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Smoke

By: fisherman



“I have your lab test back and everything seems normal. But...” Doctor Williams said giving that look while sitting behind his desk.

You know the look, it’s the one every doctor gives a patient when they want to get their point across. Arms folded on the table, eyeglasses slipped low on their nose, giving that look of parent to child, as scores of sheepskin diplomas proving their wisdom hang on the wall. I’ve always thought there must be some secret course in medical school, which teaches that doctor’s look and once they’ve learned it they’re swore to secrecy never to share it to any living soul. It’s probably the same look God gave Moses when he handed him the ten commandments on stone tablets and said, “Here do this... but”.

Suffering from a case of Dr. Williams medical look all I could quietly utter was, “But what?”

“But, you gotta stop smoking.”

That was the worst news I’ve could have gotten. Stop smoking? Me? Stop? After all these years? 

I just nodded and said, “Okay.”

“No. I’m serious this time, John! For the past three years I’ve suggested. Now I’m telling, stop smoking! I know you’ve tried different things but there’s this new pill. Here, I wrote a script for you. Now take it and get it filled and stop smoking while you got your health.” 

“Okay.” I said as I took the sheet of three by five paper and stuffed it in my pocket. “I will. You’re right, I’ll stop smoking.”

I wanted to believe my words but I felt like a liar. How could I give up something that’s been so much of my life? “Christ, what’s he thinking?” I wondered leaving his office on the warm Christmas Eve morning. “That I’m superman? The man of steel who can bend his will to do whatever’s right?” I’m a smoker and every one knows smokers are weak and we slink. 

You see us standing in door ways outside all sorts of buildings, as the world passes us by disappointed at our weakness for not being able to stop that dirty, nasty habit. We sneak into restrooms to grab a smoke like we use to do in high school. We even do it at home as our non-smoking spouse ask, “How many cigarettes is that today?” and we lie, give some low ball number when you should really multiply it by two or three. 

Yes, smokers, slink and so do I. But I recall a time, almost a half a century ago when there was no shame in smoke. Returning home to inform my wife of the pleasant news of good health and the dreadful news of the doctor’s orders to change my habits I recalled those events, when memories were shaped by blue shapeless cigarette smoke suspended in the air.

Christmas Eve back then, when Eisenhower was President and Elvis the king, was colder and the snow was measured in feet not inches. That Christmas, my buddies and me were as excited as any nine-year-olds could be because all of us bought a special present for our fathers. Our one and only gift to our Dads was a carton of smokes, something they’d never forget for at least for a week.

Since Thanksgiving, when the first real snow arrived we, on Saturday mornings, fanned out like an army of ants at a July picnic. With snow shovels slung over our shoulders, we knocked on stranger’s doors offering to shovel driveways, sidewalks, roofs, cars and patios. Hell, we’d shovel anything to earn fifty cents to reach the magic goal of three dollars and ninety-eight cents for a carton. Then, right before Christmas, all of us had enough saved to see Mr. Reese’s at his store.

Mr. Reese, knew we were buying them for our fathers so he’d saved those special boxes sold only during the holidays. They were fancy wrapped with green, red and white colors; some had ribbon on them while others had shinny silver or gold foil. Each carton had a place where each one of us could write some special words to our Dads expressing our joy at being their sons. Mr. Reese was glad to sell us those priceless gifts because in those innocent times with smoke in the air, men knew when a son was doing something good and right for his father. Back then cigarettes wouldn’t kill you and smokers never slinked. In fact a man was known by two things, the job he performed and the brand of cigarettes he smoked. Chuck’s father was a welder and was a Camel man. Jerry’s, father was a house painter and smoked Pal Malls. My father was a doctor and smoked Lucky Strikes. 

Driving home along the lake almost fifty Christmas Eve’s later, I remembered my father wore white starched shirts. He always put his cigarettes in his shirt pocket, you could see the red bull’s eye of the pack through the pocket of his shirt and he kept his zippo lighter in his right pants pocket. Dad was a man of iron will. He’d smoke one pack a day, no more no less, and if he ran out before the day’s end he said he’d go without. At least that’s what he said but I think he lied, because sometimes I’d clean the office after closing and find his ashtray was full of butts, a lot more than one pack. I never said anything because even back then I think smokers sometimes lied. What I remembered most about him though, was how he opened a fresh new pack and lit the first smoke. 

Christmas morning after he said, “Thank you son” and my mother said, “That was the nicest present you could give your Father.” I watched Dad carefully open the carton to draw out a new pack. After twisting off the wrapping he’d pound the pack on the flat on the table to settle the tobacco. Then, opening the final seal, he gently tapped it so the cigarettes appeared in neat standing order. Placing one to his lips he’d light his zippo lighter and draw on the cigarette until the end glowed red as the smoke from his lungs filled the air with the odor of sweet tobacco. 

He always held his smoke in his right hand and he never dropped the ash on anything but the ashtray. The burning cigarette ash could be inches long and it wouldn’t budge, it’d never fall on the floor, his white shirt, the chair or anywhere else. Whereas, in my years of smoking, I’ve dropped ashes on every conceivable spot and generally made a mess of more cloths, shirts, ties, desks keyboards, chairs, cars and restaurant table cloths, causing more trouble than I was worth. I’ve always thought my Father’s command of his cigarette ash was because he gave his smokes that gaze, which doctor’s give their patient to get their point across. He must have been the star of his class while being taught that look, because in giving that stare Dad was an expert.

Driving home to help my wife wrap presents for our grown and gone children I began to wonder of the mysteries and idiosyncrasy parents bequeath their children. The biggest mystery which my Mother and Father bestowed to me was a simple one, it was television. Television back then, during the days of smoke was like our lives, black and white and didn’t stay on the air late at night. But Friday and Saturday nights were special. Friday was the Gillette Friday Night Fights, Saturday was Gunsmoke and the mystery was why my parents let me watch the fights but not Gunsmoke. 

On Friday night my parents would happily let me watch as two men climbed in a twenty by twenty ring to beat each other to bloody pulps; and if the fight ended with a knock out, so much the better, it was a good fight. They’d let me watch all the carnage, live, as it happened, in black and white never thinking twice. But on Saturday night at ten I had to go to my room, denied watching Marshall Dillon, Doc, and Miss Kitty correct the evils of the old west, as written by some screenwriter. It was all fake, the blood, the conflict, the death, the life; it was all pretend. Yet it was too violent. I had the last laugh though, because the next day on Sunday morning, while standing outside of church, I’d overhear my Dad and his friends recounting in great detail last night’s adventures of Marshall Dillon, while smoking their last cigarette before mass. 

Standing among the grown men wearing their Sunday best, who towered above my nine year old frame, inhaling the cigarette smoke, I could almost see Marshall Dillon gunning down the bad guy and saving Dodge City from a terrible evil with Miss Kitty by his side. To this day, almost a half a century later, why I could watch one program and not the other remains a mystery shrouded in smoke. I didn’t much care for the Friday Night blood bath. I’d rather seen Gunsmoke, but it was where I watched the fight that held it’s value; it was going to Elmer’s that made fight night a highlight.

Elmer’s house was small and now we’d call it a doublewide trailer. His wife died before I was born and he lived with his daughter Mary Beth who was a high school girl’s gym teacher and was an old maid. Today, in the non-smoking days, where the air is clearer we’d call Mary Beth, a lesbian, gay, or alternative sexual choice, but back then, in the days of smoke, she was just an old maid. Besides my Grandparents, Elmer was the oldest person I’d ever encountered in my nine years and he smoked everything. 

He was tobacco. He even looked like tobacco.

Elmer was tall, thin, skinny and his complexion was brown and wrinkled like a dried tobacco leaf. That wise old man was like a matured plant who’d seen the seasons come and go and took it’s lesson of growth and change to seed, ready to bequeath that knowledge to a new generation and his house was a veritable shrine to tobacco.

Elmer smoked anything, cigarettes, cigars, pipes and he even chewed the stuff. The appearance of his house proved his habit, tobacco stains marked the carpet while the walls, drapes and furniture smelled of smoke. Elmer’s chair in which he always sat was a throne to tobacco. Located in the corner of his living room, near the big television, that old leather chair was with complete with rips, tears and cigarette burns; and while at his house, I never saw Elmer rise from that chair. He didn’t need to because everything in life was within arm’s reach.

To one side was not one, but three ashtrays, and oh what ashtrays they were. Big as dinner plates they were made of glass, which was a golden rich dark, brown; they fit into a solid brass holder which elevated them off the floor to make them easy to reach. They must have weighed pounds, making them so stable an angry dog scratching couldn’t have knocked them over. 

He had three of them, one for cigarettes, cigars and pipes. Elmer had one more thing by his chair, a solid brass spittoon, just like the ones used in Gunsmsoke at the Long Branch saloon. Not only did Elmer have ashtrays, tobacco, pipes, cigars and chew, but he also had reading material. All the past and present issues of Field and Stream, Outdoor Life and Fur Fish and Game were strewed around his throne; and there were even some of them True Crime magazines with the half naked girl on the cover. Best of all though, on bookshelves above his chair were books by Melville, Conrad, London and Twain. Hoards of stories of men gathered around the smoke of the campfire or the deadly smoke from the muzzle of the gun sat just inches above his head. Elmer didn’t like the Friday night fights either, so as he smoked, he’d read aloud, because at the ripe old age of nine I wasn’t a very smart kid or good reader. 

Elmer would read to me as Dad and the other four of five men would cheer on the Colored Boy, the Irish Mick, the Spick or Whitey because back then those weren’t racial slurs. While the men drank Coca Cola from those tall slim green bottles and smoked cigarettes, Elmer rolled his own as he made up some outlandish tale of two ants who travel to save the Queen from the evil Baron. As Dad and his buddies were dividing the betting pool from the fight, which consisted or nickels dimes and quarters, Elmer tried to teach me how to roll cigarettes. 

But I was terrible at rolling my own smokes. I’d drop tobacco all over the floor, get the paper too wet and crunch the whole thing together so at the end all I accomplished was making a wadded paper mess which might have held just the kernel of tobacco. Elmer would just smile and say, “Try it again John.” Elmer and I never watched the fights. I loved Elmer, he was my hero, he was smoke.

Funny, I thought as I drove home to my wife of thirty years, “I hadn’t thought of Elmer for years. Hell I must be going through withdrawal already and I hadn’t even stopped.” Since I hadn’t yet quit smoking, I pulled into the Convenient Store to buy another pack of cigarettes. Being Christmas Eve, the store was empty except for the clerk and a small man painting the walls who reminded me of another from the time of smoke.

Derk was a friend of Dad’s and in the fall they regularly hunted pheasants with their English setter dogs. He was a small man about five and half feet tall who always wore white pants and shirt when working. He was the only man of his occupation I ever remembering wearing a tie. Derk was a house painter and fixer-upper and he smoked Pall Malls. 

Every year between Thanksgiving and Christmas, Derk would spend a day or two at our home painting and fixing up, getting the house ready for the holidays. My Mother use to call it “freshening the place up”, and when he came, I would pretend to be sick, so I could watch him work. Looking back on it, I’m sure my parents knew I was lying about being sick, but I think they knew it wouldn’t hurt for me to spend some time with Derk.

When hunting or at the Friday night fights Derk smoked countless cigarettes; and when provoked, he’d spout more fine words than I ever knew existed, but he was different at our house. He’d hold his words and patiently answer all the dumb repetitive questions a nine-year-old kid could muster while teaching me about all things to do to “freshen up a house”. Things I never forgot and used at my own home. I’d help move (even though just a few hours previous I was almost dead with fever) and clean his equipment as he instructed me in the finer points of taking care of camel hair brushes. Derk taught me a lot, but while in our house, he never smoked without Mom’s permission. 

Every couple of hours he’d say, “John, go ask your Mother if I can have a smoke.”

Mom always said, “Sure! Tell Derk, to come into the kitchen for a smoke.” 

Derk put down his work and made his way to our kitchen while Mom poured him a fresh cup of coffee or in the afternoon a cold Coca Cola. Then all three of us would sit at the kitchen table while Derk smoked his Pall Malls. It was then Mom got creative. 

She’d change this or that, as this color was a bit too bright, the other too dull, and things that worked yesterday, today were mysteriously broken and needed to be replaced. All the while Derk smoked his Pall Malls and nodded his head in agreement. It wasn’t that he was inflating the work, so he’d make more money, because he never charged much. Dad and he were buddies, friends from when they were nine years old; I think he probably only charged for materials and not time spent on the job. He just did what Mom asked with no fanfare or complaint as he said, “Anything you want Missus”. 

Still, through the blue cigarette smoke, which hung low in the kitchen, I saw smoke rising from Derk, while he controlled his temper at Mom’s changes. When Derk and I were again alone he’d turn to me and say with genuine admiration. “John, you got one fine Mother there. Always treat her with respect and kindness. You’re damn lucky to have a Mother like her.”

I would nod my head and say, “Sure Derk, I will.”

I didn’t know what I was swearing allegiance to, after all every nine-year-old’s Mother is a saint to be worshipped and cherished. That short house painter, fixer-upper, who wore white clothes and a tie taught me to respect a person, no matter his status or position. He opened my mind to that value, one which we always are reminded of until the day we die, and Derk smoked Pal Malls.

The weather was warm for Christmas Eve and the lake wasn’t yet frozen. Before I turned off the road along the lake I stopped at the bluff parking lot, shut the car off, got out and lit another smoke. I promised my wife I wouldn’t smoke in the car, but I did. Smokers lie and they slink, not like when I was nine; and as I lit a cigarette, I remembered the first I ever lit. It was Mom’s.

It was different for women who smoked back then; they weren’t known by their choice of smokes and the unspoken rules were different for women back then. As my Mother use to say, “It’s only loose women who smoke alone on the street.” 

It was perfectly acceptable for a man to light a smoke on the church steps just as mass let out; but it was absolutely taboo for a woman to have one until she got under the cover of home. And if she did? Well, she was loose. Women didn’t smoke straight cigarettes, the one without a filter, which was a man’s cigarette. Good women smoked filtered cigarettes and Mom smoked Kents. When I was nine, I never quite understood that label. I knew it wasn’t good, in fact, I knew it was bad. Still, I always wondered what it would be like to be with a loose woman just to watch her smoke. Little did I know in a few short years I’d desire to do more than just smoke with a loose woman. 

Mom followed the other rules laid down for smoke. She never smoked on the street, in another person’s house or the car, and only in a restaurant, if Dad was at the same table. But in the privacy of her home Mom smoked vast quantities, especially when she drank.

Mornings found Mom with her pot of coffee and cigarette, reading the morning mail or newspaper. Afternoons would see her with another pot of coffee, smoking and watching her favorite soap opera or reading the afternoon mail, because back then mail came twice a day. After four, she’d have a scotch and soda with a Kent cigarette and evenings she’d smoke while reading a book. 

What amazed me about Mom and her smoking was what she left behind in the ashtray. Every crushed and stomped out butt had a neat round, red circle around the part where she’d put in her lips. Mom always wore make-up, powder, rouge, eye shadow and lipstick; her medium length black hair usually had a good dose of hair spray. Sometimes when I smell a certain perfume she wore, I’d swear she’s in the same room even though she’s been dead thirty years last fall. More times than I ever realized Mom must have had to freshen up her makeup, because she said it was the duty of a good women to look like a good woman. Every so often she would retreat to her bedroom, sit at her night table and reapply countless layers so she’d be a good woman. My mother was a good woman; I knew she was. Dad knew it too and it was when I was nine that I realized just how good she was and why we both loved that woman till the day she died.

Once in awhile, usually on winter Saturday evenings Dad would announce that the whole family was going to the Pontiac Hotel for Sunday dinner, which we’d then await with breathless anticipation. At the appointed hour, usually around six on Sunday, dressed in our best we’d start our cold car to dine at the grand old hotel. 

The Pontiac Hotel harkened back to the days fifty years before when my town was the home of numerous millionaires, who made their fortune in coal, lumber, manufacturing and shipping. One of my Grandmothers was the upstairs maid to a millionaire and my other Grandfather was almost rich before the Great Depression took it all away. Through it all, the Pontiac Hotel withstood the test of time to remain the premier restaurant and place to be for Sunday dinner. Years later my bride and I would have our wedding reception there, but when I returned some twenty years later the hotel was a parking lot. 

Entering through the main street doors you’d walk up a small flight of polished marble steps to the lobby where the ceiling was two stories high. In the center of the lobby was a fountain with a marble statue surrounded by a shallow pool, which even during the cold of winter held gold fish. You stepped slow and deliberate when you walked on the marble floor because your shoes made that sound like a tap dancer did on the Ed Sullivan Show. We always spoke in hushed tones while in the lobby, so no one would overhear; your voice carried loud and clear under the vaulted two-story ceiling. 


Smoke



I closed my eyes and inhaled. The sharpness of the cold shivered through my senses. It was strange, perhaps, but without bindings or blindfolds I knew there was no escape. The darkness overwhelmed me even through my eyelids.

There, red-hot, I felt the flare of the lighter. So slowly did the smoke surround me that I knew there was distance between us. The thought raised goosebumps along my spine as I breathed in the pungent scent. Opening my eyes, I quickly found the dull red pulse of the burning cigarette. At least now I could track him. The thought did little to stop the boiling sensations inside of me as I shifted away from him unconsciously.

The hard bed I cowered on was provincial and hardly what I was used to. The sheets were thin and rough, scraping my skin as they slid along it. I dare not complain for I knew that this was merely a small punishment. Much like the chill in the air that forced my bare body into a shiver.

How quiet he was, could it be someone else? No... beyond the sense-numbing air and the wafting fumes I could smell him. That deep heady rush of his skin, a mixture of spicy cologne and masculine pheromones. The air began to shift as he came towards me. I shivered and reached for the abrasive sheet and drew it over my nudity, believing any cover was better than none. He stopped just at the edge, his heat emanating through the thin covering and sliding over my skin.

The acrid smoke grew stronger before the butt fell and was toed out with his shoe against the concrete. He stood there and stared; I could feel his eyes tracing my form silhouetted beneath the pale sheets. The intensity of his gaze made my skin tighten with surprising force. I felt the current as his hand moved over me, drawing the sheet away despite my soft protests. One knee dipped the mattress and slid me towards him gradually as his hand rose to catch my chin and draw me upwards, closer.

The smoke was edible upon his breath, and beneath that the too-sweet tang of an energy drink. I tried to pull back but the sensation of his lips was too addictive. I couldn't help but return the gesture as he pressed his mouth to mine. Silken pressure and demanding movements inflamed my senses, my heart raced to compete with his. The light touch of his tongue against my lower lip, asked entrance, and lit my skin on fire. My hands rose of their own accord to draw him closer. I slid fingertips along the taut skin of his neck to tease the hair along the nape as I drew his tongue into my mouth. 

I found myself pressed to his clothed lean body when he broke the kiss. My nipples were brittle with sensation as they brushed against his simple cotton shirt. I could hear the smirk twist his lips as he noticed them. Slowly he raised his hand to cup one breast. I shuddered as he gathered as much into his palm as he could and squeezed gently. Cradled against his lifeline my nipple ached with frustrated tension. 

A deep rumble of laughter spilled over his lips as he pinched the opposite nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It echoed in the darkness as he watched me mewl with desire. I grasped at his strong shoulders for purchase even as I strained to offer more of my chest. He twisted the one nipple cruelly as he released his tight grip on the other. The pain and pleasure threshold blurred and made me moan.

He released me completely and pushed me back against the bed. The mattress dipped lower and he laid beside me, then held me at arm's length and watched me writhe with the need my body craved. I struggled free at length and slid into his arms. I pulled his head back down to mine and hunted for extra kisses. His hands teased the underside of my breasts as he rolled me onto my back. 

The skin there, tender and satiny, shivered in response to his touch; my mouth more demanding against his. He responded in kind, dominating my lips. Course fingertips roamed my breasts, rose upwards to trace my clavicle. The surprising erogenous zone sent goosebumps racing over my body. Warmth from his hands smoothed the dimpled skin as he traced down my arms, back over my breasts and reached my stomach.

Mindless patterns stoked my desire as his hands roamed my torso and his mouth followed. I yelped in surprise as a nipple was caught between careful teeth. The bud tightened harder with his attention as he laved his tongue over the tender flesh. I whimpered beneath his ministrations, mindful as he was to deliver equal care to both breasts. He gathered a full mouthful and with painstaking deliberation, bit down. 

My body rose to meet his as the sensations drove me to distraction, my fingertips clawing at the mattress beneath me. It wasn't until I caught nails into his shoulder and tapped twice, fast, that he released the progressive force marking my skin. The rush of blood back to the marred area forced shudders down my body and me to emphatic attention. 

Quickly I grasped his cotton shirt and shoved it upwards, leaving him to scramble it off his shoulders as I focused on his pants. The button I could handle, but the zipper gave me more problems than I had imagined due to the hardness found beneath it. It came off though, and as it did, the satin of his skin stabbed upwards with steel strength; I licked my lips at the sight.

I shoved his pants down to his ankles once I had freed the delicate bit of skin beneath the closures, my hands greedy for the feel of his cock. I leaned in slowly, blowing hot air over the tip to watch the quick twitch. Obsessed with the taste of him, my tongue flicked out on its own regard to slick along the length. Lips parted to take him into the heat of my mouth, his hiss of pleasure so familiar to my ears. 

I fell into the rhythm of sucking his cock down my throat with ease. His hands twisted into my hair, forced me to the depth and speed he wanted. I groaned around his shaft as he tightened his hold among my thick tresses. Pleasure spilled over me as he ground his hips upward into my face and shoved my head down to meet his body, his cock slid neatly into my throat. I forced myself to swallow, tears sliding involuntarily down my cheeks at the feeling. His arched response against my hands, clung to his hips with white knuckles, forced the building pressure within me to burst.

I gasped around his thickness as my body danced with my orgasm. He knew it and knew how to best duplicate the situation. He stood and using his hold in my hair dragged me to my knees beside the bed. He forced my mouth back open with his cock slapped against my cheeks. He drove himself into me and whispered to me about how good his whore was being tonight. Again he withdrew his cock and beat my face with the hard flesh. I whimpered in need but still he refused.

He ran the tip across my lips. One word, one command: beg. As his whore I had to beg for that luscious piece of flesh to pass my lips. And I did with enthusiasm; I rose up on my knees and wrapped his cock between my breasts. I looked up at him through thick lashes and whispered endearments along his hips as I nibbled. I stroked his cock within the confines of my tits and begged him to let me taste him. I was his whore and proud of it. A strangled groan escaped and he allowed me to partake of him again. Within moments his dominance and the savor of his weeping cock forced me back into a greater climax.

Still he wasn't satisfied. He jerked me to my feet, not allowing time to catch my breath before he flipped me around and shoved. Bent over the bed, my legs kicked apart, he ran one finger along the length of my center. Seemingly content with the plentiful moisture he found there, he stroked his cock in hand once and buried himself to the hilt in a single thrust.

It had been too long and I was almost as tight as a virgin. His overpowering size and the snugness of my passage caused me to gasp in pain. I cried out, whimpered with the mixed feelings, and begged him to be gentle. But he would not listen and merely took as he wanted; forced my body to accept his with continuous force. I cried out with the mixed sensations and dug my hands into the sheets in a pitiful attempt to escape. In a moment of pity he reached over my hip, slid along the line of my thigh and circled a fingertip over my clitoris. 

The sudden sensation exploded over me and my body washed in spasms of pleasure. As I clenched around him, he slammed harder into me, savored the waves of contractions. I had barely come down from that deep high before he withdrew, flipped me again and slid into me from the front. The angle changed drastically. With every thrust in he arched his hips to dig the length of his cock against my g-spot, meet the end of me and surpass it. With every drag outward he tilted and drew the steely heat over my tender clit.

I gasped and reached for him, gathering him into my arms as my toes started to curl. My legs restricted his luscious pattern as they wrapped around his hips and drew him tighter to me. I met every drive with a forceful thrust of my hips to intensify the harried union. Sweat dampened our skin, mingled together as it raced down our bodies. I lifted my head and brought our mouths together again; our tongues mimicked the primal motions our bodies enacted. 

Coming down from another powerful climax, I felt his body lose rhythm and stopped, pushing against him in resistance. I didn't want it to end yet. I freed myself as he bit back an oath of frustration, grabbed his hand and yanked him onto the hard mattress in my place. Stomach-down I pinned him there and straddled his thighs. Arched over, my hands and mouth covered him from shoulders to ass and back again. His breath began to catch and I allowed him to twist beneath me. Happy to see he hadn't lost interest, I set my hands to his chest to hold him in place.

I dragged fingernails carefully over his pert nipples, watched the shiver of anticipation crawl over him. Content that he felt as helpless as I had, I shifted upward and slowly lowered myself onto him. I had practiced, though he didn't know it, and was grateful it paid off. The look on his face said a million things as I rode his body with an unprecedented vigor. I shuddered again as my body shattered around him, but forced myself to maintain the rhythm. I wanted to watch as I drove him to cum inside of me. 

It didn't take long for him to follow me at that pace and I relished in the feeling. His hands gripped my hips tight, stopped my motions to bury himself deep. He arched and twisted as his body expelled the last of its offering to me. I smiled with contentment and laid over his chest, legs still straddled across his lap. I shifted a bit and clenched my passage to milk his cock inside my body and heard him groan over my head.

His arms slid around me, our skin chilled suddenly as the sweat began to cool in the frigid air. Clammy as it was, I felt more comfortable now then when I first woke up in the room. He kissed the top of my head and relaxed. Without moving me he reached for his pile of clothes beside us and found a cigarette. The smoke curled us in its nefarious embrace and spoke volumes of his fulfillment. Too bad he didn't realize that I wasn't done yet...



Smoke



She lit a cigarette and, her lips pursed around the filter, the tip glowing, she shook the match out and carelessly tossed it onto the bedside table.

"There was a man, once." She exhaled long and hard, blowing smoke out of her nose like a dragon , her eye dull and reptilian in the lamp light. 

He propped him self up on one elbow the better to see her profile.

The light was kind but even so it couldn't hide her age, the lines that bloomed away from her lips, the corners of her eyes. Her jaw was by no means saggy, but it wasn't the firm skin of a woman twenty years younger.

She fascinated him though, his gaze roamed her as she talked.

Girls his own age would hide their bodies under blankets, shirts, shyly fold their hands over brand new breasts.

She sat naked on the bed, unabashed in her skin, unfazed by her own breasts that seemed as tired as her spirit.

"Just one man?" He asked .

A puff of smoke escaped with her cracked chuckle.

"Sweetheart. One thing you'll learn soon enough is that it doesn't matter how many lovers you have, there will only ever be one."

The corner of her mouth twitched, barely a smile.

"So what happened?"

With a sigh she stubbed out the half smoked cigarette, ground it into the ashtray viciously.

"I should give these up." She exclaimed, snatching up the packet and tossing them across the hotel room so that they fell with a metallic thump into the waste basket.

"Ten points!" She laughed girlishly and there was a tiny glimpse of who she'd once been.

She lay her head on his chest and he absently ran his fingers through hair.

"Tell me about him."

"It's a long and boring story darling."

"Tell me anyway. What happened to him?"

"What happens to all men in the end. They run off and get married. Have a couple of kids, move to the country, buy a dog. Blah, blah, blah."

He ran his fingers up and down the soft flesh of her arm and felt the muscles there tense.

"You're holding out on me..."

She sat up and turned on him with a sideways smile.

"You always try to get life stories out of strange women you meet in bars?"

He smiles and pulls her onto him, his hands grasp at her full thighs and she leans forwards to kiss him, explores his mouth with her tongue. 

He tastes ashes and pushes his mouth harder to her.

"Only the interesting ones." 

"You think I'm interesting?" She sits astride him and puts her hands on his chest. "I'm far from interesting, I'm dull, I'm boring, I'm barely alive."

He digs his fingers into waist and she throws her head back, smiling.

"You make me feel alive"

"Boy. You don't even know me. What are you? Twenty? Twenty one?"

"Twenty four." He can't quite keep the petulance out of his voice and she raises an eyebrow at it in amusement.

"Twenty four." She grins slyly and moves her hips lazily back and forth. "Boys like you are only good for two things."

"Is that right?" His voice is husky, his grip on her tightens.

"Uh-huh." she grabs at his chin and squeezes it affectionately. "Fucking and helping me zip my dress up after."

She takes his hand in hers and brings his fingers to her mouth, sucking the tips delicately.

"You're changing the subject."

Her eyes widen in mock coyness. "I am?"

"Tell me."

"What is there to tell? I loved him but he didn't love me back. At least, not enough."

The girl in her is gone and, stiffly, she climbs off the bed and goes to the waste basket, plucking up the cigarette carton and tapping one out.

"Why should I stop now? Practically dead anyway."

She does cross her arms over her chest now, but it seems less an act of modesty and more an unconscious attempt to protect her heart.

"He was older than me. A lot actually.... Did I tell you I wrote a book?"

He shakes his head.

"Yes. While we were together, I had grand notions of being an author. Some girls were obsessed with ballet, others with horses, most with boys, I was obsessed with writing." 

She moves over to the window and pulls the curtain back a fraction, letting the sick orange light from the street below slip in, bathing her so she looked like tarnished gold.

"He was my teacher you see. Oh don't give me that face!" She's looking over her shoulder at him and smiles sadly. "I was eighteen, he was a private tutor my parents hired in a failed attempt to get me into university.

At the time I thought he was the most well read, intelligent person on earth. I worshiped him, hung on his every word, wasn't a thing I wouldn't do for him."

The tip of her cigarette seemed to float in the gloom as she closed the curtain and walked back across the room to the bed.

"Of course, he soon realised this and was able to take full advantage of poor, little, naïve me."

Her tones self deprecating, she's making light of it, but he can see the way her eyes shine, doubled in size, magnified with well balanced tears. 

"He nurtured me thought the book though."

"The book? You never wrote another?"

She shrugs and slips back into bed. "Seems I only had the one in me."

"What was it called?"

"The Vanity of Eros." She proclaimed regally. "I know, I know.. it's a cringingly pretentious title. But then it fits rather well with the content."

She stretches till her joints pop then turns to him and smiles slyly.

"The things he did to me, that I let him do, that I wanted him to do. Wicked things, terrible things."

Her fingers are running up and down the inside of his leg while she talks, long smooth strokes that make him hold his breath and twitch.

"I was his pet, his toy. He'd press his old man body against my young one and violate me."

She traces the length of his penis with her fingertips, her lips twitch to a smile as she hears his breath hitch and sees his abdomen tense.

"He liked to hurt me. Pinching, slapping, pulling, never satisfied until I'd cried for him, then he'd fuck me like an animal."

Her hand wraps around him firmly and she laughs.

"So this is why you wanted to know? Does it get you off? Do you get all the women you fuck to tell you about their past?"

He ignores her goading, merely moves his own hand past her belly and starts to work his fingers into her.

She gasps then recovers herself, moving her hand slowly up and down his length, almost without thought.

"He was a brute, Mon Attila Marcel ..."

Her lips replace her hand so that she's delicately kissing him, running her nose up and down from base to tip.

"When he first pushed me to my knees and got his cock out I had no idea what to do." She whispers. "I just stuck my tongue out a little and licked it." 

A flick of the tongue and its hidden again, as though she'd tasted something bitter.

"Then he grabs my hair and says "Open your dirty little mouth", so I do and he showed me how to please."

And now her tongue snakes back out. Twists and slides along him, pulls him into her warm mouth so that he arches his hips off the bed and groans.

He knows she must be able to taste herself on him from earlier, and its that thought that's nearly his undoing.

Grabbing at her he pulls her up the bed and positions himself between her thighs.

Her eyes are wide and hungry and at his hesitation she grabs hold of his buttocks and croaks "Fuck me. Fuck me now." 

He's quick and hard, full of bullish importance, but she knows how to move, how to manipulate each stroke so that as he's about to come she's already there, her head thrown back, her shoulders pushed into the pillows, her hips bucking off the bed.

In those few seconds he looks down on her and she's glorious.

**********

Later, as they dressed, and he helped her with her zip, he asked what had happened, in the end.

"I told you. Wife, kids, country, dog." 

She's brushing the knots from her hair as she speaks, quick, sharp strokes that look like they must hurt, although her face is passive.

"He had to choose and decided I wasn't worth the gamble. The risk of being alone later. 

All the time we were together he'd say "You're so young, you need to go out with boys your own age, you'll get tired of me in the end". I never did though."

She stuffs the brush in her bag and quickly collects up her things, as though she now wants to be gone as quickly as possible.

"He chose to stay with a woman he didn't love and with kids he hardly knew, rather than risk being alone because he chose me. All men are the same, they pretend they're the stronger sex, when in actual fact they can't even function on a base level without someone behind them."

She laughs bitterly. "They chose a lifetime of apathy rather than risk it on passion, fire..... You don't think that's you? It will be, one day."

Suddenly he wants her gone as fast as she wants to leave.

She no longer looks like the triumphant Goddess she was a few hours before, now she just looks old and tired.

"I had a great time...." She smiles up at him and pats his cheek affectionately. "We won't be doing this again though."

And without another word, she's gone.

************

Years later he happens upon "The Vanity of Eros" in a second hand book shop.

He's delighted with the slim volume although his wife wrinkles her nose at it's aged hardback missing its cover.

Its a hard read, meandering, touching in its naivety, its easy to see the girl who poured her heart into the words.

As the book progresses though it takes darker turns through her mind.

"I decide to smoke not because I want to, or enjoy it, but because I need the taste of ash on my tongue to remind me that death is imminent and he can't touch me there." 

He finds himself touching his own tongue with his fingers and imagines he can taste the ash from her kiss.



Smoke



Edgar watched the slinky brunette woman as she stood talking to a friend while on a smoking break.  He stared as the young woman slowly lifted her right hand and lightly touched the cigarette to her lips, her crimson lipstick distinctively marking the white filter tip.  Then as she inhaled, he could almost see the smoke curling into her mouth like the tongue of a lover.  Her hand, with the cigarette gracefully tucked between two fingers, then dropped to her side flicking away the excess ash in the same movement.

Looking back up at her face, he watched as the white smoke trickled out of her mouth and vanished in a wisp of a breeze as she spoke.  Later as she exhaled, the faint fog rolled down her body like a pair of hands.  Then her hand once again returned to her mouth which opened slightly to touch the cigarette again.

Reaching down to his lap, Edgar adjusted his erection, just as he had each time he watched a woman smoking near him.  Since seeing Lauren Bacall sensuously drawing the smoke out of a cigarette in the movies, he had been fascinated with women who smoked.  Although Edgar never smoked, he always carried a pack of cigarettes since he was old enough to buy them.  He spent a full two years after his eighteenth birthday trying to find the courage to, pull the cigarettes out of his pocket and offer it to a woman.

When he finally did get the opportunity, he learned he needed to carry a brand that women wanted to smoke.  The old Marlboro Man (TM) may have enticed the ladies, but not to smoke his brand.  After that he carried Virginia Slims (TM) almost exclusively.

Drawing his attention away from the woman's cigarette, Edgar let his eyes wander as she appreciated the hint of cleavage showing at the top of her blouse.  He then visually caressed the curve of her breasts, slid downwards around her hips and then down to her legs.  Suddenly, his attention returned to the woman's face as she tilted her head back and blew a ring of smoke into the air.

As the smoke ring slowly expanded Edgar let his mind drift back to a small café where he offered a cigarette to a woman and she accepted, asking him to sit at her table.  His attraction to her, more specifically, to her smoking quickly became apparent so by the time their drinks were served, she was no longer politely blowing the smoke toward the floor, she was gently blowing it at him.

"You gave me a cigarette, but not one for yourself?"

"I don't smoke," he remembered replying.

"But you carry cigarettes?"

"To offer to you."

"So you like women who smoke?"

Feeling a tingle roll through his body he replied, "Yes, ah, yes I do."

Looking closer at her face he watched a wisp of smoke curl from her lips, roll around her nose, up past her jet back eyes and dissipate over the olive skin of her forehead.  Her black hair cascaded down to her shoulders.  Partially covered in her scarf, the hair looked soft and straight, with perhaps a slight curl at the end.

Watching her flick her cigarette into the ashtray, he noticed the smooth, dark skin of her neck and the hint of cleavage at the top of her blouse.  Her breasts seemed nicely rounded, but his attention returned to her face as she held the cigarette to her lips and drew in her breath, closing her eyes as the smoke flowed into her.  As she exhaled, he moved forward a bit feeling the moist smoke warm his face.

"I think we need to leave now," the woman said, dabbing her cigarette in the ashtray and letting the lipstick stained butt roll into the tray.

"Where?"

"A hotel?"

"Yes," he replied, adjusting his erection as he stood up, hoping it wouldn't be too apparent as he followed her out of the café.

The hotel was nearby and it had a bed, that was all they needed by that time.  They hurried up to the room, and without a word they undressed and Edgar moved onto the bed.  Standing over him she took a cigarette, lit it, took a long drag and then blew out the smoke so it cascaded down over Edgar's body.   Feeling a trembling running through his body, he reached out and grabbed her ass, squeezing it.

Moving closer to the bed, she took another drag and blew a smoke ring.  Edgar watched, completely enthralled, as the ring slowly descended and settled just above his hard cock.  Taking another drag, she leaned forward and blew a second ring which descended down onto his cock in a perfect ringer.  After ringing his cock twice more, she set her cigarette in the ashtray, she climbed onto the bed and straddled Edgar.

He watched as she took hold of his cock, guided it to her pussy and then lowered herself down on him.  Feeling the wet softness surround him, he lifted his hips, pushing deeper into her.  She continued moving up and down on hem, grinding herself against him until she moaned loudly and came.

As she recovered, she reached out and grabbed her cigarette and took a drag.  Blowing the smoke down into Edgar's face she began moving again, sliding up and down on his cock.  She continued blowing the smoke and moving up and down until Edgar lifted his hips up off the bed and came, spurting his cum deep into her pussy.

Edgar suddenly snapped back as the woman he was watching dropped her cigarette onto the sidewalk and stepped on it.  She turned and walked with her friend back into the building.  Only then did Edgar move his hands down to the wheels of his wheelchair and turn to face his nurse, who was sitting on a nearby bench reading.

"Are you ready to go back inside Edgar?"

"Yes Margie, I'm ready," he replied.

She got up and moved behind his wheelchair.  Bending down she asked, "How's the oxygen?  You getting enough?"

Moving his hand up to the tube in his nose he replied, "Yes, the oxygen is good."

Margie then grabbed the wheelchair back toward the entrance to the clinic.  "This emphysema is just bad isn't it Edgar."

Nodding, he lifted his hand and waved, encouraging her to hurry up.  There was a Lauren Bacall movie coming on the TV and he didn't want to miss any of it. 



Smoke



The first thing i noticed was how Her skin smelled just the way it looked: Darkly sweet with the hint of a spice that i just couldn't name. Floating on top of her natural scent was that mixture of cigarette smoke and beauty products that's spelle "desire" to me since i started shooting women in the little studio at my old college. I took a deep breath to savor the smell as She took my glasses between Her thumb and forefinger, examining them curiously as if they were some precious artifact. 

"Can you see without these?" She asked.

"Only a little, Miss," i said softly, feeling out of breath as i held my eyes down. "Only close up." Her soft, pale lips curled into a smile...the kind that usually says "I know something you don't." She gently set the frames on the dresser She leaned against, Her expression moving from coy amusement to completely earnest as She turned back to me. I pressed my lips together and swallowed hard, realizing how much taller She was than me, a fact that only made me more eager to give in to Her commands.

"Kneel," She said, resting Her hands on my shoulders. As i sank to my knees, my eyes took in the length of Her body, barely clad in black halter, boy shorts and patent leather boots (Why didn't i lick those damn boots!). Settling to the floor, my gaze was met with the thick shaft of Her cock, matte rubber and strapped securely in place. i'd photographed Her wearing it our second day in the city together and was as awed by it's beauty immediately. It was dauntingly wide at its base but tapered gracefully to a narrow tip sculpted to mimic an actual penis' head. I took another breath and the scent of Her skin gave way to the smell of Her sex. Knowing She was as excited made me smile. I have just enough ego to enjoy turning on whoever i submit to this way.

Her hips pushed her cock towards me as i stared at it. "Open,"She ordered, taking a handful of my hair in hand. I reached out with my tongue, caressing the tip of Her cock, savoring the dark taste of the hard rubber as i glanced up at Her. She loosened her grip and looked down at me, Her expression a mix of surprise, delight and affection. I took the length of Her into my mouth, breathing in sharply and swirling my tongue around the shaft.

i don't know if either of us were prepared for the intensity of what we were doing -- i have no idea how long we were there, but everything began flying, rushing, colliding: Hands, tongues, breath, moans, sighs...Her hands on my face, in my hair, coaxing, caressing, forcing, guiding me up and down along the smooth shaft. Mine, holding onto Her waist and thighs, fingertips running along the spot where Her hips plunged towardsHer mound, hoping to find a sensitive spot to add to Her pleasure. All this as i filled my mouth with Her cock, slow then fast, then slow again, then fast again, moaning...gasping....sighing...

...Each new moment punctuated by the "click" of Her Master's camera, which only made it more exciting for both of us. All of us.

i don't know how long it lasted -- minutes? Hours? Did it matter? Suddenly i felt a shudder run the length of Her body (did i make her come? did i hurt her somehow?) as She grabbed my shoulders and pushed me backward against the foot of the hotel bed. Not sure of where i was, i struggled to focus my eyes, remembering my glasses sitting on top of the dresser, miles away for all the good they were dong me.

I think She realized i needed to see Her, needed to know where i was because She knelt down to me and brought Her face close to mine. She placed a hand over my heart, which was racing by now.

"Calm down, calm down," She said softly. "You're alright. You're safe." She tried to still my chest, heaving as i struggled to get a full breath.

"i just want to please You, Miss," I (think I) said almost panicked.

"And you do...Yes, you do," she whispered, taking me into her arms, pressing her cheek to my own. "You are a beatufiul man. So giving and bottomless. You're an amazing artist and an incredible person. I love you," she said, her voice sinking to a throaty whisper. "I love you," she said again, almost silently as i slowly reclaimed myself.

"Thank You, Miss." I whispered back. "Will You kiss me? Please?"

She raised her eyes, seeking permission of Her Master. The touch of her lips to mine is the last thing I can tell you about. I can't even tell you how I got back here to my own hotel room.



Smoke & Mirrors



Dropping her new cotton panties around her ankles, Rachel Morrison perched on the edge of the toilet seat and took a deep drag off the filter of her Camel Light. She didn't need to go, she just needed a smoke. The mill didn't allow smoke breaks though; just two chances a day to take a pee, not counting lunch. Satisfied that she was in the third stall — the only one with a door that locked — she pinched her eyes closed, shifting to find a more comfortable position. Her butt still hurt from last night. 

Dwight promised he'd go easy and that she'd like it; but he didn't and she didn't. She felt awkward and stupid, kneeling on the hard, tile floor of his bathroom, tail stuck in the air like a cat in heat. She tried to relax though and let him up her ass. Rocking on the cold porcelain seat, she remembered the way they clumsily bumped together in that ungainly position until Dwight got mad and pounded her across the back of the head, cursing. That's when he really tore into her. She thought she'd split clear in two before he finally shot his wad.

"I'll do better next time, Dwight, I swear. Honest. It's just that I couldn't concentrate. Please don't be mad. It weren't you. Really, it weren't," Rachel promised, her voice cracking with a pleading tone. Her eyes still teared and ears still buzzed from the stinging blows.

"You're damn fuckin' right it weren't me, you stupid cow. I'm givin' it to you ways other women in this town only dream about. And what do you fuckin' do? Piss and moan, 'Ow, Dwight, ow.' I ought to fuckin' lift you again, bitch. That'd fuckin' get your attention," Dwight hollered, drawing back his hand.

BAM! A slam against the stall door made Rachel jump, shocking her mind clear of bad memories. Two — three, open-handed slams rattled the latch in its catch. Huey Lambert's boisterous voice echoed off the dust-flocked gray and pink tiled walls and enamel-painted bathroom stalls, "Rachel Morrison, it don't smell to me like you takin' a shit."

Trapped like a rabbit, Rachel's heart pounded so fast she could scarcely think. She hardly ever did anything wrong; that meant when she got caught it was all the worse because she had no practice lying to get out of it. She didn't even wonder why the shift foreman was in the ladies room. She just held her breath, waiting for what Huey would say next. Maybe it would give her a hint what to do.

"What you doin' in there, Rachel? You ain't smokin' or nothin' are you? 'Cause you know the mill don't allow no smokin' on the premises," Huey pressed his eye up to the crack in the door, looking her up and down. All hunched over there on the hopper with her arms crossed in front of her, she chewed on a fingernail, a half-smoked butt forgotten in her hand. "It ain't healthy for you," he growled. "Stand up and open this door, Rachel."

She couldn't think what else to do so she did what Huey told her, slipping the latch back with a click. Huey pressed the pink door open and held it in place as he stared down at the thin, white panties still on the floor around her feet. Reaching out, he took the cigarette from her, sucking on it, drawing the glowing coal down to the filter. The tobacco snapped under the onslaught. Stepping into the stall, Huey peered over Rachel's shoulder as he flicked the exhausted cigarette into the bowl and blew smoke in her ear. "Nope. I wouldn't say you was in here for a shit."

Cheeks burning in humiliation, Rachel shifted away from Huey but her legs came up against porcelain so cold it felt wet. She staggered to a stop and tried to ignore the foreman's body odor as it slipped around her, cutting off what meager fresh air the rest room offered starting out. She stared at the spaghetti stain on the pocket of Huey's blue poly-blend shirt and tried not to think about how ugly his wide, green paisley tie was.

"Hey, Rachel. What's these?" The toe of Huey's scuffed black dress shoe lifted the panties between her feet. "They your panties, Rachel?" 

Stiffly looking down, Rachel squeezed her eyes closed and nodded.

"You like talkin' to men when you ain't wearing panties, Rachel?" Huey pressed against her, rubbing his hand up her bare arm and poking thick, stubby fingers into the sleeveless opening of her dress to feel for a bra strap. "You like havin' men look at you when you ain't wearing panties?"

She shook her head in a quick, jerky motion and tried to shrink away from the groping fingers. "No. No, sir," she whispered.

"Oh, I think you do," he said, grabbing her by both arms with big, meaty paws, sweaty with excitement. Extending his thumbs, he rubbed the sides of her breasts. "I think you like it so much, you want me to take them panties there and hold 'em for the rest of the day so all the men here can look at you not wearing 'em. Ain't that right? Now, you bend down there and pick 'em up and hand 'em to me. Right now."

Huey stood so close, Rachel had to kneel more than bend. Her finger tips touched the white cotton just as her mouth reached the level of Huey's bronze, Peterbilt belt buckle. He shifted his slacks so she could see he was starting to stiffen up. Stepping out of the underwear with barely perceptible movements, she pinched the cloth between her index and middle finger and stood up, panties dangling by her side.

"Now you hand 'em to me, like a good girl."

Rachel held out the panties, feeling Huey's moist, beefy fingers close over her hand in a clumsy caress as he took the garment from her. With the same hand, he lifted the skirt of her dress and ran the panties up her bare leg. His breath hissed between his teeth as he pressed the back of his fingers against her pubic hair. Rachel suppressed her shudder of repulsion.

"I'm gonna to be watching you all afternoon, knowin' you ain't wearing no panties. Is that gonna make you wet, Rachel? You gonna need your panties back to keep from drippin' all over the floor?"

Rachel swallowed tightly, waiting for him to finger her. Instead, Huey stepped out of the stall. Balling her panties into his pants pocket, he ordered her to walk in front of him, back to the mill floor and back to her machine.

Her bench mate, Florence looked up as the two of them came out of the hall leading to the lavatories, Huey trailing Rachel like a dog sniffing sex. Florence watched as Rachel crossed the floor and Huey stopped to stand on the perimeter, watching until Rachel slipped onto her stool. Leaning over, Florence stopped Rachel's hand before she could push her ear plugs into place. "What's that asshole up to?" Florence yelled over the clatter of machinery.

Rachel shook her head, stuffed the ear plugs in place and began stitching. The rest of the afternoon, she crouched over her machine, forgetting how the metal stool hurt her ass where Dwight whooped her. She didn't dare look up too often because when she did Huey was there watching her, his hand moving in his pocket. Rachel shook Florence off again when the second scheduled pee-break of the day rolled around at three o'clock. This time, she had to go but the protection provided by three dozen women, all vying for four bathroom stalls, didn't make up for her sudden craving for privacy. Twisting a stray thread around her finger until the nail turned blue, Rachel decided to wait until she got home. 

At five, the shift ended. Cleaning off her machine, Rachel wiped up the last few threads and dropped them in the scrap bin at the end of the bench before heading to the time clock to punch out. Quickly, she scanned the lobby for Huey, holding her coat tight in front of her and sticking close to Florence. The clock stamped her card with a familiar mechanical stump and still no sign of Huey. Thinking about home and a nice warm, private bathroom, Rachel slipped her arms into her quilted down jacket. When the doors to the parking lot opened, a chill wind drafted up her skirt like an icy chimney. Twelve more feet. Eight more feet. Six more.

As the throng of workers hit the double-glass entry doors, they surged to embrace freedom. Grown men broke from the crowd, running like children from the last day of school toward their rusty pick-up trucks and second-hand cars. There was an occasional whoop and holler as workers exchanged their last social jibes of the day but mostly the men were intent on their evening migration to cold beer and comfortable recliners. The women lagged behind in tired conversation, resigned to the messy houses, evening meals and notes from school that awaited their homecomings.

"Rachel Morrison." Huey Lambert's fog-horn voice cut through the after-hours chatter. A few heads turned from the flight but most ignored him, figuring they'd done their time for the day. It wasn't their names the bastard was shouting so why look back. "Did you forget something, Rachel Morrison?"

Rachel's heart stopped. For the second time that day she held her breath. Was Huey going to pull her panties out and wave them like a flag for everyone to see? Her skin went cold and prickly as Florence turned and touched her arm. From somewhere deep inside her, momentary inspiration was born . "My cigarettes," she murmured to Florence. "He caught me in the bathroom and took my smokes."

"Like a fucking school principal? Oh, shit. Forget 'em and buy more."

"Rachel Morrison, I want to talk to you." Huey's voice was laden with self-importance and warning as he stood waiting outside the double-glass doors, beefy arms crossed in front of his chest. Staring her down, Huey bet Rachel's ass was all goose flesh hanging out there in the cold. He flexed his fingers, yearning to run his hands over the tiny bumps.

Looking longingly toward her powder blue Escort trimmed in a coat of primer, Rachel drew a deep breath. "I'll talk to you later, Florence." 

As a chorus of car engines started in the lot to carry away departing workers, Rachel shuffled back to stand before Huey, eyes cast down at the snow that had turned to brown slush during the day and was now freezing in hard ridges and hollows.

"Inside," Huey ushered her in, making her walk in front of him again. The mill floor was ghostly quiet since the third shift got laid off last month. The maintenance crew didn't come on until six, so he'd have a good hour alone with her. 

"Bathroom," he commanded.

Shaking, Rachel pushed open the door and heard her own foot steps echo in the cool, tiled room. When the machines were running there were no echoes in the mill. There wasn't room for them. She pulled her coat tighter around her as she stopped half-way down the length of stalls, past the third stall. Huey watched her in the row of smoky mirrors along the wall behind the sinks. She turned around to face him because she knew he was going to tell her to anyway.

"Ain't you hot in that coat?" he asked. 

She shook her head. 

"Well, if you ain't, I think you're gonna be, 'cause we may be in here a while. Better take it off."

Reluctantly, Rachel slid the nylon garment off her shoulders.

"How come you don't wear no sleeves on your dress in the middle of January?" Huey's eyes dropped to the shoulder he groped that morning.

"Cause it's so hot out on the floor. When you're out there workin', it might be January, it might be June. There ain't no windows to tell the difference," Rachel's self-conscious voice trailed off as she let her coat sag to the floor in front of her.

Huey stepped toward her bringing with him a new stink, more awful than before. He'd put on cologne and a generous amount. Reaching in his pocket Huey shook out her panties, wrinkled and damp from being wadded in his sweaty fist all afternoon. He put them up to his nose and sniffed as her eyes grew wide, watching. He rubbed the polyester lace trim on his cheek and sniffed the crotch, licking the cotton and catching the elastic waist band between his teeth. 

"I been watching you without your panties on," Huey told her. "Did it make you wet, knowing I knowed you was naked under your dress?"

"No."

"You don't like your job here, Rachel. Don't nobody like what they do here, but they gotta do it or go hungry, don't they? You don't want to go hungry, do you Rachel? What would you do to keep from going hungry?" Huey patted his bulging crotch.

Rachel went pale. Blood drained out of her entire body. She needed her job. The mill was the only work Overton had to offer. She still lived at home, taking care of her Pa. His military pension paid for his medicine and beer but there were groceries to buy and insurance, heating oil and utilities. She had to pay off her car, too, and the bill to Haley's Funeral Home for her mama's service last fall.

"You hungry now, Rachel? You want somethin' to eat?" Huey reached for his belt, undoing the buckle and opening the fly. " 'Cause I got somethin' that'll fill you right up. And you gonna like it, too. You gonna love it. You gonna lick your lips and beg for more." His pants bagged open as he scooped his short, fat, swollen penis out of his briefs. "You want this, don't you, Rachel?" 

Rachel stared, round-eyed remembering the day under the high school gymnasium bleachers that Huey exposed himself to Hattie McInnis and her. Hattie touched him and pronounced him hot and hard. Rachel got scared and left to hide in the girls' room. The next day, Hattie and Huey were expelled from school for a week because Ms. Barnes heard Hattie's panting screams bouncing off the steel beam rafters. Huey said Ms. Barnes was jealous because he wouldn't give it to her, too. 

Just like that day, scared down to the souls of her feet, Rachel had to go pee. "I — I got to go to the bathroom," she stammered. "I've been — been waiting since — three o'clock, Huey. I really just want to leave."

"You got to go to the bathroom? Well, ain't you in luck. If this ain't just the place to be, then?" Huey swept his arm wide, indicating the selection of cubicles. "Take your pick."

"I — I got to go in private."

"Private? Hell, that's no fun. Go now, or don't go at all, baby, 'cause I ain't done with you."

Desperate to escape and desperate to relieve herself, Rachel looked at the exit and back to stall three, the only one that locked. If she didn't go now, she was going to wet herself. Shyly, she slid to the row of doors and picked her way cautiously to the locking stall, trying to stay out of Huey's reach. 

"Oh, you're usin' our stall. Sentimental, ain't you?" Huey's lurid laugh filled the room.

Stepping inside, Rachel attempted to swing the door closed but Huey held it open, as he had that morning. She hesitated, staring at his huge hand. It was twice the size of Dwight's. Twice the size might mean twice the damage, if that's the way he decided to go.

"I want to watch."

"But . . . "

Huey stepped inside, gingerly pulling Rachel's dress up to her waist and commanding her to sit. She did, in slow motion. Dropping her skirt around her, Huey stepped back into the open cubical door, watching and listening. She had to go, but under scrutiny of an audience, her bladder shut down.

"Go ahead. Piss. I want to hear it pouring out of you." He stroked the head of his bobbing penis.

"I can't. Not with you watchin' me like that."

"Don't say I ain't no gentleman," Huey stepped out and swung the door closed, his eye pressed to the crack.

'You ain't no gentleman,' Rachel thought. Closing her eyes, she told herself to concentrate. She tightened her insides, thinking about squeezing a sponge. Then the first wet drops dripped into the bowl, followed by a light, trickling stream. Encouraged by her own sounds and the easing tension in her body, Rachel emptied herself in great gushing splashes. As she finished, she opened her eyes to see Huey had swung the door open again and was staring past her at the toilet bowl. She reached for paper to clean herself but he brushed her hand away, tearing off a long strip and wadding it himself. Ordering her to stand, he moved around her, breathing in her scents while wiping her clean. He watched the urine and tissue spin away with the cleansing flush. 

Her heart pounded dangerously when he gently wiped between her legs, as if she were a child just starting to potty train. She wanted to run but knew she'd never make it past the door. She imagined him tangling his hands in her hair, pounding her head against the heavy metal door, yelling in her face. If she did what he said, just this once, maybe he'd leave her alone from now on. She stared at his penis. It was bigger than Dwight's. For a flash, she imagined herself on all fours with him pushing in from behind. 

Huey turned from the toilet bowl to find Rachel watching him stroke himself. "You remember that day under the bleachers, don't you, Rachel Morrison? It was you I wanted to fuck that day, not Hattie. But you went runnin' off to take a leak and me, I got stuck with Hattie and a hard-on." 

Huey took her reluctant hand and closed her cold fingers over his swollen, purple rod. "Touch it, Rachel." 

He was hot and hard. And a lot bigger round than Dwight. Tightening his grip over hers, he rubbed her hand toward the base of his cock and back to the tip. "Do it, Rachel. Rub hard. Go ahead. Grab it. Yeah, like that," he encouraged her. 

Puffing heavily with his excitement, Huey guided Rachel's finger tips to the head of his penis. Timidly she stroked the outline of his glans and the small crease on its crown. "Oh, fuck, yes," Huey moaned. "That feels so good. Oh, yes. Use both hands. Harder. Good."

She listened to him mutter approval and praise. At least she was doing it right. If she could make him come, he'd be happy. He'd let her go. Dwight always said, the harder the better. With him, it always worked out the harder, the faster. In this case, the faster, the better.

Enjoying her sudden enthusiasm, Huey grabbed at Rachel's breasts with both hands, rubbing them through her dress. "I want to see your titties. I bet you got nice little titties, don't you?" He pulled away from her, unbuttoning her dress and pushing it over her shoulders so it fell to the floor.

"Ah, there's the bunny," Huey said, looking down at her pubic nest, exposed to the air since before lunch. Unsnapping her bra, he dropped it to the sad pile of clothing at their feet. Pinching her nipples until they peaked, he stared at Rachel's crotch and started to sing in a tuneless, croaky-like voice, "Little baby buntin', daddy's done a huntin', to catch a little rabbit skin, to put his baby buntin' in."

Huey lowered his head to take a nipple in his mouth. He sucked hard, biting then letting go to run a flat tongue around and around the nipple before sucking hard again. He muttered about her tits as Rachel stared at the hydraulic hinge on the top of the bathroom door. Huey ran his tongue down her side and back up her arm. He sniffed under her arm the way he sniffed her panties earlier, taking little licks and nips of skin and groaning low in his throat. He reached down to rub his sweaty palms over her buttocks, tracing the crack between the mounds before cupping them and squeezing hard. He traced the line back up again, splitting the halves and rubbing each side of her anus with his forefingers. 

Instinctively, protectively, her muscles contracted causing her to jerk way from his fingers but toward his hard-on. He muttered approval and traced down, toward her vagina. He slid his fingers between the lips but found her skin pasty dry instead of satiny slick and ready for him.

"You ain't frigid, are you? Don't you like this? Don't you like me stickin' my fingers into you like this?" Huey pulled his hand back and licked his fingers, using the wet tips to tease her clit. She jolted at the first contact. "Oh, you do like this," he smiled.

Rachel's reaction shocked and shamed her. She did like the way his fingers ran over the sensitive nub. She leaned slightly toward the feeling, then stopped herself as he began telling her how he was going to make her come. Confused and humiliated by the feelings washing over her, Rachel tried to pull away. Dwight did this to her once in a while; played with her between her legs but he never seemed to do it long enough. What would it be like, she wondered. How long was long enough?




Smoke & Mirrors



It was to be the greatest magic trick ever performed. Greater even than the Allies deception about the Normandy landing during world II. The plan was to evacuate a large portion of the planet's population under the very eyes of the rest of the world.

Hiding in plain sight with smoke and mirrors was how it was to be executed. The big question was who would get to go and who would stay?

After the crash at Roswell the Interplanetary Commission secretly reclassified Earth. The re-classification was spurred by the combination of the increased intensity of the sun and the overpopulation of the earth which threatened mankind with extinction. The IC had been watching and studying the developing race for millennia, but had a strictly hands-off policy until pilot error and failed instrumentation cause unplanned first contact. That's when the shit hit the fan. Despite all their efforts at suppressing and erasing the event the damn stubborn humans kept coming up with story after story about aliens. And so the IC decided, against its better judgment, to lend a hand. 

The time table was way out of kilter because the exponential increase in pollution caused by the rise in fossil fuel usage worsened the effects of the suns increased intensity. The whole planet couldn't be evacuated. Thus came mankind's first test. The space race.

The Crammerians were selected to make new first contact.  They were closest to the humans genetically. Their telepathic abilities were the most compatible and they were the ones who crashed. 

Bradrid Fevermore, a scientist from the Lassiter Zenith Group was chosen as primary spokesperson. He was regarded as the premier ecobiologist throughout the six galaxies and had the added advantage of decades as an alpha grade interplanetary mediator. Moreover, he was the only one with such credentials that had the ability to look humanoid. Having been selected for the job there was one thing he requested – autonomy to pick his team. That brought a stop to most of the back room political fancy footwork which had been going on ever since the decision was made to intervene. Two years had been lost before Bradrid was selected. Bradrid had his team together in six weeks. Livermeron Aldus was Bradrid's chief of state who would handle the military aspects of the project. Aldus was to form the best strike team contrived in the history of the Interplanetary Council. He would be responsible for evacuation plans and overall security. Merlina Hastorium was the most prescient of the council members. She would work closely with Bradrid in formulating the backdrop of the evacuation scheme – the smoke and mirrors department. Dimiter Randabout was basically a high level social worker who would put together a team to handle to rejectees – the people left behind. She would work closely with Leonora Mironaoane the spiritual advisor. Bradrid had a hard time coming up with a candidate to deal with accounting and bureaucracy. This was a most critical assignment. It required someone with finesse and not a whole lot of ego. Dealing with human bureaucracy on at least three continents was going to be the biggest nightmare in the history of the universe. He lost weeks of sleep making lists of possibilities and discarding them.  Finally he had a brainstorm. He hated to bring her out of retirement but she was the best. He bit the bullet so to speak and made the vid-call which was so long over due.

"Hello, Mom. It's Brad. How would you like a new job?" His mother, the graceful, stately Winsong Fevermore was delighted to have been chosen. 

"It's about time," she said. "Merlina called me weeks ago saying she was anxious to start working with me." Brad had to laugh.  

"So why didn't you call and let me know?" 

"It had to be your decision. Otherwise things might go askew. You had to come to realize I was best for the job just like everyone else you picked. What if it was learned you consulted a psychic to select your appointees, one of whom was your mother. You'd lose all credibility."

"Right, as always" Brad said with a shrug of his shoulders and a rueful grin. 

The team had their first meeting the following day. Assignments were made and after three days locked in the meeting room with no sleep and only protein supplements for meals the team selected humans to approach with their plan.

There was no getting around the fact the three heads of state of the Super Powers had to be brought on board – Kennedy, Kruchef and Mao. They also brought in Ghandi, the Dali Llama and Mandela. They haggled over bringing in the Pope but finally decided it would be a mistake of galactic proportions to exclude him. There would be big trouble if the cover story was compromised and the Pope wasn't part of the plan. Howard Hughes became the international financial advisor and the news team, Huntley-Brinkley was selected to work on the media spin. 

They agonized over whether to clue in the British, Australian and the Japanese but decided none of them had the financial resources to join the space race and they already had too many strong egos to deal with.

One thing was clear. The entire planet couldn't be evacuated. Some hard decisions had to be made. First to the moon had first choice as to who ended up on the voyage out. It took two years and any number of meetings to hammer out the terms of the contest

The race was on.

Each country was given the same alien technology and had to unlock its secrets by working backwards. In the early days of the project the race was neck and neck. Spying and subterfuge was rampant. Who could retain memories and who would be wiped? There were no alien swear words pronounceable enough to translate or consensus of gods to call upon to describe what went on both among and between the Alien Commission members and the Human Commission. 

One of the side effects of the Roswell Crash and the subsequent declassification of earth was cross breeding. A new race was born. One with both telepathic and innate empathic skills. The young empaths were rather like furless cats. They looked human enough but go near one with anything but kind, loving, nurturing thoughts and all hell would break loose. So it was decided the empaths would stay with their human families and be raised as humans. It was an irritating problem keeping the IC concealed from the general public during the maturation. 

And there was another problem. The IC represented most, but not all of the nearby sentient creatures.  There were others whose plans for humanity were darker and not so ethical. 

Why everything converged above earth's skies when it did is a question which philosophers will have millennia to ponder

At the same time the Crammerians were waiting for their empaths to mature to help with the vast problems presented by planetary evacuation, the lawless Chrysalians had used stealth and subterfuge and created a mutant version of their fliers.

The Chrysalian invasion of earth was more an infiltration than an occupation. 

It came from the far side of the galaxy by beings who were trying to save themselves from extinction. Much later on, after they were recognized, people on earth came to call them the fairy folk for lack of a better name.

Their lifespan in human term was beyond imagination for they had three stages of life. They were egg born but looked almost human at birth. As they matured they were cared for by their second generation family members, the fliers, during a stage of life development similar to humans. This was their larval stage

In their larval stage which lasted about 50 years they worked, played, and formed a life partnership. When it was time to merge one partner would become the host and the other, the pupa. During that period the melding took place. After two years as an incubus a new creature emerged – the flyer. It had the memories of both "parents" imprinted in its memory banks and their new maturation period was similar to the life span of the humans they had watched for so long. When they were young they were cared for by mature larval family members. At around age seventy or so they would mate, spawn and die. 

But they were dying out. More and more male flyers were opting not to mate. Why should they? They had everything they wanted and a damn good life. It was only the tired and desperate who needed to mate.

So the scientist set about to find a new host... After decades of experimentation on various life forms the Chrysalians finally found a way of implanting their incubi into human females without detection. Stage one of the invasion began. Only women with AB negative blood were receptive so the pool of selectees was limited. Slowly, stealthily they impregnated the selected females with chrysali. Then they stood by to watch and wait. 

The pupae were tiny and the women were unaware of the misbegotten seed they were carrying. For the most part they were left alone and live their lives. There were regular check ups but the women's memories were wiped as they were at the time of implantation.

By the time the incubi was mature it lived in synchronicity with its host. It was a subtle process of assimilation. The host never knew as she went about her daily business of living that she wasn't exactly acting with free will. 

The incubus for the most part was a kind and gentle ruler.  

But now the flyers had another problem. They were irretrievably drawn to the mother/hosts with an acute; if not devastating desire to encompass the female, bond with her, share time together before the birth.  It was forbidden. Rearchagee – the ruling class flyers had made it clear. That was the price they paid for their unwillingness to live by tradition and mate as nature and the Goddess intended

And the earthlings – for lack of a better name – were really caught between a rock and a hard place. The A-B babes were just coming into their own – learning to fly to the great puzzlement of most of the rest of the world community. The poor empaths were mostly running around with their heads wrapped in aluminum foil trying not to feel and hear the emotions and thoughts of what was a very trouble mess of races and beings. A very doomed mess of races and beings to be more accurate.

So of course something had to be done. It was Bradrid from the Lassiter Zenith who put it on the table during the annual Universal Counsel meeting. Faction one wanted to pull out entirely. They wanted to call the entire corner of the galaxy a no fly zone. "Just like a Fuiuking turtle", Chamrlery sneered in my ear when Globulous Endocreme squeezed itself back into its tube having had his say. "Wouldn't stick his neck out if it were his own damn family slime being scrapped off the planet by a huge single edged blade."  I had to laugh. Cham had a way of cutting through the dreck and making the horrible ridiculous.  "Shh,' Cham nudged me again. Bradrid's got the podium. Boy, I'd like to lick him behind his ears, just so". She started to purr at the thought. Cham was a lot like felines on earth but more so having highly evolved hunting instinct, sentience and sensuality. 

Bradrid was pointing out the Chrysalians weren't part of the council and Goddess help the earth beings if we pulled out and left what was left of the planet to the Chrys. "And," he continued in his cool, level manner, "what if the new fliers and the empaths are sexually compatible?" Does anyone have an answer to that question? His voice sliced through the gabble at the table like a samurai sword through butter. Can you imagine the kind of children they'd breed? They'd be fucking unstoppable.

We created this problem by letting the damned Medicos diddle around with the genetics without knowing what they were up against. We have a responsibility to those empaths down there. They're our children. And we'll deal with the fledgling fliers too. This is the first chance we've had to actually work with the stubborn Chrysalians. We should jump at it not away from it."  Brad paused for effect.

With earth going the way it is, there's very little time left for a safe, civilized evacuation. The upper mantle is already badly compromised by all their damned oil drilling. Islands are disappearing and their politicians spin it as a bad day at the beach. Chunks of the continents are beginning to fall into the sea. They call it a mud slide. And the Middle East is about to turn into one big sink hole of oil. That will last the 'lings about five years. The Africans are too busy dying from the plague and killing each other off for a decent days' meal to notice the shape their land is in. The continent will be almost empty of human life before the real environmental shit hits the fan. India and China will probably nuke each other at the first real sign of trouble. The Europeans are scared out of their wits but are keeping a stiff upper lip while they jockey for position and dig in for the next ice age. The Australians are like lemmings with their heads in the sand.  And goddess help the Americans who've brought this all to a head when we might have had eighty extra years if things had gone right.

So now we have to decide who goes and who stays and how to conduct a peaceful evacuation and spin it so the ones slated to be left behind don't go postal and start killing the ones with a ticket to ride. And while this planning is going on" he paused for effect and to get his emotions under control. He glared down the length of the table. And you've got to stop flying around pretending you're blimps and weather balloons on some insane holiday. The 'lings are primitive but they're not stupid. They're certainly going to know something's up when the first of the fliers start trying out their wings. 

Brad ran out of steam so he stopped talking and relinquished the podium. There was dead silence in the hall for a moment.  I couldn't help myself. I stood up and started to clap. First slowly, quietly, then louder and louder.  The noise echoed along the hallway. Brad stood and peered through the murky lighting to see who he'd so impressed with his speech. It was just me. Of course he couldn't really see me. I was actually only there in my astral form and, Goddess help me, I was a spy. Charm had zapped back to my bedroom the second I stood up. I was transfixed. This had never happened to me before. I willed myself back to my room but something in Brad's manner made it impossible for me to go.

I quickly morphed a fitting gown for the occasion. I'd been wrapped in my blanket. You see, I'd strayed into the meeting room during one of my astral exercises. Usually I'm naked so you either have to know I'm there to see me or you have to really look. Once spotted it's harder to melt away. But I'd never been pinned down like this. I was almost corporal. 

Brad looked at me long and hard. I glared back at him not wanting him to know how frightened I was. "You liked my speech?" He asked in a silvery voice. 

"Very much," I said archly. I held my head high.

"Just who exactly are you?" he wanted to know.  "These chambers are private. I don't think you were on the list. Are you a new councilor I'm not aware of?" 

"Uh. Not exactly."

"Then tell me, please," he reached for my shoulder as if to give it a shake. I side stepped him but not fast enough. His hand passed through my collar bone. "Ah, he said with a relieved grin. You're a dreamer. But I still don't know how you got in." Then his face darkened. "Who sent you? You couldn't have gotten through the security lazars without help."

"No one sent me,  I swear. I'm just a traveler. If I blink I'll be back in bed.  Watch." I blinked and willed myself out of there but it was no use. Some how I was trapped. Oh, I thought to myself. If was Charm who got us in. Charm was a feline made almost entirely of static electricity. She slipped through a vortex in my room one night and we became friends and fellow travelers.  But that's another story. But without Charm to zap the lazar net my astral ass was trapped.

I squirmed and tried again to Vanish.  No such luck.

"Merlina Bradrid yelled. "We have an intruder. Get up here."  Bradrid could be awfully imperious I thought through my fear.

Merlina flashed in so fast my head spun. "Who are you, girl,' she said with a hard look. "And how in hell did you get in here?"

You're probably wondering by now how I understood their language.  It's a talent I've had since birth. I somehow always know how people feel and when they speak their language makes sense to me.  I discovered it when my mom hired a Vietnamese woman to clean the house and baby sit. A was about two years old. The funny little woman was delighted when she realized I understood everything she said even though I couldn't talk to her. She helped me develop my talent and warned me to keep it a secret. She thought the government would come and take me away if I let on I understood every language on the planet. She was probably a bit paranoid but I was too young to sort things out so I did what she said. I often wondered if there were others like me but I was too timid to reach out with my mind to look for connections.

I was a pretty lonely kid. I always understood how everyone around me felt but I didn't know how to reach out. Whenever a connection was made it was so intense it frightened whoever my playmate was. Or if not, the parents thought there was something unnatural about how much joy I brought into a house. I was never asked back.

I guess I'm one of the empaths Bradrid was talking about. Finally things were starting to make sense. 

As I made the connection Merlina was staring at me like I was from Jupiter. I was standing transfixed to the floor ignoring her questions.

"Well, speak up," she said angrily. "Who are you and what are we going to do with you?"

"I'm nobody," I said quietly.  I'm Lucinda – or rather this is my astral body so I'm part of Lucinda. The rest is back home in bed with my cat, Cham. This is amazing." I started to babbly my tale but Merlina wasn't in the mood to listen to the prattling of a teenager. I sent out a mental scream to Cham who popped in static fur raised, eyes whirling. Cham's a champion cat.

"Get us out of here now," I mind spoke her. And ZAP we were almost home. But then there was this huge drag on us and back we were in the IC Chamber looking at two infuriated councilors. We were caught in an astral net as sticky as any earthly spider web.

"Goddamnit" I said. "How did you do that? My body's gonna be in…."

"Your body will be just fine," Merlina said with ice in her voice. Stop twitching and start talking.

"Look what you got us into," Cham spat to me with a mental barb.

"Me?" It was you that jimmied the lazar field." I replied.

"But you had to sneak in and take a peek. I was ready to go home and nap," Cham said arch

"Will you two children please stop 'pathing each other," Bradrid yelled.

Cham and I shut down our link and had the grace to look at him with guilty eyes.

"So Ms. Lucinda Nobody." What do you have to say for yourself?" Bradrid asked with cool fire in his voice.

"I thought it was all a dream."

"All," he said with fire in his aquamarine eyes. "Just how much did you hear?  How long have you peen spying on us?"

"Oh," I said tremulously, "Not too long. Just two or three…"

"Hour?" Merlina filled in hopefully.

"Weeks," I said in a small voice.

"Bradrid gritted his teeth. He looked like he was ready to explode. "You've been in here every night sing the beginning of the council session, haven't you?"

"Yessir," I replied. "Guilty as charged." Then I straitened my back and went on the offensive. "But it's not my fault," I said angrily. Your minds were broadcasting so loud…"

"We have dampers, damn it. How did you get past the dampers?"

"It all started when I met up with Cham, my cat," I started to explain. I [pointed at my feline friend who was a basketball sized ball of static electricity at this point. She was so scared the lost the ability to maintain even a fraction of her felinity. 




Smoke & Mirrors



"That's no cat. What the hell is it?" Bradrid said his voice full of ire.

"It's not an it,' I retorted. "She very sensitive." So you'd better…."

"I'd better what?" He reached down as if to pick up or handle Cham and ZAP, he was thrown right across the room. He sat down flat on his ass, stunned to the bone by Cham's little jolt. 

Merlina started to pull out a zapper. I threw myself across Cham to protect her and got a nasty shock from both sides. That's the last thin I remember. I woke up home in my bed. Cham was next to me quivering and trying to groom the left over ozone out of her fur.

"Good girl," I Said. "You really got us out of that one."

"I was so happy to be back in my body. I swore to whomever that I'd never stray again. I pulled Cham into my arms and hugged her hard. It was all just a dream, right?"

Meow was all Cham would say. 

But the incident got me thinking and I started to do some research. I learned more history in the next month than I'd had tossed at me in school. I discovered that everything I'd learned in my "dream" made sense.

Kennedy got killed over the space race 'cause he tried to cut corners and steal some of the Russian technology. A lot of the spying in the '60s was related to the space race. I went back further in my search. There was a massive cover up about Roswell. Right about that time earth electronic technology took off at an amazing pace. We learned so much in less than ½ a century. Man had been sentient for thousands of years. Why did we learn all this in just 50 years?

And finally I had to look at the bottom line. Me. And Cham of course. We couldn't be explained away. I was truly an empath and Cham was no ordinary ally cat.  

Then something truly amazing happened. I didn't make friends easily but I had a good friend at school. Robbie. We connected somehow when we first met. We were like two lonely souls that understood each other.  Anyway, Robbie had been a bit withdrawn recently. I gave him space and actually I was kind of distracted doing all the research about space aliens. We caught up with each other during art class about two weeks after Cham and I left the IC Council room. Robbie asked me to come home with him. He said he ad something to show me. 

Art was the last class of the day. We packed up our projects. I called home to tell my mom I was going to Robbie's for a while.

What he had to show changed everything.  Robbie had sprouted wings. He was scared and thrilled. He hadn't showed them to anyone or tried them out yet. Robbie was the final proof. He was a Chrys, Just like what I'd heard from the IC meetings.

So of course I had to fill Robbie in on what I knew.

"Goddamn!" Robbie said. That explains all the weird memories I have which my folks say are pure fantasy. I'm a Chrys! I'm bad!" 

He was over the top with excitement.  He flapped his wings and took off for a spin around his room.  

But I was worried. Now I had all the evidence. What was I going to do with it? Then I had another scary thought. What if Bradrid was looking for me?  I did my research right out in the open. Anyone looking for me with a little bit of knowledge about my circumstances would be able to track me through my computer.

Hell, I said to Robbie. Someone's gonna come for me and Cham real soon. Cham popped in at the mention of her name which gave Robbie a start. I hadn't told him about Cham's unusual ability to travel through the ether. She rubbed up against me in support.  Robbie flapped his wings and took another turn around the bedroom.

I wasn't worried about Bradrid or Merlina finding me through the ether. I swiped a bottle of my mom's Feel Good sleep remedy which somehow cuts out access to the dream planes.  I hated taking it. What was the point of sleep it you don't dream?  And Cham had stopped popping around the planes she thought they accessed.  Cham was an incredibly talented astral traveler. So we were safe on the astral level.

Chapter.

Bradrid was frustrated out of his mind. He'd searched the data base and the ether for Lucinda and Cham. He had to find them to wipe their memories. Lucinda was a loaded gun and Brad didn't know what the hell Cham was. 

Brad finally came to the conclusion Lucinda was an empath born from an unacknowledged tryst 15 to 17 years ago before the Rearchagee clamped down on unauthorized consortium with female 'lings. It was an embarrassing part of Crammerian history. After the Roswell accident and the declassification Crammerian spacers discovered that many female 'lings had extraordinary sexual fantasies which they unknowingly broadcasted through the ether. Earth was singing a siren song to the sexually frustrated spacers. It was impossible to resist at first. Many Crammerian spacers became addicted to the rush of mind melding with earth women while they slept. Several went so far as to commit what Bradrid considered dream rape. And there were consequences. 

Children were born who could not be acknowledged. Lucinda was most likely one of them. But who and where was she?"

Bradrid shared his thoughts with Merlina. Merlina was like his right hand these days. There was nothing like a friendly empath in bed. That was the whole fucking problem. Brad ground his teeth in misery.

"I've tried everything" he said to his bed mate.

"I know," Merlina said with a sultry smile.

"That's not what I'm talking about.  The girl and her cat. Why can't I find them?"

"Maybe you aren't looking in the right direction."

"What do you mean?" Bradrid asked.

"Well," said Merlina, "I've been thinking about it. What would a precocious teenager do after an experience like she had the other night?"

"Shut down and hide, obviously," Brad said. "For a while. And maybe even pretend it was all a dream."

"And then what?"

"Go to her parents or the goddamn press or the government. That's what I'm afraid of. If she talks the whole shebang will be busted. We'll never get earth evacuated. The consequences of our making decisions about gets to leave and who stays will cause international chaos.

"You're thinking like a male, not a frightened teenager," Merlina said. "She'd have to prove to herself it wasn't a dream. She'd do some research. Learn a little history. If she's as bright as I think she is she'll have searched their internet high and dry."

Brad's eyes lit up. He smiled and gave Merlina a huge hug. Then he pulled himself out of bed and slipped on a robe. "I have some computer work to do. Thanks, Merlina."



Smoke and Mirrors



My name is Grace Devon. I am about to tell you a story that will entertain you, excite you, and terrify you. First, let me give you some history. For a short time, I was a call girl. A very high priced call girl. I chose my clients, and was paid very well for what I did, which was just about anything. This story is about one of my clients. It was a man that I had seen only once. A man who changed my life, and made me believe things that I never thought I would.

I was 25, in the prime of my career. I had a booking agent who arranged my time schedule for me. She had a list of clients that I would accept, and she would screen any potential clients who were referred by existing clients. She had made an appointment with a gentleman who I only knew as Max. I was to meet him in his loft above a jewelry store. A store he owned. A very old client of mine had referred him to me, a man I had started seeing while I was still in college. His references were exemplary. 

Before I go on, let me explain what I looked like then. My hair was the color of burnished copper. My eyes were brilliant green, not enhanced by colored contacts. I had high cheekbones and a mysterious face. My lips were full. My body was long and sleek, my breasts not excessively large, but high and firm. My ass was firm, above long legs. I was highly sought after in certain circles. I attended the best parties, bought my clothing at the best boutiques all over the world. I was accepted in society.

On this night, it was dark, misty rain was falling. I was dressed in black, as was my rote in that time of my life. I left my hair falling straight down my back. The clack of my boots against the cobblestones echoed against the surrounding buildings. I looked at the card in my gloved hand, comparing the numbers on the card to the numbers on the buildings. I didn't see number 13. I turned in a small circle, when a door opened up behind me. A man who was framed by bright white light said my name. 

"Grace." 

I jumped a little, for some reason suddenly nervous. I couldn't see him because of the light streaming out behind him. I walked closer, and he backed into the room, when I got to the door, he took my hand and pulled me in. He turned me around twirling me by holding my hand above my head. "You are everything I have heard you were." 

I smiled at him. He was in his mid forties. He had silver hair, brilliant blue eyes, that held benevolence, with a trace of something more lingering beneath them. He was also dressed in monochromatic black. His suit was black, as was his shirt and tie. He took my hand, leading me to a stairway. He walked behind me; I could feel his eyes on my ass as I took each step. I shook my hair out a little, just to give the moment a bit more. I heard him chuckle behind me. It was a decidedly wicked chuckle. I reached the top of the steps and was amazed at what I saw in front of me. I stopped dead in the spot I was. Max came up beside me, watching my reaction as I saw the scene in front of me. Black candles, everywhere on every surface. The bed was huge, a medieval four-poster, with panels of silk tied to the posts. The coverlet was black silk. 

He took my hand and again, led me deeper into the room. "I understand you play games." It wasn't a question. I shrugged, taking off my jacket, "It depends on who I am playing with and what the rules are." He smiled, revealing deep dimples. He took my coat from me. "This game has no rules, and you will be playing with me." He tossed my coat over the back of a chair. 

He nodded to a doorway, "There is the bathroom, go bathe, and change into the clothing have laid out for you." I tilted my head, and gave him a half smile, "Yes sire, my master, as you wish" He chuckled again as I closed the door behind me. I couldn't believe the size of the tub. It was like a small lake. The water was already drawn. The bubbles were mounded high within it. I removed my clothing, feeling his eyes on me. I knew he was watching. I took a moment to tie my hair on top of my head. I stepped into the water. It was wonderfully warm. The bubbles cool against my skin. I slid into the water. I sighed at the sensation. I closed my eyes, and let my hands glide up over my breasts, slicking the suds off of them. I didn't know for sure what turned Max on, but I was there to do just that. 

I was surprised he never came into the bathroom; a lot of guys get off on bathing with women. I finished my bath, toweled off with one of the thickest towels I had ever seen. I slathered myself with the lotion provided for me. I slipped into the long silk gown. The straps were so thin they were barely there. The gown dipped low on my back just reaching the top of my ass. A deep V cut displayed my breasts provocatively. The silk glided over my skin. I stepped out of the bathroom, to see Max standing in front of the fireplace in a black silk robe. He had a glass of cognac in his hand. He picked up another glass and offered it to me. I took it from him and took a sip. 

I waited for him to tell me what he wanted. He was staring at me. His eyes had the intensity of a laser. I took another sip of my drink. He took the glass from me and leaned into me. "You smell wonderful Grace." I looked up at him, "thank you for providing the lotion. It is wonderful. I may have to ask you to tell me where you got it so I can get some of my own." "I don't believe you can get that lotion around here." He led me to the bed, and sat me down. 

His hands began to run over my skin eliciting shivers all over me. I usually was able to separate myself from this part of my life. Not this day. I felt myself floating away. Yet I could feel what he did, I felt every touch, every kiss. I kissed back. I touched back. It was the most incredible thing I have ever experienced.

Max slid the straps down from my shoulders, his eyes, devouring me. His hand grasped my breasts, squeezing, hard, his thumb and forefinger pinching my nipples erect. He kissed me softly at first, and then he increased the pressure, his teeth and tongue doing battle with my own. I could taste my own blood in my mouth. His teeth grazed my neck. I moaned at the pleasure of it, but would regret the marks in the morning.

I reached out to untie his robe. He stopped me. "No, not yet." He said. He pushed me back on the bed and stripped the gown from me. Taking it off by sliding it down to my feet, then throwing it across the room. His hands were hot. His mouth was hotter. His tongue flicked across my skin, searing me. My whole body was throbbing with need. I pushed my hands into his hair, until he took my hands and tied them with leather straps to the posts of the bed. "Now, the games begin." He said, with a strange gleam in his eyes. I saw shadows moving in the corners of the room. Max smiled as he covered my eyes with a silk scarf. "No peeking sweet one." I started to protest when his mouth covered mine once again. I felt his hands all over me. I didn't know how he could have his hands in so many places at one time. I felt a hand between my legs. Stroking the heat there. I knew I was dripping wet, ready. I felt a strong hand stroke me into oblivion. The fingers knew just where to go, and how to stroke me, like someone who knew me intimately. The feeling was amazing. The lips on mine, the hands fluttering over my skin, squeezing pinching me, the biting kisses on my neck and shoulders.

Then suddenly a dick was placed in my mouth. It was a very large dick. I took it all the way in, running my tongue over it, and around it. I gave little tiny bites, which caused the whole thing to shudder. The hands were still all over me, and then suddenly a tongue was stroking me as I was stroking Max. I smiled around him, thinking "69 cool". I heard moans, the dick in my mouth stroked harder, faster, driving deep into my throat. I heard a groan, and just then, I felt another orgasm rip through me. The sperm flowing down my throat was like ambrosia. 

I heard Max mutter "Thank You" in my ear. Then I felt his weight over me. "Are you ready for us Grace?" I nodded, still wondering at all the hands caressing me. Suddenly I felt him enter me, I felt ripped in half he was so huge. I wanted to touch him. I begged for him to let me go. He just laughed. He put my legs up over his shoulders, and began thrusting into me. His technique was amazing. I felt the next orgasm building like a coil that was tightened as far as it would go. I lost my breath, I felt as if my head would blow off my shoulders. The shiver started at my middle and crashed through me in all directions. He hissed as my pussy tightened around his massiveness. 

He moved and pressed himself at my ass. He inserted his finger first, stroking, then he pushed another one in. I grunted, and pressed further onto him. "Please, now." I begged. He placed his dick at the small hole of my ass. He pushed just a little, letting the head slide in. Then he pushed a little more. I felt something else enter my pussy. It was thick, and it felt like a dick, I supposed he was using a dildo on me. He fucked my ass with his dick, and fucked my pussy with his toy. I was feeling a dozen sensations at once. I was screaming my voice was hoarse with it. I wanted more. I wanted it all. He slammed into me, hard, fast, deep. The attention being paid to my pussy matched exactly the rhythm of Max fucking my ass. I felt his dick tighten in my ass; he shot hot all inside of me. It felt like lava. Suddenly I came around the thing in my pussy. I heard a sigh; I knew it wasn't from me.

Suddenly my hands were untied, and the blindfold was removed. Max was straddling me. He flipped me over, retied my hands. He raised my hips up, so that I was on my knees. "Just you and me now sweetheart." He said as he slammed into me. Oh, heaven. I felt like I was being transported. I thrust back to meet him, stroke for stroke. He slapped my ass. Pulled my head back by my hair. He slammed into me again and again, with more force each time. I moaned with the pain/pleasure of it. More. I wanted more. I couldn't remember the last time I had wanted this much, and more. He grabbed my hips and slammed me back into him. Take it like you were meant to Grace. I felt him swell inside of me, I felt myself tighten around him, and we both yelled out loud. I collapsed on the bed, exhausted, sweaty. I was aching, with small pains all over my body. 

Max leaned over me, untied my hands, and kissed me on the forehead. He whispered to me, "Sleep now Grace, you were everything I knew you would be, we so enjoyed you." I saw the shadows move once more, before I was lost in sleep. I slept deeply, not waking until the sun shone bright through the windows.

I woke up, with a slight headache, and slightly groggy. I was laying in my own bed, in my own clothes, my boots beside the bed. I frowned. I knew I had a client last night. I reached for my phone, to call Maggie, my agent. She said she didn't schedule an appointment for me yesterday. I hung up the phone, even more confused. I was ready to chalk it up to an active dream life, when I reached into my pants pocket. I pulled out a note that read, "Thank you Grace. If I ever come back, I will look you up. Max" There was $5,000.00 cash in the same pocket.

I felt cold, and I shivered. I went to look for the address I had, but could not find anything with the number 13 on the street. I never knew what happened, I never saw Max again. I never hooked again. I stopped my career in prostitution that day. I became what I am today, a jewelry designer. I have sudden inspirations for jewelry, it is almost as if they come to me in dreams. I found the cutest little shop, with a loft above it. The store used to be owned by a designing genius. I forget his name.

Well, there it is, my story of strange things, of smoke, and mirrors. Always pay attention to the things that happen around you. They may not be real, but then again, the may be very, very real.



Smoke and Mirrors



Looking back on it, I can tell you when – almost to the minute – when my wife first cheated on me. Once I figured out what was going on, it wasn't that hard. 

Hell, I suspected something was going on the day it happened, right from get-go. Ann tried to bullshit me with a smoke-and-mirrors routine, and that immediately piqued my suspicion. 

I guess that needs explaining, so I'll try my best to clue you in on the dynamics of my marriage and my life. 

My dad believed in simple names for his sons, so he named me Jim, short for James O'Reilly. Most everyone calls me Jimmy. I'm the oldest of three boys, but I have a sister who is two years my senior. She's Mary, and my brothers are Bill and Bob. 

My grandfather started a hardware store right off downtown in the town where I was born, raised and still live. He passed it to my father, who passed it on to me. It's always been a family operation. My mom kept the books, and all of us kids – even my sister – worked there when we weren't in school. 

Mary moved on when she finished college and got her teaching degree, and my youngest brother, Bobby, chose to join the Navy. But Bill and I never wanted to do anything other than run the business, and we went to college to study business, plus I got a master's degree in architecture. 

I didn't know if I might want to be a home-builder at some point in my future, but even if I didn't, I knew a knowledge of architecture and building construction would be of great benefit when we took over the store. 

Sure enough, over the years it has developed into a builder's supply outlet as much as a hardware store – kind of like Lowe's or Home Depot, but on a local scale. 

The arrival of those big chains in our city forced us to do change some of the ways we did business, but one reason we're still successful is because we haven't changed much. 

We're still in the old location, even though the downtown area has pretty much gone to seed. The central location allows us to cater to builders in every corner of the city, traffic isn't terribly heavy and we own everything – the land and the building – outright. 

More importantly, we still do business the old-fashioned way, with an emphasis on customer service, understanding our market and knowledge of the entire construction process. As a result, we're still the preferred supplier for most of the locally-owned construction companies. 

At age 38, I appeared to have life dicked. Our business is quite prosperous, and it allowed me to live comfortably in a nice home located in a quiet, upscale neighborhood. Until the events of this story, I shared that home with my wife of 12 years and our two children. 

I met Ann at a charity function, and we hit it off immediately. From the beginning, she was a little flirty, and as time went on, it wore on me more and more. 

But at the start, I liked her sexy, sassy nature. She was funny, outspoken, occasionally headstrong, always determined. I'm pretty much the same way, although quite a bit less outspoken. 

It didn't take long before we were spending a lot of nights together, and after 18 months of courtship, we were married. I was 26, she was 25 and we were crazy in love. 

Her family was less taken with me. She comes from old money, although her father's a banker, since most of the original family wealth had long ago been squandered. Nevertheless, they still had an aristocratic air that grated on my middle-class Irish upbringing. 

Ann was a mortgage officer for her father's bank when I met her, but she put her career aside when we finally decided to have children. Our daughter Bethany was 7 when all of this transpired, and our son Will was 6. After he was born, Ann made up her mind that two kids were all she wanted. 

As you can imagine, having two forceful personalities in the house created some fireworks, but I loved her and I thought she loved me. Maybe she did, since the circumstances behind what she did to me had little to do with our relationship. 

Nevertheless, she cheated on me, and I knew it almost the moment she did it. I was in denial for a few weeks as things deteriorated, largely because I was getting some of the best sex of my life, but eventually I couldn't look the other way.

For the most part, Ann was easy to get along with, as long as she got her way. I wasn't a pushover, but I learned pretty quickly that the best way to keep the peace in our house was to let Ann at least think she was getting her way. 

Because when she didn't, she could be a bitch, and she wasn't above using sex as a weapon. It was a formidable tool in her emotional arsenal, because Ann was a walking wet dream, especially when she really worked at looking good, which was most of the time. 

She was a little taller than average, with a narrow face and thick auburn hair that she always wore just past her shoulders. She had long legs topped by a slender body that she worked hard to maintain. Her breasts weren't large, but they weren't small, either. 

Indeed, everything about her body fit just about perfectly. 

Regardless of whether she was being a bitch about it, sex between us was always determined on her terms. Curiously, however, she was always reluctant to initiate sex. 

She would signal her availability on a particular night or, on rare occasions, an afternoon. But it was up to me to make the first move, and it was up to me to get her motor running. 

It never varied. We'd get in bed naked, we'd stroke each other with our hands and fingers to get each other hot, then I'd climb on and go at it. I have a pretty nice cock – nothing massive, but nice enough – and I feel like I know what I'm doing with it. 


I learned at a pretty early stage how to hold back and control my climax, and once I got going, Ann would usually respond enthusiastically. 

This pattern held until a Wednesday night in early September, when my marriage began its breathtakingly-swift downfall. 

I should point out here that there was one dark cloud on our marriage. About three years after we married, I happened to be looking in Ann's purse for a checkbook when I came across a small plastic packet. It was empty, but it looked like it had once contained a white, powdery substance. 

I was stunned. I mean, we both grew up in the 1980s, and we'd both fooled around a little with pot. Nothing major, but if we were at a party and someone lit up a joint, we'd take a few hits. 

But this had all the earmarks of cocaine, something I had always been able to avoid, and had no wish to have anywhere in my life, or my family's life. 

I confronted Ann about it, and she admitted that she'd become something of a user. It was just casual, she said, but that didn't matter. I gave her an ultimatum: she could quit using altogether, or I would quit her. 

It was one of the few times that I adamantly insisted on getting my way, and I probably wouldn't have succeeded except that I asked a friend of mine who is a doctor specializing in substance addiction to take us for a tour of a nearby rehab facility. 

The friend introduced Ann and me to about a half-dozen women from her social class – young, rich and bored – and the experience left her shaken. These women had all been sent to rehab after numerous arrests for possession and prostitution. 

Ann willingly gave up her dalliance with cocaine, and saw a counselor about why she had started using. She never tried it again, to my knowledge, but it left a small seed that would bear bitter fruit. 

Besides my doctor friend and the psychologist, only one other person that I know of learned about Ann's drug use, and that was my brother Bill, my partner and closest friend. 

Less than two years separates us in age, and we've been best friends our whole lives. Oh, we could get into some knock-down, drag-outs when we were kids, and we went to separate colleges when we went to get our education. 

But we went to work full-time for Dad when we finished college the same year, we paid our dues, and when Dad retired – sort of – we took over the business together. 

Dad still comes around a lot, when he and Mom aren't off traveling, usually to shoot the shit with long-time customers and others who come by to do business. He's a natural salesman and has friends in every strata of our town's society.

Bill and I compliment each other in many ways. I'm more outgoing, more impetuous, like my father, while he's quieter, more introspective, like my mother. When I need serious advice, he's the one I turn to. 

I should say here that he and Ann never really saw eye-to-eye. I guess he saw things about her that I was blind to because I loved her, but he accepted her because she was my wife and we all had to get along. He's married to a wonderful woman named Gretchen and they have three kids.

By the time of that fateful month of September, our lives had settled into a routine. Ann had gone back to work when our son started school, and had been with her company a little over a year. 

Her workday began at 8 a.m., so she would get up, get dressed and head for work, while I got the kids ready for school, then I would head for the store, usually arriving around 9 o'clock. I would work until the store closed at 6 p.m., and I was usually home by 6:30 or so. 

Ann would get off work about 4:45 in the afternoon, then she would drive over to a health club for an hour-long workout, pick up the kids at the daycare a couple of blocks away, and she would be home usually around 6 o'clock, when she would start preparing dinner. 

We would have dinner around 7:15, then after finishing cleaning up, I'd usually retire with a beer to watch whatever sports event happened to be on television and Ann would fool around on the computer. We'd head for bed around 10 o'clock, and if there was any sex, we'd do it then. 

On the Wednesday in question, I came home to find Ann dressed in a very tight pair of shorts with a tight T-shirt on that showed off her braless breasts. And the nipples on those breasts were stiff as nails. 

I walked in the door, and she greeted me like I was the Second Coming. I mean, she was all over me, kissing me deeply with lots of tongue and molding her tasty body to mine. 

I was confused, but my cock wasn't. It sprang to attention immediately. I finally managed to pry her away from me long enough to have dinner, but even that was disconcerting. 

She was unusually solicitous toward me, far more than ever before. She went into the refrigerator, got me a beer and told me to make myself comfortable in the den while she finished fixing dinner. Usually, if I didn't step lively in the kitchen and help out, I'd hear about it. 

But not this time, and during dinner, she seemed unusually interested in what my day was like, rather than going on about what was happening in hers, as was the norm. 

Right then, a little warning bell went off in my head. Her change in attitude was so abrupt that I was immediately on guard. 

But that didn't stop me from enjoying Ann's hot body after we put the kids to bed. She practically dragged me to the bed, and she was almost frantic to get at me. 

We were naked in no time, and when I lay back on the bed, Ann slid between my legs and sucked my cock almost to the root. 

I knew at some level that something was wrong, because she really didn't much like fellatio. In fact, she wasn't crazy about any sort of oral play. 

But here she was sucking my cock enthusiastically, and without my even mentioning anything about it. I tamped down my concerns and freed my mind of everything except the sensate pleasure I was receiving from Ann's mouth. 

I could feel the cum starting to boil in my scrotum, and I think she sensed it as well, because she pulled her mouth off my cock and rolled onto her back.

"Fuck me, Jimmy," she panted, and again I wondered who this alien was in my bed. Ann never talked like that, ever.

But by then, the little head was doing all the talking, and he was telling me to forget my concerns and don't look a gift horse in the mouth. I had always been at Ann to open up sexually, and it seemed I was finally getting what I'd always wanted.

I got up on my knees, fit the head of my cock to her very wet hole and plunged in balls deep.

Ann must have been sitting on the edge, because I hadn't been fucking her for more than two or three seconds when her body went rigid for just a moment, then she trembled hard from her head to her toes, and she spewed forth a barrage of gibberish.

"Oh shit, oh fuck, oh damn, oh, oh, ahhhhhh!" she wailed.

It had been a long time since I'd made my wife come like that, and she'd never been that vocal. But she was in heat in a way I hadn't seen her in years, and I just happily plowed my way right past her orgasm and fucked her with relentless power.

I leaned over and took Ann in my arms, kissed her wildly as I hurtled toward the finish line, and she was already climbing to another peak. She was responding more than enthusiastically to the thrusts of my cock, the power of my hold and the passion in my kisses.

My usual control was in tatters as I felt the rusty tingle of my climax reach critical mass, and with a roar I fucked her deep about three or four really hard thrusts then exploded in one of the most intense orgasms I could remember having.

"Oh baby, oh baby," Ann was panting as I filled her pussy with one hard cumshot after another. "Finish me, please?"

I kept rotating my spastic cock as long as I could before it was finally drained and it slid out of her dilated hole, followed by a silver river of cum.

I rolled over on my side and began to use my fingers on her, but she stopped me and begged me to use my mouth.

I had never done that before – she'd never asked for it – but there was such a plaintive quality to her voice that I did what she wanted.

I crawled between her legs, which she spread wide for me, and plunged my face into her gooey pie. I licked up every bit of the flowing discharge from Ann's pussy, then sucked her labia between my lips and tongued her clit until she stiffened again and went into the now-familiar convulsions that signaled her climax.

When she finally pulled my head away from her crotch, Ann pulled me up to her, and just for a second there was this look of longing and just a trace of sadness. It quickly passed, and we crawled under the sheet together snuggling in the afterglow of the best sex we'd had in a long time.

This was always the best time for us, the time when we had satisfied each other, given ourselves over to the other's pleasure and were basking in the flow of union.

And yet, in the back of my mind I was troubled. Something profound had triggered this response in my wife, something way out of the norm. I didn't know yet what it was, but as I drifted off to sleep, I resolved to be extra vigilant to see what would happen. 

My brother was of the same mind when I told him about it the next day.

"Could be nothing, or it could be everything," he said. "She could have decided to open up a bit. But I agree; you'd better keep a close watch on her, see what she does."

"That's the bitch of it, Billy," I said, glumly. "It was some of the best sex of our marriage, and I should be ecstatic. Instead, I'm suspicious."

That night was a repeat of the previous night, although I did get called in to help with dinner. But after we put the kids to bed, she was all over me again, except she didn't suck my cock.

Friday, she was back closer to her usual self, and that night's sex was pretty much the way it had been. I had to get her in the mood, but once I lit her fuse, she was a real firecracker, and still very vocal.

The next day, Saturday, was game day. For years, we have tailgated at the local university's football games with a small group of close friends. It's a fun time, and we hoist a few beers, do some barbecue then go watch football. 

After the game, we usually come back and socialize for awhile before going home. Ann and I alternate as the driver, and whoever isn't driving home usually has a couple of more post-game drinks before the party breaks up.

Ann was unusually subdued the whole day, and offered to drive home, which allowed me free reign to have as many beers as I wanted. And I found I wanted a few more than usual. My wife's behavior had planted a deep root of trouble in my soul, and I tried to wash it away with beer.

Needless to say, we did not have sex that night, or the night after that.

On Tuesday, I noticed Ann was very nervous when she got home, and had three glasses of wine before dinner, which was highly unusual. That night in bed, all she wanted to do was hold me, and it seemed like she was hanging onto me for dear life.

But the next night, I was greeted at the door by my wife holding an open beer in her hand, dressed in a pair of her exercise tights and a T-shirt that was a size or two too small. Once again, she was overly solicitous, ushering me to the sofa, where the TV was already tuned to ESPN.

"I've got a surprise for you, lover," she purred, then flitted back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.

I watched the baseball game and played with the kids, who wanted to show me their schoolwork.

After dinner, Ann shooed me back to the den while she cleaned the kitchen, got the kids bathed and in bed, then she did something she almost never does. She sat down with me and watched the rest of the game.

You have to understand. Baseball is like Sanskrit to Ann. She's not a big sports fan anyway, although she grew to like football all right. But she thinks baseball is the most boring game on earth.

For me, however, it was my game. Dad coached all of us boys from T-ball until high school, passing on his love of the game. All three of us were good enough to start for our high school team, although that was as far as it went.

But I still love baseball with a passion, and my favorite team has always been the Cardinals, who happened to be playing on TV that night. It was late in the season, and they were in first place, so it was a big game.

Ann usually rolled her eyes and vanished into our home office to fool around on the computer while I watched the game. But on this night she sat with me, and spent most of the time softly kneading my cock through my jeans.

There was almost a surreal quality to what was going on. Here was my wife, who hated baseball, watching a baseball game with me, and here she was, my conservative wife who needed a lot of stimulation before she got at all sexual, actively massaging my cock right out in the open.

But she was doing a damn good job of it, because I was hard as a rock, and not as interested in the game as I usually was. And that was especially true when the Cards gave up four runs in the top of the ninth and lost by three.

If I thought I was flummoxed by all of that, I was completely dumbfounded by what Ann did when we got to the bedroom. She came out of the bathroom naked and strutting her stuff with a brazen quality that was completely alien to the Ann I'd known all this time.

And it had me iron-hard and throbbing. She turned out the lights, except for the bedside lamp, climbed on the bed like a cat and knelt between my legs.

"You're overdressed, dear," she said in a voice that was all honey.

She reached up and pulled my shorts off and my cock sprang up locked and loaded. She just hefted it in her hands, softly caressing the shaft. She brought her face down real close to it and rubbed my leaking head over her cheek, almost reverentially.

Then she slowly opened her mouth and licked her way up and down the shaft, taking her sweet time at it. She did that several times then softly slid the head of my cock past her lips and enveloped me.

She drew me into her mouth, taking about two-thirds of it, then slowly worked her head up and down, swirling her tongue around the ultra-sensitive area under the crown.




Smoke and Mirrors



I was going nuts, and actively ignoring the little voice in my head that was begging the question of where and how my loving wife had picked up such a willingness – and such a talent – for sucking my cock. I sure hadn't showed her those tricks.

But all of my concentration at the moment was centered around the exquisite sensations of Ann's mouth on my super-hot cock. I couldn't help myself; I started thrusting upward with my hips, driving more and more of my cock deeper into her mouth. 

I was even penetrating the opening to her throat, as she took every bit of me, the way she had the previous week. That was something she'd never been able to do without gagging. 

Her hand was rhythmically massaging the base of my dick, feeding my meat into her maw, and she was giving off liquid sounds of pleasure as she worked me with her mouth.

It was all too much. I tried to warn her that I was reaching the point of no return, but she just looked up at me with devilish eyes and doubled her efforts.

I don't recall if I cried out or not. All I know is that liquid fire raced from my scrotum, through my shaft and exploded out the end of my cock. 

I fired off a rapid-fire succession of hot cumshots into Ann's throat, and she swallowed every last drop. She kept me firmly in her mouth until she'd milked me of every bit of semen I had in my body, then pulled her mouth off my limp cock and smacked her lips like a cat with a bowl of cream.

Ann crawled up my body and nestled herself in the crook of my arm, purring like some seductress. 

I had to ask.

"What brought that on?" I said. "And where has it been all this time?"

"I just wanted to please the man I love in a way I hadn't done much before," Ann said. "I've ... We've kind of let things slide a little bit, and I ... wanted to do something special for you. You don't mind, do you?"

"Would you like me to return the favor?" I asked.

"Oh no!" she said, a trifle too quickly and bit too strongly. "That's OK. I ... took care of myself while I was sucking you off. Let's just 'nuggle and rest up, so you can fuck me tomorrow night."

"OK, baby, whatever you say," I said guardedly.

Truth is, I was deeply concerned now. Ann was clearly hiding something, and it was pretty obvious she didn't want me getting a close-up look at her pussy. Then, just as we were dropping off to sleep, she said something that made me think even more that something was wrong.

"Jimmy?" she said softly. "I hope you always know that I love you."

"I love you too," I mumbled.

But as I listened to Ann's rhythmic snoring, I knew that if my wife was cheating on me, it was going to take an awful lot of love for me to get past it and maintain my marriage.

Loyalty and family values mean a lot to me, and if Ann was seeing someone else on the side, I would have a hard time forgiving her. 

But was I willing to divorce her over it? I wasn't sure. It is easy for outsiders to say, "oh, well, she's cheating on you. Divorce the faithless bitch." But when it's happening to you and your marriage, it's not that easy.

I had 14 years of my life invested in Ann, I loved her and she was the mother of two young children. And whatever faults she may have had, Ann was a good mother. She was conscientious, caring and concerned. She had the knack for finding just the right balance between a gentle and a firm hand with Bethany and Will, and they adored their mother.

There was another thing, too, and that was the sex. I was getting some of the best sex of my life at that moment, and I wasn't sure I wanted it to stop.

So I had a dilemma on my hands. I could willfully ignore my screaming suspicions, and thus keep my family and my marriage intact and continue to enjoy this great loving. Or I could investigate and learn the truth, with the result that I'd probably lose my wife, see my family break apart and enter a period of little or no sex. 

As it turned out, Ann didn't give me much choice. 

The next night went like the previous Thursday. There was no baseball game on the tube, although there was a college football game. Ann wasn't quite as overtly seductive, and she had me in the kitchen helping her, the way I had for so many nights before.

But once we got alone in the bedroom, it was a repeat of the night before. Ann started out sucking me up to full hardness, then pushed me back on the bed when I went to roll her onto her back and fuck her. Instead, she got on top and rode me, something else she very rarely did.

As she worked her body up and down on my dick, I reached up and fondled her jiggling breasts, squeezing the flesh and lightly pinching the nipples. And as I did, the thought came to me that I was going to miss those tits when she was gone.

The thought made my cock wilt slightly, so I put it out of my mind and concentrated on the big finish. 

But later, after Ann had come, after we did our ritual post-coital cuddling and after she fell asleep, I realized that I had thought the unthinkable. I had visualized a life without her, and it depressed the hell out of me.

We made love again the next night, but it was pretty much the same vanilla sex we'd engaged in before this all began. 

As a result, I began to think about the pattern, and realized that whatever was happening was happening on Wednesdays. 

There was the nervousness on Tuesday, the restless unease I had detected earlier in the week. Then she came home utterly transformed on Wednesdays, fucking my brains out in a way she'd never done before and treating me in a kingly manner I'd never seen before. Thursday was a little more of the same, except she wasn't quite as deferential. By Friday, she was almost back to her old self, except she still wanted sex. By the next Monday, she'd been the old Ann.

We did spend some time making love that Saturday. The university was playing on the road, so we didn't have a game that day, and we'd taken advantage of a beautiful early autumn day to get some projects done around the house.

We were chatting as we worked, and I started asking a few questions about work, asking her how things were going. I really wasn't trying to dig up any dirt; I was just curious, because she never really talked about her job.

But the way she just skirted my questions made me wonder if what was going on was linked to her work. She was supposed to be working those Wednesday afternoons, which was why the whole scenario had me puzzled. 

I had my suspicions that she was cheating on me, and that it was happening on Wednesdays, but it didn't seem to fit with her work schedule.

Again, I put my worries aside and tried to make our rare afternoon sex session enjoyable, and it was. We spent a lot of time playing with each other, and I recall now that was really the last time we were so playful in bed.

Once again, Ann was a little nervous on Tuesday, and after I got to the shop the next day, I called her office just to see if she was really there. She was, but she did sound a little guarded. I was going to call again that afternoon, but got sidetracked by a problem with one of our suppliers that required a trip to a nearby town to fix.

But when I got home that Wednesday night, the third one since this all started, Ann did something that convinced me I needed to get to the bottom of this, that willful ignorance was no longer an option. Regardless of the consequences, I had to know.

Ann didn't have dinner going when I got home that night. There was a pizza sitting on the table and the remnants of another pizza where the kids had sat for their meal. I could hear Bethany upstairs in the bath, and Will appeared to be in his room playing some game.

I called up to Ann, and she said she'd be down in a minute, that I could grab a beer and some pizza for dinner.

About 10 minutes later, she came down the stairs and I just stared. She was dressed in a satiny robe that clung to her curves like a second skin, and it was obvious she was naked underneath it.

She sashayed up to me, wrapped herself around me and kissed me deeply. Her mouth smelled like peppermint candy, she had on some exotic perfume and she was quite well made up.

But that's not what galvanized my cock into attention. She was naked under the robe, all right, except for a garter belt, stockings and high heels. I discovered this when she backed away from me slightly and opened the robe to expose herself to me.

"You like?" she asked softly.

"Uh, yeah," I stammered. "Yes, I do."

"Good, because I have a real treat in store for you tonight, lover boy," she purred. "Something you've always wanted, but never thought you could have."

"And what would that be?" I said, almost afraid to find out.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," she said. "If you'll get the kids put to bed, I'll be waiting to give you an experience you'll never forget."

Ann was waiting for me when I walked into our bedroom after putting the kids to bed. She stood there in her purple garter belt and stockings, just standing there with a provocative pose, lightly twirling her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

She had lit small candles and placed them in strategic areas of the room to give it a soft, seductive glow. I was told to sit in my chair that occupies a corner of the room, then my wife strutted over to where I was seated.

As Ann squatted in front of me, giving me a full view of her wide-open and very wet pussy, she slowly removed every bit of my clothing, until I was sitting back with a hard-on that could cut stainless steel.

Like I said at the start, Ann was a walking wet dream, and we had always connected on a primal level. Regardless of what my mind was telling me, my body was responding enthusiastically to what she was doing to me.

Softly and slowly, Ann licked and teased at my cock, but not really sucking it. Then she reached down with one hand and began to slowly stroke herself. I just gaped at this. I knew Ann masturbated; so did I at times. But neither one of us had ever watched the other do it, yet here she was, giving me a digital display.

Finally, she spoke, in a low, soft voice that sent shivers up my spine.

"Jimmy," she said. "I have something I want you to have, something I've always denied you."

It was almost telepathic, because at that very moment I happened to look over at the bedside table and saw a bottle of some sort of oil. Suddenly, it added up.

"You don't mean..." I said hesitantly.

"I do," Ann said, nodding her head slowly. "I've decided to let you fuck my ass."

I was floored. Very early in our marriage, I had played around with her ass a couple of times, sort of testing the waters, if you will, and had been shot down rather ruthlessly. After awhile I got the message and had never revisited the subject.

Now, out of the clear blue sky, she was offering her ass to me. Somehow, I didn't believe it was something she'd come up with on her own. 

Still, my cock jerked at the very idea. Ann has a very succulent butt, and while I may not have verbalized my desire for a butt fuck from my wife, in the interest of harmonious relations, I'd visualized it in my mind many times.

Ann stood up then, walked over to the bed, climbed on and got down on her hands and knees. She had her head down slightly, her butt up in the air, and I just stared. I figured I could worry about my marriage some other time. Right then, I was going to fuck my wife's ass while it was still being offered.

I got up on the bed behind her and slid my fingers between her legs. Ann's pussy was a dripping well of arousal, and she groaned as I rolled her clit around with my fingers.

I idly wondered what had gotten her in such a state, but I didn't wonder very long. I was going with the flow, and I rode with it. I leaned over, pulled Ann's hair aside and gave her a soft kiss on the nape of her neck, then slowly kissed and licked my way down her back.

Ann shivered with lust as I used my lips on her hot skin. She felt like she was on fire as I slowly worked down to her butt. Once I got there, I planted a couple of slow, wet kisses on each cheek, all while working the dew of her arousal up over her pink puckered hole.

I slowly worked my middle finger around her sphincter, just getting it relaxed, while my other hand was playing a concerto on her pussy.

"Oh, God, Jimmy!" Ann wailed. "Quit teasing me and fuck me. Do it before I change my mind."

"Oh no, you're not backing out now, honey," I said with a voice thick with passion. 

It was time, however, to move things along. I reached over to the table and picked up the oil, which was scented with some kind of fruity aroma that was actually quite pleasant. I dribbled a liberal amount down the crack of her ass and worked the lubricant around her hole.

When I felt like I had enough, I slowly worked a finger around her anus until it slowly entered her body.

Ann gasped as I methodically worked my finger back and forth, and around and around, working to get her open. Little grunts and groans escaped her lips as kept my finger churning in her back side while I added a little more oil.

At length, I added a second finger, and began to get serious about getting her ass ready for me. I had an erection that was almost painful in its hardness, a dripping piece of iron that was ready to fuck anything that was presented in front of it.

"Are you ready?" I asked. Ann just nodded her head vigorously.

"Yessssss!" she gasped. "Fuck me, Jimmy!"

I got up on my knees, holding my cock tight at the base and aimed it for her ass. I didn't get it in the first time I tried, and I slid deep into her drooling pussy. I pumped her there a couple of times, and I would later reflect that her pussy seemed a little looser than usual.

But my mind was on sexual autopilot and I wasn't thinking of anything but getting my cock in Ann's ass. 

The second time I tried, I got it in. I pulled out of Ann's cunt and pushed hard at her back hole. I could feel her tensing up slightly, so I told her in soothing tones to relax, and she did. That did the trick. 

I suddenly felt my cock enter a tight, oily hole, and I vaguely heard Ann squealing in some weird combination of pain and pleasure. I was only dimly aware of it, because my mind was so completely focused on the friction of her tight walls on my boiling cock that I was blocking everything else out.

As I got into a rhythm, I felt one of Ann's hands snake back under her body to work her throbbing hard clit, and I could tell she was on the verge of a massive explosion. I helped her out by reaching under and clasping my hands on her dangling tits, squeezing her flesh in time to my inward thrusts.

I wish I could say I fucked Ann's ass all night long, but by the time I finally got my cock in her ass, we'd built up our lust to such a high level that neither of us could last very long.

But, man, it was good while it lasted. I worked my cock in a faster and harder rhythm, grunting and groaning from the sensations of Ann's rectum around my dick. Ann was shimmying and shaking as she teetered on the brink of her climax, and orgasmic pants were unintelligible.

We were getting so close, and when she finally shuddered real hard with the onset of her orgasm, I couldn't hold it back. It felt like my cock was a machine gun, shooting out bullets of cum deep in Ann's twitching ass. 

I emptied myself of everything I had, deep in my wife's butt, as we thrashed on the bed, together on our knees.

We finally collapsed on the bed in a heap of sweat-covered arms and legs. But I remember there wasn't the kind of cuddling we normally engaged in after sex. We just fell together, Ann took off her heels and we sort of lay there together.

Ann finally drifted off to sleep, but not before she mumbled an, "I love you."

But sleep eluded me. My mind went back over the encounter, and those of the two previous Wednesdays. 

The first two times, she'd been almost giddy in her lust. She'd been overly solicitous toward me, and the sex had been very loving, very affectionate. 

But this one had seemed like she'd been doing it for herself, rather than for me. Oh, the orgasms had been real, on both of our parts, and very intense. However, it was as though she had let me fuck her ass because she had to, rather than because it was something I wanted. 

And while I had long wanted to fuck her ass, I hadn't broached the subject in years. So where had she gotten the idea? I suspected that whoever she was having the affair with had put her up to it. 

It was with that unnerving thought that I got up, blew out the candles and crawled back in bed with the stranger who had once been my wife.

Nothing was said about the encounter the next morning, and that night, Ann was very affectionate as we made the kind of love we'd always done, with me starting her crank and her responding.

But I could already sense a wall coming between us, a disconnect as my suspicions took firm root. I knew I couldn't sit by any longer, so I made arrangements to take off work the next Wednesday so I could follow Ann around and see what she did.

The following Saturday was another home game for the university, and something happened that disturbed me, and presaged the outcome of events. We were tailgating before the game when we were greeted by Jack Spradling, Ann's boss, who was with two men I didn't know.

I had only met her boss once before, at the company's Christmas party, and I had gotten a vague whiff of unpleasantness. He just seemed too interested in my wife and what she was doing the whole night, while ignoring his own wife, who was sitting at the bar getting seriously drunk.

In fact, I generally wasn't impressed by any of her co-workers, based on what I saw that night. There just seemed to be a little too much of a party hearty mentality among everyone I met there. A few of the men tended to look down their noses at me, and a few of the women seemed to be openly flirting with anyone they encountered, myself included.

Nevertheless, I was cordial when Jack and his friends showed up at our little pre-game gathering. I offered them a beer, which they accepted, and we chatted a little about the upcoming game.

After a few minutes, Jack asked Ann if she would accompany him to where he apparently had an RV set up. She walked off with them a little ways, but she looked back and saw me watching them intently, so she told Jack something to the effect that she needed to get back to our tent.

That seemed to anger Jack, and I saw them engage in a heated discussion that ended with Jack saying something about Wednesday. 

Ann just walked away, back to where we were, found herself a cup, put a little ice in it and filled it with whiskey, which she sucked down in one throw. Then she did it again.

"What was that all about?" I asked her.

"Oh... nothing," she said hesitantly. "He had something about work he needed to tell me."

"Looked like bad news," I said.

"It's nothing major," Ann said as she poured herself a third whiskey. "I'll deal with it next week."

When I pressed her about it, she told me in no uncertain terms that it was work-related and none of my concern. Her tone of voice told me to drop the subject.

Ann quickly got shit-faced drunk, and got sick during the second quarter, so we left. All the way home, she kept mumbling an apology, for what, she wouldn't say.

Over the next few days, I could sense that our lives were falling apart, and I still didn't know why, but I had resolved that I was going to find out.

Ann was even more nervous than before, weepy even, on Tuesday. We had been going through the motions of marriage, circling each other – and the elephant in the room that had come between us – and I think the strain was getting to her.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do if I discovered my suspicions were correct, that Ann was having an affair. But what I learned that day pretty much made the decision for me.




Smoke and Mirrors



Ann's car was in the parking lot of the company when I drove by at 9 o'clock that morning. I went on to the store for a bit, then called her office around 11. She was still there, so I was beginning to wonder if my instincts had misled me. 

But when I asked her if she'd like to meet me for lunch, she hemmed and hawed then told me she had too much work to do. That got my antennae to twitching, so I left the store in a borrowed pickup and found a spot across the street from her office where I could watch.

An hour passed, then another 30 minutes, and again, I was wondering if I had it all wrong. I was starting to think that maybe I was just paranoid and that my marriage wasn't in trouble, as I had thought.

At 12:30, however, I saw Ann leave the office and my heart sank, all the more so when she drove around for a half-hour on a circuitous rote that ended up across town at the Best Western Motel out by the interstate.

She drove around to the back and I found a spot in the parking lot of a large sporting goods store, where I could watch. Ann walked up to one of the rooms, knocked on the door and I was thoroughly unsurprised to see Jack Spradling open the door and let her in.

So it was Spradling. I sat there thinking up all sorts of devious methods of revenge when things took an unexpected turn.

About 2 o'clock, an hour after Ann's arrival, another vehicle pulled in, a well-dressed man got out, walked to the door they were in, he was admitted, while Jack walked out and left.

I was stunned. What the fuck was going on? Was my wife turning tricks on Wednesdays, or what?

It sure seemed that way, especially when an hour passed and a third man showed up, while the second man left, adjusting his tie as he walked to his car.

I was actually getting nauseous at the thought of what was going on behind the closed doors of that motel room.

It got worse.

Right at 4 p.m., Spradling returned in the company of yet another man, and they were admitted to the room, and this time the man who had been in there stayed in there.

Jesus H. Christ! My rage was going through the roof, and it was all I could do to keep from barreling in there and breaking up my wife's little party.

But the party was about ready to break up anyway. At 4:30, the other two men who had been in the room walked out and got in the third man's car, then 15 minutes later, right at the time she'd normally get off work, Ann walked out looking like nothing had happened.

I was too far away to see her face, so I couldn't get a read on what she might be feeling, but it didn't matter at that point. My wife – make that my soon-to-be ex-wife – had just spent almost four hours in a motel room entertaining four men, including what appeared to be several at once.

I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes, but I fought them off as I followed Ann to her health club, where she got out and went in for her usual workout. 

I'd seen enough. I drove back to the store, to relieve Bill and close up. He took one look at my face and he knew. My brother just nodded, we embraced and I let it all out. I cried on Bill's shoulder for the first time in a long, long time.

After I'd let my emotions run for awhile, though, I shook myself and made a vow I've stuck to ever since.

"She's not worth all this emotion," I said.

"No, but it was good for you to let it out," Bill said. "So what are you going to do?"

"Oh, we're done," I said. "After what I saw today, there's no chance I'll forgive her."

Bill was shocked when I told him what had gone on at the Best Western. Even though he'd never much liked Ann, he never expected that kind of behavior.

"There's something going on here that we're not seeing," he said. "Has to be. That just doesn't sound like Ann. I mean, I know she's a bitch, but this... No, something's not kosher about this. I'd be willing to lay odds she didn't do all of this on her own volition. I've heard some vague rumors about Spradling from people who've gotten to know him. I'll be very shocked if he's not pushing this on her, and probably not too willingly, either."

"That may well be, bro," I said. "But it doesn't change the fact that she just spent four hours in a motel room almost certainly spreading her legs and letting four men fuck her. No way I can get past that."

"Look, Jimmy, I don't think it would be a good idea for you to go straight home tonight," Bill said. "I don't think you'd do anything to Ann, but you're in a pretty raw state right now, and you need time to clear your head and get a grip on what you need to do. Why don't you come home with me and have dinner, then we'll go to Duffy's and watch the Cards' game, have a few brews and map out a plan."

The Cardinals were going to be playing in the first round of the playoffs that night, and that would afford me an excuse to not see Ann that night. Bill was right. I'm not a violent person by nature, but I am Irish and I do occasionally flash an Irish temper. And my emotions were still very much on edge.

Ann wasn't home yet, so I called and left a message on her answering machine, then turned off my cell phone. I didn't want to talk to her until I was good and ready.

Bill and I talked that night about what I needed to do. I was definitely going to see Tommy Boyle the next day, first thing. Tommy's our lawyer, and his firm has handled the store's business going back to when my grandfather had it. We both played ball with Tommy in high school and trust him implicitly.

It was Bill who suggested that I would need concrete evidence of what was going on in that room.

"I mean, it's a 99 percent certainty she's fucking in there," he said. "But there is always that remote possibility that there's a legitimate reason for her to be there. You need to know without a doubt that she's taking on other men in there."

"So what you're saying then is I can't let on to her that I know?" I said. "That's gonna be awfully hard for me to do. Ann can usually read me like a book, and she's going to know something's not right."

"You may have to do an Oscar-winning acting job, but it will pay off if you do," Bill said.

We stayed at Duffy's until 11:30, although we quit drinking beer about 10 o'clock and switched to coffee. I didn't need to risk a DUI now when I had so much to do the next day. 

When I got in my car, I retrieved my cell phone, turned it on and discovered that Ann had called a half-dozen times. At first she was pissed, then she got more and more desperate with each call.

She was sitting in the kitchen waiting on me when I walked in, right at midnight. There was definitely frost in the air.

"Where were you?" she said. "You could have at least let me know where you'd be."

I told her where we'd been, and that I'd just wanted to spend a night out with my brother for a change. Ann wasn't buying it.

"You spend almost all day five days a week with your brother," she said.

I wasn't in the mood to argue with her and I told her so, then went upstairs to get ready for bed. I noticed the candles were out again, and I wondered what sort of sexual extravaganza she'd had planned for me that night that I had missed. 

I was already down when Ann came in and crawled in her side of the bed. I felt her staring at my back.

"Jimmy, what's the problem?" she asked softly. "You've been out of sorts all week."

I rolled over and just looked at her. In spite of my need to keep her in the dark about what I knew, I couldn't help myself.

"I think you and I both know what the problem is," I said, then I rolled over and tried to go to sleep.

I pretended to be sleeping, and presently I heard a stifled sob coming from Ann's side of the bed. I think in that moment we both knew it was over.

I finally heard Ann softly snoring, so I knew she'd cried herself to sleep. But for me, sleep proved elusive. My anger had returned, unbidden and unwanted. I lay there the better part of the night thinking up all sorts of outlandish revenge schemes, up to and including murder.

One plan I gave serious consideration to was a plan to set up a phony bust, to have TV cameras rolling when police arrested her, Spradling and anyone else who happened to be in the room for running a prostitution ring with my wife as the hooker.

I even had a contact in mind, a cousin who's a cop with a reputation for pushing the boundaries of legality in the interests of justice. 

But I eventually discarded that idea as impractical. That could cost Andy his career, and land me in jail, because it would likely come out that the arrest was bogus.

As my anger waned again, I realized that as badly as I was hurting, I didn't want to destroy Ann. Punish her, yes. And I decided that making her move from our nice big house, divorcing her and taking her children from her would be punishment enough.

Oh yes, I was going for primary custody of Bethany and Will. I was not going to let someone who had slutted around like I was certain Ann had slutted around the previous day be the primary care-giver for my children. 

That's why I needed hard evidence of her actions. We live in a no-fault state, so adultery wouldn't be a factor in the divorce. It would be a matter of simply dividing our personal assets. But her moral character would be a key element in any custody hearing, should it come to that.

It was in that frame of mind that I finally drifted off to sleep.

Nothing was said the next morning about our nocturnal exchange, and after I got the kids to school, I paid my lawyer a visit. 

I told him the only two things in any divorce settlement that were absolutely non-negotiable were the business and custody. Under no circumstances did I want Ann to have even a whiff of control over the business, and I was adamant about custody, although I agreed that she would be allowed liberal visitation rights.

Tommy also put me onto his investigator, who suggested that we bug the motel room – and take whatever steps were necessary to make sure they got the room we had wired – and bug Spradling's office, to see what information might come from that end.

I never knew how he did it, but Tommy called me a couple of days later and said the investigator had gotten bugs in place and was recording everything that was said in Spradling's office, and the one in the motel room would begin recording at noon on Wednesday. 

Actually, I wasn't 100 percent certain Ann would go through with another Wednesday tryst, since I was pretty sure she knew I knew what was going on. 

I tried to put up a front that week, but it was tough. Ann did manage to coax me into sex that Thursday night, but it was hollow and emotionless on my part, and I knew when we finished that it would be the last time we would have sex together. I spent the rest of the week faking an illness so I'd have an excuse not to fuck her again 

In the end, it turned out that the hold Spradling had on her, and her unleashed sexual appetite, were too strong to overcome, and she showed up at the Best Western, right on time at 1 p.m., in the room we'd wired for sound.

I'll give her some credit, though. She tried to get out of it, and the exchanges she and Spradling had over those few days proved very useful, since we got all of them on tape.

I picked up the kids at school that afternoon, instead of having them get on the little bus that usually took them to their after-school day care, and took them to Bill and Gretchen's to spend the night.

At 6 o'clock, the investigator arrived at the store with a manila envelope containing two memory cards of photographs of her and her "friends" entering and leaving the motel room. He'd made printouts of the best, and he also had tapes of what had gone on in the room and in Spradling's office. 

Also in the envelope were the divorce papers and the custody petition.

I think Ann knew what was coming when she discovered the kids weren't at the day care, because she was sitting at the kitchen table still in her work clothes, with a glass of whiskey in front of her. She looked like she'd been crying.

She looked up at me with a haunted expression as I walked in the door with a passive look on my face. 

"Where are the kids?" she asked softly.

"They're at Bill's," I said, as I fished in the refrigerator for a beer. "We need to be alone to discuss our future."

"Our future?" Ann said

I got right to the point.

"You asked me last week what the problem was," I said. "And I told you we both knew what it was. So, tell me. Is there something going on in your life that I need to know about, something that affects our relationship, something that involves Room 118 at the Best Western?"

Ann burst into tears at that. Gone was the sexy, sassy woman I'd met 14 years earlier, and gone too was the confident, strong-willed person who always got her way. The smoke-and-mirrors routine had blown up in her face, and she knew it.

I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, like I always had, but I didn't. She'd made this mess of our lives, and she was going to have to deal with the emotional fallout by herself. We were going our separate ways, and we each needed to deal with this on our own.

After she got calmed down, I asked her why she'd done it, and as Bill had suspected, it was mostly Spradling's doing.

It seemed that somehow he'd found out about Ann's earlier dalliance with cocaine. I don't know if he somehow got a hold of the psychologists's records, or how he found out.

But he'd used that to threaten her with termination, and exposure, if she didn't meet him at the motel room for sex. 

Ann claimed that he'd told her she'd only have to sleep with him the one time, but it had been a setup. A friend of Spradling's was already in the room and filmed the whole thing with a small camera. Then he had shown her the tape, and threatened to tell me if she didn't put out for him and his friends on a regular basis.

"Why didn't you trust me enough to tell me about all of this?" I said. "Was it because you secretly wanted to be a slut?"

"No! Well, not really," she said. "But I did get into it after awhile. That's why I wanted to fuck you so bad when I got finished on those days, because I was so... I don't know, open to that kind of thing when they were done with me. It was addicting, and I wanted to share it with you. I know, it was wrong, but I was hooked. Jimmy, I do still love you."

"But you didn't love me enough to stop being Spradling's whore," I said bitterly. "You didn't love me enough to come clean with what was going on in the beginning, when it possibly could have been stopped, and you didn't love me enough to stop even when you knew I knew what was going on. That's a funny kind of love, Ann."

"So what's going to happen?" she said in a teary voice.

"You are going to walk upstairs and pack a couple of bags, and you're leaving," I said as I pulled the divorce papers and the custody petition from the packet and dropped them on the table in front of her. "We're finished, Ann. If you had simply been having an affair, I might could have seen my way clear to forgive you and save our marriage. It would have been hard, and there's no guarantee we'd have succeeded. But what you did was way beyond anything I could accept. You had sex, unprotected sex I'll bet, with how many men? You willfully put me in danger, and I, like a fool, went along with it even when I knew what was happening. I can't forgive that. I'm sorry, Ann, but it's over, and I'm keeping the kids."

"What? No! They're my babies," she wailed. "You can't take them away from me!"

"Ann, I'm only going to say this once," I said in a low, ominous tone of voice. "You forfeited your right to their care when you became Spradling's slut. I don't want to ruin you or publicly humiliate you. But if you fight me for custody, I'll drag your name through the mud to the point where you'll never get clean."

"But what will people say, what will they think?" Ann said.

"Look, I have no control over what people say about our breakup, but I do have control over what they know," I said. "There's a difference between suspecting something as a rumor and knowing something as a fact. And if you don't agree with the settlement I'm offering, everyone in town will know what you were doing at the Best Western on Wednesdays. I don't think you want that."

"Are you going to keep me from my children?" she blubbered.

"Ann, I'm not that cruel," I said. "You will be able to see the kids on a regular basis, and I'll be generous in any settlement. You're their mother, and you've been a good one. But I'm their father, and I'm not the one to blame for this debacle. You are, and you don't deserve to be the primary care-giver to my children. It's just that simple." 

And that was it. Ann dried her tears then, went up and packed her things. She gave me a long look at the door, then turned and pretty much walked out of my life.

Ann got her own lawyer, and while they tweaked the settlement a bit, she basically agreed with everything I had offered, and 60 days later we were divorced. 

I kept the house, while Ann got an apartment in town. We split what we had in savings and any other investments in half, and I got a little bit of child support. It was more symbolic than anything, a legal signal that I was the custodial parent.

She quit her job, found some place else to work, then hit Jack Spradling with a lawsuit for sexual harassment and blackmail. She got a six-figure settlement out of it, and he lost his job, ended up being convicted on the blackmail charge and was sent up for a five-year prison stretch.

I discovered that being single father is no picnic, and I've been forced to remain on friendly terms with Ann, for the kids' sake. The tradeoff is that I've developed a closer relationship with them. I've taken to bringing them to the store and letting them help out, as much as they can, and they've actually become a bit of an asset to the business.

Ann did go for counseling to try to determine why she so easily fell under Spradling's power like she did and how he was able to get her to do some of the things she did for him. I'm not sure if she's resolved anything or not, but I know she isn't dating, so she may still have issues.

I have been dating a few women lately, and some of those dates have turned into sexual encounters. But I haven't met anyone yet that I'm ready to settle down with. I'm not desperate, if that's what you're wondering.

And I also don't pine and carry on about the demise of my marriage. Sure, I miss being married, and I still have a measure of affection for Ann. It was tough for awhile adjusting to sleeping in an empty bed at night.

But she cheated on me, flagrantly, and I wasn't going to tolerate what she did. I took care of the problem and moved on with my life. 

Perhaps if Ann hadn't pulled her smoke-and-mirrors routine with me, she might have gotten away with it. Although based on what she was doing, it probably wouldn't have stopped until I caught her.

Too bad. She threw away a perfectly good marriage because she wasn't smart enough or brave enough to tell a king asshole where to stick his threats, and she paid a mighty steep price for that mistake.

Oh well, it's her loss.



Smoke and Mirrors



"I'm serious, Penny! I heard it with my own ears! He is going to the hypnotist's show with Mrs. Chester!"

Laura Mills, an 18 year old blonde, was excited, her azure blue eyes sparkling. Penny Styrgon was the same age as her cousin and friend, but with raven black hair and brown eyes they created a stark contrast to each other. Penny was finally convinced that Laura's vivid imagination wasn't making things up this time. She smiled. A hypnotist's show? Why not? Even if he wouldn't have been there, a hypnotist's show promised to be fun. Not that she believed in hypnotism, at least not the type these shows generally promised. Shows where the supposed 'victims', usually students paid for their efforts she guessed, jumped on the stage like rabbits or whatever. She would enjoy a laugh or some smoke and mirrors on this boring class trip, and, well, he would be there.

He - he was Mr. Alban, their gym teacher. He was tanned, muscled and the living dream of every girl in the whole highschool. All of the girls in the class were excited when they found out that Mr. Alban was the teacher that was joining Mrs. Chester, their class teacher, on their trip. The problem was, with all pros Mr. Alban had to offer, every girl also had to cope with the fact that he had his hazel eyes firmly fixed on Mrs. Chester and no one else. It didn't matter how many lovesick batting eyelashes were send his way or 'accidental' touches he might receive from almost every girl in school. Incomprehensibly, Mrs. Chester, despite being divorced for some time now, had no eyes for Mr. Alban whatsoever! Penny shook her head. Even she still dreamt of Mr. Alban occasionally, and she had a boyfriend!

"Oh, come on, Penny, let's go to the show!" Laura begged, seeing Penny's headshaking and drawing the wrong conclusions from it.

"Okay, okay!" Penny threw up her hands as she gave in. So they sneaked out of the youth hostel and finally found their way to The Great Cardini. Now they were in a small club in the midst of a shady red light quarter, which was no place they normally would have been caught dead in. But if he was to be there...

Penny and Laura were sitting in a corner of the black clad room, dimly lit by red spotlights and filled with slow, mystical music. The audience was nearly all male. The only exception were themselves and the red haired Mrs. Chester, who had indeed arrived in the company of the gorgeous Mr. Alban. From their carefully chosen place, Penny and Laura could see the stage as well as their teachers, and they had great seats in their opinion. They were even near enough to hear what their teachers were talking about. The girls clinked their glasses of champagne, their mood perfect. Both were from rich families and therefore could afford something nicer to drink than their teachers. Besides, a bottle of champagne on the table along with their choice of expensive clothing would be a nice disguise in case their teachers happened to look at their table. They really didn't want to be discovered and sent back to the youth hostel by two angry teachers.

On stage, a juggler was tossing coloured balls in the air, warming up the audience for The Great Cardini, the hypnotist. The juggler got his share of attention and applause, but most guests still chatted and drank instead of really watching the show. So did their teachers. The girls eavesdropped shamelessly, hearing the teachers talk about school and colleagues, noting all the gossip that they would share with every other girl on the classtrip as soon as possible. All of the sudden the conversation between the teachers became even more interesting. Mr. Alban was trying to get Mrs. Chester on stage for the show, and he was offering to join her if she'd do it! The girls glanced at each other delighted. Their teachers both on stage, maybe jumping like rabbits? That would be too good to miss! Of course, Mrs. Chester had the same views as Penny about the reliability of these shows, so Mr. Alban had a hard time convincing her. Finally, Mrs. Chester agreed laughingly, saying she would go but only if she was selected by The Great Cardini himself. Penny smiled inside, sure that that wouldn't happen on a staged show. Still, imagining the vision of her teachers acting like rabbits was nice. Mrs. Chester excused herself to go to the restroom before the main event started, and Penny was about to take another sip of champagne when suddenly Laura nudged her hard enough to almost make her spill her drink.

Angrily, Penny glared at her cousin, but Laura just pointed at Mr. Alban. Penny looked over at him. What was that? Had she seen correctly? Did he drop some powder into Mrs. Chester's glass? He stirred the wine with his pen, and that action removed any doubt from Penny. Alban was trying to drug Mrs. Chester!

"We have to warn Mrs. Chester!" Penny whispered to her cousin. "There! Mrs. Chester is coming back to her place! I'll go to her..."

But Penny was stopped by Laura's hand.

"Wait!" Laura ordered, seeing that Alban was now leaving the table. "We can warn her later on. Let's see first what Alban is up to. Oh, I can't wait to go back to the hostel and tell all the girls! Our friends won't believe this story! When we tell them – wait! Alban isn't going to the restroom! See? He's hurrying to the main door. Wait here, Penny, I'll follow him! You stay and watch if Mrs. Chester drinks her wine, and don't interfere!"

With these words Laura left their table, hurrying after her gym teacher.

Penny was left behind. Unsure about what to do next, she looked at Mrs. Chester, hoping she wouldn't drink her wine, at least not until Laura was back again. Her teacher would surely notice the faint blue shimmer the wine had taken on? Or was it a trick of the light? Where had Laura gone? Shouldn't she warn Mrs. Chester in spite of her cousin's unnamed plan?

The minutes went slowly while Penny tried to decide what to do, if anything. Meanwhile, a snake charmer was playing his flute on the stage, which in her eyes was a bit more fitting for a hypnotist's show, but not much. There was still no sign of either Laura or Mr. Alban. After a few minutes Penny started drumming her fingers on the table, anxiously watching the main entrance more than the stage or Mrs. Chester, as Laura had told her to do. When she turned back to the teacher and looked at the wineglass, her heart almost missed a beat. While she had been distracted, her teacher had already drunken more than half of her bluish wine!

At least that saved Penny from the question of whether or not to warn Mrs. Chester. Her teacher didn't seem to be half as distressed as Penny at being left alone by her companion.Finally, Mr. Alban came back, and he was obviously in a very good mood. Seeing his colleague's glass more than half empty made his smile widen even more. Penny kept glancing at the doorway and though she felt as if several eternities had passed, there was still no sign of Laura. Meanwhile, Mrs. Chester emptied her glass. Was it Penny's imagination, or were her teacher's eyes getting glassy? It was a bit too dark in the room to see clearly, and of course her table wasn't exactly next to their teacher's also. At least Mrs. Chester wasn't getting green in the face or falling unconscious!

Finally, to Penny's immense relief, Laura came back. She almost knocked over her chair while sitting down in her eagerness to tell Penny what she had heard. Before Penny could even start in on her for leaving her alone for so long, Laura started talking, her words almost tumbling over themselves she was whispering so fast.

"Mr. Alban and that Cardini know each other! They are friends from childhood or something like that! The hypnotist is going to call Mr. Alban and Mrs. Chester on stage for his show! Mr. Alban drugged her so she would heed Cardini's commands! And that's not all!" Laura took a deep breath; she was winded from her obvious haste to come back and tell her friend everything. Penny couldn't wait for her to continue. Were they actually going to see their teachers jumping like rabbits on the stage? Penny giggled, and immediately felt for her cell phone. The pictures of this show would surely be a major event in school! Laura's smug grin told her that there was much more than rabbits to be expected.

"You'll never guess! I'm going to be on stage too!"

Penny was speechless but before she could comment, Laura excitedly continued.

"I went to Cardini right after Alban was gone, and I threatened to turn him in. I promised to play being hypnotized on stage for him, but without getting drugged. He will charm me or whatever it's called, and then he'll 'force' me to ... kiss Mr. Alban!"

Laura looked at Penny triumphantly, her eyes almost glowing in the half-dark. Penny knew her friend had dreamt of that kiss for a long while, but she couldn't believe she had threatened a hypnotist to achieve it! And what would Mr. Alban think? Or Mrs. Chester? If she noticed it at all, Penny noted soberly to herself, in her drugged condition.

Laura obviously wanted to add more, but now the music got louder. The snake charmer was gone already, unnoticed by the girls in their excitement or shock, and now the curtain was parting to finally introduce The Great Cardini. He was a small and gaunt man with tanned skin and a carefully groomed black moustache. His long, dark hair was worn in a braid with interwoven crystal shards of various colors. Open-fingered leather gloves covered each hand, with eight more crystals affixed to the knuckles. The crowd went silent. Everyone was watching the main attraction now.

On stage, The Great Cardini was speaking, his voice deep and resonant, like slow water running across stone. He had just introduced himself and his assistant, a small woman named Audrey with close-cropped, strawberry-blond hair and a fancy dress decorated with the same type of crystals The Great Cardini wore.

Adressing the crowd the Magician announced "We need some volunteers for our show who will be deeply hypnotized by The Great Cardini himself!" Penny was just about to ask her cousin if this Cardini had talked to her in third person also, when she saw Laura raising her hand. Penny fell silent, covering a bit to avoid attention, and quickly eyed her teacher's table. Both of them had also volunteered it seemed, Mr. Alban eagerly and Mrs. Chester more like a marionette. What was that powder that Alban had put into her drink?

With great fuss, and unsurprisingly for the girls, The Great Cardini selected the two teachers to the applause of his audience. Mr. Alban escorted his colleague to the stage, mimicking the perfect gentleman to everyone in the audience, but failing to convince Penny. Her picture of her teacher's perfection somehow was starting to show cracks after the powder incident. Alban was not escorting Mrs. Chester; he was conducting her onto the stage. What was he up to?

Then The Great Cardini selected Laura, the only other volunteer in the room. Mr. Alban looked in her direction. He'd been very self assured until now, seemingly content that his plan was bearing fruit, but now his face was almost ghostly in its paleness. It was clear that he'd recognized his student, and a dozen questions were racing across his face. Penny was trying to turn herself invisible by shrinking deeper and deeper into her chair, but it didn't seem to matter. Her teacher's eyes were solely on her cousin as she raced toward the stage. Even his mouth opened and closed, like a fish on the land, trying to voice questions but not able to do it in his shock. When Laura arrived at her destination, she hid the fact that she knew exactly who was on stage with her, and she smiled and waved to the crowd. She drew all the attention, being as pretty as she was overdressed for the venue. Had Penny not had her eyes on Cardini that moment, no one would have seen the sign the hypnotist gave his friend. Penny could read lips a bit, and so not only she did see it, but 'heard' it too: "Trust me". Apparently Alban did, for his mouth finally stayed closed, and he waved to the crowd as well, if much more rigid than Laura.

Mrs. Chester meanwhile, didn't wave at all. She just stood there, seemingly oblivious to where she was. Penny had to admit that she was a truly beautiful woman and at 5'5", with fire red hair and delicious curves, she drew the eye of every guy in her classes. In fact, her sexy appearance was envied by most of the girls. Her conservative dress, along with the dark rimmed glasses only added to her magnetic impression. She looked a bit out of place on the stage, Penny thought, but then; so did Mr. Alban and Laura.

Two chairs were on the stage already, and Audrey quickly fetched a third one so everyone to be 'hypnotized' on stage could take a seat. Mrs. Chester was in the middle, framed by nervous Alban and beaming Laura. Now the clichéd pocket watch was produced and The Great Cardini used it to 'hypnotize' all three, one after the other. Mrs. Chester didn't change her expression durig the procedure, but her arm fell down very convincingly after Cardini lifted it. Alban was sweating a bit and let his arm fall heavily as well. He's a bad actor, Penny thought. Why have I never noticed this?

The last one was Laura, who almost giggled when her arm fell. Penny groaned, but to her surprise the audience didn't notice Laura's slip. Or did nobody care? The comments being yelled at the stage were rowdy and drew raucous laughter. Penny was getting more and more nervous for her friend and tried to pull her from the stage with her eyes alone. Laura wasn't paying attention; she was enjoying herself immensely, cackling like a hen at The Great Cardini's command. The audience applauded nicely, but they were obviously eager for more. And the hypnotist was ready to give it to them. He addressed Laura.

"Miss Mills, answer me truthfully: How old are you?"

Laura looked irritated for a moment, but then decided to answer truthfully, trying to sound like being under drugs. "I turned eighteen last week."

"And Miss Mills, do you have a boyfriend who plays with your pussy?"

Laura blushed an even deeper shade of red and instinctively shook her head. Before she could say or do more, The Great Cardini fired his next question.

"So you are a still virgin?"

Laura went even redder, and that was all the answer the audience needed. They jeered and applauded; loud laughter ringing in the air. Penny's mouth was open in shock.

The Great Cardini smiled and now addressed Alban, who was also sweating freely.

"Open your pants, Mr. Alban. Trust me. Release your cock."

Alban was very reluctant for a supposedly enspelled man, but he obeyed the hypnotist. He opened his belt, unzipped his pants and then pulled them down, taking his boxers down with them. His manhood was exposed to the crowd and Alban started sweating even more. Laura meanwhile stood transfixed, staring at her teacher's member as if she really was hypnotized. Penny caught herself standing up slightly to get a better view and sat down again, her face reddening.

"It can change, you know," The Great Cardini explained toward Laura, pointing at Alban's manhood. "Watch it closely and I'll see what I can do."

The Great Cardini turned away from Laura and pulled Mrs. Chester toward center stage. She followed him as if drunk.

"Mrs. Chester, do you like Mr. Alban?"

"Yes"

It sounded blurred, but seemed to be the truth.

"Then ask Mr. Alban to strip you, Mrs. Chester." The Great Cardini casually ordered.

"Marcus, please, strip me."

Mrs. Chester's reaction came before Penny or Laura could even gasp. The audience laughed. Alban, to his credit, blushed. He looked at his hypnotist friend, who nodded encouragement. Then the gym teacher took a step toward his colleague. Laura was frozen, her eyes alternating between her gym teacher's uncovered cock and her class teacher about to be exposed to a crowd of strangers ... and two of her students.

Alban meanwhile was over his initial shock. He moved Mrs. Chester's long, fiery hair out of the way and unbuttoned the back of her blue silk top, then slowly pulled it over her head. The audience was so silent now that Penny could hear it slither out of his hands to the floor. Next was Mrs. Chester's long blue skirt. His hands began undoing it and soon it was hanging loosely at her waist waiting for just a tiny assist before it fell. It was like slow motion as Penny watched the woolen fabric hang around her teacher's flared hips, and then slowly slide down the silky path to the floor. When it hit it, the class teacher stepped out of it and, by order of The Great Cardini, kicked it away. It landed in the crowd and the lucky audience member who scooped it up was showing it with pride. Penny had the hollow feeling that Mrs. Chester wouldn't get it back after the show. How would she get home without her skirt?

Meanwhile Penny's class teacher was in her black Vickie's undies and there wasn't much hidden from view. The audience could clearly see her pink nipples and her fiery trimmed bush shining through the thin material. Alban was hesitating.

"Go ahead, Marcus, the bra?" The Great Cardini urged.

Alban hands shivered visibly as he continued to play the hypnotized victim. His naked manhood was half erect by now, spurred on by the unveiling of Mrs. Chester's charms. This was definitely going beyond the kiss Laura had aimed for, Penny realized. Carefully, so as not to attract attention she stood, sneaking toward the stage. She shouldn't have worried about stealth; all eyes were fixed on Mrs. Chester whose lacy bra was unclasped now. Alban pushed the straps off her shoulders and the expensive bra slid down and off.

Mrs. Chester's breasts were bare now and her nipples were like tiny roses. Alban kneelt behind his colleague and then his hands were inside her silken panties. In the total silence that followed, everyone could hear the soft gasp of the drugged class teacher as her colleague began to tug off her last layer of protection, over her hips and down her shapely legs. As the teacher's curvy ass was bared in front of Alban, he bent forward and kissed it, making her, Penny and Laura suck in a breath.

Even without further instruction Mrs. Chester now lifted each foot so Alban could remove her panties completely. He kissed her ass again. Penny had snuck through the club to the stage, but had to stop taking in the view of her now totally naked class teacher. Mrs. Chester looked gorgeous with her silken skin, her rosy nipples and her trimmed nether region. To her surprise Penny felt a little tingling in her own nipples and pussy. That couldn't be, could it? Penny had to gulp while her teacher was paraded before the enthusiastic audience, showing them every detail of her magnificent mature body they wanted to see.

Then The Great Cardini ordered Mrs. Chester to sit down again and she faced the audience once more, her blank face now looking straight at Laura. Next to her, Penny's cousin was a bit pale now, but seemingly still willing to see the game through. The hypnotist ordered her to sit as well, and Alban was being ordered to come near her. Laura may have been not hypnotized before, but now she was transfixed by her teacher's manhood, half erect and just barely out of her reach. Both teacher and pupil were very unsure how far the game would go.

The first order from The Great Cardini for Alban and his newest victim was easy enough to execute, but it took a long time for Mr. Alban to react. Far longer than it had for him when Mrs. Chester was the target. Obviously, Mr. Alban had planned that little game with his colleague for some time, but was very reluctant to start undressing his student, regardless how pretty Laura was. After a seemingly endless moment Alban reached down and pulled up one of Laura's legs and took off her shoe and stocking. Then he pushed it back down and did the same to the other. Not much damage done, Penny thought from her position in the shadow under the stairs. Yet.




Smoke and Mirrors



As soon as she had thought that, Alban got a new command and, biting his lips, took a grip on Laura's blouse and began to pull it up.

"Laura, lift your arms up," The Great Cardini ordered, while standing behind Mrs. Chester, caressing her ample breasts.

Laura, her eyes still fixed on her teacher's now hard manhood, obeyed. Alban kept pulling up and her silky blouse was soon over her head. He held it up and with one hand expertly undid Laura's bra clasp. Alban was moving faster now, made bolder by his student's compliance. It was time now for Laura to stop this, Penny thought, before it went too far! Was her friend still waiting for that kiss to happen?

Alban meanwhile had worked Laura's shirt off completely and dropped it on the floor next to her shoes and stockings. Next he reached down and undid Laura's elegant pants. He started tugging them down, one side, then the other until they were below her shapely ass. He pulled Laura's legs up, reached between them to grasp the waistband of her pants and pulled them to her knees. Her panties were now showing, the blue silken panties she had secretly bought.

"Kick your feet, Laura." Alban ordered, dropping out of his hypnotized status for a moment without noticing. Neither did Laura, it seemed, for she did indeed and her expensive pants slipped to her ankles, then off, sliding to the floor of the stage onto the growing pile of clothes.

Penny had to act now. Maybe Laura really had been hypnotized or drugged, maybe she was simply out of her mind, but she had to protect her cousin. In a rush, Penny stormed onto stage. This was far more than smoke and mirrors and it had to end right now!

"Stop that! Now!"

The stage lights dazzled Penny's eyes and it took a moment for them to adjust, and in that moment she realized she had been too hasty. An iron hand had gripped her shoulder, stopping her, and an old pocket watch was dangling before her eyes.

"Do you think you can really hypnotize me?" Penny growled quietly toward the man behind her. The Great Cardini chuckled, and then answered.

"We both know I can't do that. But I can make you reconsider. See the camera over there? In the corner? And the other one right over the door? Or the one where my assistant is standing?"

Penny indeed did see the cameras, but she did not understand.

"You have my word that whatever is being taped is destroyed right after the show, you can watch me doing it. You also have my word that if you interrupt me or my show, than what's on the tape will be sent to everyone you know. You may lose both your teachers and your friend will be very embarrassed. Or do you think her parents would like to see her being so eager to be stripped on a stage?" The Great Cardini had whispered every word, and now he let the threat sink in. As he talked, he continued waving his watch before her eyes.

"Speaking of your friend, she seems to be happy to go along. Will you spoil her fun? She's old enough, isn't she? And she gets more than she bargained for it seems. That is, if you are going to be 'hypnotized' also, dear. Do we have a deal?"

The words from the hypnotist sunk into Penny like ice water as she noticed Laura was just watching her, trying to keep her face blank. Penny knew better of course, they had been friends practically from birth. Her friend and cousin was neither drugged nor hypnotized. And Laura didn't want it to stop, at least not now. Was she out of her mind?

Penny knew she had no real chance now. Reluctantly she nodded. The press on her shoulder went away.

"What's your name?" The Great Cardini asked loud.

"Penelope, but everyone calls me Penny," she answered truthfully, trying to sound like a puppet.

"Penny, please take your place right behind Mrs. Chester," The Great Cardini ordered. Penny obeyed, trying as much as possible to move without using her knees to enhance the effect.

"Ladies and Gentleman, our newest hypnotized guest, Penny Styrgon!" Penny's eyes went wide while the crowd laughed and applauded. Alban seemed to have told The Great Cardini her full name!

"Penny, please play with your class teacher's tits. They seem to have been neglected for way too long!" The Great Cardini ordered. Penny paled even more. She looked at Laura for help, but her friend simply gave her a tiny shrug. She didn't seem to have any objections with that order. Penny ground her teeth and for the first time in her life touched the breasts of another woman. They felt warm and soft, yet firm. Mrs. Chester didn't react at all, but the look Alban gave her was a bit jealous. Did he stage the whole thing not only to see his colleague naked, but also to touch her? Penny's face changed from white to red. Nobody noticed, since The Great Cardini turned the crowd's attention on the mostly undressed Laura again.

"Laura Mills, how do you feel now?"

"Umm, feels cooler than before. It's nice." Penny heard Laura improvising. She shook her head in defeat after the smug answer of her friend.

"Yes, it does, Laura. The air is on now."

"That's good."

The crowd laughed, and Penny ground her teeth once more. Stick and carrot. Laura's surname and also her explicit willingness to go on. Penny had no options but to watch, it seemed. And Cardini could hide behind his smoke and mirrors some more.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, what do you want? Shall we stop the show now?"

"No way!"

"Why would you stop now?"

These were the more harmless answers from the audience. The Great Cardini raised his hands to get some silence again.

"But Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd be showing you more of our sweet Laura here than anyone except for maybe a former boyfriend or our Penny here has ever seen. Too bad she is far too deep in trance now to enjoy it."

The crowd laughed while Penny fumed. Of course she had never seen her friend naked! That would be indecent! Laura was blushing, her arms still pointing to the sky from The Great Cardini's last order, but she didn't say anything. The Great Cardini just shrugged and waved Alban on. The gym teacher reached down and pulled Laura's bra straps from behind her back, and then he slid her arms out of the shoulder straps and left her bra just lying on Laura's firm breasts.

"Let your arms go down now, slowly!" The hypnotist ordered. Laura obeyed, beet red now, and the bra slipped little by little as her arms came down and her breasts with them. Then the lacy material fell down, revealing Laura's nice tits. They were small but very pretty, and her dark nipples were hard. Above that, Laura didn't have any tan lines! Penny looked away in shame, toward the audience to avoid every smirking face on stage. But in the crowd more than one person was readjusting his pants. She frowned, and the guy she had fixed her stare on had enough grace to look kind of embarrassed. With a stern face Penny looked back at Laura.

Now Alban started to tug on the sides of Laura's panties, pulling them down on one side and then the other. He was showing more and more skin of Penny's now frightened friend all the time. Having her rock left and right, which let her breasts jiggle to the joy of the audience, somehow he pulled her panties down, over her knees and down her ankles. Laura was now sitting naked, her face red and her legs closed firmly. In spite of that the top bit of her blond bush was showing, and Alban could definitely see it judging from how he licked his lips. At least she had tan lines in her nether regions, Penny noted, but it didn't calm her. Why was Laura still playing this absurd game? She was naked now, completely bare ass naked, and still she played on! But at least it seemed that she had gone as far as she wanted now. Maybe with her sense of fairness she'd allowed herself to be stripped because he had first exposed himself, Penny mused, but she could see in her friend's rigidness that now it was enough. It seemed that Alban and The Great Cardini saw that also, for they left her alone for now, coming toward Penny and Mrs. Chester again.

Penny took a step back involuntarily, not to be their next victim, but the men ignored her slip of acting un-hypnotized. As did the crowd, it seemed, for Cardini's next order for Mrs. Chester to stand up, turn around and bend over, was received with a roar of applause. Mrs. Chester obeyed of course, presenting her cute ass to the men, while both girls on the stage had to gulp. It was definitely going further than that kiss, Penny realized as Alban started to finger Mrs. Chester's most intimate region on The Great Cardini's order. Definitely further. She went even redder than before and as she peeked up she could see that Laura was also a deeper red.

But of course it was far from the end. Two orders later Alban had his hands around Mrs. Chester's full breasts and, while kneading them gently, entered her with his hard manhood from behind. Mrs. Chester moaned her pleasure at this bold move, and the audience applauded enthusiastically. Penny's mouth was wide open in shock. Mr. Alban was making love to Mrs. Chester on a stage in a theater! And she enjoyed it, even drugged! This was the one thing that mesmerized Penny the most, the look of pure joy on Mrs. Chester's face while she felt Alban's hardness moving in and out of her. Penny couldn't hear the crowd anymore, nor did she see Laura or The Great Cardini, just Mrs. Chester's eyes clouded with lust. She felt her own sex getting warmer by the moment in response, her own nipples getting harder. With a superhuman effort of will Penny tore her eyes from the sight in front of her. She closed them and gulped, trying to calm her heart and to ignore the telltale noises from her teachers. When she was able to open her eyes again, she was still careful not to look at Mrs. Chester's beaming face. Instead she wanted to see how Laura was reacting.

And her heart missed a beat again. Laura was sitting on her chair, but her legs were spread now and her eyes closed. Between her shapely teenager legs The Great Cardini was kneeling, shamelessly worshipping her cousin's femininity. He ran a finger down first one side and then the other before repeating the movement with his tongue, drawing a moan of pleasure from her friend, as much for the pleasure that it promised as for the pleasure that the simple movement itself provided her.

Penny couldn't believe it as she watched Laura quivering as if being hit by electric jolts. Electric jolts like those that were running through Penny herself at seeing the show in front of her. She barely felt the hand grabbing her own and it took her several moments to realize that she being pulled to center stage by Mr. Alban. Mrs. Chester was still bent over at the chair, her legs still spread wide, but she was alone now, absentmindedly still rubbing her clit, her pussy rhythmically contracting with the after-effects of the orgasm she had had on open stage. Her former lover was before Penny now, his hazel eyes locked onto her own brown ones. Mr. Alban had stripped off his shirt. The brazen display of his masculine body and his muscular chest sort of took away every defense Penny might still have had. The air was filled with the smell of sex. The sexual tension in the air was so high Penny could have touched it, if she had been able to move at all.

Mr. Alban held Penny with his eyes alone. His face was but inches from hers when he started to move his hands to the top button of her silken blouse. Unable to move a muscle, Penny allowed her gym teacher to undo the buttons, one at a time. She felt her breath quicken in anticipation as the last button gave way and the loose fitting blouse opened. It was so daring, so wrong that Penny was held in a trance by the powerful effect. She fought the urge to look down as the cool air hit her suddenly exposed flesh and waited for Mr. Alban to resume his assault. For some puzzling reason, Penny was unable to resist his advances and she remained motionless. Her lacy bra was next to go, expertly opened and removed. Like Laura and Mrs. Chester earlier, Penny didn't put up any struggle as her feminine charms were being revealed one by one. The audience applauded softly as Penny's skirt also joined the growing pile on the floor, more of her tender flesh becoming exposed to hungry eyes. Her bared legs quivered.

Now Alban slipped his fingers under the lacy, elastic waistband of Penny's silken panties. Penny tightened her stomach muscles in an unconscious attempt to offer more space and the invading fingers dipped even lower until they caused Penny's breathing to stop in expectation. Slowly her female center was being revealed, to her gym teacher, her class teacher, her friend and to lots of strangers. Her full, raven black bush came into view, then her moist outer lips. Finally the silken material gave way to gravity and fell to the floor. Penny stepped out of them, still looking into Mr. Alban's eyes, quivering softly.

Alban lowered his hands to her most secret of places and started to caress her down there, barely moving at the beginning but slowly getting faster and faster. Before long, Penny flinched with every caress of Alban's rough hands and she couldn't stop her emotions from heading in an upward spiral. Her body was so alive, so aroused that these feelings were foreign. She sought his naked body, almost sculpted in its perfection, and fixed her gaze upon his manhood, which stood proudly, an open invitation for her. She tried to ignore it, what she was doing was not right, but for some unexplained reason she could not stop the rising tide inside her body. Soon Penny was touching her teacher's proud member, caressing it, and then suddenly she stroked the long, thick shaft with fervor so strong that her mind was delirious. It was so hot and thick, it made her mind dizzy thinking her class teacher had enjoyed it a few moments ago and maybe she would also soon. Her insides were fiery and she couldn't go back in time to use her past experiences. This burning desire was new and completely alien to anything she had experienced. True, the one time with her boyfriend William had been hot and intense but it also had been filled with love and tenderness. This was pure undisguised lust. Penny felt her nipples being more erect than she thought she could ever remember and she was so wet her pussy juices were almost flowing constantly.

Suddenly Alban grabbed Penny by her firm ass cheeks and pulled her lithe body tightly into his hard, muscular one. His strong arm went under her weak knees, and with no visible effort the gym teacher lifted his pupil up and draped her gently on the floor, parting her legs. Then he knelt between them, as The Great Cardini had knelt between the legs of her friend Laura. Alban's tongue trailed a line of fire across her oversensitive lower lips. Penny moaned, and her moan was echoed by Laura from the other corner of the stage. Though the accompanying sounds from there were quiet different from those Alban and Penny produced. A quick look in that direction confirmed Penny's suspicions; The Great Cardini was doing her friend doggy-style, letting both the crystals in his hair and her cousin's breasts swing freely with the impacts.

For a moment the old feelings of wrongness resurfaced, but they had no chance against the pleasures Mr. Alban worked on Penny's velvety center right now. She used her hands to spread herself further open for him and then allowed the sensation to take over as he worked his tongue first deep between her lips and then upwards and over her clit. When he reached this center point of her pleasure his tongue circled and flicked and teased at it. Then her gym teacher caught her clit between his lips and pulled on it before sucking and licking at it over and over and over again. Penny was writhing on the floor of the stage under her teacher's ministrations and soon squealed with excitement as she felt a raw orgasm rip through her young and inexperienced body.

Penny had barely regained her breath when she noticed Mr. Alban moving upwards. As innocent as she was she knew exactly what was to come now. The young woman sighed happily as she felt the tip of her teacher's manhood push gently against her enflamed femininity. With a quick manual adjustment, she felt Mr. Alban's cock slide between her wet lips, all the way in until his balls rested against her.

"Oh God that feels good," she whispered. Her teacher slid his member back out of her and then in again. Penny pressed her teeth against her bottom lip as she worked to avoid calling out while Mr. Alban slid in and out of her, time and time again. She thrust with her hips to meet him each time he plunged within her. And then he suddenly stopped, and grew even bigger inside her. Penny arched her back, and then she felt her teacher exploding inside of her. Of all the girls in school it was her who had milked dreamed-off Mr. Alban! It was her last semi-coherent thought, and then she herself was washed away by her second orgasm, which was even stronger than her first.

Penny slowly came back to her senses when the audience stood from their seats and applauded. The Great Cardini, always the professional, rose from behind an exhausted but radiant Laura, stepping around a Mrs. Chester who was slowly awaking out of her drug-induced stupor, and went to the front of the stage. He bowed, still naked, and the audience went into a frenzy. Then he announced his further performances for the week, but Penny doubted anyone would hear the hypnotist in the approving noise. Alban waved into the crowd, and even Penny did so. To his honor The Great Cardini finally announced that he'd now remove the hypnotism and did made a final show with his pocket watch. Most of the persons on stage were too tired to react with more than a few frowns or smiles. Only Mrs. Chester, whose drug effects were now nearly spent obviously, looked down her naked body, screamed and rushed toward the backstage under the laughter of the crowd.

The Great Cardini bowed a last time before, under the roaring applause of the audience, the curtain closed. Then he went with weak knees toward the cameras, took the tapes, broke them and dropped the rests beside Penny, who nodded her thanks. Deep inside her she had never believed The Great Cardini would turn his friend Alban in, she realized. Smoke and mirrors, she thought. The man was indeed a real magician of a kind. Laura was thinking the same thing judging by her face, but obviously based on another kind of experience with him. Then another thought crossed Pennys mind: Like she had known from the beginning, they indeed all had indeed acted like rabbits - just not hopped.

The Great Cardini smiled at Penny as if he had read her thoughts, and then ended his short journey at the side of the still lying Mr. Alban. He whispered something into the ear of his friend. The gym teacher raised an eyebrow, and then smiled. Exhausted he lifted himself up, and then went toward Laura, who laid on her back, her femininity glistening with moistures which was only partly her own. Alban knelt down before her, like the statue of a naked Greek god, and looked deep into her shiny azure eyes. Then he kissed his student gently on her full red lips.

"I heard that was the deal you made with my friend, the hypnotist," he said smilingly. Then he bent over Laura and whispered, not too quietly, "When we are home again I'll kiss you and your friend on every other place you want to, and much more."

The Great Cardini laughed, Penny snickered and Laura beamed at the promise.

Finally all deals had been fulfilled.



Smoke and Shadows



(Chapter 12)

"Smoke and Shadows" (circa-1976)

"Fucking Stephanie Monroe...Fucking mad woman...Fucking violent husbands," he muttered to himself, yawning into a clenched fist, keeping his eyes on the rear-view mirror, making a mental note to cross 'The Bridge Hotel' off his list of social venues.

The sudden impact of the car mounting the pavement and crashing into a row of metal railings at a bus stop woke him from an untimely sleep, the natural reaction to grab the steering wheel after the event offering little to prevent or cushion the blow from the impact. 

In the claustrophobic silence he sucked in precious air, trying to calm the accelerating heart beating frantically inside his chest, his head aching with the pain of been thrown like a rag doll against the car windscreen, sleep deprived eyes staring into the mirror, trying to focus through the cobwebs of nausea, his face peppered with several cuts from the shards of glass that had showered his body on impact and an open wound spitting blood from his forehead. 

Sweeping away particles of broken glass from his limp body and wiping cold beads of sweat from his forehead, breathing in short gasps of air and stepping from the car to examine the damage, cursing under his breath at his stupidity, a fleeting glance at his watch a chilling reminder that things could have been more serious. 

If he had been travelling this route an hour or so later the bus stop would have been littered with people on their way to work and furthermore if he had hit the bus stop head on, he could be spending the night in a hospital ward, or even the hospital morgue. 

He made a mental note to start wearing his seat belt before examining the car.

The impact of the wheels hitting the high kerb had slowed the car enough to cushion the blow just before hitting the metal railings and surprisingly the front of the car didn't appear to have sustained too much damage. 

A yellow orange glow on the horizon signalled the beginning of a new day and the last thing he needed to see at this time in the morning was a police car. 

Although his legs protested against the physical demands and every bone in his body ached, he managed to push the car from the footpath and back onto the road. 

The journey home was painfully slow but the early morning bird-song and the welcoming cool breeze in his face and Paul Rodgers crooning 'All Right Now' from the car radio, helped to ease the pain and bring him back to reality.

The taxi drive to Newcastle Royal Victoria Hospital was only a couple of miles away from his flat. The Accident and Emergency Room was unexpectedly quiet. A plump nurse with a bloated look of someone who had a craving for carbohydrates, called Susan Owen quickly attended to the four stitches he required and he was soon on his way back to the comforts of his own flat. 

After a couple of glasses of red wine and a restless night's sleep punctuated by disturbing dreams of becoming the latest statistic in a long list of road accident victims, he was shaved and showered before seven o'clock the following morning. 

June Chamber's was having breakfast when the telephone rang. After giving her a brief summary of the accident and the subsequent damages to his car she said she would send a breakdown vehicle and have it brought to her garage in Newton-by-the-Sea. 

Between slurps of coffee and a conversation laden with innuendo and flirtatious phone sex, followed by a description of the recent addition to her dressing-up-wardrobe and some new phallic toys, she asked him if he would like to spend the day at her flat while the mechanics worked on his car.

After a few minor body repairs, a new windscreen and radiator and a solo demonstration with her new phallic toy followed by two hours of bed rattling sweaty sex, he was heading back to Gateshead. 

A peaceful evening with Caroline Spencer in his favourite Italian restaurant was a welcoming relief after the bizarre night at Stephanie Monroe's flat. 

It had certainly been an anxious two weeks, constantly looking over his shoulder, staring into the eyes of faceless strangers, jumping nervously whenever someone knocked at the door or a car unexpectedly backfired in the street. 

The facial wounds from the road accident had now healed so he thought it prudent not to mention his close encounter with death, in fear of a question and answer confrontation. 

Caroline hummed softly to the romantic music as a waiter placed food on the table, beaming a wide smile and raising her wine glass in the way of a toast, announcing that she was giving up her job in teaching and going to work as a probation officer at HMP-Durham. 

The night of celebration began with a long and uninteresting summary about her new job in the prison service. Wine glasses filled, wine glasses emptied, another bottle arriving at the table, a night of mixed emotions and flirtatious interaction, her demeanour growing in confidence, her voice lowering to surreptitious whispers, events of their intimate liaison in the swimming pool at her parents' house stimulating arousal, any further conversation about career moves melting away in the heat of passion.

If only he'd telephoned a service engineer when the pilot light kept going out on the central heating boiler, they wouldn't be going back to a cold house.

She smiled, but she looked uncomfortable. She shivered and sighed at his feeble attempts to ignite the pilot light. He feared the cold atmosphere might dampen the mood and the libido until he remembered that he still had water from the emersion heater. 

He made a mental note to ring a service engineer first thing in the morning.

A bottle of wine in one hand and glasses in the other, sprinting up the stairs to the bathroom, taps turned on, wine poured into glasses, clothes quickly abandoned on the floor, two white candles on the window sill and classical music filtering through from the bedroom providing a romantic ambience for a night of insatiable passion. 

Lips melted together in a smouldering kiss, a flirtatious engagement of tongues dancing and snaking inside mouths, sweeping over teeth, exploring every crevice in a persuasive interaction of oral enquiry, hands sweeping impatiently over slippery skin, touching and fondling, groping and squeezing, embracing genitalia in a mutual engagement of promise and heightening expectation, a responsive connection of sexual discovery.

A woman spinning in sensory expectation, an impatient woman craving for intimate contact, a woman overwhelmed with need and desire, a wanting woman accepting that her body was now his and he could do whatever he wanted with it. 

She followed his instructions, stood up in the bath and turned to face the wall.

Brushing wet hair from her face, both hands flat against the tiled wall, bending over and opening her legs, the slippery limb sliding inside her body with relative ease, the welcoming suction of her inner walls stretching to accommodate the gruesome length and thick girth, genitalia embracing genitalia in a physical connection of carnal intimacy. 

The pace quickly gathered momentum, voices growing into a heated commentary of cacophonous grunts and breathless groans, compliments chasing promises, two people groaning out their pleasure, fucking in a frenzied rhythm of give and take, pushing and pulling, grinding and banging, thrusting and pounding, hard masculine skin smacking urgently against soft feminine skin, the sloppy wet sounds of coital interaction echoing inside the room. 

She panted and sighed, she moaned and groaned, she gasped and cried, she shuddered and stiffened, contractions and euphoric spasms sweeping through her body in a crescendo of orgasmic tremors, his balls tightening inside the scrotum, 'blast off' only seconds away. 

A frustrated sigh wheezing between tight lips, her wet hands unable to find purchase on the tiled wall, her feet sliding unsteadily on the slippery surface underfoot, the connection of intimacy broken, the fleshy muscle slipping from her body. 

"The bedroom," he snapped, with urgency in his voice. 

The bed sheets were cold against their warm bodies, the welcoming embrace and curses of disapproval more of a spontaneous exchange of body heat than an intimate acquaintance of sexual expectation.

It was physical. It was merciless. It was vocal. A progressive interaction of genitalia colliding in a union of coital connection, a tireless fucking machine thrusting and grinding, moving inside her body at lightning speed, battering her vulva with brutal determination, back and forth, entering and retreating, plunging in and pulling out, moans and groans accompanying shallow gasps and breathless pants, spasms following spasms, waves of muscle contractions reaching every nerve, gripping the bed sheet with both hands, arching her back and thrusting her hips, breathing in gasps and pursing her lips, her voice growing into a choking chorus of screaming curses. 

"I'M COMING...! I'M COMING! FUCK ME...! FUCK ME...! FUCK ME...! FASTER! FASTER!" she screamed, shaking and shuddering and thrashing her head from side to side, a mind numbing orgasm, thundering through her body, groaning out her pleasure through an increasing fanfare of squeaking bedsprings, her muted cries of pleasure smothered under the continuous clack-clack-clacking of the headboard banging against the party wall, another sleepless night for his elderly and religious neighbours living in the flat next door, ears pressed against the wall, speaking in furtive whispers, curiosity inviting endless speculation. 

'Were they witnessing a murder? Should they ignore it? Should they call the police?

Neither of them said very much, a few breathless murmurs, waiting for their bodies to calm, his outstretched hand with a cigarette welcomed with a gasping sigh of approval. 

Two breathless lovers drained of energy, staring at the bedroom ceiling through tired eyes, watching the haze of white smoke spiralling upwards in lazy circles, drifting aimlessly across the room before disappearing through a small gap in the window. 

Two exhausted bodies settling into silence, giving in to sleep, draining the last of their wine, empty glasses abandoned on the bedroom floor.

He wasn't sure whether it was the panic in her voice or the claustrophobic fog of black smoke choking the room that broke his sleep. 

"The fucking beds on fire," she screamed, the duvet glowing in a sea of burning embers, the tight grip on his arm a harsh reminder of the urgency as she rolled off the bed onto the floor, the deafening sound of shattering glass and her painful cries smothered under the sound of his heavy footfalls stamping franticly on the duvet, trying to put out the fire. 

In the smoke and shadows of crippling uncertainty, painful cries echoed inside the room, her limp body lying motionless on the bedroom floor and a deep wound spitting blood from her side, the wine glass nothing more than small fragments of glass glistening like diamonds on the carpet. 

"Are you hurt," he shouted, ignoring the ruined duvet and sprinting around the bed, cursing when a shard of glass pierced his foot, lifting her carefully from the floor and placing her gently on the bed before gathering her clothes from the floor and getting her dressed, taking her arm and helping her to his car.

He wasn't surprised to find the Accident and Emergency Room inside Newcastle Royal Victoria Hospital littered with sobering drunks but he was surprised and a little embarrassed when Susan Owen greeted him in the waiting room. 

"Bring Caroline into the examination room," she invited. "Are you injured too? You seem to have a limp," she enquired. 

"No...No. I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile, relieved that she hadn't recognised him. 

The nurse talked and talked through a visual examination of Caroline's injury, only stopping when she had to remove particles of glass from the wound, half listening to his brief account of the unfortunate accident, smiling occasionally at his impetuous humour, scowling the next at his brazen arrogance.

The well-practiced hand of Susan Owen closed Caroline's wound in a seamless row of stitches and medical dressings before seeing them to the door. 

"Thank you nurse," he smiled, placing a comforting hand around Caroline's waist, searching inside his jacket pocket for his car keys, the unexpected voice of Susan Owen following him out the door.

"Drive carefully Mr Brand."



Smoke and Silence



I have always felt fortunate that as a man with a smoking fetish, my desires can be realized in public. I am always on the lookout for beautiful smoking women and for as long as I can remember I have been drawn to this erotic image. It often fills my fantasies and I am thankful that I have had the good fortune of exploring this powerful fetish with past girlfriends. With the seemingly endless stream of smoking fetish content, I have also been able to fulfill my desires in private. However, nothing prepared me for what took place about six weeks ago.

After finishing up a lunch meeting at a local restaurant, I stopped at a nearby café for a quick cup of coffee before heading back to the office. Grabbing a large Americano and a newspaper, I strolled outside, found an open table in the far corner of the patio and sat down. 

Glancing around, the crowd was made up of predominantly business people on their lunch breaks; I noticed a table about 25 feet away with two attractive young women in their mid-twenties, one short-haired blonde and one long-haired brunette, holding a very loud and animated conversation. They seemed to be relishing in the attention they were receiving which is my signal to make sure to avoid giving them any more. Subtlety is what I find attractive. This changed quickly however, as I looked up from my paper just in time to see the brunette, a long, cork-tip held between her teeth, lean over to give her friend a light. 

The blonde leaned into the lighter and cupped her friend's hands to block the non-existent wind. A strong, cheek-hollowing drag followed by a no-hands inhale as she leaned back into her chair. I actually thought I saw her shudder from the pleasure coursing through her. She struck me as a committed smoker who hadn't had a cigarette for way too long. She started laughing and mouthed something to her friend. In trying to read her lips I think she said, "Fuck, that felt good."

The brunette was a relatively new smoker, still a bit awkward on the light up. I have always found this especially attractive as there is certain earnestness in newer smokers. They tried smoking, they liked it and they want to look as if they are experienced. They are the ones you will see giggling with their friends, practicing French inhales and smoke rings. Once lit, she took a relatively small drag yet held the smoke in her mouth, as if to do a snap inhale. She tried but didn't quite have the timing down. Her friend noticed her attempt and very deliberately executed a perfect snap, letting the smoke linger longer than usual in her open mouth and then aggressively sucking it deep into her lungs. She looked pleased with herself and motioned for her friend to mimic her. The brunette did, and with a purposeful look, pulled off a very nice snap of her own. 

Of course, all of this is going on while I am pretending to read my paper. I could have had it upside down for all I knew. I continued my sidelong glances, especially towards the short-haired blonde woman. If she didn't have the fetish, then she knew someone who did. Certain women enjoy their smoking in a way that goes way beyond just getting some nicotine into their bodies. This woman understood. Soon, they were down to the last drag and they quickly became uninteresting to me again. I can look past a lot of things if a woman smokes well.

I went back to enjoying my paper and coffee. The outside patio was now full as people came and went on the warm, California afternoon. As I was reading about yet another corrupt politician, I had the sense that someone was standing close by. I looked over the top of my paper to see the back of a petite woman, dressed in a nicely tailored suit. She had straight, black hair that fell well past her shoulders. She had a latte in one hand, a shopping bag in the other and a black briefcase on a leather strap draped over her shoulder. I could see that she was looking for somewhere to sit. As I was involved in the article I was reading and wouldn't feel the need to make small talk, as well as the fact that there was an extra chair close by, I half-stood and asked her if she needed a seat. She quickly turned to me with a thankful yet exasperated smile simply said, "Thank you."

She looked like she was in her early 30's. She was Asian and my immediate assumption was she was Japanese. She was petite, maybe 5'2" and slim. Her suit was a tailored, a dark grey, pinstripe number with a white shirt opened so the collar spread out over the lapel. She was a business woman no doubt, but with a creative flair. Maybe marketing or advertising. Cool, not stodgy. And very, very pretty.

I asked her if she needed a hand. She gave a short laugh and said she was OK. I gave a polite smile and went back to my paper. I am not the kind of guy to start hitting on a woman just because circumstances brought us together. She needed a place to sit...there was an extra chair. No big deal. But still...

She rustled around getting situated, carefully setting the shopping bag on the ground while letting her briefcase drop without much care. She started rummaging through the case and giving a quick glance her way, I saw her pulling out a paper as well. I then heard an audible sigh as she settled in to enjoy a little "downtime." 

So we sat in silence together, reading our papers, sipping our coffees. Actually, there was something very nice about have her there. I had been married and had numerous long-term relationships and one of the things I most enjoyed sharing with my partners, was sitting in a café and relaxing. Being alone, together.

"You're FUCKING kidding me!" screeched the blonde at the nearby table, shattering our quiet and causing both my table guest and I to look up from our reading. The brunette responded with an equally loud and equally obnoxious, "Swear to fucking God!" And they both laughed that kind of laugh that was a little too loud and lasted a little too long. You know the kind. The laugh that says, "Look at me!" Well I'll tell you what. ..I will look at you as soon as you light up another smoke. In the meantime, settle down, huh?

My tablemate looked at me almost as apologizing for the behavior of girls who are in need of attention. It wasn't really judgmental but I could tell she had a certain opinion about how to behave in public. I gave a little laugh and said something benign like, "Too much coffee." She chuckled and said, "Good thing they're not drinking tea." Great response. She's quick with a sense of humor. She had a sweet voice too. Not girly and not curt. Just nice.

"Well..." I said, trying to think of something witty and charming when all I could concentrate on was how ridiculously attractive she was to me. "I've already had six martinis today and they're obnoxious even by my standards." OK, maybe not the best but she laughed.

We started chatting in a very relaxed, casual way. I found out she worked in creative development for a large company, moved to town about six months prior after living in Seattle. She asked me a few question about myself and we continued on in an unhurried and very relaxed way.

"Hey, you got a light," the blonde bellowed to the table next to her made up of a man, his wife and their 8 year old daughter, dressed as if they were from a European city on vacation and trying to enjoy the American café experience.

"Does anybody have a light," she yelled even louder, causing her brunette friend to break into laughter. I took this as my two-fold opportunity. I politely excused myself from my tablemate and reaching into my pocket for my lighter, walked to the girls table. Without saying a word, I flicked my lighter and held if in front of her, silently, looking directly into her eyes. Like something out of a Bogart film. I think my stillness affected her somehow as she immediately demurred and slowly moved into the flame while cupping my hand with hers. She took a very long and deep drag, not letting the smoke billow out of her mouth as she puffed, but rather aggressively sucking the smoke deep into her lungs. A deep inhale followed with an alluring, "Thank you," before she slowly executed the smoke above her head in a cloud.

"What about you," I said to the brunette. "Are you smoking?" She instantly reached for the pack of Marlboro Reds sitting on the table and quickly put one in her mouth. I gave a little sense that she needed to hurry up, (girls that demand attention always respond to this) and she did so, pulling hard on the cigarette like her friend until she too, blew out a rich cloud of smoke, some of which found its way toward my face. She too said, "Thank you."

"See, "I said. "Isn't it nice to be polite?" With that parting line, I gave each a smile and slowly turned back toward my table. 

"That'll keep 'em quiet for a while," I said to my new friend. She laughed and told me that was a very nice gesture even though she knew that I really just wanted to shut them up. We laughed about that as I sat back down.

The girls were speaking to each other in much quieter tones. I think they needed to be reminded that there are still places that people frequent because of a tranquil and communal feeling. Even their smoking became more mature, more sensual. The brunette especially seemed to really focus on the techniques her friend had been teaching her lately. She took great care in dragging on the cigarette in a controlled and powerful manner before letting the smoke pop out of her mouth before inhaling it strongly back in. After letting the smoke fill her lungs deeply, she let out languid exhales, trying to appear nonchalant but still enjoying seeing the smoke move away from her mouth.

I must have been staring. My friend suddenly says to me, "Looks like they are really enjoying themselves aren't they?" I was shaken back to reality and hoped she didn't think I was some sort of freak who she caught staring at two young smoking women. "Uh,yeah." I stammered, trying to throw a little laugh in there to ease my embarrassment. She was quiet for a moment when I noticed her looking at them as well, almost with a king of longing. She then said, "Kind of makes me want one too." 

That little "ping" in my stomach triggered a stirring in my loins as even the thought of this woman smoking was enough to allow my mind to drift into fantasy mode; despite the reality. I think that many with a certain proclivity towards more non-mainstream desires can probably relate.

Thankfully, I was still cognizant enough to understand that if I were to lunge at my pack of cigarettes, rip one of the pack, shove it in her mouth, light it with shaking hands and then ask her to exhale in my face, I could just say "Goodnight Everyone. Drive Safely and don't forget to tip your waiter." I'd be toast. 

"You don't really look like a smoker," 

"Oh really," she replied. "What exactly does a smoker look like?" 

"Good point," I admitted. "I guess everyone has their vices, huh?"

"Yeah," she said almost whimsically. A silence fell between us. Not awkward. Just quiet. It was nice. I watched her sip her coffee and casually flip through the pages of an interior architecture magazine. 

Sensing the timing was right, I casually reached down towards my briefcase, discreetly opened it and pulled out a pack of Camel Lights. There were two left.

With an over-the top, Humphrey Bogart impression I asked, "Cigarette?"

Thank God she laughed. Good. I was being a nice, fun goofball but also a bit of the adventurous bad boy. Have to stay balanced.

"Now there's a surprise," she said. "Looking at you, I wouldn't have thought that you were a smoker either," she said.

"Oh really," I teased, "And what exactly does a smoker look like?"

She laughed again. I'm on a roll.

In all truth, I'm glad she didn't look like a "smoker." The most erotic smokers to me are those nice girls that look like they would never touch a cigarette. And when you see them take a hard, cheek-hollowing drag, a delicate snap and a smooth exhale, their purity becomes tinged with a hint of the rebel. I like that. I guess the Madonna/Whore Syndrome comes in many shades.

I took the remaining two cigarettes out of the pack and handed her one. She took it gingerly and actually gave a quick glance around to see if anyone she knew was nearby. Ah, she's also a closet smoker. Perfect. I find it most attractive when a woman views smoking as a special treat, not just as an addiction. I fished around in my pocket for my lighter and after taking a subtle deep breath to calm my excitement, I flicked on the lighter. 

She lifted the cigarette to the full lips of her small mouth, set it in place and reached up to touch my hand as the flame moved closer. So classy. She took a hard pull on the cigarette and ever so slowly drew the smoke into her lungs. I tried not to stare as I too lit my cigarette, put my lighter back in my pocket and leaned back into the chair.

The sun was positioned behind her in such a way that the smoke curling off her cigarette took on a bluish glow. I could see every wisp of smoke dancing in the soft breeze. It was mesmerizing.

As it seemed that smoking had kind of drawn us together, I had to ask the logical question.

"So, how long have you been smoking," Not particularly profound I admit. But I still felt the jolt that comes from asking a stranger a personal question.

"I've only been smoking for about a year, actually," she said, slowly putting the cigarette back into her perfect mouth and giving it a relatively hard drag, hard enough to create a that soft, cheek-hollowing effect that I find so inexplicably erotic. She held her lips together as the smoke danced in her mouth, gave a short yet deep inhale and after holding the smoke in her lungs for a short time, deliberately exhaled it in a tight stream to the side so as not to blow it in my face. I could tell she was being polite. I sure wish she wasn't as I would have loved to see that stream heading right at my face.

"Really," I said. "You took it up this late in life? What made you start?

"Well," she said, "I don't really know." I think she wanted to tell me but may have felt a little awkward sharing such details with a stranger.

"Oh, come on," I joked. "I promise I won't tell anyone and if I see your Mom, I'll tell her you were just holding it for me."

She laughed. "OK, OK, I'll tell you." She took another drag and this time held the smoke a bit longer in her lungs as she contemplated her response. She hadn't yet exhaled as she began talking which allowed some of the smoke to be forced out with her words. She paused before powerfully exhaling the rest. "A lot of my friends smoke. I work in a pretty high-pressure work environment and I always thought it just came with the territory. I never started because I have always tried to take care of my body and I knew it was bad for me. But there was always something about it that I found..." she hesitated as she searched for the right word, "...interesting."

"Really," I replied. "I know what you mean."

"You do?"

"I do." I wanted to come out and tell her what I really thought about a beautiful woman smoking. I wanted to tell her that the image has fueled a certain part of my sexuality since I was a boy and that I often masturbate while viewing images of hot smoking women. I held my tongue. Needless to say I was surprised when she leaned in a bit and said, "To tell you the truth, I find smoking very sexy."

When she said it, her face expressed both shyness and the childlike joy that comes with being "naughty." She instantly dropped her eyes, shocked I believe in her uttering these words to a stranger. I sensed her feelings and in a playful, confidential way I asked, "Can I tell you something?" 

"Yes," she said.

I suddenly felt a bit embarrassed about what I was going to say. I am not sure why as she had just admitted to me that she found smoking sexy. I guess it was from years of keeping my fetish to myself, except with lovers that I knew and trusted.

"Well, I really find smoking sexy too. It's something that has always kind of, well, you know..." I let the sentence trail off, unable to come out and say what I really wanted to say which is very unusual for me.

While she was listening to me and looking me right in the eye, she brought the cigarette to her lips and placing it in the far corner, took another beautiful cheek-hollowing drag followed by a very deep inhale and this time, she held the smoke for a very long time, seeming to make me wait for what turned out to be a perfect, slow exhale, this time aimed just to the side of my face.

"Are you trying to say it turns you on?" she asked in very kind, understanding way without a touch of embarrassment or guardedness as if she needed to protect herself with me. I gave a kind of bashful smile and a nod of my head. 

"Oh good," she said with relief. "I guess I am not the only one after all. I have to be honest with you. Watching those girls smoke was really exciting for me. I was watching them do their smoking tricks and it really did something to me. When I saw you get up to light their cigarettes, I have to admit, it was kind of exciting."

"Where the hell did you come from!" I questioned in a joking manner. Half jokingly I said, "You are the woman of my dreams." Believe me, I was only half joking. We both laughed.

She had stubbed her cigarette out in the unused ashtray on the table and I did the same. There was almost a look of disappointment in her eyes as she did so, knowing that I didn't have anymore cigarettes. And she has a casual smoker, obviously wasn't carrying any herself. Just then the blonde and brunette light yet another round of smokes, continuing their smoking session with both snap and French inhales.

"I wish I could do that," she said to me, now completely comfortable with the idea of talking about smoking. 

"Do what," I asked.

"You know, where the smoke kind of comes out of your mouth like a little ball and pops right back in. I think that looks so great. I actually tried in the mirror a few nights ago and I just couldn't get it,"

"Stick with it," I said. "It just takes a little practice and I agree with you, it is a very sexy smoking style." I then proceeded to casually let her know a bit of what I find sexy about smoking, my history with it. I mentioned that there was a large smoking fetish presence on the web and some sites even gave "lessons" to help new smokers learn. Just as casually she asked which one I would recommend. She was very cool.

"So how bad would I be if I admitted I wanted another one?" she asked with a smile.

"Bad," I said. "You would be very, very bad. Actually, you'd probably lose your drivers license and your right to vote." I kept teasing her, "So I guess the real question is, would it feel good or bad to smoke right now?"

Our eyes met. It was nice. Quietly she said, "It would feel good."

"So let me get this straight," I said. "You know have the choice of feeling good or bad. Seems pretty logical to me."

"Me too," she said with conviction. "I want to feel good being bad."

That cracked me up and was music to my ears. "Well," I said. "I am here to encourage your badness. I don't have anymore on me but I think there may be a few in my car which is right around the corner." I stood up from the table. "Want to take a walk" 

"Let me see. I am about to walk to a total strangers car so we can have another cigarette, huh? Can I trust you?"

"I'd say the odds are 2 to 1," I said grinning.

There was only one problem amidst this unfolding fantasy. I wasn't sure if I actually had any cigarettes in the car. Not good. Kind of like bringing a girl home in high school and having your Mom barge in turn on the TV when you're getting ready to enjoy one of those mind blowing, teen-aged dry-humps. Lustus Interruptus. Can't really play that one off.

My car was parked about a block and a half away from the café. It was a warm, late afternoon and we chatted as we walked into the setting sun. I even liked the way she walked. Shoulders back with a little spring in her gait. We made small talk as we walked. She said her office was close by and she had left work a little early to pick up a gift for a friends birthday. I told her I had stopped for a coffee after a meeting and intended to head back to the office but was now thinking I might call it a day as well. While we chatted, we both knew of the unstated purpose for our stroll. We both found smoking erotic....and we were going to smoke together.




Smoke Away, Give Away



Sarah knew she had to quite smoking again. She'd done it for four years the last time. And she wished she'd never started again. Her new husband hated her habit no matter how light of a smoker she was. A friend suggested that she try hypnosis. She was skeptical, but thought if she could quite easily that way without gaining a bunch of extra weight that it would be worth it. 

She made an appointment with Dr. Rogers for a preliminary consultation the next week. When Wednesday came she went with trepidation to the first appointment. After discussing her smoking routines, attitudes toward her habit and will to quit, Dr. Rogers said that he needed to do a small test to make sure that she was indeed able to be hypnotized...after all it doesn't work on everyone. After he was able to make her snort like a pig, bark like a dog and growl like a big cat he had his answer. Of course Sarah remembered nothing and took the good Dr. at his word when he said he only asked her to count backwards in multiples and to say her alphabet backwards to test her. They set her up on a "nine-weeks-to-smoke-free" schedule starting with her first full length one hour session the following Wednesday. 

The session on week one came and went without a hitch. Dr. Rogers had Sarah programmed to start dropping two each week. She found that easy to do by varying her morning routine and actually she dropped more than the required two and felt very proud.

When week two's session came around Dr. Rogers had a few new ideas of his own. He knew what he wanted but he decided to take it slow so the conscious mind wouldn't figure it all out and over ride the subconscious mind. This week he'd only play a little. And test things out again in the next session to see how he'd done. This was all very cloak and dagger to him and very new. He'd heard at colleague's get-togethers that this was very common among therapists of all sorts. He'd been dying to try it. And he really felt that Sarah was the perfect candidate. 

He did what he was suppose to once he hypnotized her. He would help her stop smoking just as she had paid him for. What she was unaware of is how much more she was going to pay him in the long run. After the normal smoke-free programming he suggested that she was hot. And maybe she should remove her thick wool blazer. Allowing him to get a better look at the voluptuous breasts that lay beneath it. Then he suggested to her that she was tense and he should massage her shoulders. Giving himself the perfect tease as he stood above her seated shoulders and stared straight down her v-necked blouse at the lilac silk and lace that hugged her tan DD's.

Dr. Rogers decided he had chanced enough. He regained his composure...or at least his pants did and he awoke her to test his luck. He'd suggested nothing bad enough to make her think he was after her sexually. She didn't remember anything different than the she did in the normal session.

The following week Rogers was ready to up the stakes ten minutes after she walked into his office Sarah sat with Dr. Rogers cock buried between her huge tits. The beautiful bra she wore only served to hold him tighter between them increasing the friction and therefore Dr. Rogers' pleasure. He was still a little skittish about coming on her though...thinking that the clean up part might be enough to remove her mind from its alternate reality. Running to the bathroom to finish the job Sarah had all but accomplished while he had her take a quick nap.

When Sarah awoke with a sense of happy lightness and restful peace. The good Dr. Rogers couldn't believe his fortune. It seemed that he had indeed picked the right patient for his first experiment. Each time they were together he was able to take her deeper into unconscious activity. And no memories had bleed through in her weeks of day-to-day routine. 

Sarah returned home to her husband smoking only 5 cigarettes a day that week and he noticed that she seemed to have a renewed confidence in herself. He had always loved that in her. That was one of the reasons he'd fallen for her to begin with. There was just something so sexy, powerful and seductive about a secure woman who knew who she was...what she had to offer...and how to get what she wanted. He was glad to see that the therapy sessions seemed to be reinforcing what she already knew about herself deep down inside. If he'd know where it was all coming from...he might not have been so excited by it. But as it was it had seemed to improve their sex life over the last few weeks. She always felt so good about herself after her sessions that he pretty much had a guarantee to get laid that night. 

That was just what Dr. Rogers had programmed her to do. In week four's session he had Sarah down on her knees as he towered in front of her. He commanded her to suck his healthy cock. And told her just how he liked it. He had her grab his ass checks hard and squeeze while she engulfed the entire length of his thick shaft all the way down...till his hair was touching her nose and eyes. Then he held her there and began to stroke himself in and out. In and out. 

She brought his quivering cock back up to the top of her mouth and masterfully licked its circumference sliding her tongue all the way around the seam where his bulging head and long straight shaft met. He couldn't believe that he was doing this in his office no less. As he shot his load of sticky white jizz down the back of Sarah's throat he felt invincible, like there would never again be anything he wanted and couldn't have. He made sure to clean Sarah's mouth, he suggested her to drink a bit of a coke and then had her return to the couch and gave her the usual instructions to remember nothing and to be horny for her husband when she got home. 

Dr. Rogers was like the mad scientist with his Frankenstein now. And just like any deranged Dr. or scientist he was able to delude himself into believing that this was a great and profitable thing for all concerned. Sarah would quit smoking, the husband hadn't been laid this much since he and Sarah had just met. And as for the good Dr. himself...well he had a new toy...a new sex toy and he sat behind his desk feet propped up on his appointment calendar and closed his eyes. 

He couldn't even imagine all the possibilities that this one patient could lead to for him. He could program her to role-play. To wear anything he wanted...to fuck him anyway he wanted...She was his puppet and he was her master. And he started to plan what he wanted out of her for the next session. Delving deep into his wildest fantasies. 

He knew now that he'd get to live them all...to make them become his reality and he chuckled as he thought of all the things he...and Sarah would do.

And why stop with Sarah...

There were many other beauties in his practice to play with...the puppeteer...that's what he was now... he thought with a sly grin.



Smoke Break



There's something so sensual and sexy about a women holding a cigarette, taking long drags from her soft lips as the white aromatic smoke billows from her nose and mouth. The smell alone of a women's smoke makes my cock throb in my pants and and, stiffen up like a 2X4. I developed this fetish for smoking several years ago, which to me still seems strange since I myself don't smoke. I find myself looking around town during the day searching for sexy women smoking and fantasying about their smoky lips wrapped around my penis. I picture myself kneeling down between their long legs, eating their pussy while they drag on a cigarette, occasionally blowing a hit or two towards my head. Sometimes I picture them on top of me, riding my stiff cock while they fill their lungs full of smoke. They story your about to read took place a few years back on a lunch break from work.

One of my fellow co-workers I had often fantasized about had asked me to take my lunch break with her this day. She was very petite, with longs legs that looked like they never ended. Her hair was naturally red, another big turn on for me. Her frame was so small, it was hard to believe it could support her massive perky tits. We flirted with each other quite often and made dirty remarks back and forth on a daily basis. I use to fantasize about bending her over, grabbing her hair and fucking her hard while she fought to keep her cigarette in her mouth. She lived close by work so she asked me if I wanted to go to her house for our lunch break, having a pretty good idea of what was in store I agreed. I jumped in her car to head over there and she immediately lit up a smoke. She asked if it bothered me and I told her I didn't mind and that I actually like the smell of second hand smoke. She smiled at me with her horny eyes and took a long drag of her cigarette. I could feel all the blood rush to my cock; it was throbbing so hard it was like it had its own heartbeat. I desperately wanted her smoky mouth wrapped around my aching member. We were almost there when she looked around for the lighter she had dropped and noticed the massive bulge in my jeans. She just starred at it for a moment then looked up at me and smiled. 

 As we walked the front door of her house I gently squeezed her tight little ass, she responded by turning around and biting my lower lip, the thought of what was ahead made my cock so hard it hurt. She told me to sit down when we got inside and make myself comfortable while she whipped us up something to eat, but the only thing I was hungry for was her wet pussy on my face. A few moments later she appeared from the kitchen with a couple sandwiches, which we put down pretty fast. She reached over to the coffee table and lit up a smoke, and that was all I could take. I leaned over through the cloud of smoke and kissed her neck. I started of with some soft little pecks and then ran my tongue up to her ear as my hand explored her inner thigh. She bean to whimper and let out a few moans as I gently caressed the back of her head through her long red hair and kiss her lips. Her mouth opened up as I tongued her tongue, tasting the sweet taste of her cigarette. We stopped to catch our breath and she told me her pussy was soaking wet. I unbuttoned her jeans and quickly pulled them completely off, the smell of her creamy slit made me want to explode. She took another long drag of her cigarette and then put it down so she could remove her top. The anticipation was killing me! 

She un- did her bra only to reveal the nicest set of tits I had ever seen. Her tits turned slightly up-ward and her nipples were long and pink. She put the cigarette between her lips and held it there while she squeezed and massaged her own breasts. I took my position between her legs and licked her wet cunt through her panties. She let out a load moan, as I looked up at her watching her fill her lungs with smoke. I told her how much it turned me on to watch her smoke, but I think she already knew. I pulled her panties off and sunk my tongue deep inside her. She tasted amazing; she was so wet I had her juices dripping off my chin. She leaned forward and kissed me, tasting the sweetness of her own pussy. I went back to work, tonguing her hard clit while my nose rubbed her furry red patch. I flipped her over and spread her ass cheeks, leaning in I smelled her sweet little pink asshole while I unbuttoned my jeans. I pulled my cock out and bean stroking it while my tongue explored her ass. She took another drag of her cigarette and then leaned over to put it out. 

I stuck my finger in her hot love hole to get it nice and wet for her ass. She was now bucking back and forth moaning with ecstasy as I slid my wet finger into her asshole. "Finger my ass," she yelled, as I slid it in and out, licking her hot, juicy cunt. Her moans grew faster and loader "I'm going to cum" she yelled as her sticky juice erupted on my face. I continued to drink every drop from her cunt until her orgasm subsided. Still shaking, she almost collapsed as she got off the couch and told me it was my turn. I took her place on the couch and she ripped off my jeans, marveling at my big cock, she promised to try and swallow the entire length of my cock as she grabbed to base of it. I asked her if she would light another cigarette so I could watch her smoke my cock the way I liked it, without hesitation she reached to the coffee table. Placing the cigarette between her full lips she lit it, taking in a long drag and holding it as she made her way back down to my cock. With a firm grasp around my shaft she opened her mouth and swallowed my dick almost down to my balls. She fucked my penis with her mouth while she exhaled the smoke from her nose. My balls started to tingle instantly; I knew it wouldn't be long before I erupted. She worked my cock like a pro, taking a break every few moments to smoke her cigarette. She blew the smoke across the tip of my dick as she wet her finger and played with my ass. I couldn't take any longer. I grabbed the back of her head and started pounding my dick into her mouth feverishly. I let out a yell as I blew spurt after spurt of my hot cum into her mouth with the last one landing on her tits. After that we both cleaned up and headed back to work with a smile on our face. We agreed to meet again afterwards, and it became our normal work routine.



Smoke Break



I glanced up at the clock on my wall and noticed it was just about ten fifteen. I opened my deck drawer, grabbed my pack of cigarettes and headed toward the elevator. Accustomed to my schedule, my co-workers reset their watches and basically stayed busy making everything work without me. Several nodded to me as I passed by. I nodded back, counting my steps to the elevator.

Once on board, I pushed L and took a deep breath as the elevator began descending. The bell dinged at every floor and I watched the numbers flash away while still holding my breath, hoping this ride would be a non-stop run. When the red L flashed and the bell rang for the last time that ride, I breathed again, stepping out into the elevator lobby.

I walked quickly across the plush carpeted main lobby and rolled out the revolving door, stepping into fresh air. It was an irony I never truly appreciated, having to go out into the fresh air to smoke a cigarette. At least the weather was nice, with a cool, dry breeze from the north.

I pulled out my cigarettes and reached in my pocket for a lighter, but it wasn't there. I checked all my pockets and then remembered taking it out of my pocket as I searched for some change to lend to the guy in the cubicle next to mine. "Yeah," I said to myself, "it's there, right next to my computer."

On any other day there would be several other smokers milling about that could give me a light, but there was no one in sight. I'd just have to go back up to my office and get my lighter. I rolled back in through the revolving door, cut across the main lobby and pushed the up button on the elevator.

The ride up was just as eventful as my earlier ride down as the bell dinged and the numbers flashed, this time in ascending order. Finally reaching my floor I stepped off the elevator and headed down the long corridor to the group of cubicles where I work.

As I got closer to the group of cubicles, I noticed something strange, instead of the sound of ringing phones, tapping keyboards and printing printers, all I could hear was heavy breathing and the occasional moan.

Turning the corner I stopped, completely stunned by what I saw. There, on the conference table, Jerry, our college intern was standing in the middle of the table, completely naked, stroking his hard cock while Harriet, one of the accountants was on her back beneath him, sucking and licking his balls. Harriet's legs were spread wide open, where Susan, a recently hired engineer was running her tongue up and down her hairy pussy.

Sean, our IT guy had his hands on Susan's hips as he pummeled her from behind. Jason and Mary were on the refreshment table thoroughly engaged in an energetic 69 position while watching the activity on the conference table. I was about to walk away when Jerry, the young college intern shouted, "I'm coming," and shot his cum all over Harriet.

Seeing the sticky white splash on Harriet's breasts and stomach, Susan abandoned the pussy she was eating to slurp up the cum from Harriet's body.

Now Harriet was an older woman, approaching retirement age, and well, between the wrinkles and her sagging breasts, Susan's search for Jerry's cum took some time as she chased tiny white rivulets over her stomach and onto her chest. Harriet reached down and lifted her breasts from her stomach to let Susan run her tongue there.

The couple on the refreshment table both began moaning and groaning as they came simultaneously, covering each other in cum. Sean, finally noticed me standing there and quickly pulled his cock out of Susan's pussy, trying to look nonchalant, while his cock glistened in Susan's juices. Summing up his courage he said, "Oh hi Jim, you back from your cigarette break already?"

I shook my head, "No, I forgot my lighter."

"Oh, I see," was all he could say.

Wondering if Mr. Johnson was about to walk in and find his whole department in the middle of an orgy, I rushed towards his office, passing several other groups covered in sweat and cum. Reaching his office, I noticed that his door was only slightly open, so instead of barging I simply peeked through the opening.

Mr. Johnson was standing in front of his desk with his pants at his ankles as he pushed his cock back and forth into his secretary's pussy. I also noticed Caroline, our accounting manager also on the desk, kneeling about the secretary.

I stood in stunned silence as Mr. Johnson pulled his thick cock out of his secretary's pussy and carefully work it into Caroline's. She reached down and played with her clit as his cock rammed into her, his balls slapping her ass.

Looking back at a nearby cubicle I noticed another couple sucking each other off, while Marjorie, my secretary rubbed her clit watching the action. Unzipping my zipper, I walked over and offered her my cock. She hungrily sucked it into her mouth, using one hand on my shaft and the other on her clit.

All the excitement had truly aroused me and in just moments I found myself spurting my cum into Marjorie's mouth. I then kneeled down and pushed my tongue into her pussy, tasting her tangy flavor. She moved her fingers so my tongue could move up to her clit and in just a few minutes she was arching her back and coming.

Just as I was licking the last of Marjorie's juices from my lips, I heard someone shout out, "Okay, the smoke break is over." I slipped my cock back into my pants, took the pack of cigarettes in my pocket, crumbled them up and tossed them, ceremoniously, into the trash. I haven't touched a cigarette since... it's been two years now. 



Smoke Ch. 01



 Copyright @ calibeachgirl

All rights reserved, 2011

*

Chapter 1: Victim of Circumstances

It is not possible to step twice into the same river according to Heraclitus, or to come into contact twice with a mortal being in the same state... Plutarch

The Korean War caught everyone by surprise. Well, not everyone. The North Koreans and the Chinese and the Russians were well prepared for the events that followed. By the time the 1952 elections were competing with the war for the American nation, the country was once again in the grip of war.

During the Second World War, the Los Angeles area, particularly the area surrounding Los Angeles Airport, became the birthplace of modern aviation. By the time the 1950s began, North American Aviation, among others, was producing the first modern jet fighters ... and the plane they produced, the F-86 Sabre, would be one of a long line of designs culminating in the Space Shuttle.

Our story begins on the early evening of Friday, May 23rd, 1952 in the small Los Angeles suburb of Hermosa Beach, California, just a few miles from the main manufacturing plant of North American Aviation at the corner of Imperial Highway and Aviation Boulevard.

It was nearing seven o'clock and Chris was anxious to leave. 'For once,' he thought, 'she's not complaining about going; I just wish she'd hurry the hell up. She's taking longer and longer getting ready.'

He had already 'church-keyed' a can and was sitting on the apartment steps waiting. He was still waiting and well into his third one when Cynthia, 'Cindy' to her friends, finally came outside and walked quickly past him to the car.

He knew she didn't like watching the fights at Clancy's, but it seemed she had just given up and let him have his way, almost insisting that they go. 

So much so, that when he met her at the car, he was astonished how much her manner had changed in just a few days. 'That Suzy must be a good influence on her,' he thought, 'but, it seems they are spending a little too much time together.'

Numerous times, he had come home from the factory to find the two of them sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and listening to the radio. It wasn't until much later he remembered Cindy was wearing a bathrobe and it was six in the evening.

He stopped for a beer or two at Clancy's before coming home, that afternoon. He would have tried to have sex with her right then if Suzy hadn't been there and later, he was just too tired. He was too tired a lot, these days. 'A man deserves to have a beer or two and just relax after working hard all day on the assembly line building the F-86 fighter.'

He knew the job was important, fighting the Communists but assembly line work was so mind-numbing. 'After a day of that, a man deserves to have a beer or two.'

They'd have to make due with the apartment... saving up for a house of their own. He just couldn't seem to get ahead. 'A couple of beers wasn't going to hurt that much and so, I gambled a little. What was the harm in that?'

"New dress?" he asked, uneasily. 'Where was the money to pay for that?' he wondered. 'We're just getting by as it is and sometimes I only have enough for one beer.'

"This? Oh, no, it is Suzy's. She gave it to me last week."

"Last week..." 'When did that happen?' He just couldn't get his head around it.

"You remember, honey... we went to their house after Clancy's. You and Riley..."

**********

A week earlier, Friday, May 16th ...

The bar, filled with the grayish-blue haze of cigarette smoke, stunk with the stale smell of spilled beer and dried sweat. Those still sober enough to care were watching the boxing match. The new television rested proudly on a hastily built shelf.

As the black-and-white images lit up the smoke, Chris entered, almost dragging Cindy behind him. He looked around for his friends and saw them over by the men's. 

The crowded bar was packed with unmarried men with no women, older men who were wishing they had no women and a few women making money from all of them.

Cindy hated Friday nights. They were always the same.

Instead of going to a movie or dinner, her husband began going to Clancy's to see the fights, eventually demanding she come along. "After a long week of work, a man deserves to have a beer or two," he kept saying to her.

Cindy hated Friday nights. They were monotonous. 

Her clothes and hair always smelled of smoke and by the time she felt clean, Friday had arrived once more and it would start all over, again.

The Gillette commercial broke the monotony of the two fighters dancing around the ring.

Cindy hated Friday nights. They were noisy and smelly.

"Chris, can't we go home, please? We could have some fun, baby." She grabbed his arm and rubbed against him, hoping the invitation of her body would somehow get through to his already beer-soaked mind. Not that he would be able to do anything. She sighed; it had been God knows how long since he was able to satisfy her.

"We just got here. Look, Cindy, there's Suzy over there. Why don't you go talk with her?"

She looked over to the corner and finally seeing the woman, walked over. Like herself, Suzy did not look very happy. She had a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other.

"I was hoping you'd come over," she said, upending the bottle and finishing her beer.

"I'm tired of coming here every Friday night. I thought being married was going to be a lot more fun than this. Sometimes, I wish that..." Cindy let that comment disappear on her lips.

"Let's go outside and talk a little. This smoke is starting to hurt my eyes." Putting the empty bottle on the floor, Suzy ground out the butt beneath her foot and left without worrying if Cindy would follow.

Walking out the side door into the parking lot, the two women felt a slight breeze off the ocean. After the smells and heat of the bar, the fresh air woke them up. The raucous laughter of the men inside faded to annoying background noise they eventually ignored the further they walked again.

They looked for a clean place on the concrete-block wall and finally leaned against Riley's '48 Ford Vicky.

A car pulled up next to them and the man rolled his window down. "How much?" 'Hot little pieces...' he hoped.

"How much for what?" Suzi looked at him and then realized what he was asking. "No, no, you've got it all wrong, we're just out here, talking. Please, leave us alone."

"Sorry, it just looked like... never mind." He drove off down the street, looking for a few minutes of comfort from someone else. "Bitches, if you're not out there you shouldn't be out there."

Suzy started laughing and soon Cindy joined in. 

"You know," Suzy laughed, "we do look like a couple of hookers, standing here. Men are so stupid, following their little dicks, but, am I any different?"

"Hey, I don't look that bad!" Cindy looked down at herself. "So my blouse is a little too tight..."

"You look needy for a fuck, Cindy. How long you been married, anyway?"

Suzy had been carefully watching the girl-woman ever since Chris started bringing her. 'With a little work,' she thought, 'she could be mine.'

"Almost eight months. Damn, that's all? It seems like forever."

"Eight months! What are you doing here? You should be at home fucking your brains out. Oh, right, you're married to one of those idiots in there... Shit, so am I."

"And, you? Yes, Suzy, why are YOU here?"

Suzy was silent for a while. "Three boyfriends and two husbands... The second one is inside, probably being stupid like yours. I sure can pick 'em. I got divorced last year. He was too abusive and put me into the hospital for almost three weeks."

Cindy was astonished, her sometimes friend admitting to sleeping with five men, probably more ... a lot more. She found that... somehow... exciting. Whatever Chris thought he was doing, it wasn't happening for her, anymore.

"What else is there to do? They're in there, we're out here and it's starting to get cold."

"I wonder how much we could have gotten. That guy, I mean." Suzy laughed.

"What? You've got to be kidding. We're..."

"Married? What's that got to do with it? Look how you husband treats you. You've only been married eight months, you're good looking and it's Friday night. 

"He's in there, stinking of beer and cigarettes and palling around with those other dickless wonders. What kind of life is that? Damn, it's time to wake up and smell the roses.

"I bet they haven't even missed us, yet. I bet we could have gone somewhere and they wouldn't even know it. This is no fun. Let's go."

"Huh? Where?" Cindy was getting nervous. Suzy was walking quickly down the street to the diner and she had to run to catch up with her friend.

"I'll have the cherry pie and a Coke and... what'll you have, Cindy?"

"I didn't bring any money. Can I have a glass of water?" She shyly looked at the waitress.

"Order something, I've got it. We can let my worthless husband pay for it."

"Uh, thanks, umm, then can I have a burger and fries, strawberry malt, please, with whipped cream?"

"Make that a lot of whipped cream, please. Nothing's too good for my Cindy girl. As a matter of fact, make it two orders."

After the waitress left, Cindy started crying. "He used to buy me malts and take me places and now all we do on Friday nights is go to Clancy's to watch the fights." She was just sobbing, now, her head down on her arms.

"Cindy, Cindy, calm down, honey. It'll be all right. We just got to figure out what to do, that's all."

By the time they were done eating, it was after ten o'clock. 

"We better get back," Suzy said, "before they miss us. Fat chance on that, though. I bet they didn't even know we were gone."

While the fight was over on the television, the crowd was still there drinking. Chris was over in the corner, beer in one hand and talking to three others. Suzy's husband, Riley was sleeping at his table, head down and snoring.

"Well, what did I tell you? He doesn't look worried to me. Didn't even know we were gone."

"We could follow you home and help you get him in the house, if you'd like?"

"Thanks. This is getting old." She shoved the small table. "Riley, God damn it, wake the fuck up. It's time to go home."

Chris walked Riley over to his car and put him into the front seat while Suzy went to the driver's side and slid in. 

Following them home, Cindy was soon driving through a simple tree-lined middle class neighborhood. It seemed like paradise to her, after living with Chris in their small apartment. She wished she was back with her parents...

Chris staggered out of the car and grabbed Riley and together they went up the front walk to the door. Even in his stupor, he realized he was never going to get Riley up the stairs and so he left him on the living room sofa.

His mistake was sitting down for a moment and then he fell fast asleep.

"Might as well let them sleep it off. C'mon, you'll stay the night. We've got a big bed, if you're shy."

Cindy followed her up the stairs and to the bedroom. Suzy pointed to the bathroom and then sat on the bed waiting for her to come back. She thought her guest was only going to wash her face but then she heard the shower starting.

"Well, that makes sense; she doesn't want to smell like cigarette smoke." A mischievous smile appeared. She quickly shed her clothes onto the bedroom floor and after hearing the shower door click shut, she went into the bathroom and opened the glass door.

**********

Early July...

"Uh, yeah... about that. How come there was..." Chris was confused.

"What, honey? You had a good time, didn't you? C'mon or we'll have to park too far out," she said.

He was puzzled at that last remark but looking at his wife smiling at him... he put the old car into gear and they drove to the bar. On the way, she played with the radio, changing to some music station. He hated when she did that but if that was the only price he had to pay for her to come without complaining...

He tried to remember exactly what happened but it was lost in the alcoholic haze that clouded his memory on Friday nights. 'Couldn't have been that important, I would have remembered.'

Cindy didn't even wait for him and walked straight into the bar, forcing him to run to catch up.

He'd have to cut down on his drinking and gambling, a thought that would last as long as it would take that first cold swallow to fill his mouth. By his second bottle, he saw Riley and Suzy walk in. Riley's wife looked around until she saw Cindy and a great smile appeared.

He had known they would eventually come around and stop complaining about Friday nights at the bar. It was just a little harmless fun, that's all... just a little harmless fun.

He was just glad wherever the two women were last week; they hadn't seen him with Estelle. After all, it was just a harmless fun, was all. If only he could remember what happened, after.

When he looked up again, both women were nowhere to be seen. 'Probably in the ladies', he thought. 'How much trouble can you get into there?'

The women walked down the street to the diner, sitting in their usual booth. Without asking, they received their usual Friday night dinner, burger, fries and strawberry malts.

"Have you been getting any, lately?" Suzy pushed the ketchup around the plate with her fries. "Well?"

"No..." Cindy took a long pull on her straw. They had no secrets from each other, not any more. "He drinks too much, can't get it up anymore and so he drinks even more. It's getting old."

"Take it easy, Cindy. It looks like you're trying to give that malted a blow job." 

Cindy put her drink down with a small thud. "It's been a while, that's for sure, ever since these damned fights. And, if it's not that, he's drinking more and more. I don't understand what's going on. I'm chasing him around the apartment and he doesn't have time for me at all. His job can't be that hard, for Christ's sake. Other men are doing it."

Three policemen walked in and sat at the counter. They were also regulars and their meals were ready and delivered by the time they all sat down.

For some reason, Cindy covered her wedding ring with her other hand and watched the men eat. One, in particular, had caught her attention over the last month. Of average height, there wasn't anything special about him but... there was that something she couldn't ignore. He seemed powerful; maybe it was the uniform. She didn't care what it was, just that it was there.

He noticed and smiled back. She felt light-headed and became scared. What made her do it, she didn't care but she slipped her ring off and put it into her purse. 

Her actions were not missed by Suzy, who looked at her younger friend in awe. She knew there was more to the girl than met the eye and had waited long enough to see a different Cindy assert herself.

Even with all that, she was greatly surprised when Cindy got up and walked over to the officers at the counter, putting her arm on the shoulder of the auburn-haired one and whispering into his ear, then turned and walked into the ladies' restroom. He put his fork down and followed a few moments later.

Suzy almost chocked on her burger. "Damn," she said, under her breath. "This girl's got some balls. This I got to see." She went to the back looking for her friend.

Cindy was once again on her knees, this time with a fully aroused man and a full erection in her mouth. Her left hand was moving on it; she could just close her hand around it. It was slick with her saliva and her head began bobbing, taking it in and pulling it out. She kept it in as her tongue caressed its bottom, finding that sweet spot that every man has. 

Moving forward against him, she felt it touch the back of her mouth and so did he. Putting both of his hands behind her head, he pushed and she took it down her throat. Within seconds, he groaned and sprayed burst after burst into her and then she pulled back enough that it filled her mouth with the hot liquid. He pulled out and saw a line of his creamy white cum drip from her lips. She opened her mouth and after showing him, swallowed.

He immediately became erect again.

"Fuck me," she asked, pleaded, demanded and turned to bend over, holding onto the edge of the sink. It had been months and she could wait no more. She knew her abusive husband was never going to be able to please her again no matter what he did.

She watched the reflection in the mirror. Looking at him behind her, she immediately became wet. It had been so long.

He pulled her dress up over her back and tore her panties off. Holding it in one hand, the other balanced against her back and he slipped in. She was so wet from anticipation and need that she came as soon as he touched her.

They began to move in a frenzy accompanied with her moans and his groans and he lasted an amazingly long time; she wanted it to last forever. Finally, he grabbed her hips and thrust in one last time with a loud sigh.

"Damn! That was fine!" He kept it inside her, hoping for another round. There was an insistent knock on the door.

"Jeff! C'mon, we got a call. We got to go!"

"Shit! All right, all right, I'm coming." He zipped up his pants. "Hi... I'm Jeff."

"Cindy. I've been watching you... I mean, each time."

"I know... me, too."

"God damn it, Jeff, we got to go!"

"Can you come back?"

"Tomorrow, OK?"

"Jeff!"

"Sorry, I've really got to go." He kissed her on the cheek, the first kiss... and that's how she began to change her life... not what she ever expected when she married Chris but strangely satisfying now.

The second Friday in August...

There did seem a lot of men going to the men's whenever those two disappeared, though. Maybe, they just didn't like all the smoke. Cindy had been complaining about it since the beginning.

At that moment in the parking lot, Suzy was on her knees sucking one man after another at five dollars each. Cindy stood outside the door collecting the money. Every fifth man, they changed places. It was the best form of revenge, Suzy had said. Cindy had to agree that the money was good and she was getting what she thought she needed, finally. For some reason, she liked doing it... really liked doing it.

While neither woman had originally seen their husbands with Estelle, they had overheard enough to first anger, and then disappoint Cindy.

Two weeks earlier, they saw for themselves the two men fawning over the barmaid. So, what if her boobs were a little bigger and her ass a little rounder and she supposedly took customers in the back when business was slow. He'd never do that to her... but he did.

For Suzy, it wasn't anything new but just the same, what the hell?

For Cindy, however, it was a completely different story. She was extremely angry; her anger was so great that her time with Suzy became more and more important to her as she began to withdraw from her husband, for his lack of consideration for her feelings, dragging her to the damned bar each week, for his infidelity with that bar tramp and for always being partially drunk. Every Friday night, he became completely drunk and worthless.

She hated Friday nights. This was not what she was promised when she married him. She thought back to that day, not so long ago...

'For richer or poorer...' well, that didn't turn out too well. 'For better or worse...' should have stayed single if this was going to be her life from now on. 'In sickness and in health...' he was sick, all right and so was she, sick of him and his damned drinking. 'From this day, forward...' every day was this day forward. 'Till death us do part...' that might be sooner than he thinks if he keeps this up.

The visits to Clancy's became more frequent until he was stopping on his way home every afternoon and then complaining that dinner wasn't hot, wasn't ready, wasn't what he wanted.




Smoke Ch. 01



"Why are we having this damn spaghetti for the third time this week?" He slammed his fist down on the table. His glass tipped over and rolled onto the floor, smashing into pieces.

She cringed when he yelled at her. "We don't have money for anything else. You..." Cindy backed up until she was against the hot stove.

"I... what... what, Cindy, what?" His dark look scared her more than the heat at her back.

"I mean, Clancy's costs money. Chris, couldn't you drink at home? It would be cheaper and we could have something else for a change."

He pushed the plate away, stood up and left. As she heard the car start and pull away, she sat down and cried. She hated her life and she hated him.

He didn't come back until the next morning, smelling of cheap booze and cheaper women... and, smoke. That was it, she thought, no more using her money to help out; she worked hard for the money.

"Chris, please, we have to talk."

"What's to talk? Man comes home from work; don't you think he deserves a good, hot meal waiting for him?"

"But, I never know when you're coming home. And..."

His look stopped her. She cringed and backed away.

"I'll have breakfast for you in a minute."

She turned to leave but he grabbed her by the arm. "Not so fast. Way I look at it, you owe me some lovin'."

He forced her to her knees. "Do it."

His two hands pulled her to his crotch. Trembling, she reached for the zipper and pulled it down. Reaching inside, she tried to pull his it out but it was too flaccid and just lay against his pants. Terrified, she unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants. 

Reaching for it, she started to move her hand against it but nothing happened. She tried to suck it but it was too small, drawn up against his crotch. She started to panic, nothing was happening no matter what she tried. She realized all that drinking had made him impotent... at least, with her.

"Who are you? You're not the man I married. You..."

The back-handed slap knocked her down. "Tonight, Cindy, tonight, you goddamn bitch."

He changed his clothes and left her lying on the floor, her lips swollen and bleeding, her face alrady discoloring from the force of his hit.

The sun moved across the wall, marking time. She lay there, just watching it move. She knew what was coming.

He was spending his paycheck before it was cashed and they were close to being evicted. The landlord, living across the hallway, had told Chris numerous times to get up to date... and yet, whenever he saw her, he was always polite and talked to her about life in general. 

That's how she found out he was a Marine who fought in the Pacific. Once, when she asked, he showed her his medals but then put them back into a drawer, as if they were haunted by some horrible memory. 

As they approached their one-year anniversary, she knew she no longer loved him. Whatever she had for him had died a slow, painful death. She doubted he ever loved her or now he just loved the bottle more than he loved her.

Time passed. They eventually lost the car to settle a gambling debt. How that happened, she was just beginning to learn and the day finally came when two men were at the door demanding to know how she planned on paying Chris' gambling debts.

She was young and had once been naïve but she was not stupid.

"How much and can you prove it?" She asked, curiously, not really caring one way or the other.

"$2875 and the interest is growing each day. Well?"

"Well, what?

"I don't have that kind of money and I don't care."

"We'll hurt him, hurt him bad. Maybe you want to reconsider."

Cindy laughed. The men looked at each other. This meeting of the minds was not going as expected. In almost every case, the woman found the money from her family or took their offer to 'work' it off. This one didn't seem to care.

"What? You think I care? Beat him, cut his balls off, kill him, I don't care. Go ahead. Now, get out and don't bother me again."

She stood in the doorway. Greg, the neighbor across the way had opened his door and stood there. In one hand, he had a .45 automatic pointed directly at her two visitors. Then they all heard the double-click as he chambered a shell.

"You heard the lady, get the fuck out."

The men went down the stairs and he could hear the front door slam, glass shattering onto the floor.

"Well, that's crap. Now I've got to replace it. You OK, Cindy? Where's that useless husband of yours?"

He led her into his apartment and locked the door. She sat down and cried. What had seemed like a wonderful dream had crumbled into an excruciating nightmare.

"I don't know and I don't care. I'm getting a divorce and going back to . This has been the biggest mistake of my life. I should have listened to my father. He told me Chris was no good and I didn't listen. How can I go back to my parents, now?"

"Listen, kid, you're staying here, tonight. Those assholes might be coming back and I want to be ready for them."

Greg took her to his bedroom and told her to lie down and get some rest. Before he left, he went to the closet and got out two boxes of shells and his six magazines.

He sat down on the sofa and began loading the magazines. He cut an 'X' into the tip of each one, ensuring it would shatter when it hit its target and then cause the most damage possible. A .45 caliber slug did damage enough but acting like that... 

Even he cringed at the thought, having seen the effect the slugs had on the Japanese who refused to surrender.

His mind drifted back to Okinawa, considered the bloodiest battle of the Pacific War... the carnage of that battle is what finally convinced the American military to drop the A-bomb on Japan. It made men cry to see the carnage, even after the war was over. 

He idly scratched a scar, courtesy of the Imperial forces.

He snapped back to the present. There are battles and then there are battles and this one was now personal. He had watched the young woman ever since she and her miserable husband had moved in. He had his doubts about renting to them but didn't like the idea of her out on the streets.

If he had ever heard him hitting her, he would have punished him so savagely... but, there never was a sound except her crying when she was alone.

Lately, the only time she didn't cry was when her friend, that Suzy, came over. Then there were giggles and silence.

His mind ran wild with the possibilities.

The sun went down with no sign of Chris. She told herself she didn't care if he never showed up and then cried into Greg's pillow.

Greg had turned the lights off the moment he had pulled Cindy into his apartment. It was now dark outside, the only illumination from the street lamps... and then, he saw them.

From their actions, he immediately knew they were never in the military, goddamn draft dodgers... 

Talking to himself, "Used to just taking what they wanted, tactics aren't part of their existence. This should be a piece of cake. Better check there's no one coming around the back."

He went to the back bedroom and glanced out. "Well, imagine that. Somebody's thinking, just not enough... too bad." 

There were two more in the alley climbing over the fence.

He carefully pulled the window up and took aim. "Fuck you, assholes!" he yelled and pulled the trigger, hitting both. One was still screaming so he shot him again, cartridges flying to the side.

That taken care of, he ran back to the living room just as the front door was kicked in. Firing blindly in the dark, he knew he hit one for he heard the body fall but the other one ran back down the stairs. He patted down the body and found car keys.

"Damn it!" He looked into the bedroom and found her huddled in the corner. "I'm going after the last one." He pulled another gun out of the closet. "I should have given you this to start with, I'm sorry. Just aim and shoot. Shoot anything coming through. I'll say 'songbird' so you know it's me. Repeat it."

"Songbird... but, I..."

"I'll be right back."

She slowly nodded her head; things were still moving too fast for her mind to comprehend now.

He put another magazine into the gun, jammed the door shut and stepped into the hallway. Peeking over the edge of the stairs, he then took them two at a time and he looked out onto the sidewalk. 

Blood. Actually, a lot of blood... leading away from the apartment house and across the street.

He sensed rather than heard the slug just missing his head. Then he heard the 'pop'. A .38, by the sound of it.

"Damn it. I'm getting careless. Be stupid to die this way." He crouched down behind a car and this time, a little more intelligently, started down the street toward the shooter.

In the distance, he could hear police sirens rushing toward him. If he was going to do something, he knew he had to hurry. He started to run; heedless of the danger to himself but knowing he had to protect his little songbird.

Sirens louder now, he ran as fast as he could. Another whizzed by, putting a hole into someone's new Pontiac. This time, though, he saw the flash and sighting along where he thought the shooter was, fired four shots in quick succession.

The bark of the .45 was matched by the bark of the neighborhood dogs. Greg walked over to where he was sure he would find a body, where he hoped he would find a body.

There he was, lying on the ground, two bullet holes in him, one in the chest and one in the leg. Where the other two went, God only knew. He knocked on the door of the house behind the body. 

"It's OK. It's over now. Are you OK in there?"

He saw the curtain move slightly. It was a middle-aged woman staring at him. At least, she wasn't screaming bloody murder.

"It's all right. I'm Greg from up the street. I own the apartment house. You've seen me before, haven't you?"

She let go of the curtain. He thought she was going to leave but then heard the chain on the door rattling and then the door swung open.

"I'm sorry for what happened. The man I shot outside was a hired killer and he was trying to kill a woman in my building. Maybe you've seen her, little blond, about five-two?"

"Cindy?"

"Yes, Cindy. Right now she's hiding in my apartment, scared to death. Are you alone? I need to see if anyone was hurt from the other two bullets."

"No, I'm alone. Come in and see what you need to see."

He looked at the side of the house, now lit up with house lights and eventually found two bullet holes. Both went into the crawlspace.

"You're OK, I think. I'll come by later in the morning and take a better look. Could you come with me and stay with Cindy. I see the police have already arrived and I really need to talk with them."

She was still a little shocked but got a sweater from the hall closet and followed him back up the street. 

In the distance, he heard three more shots. It sounded like the .38 he'd given Cindy and took off running across the street.

"This is my building," he said, out of breath. "There's a frightened woman in my apartment up there. I gave her a .38 for protection and she's waiting for me to come get her. Let me by."

There were police everywhere and finally they accepted his explanation and he was allowed to re-enter his apartment to find four policemen, guns drawn standing near the door to his bedroom. He also saw three bullet holes in the door. 

"Well, she did what I told her. How's she supposed to know you're cops?"

"We told her."

"How's that working out for you? Stand aside.

"Hey, baby... Songbird, it's me, Greg. Please, open the door. Songbird, do you hear me?"

They waited and a short while later, he heard her call out.

"Greg?" 

The door opened slowly and he entered the bedroom, took the gun from her hand and as he held her to him, her arms reached around his neck and stayed there.

"Shhh... it's over." God, he never wanted to let her go.

One of the officers was looking at a small photograph on the wall. "Jesus Christ. You were at Okinawa? Damn. OK, let's go. I'll get back to you later, Sergeant. You'll have to wait for the coroner to show up."

"There's two more out the back, by the fence."

"Damn, you've been busy. Why don't you take her across the hall to the other apartment? Good night."

Even though the police left the apartment, there were still plenty of people tramping around the building, front and back and even down the street at the other house.

"C'mon, we're leaving. You, too, Mrs. Shocley."

As they walked outside, Cindy saw Jeff and moved behind Greg. She preferred Greg to the policeman she had been having sex with each Friday. Oh God, she thought, I don't want him to see me. Jeff may have the uniform but Greg knew how to use his gun.

"You two get into my car over there and I'll be along in a second." While the women walked over to his '50 Ford Deluxe and got in, he talked to the homicide detectives, in several different directions at once. After several minutes and one of the men writing down information on a notepad, Greg got into his car and they drove away into the night.

coming...

Chapter 2: California Dreaming 



Smoke Ch. 02



Copyright @ 

All rights reserved, 2011

Thanks to Doug, Elliot, Jimmy and Pepper... 

Chapter 2: California Dreaming

"C'mon, we're leaving. You, too, Mrs. Shocley."

As they walked outside, Cindy saw Jeff and moved behind Greg. She preferred Greg to the policeman she had been having sex with each Friday. 'Oh God,' she thought, 'I don't want him to see me. Jeff may have the uniform but Greg knew how to use his gun.' 

"You two get into my car over there and I'll be along in a second." While the women walked over to his '50 Ford Deluxe and got in, he talked to the homicide detectives, pointing in several different directions at once. After several minutes and one of the men writing down information on a notepad, Greg got into his car and they drove away into the night.

Greg pulled up in front of the bakery and stopped the car. He nudged Cindy awake. "Hey, sleepyhead, time to wake up." She looked peaceful, not like the nervous wreck she was just last night.

'Oh, my head hurts... my back hurts... what's going on?' "Uhhhhh.... Where are we?"

"Solvang, California. 'Danish Capital of America,' or something like that. Come on, let's get some breakfast. Hey, Mrs. Shocley, we're here."

The old woman stretched out on the back seat of the dark red Ford and then slowly sat up and looked out the window. "Wow, you drove all the way to Denmark? To be or not to be... Hope you didn't get a speeding ticket."

"Ha... ha... ha, you're a funny woman, Mrs. Shocley. I'm buying, let's get breakfast. It's the least I can do, dragging you out of your home last night like that.

"Cindy, wake up," he insisted, "it's time to eat. I've been to this place before."

He got out of the car, put his .45 snuggly into his pants' belt and then his fedora onto his head. He opened the doors, bowing as the two women left their seats and stood on the sidewalk. Shocley smoothed out her dress while Cindy gave a cursory glance in the bakery window's reflection. 

Looking up, they saw an incongruous Danish windmill reaching for the hazy California sky. Warm, welcoming bakery smells wafted out the open door as they walked in. Greg could feel the hunger pangs grumbling through his stomach as he looked at the different Danish and cookies in the glass cases.

"Butter cookies... I'll take two dozen, please and a couple of those prune Danish and that cherry one... ladies, what do you want?"

"Whatever you think is best, Greg, we'll sit over there." She glanced at several small tables toward the back.

"Just double up the order and an extra cherry, please."

As he was paying for the food, he looked at the two women. 'What am I going to do, now? Cindy was one thing, but taking Mrs. Shocley along was a spur of the moment thing that I'm now starting to regret. What was I going to do with the old woman, anyway? And, now I'm responsible for both of them. Damn!'

"Here, plenty of cookies and pastries for my two ladies. How are you feeling, get plenty of sleep? Sorry about the rough ride up the One Oh One... it's not like it's Los Angeles, after all."

"Well, Greg, it's all right. Do you know when we're going to go back home?" 'Not too soon, I hope. I haven't had this much fun in a long time.'

"No, I'm sorry... I'm sorry for dragging you into this, Mrs. Shocley but there wasn't much I could do when the guy came over to your house. I didn't know if he was going to break in or not." He felt guilty. He wasn't worried, at the time, whether the man was going to break in or not, just that he needed to kill him first, but he was going to kill him, first. His face turned red and he tried to hide behind his coffee cup.

"We can take a walk around this place, if you'd like. Do you want to stay here, I mean, in town or keep going?"

"Honestly," said Cindy, "I don't know where we're going and I don't think anyone knows we're here, anyway, so can we stay here, at least for a while? It's like a fairytale story."

"Sure, Cindy, we can do that. We can do that."

He left a fifty cent tip and they walked out, carrying a bag of leftover cookies. Across the street was a gift shop and he shepherded them toward it. 'Women like to shop,' he figured 'and a place like a gift shop will be just the place to kill time until lunch.'

Before noon, he had easily spent another ten dollars indulging the two women and then they found a small smorgassborg on the next street. 'If this keeps up, I'm going to have to look for a Bank of America.'

"What a feast... wow, look at that roast pork," he said, pointing out the food on the cold table. Cheeses, hams, salads and pates... "I could stay here all day and eat this stuff.

"C'mon, ladies, eat up... we've still some more shops to visit before dinnertime." Truth was, he had no idea what to do with the two women now that they were here. Well, that wasn't exactly true. 'Cindy, oh, I've plenty of ideas what to do with her but with Mrs. Shocley there, not so much.'

An hour later, even he had to admit he couldn't eat any more food, and as good as it was, it was time to go. A couple of hours walking around finally brought them to a small motel and he went in to rent two rooms. 

The next morning, after another high-calorie breakfast of cookies and pastries, Greg put the car north onto US 101 and headed toward Monterey. The two-hour trip took them to San Luis Obispo, where they stopped for lunch and found another two rooms for the night at the Villa Motel on Monterey Street. This time, though, Cindy didn't even bother with the pretense of staying with Mrs. Shocley and walked right into Greg's room after they checked in.

After lunch, they drove around looking for a department store to buy some clothes. He laughed to himself, realizing his good deed was costing him even more money than he expected. 'Any night with Cindy, as wonderful as it might promise to be, is going to be very expensive.'

While the two women were trying on some clothing from racks by the wall, he went and found a pay phone. 

First, call the tenant in apartment 'A'. "Hello?"

"Hi, it's me, Greg Knotts. Are the police finished with the two apartments?"

"Yes, they've boarded up both of them and put a keep out sign on the doors. They're pretty mad; they've been looking for the two of you all day."

"Thanks. Can I call you every afternoon and find out what's going on?"

"Sure, Mr. Knotts. Say, about eight o'clock would be better. Joe will have finished his dinner by then."

"OK, Mrs. Hunton, eight o'clock it is. Thanks." 'Well,' he figured, 'that took care of the apartment house.'

He called the Hermosa Beach police. "Detective Kleis, please. It's Gregory Knotts."

"Kleis, Homicide." 'Now, what?' he wondered.

"Good afternoon, Detective. It's Greg Knotts."

"Where the hell have you been, Knotts. We've been looking all over for you and that crazy broad you took off with."

"Did you lock up my apartment up?" It made no sense to tell the police what he already knew. He still didn't know who to trust, other than Cindy and Mrs. Shocley; Shocley more than Cindy, when he thought about it. After all, he did kill four men because of her and who knew, she might bolt any second.

"Yeah, it's boarded up. Where are you?"

"Safe. Listen, have you figured out who those men were?"

"You want to play it that way, Knotts? I could have an arrest warrant out on you in ten seconds."

"Look, you know and I know that I'm innocent of pretty much anything you could throw at me and it was necessary to get the two of them out of town for their own safety.

"I promise I'll call every day, about this time and talk with you. You know more of what's going on than I do."

"All right, but I'm keeping you on a short leash, Knotts, don't push it with me.

"The four stiffs were enforcers for Guido Origli, local bookie around here. Seems he's angry at you, even more than I am. I'd watch my back, if I were you."

"If he can't find me, then he can't find me. Anything else?"

"Yeah, we can't find him, either. I'll let you know. You on the level, Knotts?"

"Yeah, I am. I don't like this any more than you do... what did you want me to do, sit around with a target on my back? I had enough of that with the Japs."

"Nah, you're right, just be careful." 'Looks like Knotts is going to be a pain in the ass. Damn it!'

"OK...

"Well, that was interesting," Greg said to himself. "Now, what?" The problem was, he had no clue what to do, now, except keep hiding until the dust settled. He thought about everything and the only thing he would have changed would have been to have the police there from the start... but, he doubted they would have had people sitting there for however long it would have taken to have things come to a head.

That night, Cindy searched for a sexual release she had missed her whole married life. Her husband was an ignorant lover and after he became an abusive, impotent drunk...

There was a knock on his door. He took his gun and slid the drapes back just enough to see Cindy standing there. Keeping the light off, he opened the door enough to pull her inside. "Cindy, what are you doing outside?"

"I was afraid you were asleep. Did I wake you?" 'Fantastic! He's awake!'

"No, I was just thinking. 

"What is it, Cindy?" 'This could get dicey,' he thought. He wondered what the old lady thought.

"About what?" 'God, I hope he doesn't regret taking me along.'

"Just things, that's all. Just things..."

Her hand came up to his cheek. "Let me help you with that..." she said. 'Oh, yes, now for some lovin'.'

She pushed Greg down onto the bed, unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down. Within seconds, she was bent over the bed, engulfing him in her now skilled lips. 

Greg had been living the life of a monk and came quickly in her mouth. 

"Well," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, "that is that. Now... time for some serious lovin'." 'Oh, YES!'

Greg soon remembered what he had been missing the last few years. The nightmares he had coming back from the Pacific had made any relationship impossible the first few years and even though they were now few and far in-between, he still had felt self-conscious about it.

Being with Cindy, though, he felt good. Comfortable wasn't the right word for it implied something to be taken for granted. 'A woman that would love me...'

Or, was it just a sense of gratitude? 'Why am I worrying about it now?'

While his mind was rumbling through it's own serious doubts, Cindy had none and moved above him. "Do me," she said, lowering herself onto his face. 'Yeah, let's see what you've got.'

The next morning, the old lady leaned over to Cindy and whispered into her ear. Cindy blushed and Greg gave her an inquiring glance, one eyebrow raised. 

"Seems the walls were paper thin, Greg."

His coffee splattered back into his cup as he looked at the smiling grandmother sitting across the table.

"Well, I guess it's time we get going."

After they were in the car, he told them they were going to San Francisco and would stay there for a few days. He found the Bellevue just a few walking minutes from the downtown area. This time, though, Cindy didn't even bother with the pretense of staying with Mrs. Shocley and walked right into Greg's room after they checked in.

Lunch was in Little Italy with Mrs. Shocley ordering spaghetti and meatballs. While Greg laughed at her pedantic choice, he convinced Cindy to join him in some calamari, sourdough bread and lasagna. 

"Squid, you say? This is good... but, squid?"

"If you like it, why not?"

"Yes, I guess you're right," Cindy said, rubbing his leg with her foot. "What do you think, Mrs. Shocley?"

"I'm sorry, dear; I wasn't paying that much attention."

"Greg says that if you like something, why not?"

"Well, dear, it would seem that you've already bought into that concept, wouldn't you say?"

For a moment, Cindy wanted to cry until she saw the laughter in the woman's eyes.

"Cindy, if you learn nothing else from what's happened the last couple of days, it's that life is too short and fragile to worry about what you could have done, as long as you're not hurting anyone, including yourself.

"What's for dessert, around here, anyways?"

"How about some gelato?"

"How did you become such an expert on Italian cooking?"

"During the war, I was friends with a guy who's mother was Italian and he took me home with him, you know, after and I never had so much food to eat in my life."

"Did you meet any Italian girls?" Cindy playfully asked.

He thought back to Ann Marie, a beautiful girl. He instantly fell in love with her, infatuated with everything about her and courted her with all his being. Unfortunately, the local nuns had already filled her head with tales of angels and heaven and he never had a chance.

If there was a God, he believed, He was somewhere else during the war. The atrocities of the Germans were only outdone by the cruelty of the Japanese military. The Germans killed people efficiently, coldly but the Japanese took great pleasure in inflicting pain before death.

Greg remembered the real reason Luigi, 'Louie' to his friends, was so dedicated to his well-being.

They were on point, attempting to flush out another of the hidden rat-holes the Japanese were hiding in. The world exploded as bullets flashed through the air, taking both of them down. Greg was shot in the leg, Louie in the stomach. For the next few minutes, Greg brought both of their M1s to bear on the enemy, killing seventeen and wounding the rest. After that, he carried and dragged his new best friend two miles back to the American lines before collapsing himself. 

The Navy Cross, two Silver Stars, the Pacific Campaign medal and three Purple Hearts sitting in a small box on the bottom of his bedroom bureau drawer were the only testament to that short time in Hell. Although Luigi told his family everything that had happened, Greg kept it to himself once he returned to California. There were no heroes in war, just survivors.

"Let's just say that I came about it honestly.

"Per favore, signore, due gelati di arancia ed un altro espresso..."

Her fingers were stuck and the harder she pulled the 'stucker' they got. 'Damn it!' "Greg, help me..."

'Cindy sounds just like a little girl,' he thought, 'with her fingers caught in the cookie jar' as he saw her looking around the dark, little store for him.

The older woman was engrossed with blowing on different glass wind-chimes and listening for the one she wanted. Greg decided to rescue Cindy before she panicked. 'How could a simple Chinese finger trap frustrate her when just a day or so earlier, she had taken a gun and blasted three through a bedroom door narrowly missing four cops?'

"Listen, you have to push in, not pull out." He took her hands in his and gently pushed her fingers together. The woven trap expanded enough that she could slip her fingers out. 

"My hero!" she exclaimed and kissed him. "Thank you, kind sir." 'Oh, he feels so good. I can't wait for tonight.'

Strangely enough, he remembered he promised to call the homicide detective and asked about a phone. The girl behind the counter met him with an expressionless gaze. 'Jesus Christ,' he thought, 'it's like Okinawa, again.' "Do you know where I can find a pay-phone, please."

'Ah, fuck it.' "C'mon, girls, time to go." 'I'm outta here...'

"But, we haven't..."

"We're leaving, now." Greg walked to the door, took one look back and walked out onto the Chinatown street and headed down the hill toward the fog-filled Bay. After about a hundred feet, he abruptly stopped, wondering where they were and got his answer as they bumped into him.

"Mr. Knotts, if you're going to head down the street and then stop, at least give us some warning."

Chagrined, he looked at Mrs. Shocley. "Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry, it just was that..." 'How can I explain it,' he wondered, 'about Okinawa? And then, the stupid girl?'

"You happen to see a pay-phone around here, by any chance?" 'I've got to call that cop before he blows a fuse.'

"I think I see a sign for one down by that market." She pointed further down the street to a Bell Systems sign bolted to the side of the brick building.

"Thanks. I have to make a call and then we can walk around some more, just not to that store... that is, if you want. I need to sit down, first."

Greg almost ran down the hill to the sign and looked into the store. Just inside the doorway was a phone and he walked over to a cashier to get some phone change.

"Hello, Detective... it's Greg Knotts... Yes... WHAT! You're kidding... dead, huh?"

"Los Angeles Police found him floating in one of the Venice canals."

"OK, so... now what?" 'Yeah, now what? Floating in the canal? Jesus.' "So, he was... what?"

"Drowned..."

"Well, is it safe? Did you find that guy?" 'If that fuck's still out there, there's no way we're coming home.'

"Word on the street is that he's down in TJ but I don't know. This is a big state and he could be anywhere. What do you want to do?" 'Like he knows...'

"Don't have any idea..."

'I thought so, you poor bastard, but I don't know, either.' "Look, uh, Greg... why don't you stay out wherever you all are for, let's say, another three or four days. Call me back then and we'll see what's going on, how's that?" 'Take the chance, Greg, boy, it won't get any better than this...'

"All right... you're watching my place, right? and Mrs. Shocley's?" 'Damn well better...'

"Yes, we've got a patrol car out there about every half-hour." 'Yeah, when we can.'

The next few days were spent having fun... a picnic at Golden Gate Park, a swim in the ocean, a drive across the Golden Gate, some museums and a climb to the top of Coit Tower.

Cindy laughed... 'Coit Tower, shaped like a giant penis... more like coitus tower!' He bought them Popsicles and she licked hers, giving him a wink and promising something later.

"You can come home, now. We found Origli."

"Oh, yeah, how'd that happen?" 'Must have fallen over his dead body or something in the dark.'

"It's the funniest thing. Seems he laid off a lot of his gambling to bigger bookies and they didn't appreciate it when he couldn't pay them back. No wonder he went down to TJ." Didn't go far enough, though... "And, now he's dead."

Kleis could hear Greg laughing. 

"What about Cindy? What about the gambling debts? What about the four dead guys?" 'Yeah, what about them?'

'So, it's Cindy, now, is it? Probably nailing the broad.' "Well, as far as the dead guys, the only one that cared was Origli and that was just business so that's over. As far as the debt, we don't think anyone knows for sure who owed what because he just rolled it over into one big ticket. So, we're pretty sure that Cindy is in the clear on that one.

"Want to come home?" 'Please, say 'no.''

"I'll think about it. I'll let you know." 

"Well, are we finally going home?" asked Mrs. Shocley. 'My goldfish is probably floating by now.'

"Yes, but in two days, I need to make sure it's safe for all of us. Your husband's bookie is dead, the four guys, well, they've been dead and nobody seems to know or care who we are." 'At least, I hope so.'

Three days later, they headed south back the 101.

*

Coming...

Chapter 3: You can't go home, again



Smoke Ch. 03



Copyright @ calibeachgirl

All rights reserved, 2011

With thanks to Elliot, Doug and Martine

Remarks with single quotes, i.e., 'remarks' are thoughts and not spoken aloud. 

Chapter 3: You can't go home, again

"Well, are we finally going home?" asked Mrs. Shocley. 'My goldfish is probably floating by now.'

"Yes, but in two days; I need to make sure it's safe for all of us. Cindy's husband's bookie is dead, the four guys, well, they've been dead and nobody seems to know or care who we are." 'At least, I hope so.'

Three days later, with souvenirs of little cable cars, bars of Ghirardelli chocolate and postcards of the Golden Gate, they headed south down the 101. After stopping in San Luis Obispo for lunch, they finally reached Redondo in time for dinner at the new Tony's on the Pier.

While good, Greg felt it wasn't as good as several in San Francisco. By the time they were home, it was after ten o'clock and exhausted, they were asleep almost as soon as the lights were off.

They half-sat up in the bed, leaning against the pillows. His left hand caressed her right breast through her pajama top while her own hand was busy between her legs, rubbing through the damp cotton.

Their tongues entwined, their mouths moving against each other, her legs wide open... 'Nothing could be better,' he thought, 'than to wake up like this.'

Cindy took his hand away from her top, pushed it into her waistband and down inside. Both hands worked in unison for a while until she finally shuddered and reaching up, pulling his head against hers as her tongue probed deeply into his mouth.

'Oh, God, oh, God, ohgodohgodohgod....' she tried to think without succeeding.

The joy of newness drove them on and before either of them realized it, her top was unbuttoned and slipping off her shoulders. She reached back, letting him push the sleeves down and off and her breasts stood proud away from her chest. His heart beat rapidly, trying to keep the blood flowing between his head and his head.

Her hand was caught in the sleeve and she pulled against it, popping the cuff open while his left hand rubbed her nipples, one at a time. 

Cindy began a busy rubbing between her legs against the cotton pajama bottom, her fingers outstretched and her thumb pushing down each time she stroked herself.

For a moment, she wondered if she even needed Greg to orgasm as she felt the rush start again. She thought back to her nights in the parking lot and came again.

Her rubbing continued, faster and faster, almost a rote religious experience.

He knelt up and she pulled his 'jamas down over his hips and down to his knees as she moved her legs apart and knee-walked him toward her.

Before he knew it, his bottoms were off and as he knelt before her, her left hand held his erect cock to her open mouth. She braced herself against his left leg and he put his hand on the back of her head, trying to control her movements back and forth. Those nights in the lot had given her all the practice she needed and Greg moaned as she continued.

Her hand began to slide back and forth from the large tip back to his balls and she kept her eyes closed to lose any distractions from what she was doing. He kept one hand on her head and the other on the back of his hips, trying to keep his balance as she pushed and pulled.

Either his cock really was long and thick or her hands were small; she didn't know which nor did she care. Not wanting to think too much about it, she had one hand's width next to his balls and then could have put another hand's width past that and still had the head out in the open. 

She could barely get it into her mouth but she knew that was because she had a small mouth. Her dentist had told her so, trying to fill a back molar.

She pushed herself forward, getting the head in and then the first hand's worth past her teeth and onto her tongue. There still was a full hand's worth waiting to see what she was going to do.

Her right hand was tightly pumping now while her head pushed and pulled to its own rhythm and her closed eyes stayed shut.

Greg rubbed the side of Cindy's cheek; pushing against her skin, he could feel his own cock sliding inside and out of her mouth.

He could feel himself cumming and so could she; she abruptly stopped, pushed him down onto his back and then slid between his open legs with hers wide open. Aiming carefully at his cock, she moved forward and down and pushed herself onto it.

She began a slight rocking motion, fore and back, fore and back and then sped up as she pushed again, using her hands behind her as a brace against his thighs. 'Oh, God...' She began her litany to God and His son once again.

As she rocked, her breasts wiggled like firm Jell-o and then with a wet plop, Cindy moved up and away from his cock and rested her pussy on his face and then pushed down onto his chin. He saw that she had shaved, something she must have done before they returned from San Francisco.

Eventually, she knelt up and he moved behind her, his kisses moving across the back of her neck and below her jaw line while his cock pressed tightly against the crack of her ass.

She moved up onto her feet and leaned into the headboard; bending forward, she hissed, "eat me, now, damn it."

His face disappeared between the back of her thighs and then, finally for both of them, he slipped his cock into her wet, creamy pussy and began to fuck her as strongly as he could. As Greg moved forward, Cindy moved back, only missing a beat once in a while when she thought about it too much. She closed her eyes, again and let nature take over and a gasp escaped her mouth each time he slammed into her.

They fell to their side on the bed, he still inside and trying to continue. She moved her left arm over his and wrapped it around his shoulder while he caressed her ass with what freedom she gave him to move.

For two minutes, he pounded into her and he could feel himself on the verge, again. He stopped, laid her on her back and spread her legs with his hands. He began to lick her once more as his fingers plunged into her wet depths. She held her legs wide, one arm in front of each the crook of each bent knee.

Later, he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering just what the hell he was doing.

It took a full day to replace the glass on the apartment entrance door, he worked so slowly.

All the while, Greg was cussing out the two men who had broken it but then remembered he had killed them later that same day. A smile crept across his lips. 'Stupid, dumb bastards,' he thought. 'All they had to do was go home and let it rest,' but he knew they were just following orders. 'Yeah, same excuse the Germans used.' He felt no remorse, whatsoever, for the four dead enforcers. 

He had considered just replacing the entire door... it would have been easier and quicker but he needed the time to think about things he needed to think about. What WAS he going to do with her?

Cindy had moved into his apartment the same night they arrived and he spent the next three days painting the walls, polishing the floors and taking out an advertisement in the Daily Breeze for her old one. The extra money would pay for the repairs necessary after the night of the 'Big Shootout,' as everyone on the street now called it. At the last minute, he cancelled the ad and called up the local Baptist church.

Introducing himself, he asked the minister to ask around for a young couple that might want to live there. He chose the Baptists because as far as he knew, they didn't drink that much, if at all and he didn't want a repeat of the events leading up to the "Big Shootout." 

He thought about the local Catholics for just a split-second and then shuddered. It was too bad, but given his past with the Church, he had no desire to be reminded of the oppressive archdiocesan hierarchy and the girl he had once loved... still loved? He was so confused.

"Homicide," Kleis said. 'Now what? Every time I try and get out of here, the damn phone rings.'

Greg could hear the fatigue in the detective's voice. "It's Knotts. We're back, got in yesterday evening... just wanted to let you know. I'm working at the apartment if you want to talk in person, but later this week I've got to go see my other properties in Hawthorne and Lawndale." 'Those properties... I should have gone over there, today, before this... but, this damned door has to be fixed... crap, you can't win, sometimes.'

"Great. I'll be over later. Thanks." 'Might as well... having them out of town actually made things easier, not that I'm going to tell him that.'

There was a knock on the doorjamb and he turned, dripping paintbrush in hand. "Hello?"

For a moment, he thought it was Cindy returning with a pizza from Tony's but she wouldn't have knocked and then possibly the homicide detective. 

A couple in their early thirties stood there, waiting.

"Is it all right to come in? We're from the church." The man, wearing a newish charcoal-gray suit, looked at the apartment from the hallway.

She was wearing a white blouse, unbuttoned halfway, attempting to restrain a bosom that yearned to break free and covered with a baby-blue sweater tossed over her shoulders and a calf-length dark-blue pleated skirt. White four-inch heels gave her legs an erotic lift. There was a cameo broach on her blouse with a woman's head facing toward the left. 'No wedding ring,' he noticed as he completed his inspection.

He wondered where that thought had come from. Ever since his time with Cindy... the passion for life he had before the War had returned full-blast.

'Well,' he thought, 'I did ask for a quiet couple but she's seems more subdued than quiet. "Hi, I'm Greg Knotts, the landlord. Just let me put this down and I'll get to you in a second." He wiped the brush with an old rag and set it down on his paint tarp.

"Just getting the place ready... and, you are?"

The man struck him as being a little wimpy as the young woman took control of the conversation. "We're the Meadows... Angela and... uh, Albert. Reverend Pierce said you were looking for a quiet couple as renters."

"Yes. This is a quiet... well, it was until last week, a quiet street and a quiet building and everyone likes it that way, especially me." 'Sure wish I could have said that last week.'

"Is this the building where..."

"Yes, it is but the police say the matter is now closed. There will be no more trouble." 'At least, I sure as hell hope so.'

"Would," she asked, smiling, "you have told me about that if I didn't mention it?" 'I wonder if he's married? He could be a pleasant interlude. He's got that 'dangerous' look to him. I like that.'

"Yes, I would have. I don't like secrets and believe in speaking my mind. Did Reverend Pierce tell you about the rent and... everything?" He looked at her, closely. She didn't seem so... quiet, anymore, more like a volcano seething just below the ground, waiting to explode like that Paricutin covering that little Mexican village back in '43 and was still erupting.

"Yes, he did and we're prepared to take the apartment, that is, if you're agreeable."

"Why don't you let me clean up here and I'll talk with you across the hall, how's that?"

There was another knock. "Hello, Greg? I've got the pizza." 'And, just who is this woman?'

"Oh, good. Listen, Cindy, honey, these are the Meadows... they're interested in your apartment; please set up in the kitchen, would you?

"Why don't you join us for lunch?" he asked them.

"Thank you, very much." She turned toward Cindy, "Hi, I'm Angie and this is my brother, Al."

'Brother? Well, that explained that,' he thought. 'Now wonder she took charge.'

While he went to put his brushes into the turpentine, the others went to his apartment and waited in the kitchen. By the time he got there, still wiping his hands on a paint-rag, the pizza was laid out along with Cokes from the 'fridge.

"Greg, Angie says they've come here from New York. Al has a job at Douglas and she is looking for a secretary job." 

By the time the pizza was finished, an agreement was reached and the first month's rent paid. With Cindy's furniture still there, it was rented as 'furnished.' 

"If you don't mind the smell of paint, you can move in tonight, how's that?"

"Tomorrow's just fine; we still have a rented room we have to close out. Thank you for lunch," Angie said, "and we'll see you tomorrow."

After the two left, Cindy looked at Greg. "Don't get any ideas, lover boy, you're all mine. Are you finished, over there, I mean?"

"Just have to get the paint cans cleaned up and touch up a few things, but, yes, I'm finished."

"Fantastic. You do that and then clean yourself up and I'll be waiting." 'Keep his mind off that Angie, that's for sure.'

An hour later, Greg was pushing hard into Cindy, hearing her gasp each time as he pressed forward. Her hands grasped his butt, keeping him from slipping out of her wetness and then she began to shimmy beneath him, finally causing him to spurt several times.

"I'm safe right now, baby, but you're going to have to buy some rubbers if we keep this up."

"Or," he said, "we could come to a... I mean..." 'Do I really want to tie myself down to a girl I've really only met the last couple of weeks? This is just crazy! Sex is one thing, but a baby is something else. The way we've been doing it, I'm surprised if she's not knocked up already.

She kept moving beneath him, squeezing him with her muscles. 'What's he saying? Does he mean what I think he means?' Realizing there was a new game in town with Angie moving in and the fact that she already had, so to speak, a leg up...

"Greg," she said, running her hands across the tight muscles of his back, "I'm falling in love with you." She didn't say anything else, deciding that was enough. Once, before she met Chris, a declaration of love would have been the most important thing she could have told any man but since then, her Friday nights at the bar's parking lot had hardened her beyond her own recognition.

Greg was a good man, with a steady income from his properties and certainly wasn't a wimpy man or lover. Someone better wasn't likely to come along anytime soon, she realized; she'd be a good wife to him, even if she didn't love him right now. 'Maybe,' she thought, 'if I WAS pregnant, that would be enough for him. Something to think about... maybe, better sooner than later.'

Greg rolled over to his side of the bed and lit a cigarette. He passed it over to her and waited for her to pass it back. The possibility of marriage was something he had almost given up on and here was a young, good-looking woman in his bed, naked and just been loved... 'well,' he laughed to himself, 'fucked.'

She was hoping for some response to her declaration but there was silence. Had she overplayed her hand? She worried. 'What if he doesn't even feel close to that and I've said too much? But, all that we've done? After all I've done? Shit!'

The phone rang in the kitchen, interrupting her thoughts. 'Who could that be? Nobody's ever called before.'

'Why not?' he asked himself, 'why not?' He knew he wasn't in love with her, well, not exactly, anyway. It was more like, really liking her. 'But... wasn't it better to like someone and fall in love than to love someone and then never really like them?

'Couldn't be any worse than Okinawa, could it?' "Cindy, want to get married?"

In the dimness of the room, he couldn't see her knowing smile. 'Even if he does,' she thought, 'would it be so bad?'

She answered by kissing his lips open and searching for his tongue.

The phone rang again, waking him.

"It's that detective, on the phone, Greg. He wants to know if it's all right to come over, now. I guess he called earlier." She giggle, thinking of the phone ringing while Greg was ringing HER bells.

"Well, what do you want to do?" she asked.

"Might as well get it over with... Tell him to come over. Thanks."

"Sorry to do this to you," Kleis said, eyeing Cindy as she walked into the bedroom.

"Uhh hummm," Greg throated. "You wanted to talk about something."

"Uh, yes... we're closing the case, officially. Everybody connected with the case is dead except for you and... her." He nodded his head toward the bedroom. "So, that's it.

"I do want to say, though, next time, try and be a little more careful throwing all that lead around. There was an overzealous assistant DA that wanted charges brought up against you for those two you plugged in the back yard but I refused to bring that case forward. That should be the end of it. Just thought you'd like to know. I told him those guys had already fired on you.

"Here's my card, just in case something comes up." Kleis got up. "Well, I guess that finishes my business with you... and her. Looking back on it, thanks for leaving town, it did make things a lot easier. Three less people to worry about... thanks."

After Kleis left, Greg sat there, staring at the wall. He'd done a lot of that, lately, he realized, sadly. 'What the hell, might as well get something to eat.' "Cindy! I have to go to the Hawthorne apartments... c'mon, we can get something to eat, later." 'Yeah, maybe some of that pussy.'

The next day, they went looking for rings. That afternoon, she called Suzy with the news.

"You're kidding... it's just been a few days. I wondered where you've been. Are you sure you want to tie yourself down? From what you've told me, he doesn't seem to be like Chris but what about our Fridays?"

"With Chris gone, I have no money, so what am I supposed to do?" 'Why doesn't she understand?'

"Do you at least like him?" 'God, what a little slut.'

"Oh, yes." 'Oh, yes, I sure do.' "He's done nothing but take care of me and I'm going to have his baby." 'Oh, yes, I surely am.'

"A baby? You've got to be crazy! You're too young to have a kid. You're already pregnant?" 'Jesus Christ, now this!'

"Maybe... I don't know... it seems like something that would make him happy. That's all." 'At least, I think so.'

"Well, you better find out for sure before you do something like that, that's all I'm saying." There was a long silence on the phone. "So, when can I come over and visit?"

"I guess anytime, just call ahead in case we're going somewhere. Here's the number: Osborn 5-0862." As soon as she said it, she wondered if that was such a good idea. Since they met, she had deferred to Suzy's whims, each time culminating in cheating on her now dead husband with a cop and God knows how many men in the bar's parking lot although that, she remembered, was a LOT of fun once she decided to do it.

"Uh, Suzy..."

"What?" 'Now, what, you little slut?'

"Promise you'll say nothing about what we did, OK? I want this to work. I like him..." 'for a whole lot of different reasons.'

"I promise. I won't screw this up for you." 'Unless I have to, you little...'

Friday night, they were in the living room watching I Love Lucy like an old married couple... 'Thank God, he doesn't want to watch the fights.' In truth, after the War, watching two overpaid fools beating the hell out of each other had no appeal for Greg, whatsoever.

A knock on the door broke him away from his wandering thoughts. Since the outside door was always locked, anyone knocking on the apartment door itself had to have had a key to the building.

"Hello?" He asked, reaching for his gun by the door. 'How long am I going to have to do this?'

"It's me, Mrs. Shocley; I brought you a cherry pie." 

Greg opened the door and welcomed the older woman in. "How have you been?" he asked, taking the pie. "My, this looks good. Please, sit down; we're watching Lucy." 'God, I hate Lucy.'

"Thank you, but I don't have time, I have a date."

"Oh?" 'Well, that's damn interesting.'

"Yes, it's with that nice Detective Kleis, you remember, the one about..."




Smoke Ch. 03



"Yeah, I remember. Tell him 'hi,' for me." 'Uh, huh, tell him something, that's for sure.'

After the woman left, Greg took the pie into the kitchen and split it down the middle and then cut one side in half. Putting the slices onto a couple of dishes, he brought them out and handed one to Cindy.

After a few minutes, he remarked, "Well, she sure knows how to cook, that's for sure." 'Damn, shoulda asked her to marry me!'

Monday morning, Cindy and Angie were having coffee when Suzy arrived.

"Suzy, this is Angie; she and her brother just moved into my old apartment."

Suzy nodded her head toward the new woman, wondering if she was going to be replaced. "Are we still going to Canter's for lunch?"

"Yes, we're ready to leave, I just need to get my purse." Cindy left the kitchen and Suzy sized up Angie. "So, I understand you're from New York?"

"Yes, the big city. The weather here is so much nicer, especially along the beach."

"Oh, you've been around L.A., then?"

"We took a ride out to the desert near Palmdale. We took some nice pictures to send back home."

"Back home, being?"

"Why, New York, of course. Why?"

"Oh, just interested, you know, woman's curiosity."

'Curiosity killed the cat...' "Sure, New York... my mother's still there. I mean, our mother, of course."

"I'm ready," Cindy called from the living room. "Maybe we'll see Jack Benny and I heard that that new starlet, Marilyn Monroe, was there last week."

"Have you decided, dear?" asked Suzy, with some derision in her voice. She didn't like Angie. Whether it was jealousy of her New York heritage or just her manner, she didn't know but she was uncomfortable around the woman. 'Considering what Cindy and I have done in the parking lot... this woman was making me uncomfortable? I can't believe it!'

"I'll have the corned beef and a Coke. You?"

"Yeah, that sounds pretty good. Cindy?"

"Might as well make it three... do you think Jack Benny will be here today?"

"Are you still chasing stars?" Suzy asked. "Just because we live in Los Angeles doesn't mean every person is in the movies." She turned to the other woman. "Are you looking for work, Angie?"

"Oh, no, I'm planning on finishing my education at El Camino and then transfer to UCLA, if I can."

"Started a little late, didn't you?"

"Yes, the War stopped everything and I had to go to work instead of finishing at Columbia so now's my chance."

"What do you want to major in?"

"Engineering, physics, that kind of stuff... it seemed pretty interesting."

"Seems pretty hard..." chimed in Cindy, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

"Enough about that... what about you, Suzy? What do you do?"

"Oh, this and that... you know, just things, like this, that's all."

"Maybe we could take classes together. We could share a ride there."

The waitress arrived and took their order. Suzy noticed the look Angie gave the woman as she wrote down what they wanted. It seemed out of place, in some way. After the waitress left, she turned her attention back to Angie. "I'll think about it... engineering, though? Not for me... maybe something simple like Journalism... you know, like Lois Lane. Sneaking around and finding things out..."

"Lois Lane, huh? Looking for Superman to rescue you?"

"No, it looks like Cindy's found him. What do you think, Cindy? Is Greg Superman?" Suzy joked.

"Huh? I'm sorry, I wasn't listening. You lost me at engineering."

"I asked, 'Is Greg Superman'?" 'Bet he is... I bet he is.'

The young woman blushed. Suzy was surprised at Cindy's response. Weeks of giving blowjobs in the bar's parking lot for five dollars a throw and NOW she blushed. "Umm, well..." Cindy giggled like a schoolgirl and finally said, "Yeah, he certainly is."

This caught Angie's attention and she began listening as Cindy related Greg's accomplishments during their trip to San Francisco and since they returned.

"We're going to be married; he asked me the other night."

"So, where's the ring?" Angie inquired, looking at Cindy's hand. 'Yeah, right, like he wants to tie himself down to a little girl like you.'

"I haven't found one that I like, yet. Isn't he wonderful?" she asked, looking for encouragement.

Both Suzy and Angie looked at each other with the shared look of hardened women, each recognizing the other for what they truly were. 'Maybe, she thought, 'that's why I don't like her. We're two of a kind in search of the same thing. Maybe I should invite HER with me on Friday's. That'd be good.'

Both women laughed, thinking almost the same thing. Suzy promised herself to talk to Angie first chance she had.

Cindy sat there, not quite sure why the other two women were laughing but felt, somehow, that she was the butt of their unsaid joke. 'Well, that's fine. I just need Greg; anyway, if he can do me everyday like he's been doing, I don't need anyone or anything else... and, he's got money... at least, enough... right now.'

"Farmers' Market?"

"Farmers' Market? Is it what it sounds like?" Angie asked, finally hearing something of interest. The two women with her... the empty-headed young one seemed boring except when she spoke about the landlord she was living with; the other one, she seemed to be a sexual predator in search of the perfect man or men or at least, their cocks. 'At least,' Angie thought, 'she's got potential for some amusement.'

"You'll love it, they have just EVERYTHING!!!"

While it was true it didn't have everything, the Farmers' Market was interesting enough to keep Angie's attention for a good half-hour and then she began to get weary. She did, nevertheless, buy several bottles of Tabasco sauce.

Later that afternoon, Cindy was burning her second attempt at cooking dinner. Her time with Chris, cooking nothing but spaghetti, had dulled her edge in the kitchen. She realized that she needed help as soon as possible and the only salvation she could think of was Mrs. Shocley down the street.

Locking the door behind her, she ran down the street to the old lady's house and pounded on the door. "Please," she cried, "oh, please, be home."

The door opened finally under her incessant pounding and there stood Mrs. Shocley. "What is it, dear?"

"Oh, Mrs. Shocley, I'm in trouble and you're the only one who can fix it!"

"Come in, dear, and tell me all about it." 'What the hell could be so bad that it's worse than the last couple of weeks?'

"I CAN'T COOK!!!" Cindy broke down crying and leaned into the woman. Instinctively, Mrs. Shocley held the woman to her... "There, there, dear, it's nothing that can't be fixed. What do you have at the house?"

Already, she was putting on her sweater and locking her windows. "Well, dear, what do you have in the house?"

"SPAGHETTI!!! That's all I have, just spaghetti. I'm so screwed..."

"Well, then, looks like we're going to have to do this here," she said, sadly, and took off her sweater and began opening windows, again.

"Now, lets' see, what do I have? Ah," she said, "here we go." She reached into the cupboards and began pulling out boxes of rice and cans of vegetables and some olives and some...

"Gee, honey, this tastes great! And, chocolate cake, too! You must have worked all afternoon... thanks." Greg took another bite of rice and fish. "This is delicious."

Cindy vowed to name her first born after Mrs. Shocley, if this worked out. 'Maybe,' she realized, 'I should find out what her name is, first.'

"Your, uh, welcome, honey, I'm glad you liked it." 'Oh, God, what about tomorrow?'

"Well, my dear, I think it's time you learned how to cook. I can help you out a little here but you really need to take some classes... I think El Camino would be just the ticket... let me make a couple of calls for you... hmmm... let's see," she said, looking up the number in the book.

"Hello... yes, I'm calling about your Home Economics classes... yes, I see... how soon? how much would that be? I see... yes, tomorrow? Great, see you then."

Mrs. Shocley put the phone down and turned to her. "Well, dear, tomorrow, you're going to be a college co-ed, how about that?" 'How the hell can a girl not know how to cook... in this day and age?'

"I don't know what to say." 'Crap, there goes my free time, but if it's necessary, I guess I'll do it... besides, I'm tired of eating spaghetti, I've had enough to last me the rest of my life.'

"I'll be around to collect you about nine... and then, we can go buy some pots and pans and some cookbooks. Don't worry, I'll be there for you... you know, I think I'll sign up, too. It'll be fun! Just us girls!"

"Ah, gee..." 'Ah, geez!'

That evening, she prepared burgers and fries. 

"Are they OK, Greg? I'm not sure if they're the way you would like them." 'God, I hope so, I spent almost an hour getting it right.'

"Oh, God, I'd marry you if I wasn't going to, already." 'Maybe, it wouldn't be so bad, after all. She's pretty, she can cook and boy, can she fuck!' "Want to go look for rings, again, tomorrow, honey?"

"I can't; I'm going with Mrs. Shocley. She's going to take some classes at El Camino and she asked me to go with her... you know, the old dear needs someone to take care of her. 

"That's all right, isn't it?"

"Wow! That's really nice of you. I knew you were a good person the moment I saw you." 'Yeah, spread out on my bed!' "How much money will you need?"

"Thirty-two dollars and twenty-eight cents and then there's the pots and pans and cookbooks..." She looked pensively at him, wondering what he was thinking.

'Ha! The truth comes out. The classes are for her, not the old lady. After that pie the other night, there's no way SHE needs lessons. Cindy must be serious about being a good wife, if she's willing to do all this for me.' "Whatever you need, honey, wait a second."

Greg got up and went into the bedroom and finally came back with four twenties. "Here," he said, "this ought to cover whatever you need and maybe, if there's any left, why don't you take that nice Mrs. Shocley out for lunch. 

"Tomorrow; I have to talk with Detective Kleis about a few things and then take a look at the Hawthorne rentals. I haven't been around there since before we took off."

"So," she asked, "are we watching TV or..."

"Oh," he answered, "definitely 'or'..."

The next morning, she ran down the street to get the pancake batter Shocley had prepared earlier that morning.

"Mmmmm, these are delicious, babe, simply wonderful. Thank you."

"What's for dinner, tonight?"

"Tonight? I... I'm just going to play it by ear, you know... improvise, is that all right? Or would you rather have something special?" 'Jesus Christ, why did I say that?'

'Why ruin it? She was trying, that was for sure.' Whatever you do, sweetheart, will be fine with me. What say Friday, we go out, would you like that?"

"We're not going to some bar to watch the fights, are we?"

"C'mer, you, I'll show you a fight." He jumped up from his chair as she ran into the bedroom.

At nine, she met Mrs. Shocley at her car and they drove into Torrance to register for the Home Ec classes. 

"Well, dear, ready for college?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll do anything to make Greg happy with me."

"Yes, dear, I'm sure you will. Are you all right, I see you're a little stiff, this morning."

"No, I'm fine, thank you. I'm fine."

'I bet you are, I bet you are.' The older woman's smile matched the sunshine outside.

"...and these are your student ID and parking pass and the bookstore is right down the way. Summer session starts in two weeks. Good luck!" 

"Well, how does it feel? College girl..."

"I never thought it would happen, really. Even if it's only this, I'm still the first in my family to go to something after high school.

"Do you think we'll run into Suzy and Angie sometime? I wonder if our classes are going to be the same time? We could all ride together."

"Dear, I don't think that would be a good idea. We may want to go somewhere on our own and don't want to wait for them or maybe play 'hooky' sometime... you know, just us girls."

"I guess... OK, you've been my best friend since we've met, so whatever you say is fine with me. Now, what?"

"Well, we have to get you some pots and pans and some of these cookbooks on the list. Woolworth's is on the way home, we can stop there..."

"Greg says if there's any money left, I should take you to lunch... you know, as a thank you."

"That's nice, dear, you don't have to."

"But... I really do want to."

"Fine. We can stop at Raymond's on Hawthorne Blvd. They have excellent baked bread there and I want to have you try some. We're going to get their recipe; the baker is a friend of mine."

"Sure, thanks, Mrs. Shocley."

"Listen, dear, now that we're going to school together and after, you know everything that's happened, I think you should drop the Mrs. Shocley and call me, Martine."

"I'll have the roast chicken, potatoes au gratin and an iced tea, thank you. Oh, and plenty of that bread. Is Joseph here today?"

"Yes, ma'am, would you like to speak with him?"

"Yes, please, when he can. What would you like, dear?"

"The roast beef, please, baked potato and a Coke."

After the waitress left, Martine leaned closer over the table and whispered, "So, what's going on with Greg. You said you're getting married. That's so exciting, especially after..."

"After Chris, you mean? Yeah, especially after him. He wants to marry me and I want to marry him."

"But..."

"I like him a lot, really, I'm just..." Cindy hesitated.

"Burned once and twice shy?" Martine took a sip of her iced tea and added another spoonful of sugar. 

"Yeah, something like that. What do you think?" she asked.

"I think that you should grab the brass ring and never let it go, that's what. Do you mind if I smoke?" Martine asked.

"No, go ahead. I've started smoking again, after everything. Probably shouldn't have, though."

"Dirty habit, it is, I just can't seem to stop. Maybe you shouldn't start over. Nothing good's going to come of it.

"Ahh, here's Joseph. Joseph, this is Cindy, she's a good friend of mine. We're taking cooking classes in a couple of weeks over at Camino."

"You? But..." the man stammered, at a loss for words.

"But, what?" Martine asked.

"You taught ME how to bake."

Martine smiled. "Yes, I know... By the way, I need the recipe for your bread. It's too hard looking for mine and I haven't seen it in years."

"Why, of course and lunch is on me."

"Well, in that case, we'll have dessert, too." She looked at the cigarette in her fingers and stubbed it out in the ashtray. "I quit."

"Good choice," Joseph said. "Now, let me get your lunch finished. Nice to have met you, Cindy."

"Wow!" Cindy said, excitedly. "You taught him how to cook and now you want to help me? Why?"

"Because I see me in you, that's why."

"Who's Joseph? I mean, besides the chef, here?"

"He's my ex-." The woman had a wistful look in her eyes and there seemed to be some tears trying to form.

Cindy stared at her companion. "You're kidding, right?"

"I wish. I made a mistake, a big mistake and ruined our marriage and my life... our lives."

Cindy looked at her, expectantly. Martine realized she opened the door and it was up to her to either bring Cindy through it or close it.

"We were married about ten years, then and I was foolish. For some stupid reason, I thought that I could act like I was still single and when we went to parties I flirted madly with the other men there. Naturally, the wives started hating me and then at one Christmas party, I wasn't really doing anything that bad, just a little kissing under the mistletoe, you know and they told him that I had been doing a lot more.

"When he saw me, I could tell he was torn between walking out and beating the hell out of the guy I was with at the moment. The man I was kissing made a big mistake and laughed at him and Joseph walked over, calmly I thought, and hit him in the face and breaking his nose, knocked him out. Then, he walked out.

"He petitioned for a divorce on the grounds of adultery and all the women backed him up, even though I never did anything worse than that but he didn't care. He said the disrespect was worse than if I had actually slept with someone. I guess I understand that, sort of. We've been apart, now, six years, four months, two weeks and one day."

"I'm sorry." 'Shit! Now, what? Compared to that, what Suzy and I did is sending me to hell. God, Suzy better stay quiet or I'm dead.'

"It was all my fault and what's worse, once the divorce was final, he's been supporting me ever since. It's his house and I live there, he lives in a small apartment down the street from here. He's giving me alimony even though he doesn't have to and I can eat here for free.

"God, I was such a fool."

"Is there a chance? He obviously still loves you."

"I know, that's the problem. I still love HIM. We can't seem to get together and yet we can't stay apart." The woman began to cry and used the napkin to wipe her tears. People looked.

"And, now you're dating the detective?"

"Actually, I lied. He just wanted to ask me some more questions, that's all but I was so embarrassed that I made all that up."

The food arrived and conversation died for a while as they ate their food in silence. Several times, though, Cindy wanted to say something, anything but Martine's look stopped her.

A semblance of normality returned when dessert arrived and while Cindy had the New York style cheesecake, Martine had the blueberry cobbler.

"I only eat here once in a while. Seeing him breaks my heart, I can only imagine what it's doing to him and I'd get so fat I'd waddle down the street like a pregnant duck."

They were quiet for a while, again, then Cindy put a two-dollar tip down on the table and they walked out. She decided to return when she could and talk with Joseph, privately. She owed Martine at least that much.



Smoke Ch. 04



Copyright @ calibeachgirl

All rights reserved, 2011

Thanks to Doug, Elliot and Jim

Chapter 4: The Hardest Thing

The hardest thing... 'This is even worse than those crazy nights with Suzy,' Cindy realized. 

She remembered taking all those strange men into her mouth for five dollars each. Each night there, she and Suzy made close to a hundred dollars each in such a short time; it was unbelievable. And, her husband Chris was such a drunken fool, he could have stayed home with her instead of dragging her to the bar where she had fallen into a new low of decadence.

As much as she wanted it to be his fault, though, she knew that as much as he was guilty of neglect, she was guilty of adultery.

Hearing about Martine's divorce from Joseph had cut Cindy's heart into a million pieces. She could sympathize with the woman, knowing full well that if her own shenanigans at the bar ever came to light with Greg...

Shenanigans... what a crazy, insane word, yet it didn't even come close to what she had done...

'If Greg ever finds out, we're finished. There's no two ways about it. There's no way to explain why I... a lover is one thing, wanton sex in a bar's parking lot? That's something else, altogether,' she knew, crying, to her everlasting shame. 'How could I have done something like that, over and over? God, I wish I was Catholic... at least, I could confess and ask for forgiveness.'

'Greg is a man of set-in-cement morals. Although he has no qualms about taking the first shot and killing someone; to know...' she shivered, just thinking about it... 'to know what I have done, even if we weren't together at the time... 'Oh, God,' she prayed, 'please, never let him find out.'

'He's fucking John Wayne,' she realized. 'It should be no surprise to me, he is what he is. The medals hidden in his dresser are testament to that. Why they're hidden and that photograph is on the wall... that's the question. It has to be who is IN the picture,' she thought, 'that Italian friend of his he mentioned.'

Cindy had taken two buses to reach Raymond's. She hated riding buses, thinking back to her grade school days... the wild boys constantly throwing things from the back of the bus... the driver pretending he didn't see a thing... laughing the entire time. By the time she reached home, her hair always had bubble-gum stuck to it and her neck was red from pea-shooters and her father told her, 'good' and he'd help them if she didn't stop complaining. 'God, I hate him and I'm glad he's dead...'

"May I speak with Mr. Shocley? I'm... I'm a friend of his ex-wiii... Mrs. Shocley." 

The cashier looked around the coffee shop. The lunch crowd had not come in yet and unless he had no desire to talk to her, this was her best chance. "I'll get him for you; why don't you sit over there by the window?"

"Hello... you're Cindy, aren't you?" While he was smiling, she could tell he was nervous, very nervous as he wiped his hands on his apron.

"Yes, thank you for seeing me. I need to talk to you about Martine."

"Has something happened?" He was quickly taking his apron off and turning to the cashier, he said, "Call Lee to come in and cover for me." 

Cindy spoke up." "No, no, Mr. Shocley, nothing like that... please, can we talk somewhere, privately?"

"She's all right? She's not sick or anything?"

Cindy could plainly see the man was agitated and it was because of her. She was surprised; from what Martine had told her, she expected to be shown the door. "Please, forgive me. I just need to speak to you about her. That's all."

"OK, we can go in the back." 

She followed him into the dimly lit dining room. "We only open back here for dinner. It's a little bit better than the coffee shop up front, you know, for dinner."

They stopped at a table into the back and as she sat down, he asked her, "What would you like? Club Sandwich? Hamburger? We make a pretty good hamburger, here."

"Mr. Shocley, that's very kind of you, but I just want to talk."

"OK, I'm all ears. What's on your mind? Johnny, bring a couple cokes over here, will you?" 'I wish she'd just get to it,' thought Joseph.

Cindy waited until the busboy had left. "Martine is miserable. She loves you very much and I was wondering..."

"Yes?" 'Oh, God, what now?'

"Oh, this is so hard. I was hoping if you still felt the same way about her. You know, she never did anything that night except be stupid and she's never had anyone since you left. "She's still a beautiful woman... she could..." 'Maybe, I shouldn't have said that.'

"Yes, I know that. I still see her... when she bothers to come in." He had a faraway look in his eyes, remembering their wedding day that summer morning, when she looked up from her ring and gave him the smile that would live with him forever. 'Forsaking all others, is what we vowed...'

"She hasn't done anything. All her free time is with me; she's teaching me how to cook and we're taking classes at El Camino... well, I'm taking the classes, she's driving me there and back and helping me with my assignments. I'm playing hooky today so that I could talk to you about her."

"She hurt me, that night, the smirk that guy had. It was all I could do not to kill him right then and there. You see, I thought they had already... you know. I wanted to die, that night, I loved her so much."

"You said, 'loved her.' Don't you still love her?"

She looked at him; he had gripped the table cloth in his hand and scrunched it up. "Yes, goddamn it... yes, I love her and always will. I just thought I couldn't live with her, anymore. I made an unbelievable mistake that night when I walked out. I lost her and I lost everyone there I thought were my friends.

"What could I have done? I was trapped in a corner, either 'fight or flight.' God, I hate myself for what I did. I was so goddamn stupid, I can't believe it. I should have done something, even if it was just yelling at them. She just stood there while I left; they said she came after me but I had already walked away. I didn't even go home. I left everything and slept in the bus station. I never went back, I just couldn't. As far as I know, my clothes are still there."

"You can always fix it. It's never too late. I know she's just waiting for you to take her back."

"You think? She never says anything when she comes in except, maybe, 'hi' and that's it. I hate it every time I see her like that; it just reminds me how stupid I was."

"She's regretted it ever since, also. She told me everything that happened. Your stuff is still there. All of it...

"People have done much worse than that and worked it out. You can, too. I just know it. You just have to get back together and talk it over. I mean, really talk it over or spend the rest of your life wondering the 'what could have been.'"

He folded his hands on the table and tapped out some unknown rhythm with one finger. "All right, any ideas?"

"I was hoping you'd have something. To be honest with you, I never thought past coming to talk to you." She laughed. "I honestly thought you were going to throw me out as soon as you heard why I was here."

"So, what happened to that guy?"

"Before or after he got out of the hospital?"

**********

Meanwhile, Greg was pushing the mower across the small lawn, working his way through the overgrown grass. Mid-morning and it was starting to heat up; he had already tossed his sweaty T-shirt on the porch

A shadow appeared. Angela, or Angie as she wanted to be called, was standing on the grass in a little two-piece bathing suit, dark blue shorts and a white top with red polka-dots.

He was starting to regret renting to her and her brother, if that was indeed what he was. 'Maybe,' he thought, 'she's the beard.' He smiled at the thought. 'It made as much sense as anything else that's gone on around here.'

"Hello, Greg," she said, deliberately not moving out of the way and he had to stop. She seemed to have the habit of licking her bright-red lipstick'd lips whenever she spoke with him.

"Good morning, Miss Meadows. I, uh... I need to get this done before it gets too hot, please." 'Please, just go away. You're more trouble than you're worth.'

"Why, Mr. Knotts, I thought a man like you would always have time for a lady like me." 'God, I want a piece of him, so bad.'

Greg eyed her, top to bottom. At one time, during the war, he would have been interested but no more. "Well, I appreciate your concern... but, I still have to get this done. Besides, I've got a girl, in case you've forgotten."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten. You're right, she's a girl... I'm a woman, just in case YOU'VE forgotten. Well, I'm going to the beach. See you later." She wiggled her ass as she walked to her car parked on the street.

He didn't bother answering; he just wanted her gone. As much as he needed to get the lawn finished, it was more a case of not needing more distractions and complications. He was happy with Cindy, girl or not... and didn't like the rapacious look that Angie Meadows seemed to carry with her.

As he watched her drive away, he wiped his brow on his arm and went back to pushing the mower. Time out of town had let the lawn grow higher than usual and he was paying the price for it now. 

He went over to the hose and got a drink of water and wet down his hair. The cold water hit him hard, making him shiver.

He didn't look forward to putting the mower into the trunk of the car, tying it down and driving over to the other apartments. Once, the rope wasn't tight enough and the trunk lid bounced up and down and chipped the paint. He considered getting some teenagers to do it, provided he could find some that were actually trustworthy.

Finally finished, he sat down on the shady porch and looked at his handiwork. 'Mowing the lawn is insane,' he felt. 'You water it, you fertilize it, you seed it and then you cut it. What's the point? Screw it. I'm getting some guys.'

After putting everything away, he took a long, cool drink of lemonade that Cindy had left him and then went in to shower. Soaping up, he thought back to when he had showered yesterday morning. Cindy had stepped in the small enclosure and with just enough room to actually move, he had taken her up against the tile. He knew he was hard, remembering the feel of her body against his but decided to leave it alone, saving it for the evening. 'No sense in wasting it,' he jokingly thought.

What he had with Cindy was special, even if it was crazy.

After dressing, he got into his car and drove over to the two other buildings to find some kid to mow the lawns for him.

**********

By the time he returned, so had Cindy and she had laid out the wood for the new shelves, convinced that what they needed were books. After he had put in the molly-bolts and they had made sure the shelves were level, they left for a used-book store he had seen on Hawthorne Boulevard, next to Sam's Grill.

He was satisfied, by the time they left, having found several first edition Hemingways and an Omnibus of Science Fiction edited by Conklin. Cindy had chosen about twenty romance novels and some cookbooks. 

Stopping at Hawthorne Nursery, she bought several Dieffenbachia and a Boston Fern. Greg arranged to have several banana plants and some palm trees delivered to the apartment house; with Cindy' insistence, he started landscaping the yard to be more inviting. It reminded him of HawaiiBesides, she convinced him, he could raise the rents to cover the costs or write it off as a business expense. 'If I'm not in love with her,' he thought, 'I might as well be. Life could be SO much worse.

They left the pile of books on the floor for the next day and went out back where he grilled a couple of steaks. A quick salad and some more lemonade and he was tired enough that they went to bed early.

**********

The next morning, he woke to a sunburn and was moving slowly, even though Cindy had put cold-cream over his back. After a breakfast of waffles, the two lovers started a heated discussion in the living room about Martine and Joseph.

"...and that's why, Greg, we have to take Mrs. Shocley to Raymond's Friday night..."

"Do you think it will work? Look, doll, I don't want to get in the middle of something that's going to blow up," Greg responded. "I like the old lady but just the same..."

"First off, she's not that old, she's only 38... and, you're how old?" She paused for breath.

"Yeah, I thought so. Eight more years and so are you. So, you're going to help me with this and we're going to make this work. Everybody makes mistakes, Greg, even... even me," she said, quietly.

He looked at her in surprise. He knew her life had been hectic ever since he'd known her, especially since the 'great shootout.' What did she still have hidden? "Fine, I'll do it. This had better work. I like her pies, that's all I've got to say. Hand me another couple books, please," he said, pushing the ones he already had across the new shelf.

"Greg, if I did something horrible... would you forgive me?" she asked, giving him four more.

"Horrible, like killing someone?" As soon as he said it, he realized how stupid that was, given the four deaths he was responsible for. "Now... or before?"

"Before we..."

"Before doesn't count. We're together now, that's all that counts. Enough said, all right?" 'Whatever it is, I don't want to know.'

"OK," she said quietly, her head down. 'Does he know about me or not? Would he really be THAT forgiving? I don't know and God forbid, I don't want to find out.'

"Let's go for a walk, Cindy. I just... let's go for a walk." He took her hand and practically lifted her up from the couch one-handed. Heading toward the door, he grabbed his keys and hat and they walked out of the building, heading toward the beach.

Along the way, he debated whether to tall Cindy about Angie's come-on but decided against it. If the woman persisted, he'd just evict them, money or no money. He liked what he had and wasn't going to fall prey to the shark that was swimming across the hallway from them. He survived the war and wasn't going to die in a personal battle of the heart.

"Cindy, I... I love you. I'm not just saying it. Find a ring that makes you happy and let's get married. I don't want to wait any longer."

"Greg," she answered, "you pick it. I'll love whatever you give me. You're my savior and I'll follow you anywhere you say we've got to go. I'm yours completely... body and soul. I'll do anything for you."

He looked down at her face, tears streaming down her face. They stopped and he kissed them away. "No more tears, babe, no more tears... not from here on out."

Hand in hand, they walked down to the Strand in time to see the afternoon sun glinting on the easy waves rolling ashore. "Ice cream?" he asked.

"It won't make me fat? I don't want to be a fat bride."

"I love you for you. You make me happy and that's all I can ask."

He went to get two cones, leaving her sitting on the bench. Unfortunately, at that moment, one of her former customers walked up and sat down. 

"Hey, doll, I thought I saw you there. How's tricks? I've missed you at the bar. You don't come around anymore."

"Please, go away, I don't do that, anymore."

Greg's shadow made the man look up. Greg could tell there was something wrong. Cindy was saying nothing and the man was deciding whether he was going to.

"Who's your friend?"

"He was just leaving."

"That's how you want to play it, doll, OK."

"You better fucking apologize before I put you in the ground," Greg said, slowly.

The man looked at him and then Cindy. "Ah, it's not worth it." He turned and walked away, as quickly as possible without running, looking over his shoulder to see if Greg was following.

Greg said nothing. Cindy's husband had run with a worthless crowd and he figured this had to be one of them. If Cindy had something she wanted to say, he'd listen but he wasn't going to give her the third degree unless it got out of hand. She obviously didn't want to talk to the man, so he just 'chalked' it up for future reference, remembering what a fool her husband had been and that crazy night with bullets flying everywhere.

The things he had done for her made him shiver. He could have gotten killed four times over and yet, he realized, he wouldn't change a minute of it.

That night, she moved across the bed and held him, quietly. "Thank you," she whispered, hoping that was enough. Her hand moved down and held him, slowly moving, bringing him to life. She could feel him harden and lengthen. 

She moved again, stretching herself out like a cat and began to rub herself against him. Once he slipped in but she moved and he popped back out. It was too soon, she knew; she wanted this to last. Moving, moving, moving again and again and this time, she felt herself almost there and then slipped him in and began to rock. 

Deep inside, she felt him deep inside and began to squeeze as she lifted and dropped, each time more aggressively, seeking that release she now knew only he could give her.

There wasn't anything they couldn't do if they really wanted to. This was love and she leaned forward and French'd him. She never said anything when they made love. This was love, not sex. During sex, she could be loud but this was love and the most she would do is moan, not wanting to break the spell.

**********

Friday evening, Greg pulled the car into Raymond's back lot.

"I appreciate you wanting to take me to dinner... but, here?" asked Martine.

"Sure, why not?" Cindy asked. "Greg's never been here."

"I find that hard to believe... well," she said furiously, "we're already here, might as well go on in."

Raymond's dining room at night was so different from its coffee shop atmosphere during lunch and even had a separate entrance from the back lot. Greg said nothing, preferring to hang back after he had opened the door for them. Inside, it was as dim as the day Cindy had met with Joseph. Little table candles lit up the deserted room like stars.

"That's funny," said Martine, "there's no one here. Usually, this place is packed..."

"Good evening," said the hostess, "your table is right over here." She led them over to a table set for two.

"There must be..." Martine was going to say 'some kind of mistake,' but then her worst fear became true. She turned to make a run for the door when Greg grabbed her around the waist and swung her back around.

"Oh, no, you don't. I promised Cindy I'd help her on this and I'm going to, even if it means I'm never going to get another cream pie from you."

Greg set her down onto the chair and held her down by her shoulders. "Look," he said, "at least listen to what he has to say and if that doesn't work, then, I promise to you, we'll all leave."

Martine looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. "I don't..."

"Shhh," he said, crouching down and holding her hands. "It'll be all right, I promise. Just give him a chance. He still loves you, more than you can understand." 'This better work.'

Martine looked across the table. Somehow, Joseph had sat down without her noticing. 'God,' she thought, 'I'm so out of it, I didn't even see him.'

"Hello, Martine... thank you for coming." 'If this doesn't work, I'm done.'

"It's not like I had much... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's obvious that everyone wants me here." 'Me, included...'

Cindy and Greg had disappeared into the front coffee shop. The bartender brought over her favorite drink, The Hurricane, a potent mixture of rums and orange juice and then he, too, disappeared.

"Look, Joseph..."

"Martine, don't be so damn hard-headed and just let me say my piece. Please... I was a damned fool, that night. In the first place, I should never have let you kiss anybody, mistletoe or not. You were my wife and I just let you go. I was an idiot; of course those assholes would be all over you once they saw I just stood there like a foolish, impotent wimp."




Smoke Ch. 04



"You know, after that Christmas party, I never drank again. You're not a..."

"I was that night... I've been beating myself up, ever since." More than you'll ever understand. It took more strength to walk away than just accept it.'

"Then... why did you file? We could have talked it out. I was just as stupid as you were... worse. I..." 'was acting like a slut.'

"How can I explain it?" he interrupted. "It was the only way I could see to get my manhood back. That night killed me, what can I say? I've never been with anyone since you."

"Me, neither... after you, there could be no one else."

His hand reached for hers and suddenly they were both standing, embracing, kissing the lost years away.

*********

Out in the coffee shop, Greg and Cindy were having the Friday night special, fish and chips. "Not quite the dinner I was expecting, but it will do. How're your classes coming along?"

"Well, I'm doing pretty good with her help. How'd you like that last cream pie I brought home?"

"It was fantastic. Wait a minute... that was you? Wow! You're fantastic, baby, just fantastic!"

"Well, next semester is meats. I've already signed up."

He reached over with his napkin and wiped a little tartar sauce that was on her lip. The way he touched her made her feel a heat she had only felt in the bedroom. 'My God, I'm really falling in love with this guy.'

"When are you going to set a date?" he asked.

"Do you think we could wait and see what's up with Martine and Joseph?"

"Oh, yeah? Why?" 

"Well, she hasn't left, as far as we know and I haven't heard any screaming and yelling so maybe..."

"You know, if you've gotten them back together, that would be the nicest thing I've ever seen anyone do."

"Well, when we're married, I'll show you a few nicer things," she said, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"You're blushing." Greg laughed. "You're blushing. What are you thinking, sweetheart? What's in that devious little mind of yours?"

"Nothing, just thinking about the honeymoon."

"Hrrrrmmm... excuse me, would you like dessert? And Mr. Shocley said it's on the house... the dinner, I mean."

"Pie!" they both said, laughing. "I want a whole damn pie," Greg said. "Just bring a big spoon."

"Do you think she's still going to need a ride home?"

"I don't know, we can just wait here and have more pie. What do you think? I bet, not."

A short while later, the waitress approached with his pie and two spoons. "Mrs. Shocley says you can go home, now; she's going home with her husband. Whatever you two did, thank you from everyone here. He's been a wreck every time she comes in. Oh, and he said when you've finished your classes, you have a job here, if you want it. I'll just clear your table for you. Will there be anything else?"

Greg looked at Cindy; she shook her head. "No, I guess our work here, is done. Thank you. Thank everybody for helping out on this; I know you all lost a lot of tips tonight with the dining room closed."

"Mr. Shocley said he'd cover whatever we lost. He must really be in love with his wife."

"You have no idea," said Cindy. "You have no idea, at all."

**********

Greg had to take Cindy to class the following week since neither of them had seen Martine for several days.

"Do you think they had another fight and he killed her?"

"That's not even funny, Greg. Shame on you... God, you don't suppose they DID have a fight, do you... and she left town?"

"I hope not. I could use another pie, right about now."

"Coming right up!" she said as she ran into the kitchen. 

Life was good.

**********

Greg stirred on the bed...

He stood on the side of the hill with his corporal. "I don't like the looks of this," he said, pointing at some movement down in the valley below. "You see that?" he asked. "Over there, now... see it?"

"Japs..."

"Yeah, and they're coming this way. Get the men." Greg stood there in the shadows, waiting. 

"Sarge..."

He could hear the loud whisper behind him. "We're ready."

"Good. You and Smiley take the ridge with the mortar; the rest of us will move over there and wait for them. Make sure they can't go home, again. All right, let's hump it."

The firefight was quick, loud and deadly and he woke up, screaming into the night as Cindy tried to hold him.

"Whoa," was all he could say as he sat up in the bed. He looked at the alarm. It was midnight and his return to Okinawa had left him drenched in sweat. "I'm sorry," he said as she hugged him, worried. It was the first time since she'd known him that he had such a violent nightmare and he had no idea what brought the nightmare back to him.

She hugged him and rolled on top. "I'm here, baby, I'm here, it's OK... go back to sleep."

He wanted to but couldn't. Soon, he heard her soft breathing and at least tried to get some rest, if not sleep. 

**********

Stedman put the binoculars down and made several notes on the pad next to his leg. This was the third evening he'd sat there, waiting. Something soon, something soon or he was going to go crazy out of his mind. It seemed like a wild goose chase, anyway. 'They must know I'm here, by now.'

"Ah, there you are," he said to himself as the woman left the apartment house, got into the waiting car and drove away with the man. Stedman thought it was her 'brother,' but, maybe not. They were too far away to tell. Looking into his side-mirror, he started his own and pulled out into the street, heading south. Much to his dismay, though, he quickly caught two lights, falling farther and farther behind until finally, he lost the other car entirely.

"Damn it!" he cursed, beating the steering wheel. Now, he'd have to start all over again.

On a hunch, though, he headed east to Sepulveda and then north. By the time he passed the airport, he had again caught the car and smiling, settled into a steady five-car-back chase. This time, he knew where they were going and wasn't worried if they got out of sight once in a while. It was going to be a long, long drive; he settled in for the trip out to the desert by turning on the radio. Listening to Space Patrol, he watched as the sun set to the west behind the Santa Monica Mountains. Satisfied that he could identify the tail-lights of the car ahead, he listened as Buzz Corey flew to Mars to capture some spies. He laughed. How much closer to the truth could it be and for a split-second, he thought of his Ford as a space ship flying through the darkness of the Los Angeles night.

**********

Hours later, he was travelling eastbound on the Pearblossom Highway, just a quarter-mile behind his quarry. 'It's going to be a very good night for hunting,' he thought. 'A very good night...'

He put his Thermos between his legs and carefully unscrewed the cap and then took a long, slow drink of coffee. Unfortunately, his distraction was just enough to bring his car to edge of the embankment and then it flipped several times before landing upside down in the ravine.

"Ohhh," he moaned, wedged between the wheel and dash. It felt like his leg was broken and he could feel the warm wetness of blood cover his face. He was afraid he was going into shock and realized it was now a race between that and bleeding to death.

He tried to move and cried out as the broken bones of his leg stabbed his mind with pain. He settled back down, gasping harshly into the dust that had entered the car through the smashed windows. 

"Ah, shit," he said, smelling gasoline. It was a miracle the car hadn't caught fire. He thanked God for at least that. Burning to death... he imagined that disaster and screamed into the darkness.

"What's that?" he asked, hearing a pattering on the car body. "Hello? Is anyone there?" he screamed, furiously angry at himself for such a stupid mistake.

Thousands of dislodged rocks rattled the bottom of the car for the next several hours, breaking the relative silence of Soledad Canyon until the car could no longer be seen from the road and the car he had been following continued on toward Edwards.

Stedman lay there, hoping that daybreak would bring rescue.

**********

"Cooper, we're sending you out to Los Angeles. Thompson, here, will brief you before you fly out tonight. Prepare to be there until this case is finished. You'll be staying at Stedman's apartment."

"Tonight?" 'Ah, crap. I was going to get lucky, tonight.'

"Will that be a problem?"

"No, not really..." 'Of course it is, you moron. What am I going to tell Sophia, now?'

Elliot Cooper looked to the doorway where Thompson had just appeared. In the mood Cooper was in, a nod of the head was all he was willing to acknowledge. "Anything else?" he asked, not really caring.

"Yeah, pack a bathing suit. I hear the beaches are pretty nice, there."

The two agents walked to Thompson's office but before Thompson could say anything, Cooper picked up the desk phone and called home. 

"Sophia... something's come up... yes, I know... listen, pack a couple of bags for us and meet me at Washington National... wait a minute... what airline are we using?"

"TWA... you want me to change your ticket to two? I don't know if the Director is going to like it."

"I don't give a fuck... I'm not ruining my marriage for him or this investigation. Why can't the Los Angeles guys take care of their own mess?"

Thompson backed away. He'd seen Cooper angry before, but never like this. "I'll go next door and make the call," he volunteered.

Cooper nodded his gratitude and continued talking to his wife. "We're going to Los Angeles. I don't know how long so get your sister to watch the apartment... just let her know, I don't want no parties there like last time... and, honey, bring my other gun, too. I'll meet you at the TWA counter... it'll be the red eye but we can sleep on the flight... great, I'll see you there."

Thompson reappeared in the doorway. "You're all set, two tickets to Los Angeles, 10:30 PM, non-stop... I wangled first class for you, just don't tell anybody."

"You're a real friend, Thompson, thanks. Sophia would kill me if I took off for the coast and left her here in all this heat."

**********

A couple of hours later, as Thompson finished briefing Cooper about the case and the disappearance of Special Agent Keegan, he pulled his car up to the terminal and shook Cooper's hand. "Good luck. I hope you don't need it but, something happened out there. Watch your back. You don't want to make Sophia a young widow."

"Thanks for the tickets," Cooper said one more time and walked into the terminal, looking for his wife. He finally saw her sitting near TWA's ticket counter with three bags and an overnight. She never looked more beautiful. 'Well, her wedding day... this comes a close second,' he thought, realizing that he had the same feelings every time he saw her.

Sophia melted into his arms, pressing herself so hard against him he thought they were making love in public. Even though they had been married over five years, now, each day was another in the never-ending honeymoon.

"I'm so excited! Los Angeles! The beaches... Hollywood... do you think we'll see some movie stars?"

"I don't know, sweetheart, maybe. I don't think they put them on parade for the tourists..." He laughed at his own joke.

"We can drive around Beverly Hills and see what we can, how's that? I'm sure the FBI can figure out where some of them live."

"Oh, can we?" She hung on his neck, lifting her head and kissing him deeply. If anyone from the Bureau... hell, I'll just tell them it's part of my 'cover,' that's all.

"Let's get our tickets and check in the luggage and then get something for dinner. Did you happen to see something still open?"

"There's a coffee shop that was still open when I got here; maybe, they still are."

"OK, first things, first..."

**********

They walked out onto the tarmac to the Constellation. As they climbed the stairs, it reminded him of a greyhound, ready to jump into the air. He gave his gratitude to the weather gods that it was not raining. The plane was packed with servicemen returning home from Germany and while not 'officially' allowed, after the plane took off several bottles were passed back and forth by the men.

The stewardess pulled the drapes shut, closing off the first class section from the rest of the plane, but the thrill of take-off was replaced by sleepiness and Sophia soon dozed off. Elliot pulled out the paperwork he had been given by Thompson and started to read through it, again. Stedman's disappearance only meant one thing as far as he could see... the agent had been discovered and eliminated. He wondered, 'Would that make the Russians Stedman was following that more circumspect or would they believe they were in the clear? No real way to tell until I get there and see what they do. For all I know, they've already disappeared and this trip will just be a short vacation for the two of us.'

Soon, he put his papers away in his case, slipped it between the seat and his legs, covered himself with a blanket and went to sleep. Eight hours later, the plane landed in the early morning dark at Los Angeles International. After collecting their baggage, they were met by an agent who, after showing them his credentials took them to Stedman's apartment.

"Here's the keys; the place has been cleaned up. You'll have a report of what we found tomorrow... I mean, later this morning. I'll be back at eight o'clock to pick you up."

"Are we going to have any time together?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, don't worry about that. We're going to be doing some sightseeing while some of the locals keep an eye on our quarry. I need to learn the neighborhood and so we'll be doing some driving around... maybe, maybe to Beverly Hills, you never know where the bad guys are..." He smiled at Sophia. 'This trip might not be all work, after all.'

After a breakfast at Du-par's, they walked back and waited for their ride downtown. "I don't know how long we're going to be here, babe, but if you like living out here, I can put in for a transfer. Of course, that means this case is going to have to be done right, even if it takes longer than we'd like."

"I'll help you any way I can, you know that, especially if it means we can move here. I'm tired of living in Baltimore. It's no fun, anymore, honey. I want out."

"OK, then, to us and Los Angeles." He 'clinked' an imaginary glass with hers and they waited outside for whoever was coming.

A dark red Ford pulled up and double-parked. "Cooper? Good, let's go."

"Let's see some ID, first."

Nonplussed, the agent pulled out his badge and identification. "Here," he said, holding them out. "Glad to meet you, Agent Cooper, Mrs. Cooper. Welcome to Los Angeles." He raised an eyebrow in Sophia's direction.

"She knows... it won't work without her."

"Well, then, maybe we should put her down as a consultant or something... give her a little spending money. Now, here's what we know..."

**********

"It sure is spread out; here... it's taking forever to get anywhere. How long's it been?"

"Oh, about thirty minutes, that's all."

"That's all? It must be because everything looks the same, street after street." 'Maybe moving here isn't such a good idea, after all.'

"We'll be there, soon enough. It does show one problem, though..."

"What's that?" She interlaced her fingers with his as two agents drove them to Hermosa.

"Stedman's apartment is too far out to do anything worthwhile at the beach. We're going to need something much closer."

"We'll see what we can do."

Eventually, they reached the apartment. "We're just going to drive by, right now and give you a lay of the land. Then we'll see what we can do about something closer. These beach towns can get expensive during the summer. We're better off looking at houses, maybe. We'll see."

"What about?"

"So, what've they been doing? Everything they mail goes through us, so it's not getting out that way, at least everything they've sent so far has been anything you can just find out reading the papers or just driving around. Edwards base security is lax, to say the least. Just 'cause it's all desert doesn't mean nobody's watching. Maybe they need to move the secret stuff out to Nevada or something. I wonder if they were out there the day the Wing crashed?"

"Say, you don't think they're just biding time because Los Angeles beats the hell out of Moscow, do you? You know, just send enough so it looks like they're doing something but not enough to raise any 'red flags?'"

"I see you're a comedian. I don't know about that, but the X-2 program just started and they're probably going out there for that."

"Who's that guy?"

"That's the owner... Greg Knotts... let me check my notes... here we go... big war hero at Okinawa... shacking up with the widow of some guy got iced by a bookie... name of Cindy Louden... used to be a rental across the hall from him... got mixed up in a big shootout with four of the bookies enforcers... Knotts killed all four of them here... Hermosa closed the case... no charges brought... a Mrs. Shocley up the street got involved accidently... now good friends... was teaching Louden how to cook, if you can believe that but stopped because she reconciled with her ex- and is burning up the sheets with him... he owns Raymond's in Hawthorne... popular place... seems Knotts and Louden had a lot to do with that... let's see, what else... oh, yeah, Louden was a parking lot slut... whether Knotts knows about it isn't exactly clear, he's a pretty straight-laced guy, so I doubt it.

"The Meadows moved in after Louden changed apartments. That's the connection."

"What'd he do in Okinawa?"

"Not too much... Navy Cross, two silver stars... you know, the usual..."

"Damn! OK, we can take him off the watch list, it's just an accident they're together. We might have to bring him in, later, and let him know what's going on."

"You think that's wise? He seems like a real cowboy."

"Maybe that's what we need, right now. He's definitely not afraid of anything.

"We get anything yet on Stedman? It's been almost a week, now."

"No, not yet. Hey, look at that! He's putting up a FOR RENT sign. This is our chance. What do you think?"

"No kidding. Pull over there and we'll get out. C'mon, honey, here's our chance for a place by the beach."

"Excuse me? We couldn't help but notice your sign. Could we take a look? My name's Elliot and this is my wife, Sophia."

"Hi, I'm Greg Knotts, the owner. Sure, c'mon in." He led them into the apartment house and indicated apartment A. "New in town?"

"Uh, yes, we moved here from Baltimore and are looking for a nice place to live."

"This place was built in '47. Each apartment has two nice-sized bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, dining room and living room. The rent's eight-five dollars a month, pay your own utilities, first and last plus deposit. I'll let you two look around; I'll be outside in the back." Greg walked out to let them talk it over but they already knew they were taking the apartment if approved.

They did a cursory walk-through. Sophia smiled. The apartment was almost new, much bigger than the one they had in Baltimore and she could walk to the beach. "I like it," she said, "and I hope that he says OK."

They walked out the back and found Greg washing out trash cans. He turned off the water and walked over. "Well?" he asked.

"We like it. Do you have any forms for us to fill out?"

"No, that's all right. You in the war?"

"Yeah, North Africa, Italy... I don't talk about it, much."

"Yeah, me neither." When he saw the man look at him, inquisitively, Greg added, "Pacific... Okinawa."

They shook hands, members of a fraternity no one could ever understand... members only.

"We'll have the cash for you this morning. How much is the deposit?"

"Ah, forget that, just give me a month's rent and we'll call it even."




Smoke Ch. 04



"Well, then, here," Cooper said, pulling out his wallet and handing over five twenties. 

"I don't have any change, right now," Greg said, indicating his empty pockets.

"That's all right. We know where to find you. When can we move in?"

"Any time you want, unless you want to paint it a different color... I just painted it four months ago."

"No, it's fine. If we change our minds, can we do it, ourselves?"

"Sure. Let me get you the keys. Do you have much furniture?"

Cooper was at a loss. Did they move over Stedman's furniture or send for their own? It would have to be Stedman's, at least for now, until he knew the transfer would come through.

"Yes, we've a couple of things. Thanks."

They shook hands again and Cooper gave his wife the keys. Taking a last look around, they locked the door and walked down the street. Getting in the car, they all started talking at once.

"Let's get out of here, right now, before we look suspicious."

"Did you get the place?"

"Yes, we're in. We'll need a few things from Stedman's apartment. Did he have any relatives that would mind?"

"He's got a sister back in Utah, that's about it. We'll take care of it, don't worry about it. What do you need? A bed, right? Let's just move the whole place over."

By the time evening arrived, all the furniture had been moved and set in place. Stedman's personal items were packed to be shipped to his sister following a phone call to the Salt Lake City office. Bad news should be delivered in person, not over the phone, was the Bureau's standard. The job was difficult enough without the harsh reality of death being delivered by an impersonal phone call.

Two days later, Sophia had the opportunity to meet Angela and was invited in for coffee. She looked around the woman's apartment but couldn't really see anything out of place. 'What am I looking for, anyway? Hammer and sickle on the wall? Guns lying around the room?'

"How do you like it, here," Sophia asked. "We're from Baltimore and this is so different."

"Never been here, before?" Angie inquired.

"No, pretty much stayed on the east coast. I'd like to stay here, forever. The weather is SO much nicer."

"So, what's your husband do?"

Sophia already had practiced the cover story. "He's an insurance salesman."

"Wow, that allowed you to move west? He must be very good at it."

"Oh, yes," Sophia lied, "he's one of their top men and they sent him out here as a thank you."

"Maybe he can give us a quote. What is it? Car insurance?"

"No, life insurance, annuities, things like that... he does stock and bonds, also. I'll talk to him if you want, but he prefers not to sell to friends... you know, in case things go wrong, but I'm sure he could send someone else over for you.

"What do you do?"

"Right now I'm taking some classes at the local JC. Nothing special, I just want to finish my degree."

"Wonderful. I'd like to do that, someday. Right now, I just want to lie on the beach and soak up a suntan. God, I love California." Sophia felt like she was in a movie, improvising her lines as the cameras rolled. Loving California, though, that was the truth. If Elliot couldn't transfer his FBI position, he could always join a police force, there were enough of them.

"I'll bring you home some papers so you can see about what classes they have... Winter here is too cold to lie on the beach. So, what do you like to do for fun? I've a friend, Suzy and she and I like to go dancing."

"Dancing? I don't know. Elliot has two left feet when it comes to that."

"Who needs husbands? There's plenty of good looking young men out there, just waiting for a woman to hold."

"You go out without your husbands? I don't know... that sounds kind of..."

"Exciting?" Angie laughed. "Ask him. It couldn't hurt to ask. You might like it. We sure do."

Shortly, using the time as an excuse, Sophia went back to her apartment and closing the door, leaned against it. "Foooffff," she said. "Is it California or is that woman just nuts? How'm I supposed to ask Elliot something like that?"

Elliot, on the other hand, was organizing a new surveillance team to shadow Al Meadows. The man seemed to have no purpose and traveled all over the county, from Bellflower back to Hermosa by Rosecrans, one long twenty mile drive. Another time, out to Pasadena along the Arroyo Seco Parkway, brought him out to the Rose Bowl.

But then, Meadows took the Angeles Crest Highway and headed over the San Gabriels toward Palmdale. They only got halfway there, though for the road wasn't finished. 'Maybe,' Elliot thought, 'that was what he was trying to find out. Plenty of good places to hide out here... I wonder if Stedman is lying in a grave out here, somewhere.'

"Let's turn around before he notices us and duck down one of these side roads."

"Next one's five miles back."

"Well, don't get us killed; just get us out of here."

By the time Cooper had returned to Hermosa, it was both late and dark. Sophia was asleep and he tried his best not to wake her up, to no avail. 

"Honey... what happened?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie, it just took longer than I thought. We went all the way out there for what seems like nothing, but I'm thinking he's either pretty smart and trying to see if he's being tailed or trying to see if the Angeles Crest is finally finished."

"What is that, a road?"

"Yeah," he said, taking off his shirt and tossing it into the hamper. "It goes from this side to that side but it's not finished." He took off his pants and threw them in. "God, I'm so tired."

"Is this the way it's going to be? I was hoping we'd have time to be together. Wait 'till you hear what I did today."

Cooper sat down on the edge of the bed. "What?" he asked as he peeled his socks off.

"I had coffee with your femme fatale, upstairs. Seems she's quite the student at some school called El Camino Junior College, studying... ready? She's studying engineering. Quite the feminine thing to do, don't you think?"

"Oh, I suppose it has its moments. What else?" He scooted his shorts off and went into the bathroom.

"You're not going to believe it. She wants me to go slutting with her and a friend Friday night. Evidently the two of them go out dancing with other men and she seems to think you'd be good with that."

"Damn. You're kidding, right?" He started brushing his teeth and stepped into the shower.

"No, I'm not," Sophia answered, walking into the bathroom as he turned on the water.

"What'd you tell her?"

"I told her..."

"What?" He turned off the water.

"I told her I'd ask..."

'Oh, shit! She didn't?'

The next morning, last night's conversation lay on the breakfast table like an elephant. 'This is insane, he thought, 'we've been here less than a week and already she's been asked to cheat. Maybe moving here wasn't such a good idea.'

"I've got an idea. Why don't you find one of your hunky FBI agents to follow us and then he could be my date after I get there. That way, you've got nothing to worry about."

"You're actually thinking about this, aren't you? Damn, Sophia..."

"Listen, Mr. Secret Agent Man, you're the one that wants to get close to these weasels and this is a good way. Let me know, tomorrow's Friday and I need to know."

He was frustrated. This investigation was NOT going the way he expected and now THIS? He got up and dialed the phone. "Hey, Jim, it's me, Elliot. Listen, how'd you like to go dancing with my wife? What do you mean, you'd have to ask your wife? That's all I wanted to hear, that's all I wanted to hear. Let me fill you in on it."

For the next half-hour, the two agents made plans for the next evening and when Friday afternoon arrived, Elliot and Sophia were finalizing their plans.

"His name is Jim and he's married and he's going to follow and then meet up with you once you're inside. He'll introduce himself and that's that."

"Are you sure about this? I can see a million things going wrong with this. What if he doesn't show up? Then, what? I don't want to be fighting off men all night when I supposed to be dancing with them. Maybe, I should just tell her I changed my mind or I'm sick or something."

"No, you were right the first time. This is a great opportunity, just like getting this apartment. It'll all work out, you'll see."

After dinner, a very quiet dinner, Sophia dressed to go out and returned wearing a very tight, black dress. 

"Where'd that come from," he asked.

"Angie took me out to buy it. Put it on your expense account. How do you like it?"

"I'd like it more if it were for me."

She stuck her tongue out and said, "Well, wish me luck. I don't know what time I'll be home..."

"I told Jim to bring you home. Let her think you got lucky."

"That's a good idea. See you later." She swished out the door and he could hear her knock on the door upstairs. "Hi... I'm ready to go..."

The music was loud, the room was hot and the drinks were strong.

"Hi... I'm Jim, would you like to dance?"

"Sure," Sophia said, getting up, quickly.

"Wow," said Suzy, "she sure got up in a hurry. You'd think she did this all the time."

"Well, maybe she does." The two women laughed and watched as their new friend spun around the floor with her dance partner.

"So, how's this supposed to work," she asked. "A couple of dances and then we're out of here?"

'Wow, this was easy.' "Yeah, sure, that'll work, unless you want to leave right now?"

"No, let's stick with the plan... got to make it look good for those two."

"OK, whatever you want."

The phone rang, its jangling waking him up. "Huh... who is it? What time is it?"

He listened, glancing at his wristwatch. "WHAT!!! What do you mean, she's left and gone? What the hell! When did you get there? What do you mean, too late? Damn it!"

He paced across the room as far as the cord let him. "The other two were still there? How'd you find out? You heard them talking... she took off with a guy named Jim. Oh, shit, she thought he was you.

"Come and get me... no, where are you? I'll get there quicker by myself; how do I get there?" 

He grabbed his keys, wallet and gun, ran out the apartment to his car on the street, jumped in and burned rubber going away.

By the time he was at the corner, his phone was ringing.

"Where's Sophia?"

"Well, it's nice to see you, too, Elliot."

"Forget that, where's my wife?"

"Kind of possessive, aren't you?"

"Listen, lady, cut the shit. Where is she?"

"If you're going to be that way about it... how the hell do we know? She left over an hour, almost two hours now with some guy named Jim. Seemed like she was expecting him... Something going on you don' know about, Elliot?" Angie batted her eyes.

"What'd this guy look like?"

"What do you think? Tall, dark and handsome... sure could dance, from what we saw. Maybe you should go home like a good little boy and wait for your wife to come home."

She smirked and it was all he could do not to slap the look off her face. Red-faced, he left to the sound of their laughter. 'Case be damned,' he angrily thought, 'I should just take her into custody now. Who'd be laughing then, bitch.'

Elliot went outside and walked over to the other agent. "Don't say a damned thing. She left with some guy named Jim thinking it was you. This is SO screwed."

Sophia and her new 'friend,' Jim, were having a late dinner at Tony's on the Pier in Redondo. His idea of dinner made sense to her, since she didn't want to return too early to the apartment and give away the game. She wondered if her husband was nearby and if he was, why didn't he make his presence known?

Once they were away from the dance, it should have made no difference. 'Maybe,' she thought, 'it had to do with some Bureau regulations about breaking cover.'

"The halibut here is very, very good. What would you like to drink?"

"Oh, just a coke, is fine, thank you. What's the expense account on this?"

During the drive over, she had asked him several questions that really made no sense to him... this was another one. 'Expense account? It was whatever he wanted to spend.'

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that."

"Uncle's dime, huh? Well, then, I'll have the lobster."

'Damn, if she wasn't so hot I'd do a 'dine and dash' on her. Lobster! This doll must think I'm made of gold, or something. I know she's stepping out on her old man, I can see the rings plain as day. This is a really strange date, that's for sure. Usually by now, we're knocking boots.'

"So," she asked, "how long have you been... you know?"

'Another crazy ass question...' "Oh, several years now..." 'There, that ought to work..."

"Do you find it exciting? I would think so, you know?"

"Oh, yes..." he said. 'Finally, a question that makes sense!' "You never know who you're going to meet or what's going to happen."

"Like, now?"

"Oh, definitely! Oh, good, here's our food." 'The sooner we finish the sooner we can get down to business.'

"It's been a while since I've had lobster... oooh, this one's different."

"Oh?" 'and, so are you..."

"I'm used to the Maine lobsters, you know, and I guess this is a Pacific one. Is my husband meeting us here or are you taking me home?"

The poor man almost spit his drink into his lap. 'It was crazy enough that some married women went out looking for someone else but for the husband to meet up?'

"Uh... I'll take you home after dinner, how's that?"

"That's great. I'm having a good time, I didn't think I would but you've been so nice to me. I really appreciate it."

Jim was confused. He'd women who begged for it but never had anyone said they appreciated it. 'Why not,' he thought, though, 'first time for everything.'

"Yeah, sure," he said... 

"Good, let me give him a call to make sure he's home. Excuse me, please." Sophia got up and went to the pay phone by the restrooms. He watched from the table and immediately knew something was amiss. She was looking straight at him, red-faced and nervously looking around the restaurant for something, someone.

"Something's wrong," he said to himself. 

A waiter walked over. "The lady asked me to give you this," he said and handed him a note. 'Dear Jim, I'm so, so sorry. There has been a terrible mistake and I thought you were someone else. I am so embarrassed. If you give me your address, I'll send you the money for dinner."

"Will there be an answer, sir?"

"Uh, no, please, just tell the lady the pleasure was all mine and to have a nice evening with her husband. What's the bill? Ah, hell, here's a couple of twenties, that ought to cover it. I'll just be leaving and she can come back to the table."

He gave a disappointed but friendly wave to her and left. Finally hanging up the phone, Sophia returned to the table to wait for her husband.

While all this was happening, though, Greg and Cindy were having a dinner all their own. He had set up the picnic table in the backyard and was grilling a large steak. She had just pulled a cherry pie out of the oven and was mixing a green salad. 

There was just enough of a breeze to keep things cool and the darkness was broken only by the back porch light and a Coleman lantern at the edge of the table. Sitting next to her, he sliced a piece from the meat and fed it to her, a small bite at a time. A little bit of bbq sauce started to drip down her chin and he kissed it away.

"I love you," he said, matter of factly. It was a simple statement, as if someone had said, "the earth is round" or "the sky is blue," and his "I love you" had the same depth of truth the other two had. His hand covered hers and he gave her another bite.

"One, two or three," she asked.

"One, two or three bites?"

"No, silly, children. How many do you want?"

"However many God sends us, but, not for a while... I'd like to spend time with just us, if you know what I mean. I'd like a couple of years just to date you."

"You want to wait two years to get married?"

"No, I want to get married; I just want it to be like one long date."

Another juicy piece of steak headed her way and he played the fork on her lips.

Greg, she realized, was a man of simple tastes in the kitchen and a gourmet in the bedroom. Where he had learned to make love as he did, she didn't know and didn't care. If he was giving her a 'get out of jail' card she was going to extend the same privilege.

"I love you," he said again. "I can't seem to say it enough. When I look at you, I can't help wonder how lucky I was to have you come into my life... and, I don't mean how beautiful you are, and you are, I mean how sweet you are, how you care about me and fix my breakfast each morning and always have my vitamins waiting and my waffle hot and..." He couldn't say anything else. 

What had started out as a chance encounter one night and then a golden opportunity to sleep with such a cute girl had finally turned into a full-blown love affair of the heart. He could only hope that she felt the same.

Another piece of steak went past her lips. God, how he wanted something else past her lips. 

He shook his head. Love and sex were certainly intertwined and there were reasons the two could be kept separate but once they had decided to be together, there was very little to distinguish the difference.

There was nothing a man and a woman could do more intimate than sex. The very fact that a man entered a woman's body and left part of himself there...

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, raise a family with her, share the joys and sorrows of life with her... 'Oh, Knotts,' he said to himself, 'you've got it bad.'

"This salad," he told her, "is excellent. I can hardly wait for that pie."

"Would you like it now?" She smiled, knowing full well neither of them could refuse.

Cindy was down on all fours, looking back at him. Greg was on one knee, the other leg bent with his right hand on her waist. He was slamming into her and she was making an "uh, uh, uh" noise as she rocked back and forth along with him.

Her right hand moved back to his stomach and he leaned into her harder, rocking her world as strongly as he could. He couldn't believe how fine her ass was and that it was all his. He didn't know when she had time to exercise but whenever it was, it was doing wonders for her. He put his left hand behind his own butt to help push himself into her harder, deeper...

She rolled onto her back and put both legs up on his shoulders. Both her hands went to his thighs, holding herself tightly to him as he knelt between her legs. Every time he pushed forward, her legs bent down like a pair of scissors opening and closing. Cindy looked between her legs up at him, smiling. Grabbing the blankets to keep from falling off the bed, she pulled herself back to him.

Cindy lay flat, once again and split herself open like a Thanksgiving turkey. He now had his hands on her knees and continued to pound her, bringing her closer and closer. She held his right hand, seeking the warmth, the romantic warmth that accompanied their lovemaking. It was almost impossible to imagine his cock pistoning inside her and yet she was watching it happen.

**********

Chapter 5 

Martine shows Cindy how to heat things up...



Smoke Ch. 05



copyright @ calibeachgirl

and jim crowell

all rights reserved, 2011

'The advantage of owning your own apartments,' Greg thought, 'is that you didn't have to punch a time-clock so you could start your day whenever you wanted.

'The disadvantage of owning your own apartments,' Greg realized, 'is that you didn't have to punch a time-clock so your day never ended.'

**********

At noon, Greg put away his shovel, showered and drove back to the college to bring Cindy home. Turning off the radio, he listened to his new tires hum on the hot asphalt. As he made the right turn from Rosecrans onto Crenshaw Boulevard, he passed several store-fronts getting new paint and another with a 'For Lease' sign in the window. He wasn't sure if the traffic on the street was enough to keep all these small businesses open without something more likely to draw a crowd. College students never had any money and except for a few sandwich shops, the sidewalks were empty. 'How many furniture stores can you have, anyway?' he wondered.

The light turned red and he stopped as four co-eds crossed the street, their ponytails swishing in unison as they headed toward one of the small shops to eat.

'Maybe,' he hoped, checking his front pocket for the ten dollars he had set aside, 'we can go to lunch.' After waiting longer at the corner light than he wanted, he circled the long block twice more hoping to find her. When he finally saw her sitting under some shady eucalyptus and waved, though, the light had changed and he had to drive around again. It seemed to take forever and he could feel his heart beat faster as he lost sight of her. By the time he was back, she was standing on the sidewalk by the bus stop, talking to some goof wearing a high-school athletic sweater. He knew she was pretty and it was bound to happen, but it bothered him, just the same. 'Who the hell wears a high-school sweater in college?' he wondered.

He was surprised, though, when she brought him over and said they were giving him a ride home. She slid across the front seat and was sandwiched between the two of them.

"Greg, this is Steve," Cindy said, cheerfully. "He's studying history."

"Hi, how are you?" Greg asked, attempting to be hospitable, hoping a lunch date was still possible. His mouth watered in anticipation and wanted to take her to the pier.

He looked closely at the boy, seeing him as another decent high school athlete not good enough for college football and still living in the past. The beginnings of a paunch betrayed the fact that he was eating too much for his new lifestyle.

Greg heard no response as the boy brazenly stared at Cindy. Without asking, Steve reached over and turned on the radio. Greg turned it off, giving the 'goof,' as he thought of him, the evil eye. He was met by a smirk. 'What the hell is it,' he thought, 'with these morons and their smirks.' He remembered what happened with Joseph and Martine and that smirker and the divorce that it caused. Well, he had no plans on letting it get that far, seriously considering pulling the car over to the side of Rosecrans and kicking the boy out whether it upset Cindy or not.

"As I was telling your daughter..."

"She's my fiancé, boy," he said forcefully but didn't care. Greg knew Cindy had to have told the boy who he was. "So, still live with your parents?" Greg asked. He pulled the car over to the corner. "Here's the bus stop, boy; better get out before you miss it." 

Greg's sport coat opened and the boy's eyes widened as he saw the gun. Greg's Colt seemed to stare back at the boy. The boy quickly left, slamming the door and then running down the street. Greg laughed under his breath; he had all but forgotten about the gun. After the attempted murders that crazy night and their head-long flight north with Martine in tow, he had taken to wearing it whenever he left the house. The police lieutenant, Klein, had even helped him get a 'concealed' permit.

He said nothing on the way home... neither did she. The tension in the car sat between them, keeping them apart; he was angry and she was embarrassed. Whatever good feelings he had in the morning waiting for her were lost as soon as he saw the boy fawning over her.

How to deal with the situation, though, he had no clue and neither did she, he guessed. He couldn't beat the crap out of the kid, that wouldn't look good. It would have definitely driven a wedge between Cindy and him. She couldn't explain even to herself what possessed her to talk to that boy in the first place, let alone offer him a ride home.

He put the car away and sat on the patio, just staring at the clouds moving by toward the beach. He was between the proverbial rock and a hard place so he pulled his hat down over his eyes and tried to take a nap. 'Maybe, it'll take care of itself and blow over,' was his last thought before he fell asleep.

An hour later, she brought him a cheese and baloney sandwich and quickly retreated back up the stairs into the apartment.

That afternoon, a penitent Cindy approached him with a single tear flowing down her cheek. "Honey, I'm sorry..."

He couldn't bear to see her like that. "It's all right," he said, reaching out for her arm. "I know you didn't mean for it to happen. But..."

"Yes, I know." Another tear flowed down and then she started crying.

Greg stood up and put his arms around her. He needed to get his suspicions under control; every time he felt good, something like this happened. It wasn't like she was asking for it; she just seemed to attract the wrong type of crowd. 'Is that what life would be like married to her? Can I live with that?'

He thought back to the incident at the beach. He was ready to kill that guy. Without realizing it, Greg's hands made an angry fist. He didn't understand it. 'All these years' he asked himself, 'without any anger showing itself and now this? Am I that insecure about her? I better get myself under control before something bad happens.'

Deep in his subconscious, buried under years of loneliness, was the profound loss he still felt about the first woman he fell in love with. Right next to it was his hatred of the Church that had stolen her from him. It now had surfaced at the most inopportune time and built upon everyman's insecurity seeing his love with another man.

Cindy noticed, though and knew that she had skirted another dangerous moment in their relationship. She looked up to kiss him, desiring that complete acceptance that only lovers could know.

She wished she had Martine. With the woman's scowling presence, the boys left her alone and she was able to go home unmolested. 'That's a good word,' she thought, 'unmolested. Time to put things back on track...'

She took his hand and silently led him back into the bedroom, kicking her shoes off as they walked. The time for talking was over... it was a time for doing.

After removing his clothes for him, she had him lie on his stomach and close his eyes. Sprinkling baby powder over his back, she straddled his back and began to massage his muscles, still tight under his skin. After a while, she could feel him loosen up and relax and she moved to his neck, moving her slim hands over his shoulders and then back to his head, caressing the side of his face. Leaning down, she whispered, "How's that feel?"

Greg moaned a little and Cindy continued touching him. She couldn't see it but she was sure he was aroused. They had lived together long enough that she knew his mannerisms... she could read him like a book... her favorite book... she had him memorized.

Without another word, she tugged him to roll over and as he did, she slowly lowered herself on his face, moving her hips as she did. When she had time to take off her own clothes, she didn't remember and didn't care. Suddenly, they were just gone.

One hand reached for the headboard and the other back to hold him. It was as hard as ever and as his tongue caressed where her thigh met her body, she shifted enough that it slipped right into her wetness. 'Oh, God,' she tried to think but never got past that one thought as he pushed his face up into her.

His hands found her cheeks and caressed them, pushing her down on his face. His tongue entered and retreated each time she rose and fell against him. Even though the late afternoon Santa Ana winds had not started, she was covered in perspiration and could feel the sweat run down her skin. Up... down... up, again... she could feel it coming and tried to stop it, wanting to make it last longer but couldn't and her thighs clenched down on his head. His tongue went wild, moving rapidly trying to bring her off even faster.

Greg was trying to hold his breath as long as he could and worked his tongue even faster. One... he felt that first one quite well and then it was hurriedly followed by several more, each one more violent than the one before it.

She ground herself even harder against his face, glad that he had shaved just before going to the college and his tongue traded places with his nose and back again as she moved back and forth looking for that last, great rush. This time, it started deep within her, scorched up to her breasts and then sped downward to her groin as she let out a wild moan and held both hands onto the shuddering headboard.

After she stopped moving, Greg put his hands on her sweat-dampened waist and gently moved her over and down onto her back, taking a much needed breath. Then, rolling back onto his back, he lay on one arm over his eyes and smiled. He was still erect and willing but she had fallen asleep. 

"Old man, huh?" he said to himself and laughed as he looked at the sleeping beauty next to him.

**********

The following day, after an intense morning of love-making, Greg took Cindy to an early breakfast at Raymond's before driving her to El Camino for her two classes.

She was embarrassed... actually, she was a little worried. Offering that silly boy a ride home was a huge mistake and she knew Greg was probably still upset about it. The fool had disrespected her lover, her fiancé, a very stupid thing to do, she knew. If Greg had no compunction about killing four men, beating up a cocky idiot wouldn't faze him at all.

In truth, she didn't like the idea of being at Camino by herself now that Martine had re-united with her husband. Along with all the new freshmen and returning sophomores, there were plenty more young Vets returning from Korea and she realized that sooner or later, another was going to make a play for her attention.

Greg couldn't follow her around all day... that type of mistrust would destroy their relationship but he was human and it probably made him nervous. How could she make him feel self-assured? She was in a quandary and really didn't know what to do other than show him she loved him and only him.

She watched him take a piece of toast and soak up some of the egg yolk. "Honey?" she asked, hesitantly, and touched his arm.

"Huh?"

"I've been calling you for a while, now. Hello?" She gently tapped him on the forehead. "Anyone home?"

"I'm sorry, I was thinking about something... nothing important." He took a sip of coffee, the refill still too hot to actually drink. He stirred another teaspoon of sugar into it.

"You could have fooled me," she said; she knew he was lying. "Your face was dark for a moment. It worried me, that's all. Are you... OK?"

He looked at Cindy. He almost said, "The love of my life," but every time someone said that, they got divorced.

He crunched another piece of bacon with his fork into his eggs. "Are we going to be late?"

"There's still plenty of time. Have some more coffee?" She lifted the steamy pot.

"No, thank you. You know, I've been thinking... maybe, I could take a class or two, myself."

"Oh," she said, raising a blond eyebrow. "What would you like to take?"

"I don't know, maybe television repair. There's got to be a market out there for that. I was reading Popular Mechanics and they had an article about it. It got me to thinking. I know that RCA and Zenith sponsor classes. More and more people are buying them. Someday, everybody will probably have one just like they have a radio." He looked out the window at the traffic flowing by on the boulevard. "I could do that at the apartment. We've got a spare bedroom."

"You'd be good at that... I think you're good at everything you do." She smiled, hoping he'd take the subtle compliment, hoping that their problem would just disappear.

"Thanks, doll, I think you are, too... Damn, look at the time; we better get going. Don't want you to get a tardy or something and have to stay after class."

**********

Later the next evening, they went out to dinner at Raymond's. 

"Hello, strangers... It's wonderful to see you," Martine said to them. "When you called, I set aside a special table in the back."

Ever since Martine had gotten back with her husband, the restaurant's dining room had taken on a new 'feeling'. It was more romantic and was now open for lunch. Business increased far beyond expectations as the opportunity for mid-day romance became possible.

"Remember what I told you. If you want a job here, just ask. I can teach you how to cook, I mean, really cook and you both can eat here for free. You should be able to afford another car, I bet... that is, if you want. I'll let you two lovebirds talk it over... no rush."

Martine handed over the menus and walked through the doors back to the coffee shop. 

"Wow,' Cindy said, "wasn't expecting that."

"The prime rib... have you tried it?" he asked.

"No, I haven't, but... the rest of what we've had here has been top-notch, so I bet it's just as good. It's like down-home cooking, only better... if that makes any sense."

He put his menu part-way down and looked at her. "Would you like to do that? I mean, work here?" The idea of her working had never crossed his mind. 'Maybe it was the best thing to do. For one thing, Martine would be riding herd on her and keeping her 'safe.' The other, and probably the most important,' he thought, 'she wouldn't get bored sitting around the house, even if I were there.'

Cindy sat there, not saying anything. She knew Steve had angered Greg beyond belief. Even so, he had controlled his temper. For a few moments, she was sure he was going to strangle the boy. She wondered how she would have reacted if their positions were reversed.

With Chris gone and the parking lot incidents finally behind her, she hoped and prayed her future was tied to Greg. He was a good man and she never thought he'd be so jealous... it felt good, though, to have someone jealous about her. She thought Chris had been that someone, before he became a worthless drunk.

Greg made her happy, though. He could have exploded both on the boy and on her and he did neither, even as she knew he was upset. Everything he had done, he had done for her, putting his life on the line and on hold for her. She shivered, remembering the violence and death of that night and the mad dash up the coast, dragging Martine along with them as they hid out.

Cindy reached across the table and pushed his menu all the way down. "Greg, if you want me to do it, then I will. You're going to be my husband and I'm going to be your wife. It's our life together that matters, nothing else. I just wanted to learn how to cook for you, that's all." She started to cry.

"Babe, don't cry. Would you want to do it?" he asked. "It could get you out of the house and you could spend time with Martine, again... and, you could get a car... maybe not a new one but we could find a good used car for you, maybe a convertible."

"Ohhhh, could I?" she asked, excitedly. "My own car? That would be fantastic!" She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him.

The people there laughed... old married couples remembering the excitement of their own love.

Later, Martine came back and asked if they wanted any dessert. 

"I'll take the job, that is, if you were serious about it," Cindy said.

"Wonderful... are you going to finish at Camino?"

Cindy thought about what happened. 'Better to leave it alone,' she thought and said, "No, I'll be available, tomorrow if you want, I'm quitting school."

"Great, you can ride with me. I'm sure that Greg has had a lot of things he's needed to do around the apartments and can use the break. Say, about eight-thirty?" Martine was glad. She had forgotten how hard it was running the restaurant and she missed her young friend.

"I'll be at your front door. What do you want me to wear?"

"I'll have something for you, don't worry about that. What size do you wear?"

"An eight."

"OK, I'll have a couple of uniforms ready. I'm going to teach you the business from the ground up. By the time I'm finished with you, you can take over for me. I'm going to have a baby."

Cindy jumped up, again. "Oh, my God, congratulations!"

"Oh, ho! Wait a minute... I'm GOING to have a baby, not... I'm HAVING a baby. We've just started working on it." Martine giggled like a schoolgirl on her first date.

**********

Cindy looked at the light pink and green-trimmed uniform Martine was wearing. "Well, I'm ready," she said. 

"Good, get changed and we'll go."

When Cindy came out of the bedroom, there was a bright flash. Martine put her camera away. "There, now you'll have a souvenir of your first real job. You said you did a little waitressing in high school."

"Yeah... at Squealer's, the bar-be-que place over on Sepulveda."

"I've been there... good baked beans... decent ribs... coleslaw could use some work... too mid-western creamy for my tastes."

As Cindy walked to the car, Martine locked up the house and then reached the automobile. Soon, they were driving east on Rosecrans toward Hawthorne Boulevard. "What I'm going to do," she started to say, "is train you in different aspects of the restaurant. I'd be lying if I said it is going to be easy but you already know that. The biggest difference is that we have a much larger menu than Squealer's so eventually you're going to have to learn it but really, that's why we have menus. Just write it down correctly and you'll do fine.

"You know, I was thinking about going into catering. How about it? Want to be partners?"

**********

"Good afternoon, welcome to Raymond's. My name is Cindy. Our special today is pot roast with steak fries and mixed vegetables. It comes with your choice of apple pie, vanilla ice cream or chocolate pudding, all for two dollars seventy-five cents. If you would like a baked potato, then it's fifteen cents more.

"I'll give you some time. Oh, yes, what would you like to drink?" Cindy blushed; she almost forgot the most important part of her spiel, getting the customer something right away so they wouldn't sit there with nothing.

"I'll have a Manhattan. What would you like, dear?"

The woman looked up from her menu. "Martini, please, dry."

"Yes, miss. Thank you." Cindy walked over to the bar and placed the orders. It was a little slow after the lunch crowd left and for that, she was grateful. She had worked harder in the last four hours than she had in the last two years. Of course, she realized, the last two years had been spent as a housewife, in one form or another.

She carefully carried the two drinks over to the table.

"I'll have the sirloin, medium rare, baked potato, no vegetables, pie," the man stated. He looked at his date. "Louise?"

"I would like the Spring Chicken dinner, please... vanilla ice cream."

"Thank you," Cindy said and after placing the order, brought over a basket of fresh bread.

**********

Several days had passed without Greg mentioning the fiasco at Camino and Cindy felt much better. Working at the restaurant had brought her a new look at the world. When she was a teenager working for tips, waitressing was a welcome change from high school but now, working with older women who needed the money, there was an inherent drive to work as hard and as efficiently as possible. She was the youngest there by at least ten years.




Smoke Ch. 05



Thursday afternoon, Martine and Cindy helped George wash down the tables in the coffee shop. Every three days after that, Cindy moved from one position to another, learning every aspect necessary to keeping Raymond's running smoothly. Fortunately, washing dishes was something she didn't have to do although she had watched John do it enough.

"Boy, this is hard on your feet," Cindy said, rubbing her toes during her break.

"You need to get some better shoes. Wait... I have an extra pair at the house, you can use them until... ah, just keep them; they're practically new. I'll have them for you, tomorrow."

**********

"Oh, God, yes, right there," she moaned. "C'mon, Greg, push harder, will you?" On her stomach, she moved from side to side on the bed as he moved his hands over her back. Arching her back up toward him, she almost cried. "Harder... oh, yeah, there."

Greg continued scratching her back. Cindy sometimes had an itch she couldn't reach and even though he had suggested rubbing against the doorjamb of the bedroom, she preferred his fingernails leaving red marks across her otherwise lightly-tanned skin.

**********

Every Monday, the restaurant was closed and Martine spent the day teaching Cindy how to bake at Greg's apartment. "Make sure," she said, "that you take your engagement ring off or it's liable to end up in the pie dough and be gone."

Cindy rolled the dough through some flour into a ball, dropped it into a bowl, covered it with a cloth and left it to rise on the stove top for the evening's bread.

Turning back to the kitchen table, she started on the next project. She took two sticks of butter and two cups of sugar and creamed them together until the mix started to fluff up. Turning on the mixer to low, she added in the eggs and vanilla and then finally added the flour, oats, raisins and cinnamon. 

"These cinnamon bars will be ready just in time for lunch. Are you about done with those nuts?" she asked, taking a handful of raisins and popping them into her mouth.

"I'm going outside," Martine said, "it's too hot in here right now with that oven on. This is worse than the restaurant. You should speak to Greg about getting some air conditioning in here." She left the kitchen, carrying her cloth bag of peanuts. Cindy slid in the two trays of homemade sweet rolls.

Martine sat in the patio shade, shelling peanuts into a pink Tupperware bowl for homemade peanut butter cookies. Last week, chocolate chip cookies had been the lesson and batch after batch after batch had left the oven to be scrutinized and tasted. The first dozen or two had gone straight into the trash. While good enough to eat, they didn't meet Martine's strict standards and it wasn't until the fifth batch that she was completely satisfied. By the end of the day, the kitchen counters and the dining table were covered with hundreds of cookies. 

"Enough here for a bake sale..." Cindy had said, looking at all the cookies.

"They're going to St. Joseph's Orphanage..." Her voice dropped off and she had a far-away look.

Cindy remembered looking at Martine and wondering what hidden secret lay behind those eyes. "How're things with Joseph? You seem very happy."

"Oh, yes, I am. I can't believe how much time we lost since I was so stupid and he was so stubborn. All this time, the children we could have had. Sometimes, it makes me cry all the more."

"But, that's all past, right? I mean, tomorrow is here, finally, isn't it?"

"Yes. I just want children, even if it's only one. Someone that will live on when we're gone, a piece of the future..."

"Oh, that's so romantic," Cindy said, wiping a flour-dusted hand across her face. "I hope that Greg and I have children. I'd like a boy and a girl and a dog."

Martine laughed. "I think the dog part is going to be a little hard on you, don't you think?"

Cindy had a blank look on her face and then she turned red. "Martine! You have a nasty mind."

Martine kept an eye on the grilling chickens as they slowly spun on the rotisserie. Tomorrow, at the restaurant, she would crack walnuts for more cookies. She got up to baste the birds one last time, inhaling the aroma. 'Twenty more minutes,' she thought, 'and it's lunch time.' Even with the melted butter, the two chickens were lower in fat than anything she could fry up on the stove.

It was better this way, the two women decided, a unilateral decision. Everyone would eat better, live longer and feel better. They wouldn't be this young forever and both women were now thinking about having children. Martine could hear her maternal clock loudly banging away.

Last week, Martine removed all the sweets in both houses and took them to the backyard incinerator. They burned quite well, she thought, quite well indeed. For a moment, she thought the old cement was going to crack from the heat. 'Let's face it,' she thought, 'I'm addicted to chocolate.' Keeping them in the house was too great a temptation for either woman and while Cindy was able to exercise, both in the bedroom and out, Martine was approaching forty. She wanted to look good for her husband. She wanted a baby.

She had been shocked when she found he had never signed the final papers and they had been married all these years apart. How she had never known was a mystery to her but since she never tried to remarry or even date...

Although the sweets were gone, doomed to the inferno, she kept a small supply of Hershey's Kisses hidden from everyone, especially her husband. Whether or not there was an inherent contradiction in her thinking never occurred to her. The apartment was full of cookies...

**********

Joseph and Greg were on friendly terms, although not nearly as well as Martine and Cindy. Sitting across from each other, with a butter-basted chicken between them, they quietly listened to the two women chat away about baby clothes and cooking. Greg could see Joseph raise an eyebrow at Martine when she mentioned having a child. 

Joseph wondered whether that was such a good idea. He, himself, was forty-two and a little math in his head made him worry. A twenty-year-old boy or girl and he would be in his sixties. The thought made him shudder. With the demands of the restaurant already pressing hard on his shoulders and the desire to make his marriage work, the added stress of a child... 'Would she want to stop at one,' he wondered. 'Would I have the patience necessary to raise a child at that age? Someone has not thought this completely through,' he thought and yet, he had no desire to destroy the reunion he had with his wife. He resolved to give her a child if that's what it took to make her happy and prayed that wouldn't be an even bigger mistake of his life.

**********

That evening, Cindy and Greg walked hand in hand while he continued stealing kisses every few steps under the glow of the street lights marking their way. Every now and then, she touched him playfully with a promise of more to come.

Finally, they reached the beach a block away, scene of so many soul-searches for both of them as they decided what to do with their lives together... if there was a life together.

They sat on the sand, still holding hands, watching the stars. After a while, he leaned over and kissed her, a soft kiss, a slow kiss, lips to lips.

"Oh! Look!" she exclaimed as two meteors flashed overhead, brightly scratching the deep blackness of the sky. "Make a wish," she tried to say but he covered her mouth with his and made his own wish.

She felt his arms surround her, bringing her impossibly closer as she turned her head up. He moved to kiss her again. "Thank you for giving me my life back," she whispered. "The day we met was my salvation. I don't know what I would be, would do if we had never met.

"Greg, I love you with all my heart." 

Another meteor silently lit up the beach as it briefly crossed the night sky. That was how he felt his love was for her... hot, bright, and oh, so special.

"Have I told you that I love you?" he asked, not expecting an answer from the woman in his arms.

"You don't have to. I see your love in everything you do but I DO know that something's been bothering you and I'm not talking about... you know, about that. What's wrong, honey? Have I done something wrong?"

He tensed. "You know that goof we took home? I wanted to kill the guy, I was so angry."

"I'm sorry I asked him to come with us. I wasn't thinking, that's for sure and I never thought he'd be such a stupid... boy. It doesn't matter, does it? I'm never seeing him again and I'm done going to school. It'll never happen again, I swear to God. I just thought I was being nice."

Greg said nothing, letting her say it all. He felt better, even if she was a little embarrassed. He didn't want to have to worry about her every second of the day and the car ride home had hurt him... that his fears had been met so soon after he had realized them was terrifying. What other fears did he have hidden away in his subconscious?

**********

The next morning, Elliot Cooper and his wife Sophia were sitting at the breakfast table. "Elliot, dear, you're not still mad about what happened, are you?" asked Sophia, taking another drag on her cigarette. Ever since her strange night with Suzy and Angie and then her 'date', they had been walking on eggshells around each other. She had been surprised how much she had enjoyed the evening with her 'date.' 'If I was still single,' she thought, shamefully, 'I'd have finished the evening quite differently. Maybe Angie's got something, there,' and that was the source of her discomfort.

She blushed and Elliot noticed it. He left the room without saying anything, looking for something to take his anger out on. He put his hat on and walked outside to get away. His problem, he realized, was that she wouldn't have been there at all if he hadn't asked her... no, told her to go with the two women.

He saw Greg in the back and headed in his direction. Once in a while, he felt it was good to talk to someone not connected with the Bureau. National security seemed the only topic of conversation whenever he was together with his colleagues and it seemed like the work never ended.

Well, that wasn't quite true and in Elliot's case, while he had been chasing German spies in New York City, Greg had been fighting for his life in the Pacific.

"Hey," he said, blocking the sun from Greg's face.

Greg looked up from the picnic table he was staining reddish-brown. "Oh, hi, uh... Elliot." He put down the paintbrush. "Thanks, I could use a break."

"Looks like you just started and already you want a break?" As soon as he said it, Elliot felt embarrassed. He was taking out his frustration on Greg. He had no business talking to the man like that, especially a war hero and his landlord. He and Sophia needed to stay at the apartment and being evicted was going to cause an incredible problem trying to explain it.

Greg stood up and motioned to the porch steps. "It's easy to forget," he said, "how boring this can be. What's new with you?"

"Ah, you know, same old, same old... trying to sell insurance to the GIs coming back and starting families... start while you're young and have dependants... you fixed?"

"Actually, no... 'till Cindy came along, there was nobody to worry about... you on the job, right now?"

"Nah, just talkin'... if you're still interested, we can make an appointment for later to talk about it... I've got a partner who does all the paperwork."

"OK, we can talk about covering the apartments and cars, too, if you do that."

"I know," Elliot said, "I've been putting things off for a while, too; you know how it is. There's some stuff I need to do but there's other things that have to be done, first."

"Want a beer?"

"Sure, thanks."

Greg went inside his kitchen and returned with a couple of Budweisers. "Here," he said, passing over the bottle opener and taking a long swallow of the cold amber fluid.

"Cindy was supposed to go with Angela but begged off... said your wife went, instead."

"Uh, yeah..."

"Uh, yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, let's just say that the evening didn't go quite as planned and leave it at that." Elliot sighed.

"There's something about that woman that bothers me... she seems to be a real 'alley cat,'" Greg said.

Elliot looked at Greg, wondering if he should say something about the girls' night out events. He was just about to say something when Angie turned the corner of the driveway and walked over. "Hello, boys, working hard?" She emphasized the word 'hard' and there was no question of her intent.

"Good morning, Miss Meadows. Is there something you need?" Greg asked, hoping she'd go away.

Whether she took the slight to mind or not, she continued. "I was just wondering if Sophia enjoyed her night out with us. I haven't had a chance to talk with her."

Elliot tried to think quickly for an answer that would make sense. "I'm pretty sure she did, but she hadn't mentioned anything special. She got home pretty late that night."

Greg looked at him, mouth open in shock.

There was a self-satisfied smile appearing on her face as she said, "Oh, well, maybe she's home?"

"She's home but I think she's busy, right now."

"Oh, I'll just go see," she said and went into the building.

"That woman..." Elliot said, under his breath.

Greg looked at the man, wondering what was going on in his mind. "I've got the notion to evict the two of them; there's something about her that I don't like and I don't want her rubbing off on Cindy. That Suzy was bad enough without this one, too. I'm glad that she became friends with Martine. Cindy's got enough on her plate than to have Angie put some crazy ass notions in her head. You better take a good look at who your wife is partying with, that's all I'm saying."

Elliot was worried, now. If Greg evicted the two Russians, surveillance would have to begin all over again, with new agents involved. 'What to do,' he agonized, 'what to do?'

"Greg, I need you to take a ride with me." 'This is getting more and more complicated...' he worried. He wondered just how much he was going to have to explain to the war hero.

**********

If you lived in Southern California, Route 66 went east from the Pacific Ocean at Santa Monica, through the southwest near the Grand Canyon and then north to the Great Lakes at Chicago, Illinois. Twisting and turning along its two-lane asphalt way, it crossed the arid and blistering Mojave Desert. Breaking the apparent barrenness nearby were the tall, majestic transmission towers carrying electricity from Hoover Dam to Los Angeles and the rest of Southern California.

Al Meadows, whose real name was Ivan Egorov, was muttering curse after Russian curse toward his partner, Tatiana Petrova who was masquerading as Angela Meadows, his sister. While she was acclimatizing herself to Southern California and the decadent Western lifestyle they were committed to overthrowing, he was given the grunt work such as his mission today. "Oh, Al," she had said, keeping in character, "you're the strong, handsome man and I'm just the helpless girl. Of course, you have to do this and while you're gone, I've got a lot of work to do myself."

"Da," he said to himself as he drove the narrow road up and over another small desert hill. "You've got work to do, just like that night out with those two others... whores... a good word but not as good as the Russian..." He did think about the woman, Sophia, who had moved in downstairs and a leering smile crossed his face. 'Now, that's one decadent Westerner I'd like to invade.'

Several hours after leaving Barstow to the west, he came across the line of towers, again. Pulling the car over to the side but remembering to keep his driver's side wheels on the pavement, he got out and took several photographs of the location and wrote down his odometer reading. 'Finding the towers in the dark was not impossible but why take chances?' he reflected. It was quite a distance to the next one and in the dark, it was going to be much harder not to fall and kill himself. He took a photo of a large desert tortoise and wondered if it would make a good pet. He wished he had brought a shovel for there was a beautiful cactus he wanted. 'Maybe,' he considered, 'when I come back next time, I'll bring a shovel with me.'

Blowing one tower down would suffice to blackout the city but it could be repaired soon enough. There had to be a better way. 

After taking the last photograph, he got back into the car and continued east toward the state border and its accompanying darkness; dodging several large rattlers slithering onto the warm asphalt prior to an evening of hunting, he could see the lights in the distance. He'd spend the night in Needles and then head north on US 95 to Lake Mead. Ivan had seen enough photographs of the dam but he wanted to see the electrical distribution area down below, personally. 'Maybe... just maybe,' he considered, 'something could be done there... and then, Las Vegas.'

The desert silence was broken only by the sound of his car and his singing of old Russian drinking songs. 

**********

While Ivan was deliberating his next move, Tatiana, or Angie, the personality she had now submerged herself in, was with Suzy in another smoke-filled bar and dancing with a man whose name meant nothing and would be forgotten by the time they left the motel room in the morning. 

Even after a vigorous attempt by Angie, Sophia still turned out to be a no-show. After the first night, Angie was sure the woman had potential but was well satisfied with Suzy who seemed to know how, for an American, to enjoy herself.

**********

Cindy approached the couple walking in. "Good afternoon, welcome to Raymond's. Would you care for a booth or a table?"

"Booth is fine, thank you."

"Follow me, please... Here we are. Today's specials are..."

As the days passed, Cindy became more and more confident at the restaurant and Martine increased her responsibilities. At the end of the second month, she was setting schedules and menu changes and learning how to order supplies. Martine had wanted to move her along faster but didn't want to upset the other women.

"Cindy," Martine whispered, "I want to tell you first... I'm going to have a baby... this time, for real."

**********

"Kelloggs, 'The Greatest Name In Cereals', presents: The Adventures of Superman... Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane!"

He wondered how good it would look in color as he stared at the television. Cindy was leaning against him, quietly watching.

Her hand quietly unzipped his pants and reached inside, pulling him out. Aiming it toward his face, she began to gently stroke the underside, smiling as she looked at her handiwork. He quickly hardened, lengthened, felt hot.

"Greg?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Martine's having a baby... and I'm going to be taking her place at the restaurant when the time comes." She looked at him, wondering what his response would be as her fingers continued to move.

To her surprise, he smiled, lazily. "That's great, honey. I was wondering about them."

**********

Elliot and Sophia walked down the street toward the little Italian pizzeria on the corner. Luigi greeted them with open arms. "Buon giorno, signore e signora. Welcome back... your usual?"

"Si, si, Luigi... pepperoni, per favore..."

They took a table toward the rear of the small restaurant and as he reached out for her hand, he said, "I'm sorry I was so damned foolish. I put your life and our marriage in danger."

Sophia said nothing, letting Elliot continue with his apology. 'Damn straight,' she thought, 'you idiot. Do you realize how close I came to...?' She was surprised at her own anger and disappointment, anger at him for putting her into such a situation; disappointment at herself for almost falling off the marital cliff.




Smoke Ch. 05



"I got caught up with the need to catch these two and forgot what was really important. I'm sorry... please, forgive me." He shifted nervously on the hard back, wooden chair.

Sophia vacillated. She knew she could have drawn out the scene until he would be pleading with her but, what was the point? She, herself, had jumped at the chance to play spy on her own. The danger, the excitement... it was enough to push her into easily agreeing with his hare-brained scheme. She smiled, though, remembering her little 'night out' with Jim. 'Oh, what a feeling,' she thought.

Sophia smiled... 'no sense,' she thought, 'in breaking his ego. After all, I do love him, just... just what?' she wondered, 'just what? Where was the fearless federal agent who risked his life every time he left the house?' He seemed to have lost his edge, somehow.

The pizza arrived just in time before she could answer her questions. Later, she realized that some questions were better left unanswered. One of them, though, was why she had to move to Los Angeles to get a good New York pizza.

**********

Al threw the dice again, watching the white cubes flying across the green velvet and bouncing back from the side. 

"Six is the number..."

"Damn!" he said, throwing another ten dollar chip down. It was going to be harder, now. He had already lost over two-hundred in the last hour alone. The two whores hanging on his arms quickly left looking for a better mark as his stake dwindled. It was either dice or the slots; he had no other choice. The American card games were too complicated to learn quickly but the thrill of winning kept eluding him.

He was soon down to less than a hundred and if he was going to get a woman for the night and a room to stay, he knew he had to leave while there was still something left in his pocket.

As he left the casino, a slightly older woman approached, smoking a cigarette. Al looked at her, wondering if she was the one. Not as young as the two at the table, she nevertheless exuded a confidence that called to him. 'In the dark,' he rationalized, 'aren't all women the same?'

The blue-gray smoke trailed her as she followed him back across the street to the motel he was staying at.

The next morning, he awoke to find everything gone... his cash, his wallet, his camera, his clothes, his keys, his car... his assignment was a failure and worse, Tatiana was going to kill him.

"Damn this country!" he yelled, kicking the wastebasket across the motel room, stubbing his toe. He wrapped a towel around himself and walked outside to the payphone. "Yes, I'd like to make a collect call, please..."

**********

Greg would come in at ten o'clock each evening, have dinner with her at Raymond's and then drive home. With her fingers interlaced with his; her engagement ring glittering each time they passed under another softly glowing street lamp, they walked late at night toward the beach.

She looked up at her lover and sighed. He had quietly waited for her to set a date, which she had not done, yet. Why, she didn't know for sure, just that she hadn't. She felt guilty at her lackadaisical attitude toward marriage. It wasn't so much that she didn't love Greg, it was more that the implosion of her first marriage had left her gun-shy.

Every morning, she greeted him with an "I love you" and a deep and probing kiss followed by whatever he wanted to do. 'Whatever he wanted to do?' she asked herself... more than half the time, she was on him and enjoying herself before he was fully awake.

She laughed.

"What's so funny?" he asked, gently.

"Oh, nothing... I love you, Greg; you know that, don't you?" She looked up at him, again.

"Yes..." he answered, wondering where the conversation was going. He hated open ended questions.

"I know you want to get married and I've been... I've been sort of waiting."

"Oh, damn," he said, under his breath, positive that she was going to start a 'we need to talk' conversation with him.

She stopped walking and he swung around to face her, caught by her fingers. "Martine's going to have a baby, now and I was thinking..."

A slow sweat started across his forehead. 'Was she pregnant?' He hadn't heard any morning sickness, but that meant nothing. Some women didn't have it.

"Would October work?" 

"For?"

"A wedding... nothing big, you know, maybe a few friends... would that be OK?"

He picked her up and swung her around and around, kissing her each time she passed the lamppost. "Oh, God, yes! I've been waiting so long to hear that."

"You're not mad?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad?" He held her two hands in his and looked deeply into her blue eyes.

"That I took so long? I mean..." Whatever else she was going to say was lost as her lips were covered by kiss after kiss after kiss.

"Oh, baby, I'm so happy..." He pumped his arm into the air; love conquered all, he had heard. Maybe, just maybe, it WAS true.

He kissed her again, even more happy than the day she had said 'yes' and accepted his ring.

That night, she made love with a renewed vigorous passion that surprised both of them and as he pushed deeply within her, he could feel her shake beneath him. One thing he had learned about his fiancée, she was quiet during sex and let her body express herself to him until right at the end when she let out a loud moan.

'Thank God,' she thought just before falling asleep in his arms, 'that the morning doesn't start for us until eight o'clock.'

**********

A day later, there was a knock on the door and Al gingerly looked through the window before cracking it, slightly. "Yes?" he asked. 

"Albert Meadows? Sign here, please." 

After the mailman left, Al tore open the package containing his new clothes and shoes, enough money for a bus ticket and a scathing letter from Angie. Strangely, as embarrassed as he was, he was also angry that he was robbed so easily by a prostitute. Too much vodka... he had to admit, though, that vodka and orange juice was SO much better than vodka alone.

He got dressed, put the money in his pocket and started the long walk to the Greyhound bus station downtown. 

**********

"Well, it's about time," said Martine to her young friend. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to marry him."

Cindy grinned. "I... I don't know why, I just was afraid."

"Look," Martine said, "you've know Greg long enough, now. He saved your life... and mine, I'm not forgetting. Just because your..."

Cindy cringed. "Please, don't even mention his name. You're right, I was afraid, that's all. Once burned, twice shy."

"So, what's the date?"

"Late October? It's close enough not to make him think I'm putting it off more but far enough away that I can plan something." She smiled, wondering what new thing they could try on their wedding night. 'That's the problem with living with someone,' she thought, 'if you do marry them, the anticipation for the evening has already been lost.'

"How game are you?" asked Martine, mischievously. 

"What do you mean?"

"Halloween... it's the last Friday in October. It would be a lot of fun and Cindy, you need some fun this time around." Already, ideas were flowing through her mind... orange, yes, but no black... God forbid, black...

"Halloween? You've got to be kidding! Greg'll never go along with that; he'll think we've lost our marbles." Cindy laughed, nervously. "This is his first wedding, his first marriage. I don't want to spoil it for him."

"You're already living together. Do you honestly think he'd balk at something like this? Besides, it'll be so different and you'll never have to worry about him forgetting your anniversary!"

"I don't know, Martine, it still sounds crazy to me."

"Go ahead, ask him."

'Easier said than done,' Cindy thought. 'Halloween? Insane! How'm I ever going to convince him of that?'

**********

Al arrived late the next day. The bus ride had been full of people who had lost everything to the casinos and riding home on a ticket from the casino. He had just lost what he had to a prostitute. Replacing the car was problematic but he knew he was in for an angry confrontation with Tatiana... Angie... he kept forgetting. Maybe he was drinking too much alcohol? The thought entered and left just as quickly. Russians can hold their vodka. It must have been the orange juice.

At that very moment, his car, with new license plates and VIN, was heading toward Chicago to, ironically enough, "Al's Used Cars."

"You stupid fool," she said, not even letting him close the door to the apartment. "That was our car and now it's gone. You lost everything, didn't you? You have nothing to show for your little trip. I'll bet you weren't robbed, were you? You were with a prostitute, weren't you? Just couldn't keep it zipped. Can you remember anything?"

Sadly, he shook his head 'no'. There wasn't anything of use. He did remember a giant tortoise out in the desert and the tall towers and the dam but his maps and photographs were all lost.

"I would get you out of here... I should, you know, but how can I bring anyone else in, now? The landlord would go crazy. Leave me alone, right now." She stomped out of the apartment and down the back stairs to where Greg and Cindy were grilling some hamburgers. Angie admitted that American food was much better than her native Russian and there was SO much of it but that would all change once the revolution would arrive. 'Americans are weak,' she thought, 'and anything that upsets their little world will bring it tumbling down.'

Greg looked up from the grill. 'Damn,' he thought, 'not her.' After Elliot confessed he was an FBI agent and the two new renters were Russian agents, he begged Greg not to evict them, calling on his patriotism to convince him. Even so, every time he saw her, he regretted agreeing. 

"Hello," she said, flipping her head and sending her hair back. Greg noticed her shortness, as if she was angry at something. 'Well, that's just too damn bad,' he thought.

He nodded his head while Cindy answered back with a nervous 'hi.' For some reason, ever since her lunch with Angie at Cantor's, she had avoided the woman but never told Greg why. She just wasn't comfortable around her.

"Do you know where I can buy a good, cheap used car? Al lost ours in Vegas."

He almost spilled his beer. 'Al lost the car in Vegas? Oh, I have to hear this.' He laughed. As much as he knew about the two Russians, he knew this had to be a great story.

"Oh, that's too bad. Here, why don't you sit down? Want a burger? They'll be ready in a moment or two." As much as he disliked the woman for her trying to recruit Cindy into her evening escapades, he thought it would make an interesting way to pass the time... and, he might be able to tell Elliot something.

"Thank you. I don't feel like talking to him, right now, as you can imagine. What a fool he is!"

"Ran up a gambling debt?" Cindy asked, remembering how Chris had come to die. She didn't want another visit from loan sharks and bookies.

"No, nothing as simple as that... he lost everything to a..." She looked at Cindy. Not quite sure about the relationship the girl had with Greg, she decided to be discrete. "He lost it to a bad roll of the dice. He's back now. Stupid idiot..."

Greg wasn't sure but it sounded like her New York accent had slipped a bit, now that he knew what he was hearing. So, the great spies were no match for Vegas. The situation was too funny and he laughed. "Well, it seems we're going to be looking for a car, also. You're welcome to come along."

"Why, thank you very much." 

Cindy went upstairs into the apartment to get another couple of beers and an extra place setting. She was surprised that Greg was so accommodating to Angie. She was sure that Angie had been on his list of worst people in the world. 

While Cindy was gone, Angie turned toward Greg. "I want to apologize for my behavior with Cindy... and, I guess with Sophia, too. I thought that... well, let's just say that I didn't fully understand how things were and I'm sorry. I'll leave her alone, I mean, you know..."

"Apology accepted. Don't worry about it." He smiled, looking into the sweet face of the enemy. 'If people could make love and not war... well,' he thought, 'that's never going to happen.' "Is tomorrow morning a good time for you?"

**********

Kenneth Chevrolet was backed by the curve of one of the three palm tree lined plaza parks in Hawthorne. With the new models already in stock, the dealership was inundated with trade-ins from people tired of their post-War automobiles. The larger inventory had given Greg the upper-hand in dealing with the aggressive salesman.

"Listen," he told the man, "I'll get back to you when we've decided. Thank you." Greg could hear the man grumble as he walked away from the potential sale. Sometimes it was better to be subtle when dealing with customers, a trait he had never seemed to learn.

A 1948 Chevy sat near the sidewalk with a Silver Gray Green paint job. Greg laughed; it looked more like a green auto that needed a car wash. Next to it was a beautiful convertible in Moonlight Cream. That was the car for Cindy, he was sure of it. He lifted the hood and looked at the straight-6. The engine compartment was clean enough to touch. After looking for oil leaks and corrosion, he unscrewed the cold radiator cap and put his finger in, looking for oil or rust. It came back clean.

Cindy was already sitting behind the wheel, playing the radio. She had quickly found a music station and was bouncing on the seat to the beat. Angie sat next to her, looking in the glove box and then under the seats. She finally opened the door and got into the back, lying down on the wide bench seat.

"Now," he asked, "where's that stupid salesman?" 

As if by magic, the man appeared with the keys to the two cars. "Made up your mind?"

"Maybe... let's take this one for a spin, first."

That afternoon, with her new car parked in the driveway next to Angie's new green car, Cindy was working hard to thank Greg for what she considered her wedding gift. She looked back and put her finger in her mouth as he bounced her body. Her long blond hair swayed while her head rocked back and forth until she was sure he was ready. His stamina was amazing and made all the other men seem like nothing.

He stopped, both hands on the small of her back as he knelt behind her.

She moved around and approached him, taking him into her mouth as deeply as she could. Even with her hand tight around it, it still was long enough to reach her throat. 

Later, he promised a ride up the coast and a wild night in Ventura.



Smoke Ch. 06



The near-silence of the tree-shaded streets was shattered by the most sorrowful song Cindy had ever heard. "Why you still insist on listening to country music is beyond me,' she said. 'Either the woman is cheating, leaving or dying....' she had remarked, once, 'or his dog and truck died."

Soon, the heavily lemon-scent of eucalyptus trees, their branches laden with silver-gray leaves, filled the warm, humid air with the smell of southern California. The Gold Rush immigrant, brought from the Australian island of Tasmania, was now as native to the state as the former Hoosier women splashing in the coastal surf. Even Abbot Kinney, most famous for founding Venice, California, was a state-wide promoter of the gum trees. 

She thought back to that morning...

**********

"Halloween? You want to get married on Halloween?" Greg asked. "You're kidding, right?" He looked up through the darkness to where the ceiling would be. 'Halloween... God, what next?'

When he put it that way, Cindy wondered if it was such a good idea, after all. "Well...' she started to say but a ghostly vision of black cats and old crones...

"It definitely sounds crazy..." he said, "but, if that's what you want, it could be fun. Are you going to wear an orange gown?" He started to laugh. "This is Martine's idea, isn't it? That woman is..."

He rolled from his back onto his right side, his left arm encircling her waist as he nuzzled her neck. He breathed in her morning scent.

"Stop that... you know what it does to me," she begged, in vain.

He ignored her pleas for mercy; his tongue traced wet lines of pleasure under her ear forward to below her chin and down the hollow of her neck. She was usually quiet when he made love to her, the excitement staying deep within her mind; she surprised herself as a moan rose up and left her wet lips. 

That first night, when she had come to his bed, she had told him she was going to teach him how to kiss. If he was surprised, he never let on. As much as her checkered past still haunted her, he never once hinted he might have a clue about what she had done. She still wasn't sure if he knew or not but was afraid to broach the subject. 'Let sleeping dogs lie...' was as good an adage as any, especially when they had such a fatal bite.

Her legs invitingly parted, she reached down and her body welcomed him.

The thin black line wavered in the summer heat; the ants moved from the window sill, down the tile behind the sink, across the counter and to the three dishes waiting to be washed. 

"Oooh..." Cindy said, grabbing a glass of water and splashing it over the scurrying insects. "Get... out... of... my... kitchen!" She swabbed down the countertop, chasing the little black creatures around the sink edge. She peered down and looked closely, wondering if she had missed any of the scavengers.

Later, she took a clean towel and wiped down her tired but satisfied face; tying her hair into a ponytail, she washed the kitchen table. During breakfast, every time she looked at him, she smiled. How she was so lucky to have him, she would never, could never understand. She knew he had had an Italian girl somewhere in his past, he let that slip once or twice in conversation with Elliot downstairs and he definitely knew about her troubled marriage but nothing about the bar. 'Thank God,' she prayed, 'thank God, he knew nothing about that.'

A dark scowl crossed her face. She couldn't imagine life without him, now. When he wasn't home, she waited for him to arrive. When she was at Raymond's, she couldn't wait to go home. When they were home, she looked even for his shadow, the echo of his voice, the sound of his footsteps, and the scent of his arousal...

That man at the beach had almost let her secret out. Drowning in the ocean would have been the only decision she would have had left if that encounter had gone another way. The Pacific had been right there, calling to her... its small waves rolling ashore... calling to end her uneasy secret.

'Thank God for Martine,' she continued thinking, anxiously wiping the countertop, again, her fingers pushing down harder as she thought back to that nightmare time. Her nights with Suzy were not that long ago. The fact that Suzy and Angie were now close friends had seemed odd at first until that lunch at Cantor's Deli in Fairfax. Both women danced to the beat of a very different drummer, Cindy thought and hoped that Suzy would keep quiet.

Her own bizarre behavior, Cindy finally realized, resulted from Suzy's uncovering a physical need for sexual comfort... sexual relief stronger than she could control following her miserable, dangerous life with Chris. Her nights of prostitution were something she was continually trying to forget but couldn't. The man at the beach was a reminder that the men who used her were still nearby.

A tear crept slowly down her cheek. If only they could move away... far away from the memories waiting to trap her. It was driving her mad. Greg would never leave the beach, would he? She was startled by the popping of the toaster. "Whoa!" she almost shouted. Taking the bread out, she reached for the butter and began to spread it across. A spoonful of boysenberry jam and a cup of morning tea completed her breakfast. She carefully put the small bag aside in the refrigerator. 

Greg had continually told her to use a new bag each time but old habits die hard. Her mother's tight upbringing during the Depression had reached deeply within her psyche and refused to let go. 'At least,' she thought, 'I'm not going to waste Greg's money... our money.'

The crackle of the frying eggs and bacon called her back to the stove.

"Greg, honey, breakfast's ready."

**********

Each time she and Martine made the 'cookie trip,' Cindy promised herself to bring a camera and each time she forgot. She so wanted to photograph the old Victorians while they were still standing. The area, once home to wealthy families, had fallen on desperate times soon after the Depression and most had been turned into small apartment or rooming houses. The once beautiful paint was covered by a dull gray chalky mess that cried out for help from someone... from anyone... but, no one seemed to care to save the once proud and beautiful homes.

"This will be a lot of fun. We'll close the restaurant after the lunch service and decorate the dining room for the reception. Everything will be BOO-tee-full..." Martine grinned. She never thought Greg would agree to a Halloween wedding and yet... for some insane reason, he did.

Already, her mind was working around two possibilities: an orange-spice cake with chocolate frosting or a chocolate cake with a light orange frosting... with plenty of rum. Laughing, she knew the rum would win out; 'besides, who wanted a dark-frosted wedding cake? Now,' she happily thought, 'to start planning...'

Cindy pulled her cream-colored convertible up to the gate and impatiently honked the horn. 

"Every time, you gotta honk the horn. They know we're coming. Jesus, give them a chance, will you?" asked Martine. "It's just a couple of little kids, you know."

Within minutes, two boys, no more than ten years of age, unlocked the heavy chain-link gate and swung it wide enough that she could drive in and around the back to the kitchen. Piled high in the back seat were almost one-hundred boxes of cookies. Almost, that is, because on the front seat between the two women was a half-empty box of chocolate chip raisin cookies, once carefully wrapped in wax-paper. Now that the car had stopped, the smell of the cookies on the back seat filled the car.

Last time, she had needed the vacuum cleaner to clean all the crumbs. 'Oh, but it was worth it,' Cindy realized, laughing at the memory. Greg had come behind her and gave her a playful smack on the behind as she waved the metal tube around the car. Before she knew it, they were kissing and his hand was between her thighs, gently bringing her to a climax.

Every time the women came to the orphanage, Cindy said it was her right as 'driver' to 'inspect' the cookies for freshness. Martine laughed, dipping into the box for another one. If lunch was anytime soon, it probably was spoiled.

She pulled out two chocolate chip cookies. For some reason, she'd been reaching into the cookie jar one too many times, she was sure. She patted her tummy. Martine's cooking was leading her down the primrose path.

The orphanage, well hidden from the street by a very tall hedge, was easily missed if you didn't know where it was, as Cindy had done the first two times. The Sisters of Saint Dorothy had gone to great lengths to hide the children from the outside world. 

These were the 'lost' children... the ones that would never be adopted.

Cindy was going to say something, even with a mouth full of cookie, when the first nun arrived, surrounded by several small girls. One was clutching the old woman's habit as if her life depended on it, causing the nun's large rosary to sway back and forth like a pendulum across the heavy, dark cloth.

"Welcome back," she said, hugging Martine. The nun greeted Cindy with a curt nod. 

As much as Cindy admired the work the Sisters were doing, the idea of never loving a man just seemed so desolate an existence...

Standing by the kitchen door were two more stern Italian nuns, surrounded by five or six children vying for their attention like small puppies jumping for a treat. Cindy couldn't really tell; they never stood still long enough to make sure. One of the nuns bent down and swooping up a small girl kissed her on the cheek and gave her a wide, honest smile.

Cindy wondered if she was wrong...

Box after box of cookies quickly disappeared into the kitchen; eventually grocery bags of empty boxes from the previous trip were returned and placed into the trunk.

As bad as her first marriage had been, Cindy couldn't imagine living with the insecurity of being an orphan. She had cried for days after the first few trips but continued... 'Penance,' she told herself, 'for her sins.'

"You're just in time for lunch," the nun said. "We're having spaghetti."

"Thank you," said Cindy, "I'm still hungry."

The nun gave her a strange look, seeing the near empty box of cookies lying on the front seat of the car.

A while later a humbled Cindy asked for the recipes to the luncheon dishes. What the nun had quietly called 'spaghetti' was a rich mélange of meats and spices wrapped in egg-rich lasagna. Dessert was home-made strawberry ice cream and, of course, cookies. By the time Martine was ready to leave, promising to return in another two weeks, Cindy wanted to stay longer... again. 

Between the small smiling faces looking for affection and the feeling of a peaceful calm that surrounded her, she felt at home. She wondered if she could convince Greg to come with her, one day.

Cindy tasted the sauce. For an orphanage, the food was surprisingly good. She looked across the table at Martine. The older woman was actively talking with two little girls seated next to her. Each time they had come to visit, Martine looked for a quiet girl or two and tried to bring them some outside companionship. 'Is this,' she wondered, 'what it means to be a mother? Could I be able to do this with a child of my own?'

Laughter rang out. Martine had said something funny enough to bring a glad response from the little dark-haired girls sitting next to her.

"You know what's funny?"

"No, what?" Martine responded.

"If you put two extra eggs into a brownie recipe, you get cake... a very strange cake."

"And... this is important because?"

"I don't know... it just seemed funny to me... you know, two eggs and all."

"You are one crazy girl, you know that? Hey, any cookies left?"

Cindy wasn't listening anymore, splitting her attention between driving the car, chewing on a cookie and thinking back to the morning's love making that continued in the shower. How he didn't slip on the tile and bring them both crashing down was a mystery to her as he braced his feet against one wall and pressed her up against the other one. With both arms around his neck, she could feel the coolness of the tiles against her back as she slid up and down with each thrust as he pushed deeply into her.

It was time to stop eating so many cookies.

Turning the motor off, Cindy listened to the engine tick away the heat as the radiator fan stopped. She closed the car door and went looking for her lover. 

Walking into the upstairs apartment, she tossed her keys onto the kitchen table, watched them slide off onto the floor and then found his note. He had gone to the Hawthorne apartment house to look at some leaky pipes for that pesky Mrs. Snyder, again. She had a habit of always calling when it was least convenient. 

One time, they were going to the pictures and she called on a Saturday night and they had driven out there just to show her how to jiggle the toilet handle. By the time they got to the theatre, it was half-over, they missed the first movie, the cartoon and the snack bar was closed.

'What does the old woman want now?' she angrily wondered. Cindy doubted the pipes were really leaking. 'Maybe, just maybe, she's lonely. But, why call on Greg all the time? Certainly, there were men her own age willing to spend time with her?'

Cindy went to his desk notebook and looked up the old woman's phone number.

"Hello? Is Mr. Knotts there? It's Cindy, his fiancée... oh, he did? When was that?... thank you."

Just as she was hanging up the phone, the back door opened and he walked in. "Honey, I'm home!"

She almost knocked him down as she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bedroom.

The finger tingled up the rise in her back until it reached her neck. Cindy smiled, thinking of the previous night. Never had she felt so secure and loved as he held her in his arms, his body warming her against the chill of the night marine air from the Pacific. "Mmmmmm," was all she could say as she moved against his heat. His fingers traced the curve of her bottom, sliding between without becoming profane. 

"You like that, don't you?" he asked, surprised at his own boldness.

"Mmmmmm," was all she could say, surprised at her own wantoness.

He kissed his way up her back, hoping to please her.

"Love me," she said. "Love me..."

Tuesday morning came sooner than either of them wanted. 

**********

"Well, I bet I know why you're a little late..." Martine gave her a handful of menus to be wiped down.

"Ha... ha... ha..."

"Ha... ha... ha, yourself... don't forget, we have that retirement lunch coming in today so don't sit anyone in the dining room."

"OK, thanks." Cindy went into the back and washed her hands. 

Hawthorne's economy had been hard hit when the Air Force contract for Northrop's ill-fated Flying Wing had been cancelled. Even though the Scorpion fighter kept the production lines moving, many older workers had lost heart. Being forced to watch the beautiful silver Wings destroyed before their very eyes on the Hawthorne runway was more than they could stand. Jack Northrop, himself, had left.

The post-War vets were going to take the company into the jet age without him.

The afternoon's Kelly retirement luncheon was the first of five scheduled for the month. Like the others to follow, it would be tinged with anger vilifying Secretary of the Air Force Symington; some said he was in the pay of San Diego's Convair. 

Martine's plans for retirement parties seemed doomed before they even started.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it, too much," said the man sipping the bourbon in his glass. "It was an idea ahead of its time. Damn shame, though."

Cindy heard snippets of conversation as she walked around picking up discarded drinks and crumpled napkins. With two other girls, she quickly worked the room, taking drink orders and gratefully receiving tips.

By the time the party was over, the general dissatisfaction with the Air Force had given way to celebrating Kelly's chance to finally go deep-sea fishing in his new boat, "The Lucky Duck."

"One down, four more to go," she said, thankfully.

A few hours later, while Greg was showering, she had dinner warming in the oven. On the counter, the blender was 'rrrrrrr'ing away with ice cream, milk and strawberry jam. 

"How was your day?" he asked, later.

"We had the first retirement party, today. It started out pretty down but ended OK, I guess. There's still a lot of anger at Northrop since the Wings got cancelled."

"It's all politics, honey. Sometimes, I think the politicians are working for the other side. I know they're working for themselves. We'll be OK."

"I know, it's just too bad."

"I know. What's for dinner? It smells really good?"

"Roast turkey, with all the trimmings and ice cream shakes. I just made them."

"Wow! Working at Raymond's is really paying off."

"Thank you." She opened the oven door and carefully pulled out the food. 

"Oh, boy! That smells SO good." After she had dished out the food onto the two waiting plates and laid them on the table, she put her hands together to say 'grace.' Greg was surprised. 

Cindy had never prayed before.

"What changed?" he asked.

"I just... it's the orphanage. I'm just grateful that my life has turned out the way it has, that's all. Those children... it's really sad."

"Maybe, I should go with you next time."

"I don't know... maybe... I'll ask."

"What's the big secret? Boy, this is good food."

"There's no secret, it's just that the children are different. A lot of them have... difficulties, that's all and I don't know if the sisters want to have extra people coming through and making them uncomfortable."

"Well, listen; next time you're there, ask. Maybe, we could bring some toys or something."

"All right, I can do that. But, don't be surprised if they say 'no'."

Greg put down "The Caine Mutiny" and turned on the television. "Honey, Kraft Theatre is on. Do you need any help or are you coming?"

"I'll be there in a minute." The last dish went into the dishrack to dry and went into the living room. She sat on the couch next to him, curled her legs up and lay against him.

He put his arm on her shoulder and pulled her closer. He kissed her forehead. "I love you. Halloween is only a few weeks away."

"I can't wait. I'm glad we're living together. If I had to wait for you, I'd go crazy."

"Me, too. I can't say 'I love you' enough. Thank you."

"Thank you for what?"

"For... for just being you... I'm SO happy, that's all."

Whatever was on the screen was soon forgotten as she kissed him. Soon, her hands were fondling him as she kissed it.

**********

Cooper put down his now cold cup of bitter coffee. "I'm telling you, she hasn't done anything for the longest... and him? I haven't even seen that guy ever since that disaster in Vegas. Where's Smith? He's supposed to be watching him. How are we going to get any others in the cell at this rate?"

"Smith's on him. He's been down to the airport several times, checking on flights north to Alaska by way of Seattle. What the hell's going on with that? Are they on the move or is it just him?"

"I don't know; she's doing the same as always, just being there or going out on the weekends to the bars with that Suzy broad. At least she's not taking classes at Camino, although all those little cheerleaders running around wouldn't be too bad on the eyes. Maybe... maybe, we should just pick them up and be done with it."

"You're going to hell, Elliot. I thought you were married. You brought your wife with you; what do you need cheerleaders for? I've seen your wife."

Cooper blushed. He'd seen how men looked at his Sophia when they though he wasn't watching. Once, he almost took his gun out. Her "girls' night out" disaster forced him to pay more attention to what he had been doing and how he had been treating her.




Smoke Ch. 06



The phone rang.

"Special Agent Cooper..."

"Elliot... what time are you coming home, tonight?"

"I don't know, why?"

"Angie was wondering..."

"I'll be right home... you and I can go out to dinner. How does that sound?"

"Well..."

"I'm leaving now..."



Smoke Ch. 07



copyright by calibeachgirl and jim crowell

all rights reserved, 2011

*

Elliot was nervous; his hands shook enough his forkful of food slipped back onto the plate. He set it down. Things were not going well for the FBI agent.

Sophia looked at him, a wry smile on her face. "Something wrong, dear?" she asked. "You seem a little... pre-occupied." She toyed with her husband... a cat playing with a mouse.

"Uh... no... well, yes," he said. "I'm sorry that I asked you to go with Angie that evening. It was the biggest mistake possible." Just thinking of it made him shudder.

"You've already said that, dear. Why is it still bothering you?" 'Yes, indeed, dear husband, what's on your mind?' she thought to herself.

"You said on the phone..." 'Something truly scary,' he knew.

"Yes?" 'Yes, tell me, dear Elliot, what's on your mind.'

"You said that Angie wanted to do something." He took a sip of water. His mouth had suddenly become SO dry.

"Is that the only reason we're going to dinner? Doesn't seem so romantic, when you look at it, that way..." She put down her own fork, still laden with halibut. The tartar sauce dripped away like her enthusiasm for the evening.

"No, no, no... it's not like that. I just didn't want you to feel... neglected, that's all." 'Was it always this hot?'

"That's all? Thanks a lot, Elliot." She folded her napkin and slowly set it on the table. "I'd like to go home, now."

"But..."

"But, what?" She started to get up.

"Please, please, let's stay. I'll make it up to you. I'm sorry... Jesus, it's just this case has really got me worked up for a lot of different reasons, that's all."

Still not mollified, nevertheless, she still sat back down. She knew how important the case was to him.

"Sophia, not only is this case important for the country, but for us, as well. We'd get to stay here, permanently. You know that."

She stared at him, still angry... at both him as well as herself. That evening had frightened her; how easily she had fallen into a single-woman's frame of mind. How easily she enjoyed that man's attention. She tried to remember his name but couldn't... 'did it really matter?' she wondered.

"Sophia, what can I do to make this up to you?" 

The magic words every woman wants to hear tumbled from his mouth before he even understood the import of what he said.

**********

Angie opened the post office box and took out the flimsy blue air-mail letter from Italy. The colorful Vatican City stamps would have gladdened any collector but she was more interested in what was inside the letter. Why her handlers didn't use regular US mail was beyond her. They could have mailed it from the Washington area if they actually thought about what they were doing. Overseas mail was always going to stand out, no matter where it came from and the beautiful stamps were going to attract attention from everyone who saw them.

"If Ivan is becoming such a hindrance, eliminate him," the letter said later as she decoded the message. "We expect a plan to be put into effect on the American holiday of Halloween for the greatest impact. Make it work."

She shuddered. As annoyed as she was with Al for his bungling trip to Las Vegas, she had no desire to kill him. If nothing else, he was an acceptable lover. He filled her insatiable need when she was too tired to go bar-hopping looking for someone more interesting.

Besides, from what she understood, there had been enough death in and around the apartment house already. Another mysterious killing or disappearance would bring too much attention from the local police.

'Maybe,' she wondered, 'I could say he went back East for something?'

She was beginning to have second doubts and third thoughts about her role in America. If she could find a way to stay and disappear, she wondered, could she forget about Russia and become a 'good' American? Would Al, or Ivan as she continued to think about him every time he made a huge error in judgment, go along or would he hinder whatever plan she could come up with? Would she have to kill him in the end, after all?

Restlessly, Angie waited for the small safety-deposit box to be unlocked. Finally, both keys were turned and the little door swung open. "Would you like some help with that," asked the teller.

"No, I've got it, thanks," Angie said, pulling the long, slim metal box out.

"All right, then, just let me know when you're ready and I'll be back."

Angie took the box into the small, adjoining room and closed the door. Quietly placing it down on the wooden shelf, she unlocked the small padlock and lifted the lid. 

Passport after passport after passport... each carefully taken and checked.... American dollars... Canadian dollars... British pounds... French francs... cut diamonds and emeralds in little cotton bags...

A plan began to form in her devious little mind... a plan to stay in America, in warm Southern California far away from the snows of Moscow and Mother Russia.

'First, though, a few hundred to take care of some shopping...' There were some beautiful high heels and a dress she had seen in Beverly Hills, just in time for Cindy's wedding.

Watching Greg work around the apartment house and then running to the beach every few days or so had explained Cindy's reluctance to go bar-hopping with her. If she had Greg waiting at home for her, she wouldn't be out looking for a quick pick-up, either.

Angie pushed the coffee cup across the table. "You have to go... don't you understand? If you stay here, they're going to kill you. I've shown you the letter, what more can I do? I can get you ten thousand and you can move to another town, another state. They'll never find you, this is a huge country and they don't have all the records and controls like... like home."

He wasn't happy. He liked Southern California, even if he always had a scowl on his face. Admittedly, his huge error in Las Vegas had precipitated the situation further than he ever thought possible, but still...

"If you take a bus, there's no record and you're not wasting money on a car or you can get a used car for cheap. Please, Ivan, listen to me. I know I've been giving you a lot of grief but this is why."

Three days later, taking his false documents with him, he bought a three-hundred dollar car from a used-car lot in San Pedro and headed north toward San Francisco. Somewhere, he hoped, there would be a small town he could settle in with the American dream. The workers' paradise would have to happen without him.

**********

Elliot knelt on the rug, his wife's legs hanging over his shoulders as he kissed her once again. Sophia crossed her ankles, pulling his head forward between her thighs. He tried breathing through his nose as his face pressed against her but was forced to just open his mouth and take a big gulp of air before she could force his head down, again.

Her moans filled the bedroom as her hands grabbed his hair. Sophia's thighs squeezed against his ears and all he could hear was the rapid thump-thump of her heart as she shook once more.

"Stop... stop... stop..." she finally said, releasing his head from her grip. Her arms came back and collapsed onto the bed. He got up and moved onto the bed next to her. Her nipples were still solidly erect and he touched her left breast with his fingertip. 

Sophia's nipple immediately tightened and became even more erect, something he never thought possible. His tongue soon replaced his fingers as he mouthed it, slightly sucking, gently touching with his teeth.

His left hand moved down between her open legs and caressed her gently. Sophia's hand moved down onto his and pushed it roughly against her body. "Aaaaah," she cried out in delight. She pushed two of his fingers deep inside and swirled them around. "Huh... huh... huh..." she whimpered.

Elliot moved onto her and slipped his body between her thighs. She grabbed him as he held himself against her, slid up and down twice and slid deeply inside with an 'ooof.' He waited only a moment before rocking back out and then plunged down, again, again, again.

Her legs now locking him in, he pushed quickly, trying to rub against her enough to bring her off once more. "Just do it," she sighed.

He could feel the pressure build and as the heat coursed through him, he pushed one last time as far as he could as he felt the thick liquid surge five, six times into his wife.

**********

Cindy looked out the window and quietly yawned. Her hand moved to her lover and caressed his face. "Mmffff," he mumbled, still asleep. She smiled. In less than a week, she would be Mrs. Gregory Knott. She was looking forward to the honeymoon. Although they had been sleeping together for months, the idea of a honeymoon made her grin from ear to ear. 

Silently, she slid out from the warm covers and headed barefoot into the chilly bathroom. Looking into the mirror, she searched for wrinkles around her eyes. 'Nothing, so far,' she happily thought and turned on the shower. Soon, a foggy heat enveloped the room and she stepped in. Cindy slowly moved the washcloth on her body, eyes closed, pretending it was Greg touching her. She felt herself building to a climax when a shadow moved against the glass door and he stepped in.

"Let me help you with that," he said, huskily. He took the cloth from her and dropped it to the wet floor. Taking his hands, he used the soap to glide his fingers across her skin. She shivered under his touch.

"Oh..." she started to say.

"Don't speak," he said, continuing to touch her. He moved behind her and reached around her waist, his hands moving higher on her body until he cupped her breasts. He carefully pulled her against him so she could feel his excitement.

"Can you feel the heat?" he asked.

She reached back to his neck and pulled his head down. "Kiss me," she said.

"Where?" he asked and then laughed. "I'll go to the ends of the earth to kiss you."

"Shut up and kiss me."

"You've got to go, now? Can't you call in sick, or something?"

"You know I can't do that. Besides, I've got the rest of the week off. If you drive me down, I'll get you breakfast."

"Great. If I keep eating at Raymond's, I'm going to weigh two hundred pounds."

"Oh, I don't think there's any chance of that. I'll give you enough exercise."

"You're funny." He checked his watch. "I think there's time for some push-ups."

"You'll have to be quick, then. Just drop your pants and come here." She hopped up onto the kitchen table.

"Hey!" he laughed. "That's the... I eat..."

"I'll give you something to eat... c'mon, give it to me."

The table rocked enough that anyone would have thought a West Coast earthquake had rolled through the kitchen. "Ah, Jesus... whatever you do, don't stop."

Pulling into Raymond's parking lot with minutes to spare, Greg laughed as Cindy ran into the restaurant. Walking more slowly, he went in to have a very late breakfast. When he was done, he put a dollar down for Barbara, the waitress, waved at Cindy and left. Martine would give her a ride home, as usual. 

He, on the other hand, was going to the pier to do a little fishing. "What a life," he said to himself as he drove toward Redondo.

A short while later, he was fighting a barracuda, hoping the line wouldn't break, when Elliot walked up and leaned against the railing next to him.

"Hey. How's the fishing?"

"Not bad, if you like barracuda. I was hoping for something else but these guys put up a good fight. What are you doing here?"

"Speaking of something else, have you seen Al?"

"No... I thought it was your job to keep an eye on him?"

"Yeah, well... somebody screwed up and we lost him."

"Are you going to pick Angie up, now? You better or she'll be in the wind, too."

"I know but she hasn't really done anything."

"So what? Grab her up and worry about it, later. If you don't..."

"Yeah, I know, she'll be gone. Do you think she'll stay for the wedding?"

"She said she'd be there, but maybe that's just talk. Wait a minute..." Greg grabbed his pole and wound his line in, finally pulling the aggressive fish up the side of the pier and against the railing. "Watch out, Elliot, those teeth are nasty. Get that net, will you?"

With the fish now on the pier's deck, he baited his hook again and cast out into the water. "I'm hoping for a nice, big halibut for dinner. Maybe, I could invite Angie over and sound her out, how's that?"

"Thanks. What's wrong with this fish?"

"For some reason, you get really sick if you eat them. Why don't you and Sophia join us, too? I'm sure Cindy won't mind. I'll give her a call when I get home."

"You looking forward to Friday? Getting married is a big step for anyone." Elliot looked out to the bay.

"Yes, although I'll admit I've been enjoying it for a while." Greg smiled.

"Don't let that spark disappear, my friend. It's interesting. Women, sex and love... it can be so damn confusing." 'How true,' he thought, realizing Sophia had controlled their love life ever since that night at the restaurant.

"God, I hope not... life is crazy enough as it is. Hey! I got another bite!" Greg yelled. He worked the line, playing the fish. "Oooohooo! It's a halibut and a big one, too! Get the net! Get the net! Don't you dare let it get away!"

A minute later, dinner was cooling in the ice chest.

"I'll see you, tonight, Elliot. Thanks."

"Honey, we're having guests for dinner. Can you bring some stuff home?"

"Guests? I was hoping for a quiet..." Cindy's disappointment was evident.

"Trust me, this is important," said Greg, carefully.

"All right... what do you want me to bring?" She sounded mollified. 

"Everything but the fish. I got a big ole halibut at the pier."

"Wait a minute... Yes, how may I help you? Table for three? Yes, please follow me." He could hear the handset put down and the noises of the restaurant. "OK, I'm back," she said. "I've got an idea. I asked Joseph and he said it would be all right if you brought the fish over. He'd cook it for you and we'd bring the whole thing home afterward."

"Yeah, I can do that. Great... I'll be over as soon as I can."

Whatever fatigue Cindy had vanished as soon as she walked into the apartment. "Greg, the food is downstairs. Please bring it up. I'm going to take a shower and no, you can't join me, I'd never get anything done around here."

Greg went downstairs and started bringing up the hot dishes. He put them into the oven to stay warm, the chopped salad into the refrigerator and began to set the table. It had been a while since they had company for dinner and it would be a first with Elliot and Sophia.

Eight o'clock arrived soon enough with a knock on the door.

"Good evening, Elliot... Sophia. Thank you for coming." Greg was surprised. While Elliot wore dark slacks and a light blue shirt, Sophia was dressed very stylishly in a white blouse and an ankle-length black skirt with a 'harder' look to her face. 'Something,' he realized, 'has happened. But, what?' "Something to drink? I've martinis," he asked, smiling.

"Yes," Sophia said, "I'd love one." She left the two men standing near the door and walked to the window. "Your view is so much different up here. You can see the ocean."

"That's why I like it. If something opens up, I'll keep you in mind."

"Thank you." She turned back to the window and looked toward the night-darkened beach a block away. "A martini would be just right."

Cindy happened to walk in just at that moment. She was wearing a dark blue cocktail dress that reached just below the knees. The two women assessed one another. One, the now-worldly older woman from the capital greeted the other, an ingénue still surprised by the world despite her checkered past. If Sophia really knew Cindy's history, though, her appraisal would be much different. When it came to sex, it was Sophia who lacked the hard experience that Cindy had endured.

"Good evening, Sophia. How nice of you and Elliot to join us. I hope you like halibut. I understand that Elliot helped land the fish."

"Oh? That's interesting; he didn't mention that." Sophia looked at her husband, wondering what else he failed to mention. "Halibut will be wonderful. Greg, may I have another martini, please." She handed him her empty glass.

Surprised, Greg made her another.

"My God, this fish was fantastic. However did you do it, Cindy?" Sophia asked.

Cindy looked at Greg. "Well... I had it done at the restaurant. It was easier."

Sophia looked at the younger woman. "So much smarter, too. Congratulations. I've come to realize that a woman needs to face life and decide what SHE wants, not just some tired convention that seeks to hold us back." She took a look at her cocktail glass. "Greg, dear, could you get me another? I seem to be empty."

Greg looked at Elliot for guidance but then thought, 'what the hell, they live just downstairs; it's not like they have to drive home.' "Of course..."

There was a 'ding' as the kitchen timer finished counting down.

"I've got homemade chocolate chip cookies with ice cream," Cindy said, trying to change the tenor of the table. 'What is going on?' she wondered as she brought the hot cookies to the table.

"These," said Sophia, "are really, really good. Did you change the recipe?"

"Yes, Martine and I fooled around with it until we got this. We've been baking cookies and taking them to an orphanage every other Monday. It makes my heart cry to see all those kids with no parents. I suppose the nuns are filling in the best they can but, just the same..."

"That's too bad. Are there many children, there?"

"There's about sixty, I think. I've never actually counted. They don't hold still long enough."

"I wanted to have a child..." Sophia suddenly said, "...it just never seemed to happen. Do you think I could come out there, sometime... with you?"

Cindy was shocked. "I suppose so. I'd have to talk to Martine. They like to keep the children from being put on display like it's a circus or something. It took a while for them to accept me."

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that," Sophia said, wistfully. Elliot looked at his wife, mystified. She had never mentioned wanting a child. He wondered how he could be so oblivious of his wife's desires.

"Wow!" Greg said, later as he helped wash the dishes. "That was one crazy dinner. Boy, is she mad at him for something."

"I know. It's too bad. After you said they were coming for dinner, I was hoping for a nice time, but, like you said, 'wow'! You could feel the ice..."

"C'mere, baby. Whatever he did, I promise I'll never do."

"Oh, yeah? You better find out what he did before you go making promises, sweetheart."

"I don't care. There's no way I'm getting you that mad."

Cindy walked out of the bathroom, dropped her nightgown to the floor and pushing him back onto the bed, pulled his pajama pants off. "Let's see..." she said, reaching out and touching his already hard arousal. "Mmmmm,' she moaned, taking it to her lips and running her tongue around.

She opened her mouth and took him in; then, taking a deep breath, pushed her head down until he was touching her throat. She began to move her hand on it until she could feel the tension and then the warm liquid pulsed down her throat.

"Good night, baby."

"Good night, Cindy."

**********

Halloween Friday finally arrived. Raymond's was closed and the Wayfarer's Chapel overlooking Catalina was full. Frank Lloyd Wright's Glass Church, nestled above the Palos Verdes bluffs was the most romantic spot Greg could think of, even if it was over an hour's drive back to the South Bay beach towns. 

The distance involved changed Martine's plans of using the restaurant and so they rented one of the large meeting rooms there.

Martine stood behind Cindy and stared into the mirror. She put her hands on the girl's shoulders.




Smoke Ch. 07



"Well, honey, are you ready? Don't tell me you're getting cold feet, now?"

"No... I just can't believe how lucky I am." She thought back to those insane nights at the bar and blushed.

"Nonsense... it's Greg who's lucky, don't you ever forget that. Ah, you're blushing."

Cindy looked up at her friend who was adjusting the ivory-colored wedding dress. Tears started to flow, again.

"I told you, dear, stop crying. You're going to mess up your mascara. This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes... it's just..."

"It's just what? Silly girl... let's get you married. C'mon." Martine extended her white-gloved hand to her young protégée and pulled her up. "That poor guy is waiting for you. I think he's been waiting for you his entire life."

Cindy wobbled for a moment on her high heels and then, hanging on Martine's arm, walked with her friend. Martine put her head out the door and whistled. Immediately, the sounds of Wagner's Bridal Chorus could be heard from the five-piece band in the corner of the chapel. The Italian accordionist had everyone's attention as they stood for her entrance. 

Martine walked between the crowded pews in her light pastel orange dress... and then, Cindy walked toward Greg, stars in her eyes and hope in her heart.

"Do you, Cynthia Janice, take Gregory to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

The moment of truth had arrived. Her hands were shaking... from fear, from relief, from... God knows what. She had gotten this far without him finding out about her past and prayed he never would.

"I do..."

"Do you, Gregory, take Cynthia Janice to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, from this day forward..."

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

How she had longed to hear those words.

The hoots and catcalls, all from Raymond's waitresses, burst through the silence of the chapel. Cindy looked at Martine and the crowd. Silhouetted by the setting sun through the wood-framed glass, she threw her arms around Greg and kissed her husband.

As wonderful as the food was, Cindy didn't remember what she had eaten. Her heart was full as Greg held her tightly through their first waltz. Her head rested against his shoulder and even when the music stopped, he refused to let her go. Six times a waltz was played but after the third one, they just stood there, holding one another.

Finally, it was time to cut the cake. Martine, true to her word, had created a magnificent white-frosted with orange roses dark chocolate cake. That first cut was photographed in color at her insistence. "Black and white," she had said, "was for everyone else."

Angie was walking to her car when she was approached by four men. She immediately tensed... then, relaxed. She was tired of her double life. "Hello, Elliot. I was wondering when you were going to arrest me."

"Angie, please come with us, quietly. We've a proposition you might like."



Smoke Dreams



Author's Note:

What you are about to read is a letter I wrote to a talented erotic story writer who posts his stories at a prominent smoking fetish forum. I penned the following smoking fetish autobiographical account originally as a response to private message he sent to me—a message within which he related a real-life story—an event that happened to him in high school. I am not posting that portion of the private message here because I don't have his permission to do so. 

Where this story does relate part of my own, very real, personal smoking fetish history, other aspects of this story involve elements of fantasy. 

At any rate: here is the response to my friend's hot high school story, within which I describe how a sick mind like my own came to be so bloody twisted.

GT

PS—Dear reader—I am aware that this particular slant of mine, concerning the smoking obsession, will not please everyone. After all, we are individuals, each with our own likes and dislike. However, differences in preference aside, what you are about to peruse is a descriptive narrative, a brief history concerning the evolution of my own personal devil.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wow! Pardon me while I wipe the drool from my chin. I wish I had a similar high school story to relate, but unfortunately, all through my impressionable years, including my high school years, I attended mid-Atlantic, east coast Italian parochial schools in NYC, as well as in the greater Philadelphia area. We had nuns and priests, with a light seasoning of sexually-active (I'm assuming) lay teachers. And even though we did have our own set of early age fantasy/fetish-building fuel going on around us, mostly due to the nature of the sexually repressive times in which we were living, along with the contributing religious factors involved within the community which I have just described, nothing like what you've related happen. At least, nothing like that ever happened to me, and to the best of my knowledge, to any of my cohorts. 

But I did grow up in those golden times during the late 50s through the early/mid 60s. It was an indescribably steamy time. These were the waning days of American society's ongoing sexual repression period—the days of innuendo. A time made hotter by the mere implication of sex. For me, as a young boy, this was also a period of time made hotter due to the fact that most women (well, at least most of the women I knew) smoked, and smoked very fervently! It was an era during which all sorts of advertising—both print media and broadcast media, and not to mention motion pictures—was liberally peppered with subliminally, if not blatantly suggestive images of women smoking. Little seemingly innocent, yet highly sexual scenarios and vignettes working themselves out—spinning their intoxicating, persuasive, pleasure-filled romance—up there for all to see, on the big screens, the little screens, on the billboards, and within the pages of magazines and newspapers. 

For me, the psychological connection between the sight of women smoking and sexual release was established quite early. This personally felt link between cigarettes and sex goes as far back as I can recall. Many years before the term "smoking fetish" was ever coined—or at the very least, before it was popularly used—the sight of women smoking aroused the beast within me. I cannot pinpoint with any degree of accuracy when this obsession began. But I can tell you that it is deeply seeded, and to this day, still very strong. 

Yes. Every time I've experience the sight, sounds and smells of women partaking, i.e. women lighting up, the sight and sound of the pop inhale as they take deep lung-expanding drags, and especially the beautifully arousing sight of said women exhaling their smoke in a pleasure-laced-but-totally-natural fashion—whether it was happening on TV, in movies, or in the flesh—my tent has pitched, and has always pitched big! And the aroma of the smoke after exiting their lungs—that tantalizing smell after the smoke has past through the portal of their lovely lips to permeate the air—is nothing less than heaven. It is like perfume to me! 

Where media was concerned, even when this "innocent" act was shown in a not-so-innocent way, or I should say 'especially' when it was shown that way, it weaved its magic spell for me. Do you know what I mean? It was during those instances when they would depict women playfully teasing men, using their cigarettes as props, while at the same time employing their smoking mannerisms with the intention of arousing and titillating. Ah...and the provocative look I would notice brewing in many a sexy femme fatales' eyes...those hot moments when these "loose" women were frequently shown naughtily blowing smoke into a man's face—that always had a devastating effect upon me! As a matter of fact, it still drives me insane. That sort of thing never fails to erect a granite-like statue in my pants. I guess that latter aforementioned element—the not-so-innocent portrayals of sexy vixens smoking—is part of what shaped the "darker" facet of my fetish. I'll describe what I meant by "darker" in greater detail, later on in this letter. 

As I said; through these early perceptions, much of my personal neuroticism surrounding this particular fetish was directly attributable to a seemingly ever-present element of sexuality and sophistication which very purposely underpinned all media production. Every time they depicted women smoking, it seemed to be done in such a way as to emphasize a developing or established character trait. Sometimes that sexuality and sophistication was presented in a somewhat wanton manner, while other times it was intended to just come across as innocent playfulness. Whatever the intent, it "worked" for me as a budding, seriously obsessed fetishist.

In those early days, the ever-present subliminally suggestive message seemed to translate clearly to the women in real life, as well. This included the women around me. Whether wittingly or unwittingly, these sexy sirens of my youth seemed to utilize this 'arrow in their quiver' by subtly applying their smoking as a sometimes useful method to attract, incite, or otherwise arouse the men around them. The 'incitement' aspect to their behavior is key to explaining what started to happen in my head early within my own personal smoking fetish history. 

You see, my sexy young Italian aunts, my older sister, along with many of my older cousins, and quite a number of their female friends, were early masturbatory fantasy fuel for my fevered adolescent brain. Watching them smoke, and then mentally filing those sexy images away for future devilish use, became a favorite sinful pastime. And therein, for me, is where the "dark" element began to take shape. Later, while beating off, I would access those files, and run the images in a movie of sorts for my pleasure. At first I would picture my sexy female relatives and their friends simply just smoking...dragging and blowing smoke. That would be enough to make the sperm fly against the bathroom wall, especially when I envisioned their exhales. For some reason, I started to time my explosive orgasm to specifically coincide with the hot images of their casually-executed exhales happening in my head. But then, this movie production became more and more elaborate. Other scenarios started to conjure in my fevered brain. I began to construct little themed plays, short but steamy performances, to enhance my hand jobs. I worked up little snatches of fictitious life-moments using different story lines. Which scenario I'd use would depend upon how I felt at that particular moment. 

One play was based on a general concept. Its plot point was built upon the consideration of a very strong possibility that these sexy women might be totally unaware of the affect their smoking was having on the men around them, especially young boys like me. The idea that they were completely oblivious to the oral sexual implications being communicated through their smoking was a hot point for me. In my heated thoughts, different men, totally aroused men desperately wanting release, would be popping stiff boners inside their trousers while watching these hot women dragging innocently on there cigarettes and then exhaling their smoke through provocatively pursed lips. Sometimes these actors would be nondescript males. Just indiscriminate sexually aroused bystanders, caught in their web of seductive behavior, breathing in their exhaled smoke. Sometimes they would be their boyfriends or husbands. And then there were those other times when I would step on stage as the totally teased, frustrated and overly-heated male. 

In other constructs of this masturbatory play, my aunts and cousins weren't being so innocent. I would imagine them behaving in a lascivious manner—naughtily teasing their subjects with their smoking—behaving like "bad girls," while pretending to act innocent. Their intent was clear; to entice and yes, actually incite a passionate, perhaps even an aggressive or impetuous reaction from the men around. However, during these sick little trashy scenarios, the teasing women at the center of my masturbation fantasy would end up getting something for which they hadn't really bargained. They would misjudge the intensity of their target male's reaction. Suddenly, and quite abruptly, they would have an "out-of-control," sexually-charged, aggressively dominate male to deal with, as well as having to cope with a situation beyond anything they could have imagine. You see, it didn't really matter which concept I used. While conjuring the final act, the outcome in these little fist-fuck vignettes always played out basically in the same way. Much to the ladies' chagrin, cum would be ejaculated and ejaculated hard. Where that ejaculated semen ended up depended on the situation. If my male subject was compelled to beat off in front of the hapless, smoking lady, warm, sticky sperm would be launched to splatter forcefully all over their surprised, distraught faces—with copious spurts shooting across their lips as they innocently blew smoke. Had I imagined my aunts or cousins being taken abruptly; these once in-control, smoking women would suddenly find themselves being forced to jack off the nondescript fellow's stiff dick (or my own) as a result of their incessant teasing. They would be pushed roughly to their knees while continuing the forced hand job on the fellow's stiff boner. Hot sperm would then either end up flying against their lips, again, lips poised in the middle of 'naturally' exhaling their teasing smoke, or all over their jacking fist, and all over the cigarette, which in my mind would be clutched between the fingers of their jacking hand, as well—that is if I had envisioned them doing the deed while sitting next to the subject (or me) on a couch. The though of these women holding their cigarettes between the fingers of the very same delicate hand being used to pump off the stiff, exploding dicks of men whose faces they were blowing smoke into, always produced the effect I so relished! I would be firing off right with these men, almost feeling and smelling the trashy smoke blowing into my own face.

The "forced-and-sudden-impetuous jack-off" scenario had some variations. Sometimes it would happen while both subjects were in an ordinary social setting, standing face to face. I'd imagine a conversation taking place between the two, a conversation within which the woman of my dreams talks innocently about "this-and-that." She's smoking, of course. But then, the innocent content of the conversation starts to change. By her encouragement, the tone and subject matter become progressively more seductive and teasing, as she steps closer to her male target. She's blowing smoke in the male subject's face on occasion, and he is getting more and more sexually aroused, more agitated. Then abruptly, out of the proverbial blue, she finds herself in 'the' predicament, as a result of her teasing. The male suddenly snaps. He hurriedly yanks down the zipper of his trousers, pulls his stiff boner out through the opening, and quickly forces her hand—the one holding the cigarette—to grasp his throbbing tool. He seizes her by the upper arms for a couple of reasons. One is to keep her hand in place, gripping his erection. Another is to communicate a threatening, menacing disposition. The ploy works, as she is now gasping in surprise and building fear. He emphasizes his agitated state by shaking her a bit. This in turn forces her hand to move back and forth over his stiff flesh. The confident expression leaves her face as this drastic turn of events unfolds, a situation spinning out from under the control she once had. He glares into her now distressed face. He growls in a voice choked with passion, barking at her to jerk him off. Through gritted teeth, he tells her to continue smoking and to keep blowing her smoke into his face. As per his order, frightened, she vigorously pumps his stiff, exposed flesh, periodically letting go of it to take drags from her cigarette. They are standing close to one another while this is happening, so when she does exhale, her smoke shoots straight into his face. Her exhales are full and forceful, making an accentuated 'whoosh' sound as she blows the smoke through sensuously parted lips. His hips pump more insistently and animalistic, each time she does this, until both of them are breathing hard into each others face. Of course, as usual, this play would end pretty much in the same manner. In the middle of one of her forced exhales, while her smoke is being blown straight into his face, hot sperm would be shooting into, as well as all over her hand. It would be shooting on her cigarette—because she is still being forced to jack him off with the same hand—and all over her clothes. Oh, and always clothed. Did I forget to mention that point? Both subjects of my dream would always be fully dressed, with the exception [sometimes] of the man's cock. In some cases, it would be "accidentally" shooting off within the confines of his pants, while much to her dismay; she is being forced to jerk him off that way. Then again, in other situations; the stiff appendage would be out in the open, jutting angrily from an open zipper in the midst of ejaculation. 



At times I would play out a scene involving one of my aunts, and the fictitious events that I imagine occurring during one of her visit to our home while my mom, dad and sister were out. Aunt Donna was my favorite. She was young, in her early 30s at the time. Her looks could only be described as "intensely sexual" and sultry. She quite resembled Mary Tyler Moore (Laura Petrie) during the "Dick Van Dyke Show" era of the early 1960s. A lot of women were intentionally trying to look like MTM through their choice of attire and hair style, but Aunt Donna didn't have to try as hard. She was striking! At five feet six inches, weighing in at about 112 pounds, she was magnificent to behold, with a figure fashioned by the gods—36-25-36. She had this particularly sexy pelvic tilt to her posture that drove me mad. Her bottom kind of jutted back slightly, all firm and inviting. When she wasn't wearing a dress, she always wore tight blouses, with tight, dark Capri-style pants, pants which accentuated her hips, and that inviting curve of her gluteus maximus. And her face...Oh god! If the other characteristic I've described weren't sexy enough, her face was her best feature! It was breath-taking. To me, her visage was sex itself! Gently-set dark brown "bedroom" eyes peered out from above smooth olive cheeks in a sort of quizzical look. The full, always lipstick-painted look of her lips—and the way her mouth was generally set—spelled "trouble" no matter what she was doing with them...whether she was smoking or not. To tell you the truth, I use to get erect just watching her eat! To me, Aunt Donna's face needed to be kissed constantly. And as imagined through my "dark" side, to me her face absolutely screamed to be coated in male juices—shot repeatedly upon by hot, teased cum spurting out forcefully from a stiff, angry dick! And that is just what would happen in my teen jack-off dream. 

In my jack off dream, Aunt Donna and I would be sitting across from one another at the kitchen table, chatting over cups of coffee. My aunt would be smoking constantly of course, while I spent most of my time trying my best to conceal a building lust and frustration within my demeanor from her scrutiny, not to mention struggling to shift the painfully stiff boner, which is pushing out my pants into a tent shape. At one point, I would imagine her accidentally blowing smoke into my face. In my fantasy I'd see those lipstick-painted lips forming the kiss-shaped exhale. I could almost feel the soft breeze as the cone of smoky air hit my face. I could vividly imagine the aroma of that intoxicating combination of perfume and lung-held smoke. The sentence I was in the middle of speaking is abruptly cut short. The room is eerily quiet with the exception of the sound of her exhale. While her smoke is streaming into my face, I gulp, stifling a moan. I am then fighting off the urge to stand up, close the short distance between us, and just shamelessly jack off my pants-covered dick right in her face! The silence is broken when she begins to sense an element of discomfort in my behavior, and asks me if I'm alright. I force out a reply, assuring her that I am. She smiles, and then cordially requests a refill for her cup. 

I rise from my chair, and her eyes immediately fall upon the protruding tent in my trousers. Another smile plays across her face as she brings the filter to her lips for another drag. I suddenly become motionless, uncomfortably aware of the fact that she has not only noticed my predicament, but she is staring unflinchingly right at the leaking head of my dick just as a wet spot begins to spread out across the straining fabric. She finishes her drag, and much to my amazement, my sexy aunt very casually blows her smoke right onto the obscene protrusion pushing out my pants. I almost cum right there in front of her, but manage to pull myself together enough to walk by her, cross the distance over kitchen floor in order to grab the coffee pot located on the counter just behind her. 

While I'm behind her and standing at the counter, I turn my head, watching her bring the cigarette up to her sexy lips for yet another drag. She can't see me at this point, because she is sitting in her chair, facing away from me. But had she decided to turn around in those few moments, her eyes would be met with a startling sight. Something snaps in my mind. I feel no longer in control of my actions. With my dick on the verge of belching out a load right in my pants, I unzip my trousers. I pull my aching cock out into the open and begin jacking it feverishly. As my aunt starts to exhale her smoke, I envision myself quickly walking around to her side, jerking off the whole time. Once there, standing at her left side, I shove my stiff boner directly across the front of my Aunt Donna's face, positioning it right there, in front of her lovely pursed, smoke-blowing lips. I'd imagine it bouncing obscenely up and down across the front of her face, throbbing out cum, and interrupting the path of her cone-shaped, propelled smoke, as one fresh pulse of semen after another begins firing across the kitchen table. I could see her soft lips, and almost feel the sensation of the rapidly moving smoke, powered by her warm breath, blowing against the surface of my exploding dick. Some massive spurts of semen shoot onto the table, while others land with an audible plop into her cup. But most of my sperm splatters across her lips and face during that deliciously nature exhale, while my aunt's facial expression changes from that of a casual appearance, to one of anguish and complete astonishment, as she realizes what is happening to her.




Smoke from a Distant Fire



Amy stepped on something hard. She had just toweled off from the shower, and she had left the bathroom to grab some clothes from her dresser when she felt it dig into the heel of her bare foot. It didn't feel sharp, but she definitely noticed when she put her weight on whatever it was. When she lifted her foot up, she felt it sticking to the sole. Gingerly, she stepped over to the bed and sat down to take a closer look at it.

It was a button. The sight of it made Amy smile-it had been over a month since Dawn's visit, but Amy was still finding buttons scattered about her bedroom from where Dawn had ripped her shirt open. Amy held the button between her thumb and forefinger, remembering the way that Dawn had pulled her blouse almost completely off in a moment of lust-filled abandon. Dawn had spent what seemed like forever playing with Amy's breasts that afternoon, stroking every inch of the smooth skin as she whispered mantras of surrender into Amy's pliant mind.

Amy stared at the button, but she wasn't really looking at it. She was thinking about how hard Dawn had made her come, just from touching her breasts. She was remembering the sensation of her nipples gathering into hard, tight buds underneath Dawn's fingers, the whispering tug as Dawn had pulled first one, then the other to attention. She was thinking about Dawn's voice commanding her, reaching deep down into her blank and empty mind and soothing it into mindless obedience. She was picturing herself, her eyes misted over with hypnotized bliss, repeating her mantras in a state of aching arousal as Dawn tweaked her stiff nipples over and over again.

Amy's fingers mimicked the motions she remembered so well, roaming over her own breasts in a slow tease as she gazed at the button. The memory felt so strong that she could lose herself in it, letting everything else fall away as she focused her eyes on the small white circle of plastic and drifted into an erotic reverie. It felt so hot to remember Dawn's control, overwhelming her completely and swamping her mind with vacant, docile bliss. It felt so sexy to flick her own nipples, first one, then the other, thinking of Mistress Dawn's commands and the way they were so hot, so sexy, so impossible to resist. It felt so good to realize that she was fixated completely on the small object between her fingers, that she was falling into a hypnotic trance staring at the button and she couldn't fight it. It felt so fucking fantastic to remember that this was exactly what she was programmed to do, and she was obeying perfectly.

Amy's eyes unfocused as her trance deepened, letting the pleasure slowly melt away all her thoughts. Her fingers caressed her breasts, but her hazy mind couldn't help imagining Dawn's hands on her body, Dawn's hands finding exactly where she needed to be touched and leaving her gasping with need. Amy shivered with arousal, staring at the button but no longer seeing anything at all. The fantasy had become so complete now that she no longer noticed her surroundings at all.

Amy could feel her pussy growing slick with desire. She was going to need another shower after this, but that didn't matter. There was nothing urgent she needed to do, so she could sink deeply into Dawn's control just like she was programmed to do and allow all her thoughts to drain out of her mind into her horny slavecunt. She could give in completely to her brainwashing and follow the commands of her Mistress. She could obey, so she would obey. She always obeyed. The button fell from her limp and unresisting fingers and rolled off into a corner of the room.

Amy stood up, both her hands now caressing her tingling breasts, and walked over to her computer. She spread her towel over the computer chair, then sat down and booted up the computer, taking her fingers away from her tits only when necessary. Once she was logged in, she launched Skype. She clicked on her contact list and after a few moments, she heard a familiar voice on the other end of the line. "Hi, Amy!" Dawn said, sounding overjoyed to hear from her. "What do you need?"

What Amy needed was a good hard fuck, but instead she heard herself say in surprisingly normal tones, "Oh, I just found another button. Is now a good time?"

There was a slight pause, and then Dawn responded with, "This is a good time, pet. Go ahead and turn on the webcam." Amy reached up and pressed a button on the small webcam mounted on top of her monitor. She didn't remember seeing it before, and her pussy surged with heat at the realization that Dawn's hypnotic control had prevented her from noticing it. It had been there ever since Dawn's visit, but Amy's waking self had looked at it dozens of times without ever seeing it. Because Dawn had told her to forget about it, and she had obeyed like a good girl should. That felt so fucking hot to Amy right now. It felt even hotter to realize that she'd had this exact realization a dozen times before, and had forgotten it every single time on waking.

"There we go, pet," Dawn said. Her icon switched over to a live feed from a webcam of her own, showing her leaning back in her computer chair wearing a flowery dress that was already hiked up to her waist. "It's so nice to see you like this. You're so deep already, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," Amy said, lightly pulling on her nipples as she spoke. She could see, in the lower corner of the screen, a smaller image of herself moving in time to her actions. The sight of herself, staring unseeing into the camera and fondling her tits in mindless devotion, caused a wave of tingling heat to course through her pussy.

"Good girl," Dawn purred. She rubbed her cunt lightly through her panties. "You're obeying so well, pet. Just like I told you to. Your deep self knew just what to do, didn't it?"

"Yes, Mistress," Amy replied. The sound of her own hypnotized voice sent her even deeper into trance. "Whenever I find a button on the floor, it puts me into a deep, obedient trance for you as long as it is safe to do so. I must call you whenever I find a button and go into trance." As she spoke the words, she could hear Dawn repeating them to her on the last day of her visit. "My waking self does not remember because it does not need to remember. It feels good when you give my waking self permission to forget the things it does not need to remember, because I am a good girl and I obey."

"Good girl!" Dawn's rubbing had become a little more insistent. "Stand up for me now, pet."

Amy stood up from her chair, taking a step or two back in order to make sure that her Mistress had a good view of her body. Her hands hadn't left her breasts since the moment she turned on the webcam, and the individual tingles of pleasure had long ago merged into a slow, rolling wave of sensual heat that flowed through her body over and over again. "I obey," she responded in sleepy tones, with only the pitch of her voice giving away her arousal.

"Good pet," Dawn said. The arousal in her voice was clear and unmistakable. "Tell me, pet...how many times have you masturbated since we last talked?"

Amy's waking self thought the last time they'd talked was a week ago, when they'd spent an hour on the phone together gossiping about politics, but her deep self knew better. "Seven," she said.

"In three days?" Dawn grinned wickedly. "Sounds like you've been a very horny little slut, haven't you?"

Amy clenched her thighs together, feeling the heat spike in her pussy. "Yes, Mistress," she said. It was absolutely true-ever since Dawn's visit, Amy's libido had gone into overdrive. She'd jilled off every single night since then thinking of one moment or another during their sex-filled weekend, and most mornings as well. It was part of why they'd decided to try giving a long-distance relationship a go-they had both agreed that missing out on sex that good was just fucking stupid. And even if Amy's waking mind didn't remember every single time Dawn played with her, Dawn made sure it remembered enough of them to keep her happy. And pretty much constantly turned on.

Dawn's fingers crept inside the waistband of her panties. "Keep playing with your nipples, pet," she said, "and tell me what you were thinking of all those times you masturbated."

Amy's fingers moved quicker now, stimulating her breasts even more vigorously at Mistress Dawn's command. "i was thinking about your pussy, Mistress," she said. She could hear her voice growing more distant as she drifted into the memory. "i was thinking about kneeling between your thighs, inhaling your scent and getting weaker and dizzier as i breathed it in."

Dawn's fingers pumped away inside her panties, pistoning in and out of her cunt. It was the sexiest thing Amy could possibly imagine right now. "Just like a drug," she said, her voice unsteady with pleasure. "Every time you breathe in my pussy scent, it gets harder and harder to resist me, doesn't it?"

"uh-huh," Amy whimpered, her fingers working her into such a state of arousal now that she could barely think to respond at all. "And when i get so weak that i can't resist any more, i have to lick..." She could feel a trickle of moisture gathering along her labia, her juices slowly leaking out of her as her arousal built. "i have to taste, i can't resist, it's so good to give in and obey and the taste of Mistress Dawn's pussy makes me even more obedient."

"Good girl," Dawn gasped. Her panties were visibly damp. "Play with your pussy for me now. Don't stop talking."

Amy's right hand slid down between her thighs, slipping over the slick pussy lips and diving into her soaked quim. "i...ohhhh! Every time, in the fantasy, i lose myself between your thighs, i lose my will to the scent and the taste of your pussy, it's so fucking hot, Mistress, it's so fucking sexy to be your pussygirl and worship your cunt with my tongue and in my mind, i just stay there forever, licking and licking and ofuck ofuck feels so good so hot so sexy to be your fucktoy, your obedient fucking fucktoy..." Her thumb ran restlessly over her clit, sliding over it again and again as her words dissolved into a stream-of-consciousness babble of lust. The sight of her Mistress masturbating blended into the fantasy seamlessly until she was no longer sure which was which.

Dawn's voice was a growl of sexual heat now. "Oh, fuck yes, you love it when I ride your face, you love it every time I pull you down to lick me like the obedient slut you are, good little pussygirl, my good little clit-sucking pussygirl oh oh fuck coming coming come for me good girl OH!"

Amy felt it then, the rush of pleasure flashing through her that she always got when Mistress came. The orgasm she'd been programmed to have every time Mistress came, bursting inside her head and triggering the orgasm her body had been waiting for. She felt herself coming over and over, her knees shaking at the overwhelming burst of ecstasy but not buckling because Mistress had commanded her to stand and she was a good girl, she obeyed, coming was obedience and standing was obedience and obedience was pleasure and she obeyed perfectly and perfect obedience was perfect pleasure and that was everything she was feeling right now oh oh OH!" She didn't know when she realized she was saying it out loud while she came, but the realization made her come all over again.

"Good girl," Dawn panted, "good girl, good girl..." She slowly withdrew her fingers from her panties, shivering slightly at the sensation. "Ohhh...you have pleased me very well, pet. I'm going to reward you now. Go and get my cock."

Amy moved with somewhat unsteady steps over to her bedside table and took a royal blue vibrator out of the drawer. She grabbed a small tube of lubricant as well, and turned back to the computer. "I have your cock, Mistress."

"Good girl," Dawn said. "Start recording, pet."

"Yes, Mistress," Amy responded. She went back to the computer and pressed a button, activating the 'Record' feature on the webcam. She sat down in her computer chair, spreading her legs as wide as they would go. "I obey."

"You obey," Mistress Dawn said, leaning forward so that her face filled her chat window. "Look deep into my eyes, pet. You obey."

"I obey," Amy said. She felt herself slowly sinking into Mistress Dawn's eyes, her thoughts pulled down into them like they were an endless tunnel.

"You belong to me," Mistress Dawn said. Her voice was firm, compelling. It didn't even sound like a command to Amy; it was simply a description of inescapable truth. Everything Mistress Dawn said was true.

"I belong to you," Amy said. She squeezed out a palmful of lube and began slowly stroking Dawn's cock, reverently worshipping it with her fingers. It was the only toy she was allowed to use anymore, and that only when she begged. One night Dawn had made her stare at it for a full hour, chanting, "I love your cock, I worship your cock" until time had lost all meaning.

"Your will belongs to me," Dawn said. Her eyes seemed to expand to fill Amy's entire world.

"My will belongs to you," Amy responded. She no longer thought about what she was saying. Whatever Mistress Dawn said was true. All she needed to do was repeat it.

"You love it when I program you like this," Dawn said. Amy could hear the arousal in her voice, but it was perfectly controlled.

"I love it when you program me like this," Amy responded. She could feel the towel beneath her getting wet, and she realized distantly that she was unbelievably turned on right now, but she was so deeply hypnotized that she couldn't focus on anything but Mistress Dawn's eyes.

"You are completely open to my commands," Dawn said. Amy's vision had become so unfocused now that it looked to her like Dawn had three eyes instead of two. On some level, she was aware that it was just a trick of perspective, but it almost felt like a mystic experience. It was as if that third eye only appeared when Amy was so deep in trance that she was nothing but an extension of Dawn's will. Amy loved that.

"I am completely open to your commands," Amy responded. Her mouth was slightly parted, and she could feel a tiny trickle of drool at the corner of her lips. Her body felt impossibly heavy, like the only way she could move was if Dawn commanded it.

"Good girl," Dawn said with a smile. "Put my cock inside you, pet."

"Yes, Mistress," Amy responded, slowly sliding the slick vibrator into her pussy. She was so wet she probably didn't even need the lube; she could feel Dawn's cock going into her as easily and effortlessly as if she were made of butter. "I...oh...I obey." 

"Good girl," Dawn replied. "You know what to do."

Amy turned the vibrator on. "I love your cock," she chanted, as the buzzing sensation thrummed all the way through her pussy. "I worship your cock." Dawn simply nodded, her eyes glittering darkly with arousal.

"I love your cock," Amy moaned, the words etched into her mind by hours of repetition. "I worship your cock." She felt her pussy clench around the soft silicone, transmitting the vibrations straight to her clit. Her hands moved back to her breasts and began to rub.

"I love your cock," Amy said again, the words now coming out in a slurred and unsteady whimper. "I worship your cock." She knew she was close to coming, because Dawn had programmed her to feel unbelievable pleasure whenever she had Dawn's cock inside her, but she had to wait. She had to wait until she had permission to come. Mistress Dawn controlled her pleasure completely, and Amy was a good girl. She would wait.

"I love...your cock," she gasped. It was hard to breathe without panting. "I...worship...your cock." It was hard to speak. It was hard to think. Everything melted away except for Dawn's hypnotic eyes and Dawn's hypnotic cock. Her nipples felt like tiny pebbles under her fingers now, and she could smell her own arousal as it leaked out around the vibrator.

"I...love...love your, unnnh...your cock," Amy groaned, so deep and aroused now that she had trouble even keeping her mantra straight. "Worship, I...I worship your cock oh..." It felt like her brain was skipping beats now, like the throb in her clit was so intense that it blanked her mind every few seconds and forced her to start over. The pressure to break down and beg Mistress Dawn to allow her to come was like a physical weight on her tongue, but she couldn't remember how to say anything anymore except for the words she'd been commanded to say.

"I love your cock, I worrrrrship..." The clit-throb caught her mid-word, mangling it into a moan of desire that only Mistress Dawn would understand. She was openly drooling now, her mind so lost in obedience that she didn't even notice let alone care. "...cock..." she gasped out, no longer able to form a whole sentence.

"Good girl," Mistress Dawn said. "COME."

The command hit her like a sledgehammer. Her pussy squeezed the vibrator tightly, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she came. "love your cock worship your cock love worship love worship OH!" she babbled, the mantra transformed by bliss into pure and undeniable truth. All she could think about, in that endless instant of orgasm, was the power of it. The pleasure was overwhelming, unbelievable, beyond anything any other lover could ever give her. And it all flowed from Mistress Dawn's will. How could she not worship that?

It felt like ages before she finally came down from her peak. She switched off the vibrator with trembling fingers and slowly, carefully pulled it out. Each centimeter of motion felt like it triggered its own aftershock of pleasure, to the point where it was almost more than she could stand. "Th-thank you, Mistress," she gasped out, her voice shaky with exhaustion.

"You're welcome, pet," Dawn said, her smile gently conveying the aftercare she could not give physically. "I love you."

"Love you...too," Dawn sighed peacefully. She realized her eyes were shut, but she couldn't open them right now. All she could do was bask in the heady mix of afterglow and trance, too drunk on endorphins to even move.

"In a moment," Dawn said, "when you are fully recovered, you will stop the recording. You will edit out these instructions and then email a copy of it to yourself, then wake. Your waking self will not notice the email until you get home from work tomorrow. As soon as you notice it, you will feel compelled to watch it and masturbate to orgasm. Your waking self will not remember where the recording came from, but you will find that exciting and sexually arousing. It is always very erotic to you whenever you realize that your Mistress has enough power over you to make you do things and forget them."

"...erotic...power..." Amy felt too drowsy to do more than mumble a few words, but the instructions sank into her sleepy mind with perfect clarity. She knew she would obey, and she knew it would feel so good to be so helplessly obedient. Her clit twitched with another aftershock of pleasure at the thought.

"Good girl," Dawn said. Amy could almost feel the way Dawn stroked her cheek with pride. "Obey." The call disconnected with a low beep, and Amy's eyes opened as she began to follow her instructions. Mistress may have been thousands of miles away physically, but Amy felt a warm glow as she realized Dawn was never further than the next command.

THE END



Smoke from an Old Flame



Amy jumped out of her seat the second she saw Dawn come down the escalator into the baggage claim area, looking as though she hadn't aged a day in the last three years. "Dawn! Dawn Louise Gracen!" she called out, unable to stop a trace of her old accent from creeping in. She hadn't been back to North Carolina since the day she graduated from Chapel Hill, but somehow seeing Dawn made the time fall away.

She got to the bottom of the escalator just after Dawn did, and enfolded her old friend in a ferocious hug. "Aren't you just a sight for sore eyes," she said warmly.

Dawn leaned into the hug, returning the embrace with an equal intensity. "And they are sore," she whispered into Amy's ear. "They're simply aching with the effort of keeping them open, when you know how badly you want to let them slip shut and sink deep into a soft, obedient trance like the good girl you are. The strain makes your beautiful brown eyes burn and your eyelids flutter, makes you sag into my soft, warm body for support...because you're so sleepy now, so deeply exhausted that you don't know how you can possibly stand on your own. You want to sink down, deeper down, helpless to my will all over again, my beautiful good girl."

Amy didn't have time to realize just how much she'd been hoping Dawn would do this to her over the weekend. She didn't have time to realize just how much she'd missed this feeling since the day she and Dawn ended things. She didn't even have time to meet Dawn's deep, storm-blue eyes with her own. The wash of drowsiness, arousal and nostalgia swept through her so quickly that all she could do was let out a tiny sigh and lean gently into her old lover's arms in a way that only a very interested observer would recognize as a slump.

"That's right, pretty girl," Dawn whispered, the tickle of breath on Amy's ear sending tiny shivers down her spine. "You're so well trained. I'm so proud of you. It didn't even take you an instant to remember exactly what you were programmed to do." She reached down and took Amy's hand in her own, lifting it only slightly before letting it drop down to her side. Amy sighed deeply, remembering all the times when the sensation of her arm dropping anchored her even deeper into the endless, whirling trance.

Amy felt her other arm slip helplessly down, leaving her held in Dawn's arms. It made her feel deliciously helpless, and her head dropped another fraction of an inch as she felt herself losing the will to hold it up. Dawn's long blonde hair brushed against Amy's nose, and she inhaled deeply to catch the other woman's scent. She was shocked at just how familiar it was-three years hadn't dimmed the memory of it even a little. "No need to think, beautiful sweet girl. All you need to do is remember and obey, and remembering makes it so much easier to obey." Amy felt her nipples harden with every slow, lazy breath, and she swayed just slightly against Dawn in an effort to feel the other woman's body against hers.

"Not just yet, beautiful," Dawn said before the sway could become a grind. Amy heard the smile in her voice. Her body stopped moving in response to the command. "Not with so many people. Soon, my good girl, you can sink deeper and feel everything. You want that, don't you, my blank and obedient pet?"

Amy murmured a "yes" in response. It came out mostly as a whimper, but she knew Dawn would understand. Dawn had gotten very used to interpreting Amy's moans and whimpers over the course of their relationship, and she clearly hadn't forgotten a thing since they last saw each other.

"Good girl," Dawn whispered in her ear. "Eyes open, now, still in deep trance." Amy's eyelids drifted upward, but her mind couldn't really process anything she saw. The only thing that she was really aware of was Dawn's words in her ear and Dawn's hand holding hers.

"Walk with me, pet," Dawn said. Reluctantly, Amy broke the embrace, and followed along behind Dawn's gently tugging hand. "Where are you parked?" Dawn asked.

"C4, Red Lot," Amy sighed out. It seemed so easy to answer Dawn's questions, so easy to follow her commands. Only thinking for herself or moving of her own volition felt like an impossible effort right now. She felt dreamily passive, perfectly willing to act only on command even though she wanted to tackle Dawn to the ground right there in the airport and grind against her until they both came so fucking hard...

"Good girl," Dawn said, interrupting Amy's train of thought like a hand brushing through a spider web. "Follow."

Amy followed. She felt as though time melted away with each step like the last three years were nothing but a dream, and she was waking again to the inexorable truth: Dawn was her Mistress, and Amy obeyed. Amy could do nothing but obey. Amy was Dawn's perfect good girl, her hot and horny pleasureslut, and everything else was just a flight of fancy.

It had seemed so sensible at the time. They were both being responsible adults; with Amy taking a demanding production job in New York, and Dawn jumping into an editorial post for the Austin Chronicle, it just didn't seem workable to carry on a relationship. Both of them knew the commitments their new jobs would require, and both of them had always been ambitious and devoted to journalism. That passion had drawn them together to begin with. It had seemed like the right thing to do, parting as friends and enjoying the memories of their time as lovers.

But now? Now Amy couldn't imagine how she'd endured three minutes without feeling like this, let alone three years. Her hand felt feverish where it touched Dawn's, and only Dawn's control kept Amy from fingering herself right there in the elevator as it descended towards the parking ramp. Amy had no self-control at all; she had blissfully given every bit of control up to her Mistress in the instant Dawn spoke to her again. She ached for Dawn's touch on her nipples, Dawn's tongue on her clit. It was all she could think about.

Dawn made sure of that. "You're going to come so hard," she whispered in Amy's ear. She grabbed Amy's dark brown hair-shorter than the last time they were together but still long enough to get her fingers through-and pulled Amy in for a slow, lascivious kiss. Amy quivered with arousal and her eyelids almost fluttered shut again despite her Mistress' command. "I hope that townhouse of yours has very thick walls, little pleasureslut, because I'm going to make you scream all night long. We both know that hot, tight, sexy little quim of yours has been doing all the thinking for you ever since you laid those sleepy eyes on me, and I'm going to give it the good, hard fucking it needs."

Amy couldn't help herself; she let out a low, husky moan that gave away her undisguised lust to anyone within earshot. But the only person who heard was Dawn, and her only response was to grin wickedly and graze her lips across Amy's earlobe. "Good girl," she said as the elevator doors opened. "Good girl."

The walk through the parking lot lasted an agonizing eternity for Amy. She felt like her clothing had become too tight. The urge to pull it off was almost unbearable. Her thoughts circled endlessly around memories of night after night of relentless pleasure, unsure whether she was remembering or fantasizing all the different ways that Dawn drew out every ounce of sensation from her body. She had no idea how long it was before they finally made it to the car. She waited for Dawn to wake her so they could drive home, but instead Dawn guided her around to the passenger side.

"...drive?" Amy muttered, her hazy mind unable to express her confusion in anything more than the simplest terms. Her fingers fumbled for the keys more out of instinct than anything else.

"I memorized the directions, pet," Dawn replied, gently prising the car keys from Amy's unresisting fingers. "You're not going to spend a second out of trance, love, not until I will it. And this isn't worth waking over. Is it, pet?"

Amy let out a sigh of relief. "...no," she responded. It felt so good to respond. It felt so good to sink into the passenger seat once Dawn opened the door for her. It felt so good to relax into the cushion, her body freed of all its demands and allowed to rest completely at last.

Dawn's body brushed sensually against hers as the other woman buckled Amy into her seat. Amy felt the erotic warmth, and heard the click. Her body bucked briefly against the restraints, reveling in the tightness and the pressure that reminded her that she couldn't move freely anymore and it was by Mistress' will. Amy moaned openly now, no longer caring if anyone heard her in the brief moments before the door closed.

She heard more than saw the passenger door slam shut, and the driver's side door open and shut again a few moments later. The engine started, but before the car shifted into gear, Dawn reached over and held Amy's wrist in her hand for a long moment. She lifted Amy's limp arm, then pulled back Amy's skirt to reveal her already-moist panties. "Just the way I want you, my sweet little slut," Dawn said. "Deep and helpless and aroused..." She placed Amy's hand against her own crotch. "And frozen."

Amy whimpered as the command took effect. She could feel the heat and dampness slowly soaking through the sheer fabric onto her fingers, but she couldn't move a muscle. Dawn pressed down a little, so that Amy's hand pressed against her sensitive pussy hard enough to turn her on even more, but not nearly hard enough to come close to satisfy her growing lust. She felt the vibrations of the engine as the car started up, but the motion just drove her even wilder with need.

"Eyes closed, pet," Dawn said. Amy didn't even remember closing them. She just knew that at some point, she must have obeyed. "Deeper and deeper. Lost in my power. Lost in my will. Surrendering so completely now." Amy felt Dawn's fingers flickering across her skin, brushing the sensitive flesh of her thighs and caressing her neck. "And it's so easy. Your resistance already flowing out of your sweet pretty slavecunt onto your fingers, fingers that obey my commands so perfectly..."

It said a lot about how strong Dawn's hold over her was, even after all these years, that Amy's hips remained still. In her mind, they bucked and thrusted involuntarily under the surges of arousal that Dawn's words awoke, but her body remained perfectly still. The desire and need poured out through her mouth instead, as she groaned with reckless abandon.

"Good girl!" Dawn cooed, her touch tracing its way down Amy's earlobe and tickling its way down Dawn's jawline. "Good, good girl. So needy, so lost in arousal. Just the way I want you, little pleasureslut. You're going to be so horny by the time I finally let you come. Your mind is going to leak right out of your slutty pussy. You're going to beg me to bring you off again and again and again..."

Dawn reached out and tweaked Amy's nipples, and her groans turned to yelps. "And do you know what, pleasureslut?" Dawn said. "I just might do that. I just might make you come for me until you beg me to stop. What do you think of that, my sweet girl?"

"Nnnnh!" Amy wasn't sure if she was really supposed to answer, and any answer she might have had vanished in a swirl of pleasure as Dawn lifted Amy's hand up to chest height, then let it drop back down onto her sensitive pussy with an audible smack. The jolt of sudden, intense sensation almost triggered her first orgasm right there in the car, but Amy was too well-trained to come without permission.

The sudden understanding of just how easily she'd fallen back into obedience triggered another dizzying dance along the edge of orgasm before Amy settled back into her haze of arousal. She realized that she was openly panting now. She wondered loosely how much longer the car ride was going to be. Time didn't have any meaning anymore, except for the wait to be naked and horny before her Mistress and that was never going to be short enough.

Dawn slipped her hand inside Amy's panties for just a moment, eliciting a squeal of pleasure as she slid them along slick and slippery flesh, then she just as quickly withdrew them. A moment later, Amy breathed in the scent of her own juices. "Smell that, pet," Dawn husked out. "Breathe in your own arousal and let yourself spiral deeper and deeper into it. Every breath makes your pussy wetter and wetter, and the more aroused you get the more mindless you get, and the more mindless you become the more aroused you are. So hot, so slick, so wet, your clit aching for my touch..."

Amy didn't know that she was drooling until Dawn wiped it away from the corner of her mouth. Her fingers brushed across Amy's lips, and Amy sucked at them eagerly. Her own salty taste made her pussy surge with heat. "Soon, my sweet slut," Dawn whispered in Amy's ear. "Soon." There was a clicking sound, and Amy felt the seat belt release. The car had stopped at some point. Amy didn't know when.

"Eyes open and follow," Dawn said, taking her hand. Amy's eyelids fluttered upward again, her eyes even more glassy and unfocused than before. The car door was open, and Dawn stood outside; Amy tried for a moment to remember when that had happened, but it was too much like work to think. It didn't matter. If her Mistress had wanted her to know, she would have told her. The only important thing was to obey.

Amy drifted to her feet and followed Dawn out of the garage. At Dawn's prompting, she pointed out the key that unlocked the door leading to the interior of the house. At Dawn's command, she mumbled out directions to the bedroom. The throb in her pussy almost drowned out the sound of her voice in her own ears.

Dawn guided her to the bed and sat her down. Then she brushed her hand over Amy's eyes, and they slipped shut gratefully. "Good girl," Dawn said. "You obeyed perfectly." Amy shivered all over.

Amy sat there for a long moment, reveling in her own helplessness. She felt totally passive, utterly without will. Her clothes felt unbearably constricting, and she longed for the moment when Dawn would command her to strip...or when she ripped Amy's clothes off herself.

Even that was proof of her submission. Dawn could keep her like this for hours if she wanted, trembling with arousal and unable to even move without being commanded. She could make Amy watch, eyes open as Dawn pleasured herself. She could hold Amy like this forever if she desired.

It made Amy so fucking hot. She felt sexier fully clothed in front of Dawn than she had naked in front of some of her other lovers. She wanted so bad to be naked, but at the same time her desire to obey was greater still.

"Good girl," Dawn whispered. Her fingers tangled into Amy's hair, drawing Amy's head down to her chest. Amy's mouth opened wide as Dawn's nipple brushed against her lips, then closed once more as she began to suckle. "So helpless now, can't even speak, can't possibly resist because all you can do is listen and suck..." Amy moaned loudly into Dawn's breast.

"Can't resist the power of my hypnotic breasts, pleasureslut. Feel how they make you hot...and slick...and wet..." Amy felt Dawn's hands hooking into the waistband of her panties, peeling away the damp fabric to leave her sticky, dark thatch of pubic hair open to the cool air. "Every word I speak goes deep into your sleepy mind, programming you to be more and more obedient. More and more helpless. More and more mine."

Amy felt Dawn's fingers slide deep into her slick pussy, and she groaned her pleasure into Dawn's titflesh. She clenched around them hungrily, greedily, but she was so wet that they pushed in and out with almost no resistance. "This is mine." Dawn's hand cupped Amy's vulva possessively, one finger pistoning in and out. Amy's moan was a sustained howl now, muffled only by Dawn's heavy breasts. "I own it." The heel of Dawn's hand ground rhythmically against Amy's clit. "Just like I own you."

Amy gasped out her agreement, but it only came out as a muffled grunt around Dawn's deliciously stiff nipple. Her tongue slid ceaselessly over the warm, moist flesh, her mouth opened wide to suckle at as much of Dawn's breast as she could. "Good girl," Dawn husked out, still pumping her finger into Amy's cunt. "Feel all your resistance leaking out of that slutty pussy onto my fingers. You can't resist me, can you?"

Amy's eyes flew open as Dawn tugged sharply backwards at Amy's hair, pulling her free of Dawn's breast. "Can you?" she repeated.

"No, Mistress," Amy panted, her response utterly instinctual. She didn't know how to think anymore, only agree.

"Good girl," Dawn said. Her smile was almost cruel. "Come."

Amy's grunts dissolved into a high, wordless shriek as her body shook in the throes of a powerful orgasm. She heard Dawn whispering in her ears, but her mind couldn't register the words. All she could do was feel the pleasure that gripped her like a giant fist and refused to let go. Every time she thought she was going to calm down, Dawn's hand stimulated her pussy and she hit another crescendo of bliss. She didn't know how long she came. She didn't know what Dawn programmed her with while she squealed in helpless delight. All she knew was that she was coming and coming and coming and it felt so fucking good!

And then Dawn's fingers slid out of her cunt, triggering another peak of shivery bliss as they left. Amy felt herself sink even deeper into trance as the dreamy afterglow merged with the blank emptiness of hypnosis, leaving her even more malleable to Dawn's will. Just like Dawn had planned. Just like Amy had ached for. She sat on the bed, swaying slightly. Only Dawn's control held her upright and prevented her from slumping onto the mattress. She stared straight ahead, seeing nothing.

Then Dawn ripped open Amy's blouse and pulled it down to her wrists, scattering buttons all over the room and trapping Amy's hands behind her back.

"Look what I found," Dawn said, her voice alight with wicked glee. She deftly unhooked Amy's bra and pulled it free, throwing it to the floor with heedless abandon. "My sweet little slut's beautiful breasts. You missed the way I touch them, didn't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," Amy purred out, her head lolling as Dawn stroked the soft flesh of her tits. Her eyelids fluttered as Dawn's fingernails traced their way down the silky skin to halt teasingly just at the edge of Amy's aureolae.

"Good girl," Dawn said. "You were born for this. Born to obey. Born to be mine."

"...born to be yoursss..." Amy's mouth hung open, her words slurred as a trickle of drool ran down the corner of her mouth. The endless teasing touches were melting her mind, leaving her floating in pleasure. It felt different from before, less needy; the first orgasm had taken the edge off of her hunger for sex, but in its place it left a mellow blankness that felt irresistible. Amy felt so utterly passive now that she couldn't even remember what thinking felt like. All she wanted to do was accept, comply, submit.

Dawn ran her fingers slowly, teasingly along Amy's collarbone. Slowly, they traced their way down the sensitive flesh to caress Amy's breasts again, then departed. Amy shivered, feeling her nipples tighten in anticipation. "I own these, too, beautiful. Don't I?"

"yes, Mistress," Amy replied blankly. She'd forgotten how deep Dawn could take her. She'd forgotten how open she could be, listening to Dawn's words and feeling them settle into her empty mind like a blanket of snow settling over an empty field. Every thought was covered with Mistress' will, enfolding her mind with perfect totality.

"Good girl," Dawn said, stroking rapidly along the pale expanse of Amy's breasts again and again until Amy gasped with the bliss of it. There were no distractions from the pleasure. There was no escape from it. All Amy could do was feel. She didn't even think about obedience anymore; she only obeyed. "You obey."




Smoke from an Old Flame



"i obey." The words were automatic. Amy didn't think about them at all.

"You obey." Dawn punctuated the words with a brief suck at Amy's left nipple, just long enough for her to register the warmth and the wetness.

"i obey," Amy sighed out. The pleasure felt like a fog, thickening all around her. Every time she breathed in, she inhaled the trance and the obedience and the pleasure. It became a part of her, as though her erogenous zones now extended far beyond her actual skin.

"You obey." This time, the right nipple received Dawn's blessing. The hot, wet kiss lingered longer this time, building Amy's arousal even further. She felt herself leaking onto the bedspread, her wetness obvious to her Mistress' gaze.

"i obey," she repeated. She didn't know how many times she'd said it. She felt timeless, as though her past had joined her body in fading into the endless haze of pleasure. It kept getting thicker, stronger, almost obscuring her vision completely now. Her eyes were wide open, but all she could see was the fog in her mind.

"You obey." Dawn reached back and twisted the improvised bonds that held her wrists, tugging at them-not painfully, just enough to remind her that she was held. That she was helpless. That she was bound.

"i obey," Amy whimpered. It wasn't until she heard her own voice, trembling with arousal, that she realized how close to orgasm she really was. Dawn gently caressed Amy's breasts again, holding the blouse tighter as Amy felt her body begin to shudder involuntarily.

"You obey." Both of Dawn's hands moved to Amy's breasts, now. She flicked at Amy's nipples, each touch drawing another tiny whimper from Amy's throat. Amy had long ago lost track of her surroundings. The world had narrowed to her Mistress' touch...or perhaps Mistress' touch encompassed her entire world. She didn't know the difference anymore.

"i obeyyyy..." Amy heard her speech slurring now, and knew that the pleasure had built to the ragged edges of orgasm. Her head swayed back, sank forward, but she didn't notice. All she knew was how good she felt. All she knew was that endless touch, those tiny kitty licks along the flesh of her breasts. She couldn't come yet, she knew that with the same certainty that she knew she couldn't fly or breathe underwater, but the pleasure kept growing and growing beyond anything she could bring to herself. Alone, she would have lost control ages ago, going over the edge into orgasm. But Mistress could keep her here, in this haze of bliss that was somehow beyond orgasm, forever if She chose. Because Amy obeyed.

"You obey." It felt like Dawn was reading her mind, when she spoke the words. Amy experienced an almost religious awe at Mistress' understanding of her, at Mistress' power over her. Amy's entire being belonged to Mistress. Amy's entire world had become Mistress. She was exactly what Mistress wanted her to be, a pure and perfect slave to the ultimate devotion and pleasure that engulfed her. She was the pleasure and it was her, just as Mistress wanted it.

"I obey!" Amy heard the desperation in her own voice, the ache for a final consummation of the endless bliss. "I...obey! I...obey! I...obey!" The words spilled out, an endless babble of mindless obedience that Amy could only pray met with her Mistress' approval. "I...obey! I...obey!" Each word took up its own breath as Amy gasped again and again, her arousal so deep and complete that she panted helplessly. And always, endlessly, Mistress caressed her sensitive flesh almost past the point of endurance. Her fingers knew just when to brush at Amy's nipples, when to slowly trace along the skin of her tits. Mistress no longer needed to remind her of the bonds. Amy felt them constantly as she writhed helplessly on the bed.

"Good girl," Dawn said at last. Amy didn't know how many times she'd repeated her mantra. It was ingrained into her mind now like a channel carved by a river through soft earth. "Good girl. Come."

The words were punctuated with a firm, almost painful grip on Amy's nipples, a final and intense stimulation that combined with Mistress' command to send Amy over the edge into ultimate ecstasy. Everything blurred and tightened into a starburst of pleasure that radiated from her breasts deep down into her pussy, making her clit throb in orgasm without even being touched. Amy didn't know how long the orgasm lasted. Time had stopped so that she could feel it for as long as Mistress wanted. She skimmed from one peak to the next without even noticing the troughs, aware of nothing but touch. It was only when she finally came down that she felt the hoarseness in her voice and realized she'd been screaming. It was only when she slumped into Dawn's arms that she realized that every muscle in her body had been tensed with bliss. It was only when she spiraled down into deeper darkness that she realized her eyes had closed.

She might have lay there for minutes or hours. Deep trance slipped so easily into light sleep that Amy wasn't even sure if she was awake. The next thing she remembered was a plastic straw being pressed to her mouth. "Drink, pet," Dawn cooed in her ear, and Amy sat up just a little so that she could sip gratefully at what turned out to be ice water.

"Good girl," Dawn whispered, petting Amy's hair gently as she drank. "We have to make sure you stay hydrated, don't we? You're gushing all over the place, and there's so much more pleasure to come...and that lovely mouth has so many more screams of pleasure in it. Wouldn't want it going so hoarse that you couldn't beg me for more, would we?"

Amy mumbled around the straw as she drank. Her head still felt fuzzy and light, and she knew she wasn't anything close to awake. Dawn's gentle caresses of her hair and her soft whispers lulled her insistently back into trance before she could decide whether or not she wanted to wake up. When Dawn removed the straw from her lips, she slumped bonelessly into Dawn's embrace. Loosely, she wondered what had happened to the rest of her clothes, but the question slipped away like sand out of the top of an hourglass.

"There we go, pet," Dawn purred, running her hand possessively over the swell of Amy's hip. "All rested, refreshed, and ready for more...aren't you, my sweet little slut?" She patted Amy's pussy sharply, forcing a gasp from her lips.

"y-yes, MistrESSSS!" Amy's halting, slurred reply dissolved into a yelp as she felt an ice cube brush across first one nipple, then the other. The shock of it drove everything else out of her head; what had been a loose, scattered train of thought turned into an absolute focus on the intense cold focused on her sensitized breasts.

"Oh, good girl!" Dawn husked out. She kissed Amy savagely, slipping her tongue into Amy's mouth and duelling her tongue with Amy's own. "So beautiful! You shiver magnificently, pleasureslut. You show every sensation so perfectly." She slid the ice over Amy's shuddering skin, leaving a trail of freezing cold water behind it to evaporate in the breeze from the ceiling fan. "Your body is like an open book to me, pet, and I love every word of it."

The ice trailed its way down Amy's belly, down towards the intimate nest of her pubic hair. Amy shook in anticipation, knowing what was coming but unable to do anything other than open herself up to her Mistress' touch. She let out moan after low, juddering moan as Dawn's hand slowly approached her vulva.

No matter how much she thought she had steeled herself, the touch of the ice cube against her pussy lips made her squeal in surprise. The chill was relentless, fizzing against the heat of her sex and intensifying every sensation. Dawn never left the ice anywhere long enough to numb her flesh; instead, it moved to startle and shock her in a new, equally intimate spot. And then, just as she thought she could take no more, Dawn's fingers spread her cunny wide so that the ice cube could glide over her throbbing clit.

"Ayiiiihhhh!" Amy couldn't help herself. The electric mix of cold against her heat woke every nerve in her cunt, causing her hips to buck into the air as though a current was running through her. The ice cube moved away, but the sensitivity remained.

"Oh, my poor sweet..." Dawn said, her voice dripping with secret delight. "Too cold? Let me warm it up for you." The bed rustled gently as Amy felt Dawn's pussy grind into hers.

Everything that had been touched by cold now felt feverishly warm. Amy felt like she was aware of every single nerve where Dawn's body pressed against hers, each one reveling in its own unique sensation. Dawn's pubic hairs danced along Amy's skin, tickling flesh that had already been stimulated beyond reason, while the slick musk that trickled out of Dawn's pussy mingled with Amy's own juices and slowly dripped down their thighs onto the bed.

"Oh, fuck yes," Dawn moaned, and Amy's arousal spiked to see her Mistress lose her veneer of calm and control and give in to her obvious and aching need. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck fuck fucccccckkk..." Amy felt Dawn's stiff, throbbing clit rhythmically grinding into her own. Over and over, Dawn's clit rubbed against hers, pulling away for moments so that their clits could slip and tickle against each other before being pulled back together as if by an invisible force. Again and again, flesh pounding into flesh as both of them forgot their roles, forgot Mistress and toy, forgot everything except for sheer, animal lust. Amy couldn't imagine pulling away, and she couldn't imagine Dawn pulling away either.

"Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes..." Amy watched Dawn's face as the other woman utterly lost herself to desire. Dawn's eyes were fluttering with arousal. Her voice had slipped into a mindless chant of pleasure. Her face was slack with bliss, totally enfolded in empty pleasure as her body shuddered in ecstasy. In that instant, Amy knew, her Mistress was balanced on the knife's edge of vulnerability. If Amy were to simply say the right word at this moment, their roles would reverse and Amy would control Dawn.

"Fuck, oh oh oh fuck fuck fuck, oh..." But as lost as Dawn was in pleasure, Amy was lost all the more. Dawn's chant of instinctive need only mingled with Amy's own; Dawn's helpless need mirrored and deepened Amy's desire with every perfect rub and touch and grind. Nothing mattered but the heat, the bliss, the mindless and unending waves of ecstasy. Amy was chained to it as surely as if she'd been tied to Dawn's perfect pussy, and that need would always control her, even after Dawn's arousal was sated. Amy was a true pleasureslut in a way that Dawn never could be. If giving up the chance to dominate her Mistress was the price she had to pay for this kind of feeling, Amy paid it gleefully.

"Fffffuuuuhhhhh..." Dawn's last, explosive grunt of pleasure obliterated her speech, slurring into a low growl that seemed to go on forever. The knowledge that Dawn was coming brought on Amy's own orgasm, a high shriek of pleasure escaping her lips as her back arched involuntarily. The orgasm flooded her, swamping her brain with sleepy, dreamy heat as she flopped back onto the bed and Dawn flopped on top of her. "...good...good girl, good...girl," Dawn panted, her voice strained with the exhaustion of afterglow. "Good girl."

"thank you, Mistress," Amy husked out. She gasped sharply as Dawn shifted off of her, the brief touch sparking an aftershock of pleasure that sent her body shuddering all over again. "...thank you...thank you..." She couldn't stop saying it. The sheer overwhelming power Dawn had displayed, and the wondrous gift of obedient pleasure that she had used that power to grant, had left Amy in a state of purest amazement. The experience felt sacred in its intensity, like Amy was a supplicant and Dawn a goddess.

"You're welcome, pet," Dawn replied. She stroked Amy's hair gently. "Did you enjoy that, my sweet little pleasureslut?"

"Yes, Mistress," Amy whimpered.

"I thought you might," Dawn purred. "Let's see how much, shall we?" She reached down between Amy's thighs, her fingers brushing easily through Amy's tangled pubic hair so slide effortlessly into Amy's wet pussy.

"Gnnh!" Amy whimpered as Dawn pumped her fingers in and out-first one, then two. Each invasive thrust took place slowly, almost lazily. Amy tried to buck against them, to welcome them in deeper and harder and faster-but the harder Amy tried to thrust against Dawn's hand, the slower Dawn moved. Until all Amy could do was relax and let Dawn set the pace. Just like always.

"Oh my," Dawn whispered seductively. "You are a wet little girl, aren't you?" She pulled her fingers out with a mischievous wiggle. "Up on your hands and knees, pleasureslut. I want a better look at that juicy little cunny of yours."

Amy's arms and legs felt rubbery from the orgasmic workout they'd just been through, but the command was irresistible. She pulled herself up into a crouch and awaited Dawn's attentions.

Amy felt warm breath on her vulva, a slow inhalation followed by a warm, purring exhalation. It was followed by a second, then a third deep breath. "You smell so good, pretty girl," Dawn said. "Your sweet little slit is so wet, so stimulated, so..." Amy felt the solid thwack of Dawn's open palm against her pussy lips, and it sent shudders all the way up her body.

"So sensitive," Dawn whispered triumphantly. She smacked Amy hard across her pussy again, electrifying the flesh with a mix of pleasure and pain. "Isn't that right, my sweet little slutpet?"

"yes Mistress," Amy whimpered. Dawn rewarded her with a rapid fusillade of light taps, too fast to count them. "ohhhhHHHH yes Mistress yes Mistress yes Mistress..."

Dawn finished the sensory assault with another hard swat, right over Amy's tender clit. "Oh, good girl," she sighed out. "I'm going to make that pretty pussy bright red for you now." She followed the words with another series of smacks, varying her rhythm and pressure, never allowing Amy to anticipate the next blow. Amy felt her juices leaking onto Dawn's hand with each impact, the slow burning mingling with the sexual heat in a dreamy endorphin rush that left Amy feeling like she was floating.

Dawn paused to lick Amy's wetness off of her palm. "How do you feel, pet?"

Amy couldn't process the question at first. Her eyes were totally glazed, the headboard in front of her nothing more than a blur. "good," she said at last, unable to describe anything in more complex terms.

"Good girl," Dawn said. "You're very deep, aren't you? All those endorphins have made you such a fuzzy little slut, haven't they?"

"yes," Amy whimpered.

"Very good," Dawn said, her voice ringing with praise. "But you can go deeper still." Her palm caressed Amy's buttocks possessively. "Such a beautiful ass," she said. "So round, so firm. This belongs to me too, slut. Doesn't it?"

"yes Mistress," Amy said blankly. She could feel drool trickling from her lip again.

Dawn's hand came down hard on the flesh of her ass. Amy shook hard from the sensation. "Good girl. Now you're going to take twenty good, hard swats for me, slut. You will count down each one, from twenty to zero. Do you understand?"

"yes, Mistress," Amy replied blankly. "i will start at twenty and count down to zero."

"Very good, pretty girl," Dawn replied, punctuating her words with another hard swat. "But you know what happens when you count down for me, don't you, pet?"

"nineteen," Amy whimpered. "i go...deeper..."

"That's exactly right, slut." Dawn spanked her again. "You go deeper. Ten times deeper with each number."

"eighteen." Amy felt the slow, tingling heat of the blows spreading across her buttocks. "deeper..."

Dawn spanked her again. "And what happens when you go deeper, deeper down as you count deeper down?"

"ssseventeen," Amy whimpered out, feeling the fog gently entrap her sleepy mind. "it gets...harder to remember..."

"That's right, pet." Dawn spanked her again twice in rapid succession. "The further you count down, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the harder it gets to remember those numbers."

"...sixteen...fifteen..." Amy felt her eyelids flutter. Her head dipped down once, then again.

"You have to count, though, pet." Dawn spanked her again, a hard swat that sent a rush of sensation through Amy's whole body. "Because you know I'll spank you until you've counted all the way down."

"four...fourteen..." Amy tried to hold the number in her mind's eye, but it felt like the fog was everywhere now. She could barely hold her head up, and she'd already given up the fight to keep her eyes open.

"Good pet," Dawn purred, slapping her ass again. "Deeper and deeper, fuzzy and foggy from all those buzzing endorphins..."

"...fins..." Amy slurred out, her mind echoing her Mistress' words reflexively. "...thirteen..."

"So hard to remember the next number now," Dawn purred out, giving Amy's ass a long, slow lick before swatting it again. "But you know you have to..."

Amy's mouth worked silently for a long moment as she grasped at the next number. "...twelve..." Just saying it made her sink ten times deeper, exactly as she'd been programmed to do.

"But you know that sinking deeper, forgetting your numbers, going totally blank for me is also obeying me, isn't it?" Dawn's hand came down again, rubbing the tender flesh and spreading the heat all through Amy's ass.

"i...i...nine?" Amy's head hung limp now, her arms only holding her up through long conditioning.

"Are you sure, pet?" Dawn chuckled, giving her bottom another solid smack. "Think as hard as you can about the numbers."

"...twelve?" Amy said, completely unaware that she was repeating herself.

"But of course, the harder you try to think..." Dawn spanked her again. "The harder it is to think."

"...four..." Amy couldn't remember what order the numbers came in anymore. The shivery, warm, tingling heat overwhelmed her sleepy mind.

Dawn slapped her ass again, then traced her fingers over the sensitive flesh. "And the deeper you count, the deeper you go."

"...four..." It was the only number Amy could remember anymore, and as soon as she said it she sank so deep that even that one slipped away.

"Until all the numbers slip away, pet," Dawn said. She gave Amy another hard slap across her buttocks. "And what replaces them?"

"yes Mistress," Amy said, her voice completely empty.

"Good girl," Dawn replied. She spanked Amy again.

"yes Mistress," Amy responded. It was the only thing remaining in her blank and sleepy mind now. It had replaced all the numbers, all the other words, each and every other thought. She felt another slap on her ass and responded the only way she could.

"yes Mistress." Thwack. "yes Mistress." Thwack. "yes Mistress." Thwack. "yes Mistress." Thwack. "yes Mistress." Thwack. "yes Mistress." Amy didn't even feel the pain anymore, just an endless buzzing of pure endorphins that melted into the trance and left her totally vacant, completely open to Mistress Dawn's will.

Amy had lost track of the numbers, but she must have pleased her Mistress because the spanking turned to fondling and the fondling turned to fingering and suddenly, almost before she knew it, Mistress had two fingers sliding easily in and out of her slick pussy all the way up to the knuckles, pounding her cunt over and over again, and Amy hadn't even realized how aroused the spanking had made her until she heard her own mindless, hypnotized voice wailing in wordless pleasure.

"Good girl!" Mistress exclaimed, over and over again. "I'm so proud of you, good girl. So proud of you. You obeyed perfectly." Amy shivered and shook at the praise. Mistress was proud of her. She felt like she was incandescent with bliss, like pure joy was streaming from her every pore. She was a good, obedient pleasureslut and Mistress was proud of her. The knowledge went beyond pleasure. She felt fulfilled, like she had finally found her true purpose and it was being Mistress' fucktoy.




Smoke from an Old Flame



Dawn's fingers thrust hard into Amy's cunt, her body swaying with the force of it. Amy could actually hear how wet she was-each time Mistress slid into her pussy, Amy could hear the squishing sound and it spiked her arousal even further. Mistress Dawn added a third finger, angling her thrusts so that the palm of her hand bumped Amy's clit over and over again as she fucked Amy harder and harder.

Amy felt her tits bouncing beneath her with the rhythm of Mistress Dawn's hard fucking, the heavy, aroused breasts aching and tingling with desire. All she could do was feel now; her mind had already been pounded to mush by the relentless waves of brainwashing, endorphins, and sexual heat. There wasn't a coherent thought left in her head; even Mistress Dawn's words were nothing more than a series of sensory impressions that her subconscious soaked in while her conscious mind was utterly overwhelmed by pleasure. She couldn't even beg for orgasm, because that would require words and she could no longer form them. She could only moan in animalistic lust as Mistress Dawn fucked her.

The pace of the fingering increased, Mistress Dawn sawing in and out of her cunt with all four fingers now. Her other hand was busy too, swirling and rubbing on Amy's clit until her moan became a constant, keening wail of mindless arousal. She was shuddering, quaking, her whole body feeling like one gigantic erogenous zone that Mistress knew exactly how to work to make her scream with pleasure, and she didn't know when it had happened but Mistress must have given her permission to come because suddenly the orgasm overtook her and she ground back against Mistress Dawn's fingers in a wild, mindless rush of pure bliss that seemed to last for hours before she finally collapsed onto the bed in a heap.

Amy felt Mistress Dawn move her around on the bed, posing her like a doll, and she sighed in pleasure. It felt so good to be docile and compliant. It felt so good when Mistress Dawn moved her body and she responded easily and openly to the unspoken command. She held the position effortlessly, knowing that she was obeying and it felt absolutely perfect.

And then Mistress Dawn moved on the bed as well, shifting around so that she was in front of Amy. "Eyes open, pet," she commanded.

Amy's eyelids snapped open, her eyes staring straight ahead in blank and mindless trance. Then she saw Mistress Dawn's beautiful cunt right in front of her face, and her stare went from unfocused to hypnotically fixated within an instant. "Ohhh..." she gasped.

"That's right, pretty pussygirl," Dawn sighed out. Her fingers curled into Amy's hair, pulling the other woman closer. "You remember so well, don't you? My pussy has such power over you. If my hypnotic breasts made you weak...and helpless...and aroused...then my pussy must bring you deeper still."

Amy nodded. Or maybe Mistress Dawn moved her head into a nod. It didn't matter-Amy was controlled either way. Mistress Dawn's pussy controlled her. It looked so perfect. The soft blonde hairs tangled into each other, each one kissed with just a tiny bit of dampness so that they matted together into a warm nest of sweet, floral-scented beauty. Below them, Mistress Dawn's vulva glistened with arousal. The waves of her scent wafted into Amy's nostrils, making her even more helplessly aroused.

"Doesn't it smell good?" Dawn asked, as though reading Amy's mindless mind. "If the sight of my pussy overpowered you so completely, what is that scent doing to you?" She pulled Amy's face just a tiny bit closer, now only inches away. If Amy reached out her tongue, she could almost reach it. Suddenly, she couldn't think of anything else. "You don't need to answer, pet. We both know already. It's turning you into my good little pussygirl. My cunt worshipper, my slutty little pussy licker, my blank and obedient little clit-sucking pussygirl. Of course you remember that now. Of course you do. Your place is right here between my thighs, isn't it?"

Amy felt an insistent tug on her hair, and realized that it was actually holding her in place. She was straining against Mistress Dawn's hand without even realizing it, trying desperately to lean in closer to that mesmerizing cunt. "Yes, Mistress," she said, swallowing back her saliva to get the words out.

"Good girl," Mistress Dawn said. Her voice was thick with arousal. "Good pussygirl. You know what to do." She stopped holding Amy back, and Amy felt her head moving forward as if Mistress Dawn's cunt had a magnetic pull.

She tasted so wonderful. She was so slick and salty and wet against Amy's tongue, her labia swollen with arousal and ever so slightly parted to allow Amy to kiss the inner lips of her pussy. Her cunt was so fucking gorgeous that Amy couldn't look away-even as Amy licked and licked and licked, she kept her eyes open so that she could memorize every delectable inch of Mistress Dawn's flesh. Amy couldn't help herself, she nuzzled her face between those beautiful thighs, smearing the sensual scent and taste of it against her lips, her nostrils, her cheeks and chin. Mistress smelled like pure desire and Amy wanted to immerse herself in it forever.

Amy pressed her mouth against Dawn's pussy lips and gave them a deep, suckling kiss. Mistress Dawn's pleasure flowed onto her tongue and she moaned in arousal, her lips buzzing against Mistress Dawn's body and eliciting a groan of pleasure in return. Amy felt light-headed with joy at hearing her Mistress cry out, and she redoubled her efforts.

"Ohhh, good...oh, fuck, good pussygirl, fuck me with your tongue..." Dawn slurred out the words, her voice already thick with the desire that Amy remembered so well. In response, Amy stuck her tongue as far down into Mistress' slit as she could and bobbed her head back and forth over and over again, like a butterfly drinking sweet nectar. Mistress met each thrust eagerly, bucking her hips in an urgent rhythm of aching need. "Good, ofuck, good girl..."

Amy felt herself falling back into the patterns she had been trained so well to perform for her Mistress. Long hours of practice had taught her exactly when and how to lick without even being told. She pursed her lips around Dawn's swollen clit and began to suck, flicking her tongue gently across the tiny nub in her mouth. Mistress arched her back, pressing her cunt into Amy's face as hard as she could and growling wordlessly in pleasure. Amy's clit tingled in sympathy-she could feel Mistress Dawn's ecstasy. More than that, though, she knew that her Mistress was happy with the way Amy was pleasuring her, The part of Amy that had been conditioned to please her Mistress was flooded with a bliss that went all the way down into her soul. Amy knew she was being a good pussygirl for Mistress, and it felt almost better than sex.

"FUUUUUUCK!" Dawn grunted out, her hips convulsing in orgasm as her juices flowed all over Amy's face. "Oh, oh, oh fuck fuck fuck oh fuck oh oh oh fuck!" She ground her pussy against Amy as the first orgasm dissolved into a second and then a third. Amy felt each one reverberate through her mouth and all the way down her body right onto her clit, sparking her own spasms of ecstasy. Amy couldn't remember a time when she didn't feel the pleasure she brought to Mistress in her own body. Right now, in fact, she couldn't remember her own name.

Amy lost track of how long she licked at Mistress Dawn's pussy. Time lost all meaning when she was between her owner's thighs, lavishing attention on that perfect cunt. She brushed her cheeks against Dawn's soft pubic hairs, feeling the tickling sensation, and then dived back down to flick her tongue against Dawn's clit once more. She knew that Mistress was so horny right now. She didn't know how long Dawn had spent teasing her and spanking her and fingering her, but she knew that it had left her Mistress so charged with sexual tension that one orgasm, even a multiple one, wouldn't possibly be enough of a release. She ran her tongue up and down Dawn's labia, eager to give her Mistress all the pleasure she wanted.

Amy had lost herself so totally in the rhythm of her pussy worship that it came as a complete surprise when Dawn pulled Amy's head away and dragged her up by the hair to kiss her ferociously on the lips. "Oh, fuck," Dawn gasped out, "I need to fuck you right now, right fucking now." She kissed Amy again, and Amy knew that she was tasting herself in Amy's mouth. "Go get my cock, pet. It's in my bag."

With an intense effort, Amy brought herself far enough out of trance to walk. She slid off the bed and walked unsteadily across the room to where Dawn had left her carry-on. She felt as though her legs would barely carry her, and on some level she wondered how long they'd been fucking-an hour? Two hours? More? Had there been time she'd simply lost, so deep in trance that even the memory of it faded into mist? It would be so hot if she had. Amy already knew that today would fuel her masturbation fantasies for months.

It took her less than a moment to find the double-ended vibrator and harness. Dawn hadn't even made a token effort to hide what she'd come here for-there were ropes, nipple clips, a flogger and even some cherry-flavored lube in a TSA-approved baggie. It all took up so much room that there was barely any space for underwear, let alone full outfits. Amy shivered at the implications.

For now, though, she brought the vibrator, the harness, and the tube of lubricant back to the bed. "Good girl," Dawn said as she stood up. "You know what to do now, pet."

"yes Mistress," Amy replied, kneeling. She fitted the vibrator into the harness and then slowly, reverently slid the harness onto Dawn's body. She gently slipped one end into her owner's pussy, quivering slightly in sympathetic lust as the other woman sighed in pleasure. Then she tightened the fittings until it was snug.

"Good pet," Dawn said, running her fingers possessively through Amy's hair. She looked so powerful standing over Amy, the thick, royal blue fake cock jutting out from her crotch. She swayed her hips a little from side to side, and Amy instantly fixated on the tip of the dildo as it moved back and forth. "Oh, you remember that too? Very good."

Amy's eyes went vacant again as they watched Dawn's cock, the light gleaming off of it as it danced back and forth in front of her like a metronome. Her mouth hung open as the trance that had been holding her loosely while she prepared Dawn's strap-on grabbed hold of her inexorably once more. "That's right, pet," Dawn whispered, gently stroking the length of her fake cock, giving it an occasional tap to help its motion. "My foggy, sweet girl loves her owner's cock. Don't you?"

"yes...Mistress..." It was a little hard for Amy to talk; she was salivating so hard at the sight of the dildo that she kept having to swallow every few words. "my...owner's...cock..."

Dawn reached down and picked up the tube of lubricant. "Hands out, pet," she whispered. Amy responded wordlessly, lifting her cupped hands in front of her. She never once looked away from Dawn's cock.

"Good girl," Dawn responded, pouring some of the lube into Amy's hands. "You may."

Amy didn't need to be told what she had permission to do. She took the vibrator in both hands, sliding her fingers up and down the shaft with a shudder of bliss. With every downward stroke, the vibrator buzzed against her fingers, and Mistress moaned softly in arousal. This had always been one of Dawn's favorite toys-the button that turned the vibrator on rested right up against the harness, so that each thrust was accompanied by a burst of stimulation.

Amy leaned in and licked the dildo, worshiping it with her tongue until the taste of cherries filled her mouth. She looked up at Mistress, reveling in the desire she saw on the other woman's face. It felt so good to make her Mistress hot and horny like this. It felt so good to tease her, to bob her head up and down on the cock in her mouth and feel the buzz and know that Mistress was feeling it right on her clit and-

Dawn grabbed Amy's shoulders and pushed her backwards onto the floor. The carpet was rough against Amy's tender buttocks, still sensitive from the spanking, but she only noticed for a moment before Dawn's cock slid into her in one smooth motion. It buzzed and throbbed inside her cunt, and Amy knew that Mistress felt it too. "oh yes fuck me Mistress please..." she whimpered out, unable to hide her desire.

"Good girl," Mistress moaned, pumping into her pussy again and again. "Good girl, oh fuck, so wet for me now, so blank, so deep, good fucking girl, good slut..." The words came urgently, gasped out in time to Dawn's rapid thrusts. Amy had forgotten how hard Mistress loved to fuck her and how much she loved it.

Mistress leaned in, rubbing her heavy, full breasts against Amy as her hips bucked back and forth in a hungry rhythm. "In and out, fucking your body with my cock, fucking your...oh, fuck...fucking your mind with my words, feels so good, you can't resist the pleasure..." Their nipples scraped against each other, adding tiny starbursts to the pleasure that threatened to swamp Amy completely. "You can't stop, you have to come, you have to come..."

And Amy felt it washing over her, so intense and powerful that she heard herself squealing in time to each thrust. Each pump of Dawn's hips brought another orgasm, and she couldn't stop it. She couldn't fight it. Her hands were roaming over Mistress Dawn's back, finding her ass, pulling her in tighter each time she slid her cock into Amy's pussy. "can't stop coming," she heard herself say, almost in awe.

"Good girl," Dawn moaned, her voice slurred with bliss. "Fuck, oh fuck, good girl, fuck yes, oh, you remember perfectly, you obey perfectly, all your programming comes back to you so easily, sooooohhhhfucccckkkk!" The words dissolved into a growl of ecstasy as Dawn's hips lost their rhythm and her eyes rolled back in pleasure.

The sight of it made Amy's cunt go nuclear with heat. She bucked her own hips up, grinding her clit on Dawn's cock. It felt like her orgasm never stopped now, like Dawn had pushed her all the way over the edge into a state of perpetual climax. Everything faded away except the bliss-she just kept coming! and coming! and coming! and coming! and coming!

And then she heard her own voice, as though from a distance, saying, "please, i can't, too much, too much, please..." and then Mistress was holding her, arms wrapped tightly around Amy's body as the orgasms slowly subsided into aftershocks and the aftershocks gently eased into trance and the deep comfort of Dawn's touch.

"Good girl," Dawn whispered as they held each other, "good girl my good girl my beautiful sweet pet my perfect good girl..." The words were little more than a soothing babble in Amy's ear, a soft lullaby that sank into her soft mind and caressed her hazy, submissive mind the same way that Dawn's hands caressed her body. "So proud of you. Begging just the way I wanted you to, the way I commanded you to. Good. Girl."

Amy didn't know how long it took before she was recovered enough that the two of them could climb back onto the bed and slip under the covers together. She only knew that Dawn whispered into her ear softly, deepening the trance into sleep. The last words she remembered hearing were Dawn saying, "You need to rest now, beautiful. After all...we have a whole weekend of this."

THE END