasp. "No," Derek sobbed. Doug again stuffed his smelly tongue into Derek's mouth, kissing him hotly, passionately. "Mmph!" Derek protested into Doug's mouth as he felt his gym shorts being pushed down. "Aw, you all hard for me, huh?" Doug chuckled as he played with Derek's four inch erection. "No," Derek sobbed in denial even as he humped his cock against Doug's rough ministrations. Doug spit on his fingers and Derek howled out when Doug jammed his wet fingers roughly into Derek's rectum. "Shh, shh, more you fight it more it hurts," Doug counseled, again thrusting his tongue into Derek's mouth. "No! Don't!" Derek screamed out as Doug twisted him around until his back was against Doug's muscular chest. "Told you, bitch," Doug growled angrily into Derek's ear. "Fucking fight it, it's going to hurt like a mother fucker." Lying down on the now damp, warm velour couch, Derek started to scream as Doug's cockhead pressed against his tightly clenched rectum. Doug firmly put his hand over Derek's mouth as he forced his cock into the struggling boy's ass. Derek struggled mightily as he felt Doug's zipper rasp against his quite sore anus. "No, oh God, please stop," he begged against Doug's hand. "God damn your pussy's so fucking tight," Doug groaned into Derek's ear, then he licked Derek's ear. Derek lost consciousness; Doug's hand was firmly over his mouth and nostrils and he couldn't breathe. He came to and sobbed in shame as he spurted his own semen onto the couch cushion. His sobbing continued as he felt Doug stiffen, then warmth spread all through his sore rectum. When Doug pulled his cock from Derek's ass, Derek ran into the bathroom and threw up into the filthy bathtub. He then plopped down on the disgusting commode and grunted and groaned and sobbed as he tried to defecate. Finally, he staggered out. Doug was sitting on the couch, fully dressed, holding a belt. "Come here," he ordered. Derek sat on the couch, fighting hard to keep his anus clenched tight. He could still feel Doug's semen trickling out, staining the already quite stained velour. Doug tightened the belt around Derek's bicep and Derek watched in fascination as a few of his veins began to swell to the surface of his skin. Velour Couch "Wait, what, I never..." Derek protested as Doug produced a syringe. When he woke up, Doug was sucking his cock and Derek giggled. Doug wiggled up and sucked on Derek's still quite sore nipples; then again thrust his tongue into Derek's mouth. Derek felt Doug's cock bump against his very sore rectum and wiggled. "Aw yeah, can't wait get my cock back in that pussy, huh?" Doug chuckled, mistaking Derek's motions for excitement. Derek grunted in pain as Doug sat up and thrust his dry cock into Derek's sticky anus. He sobbed in shame as he realized, he was being taken like a girl. More tears of shame poured as he ejaculated onto Doug's belly. When Doug finally did ejaculate into Derek's bowels, he used Derek's hair to pull Derek up into a sitting position. "Got your pecker juice all over me, bitch," Doug snapped. "Better clean that shit up." Still holding onto Derek's hair, Doug forced Derek's face close to his belly. "Aw yeah," Doug chuckled as Derek used his mouth to lick Doug's belly clean. Less than ten hours later, stomach cramping horribly, Derek begged Doug for another injection. Doug made Derek tongue his sweaty scrotum and soiled anus, then suck his cock before he fixed Derek up. Then he fucked Derek hard. Derek's mother refused to give her son any more money and the two and three hundred dollar sales of drugs Doug managed to score wasn't enough to keep both men in heroin daily and pay the rent. An infuriated Doug stared at the Eviction Notice taped to the apartment door, kicked the door in rather than check to see if his key still worked in the lock, and beat Derek mercilessly. Derek died on the couch, died of a subdural hematoma while a contrite Doug hugged him and fucked him, sobbing his apologies. It would take the landlord three weeks to clean the filth out of the apartment. The furniture, rotted food, clothing all went into the large dumpster behind the building. An enterprising young lady retrieved much of those items. The clothing and the books were sold to a consignment shop; Derek's mother had given him many nice sweaters as well as a nice suit. The cookware needed to be cleaned, but Carrie did manage to get the Paul Revere cookware looking almost new. The loveseat, chair, and ottoman, she surmised, needed a serious steam cleaning; she thought it might be blue in color, but wasn't really sure. The landlord did try to shampoo the carpet, but finally had to concede defeat and tear out the old carpet. Finally, when the paint dried, he replaced the door and rented it to an older, seriously overweight woman and her yapping toy poodle. Fourth Home Carrie carefully pulled the material off of the foam rubber and cleaned the cushions with a solution of vinegar and water. Much of Derek and Doug's skin cells, seminal fluids, sweat and saliva were sponged away, leaving only a trace amount of the two unfortunate men. Nicole's traces had been forced into the core of the cushions where her existence lies dormant with Sammy and Michelle's biological material. The warmth of the sun baked the cushions; Carrie was a firm believer that there was nothing more soothing and wholesome than Nature herself. Careful scrubbing of the velour material did remove a good amount of the stains and did restore the couch to its original garish blue color. The bold color, however, went very well with Carrie's 'shabby chic' washed out and well-worn white oak furniture. "Oh, hey! Nice couch!" Stacy, Carrie's friend said as she entered her friend's apartment. "Been dumpster diving again, huh?" "Shut up, Stacy; you just said it was nice," Carrie defended. "Knew it," Stacy said smugly. "Shut up Stacy; not all of us have a Baby Daddy helping out with the bills," Carrie snapped. "Ooh, defensive," Stacy teased, rubbing Carrie's swelling belly. "Somebody getting a little cranky?" "Quit," Carrie giggled, pushing Stacy's hand away. "I swear to God, though, I cannot wait to drop this puppy," Stacy said and settled on the chair portion of the new couch. "Oh hey, this is nice." "See?" Carrie said and sat at the opposite end, on the loveseat portion. "And I swear to God; I knew how horny Frank gets around pregnant women? I'd have told him 'fuck you, Frank; you have the baby.' God! Minute I walk in he's all over me," Stacy complained happily. "Uh huh, bitch," Carrie said. "Jack? He's all like 'shit girl, that ain't mine we done used them condoms, know what I'm saying,' and I'm like, 'Yo yo, home boy, you all white, know what I'm saying? Fucking talk English, huh?' Just fucking man up; it's your baby, bitch." The two watched 'The Bachelor' and both complained when their favorite contestant was removed from the show. In between commenting on the show, gossip about friends and former classmates and complaining about their eternal pregnancies, the two nibbled on an endless supply of carrot sticks and celery sticks which they dipped into a variety of sauces. "I can't stand this honey mustard shit; why you keep making it?" Stacy complained. "Because you keep eating all the ranch, dill, and ginger shit I make," Carrie said. After their show ended, Stacy true to form, did not help clean up; just left to walk up to the third floor of the apartment building. Carrie sighed heavily as she lay back on the couch. She and Stacy were best friends, had been best friends since their first day of kindergarten. Carrie knew, however, that their friendship would come to a screeching halt if Stacy ever found out that the baby she was carrying was most likely Frank's baby. And she knew that Stacy's complaint about Frank's attraction to pregnant women was true; Stacy went to her job at St. Elizabeth Parish Courthouse, leaving their complex at eight and at eight oh five, Frank was in Carrie's apartment, seeing to Carrie's physical needs. Then, balls fully drained from Stacy's morning blow job and Carrie's shaved pussy, Frank would go to his job at Huvall's Texaco. If he gave an iota of thought to the guilt Carrie was carrying, if Frank gave an iota of thought to how upset Stacy would be, he did not show it. After showering the illicit love off of her skin (Frank seemed to delight in pulling out to ejaculate onto her swollen belly) Carrie dressed and walked briskly to her part time job at Annie's Floral Designs, pulling her two wheeled cart behind her. Along the way, she kept her eyes open for any scraps and refuse that could be garnered, could be converted to cash. By the time Carrie arrived at the back door of the florist, her little cart held several aluminum cans. Gabriel Florez, Lily's husband, had made a can flattener for Carrie, made it out of two pieces of two by four attached by a hinge. While Carrie waited for Lily Florez to come open the shop, she busied herself with flattening the cans so they'd fit more compactly into her cart. Lily smiled at the pregnant girl as she swung open the rear door of the shop. She did wish she could give Carrie more hours, but was dangerously close to having to let the enterprising. Young woman go. Between herself and their delivery driver, there was hardly any income left to pay Carrie the meager salary she did pay her. "Look at you," Lily mock complained. "I swear, you sure you're six months? Looks more like two." "Liar," Carrie laughed. "I look like I'm about to pop!" After her four hour shift ended, Kamau, the delivery driver drove Carrie home and waited while she gathered up the other bags of crushed aluminum cans. Then he drove her to Siegel Recycling and smiled as the woman happily bounded back into the van. "I had forty three bucks worth of cans!" she announced happily. Lily had told Kamau, since she couldn't really afford to give the pregnant girl any more money; he was authorized to use the store's van to help the girl whenever possible. "Wish my old lady would learn how to do that shit, like it'd kill her to help out a little, huh?" Kamau said genially as he dropped Carrie and her cart back off at her apartment. Carrie pulled her cart up to the second floor. Just as she passed Apartment two A, the door opened and Carrie did not hide her groan. "H-h-h-hi," Brennan stammered. Carrie ignored the thirty three year old man as she stopped in front of Apartment Two C. "L-l-l-listen, I kn-n-n-know you th-th-th-think I'm just th-th-th-this wee-wee-wee-weirdo, b-b-b-but I'm just t-t-t-t-trying t-t-t-to s-s-s-say h-h-h-hi t-t-t-to you," Brennan managed to stutter before Carrie could slam the door shut. He sighed when the door did slam shut and cursed his damned speech impediment. Slowly, he closed his own door and returned to his job of writing. He wrote technical manuals, and knowing how to write and read Spanish and French was a definite plus. But he found it hard to concentrate on the battery powered children's scooter he was writing the manual for. The girl was pretty. True, she was probably too young for him; he was thirty three and she didn't look any older than twenty, twenty one at the most. But Brennan was very lonely; it would be nice to have someone to share a cup of coffee with every now and then. Carrie flopped down on her couch and felt absolutely horrible. Yes, the man was strange, odd, annoying. The almost daily greeting as she pulled her squeaking cart past his door was also a little creepy. And, until Stacy decided to come down, or Frank decided to chance coming down for a quick fuck and suck, she had absolutely nothing to do but watch television. She was too frugal to buy more than basic cable, so she only received local stations. Which meant, there really wasn't much to watch. "Wonder if he stutters when he fucks?" Carrie giggled out loud. And it struck her, they'd been neighbors for nearly three months and she did not even know the man's name, other than 'that creepy fucker that lives in Two A.' Carrie hefted herself off the couch, scurried into the bathroom, and emptied bladder and bowels, sighing in relief. Infrequent as it was, constipation was her least favorite part of pregnancy. Brennan almost jumped when a knock came at the door. He looked through the peephole and blinked; it was the cute girl from Apartment Two C. "h-h-h-hello?" he asked as he opened the door. "Hi, I um, listen, I'm sorry I was rude to you; had to potty and was afraid I wouldn't make it," Carrie lied, smiling tightly; smiling tightly was a habit she had when she lied. "Oh! Y-y-y-yeah, b-b-b-being p-p-p-pregnant' s g-g-g-g-got t-t-t-t-to b-b-b-be hard," he sympathized. "You have no idea," Carrie agreed. "N-n-n-n-no k-k-k-k-kidding!" Brennan agreed. "I'm a g-g-g-g-guy!" Carrie laughed at his joke. "Hi, I'm Carrie. Carrie Buckmeyer," she said, holding out her hand. "B-b-b-b-bre-n-n-nnan B-b-b-b-brown-n-n-n-ner," Brennan smiled, shaking her hand. She laughed again when Brennan said it was obvious his mother didn't know he was going to have a horrible stutter when she named him. She agreed to come in for a cup of coffee; she could smell the rich brew and it beckoned to her. "Clinic says I'm not supposed to have this," she said as she stirred in powdered creamer and hefty amount of sugar. "But it's been what? A month since I've had a good cup of coffee." She was impressed when he showed her what he did for a living, and made him blush when she declared he must be a genius for knowing how to write in Spanish and French, as well as English. "Had this coffee pot, speaking of coffee, huh? Came with this book and if I'd have read it? I still wouldn't have a fucking clue how to use it. Finally just threw the book away and figured the stupid thing out myself," she said, sipping her coffee. She looked around the apartment; Brennan's furniture did not look like it had been rescued. And his table and four chairs matched, unlike the table and three chairs she had. Two of her chairs were metal with vinyl seats and the third was a wooden chair with no padding. "And I g-g-g-got th-th-th-this n-n-new b-b-b-bed, wa-wa-wa-with a p-p-p-pillow t-t-t-top," Brennan said excitedly. "It's s-s-s-so s-s-s-soft!" "Oh! I'd LOVE to try that out!" Carrie said. "My bed's like a hundred years old." The bed Carrie had was twenty four years old; it had been her aunts, then her cousin's bed. When Carrie's mother kicked her daughter out for becoming pregnant and refusing to get an abortion, Carrie's cousin gladly gave her the bed so he could get himself a newer, firmer one. "G-g-g-go a h-h-h-h-head," Brennan offered. "I really g-g-g-got t-t-t-t-to g-g-g-get th-th-th-this f-f-f-fin-n-n-n-nished." With the impulsiveness only the young and inexperienced can get away with, Carrie agreed to try out the bed. Looking into the bedroom, Carrie deduced that Brennan probably slept on the left side of the queen sized bed, the side with the alarm clock, and the three pillows instead of just the single one that was on the right side. Carrie shook her head; it was obvious that Brennan was a man; only a man would sleep that far away from the bathroom. She kicked off her very well worn flip-flops and hefted herself up into the slightly raised bed. "Oh!" she sighed, sinking into the soft comforter and mattress. "N-n-n-nice, h-h-h-huh?" Brennan chuckled from the second bedroom, his home office. She did not crawl under the comforter, although she would have loved to. The air conditioning was blowing at full force inside the small room. She did not intend to fall asleep either, just wanting to lie down and relax, relish the plush comforts The smell of a marinara sauce roused her and at first Carrie was terrified, forgetting where she was. It was dark in the room as it was now late afternoon on a very overcast day. She remembered where she was and shook her head in wonder. Then the need to pee overwhelmed her initial discomfort and she flopped out of the bed, found her flip flops and scurried to the bathroom. At first she was going to refuse Brennan's offer of dinner but the smell of the spaghetti and meatballs won out. When he threw a loaf of garlic bread into the bargain she solemnly asked him to marry her. "Oh! Th-th-th-this is s-s-s-so s-s-s-sud-d-d-den!" he gasped dramatically and she laughed. "That bed is the best, I swear," Carrie said. He told her she was welcome to come over and use it any time, then groaned and apologized for how creepy that must have sounded. "Stop, Brennan," Carrie ordered. "I know what you meant. Yeah, if I didn't know you, that might have sounded kind of 'ew' but I know you were just saying." Finally, at nine o'clock, she finally left the neighbor's apartment. "Where the fuck you been?" Frank demanded the next morning. "Fuck! Stacy was at her sister's so I came down here but you weren't nowhere!" When Carrie pleaded a sore back as well as a headache, Frank called her a stupid cunt and stormed off. Numbly, Carrie sat on the couch. She had been thrown out of her mother's house, risked her closest friendship, endured the physical demands of pregnancy and teetered on the brink of poverty for a man that called her a cunt when she didn't feel like fucking. "I sure could use a cup of coffee," she decided and got dressed in her nicest, cleanest maternity outfit. "You spoiled me," Carrie declared when Brennan opened the door of Apartment Two A. "My bed's useless now." Brennan smiled and pointed toward his bedroom. Carrie wasn't surprised to see that he'd already made the bed. Even though it was getting harder and harder due to her pregnancy, Carrie just could not leave the apartment without making her bed. Brennan told her he was on a tight schedule so he would be pretty busy. At first, she lay on top of the comforter. Then she wiggled underneath, trying hard not to disturb too much of the neatly made bed. Then she wiggled out of her maternity pants; the comforter was a thick plush one. Then her bra joined the pants, leaving her in only a frilly top. Carrie did not wear panties; her pregnancy made them feel uncomfortable, binding. In his office, Brennan sighed as he proof-read the final page, once again ran spell check and grammar check, and then saved it all to his drive. Once again, he had beaten the deadline by forty eight hours and he smiled when his agent sent him an email asking him what had taken him so long. He smiled as he heard Carrie's snoring. But his very brief marriage eight years earlier had taught him, no woman wants to hear that she snores. The smell of coffee roused her and Carrie slithered out of the bed, then bent and pulled the comforter straight and folded the flat sheet over. "I j-j-j-just m-m-m-made f-f-f-fresh... Oh!" Brennan announced then gasped at the sight of the half-nude pregnant girl as she made his bed. Carrie gave a little scream and put her hands over her bald mound. Brennan stuttered an apology and scurried out of the room. A moment later, a red faced Carrie walked through the apartment and out the front door, slamming it behind herself. "Wa-wa-wa-way t-t-t-to g-g-g-go, B-b-b-b-bren-n-n-nan," Brennan miserably told himself as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Carrie stomped to her apartment door, and then realized her purse was in Brennan's bedroom. She sat down on the small stoop outside of her door and wondered if she could find the landlord to let her in. It seemed that the landlord had a habit of never being around when he was needed, but always around on the third of the month to collect his rent. She wasn't mad at Brennan; Carrie was highly embarrassed. He had seen her at a very vulnerable moment, bending over, and fat naked buttocks waggling. She stood and peered over the railing; the landlord's battered pickup truck was there, but his wife's compact car was not. Which probably meant he was not there. After twenty minutes, during which time the compact car did not return, Carrie made her way to Apartment Two A and hesitantly knocked on the door. "H-h-h-hello," Brennan asked as he opened the door. "Forgot my purse," Carrie said, unable to look at him. "Oh," Brennan said and turned around, leaving the door wide open. He returned a moment later, holding her purse out. "There any coffee left?" Carrie asked, still unable to meet his eyes. "I'm g-g-g-g-get-t-t-t-ting r-r-r-read-d-dy t-t-t-to m-m-ma-make l-l-l-lunch; w-w-w-wa-want s-s-s-some?" Brennan offered. "Sure," Carrie said after a moment's hesitation. "By the way," she said as she sipped her coffee while he made chicken salad. "I really really really hate your bed; it's horrible." "W-w-w-what?" he smiled over his shoulder at her. "Yes, it's so lumpy and bumpy; you should get rid of it," she said, smiling tightly at him. "But don't worry, I'll find someone to take it, okay?" "Uh huh," he said and held up a slice of bread. "T-t-t-t-toast-t-t-ted?" "Depends," she said. "Your toaster burn or toast the bread?" "T-t-t-toast," he said, almost defensive. "Then toast, please," she agreed and slurped more of her coffee. They ate in silence. Despite his protests, as soon as they were finished, Carrie cleaned up, stacking the dishes into the dishwasher, then wiping down counter, stove top, and table with the rag. She asked he what he was going to do now and Brennan told her he had finished the manual on the children's scooter and was just waiting for UPS to bring the next item. "P-p-p-prob-b-b-bab-b-bly t-t-t-t-take a f-f-f-few d-d-d-days," Brennan shrugged. "S-s-s-so r-r-r-right n-n-n-now? I'm t-t-t-taking a n-n-n-nap; b-b-b-been up f-f-f-for th-th-th-three d-d-d-days n-n-n-now." "Oh, you poor man!" Carrie said. "And I'm keeping you up!" He protested that she wasn't, but now that Carrie looked closely, she could see the bags beginning under his eyes. She could see the five o'clock shadow on his face. Velour Couch Playfully, she tousled his curly brown hair, and then kissed him on his stunned lips. "Go, go," she ordered. "Off to bed with you." "And w-w-w-w-where are y-y*-y-y-you g-g-g-g-going?" he stammered. Honestly?" she asked "My apartment lay down on the couch, take a nap now that I'm all full and stuff." B-b-b-b-bed's p-p-p-pre-pretty b-b-b-big," Brennan offered, and then groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. Carrie stared at him for a long moment then slowly shrugged. "Why not?" she decided out loud. "Bed is pretty big." Brennan blushed, stammered and stuttered even worse than usual and got a very long pillow out of the closet in the second bedroom and laid it down, neatly bisecting the bed down the middle. "Oh, like those grocery store thingies," Carrie laughed and again wiggled under the comforter. "Egg-gg-gg-zact-t-t-tly!" Brennan smiled. He walked around, slipped off his shoes and socks, and then after a moment's hesitation, slipped out of his jeans and polo shirt. His cock, which had been semi-erect from the moment Carrie had kissed him, playful kiss though her kiss was, swelled painfully in his briefs as he felt the bed shake and jostle as Carrie stripped off her maternity pants. He had to pull the waistband of his underwear down to free his cock when he felt more jostling as she removed more clothing. He almost spurted involuntarily when even more jostling occurred and Brennan was now sharing a bed with a sexy, pregnant, and nude eighteen year old girl. Finally, even though his excitement, the need for sleep took him and Brennan dreamt, as he normally did, of his ex-wife. And again, she mocked him, imitating his stutter while telling him she'd only married him because she felt sorry for him, but now that she had a real man, she was leaving him. "L-l-l-l-loser," she had taunted when Brennan tearfully begged her not to leave him. Even though they'd been married for just over one year, it still cost Brennan nineteen thousand dollars, half of his income that year. Thankfully, his attorney (which cost him forty five hundred dollars) managed to keep Brennan's ex-wife, and her smirking boyfriend, from laying claim to Brennan's inheritance from his mother's estate, or the money he'd invested in two apartment buildings in DeGarde, Louisiana. Within three months of their divorce, though, she'd come back, claiming that she was sorry and begging for forgiveness. She didn't say it, but Brennan knew her boyfriend had spent every last penny of the nineteen thousand dollars, then ran up her credit cards on his other girlfriend, a long legged blonde dancer, then left town with the girlfriend. Brennan invited the wife in, fucked her, almost savagely, then gathered up her purse, clothes, and shoes, put them just outside the apartment door, then pushed her out the door after them. "L-l-l-l-loser," he said and slammed and locked the door. But in his dreams, they were still married, still happy, and still affectionate. Pushing her out the door had pushed his heart right out the door with her, but Brennan knew he had no choice. Carrie came to, seeing that once again, it was almost dark outside. Brennan didn't stutter when he snored, that was for sure. Softly, to avoid waking him, she slithered out of the bed and gathered her clothes. Nude, she scampered to his bathroom; sure she would burst before she reached it, but just managed to flop down onto the commode before her bladder let loose. She dressed in the bathroom, and then softly padded back into the bedroom. He was still snoring heartily and did not stop when she crawled back into the bed. He did pause briefly when she leaned over and kissed his bare shoulder. "Thanks," she whispered into his ear quietly. "See you later, okay?" "Hey, girl! Where you been?" Stacy demanded, waddling into Carrie's apartment. "Oh, thank God I only got five more weeks; I swear to God, I am so ready to get this over with!" Stacy didn't wait for Carrie's response, just monopolized the conversation, telling Carrie all about the baby bed her mother had bought. "I'm like 'Mom, we're in a crappy one room apartment; where the fuck we going put this, huh?'" Stacy rambled on while Carrie opened two cans of vegetable soup and heated them. "Yeah, why y'all in a one room apartment anyway?" Carrie suddenly asked. "I mean, you working, Frank's working; why y'all don't get y'all one of them two bedroom ones, huh?" Stacy mumbled something about medical bills but Carrie knew every penny of Frank's was going to his ex-wife and their two sons. As soon as the last spoonful of soup had been scraped out of her bowl, Stacy left. At five minutes after eight the following morning, Frank knocked on Carrie's door and even tried the knob. Inside the apartment, Carrie smiled tightly. "What?" she asked, opening the door. Stacy had reached the first traffic light when she realized she'd forgotten her wallet; Frank had borrowed twenty dollars and did not put her wallet back into her purse. She turned around and drove back to the apartment complex. Outside of Carrie's apartment, Frank stared hard at Carrie as she refused to let him enter her apartment. His cock, which had been hard thinking of her sexy round belly and bald pussy, was now throbbing painfully as he thought of pushing her face down into the cushions of her couch and taking her savagely. "I said no more, Frank; I have a boyfriend now," Carrie said, tight smile firmly on her face. "Aw your lying fat ass," Frank sneered. "Who the fuck but me would want anything to do with your pregnant ass?" Carrie's smile tightened even more as she looked past Frank. "You mother fucker!" Stacy screamed, punching Frank in the back with all her might. "And YOU!" Stacy screamed at her friend. "I wanted to tell you," Carrie burst into tears. "But how the fuck could I tell my best friend that her boyfriend got me drunk and raped me, huh?" "He what?" Stacy screamed. "And then said he's going to tell you I begged him for it unless I keep giving up the pussy," Carrie sobbed on, reaching out for her friend. Stacy saw that Carrie was not smiling tightly and knew she was telling the truth. Frank was rubbing his back, claiming it hurt when it did not. He just wanted Stacy's sympathy, not her anger. His ploy didn't work, pregnant or not, Stacy's knee found his unfaithful testicles just fine. Carrie's tears fell onto the armrest of the loveseat. She wiped her dripping nose with the back of her hand and rested that hand on the cushion. "And the baby?" Stacy asked, pointing at Carrie's belly. "Probably his; it was the wrong time at that party," Carrie admitted. An hour later, Brennan smiled as he heard Carrie's two wheeled cart squeak past his door. But because he was still in his briefs, and had not showered or shaved, he did not open the door to greet her. Four hours later, he was in his office, answering an email from his agent when he heard the cart squeak past, but she was already in her apartment by the time he got to the door. Inside her apartment, Carrie cried more tears; Lily had tearfully let her know that she had to let her go. But the summer time was usually a pretty slow time for flowers. Directly overhead, she could hear slamming and banging and thumping and knew Stacy was up there, packing either Frank's things, or her own. "Come in," Carrie called out when someone knocked on her door. "H-h-h-hey, h-h-h-h-how y-y-y..." Brennan asked. "Come on in," Carrie sniffed, waving him to the couch. "Wh-wh-wh-what's wr-wr-wr-wr..." Brennan asked. "Got fired today," Carrie sobbed out and hugged him. "Oh n-n-n-no!" Brennan said, trying hard to focus on being helpful to her, rather than focusing on her soft breasts and hard belly and plump thigh pressed against him. He could smell her shampoo, could tell that it was a cheap harsh brand, but he could also feel her wet face pressed into the space between his neck and his shoulder. "It's g-g-g-g-going t-t-t-to b-b-b-be okay," he soothed. "How Brennan? Fuck! I can't afford next month's rent and I just got my power bill and I got... God, I just want to crawl in bed and pull the covers over my head," Carrie wailed. "Okay, l-l-l-l-let's g-g-g-g-go," Brennan said, relieved. A bed she could crawl into and pull the covers over her head was a solution he could offer readily. "Oh, and b-b-br-br-br-bring a n-n-n-n-night g-g-g-g-gown or s-s-s-s-someth-th-th-thing, okay?" he said. "Why? Don't like me sleeping naked?" she sniffled, a smile coming to her face. "L-l-l-l-like it t-t-t-t-too m-m-m-much," he admitted. "Brennan!" she gasped. "I'm pregnant!" "And b-b-b-beaut-t-t-t..." he stuttered. "Aw, thank you," she said and kissed him. "But all right, you don't want me naked, I'll get my nightgown." "Oh, I w-w-w-w-want y-y-y-you n-n-n-na..." he stuttered. "Shut up Brennan," she smiled, grabbing her tattered old flannel nightgown. Carrie followed Brennan to his apartment, clutching her own pillow and her nightgown. Inside his bedroom, she didn't know what to think, whether to be mad or amused that the long pillow was still in the bed, still dividing it in half. As if he had expected her to come back. Just as she kicked off her flip flops, a knock sounded at the door and Brennan went to answer the knock. "W-w-w-w-wow! Th-th-th-that w-w-w-was qua-qua-qua-quick!" Brennan said as the UPS driver had him sign for a package. Inside the cardboard box was a cordless electric toothbrush and Brennan immediately went into 'work' mode. Carrie stripped out of her clothes, began to pull the flannel gown on, then shrugged and left the hot gown off. She listened as Brennan talked to himself as he examined whatever the UPS driver had delivered and noticed, he had hardly any stutter at all when talking with himself. Again, it was the smell of food and Carrie reached around until she found her nightgown and pulled it on, then slithered out of the bed. "Thank you," she said, hugging Brennan from behind. "W-w-w-welc-c-c-c-come," he said. "You know, I noticed, you don't stutter when you talk to yourself," she said. "Why don't you pretend you're just talking to yourself?" "Okay," he said and then stuttered so horribly she couldn't understand any of what he was trying to say. "Good God, write it down; you're a brilliant writer," she ordered him. "You're beautiful; you make me nervous because I just know you're too pretty for me and you'll just make fun of me and I wish that baby you're carrying was mine and I wish I could talk and tell you all of that but I'm a big loser and can't even get a real job because of my stuttering," he rapidly scribbled out. She jerked the pen out of his hand. "What?" she snapped at him, angrily. "You think I'm that fucking shallow? That I'd make fun of you?" "Well, you wouldn't even fucking say 'hi' to me," he yelled, absolutely no stutter in his voice at all. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "Fuck! You're right!" she admitted. "God, Brennan, I'm so sorry! God, what a bitch! I am such a..." "N-n-n-no y-y-y-you're n-n-n-not," he said. "Yes I am," she said and hugged him again. "Th-th-th-thank y-y-y-you," he stammered. "Thank you for what?" she asked as he put two plates on the table. "F-f-f-for th-th-th-that h-h-h-hug," he said. "Oh, you mean this?" she asked and hugged him again. "Y-y-yeah," he said. She smiled and sat down to eat. "Oh, hey, I move that pillow, you going try to fuck me?" Carrie asked and Brennan almost choked on his bite of food. "N-n-n-no!" he protested. "I w-w-w-w-would n-n-n-new-v-v-v..." "How about I accidentally roll over on your side?" Carrie asked and continued to eat. "N-n-n-no," Brennan again protested. "What about if I suck your dick?" Carrie asked. "W-w-w-well, y-y-yeah, I m-m-m-might," Brennan laughed. "Men, I swear, y'all are all the same," Carrie huffed. Upstairs, Stacy screamed in frustration. Her mother had very calmly told her, there was no room at her home. "You made your bed? You lie in it. I've already raised my two girls and one boy," her mother said. And the landlord let her know, sorry, but there were no available units. Her name wasn't on the lease, even though Frank had tried to get Stacy to assume all the responsibilities for the rent and utilities, claiming his ex-wife might try to go after that money too. She stomped down the stairs and to Carrie's apartment. Inside Brennan's living room, still in her nightgown, Carrie watched a fairly interesting show on the Travel Channel; Brennan got all the available channels PC Nation offered. She's smirked; when he'd turned it on, a sports program had popped up. "Typical man, I swear," she teased, ruffling his curly hair. She heard someone knocking on a door and wondered if it might be hers. Inside his office, Brennan heard his front door open. A moment later, he heard two female voices. "What are you doing over there? I thought you said that guy's weird," Stacy demanded, not bothering to lower her voice. "Shush!" Carrie ordered angrily. "Go back; I'll be right there, all right?" Carrie closed the door on Stacy's retort and scampered to Brennan's office door. "Hey, my girlfriend's all upset about something so I'll be at my place a bit, okay?" Carrie said. "Oh, um, y-y-y-y'all c-c-c-c-can j-j-j..." Brennan protested. "No; you're working," Carrie said firmly, retrieving her purse. Brennan realized, after his front door closed, his ex-wife would not have cared that he was working; she would have loudly and shrilly brought her friends into the house. They would have been loud, shrill, probably drunk or high. They would have ignored his not so subtle hint of slamming his office door. At her apartment, Carrie listened to her friend's complaints and tale of woe and looked at the already quite crowded one room apartment. "I guess you can have the couch," Carrie decided. "You were over there? In your nightgown?" Stacy finally noticed Carrie's garb. "Why not?" Carrie asked. "Brennan's working so I was sleeping in his big old bed; God! It's the best, I swear!" "But I thought he was..." Stacy said. "Well, he's not, okay?" Carrie defended. Carrie dressed in another outfit, put on her too tight, uncomfortable tennis shoes and somberly followed Stacy up the stairs. She carried what boxes she could but told Stacy adamantly she was not about to attempt hefting the baby bed. "Some friend you are," Stacy huffed. "Exactly what I was thinking," Carrie spat back. In his apartment, Brennan stopped long enough to eat, then went right back to work. The meal was a somber one; he missed the eighteen year old girl's company. "I can't believe she's only eighteen," he said out loud. Then he smiled. "And I c-c-c-can't b-b-b-believe she s-s-s-said th-th-that!" he said, remembering her comment about sucking his dick. He actually had to go masturbate, thinking of the sweet faced brunette sucking his cock. His ex-wife would suck him for only a minute, claiming the taste and texture of semen made her ill. She did tell him, though; she sucked her boyfriend's cock and loved the taste and texture of a 'real man's' come. The next morning, in Carrie's apartment, Stacy complained bitterly about the lumpy couch, the uncomfortable material, the lack of pillows. "Gave you one of my pillows, gave you a sheet and two blankets, God, Stacy, need me come in there and wipe your ass for you too?" Carrie yelled as Stacy monopolized the bathroom while she got ready for work. The moment Stacy left for work, Carrie did not even bother changing out of her nightgown; she just scampered to Two A. "Hi, please tell me you have coffee; I swear to God, she's my best friend, but I want to kill her," Carrie said when a bleary eyed Brennan opened the door. "You getting ready to go to bed?" she asked and he mutely nodded. "Oh, okay, now remember, no trying to fuck me, you hear?" she said as she followed him into the bedroom and crawled into the bed. "Ok-k-k-kay," he stammered, ogling her nude body before she pulled the comforter over herself. "And get rid of this," she demanded, grabbing the long pillow and throwing it on the floor on her side of the bed. Brennan stripped out of his jeans and button up shirt and slid into the bed. Carrie woke up, saw that they'd been asleep for nearly five hours, which would explain why she was hungry and smiled. Brennan was lying in the same position he'd been in when he climbed into the bed, snoring. Dimly, she could hear someone pounding on a door, but gave it no thought as she wiggled over to Brennan's side of the bed. Brennan was dreaming, but not of his ex-wife. He was dreaming that Carrie had told him she loved him and couldn't live without him. Then she took his cock into her mouth, flicking her tongue all around his sensitive glans. "And I love you too, baby," Brennan said, no stutter in his voice. "But you keep doing that and..." Carrie heard Brennan declare his love for her just before the first spurts of his semen flooded her mouth. She realized, as she swallowed rapidly, he had not stuttered as he declared his love for her. Brennan's cock was a little thicker than Jack's cock, and Jack's cock was a little thicker and longer than Frank's cock. Carrie, however, was entranced by the size of Brennan's testicles and she toyed with the two large orbs in their long, loosely hanging sac as she sucked his cock back to erection. "Oh!" Brennan sighed, now realizing that it wasn't a dream. "God damned cunts, all of them, I fucking swear!" Frank snarled as he stood outside of Carrie's apartment, hammering on the door. Fifth Home Stacy, since she worked at the courthouse, did have a little pull and was able to get a hearing very quickly. Frank, through his attorney, pleaded that to pay Stacy child support, on top of the alimony and child support he was already paying his ex-wife, as well as truck note, would leave him destitute. "Sir, I do not care if you have to eat red beans out of a can and sleep in the bed of your pickup truck," the judge snapped. "Might I suggest you either learn to wear condoms, or get a vasectomy, or better still, quit sticking your penis into young ladies' vaginas, but you are going to pay for this child. Our taxpayers are already stretched to the breaking point without having to pay for your thoughtlessness." Carrie didn't know how Brennan managed to do it, but he had gotten her out of her six month lease and transferred it over to Stacy. Stacy and Carrie and Brennan had brought the baby bed down from Frank's apartment, but then realized that, either the couch, or the old bed would have to go. Carrie's aunt didn't want it, and Carrie's cousin didn't want the bed either, so Stacy kept the velour couch, which was now liberally stained with Stacy's spilled food while the bed went into the dumpster. Then Brennan, without reading the instructional pamphlet that came with the bed, assembled the baby bed and put it where Carrie's old bed had been. "N-n-now c-c-come on; I'm s-s-s-sleep-p-py," Brennan ordered, grabbing Carrie's hand. "Okay," Carrie smiled. "But you better not try to fuck me, hear?" She squealed with laughter when Brennan picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. Carrie knew by now, if she sucked his first load out of him, Brennan could last a lot longer in her pussy. So, the moment Brennan crawled into the bed, she swallowed his cock down to the root, slurping noisily. In Apartment Three C, Frank took his clothes and left everything else; it had no value to him and dropped his keys on the ground in front of the absent landlord's door. Then he moved in with a high school buddy and very quickly tried to bed his friend's wife. Velour Couch In Apartment Two C, Stacy sat on the couch, squinting at Carrie's old television set. Then she sneezed and a gusher of urine soaked the couch cushion. "Fuck!" Stacy yelled, got to her feet and casually flipped the cushion over. Then she waddled into the bathroom, stripped out of her soaked panties and maternity slacks, dropped them into the hamper, and nude from the waist down, padded back out and sat on the couch. The idea hit her, if she sneezed again and soaked the cushion again, there would be no other side to flip it to, and so she moved to the end cushion, the chair portion of the couch. Later on, she spilled her drink on that cushion, so moved to the center cushion and used the ottoman as a table. Because the ottoman did not have a level surface, and Doug had broken one wheel off in a stoned rampage, the ottoman was quickly doused with Stacy's drink. Stacy watched 'The Bachelor' alone, but since she didn't like any of the contestants still on the program, and because Carrie wasn't there and she didn't have Carrie's carrot sticks and celery sticks to nibble on, Stacy decided to go to bed early. Laying her head down, Stacy realized, she could smell the urine soaked cushion, so she wiggled around and lay her head on the other end. In Apartment Two A, Brennan looked at the toaster oven and realized just how potentially dangerous the item was. His agent responded that Brennan wasn't paid for his opinion, he was paid to write the User's Manuals for the items. As angry as he was, Brennan smiled as he heard Carrie comment to 'The Bachelor' in the living room. It was a manufacture red 'Reality' show, with very little reality but Carrie watched the insipid show religiously. "I'm going to bed," Carrie announced. "And you better not try to fuck me, hear?" "F-f-fine, I w-w-won't," Brennan said, only a little hint of a stutter. He chuckled when he heard her indignant squeal. He put the toaster oven aside, made sure it was unplugged and went into the bedroom. "No, go away," Carrie ordered, already under the comforter. M-m-mad at m-m-me?" he asked, crawling into the bed and scooting toward her. "What do you think?" she barked, biting down on his nose. "Ow!" he exclaimed then laughed when she stuffed her tongue into his mouth. "Oh!" she sighed when he lifted her left leg and eased his erection into her bald pussy. "St-st-still m-m-mad..." he asked. "Love you too much to stay mad at you," she admitted, relishing the feeling as he slowly filled her pussy. "L-l-love y-y-you t-t-too," he said, concentrating on anything but the delicious feelings that enveloped his cock. "Come on, let's do it doggy style; I just washed these sheets two days ago," Carrie said as her orgasm was coming close. Brennan reluctantly pulled out of her drooling pussy and then helped her wiggle into position. "Oh shit, o God," Carrie groaned as he slid himself into her again. "Shit! Don't!" she screamed when he reached around her pudgy thigh and found her swollen clitoris. Her pussy clamped down around his cock and he spurted into her pussy. Carrie tried to reach around her swollen belly to catch the semen before it dripped onto the mattress but did not succeed. "Damn it; guess I'm going back to the laundry mat," she giggled as she listened to Brennan trying to catch his breath. He walked around on his knees and presented his cock to her face. She sucked him up to erection again and sighed with contentment when he slid into her pussy again. "Oh, Baby, Oh!" she groaned as he played with her breasts; they were quite sensitive. "Oh!" she suddenly barked when he let go of her left breast and again tickled her clitoris. Again he filled her pussy and this time she just let the semen drool out of her pussy, down her fat thighs, onto the mattress. "Love you," Carrie murmured when Brennan sponged her slimy pussy lips clean with a damp, warm wash cloth. "L-l-love y-y-you t-t-too," Brennan admitted, but she was already snoring. "S-s-s-s-s-so m-m-m-m-much it s-s-s-s-s-s-s-scares m-m-m-m-me," he said. Then he returned to his examination of the toaster oven. The design flaws in the cheaply made device were glaring but Brennan sighed and forged ahead. In Apartment Two C, Stacy, feeling the need to pass gas, relaxed her sphincter muscle, then tried to clamp back down as she defecated mightily onto the middle cushion of the couch. "Shit!" she screamed, unmindful of how thin the walls of the apartment were, unmindful of her neighbors. "God damn, cannot believe..." Stacy complained as she waddled into the bathroom. A blast of ice cold water greeted her as she turned the taps on. After cleaning herself up, she tried her best to clean the couch with nothing but wet paper towels. Finally, after most of a roll had been used, Stacy decided it was clean enough and flipped the cushion over. Sleep, however, was impossible; the stench was imbedded in her nostrils, so she decided to make a pot of coffee; Carrie had left her old coffee pot in the apartment. With coffee in hand, Stacy sat on the first cushion ; the smell of urine by now overwhelmed by the other smells in the small apartment. "Oh! OH! Uh!" Stacy suddenly groaned , feeling a mighty cramp in her belly. The first cushion was drenched as Stacy's water broke. She called 911, told the operator what the emergency was, then shrugged into her robe. Briefly, Stacy did wonder if she should call Frank and let him know. The thought of calling her best friend and letting Carrie know her god child was about to be born did not occur to Stacy. "Oh my God!" Stacy cried out as a contraction hit and the middle cushion was doused with a half of a mug of coffee with too much sugar and creamer. "Of course these mother fuckers always live up on the second or third floor," one of the paramedics complained as they raced to the address given. Brennan heard the ambulance scream to a stop, heard the clank of the gurney as it came up the stairs, and was in his robe and peering out the door when the two paramedics entered Two C. "Huh? What?" Carrie sleepily asked when Brennan nudged her awake. "Y-y-y-your f-f-f-friend..." Brennan stammered. "Stacy?" Carrie asked, struggling to sit up. "Y-y-y-..." Brennan said. "Okay, Baby," Carrie said. She was in her slacks, bra and blouse by the time the two paramedics wheeled Stacy to the stairs. "We'll be right there; where are y'all taking her?" Carrie said. "St. Elizabeth's," one of the men said. "L-l-l-let's g-g-g-go," Brennan said. Stacy's mother grumbled and groaned, but thanked Carrie for calling her as Brennan drove, following the ambulance. "Thank you, Baby," Carrie said, resting her hand on Brennan's leg. "W-w-welc-c-come," he said and parked the car. Nearly eight hours later, Braxton Marilee was born. "Now that's a name I'll never be able to say," Brennan wrote on the back of a pamphlet he found in the hospital lobby and Carrie laughed. The couch was still damp and stunk horribly when Stacy and Braxton were released. Carrie looked at the cushions and declared it a complete loss; she'd never be able to thoroughly clean it . "I mean, shit, really, Stacy? You just flip the fucking cushions over?" Carrie spat. "What the fuck you so mad about, huh?" Stacy snapped back. "Shit, fucking couch was free." Brennan was about to offer his own couch but Carrie very quickly told him no. "God damn, some people you just can't do nothing for them,," she snapped at Brennan. "They just fucking take it for granted. "Fine, bitch, oh and guess what? You ain't going be Braxton's god mother neither, huh?" Stacy screamed at her friend. After Carrie slammed the door of Apartment Two C shut, Stacy decided she'd try a little wheedling and whining on her mother. "You made your bed," Stacy's mother said. "Too bad it's a little uncomfortable. You're the one decided get knocked up by some loser can't even pay for the kids he's already got and now you're sleeping on the floor? Well that's a God damned shame." "That's your granddaughter," Stacy reminded her mother. "Oh no ma'am. Braxton, God damn, what the hell kind of name is that anyway, Braxton? She's got a baby bed I bought for her," her mother said calmly. "You sold that bed pay for drugs, or booze or whatever the hell you're hooked on? That's on you. Can't afford her? Give her up for adoption. Oh, and try to find some couple that'll give her a normal name." After Stacy skipped the first month's rent, the landlord made moves to evict her. Brennan did ask Carrie, but Carrie tearfully told him, it was time for Stacy to grow up and realize the world didn't owe her anything. Stacy ignored the posted notice and then ignored the hammering on the door a few days after the posting of the notice. So the landlord used his master key and swung the door open. "God damned mother fuckers; I got a baby!" Stacy screamed as the two police officers escorted her out the apartment. "You going do this to a mother with a baby?" Stacy screamed at the stone faced landlord. Stacy carried the screaming Braxton to Apartment Two A and hammered on the door. "Go away, Stacy," Carrie tearfully told her friend and closed and locked the door. Stacy then drove to her sister's trailer, but her sister's boyfriend told Stacy she wasn't welcome. Her brother and her brother's partner also told her that they had no room for her or her baby. The shelter did take her and her baby. Most of the residents were extremely suspicious of Stacy, though. She was, after all, an employee of St. Elizabeth Parish. Or at least she claimed to be an employee of the parish. In Apartment Two A, Brennan held Carrie as she sobbed, heart-broken over having to turn her back on her best friend and her best friend's baby. Then she gasped and clutched her belly. "Nine one one; what is your emergency?" the operator asked. "Sir, slow down, I can't understand you," the operator said as Brennan stuttered and stammered that his girlfriend's baby was coming and it was almost five weeks premature. "Brennan, give me the phone," Carrie groaned. "Hi, I'm having a baby; it's about five weeks premature and my boyfriend's a little excited," Carrie grunted into the telephone. "But we can drive there quicker than y'all can get here." Brennan helped Carrie down the stairs, almost more of a hindrance than a help. As he unlocked her door, Carrie looked at the assortment of her old furniture that sat by the dumpster. The table and three chairs, the ottoman, the loveseat and the chair, separated. The chair lay on its back, ripped underside now visible. Ian Thomas Buckmeyer was almost born in the passenger seat of Brennan's car; he was born on the gurney as Carrie was being wheeled onto the elevator. "Dude, it'll be all right," the orderly told the sobbing Brennan. "This hospital's one of the best, okay?" When Brennan did come in to see Carrie, he was much more composed. "He's f-f-fine," Brennan smiled, his relief evident. Carrie smiled and linked fingers with him. "W-w-why you'd n-n-name him Ian?" Brennan asked. "It's a name you'll be able to pronounce okay," she said. She patted his hand. "I noticed you don't have that much trouble with vowels, and it's a good, strong name, goes with St. Thomas; his middle name's Thomas, after St. Thomas Aquinas," Carrie said. "S-s-s-s-so y-y-y-y-you n-n-n-n-named..." Brennan said aloud in wonder. "Who bought a baby bed? Who bought a changing table? Who rearranged his whole office for the baby?" Carrie asked, smiling at Brennan. "W-w-w-well I d-d-d-did, b-b-b-but..." Brennan said. "So, I knew my boyfriend would be there and I kind of knew my man would want to talk to the little guy. Kind of hard to talk to the little guy when you can't say his name, huh?" Carrie said. "And I w-w-w-will b-b-b-be t-t-t-talk-k-king t-t-t-to h-h-h-him," Brennan promised. "A l-l-l-lot." Outside of the apartment building, a man spotted the loveseat and other furniture. Seeing it from the relatively unsoiled rear, the loveseat did look good, serviceable. He placed his hand on it and imagined his nineteen year old daughter kneeling on the cushion, hands gripping the rear of the loveseat while he pounded her willing pussy from behind. But a glance at the stained cushions, and the sight of the cockroaches that were already laying claim to the furniture made the man move on, abandoning the discarded items to their fate. Carrie was discharged from St. Elizabeth Trauma Center the following day, but Ian remained at the hospital for six days. Carrie had made the decision to breast feed so she was frequently at the Neo-natal ward and Brennan was right there with her. On the day Ian was discharged, Brennan was proudly walking with Carrie as she cradled Ian. Brennan's ex-wife, coming into the Emergency Room, bleeding from a beer bottle cut her latest boyfriend had given her, stopped and stared at the trio. "What are you doing here, L-l-l-loser?" she sneered. "T-taking my son h-h-home, L-l-loser," Brennan smiled proudly. "But you have a super sparkly day, b-b-b-bitch," Carrie said. **** The landfill in Jack's Creek, Louisiana put the loveseat, ottoman, and chair into the compacter, along with several other items. The man gave a visual inspection that no one was inside the large mechanism, then threw the switch. With a scream, the velour and foam rubber and pine wood and steel springs gave up its imbedded memories of Sammy and Michelle, Nicole, Doug and Derek, Carrie and Stacy. The memories, like the people that had made them, were twisted and mangled and entwined with other memories within the compactor, until with a final groan, they died. THE END. **Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment. Thank you for reading my stories. Yes, this was a dark, unhappy story. It came to me as I watched the young couple moving out of the rental home next door and saw the filthy, disgusting couch they left behind. I also saw three people stop and examine the couch, then deciding it wasn't worth it. I don't know who finally did take it but it was gone the next morning. (I'm sure, in the dead of the night, that hideous blue looked good. I'm also sure, in the light of day, the new owners likewise left it at the curb for the next victim.) Disclaimers: Yes I need and Editor; it jumps around too much, there's too many people to keep track of, it's too long, it's in the wrong category, it's stupid shit, and I suck. I also do not read emails; if I could figure out how to turn that feature off, I would. The few emails I did take the time to read were so vindictive and hateful, I just delete them now. If you hate me and hate my stories that much, just don't read them. But I do thank those that take the time to leave comments, critiques (even the negative ones; some make me laugh) and take the time to rank these little tales. Much appreciated. And you have a warm and fuzzy feel-good kind of day. What the hell; have two warm and fuzzy feel good days. In a row.