Olivia’s Ordeal By DirtyMartini

So many things were going through Olivia’s young mind as she rode in the back of the van. Though she was uncomfortable from the cuffs and leg irons digging into her lovely olive skin, this was barely a distraction as she replayed the recent events of her life over and over in her head. It was dark in the back of the transport van, and the 20-minute ride gave her plenty of time to think. How could she have not known her boyfriend Kenny was dealing drugs? He seemed like a nice guy and always bought her nice things. How could he have set her up to take the fall? He had told her he loved her and they would always be together. What was life going to be like in her new home? She heard so many stories. Were all those dykey girls going to be staring at her pretty young body? God, the thought of it made her cringe…

She can still hear the judge’s words, “90 days in the woman’s unit at the county jail”. She can still hear her lawyer telling her what a great plea bargain deal he got her. Great deal for whom, she thought, him? He gets paid and gets to go home to his wife. I’m the one going to jail.

After what seemed like an eternity, the van finally arrived at the main prison entrance. The driver said something into the radio and Olivia could hear the main gate squeal loudly as it slowly rolled open. Once inside the walls the van slowly drove down the long road to the intake building. As it rolled past the streetlights, each shone its light beam in through the small window on the side of the van, lighting up Olivia’s blank expression with a slow motion strobe effect.

After a few minutes the van stopped at the loading dock. A few more minutes and Olivia could hear voices on the other side of the van door. The door opened quickly and Olivia could see two female guards.

“Step out of the van please.”

Olivia got up and slowly walked to the back of the van, the chains from the leg irons clanging in rhythm with every step she took.

“Watch your step.”

The two armed officers slowly escorted Olivia past the loading dock to a door. When they arrived at the door, one of the officers spoke into the intercom.

“One prisoner from central holding.”

A loud buzzing sound signaled the unlocking of the door and Olivia was led in. She was escorted to a small, hard, wooden bench and told to sit. One of the guards took out a key and released the handcuffs from one of her wrists. She then took the freed cuff and locked Olivia to a large metal hook on the bench. Next, she bent down and released the leg irons from both ankles and tossed them in a heap against the wall. The guard then went over to a desk where a large female officer sat and handed her an envelope containing Olivia’s jewelry and personal property. After a few moments of small talk, the two guards that brought Olivia in left. As they passed by Olivia one of them spoke, “Someone will be with you in a few minutes.” Then they walked back out the door.

Gee, someone will be with me in a few minutes, Olivia muttered to herself. Well, they can take their sweet time. I’m in no hurry. She looked over at the officer sitting at the desk. She was a large, black woman about 30. She did not look up and did not seem in any hurry. At no time did she even acknowledge Olivia’s presence.

Olivia looked around the jail. It was cold sitting on the bench. Olivia had goose bumps and the small hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. She was not shivering, but she was cold.

The gray painted cinder block walls did nothing to give the place a feeling of warmth. There were girls’ names etched into the walls everywhere. In some cases a heart would surround two girls’ names. Olivia stared at the wall where ‘Lisa loves Pam’ was prominently etched in bold letters and let out a small chuckle. ‘That could never be me,’ she thought.

After a half-hour or so, the large black officer finally got up. She walked over to Olivia and stood directly in front of her. She was a large, imposing figure with a look of authority. She held some papers in her hand, which she kept looking at. After a moment she asked, “Your name?”

“Olivia Diaz” was the reply.

“Your age?”

“19.”

“Social security number?”

“178-88-4953” was Olivia’s quiet reply.

The officer then pulled out a key and unlocked Olivia’s handcuffs. “Follow me” she said.

Olivia followed the officer to a small room down the hall that contained a desk with a computer and not much else. The officer reached into a closet and pulled out a plastic storage bin. She then removed a paper form from the top desk drawer and began filling it out. As she did she handed the plastic bin to Olivia.

“Remove all your clothing and place it in the bin, including your underwear. I see you have a shirt, pants, bra, panties, two socks and a pair of sneakers. I also need you to sign this property receipt.”

“Can’t I keep my underwear?” asked Olivia.

“No. You can’t have anything you can hide things in.”

As soon as she handed Olivia the property receipt, the officer reached in the bottom drawer and removed a pair of latex gloves from a large box. She put the gloves on.

“I need you to turn around and face the wall.”

As Olivia turned and faced the wall, she could feel the officer’s fingers probing her ears, bending each one back slowly. She then lifted up Olivia’s long black hair and ran her fingers slowly through it in a deliberate methodical kind of way.

“You have anything on your person you should not have?”

“No,” said Olivia; “I was searched just before I entered the court house.”

“I have to do it again. Procedure, you know.”

Olivia could feel that the officer let go of her hair as it fell back onto her neck and shoulders.

“Bend over for me.”

‘Oh God,’ thought Olivia. Olivia could feel the officer’s gloved hands gently spreading her butt cheeks. She could feel her fingers probe her butt hole. Her fingers started to work their way down.

“Bend over a little farther for me. Touch your toes.”

Olivia could feel the officer’s fingers make their way down to her womanhood. Suddenly she felt a finger being inserted slowly into her and she let out a muffled moan. This was so degrading, she kept thinking. She tried not to think about it but the officer’s slow movements actually felt good. After a moment she removed her hand.

“Turn around for me.”

Olivia did as told.

“Open your mouth, wide.”

As Olivia opened her mouth, the officer pulled out a small flashlight from her pocket and started examining her mouth.

“Lift your tongue.”

Again Olivia did as told. As the officer turned off the light and put it back in her pocket, Olivia breathed a sigh of relief. The officer walked over to a small cart and came back with a one-piece orange jump suit.

“Put this on. This is what you will be wearing for the remainder of your stay. The snaps go in the front.”

Olivia put on the jumpsuit as the officer watched intently. As she put it on she noticed only two of the four snaps actually worked. She could see in a nearby mirror that her breasts were clearly visible from the sides and if she leaned over, the top portion of her neatly trimmed pubic hair was exposed.

“Do you have another jumpsuit? This one is missing snaps. Please.”

“No,” said the officer. “It is the only one in your size.”

Olivia was frantic. ‘Oh my God,’ she thought. ‘This is a nightmare. Someone please get me out of here. Please.’

The officer led Olivia out of the room and down the hall to a holding cell. There was another inmate in the cell, also in an orange suit.

“Wait here till we have your cell ready,” the officer said. “It should be soon.”

The officer closed the door with a sharp clang. Olivia tried not to stare at the other inmate. She was a large woman with close-cropped hair and faded monochrome tattoos. Olivia could make out the name Wendy tattooed on the girl’s forearm. Oh My God, she thought. I would hate to be her cellmate.

“Hi, I’m Andy,” said the other girl. “What you in for?”

“Possession,” quipped Olivia. “My boyfriend set me up.”

“Sounds like a boyfriend you don’t need. Ever been with another girl before?”

“No, and I don’t intend to,” said Olivia sharply.

“Don’t worry. You will. You’ll be Gay for the Stay, just like all the rest. You’ll see.”

Gay for the stay. Those words cut through Olivia’s mind like a hot knife through butter. There was no way Olivia would ever let that happen.

“Andrea Jackson?” a guard asked at the cell door. “Come with me.”

Andy was led out. Olivia was hoping she could get her cell soon so she could lie down in peace and collect her thoughts. She was cold, she felt naked and she was scared. About 20 minutes later another guard appeared at the door.

“Olivia Diaz. Come with me.”

Olivia was led down the hall to her awaiting cell. There were a few hoots and whistles from some of the girls in the cells as Olivia passed by. They finally arrived at the cell.

“24 North,” shouted the guard. “Open.”

The door opened with a loud buzz.

“Welcome to your new home.”

Olivia didn’t say a word as she walked into the cell.

“You get the top bunk,” a voice said from below. Olivia could not see the face at first, but the voice sounded familiar. It was Andy. Oh my God.

“Hey, look who it is. We’re going to have a real good time, you and me.”

Olivia climbed up to the top bunk and lied down. She was tired. It was a long day. In a little while she was asleep.

Sometime later Olivia awoke to find a hand on her thigh. It was Andy. “What’s up precious?”

“Please don’t touch me. Please. I’ll scream.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” with that, Andy put her hand over Olivia’s mouth and began climbing up the bed and into the bunk. She got next to Olivia in the bed, keeping her hand over her mouth the whole time. There was barely room for the two of them in the small bunk. The big woman had her leg between Olivia’s legs, her thigh firmly pressing Olivia’s thigh and moving her leg up and down along Olivia’s legs.

“Feels good, don’t it?”

Andy began to feel Olivia’s breasts with her free hand. At first she gently caressed them and then she firmly squeezed her left breast.

“Oh, these are nice,” Andy said, “I can see we are going to have a good time you and me.”

Andy gave Olivia’s left nipple a soft kiss. With that she released her breast and stopped stroking her leg.

“I’m going to release your mouth and if you say a word your ass is mine.”

Olivia was paralyzed with fear as the girl took her hand away. Olivia just lied there shaking as the other girl got down.

There was no other incident the rest of the night. Still, Olivia had a hard time sleeping. The other girls in the cellblock made noise all night, hollering and talking trash. The hard mat was so uncomfortable. Of course it was cold.

The next morning started with breakfast. The whole cellblock ate at the same time. Olivia quickly got her food and found a seat. She felt the whole room was staring at her. She hoped she could eat quickly and keep a low profile. Her hopes were dashed when she looked up and saw Andy approaching. Andy put her tray down in front of the seat right next to hers and walked up behind Olivia. Olivia began to get nervous in anticipation of what might happen next.

“Hey all, I want to introduce you to my new celly, Olivia.”

“She looks fine. I’ll give you a carton of smokes for her!” one of the inmates shouted across the room. There was laughter from other inmates.

“No, she’s a keeper. All mine.” With that, Andy started to run her fingers through Olivia’s long black hair. She then started caressing her neck and ran her hand up and down her cheek.

“Keep your hands off me!” screamed Olivia. With that, Olivia picked up her orange juice and threw it in Andy’s face.

“Bitch!” shouted Andy as she slapped Olivia hard across the face, knocking her onto the floor. Andy got on top of her and the two started going at it. Olivia’s nipples could be seen plainly exposed by her ill-fitting jumpsuit as the two rolled on the floor. Other inmates gathered around and started cheering. It was instant mayhem as the two girls went at it like animals.

The ensuing struggle brought almost immediate attention from the guards. In moments two correction officers were standing over the sweaty girls breaking them apart. One of them lifted Olivia up off the ground by her shoulders. Andy got up.

“Alright, what happened here?” shouted the guard. “Hey Andy, welcome back!”

“Yea, glad to be here, Pam,” said Andy. It was clear they knew each other.

“What you in for this time?”

“Picked up on an old warrant. Bullshit,” answered Andy.

“I have to take yous and write yous up you know.”

“That ain’t fair, she started it!” said Olivia.

“Don’t matter. There is no fighting.”

Pam led the two down the hall to a small office. She seated them and proceeded to fill out some paperwork. After about ten minutes she handed a paper to Andy and told her she could go back to her cell.

“We all taken care of?” Andy asked.

“Yea, we good,” Pam said, “You can still get shit?”

“Hell yea!” quipped Andy. It was clear these two knew each other and there was something going on other than a normal inmate guard relationship. “I got peoples coming next week. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Don’t forget me,” said Pam, “You go. I want to have a talk with the new girl.”

“OK. I’ll get back at you next week.” With that Andy left the room.

Andy’s exit left Olivia alone with Pam. Pam smiled up at her with a sinister looking grin and then walked around to the front of the desk. She sat down on the edge of the desk and stared at Olivia with that grin on her face.

“I have to write you up for fighting, you know,” Pam said. “That is a whole ‘nother charge. Could keep you here another six months, maybe longer.”

“Please, no, please!” pleaded Olivia.

“I have no choice. Sorry.”

“Please, please. I’ll do anything! Please!”

“Hmm. That is what I wanted to hear.”

With that Pam removed her nightstick from its holster and started to slowly rub her own crotch with it. Slowly, up and down she rubbed the front of her pants between her own legs.

She then took the nightstick and in one sharp, quick upward motion undid the two snaps holding closed Olivia’s jumpsuit. Olivia’s breathing became so heavy you could hear every breath. Pam started to tease Olivia with the nightstick. First she started stroking her cheek with it, then on down to her breasts. Pam got off the desk and walked around behind Olivia’s chair.

“Get up,” she said as she hoisted Olivia out of her chair. As Olivia got up her jumpsuit fell to her ankles. She was standing in front of Pam stark naked her beautiful olive skin in full view. It was a feast for Pam’s eyes. Pam took the nightstick and dragged it up and down Olivia’s butt crack. She then walked around in front of Olivia and stuck it hard right between Olivia’s legs. Olivia closed her eyes as she let out a sharp moan. The nightstick was cold against her clit. Pam started to slide the nightstick up and down against Olivia’s neatly trimmed bush. Pam could hear Olivia’s faint moans and sighs with every stroke. Pam again walked around behind Olivia.

“Bend over, bitch!”

“Oh please, no!” Olivia pleaded.

“It’s this or six months more. Your choice.”

Olivia slowly bent forward. She again felt the nightstick against her butt this time edging slowly against the resistance of her butt hole.

“Lean against the desk with your arms wide,” Pam insisted.

Olivia did as told. She could feel Pam back the stick off her butt, but instead Pam started to ease it into Olivia’s tight pussy. Olivia started to moan as Pam slowly started to ease the cold nightstick in and out. First it was just an inch or two, then farther and farther. The stick was cold and its large diameter was more than Olivia was used to. Pam kept at it, each time pushing the stick up further and further into Olivia’s tight, moist cunt. Pam started to push it in and out faster and faster as Olivia felt Pam’s finger’s from her other hand reaching between her legs and finding her clit. As degrading as this was it was starting to feel really good to Olivia and in minutes she started to moan deeply and could feel an orgasm coming on. Within moments Olivia was spread out on the desk, writhing in delight, the nightstick humping her tight pussy like a dog.

Pam slowed her movements down as Olivia came back down from her climax. Pam quickly jerked the stick out of Olivia’s pussy and thrust it into Olivia’s butt in a quick motion that caused Olivia to scream. Once again Pam started pumping the nightstick. Her thrusts became quicker and quicker and Olivia’s moans became louder and louder. Once again the girl became overcome with pleasure, wetting the desk with her cum and wetting Pam’s hand. The inside of Olivia’s thighs glistened with her juices and her back was shiny with her sweat. Pam pulled out the stick quickly once again and placed it down on the desk next to Olivia’s face.

“Put your jumpsuit on and get out of here,” Pam said. “If you tell anyone, you’re a dead girl.”

As Olivia started to walk out, Pam suddenly jumped up and stood in front of her. “You know what?” Pam said coyly, “I don’t think I’m done with you. Down on your knees Bitch!” Pam was shouting at this point. “On your fucking knees, Bitch!”

With that, Pam took the nightstick and put it between her thighs up by her crotch. The stick was angled up at about 45 degrees, like an erect penis. “I want you to suck me off! And make sure I cum.”

Olivia hesitated. Pam grabbed the girl by her hair and held her head inches from the stick. “Are we going to do this the hard way? I can shove it through your teeth!”

Olivia opened her mouth and slowly placed her lips on the hard stick. She could see streaks of shininess from where the stick had just come out of her own ass.

“Come on Bitch, make me cum!” She began to move Olivia’s head up and down by tugging at her hair. Her movements became more and more violent with every thrust.

“Come on Bitch!” she was shouting once again, “Come on Bitch! I said make me cum!” Pam was aggressively moving Olivia’s head up and down on the stick. You could hear Olivia’s mouth making slobbering sounds as the saliva ran down the stick. Pam kept shouting,

“Come on Bitch! Make me cum!” as she just kept getting more and more violent. She was wildly moving Olivia’s head up and down on the nightstick as Olivia’s drool ran down the stick and started to puddle forming a wet stain on Pam’s pants. Finally, after about five minutes Pam stopped.

“I guess it ain’t gonna cum. I bet it’s the hardest dick you ever had!” She was still shouting. “Snap up your suit and get the fuck out of here.”

Olivia ran out the door as fast as she could before Pam could change her mind. Once around the corner she stopped and leaned against the wall in an effort to catch her breath. She was panting from excitement. She couldn’t talk, just pant. A few minutes later she walked back to her cell.

Upon being buzzed into her cell, Olivia immediately climbed up to her top bunk and lied down.

The ordeal she just went through took a lot out of her. She was hungry, tired and felt the need to take a shower badly. She asked Andy when lunch was, and was told she had just missed it. She also asked about taking a shower and was told shower privileges were at two. That was about an hour away. She had time to rest and try to calm her mind.

Two o’clock finally arrived and the inmates would be allowed to move about the jail, within limits of course. Inmates could watch TV in the dayroom, play basketball in the gym, use the phones or take showers. Olivia really looked forward to the shower. She got a clean towel and facecloth from the trustee for her cellblock and headed down to the shower room.

When she arrived at the shower room Olivia was pleased to see it was not crowded so there would be no wait. Olivia undid the snaps on her jumpsuit and let it drop to the floor. She picked it up and placed it on a hook on the wall. She made a mental note to try to get another clean jumpsuit as soon as possible. Hopefully one with all the snaps in the front.

Olivia got in the shower and turned it on. The water was a bit cold but boy did it sure feel refreshing. She stood there for a couple of minutes and let the water just run over her body, the drops running off her long black hair and down her back. Oh, did it feel good.

After a few minutes of this Olivia grabbed the soap from the rack and began to soap up her body. First her arms, then her legs and on up. As she stood there soaping herself up, with her eyes closed and her face pointed up towards the oncoming stream of water, Olivia suddenly felt a hand on her butt. She turned around to see Andy and two other girls, all completely naked. She was so engrossed in the shower she did not notice them enter the room.

“Looks like you need some help soaping up,” said Andy, “We’re here to help.”

Andy bent down and took her bar of soap and started soaping up Olivia’s legs one at a time with long firm strokes while her two friends each held Olivia by the arms. Andy started to kiss and nibble at Olivia’s lovely firm ass which was right in front of her face. She then slipped her tongue between her butt cheeks and darted it in and out while going up and down her butt. She continued moving the soap upward from her legs and started to soap up Olivia’s ass with firm massage like motions. She made sure to carefully soap up her asshole and as the running water ran down Olivia’s butt crack, Andy would flick her butt hole with her tongue and re-apply the soap. In the meantime, the other two girls were nibbling at Olivia’s ears and soaping up her upper body paying special attention to her breasts and hardening nipples. Olivia was covered with quite a bit of soap at this point. The girls turned her around and Andy judiciously soaped up her soft bush.

“I could use a good cleansing brush,” she joked as she rubbed her face against Olivia’s soaped up mound.

“Looks like it’s time to rinse her off,” Andy said and with that the girls each grabbed Olivia under the arms and Andy grabbed her by the butt and they hoisted her up with her legs in the air with her soapy mound nearly eye level directly under the stream of cool water. Olivia shut her eyes and let out a moan as the cool water hit her clit. Andy moved her right hand up to Olivia’s pussy and slowly inserted first one, then two and finally three fingers, vigorously working the girl into a frenzy. The water was rushing over her body and with her butt aimed high in the air the soapy water was rolling down past her rounded breasts and streaming down her long black hair. With her head tilted back her hair nearly touched the floor as the soapy water dripped off it forming a slippery puddle on the tile floor. The girls continued to soap and fondle each other in the shower for some time enjoying the feeling of the water rushing over their bodies. After it was over they took turns toweling each other off accompanied by lots of giggling and caressing. After a bit of playful towel snapping and long kisses they helped each other get dressed and headed off to the dayroom.

Later that day at dinnertime Olivia and Andy sat next to each other. Andy would sometimes reach over and caress Olivia’s leg or arm. If she was bothered by it, she certainly didn’t show it.

Olivia ended up getting released after serving half her time. She did the remaining time on probation.

When it was time for Olivia to leave, Andy handed Olivia her phone number on a slip of paper. “I should be out of here in a couple more months,” she said.

Olivia took the paper and thought, ‘the nerve of her, I have a boyfriend.’ Olivia thought about her recent past and what Kenny had done. She stuck the piece of paper in her pocket.

Devil’s Delight By Matthew Wilson

Nicola could see the castle from her bedroom window, but her poverty bought her no closer to it. How she wished for the bright lights of the city, instead of rotting like summer fruit back here in the suburbs.

She could even see the white dome of the palace, if she squinted she had burnt it onto the back of her eye lids like an old missed memory. Was it too much to ask that a pauper be a princess in desperate times. If only for a day? Wishes were not so rare things in the west though she had yet to meet a genie.

Her mother was old and dying, and after working her fingers to the bone to get food on the table Nicola felt the old woman deserved a better final few days then to cough up oil and slowly succumb to the darkness.

Nicola told herself that she did it for her mom, and that helped with a little of the guilt. Though she had never stolen anything in her life. She had always been a goodie – goodie as mother wished. And yet it had gotten her nothing.

Just hunger pains.

A mother dying of cancer, too poor to afford the medicine to cease the never ending agony as her body was eaten away by tiny, angry cells. She had to do it. For her mother. For herself.

She broke into the mansion.

Not the palace for the guards would be out in force for the recent coronation. She wouldn’t get through the gates without an invite. Maybe she would loose her head, and then who would look after her mother?

She had to take it nice and steady. One foot at a time. Especially when she started climbing the wall. The poison ivy bled through her torn gloves and made her hands hardened by manual labour itch madly. But she thought of mother relying on her for medicine. For money.

She blew on her bust and bleeding fingernails and kept climbing, telling herself not to look down. But she did. She might have fallen, a distance that would have killed her if she hadn`t smelt the perfume and her body tensed because of it. Her numb fingers made fists in its spell and glued to the ivy.

What was that beautiful aroma? She had never been to the river before, though an open sewer ran at the back of her dilapidated home, she supposed that this was what the fresh water exotic flowers smelt like. Crushed and bottled to heighten a ladies attraction perhaps, but losing none of it`s wonder.

How much would the lower class pay for a scent a lady of power put on her body.

Nicola knew nothing of the woman she was robbing, and for her conscience that was how she wished to keep it. The rumours had been going across the houses since she had moved in. It had taken three furniture carriages pushing wheezing, plodding Horses close to death with exhaustion to get all her possessions here.

Which meant she was rich. And by proxy a selfish cow. Who needed so much nice stuff when she had nothing but a smile for the world and good wishes for her mother. None had bought her a penny while Nicola supposed this woman hadn`t worked a day in her life for a blood line inheritance.

Didn`t Nicola deserve some good things in her life too? Things that glittered. Intoxicated by the sweet smell she peeked her eyes over the lip of the window frame and checking the coast was clear quickly climbed inside.

The night was muggy and restless. Likewise, she would have left her windows at home open. If she could have afforded the glass. Breaking and entering was not her thing, but the smell was a candle and she was the moth, and obeyed.

I`m coming she thought and nearly broke her neck as she tripped upon a sleeping puppy curled up upon a rug dreaming of bones. The white shaggy terrier snapped awake, howling in pain with its tail bent in the wrong direction as Nicola tried to find her feet, and not smash her head on the polished floor.

Stupid thing.

Nicola had a natural empathy for little creatures, being some one who was used to be trodden on bigger people. She cooed at it until it seemed to gain courage and trundled out, broken tail wagging from under its hiding place of the foot cushion.

Nicola had never seen a foot cushion before. She had old curtains for bed sheets.

Rich indeed. The woman would not miss a few sheets and small objects Nicola could fit into her pockets and take down the pawn shop for mothers medicine. Seemingly mollified, Nicola tickled the pooches ear once, he licked her thumb and forgave her.

“Just our little secret, eh?” she smiled and wished that she had bought a bag.

She felt like a kid in a candy shop. There was too much to take in. Too many pretty things to steal. She felt overwhelmed. The bedroom had a feminine charm and satin sheets. The rose flowered wallpaper made her feel she was in a summer orchard.

A mirror stood like an alert guard on a table surrounded by make up material and experimentally, Nicola smudged some on her lips. It tasted of strawberries. The dog yipped and watched as Nicola pulled a drape down from the bed and started squirreling items into it like a road sweep cleaning the clutter.

Anything bright, anything shiny that promised a profit. A pretty penny. It would make a hell of a racket, but maybe it would be safer to drop all of this out of the window rather then risk clambering down the wall with it tied round her waist. Should the wind pick up or she overbalanced it would mean the end of her.

No, better safe then sorry.

She couldn`t carry the bag of goodies large as a portable TV now, but she was a stubborn young woman and would drag it all the way home even if the skid mark`s in the grass led all the way to her home, if that was what it took to get mom better.

“Bye, boy.” she said as she headed for the window, and apologised for her original mistake as the dog rolled over onto her back to be tickled and Nicola saw she was missing the makings of a man.

The dog wasn`t too offended. It didn`t bring blood when it bit her ankle. Not deeply. Hardly a nip, but she had to cover her mouth before she moaned.

“What the hell was that for?” she asked. Was she really having an argument with a dog? She hadn`t believed them capable of being petty. But there was no wound but a small bruise. No scar, no-

Nicola dropped the bag as the room started spinning.

What the hell had that dog being drinking, Cobra venom? She lay down to stop her cracking her skull when the darkness fell. And a moment later her eyes closed, then it did.

The first she knew of reality was the small dog, yipping as she danced on her chest, her paws had its claws filed to polished perfection showing its owners vanity., It did no damage to her skin.

But the handcuffs did.

“Gerrof.” Nicola moaned, tried to rub the sleep from her eyes and heard her wrists jingle. It was no bracelet. “What the hell is this?”

She was tied to the bed, a limb fitted to each four posts of the bed. Instinctly her knees tried to buckle together, she felt exposed with her legs open so wide. Her mother would think it most unladylike.

A chair squeaked in the next room.

“Behave.” the voice said and the puppy licked her face.

“Go away.” Nicola said, then turned her head toward the shadow. “Wait, I can explain. Its not what it looks like.”
“It looked like you were trying to rob me.” the voice was light like a teacher would not think too harsh a child might not know two plus two. An aunt with sweets to give.

Nicola felt her skin erupt in small stabs of prickly heat, the sweat lathering her lessened only the white iron tip of each sting but not removed it. Still the puppy was watching her with those dopey adoring eyes, annoying her.

“Look. I`ll pay you back. Can`t we work something out?”

Nicola heard footsteps, a clack clack of high heels. The woman was coming and her imagination worked against her. Of course she would have many small and wicked yellow teeth, a wart on her nose. A cauldron to eat her bones.

“In my business one must be careful. I have not lived so long being in plain sight where anyone might remove my head once I sleep. It is best to be cute and cuddly, to lie under peoples nose so that they might walk over me, their back to me. There is no shame is keeping your life at any cost. A knife between the shoulders works just as well as between the breasts.”

Nicola wondered what she was on about, realised the woman might actually be insane before she realised she couldn`t breath, their was a heavy weight on her chest, crushing her, pressing her into the bed. She blinked and the woman on top of her cocked her head so that her swan feather coloured hair – the same as the Terriers- swept from out her eyes.

She shifted her weight, and let Nicola breath.

“Where the hell did you come from?”

The witch smiled, thought her pretty, but not too bright. It had been so long since she had had a friend. A partner. Humans were so fragile. They died so easily. She would have to take her time with this one.

“Be still now.” she purred. “This will only hurt as much as you allow it.”

From her mouth, Nicola detected that same sweet flowery smell, and thought she had seen those same adoring blue eyes before. Though she had crone hair as white as the bottom layer of an ashtray, Nicola thought she was quite the most beautiful creature she had lain eyes on. She radiated youth and sweet promise. The witch giggled as if recalling a joke to which she alone knew the answer.

She licked the tears out of Nicola`s eyes and slid down her body like a ribbon scarf caught in the wind. She did not bother removing the thief’s skirt, the witch doubted it was worth a penny. Later she would have better. If she behaved.

Nicola gasped as the witch ripped her skirt open between her knees and groin. Nicola opened her mouth to scream and the witch spoke first. Then Nicola had no mouth at all. Below her nose was as smooth as her forehead. She raged against the membrane of flesh against her gums but nothing came out beside some heaves through her nostrils.

“I would like to kiss such lips.” the witch smiled again. “So be a dear and make me feel inclined to keep them on you.”

Nicola felt something rip on her face and suddenly she was moving her jaw, breathing through her mouth. The witch had returned her mouth, but only if she did not use it but for her own pleasure.

Nicola was wearing panties – despite her messy clothes, mom always insisted she kept these clean and change them every day on the off chance that she was run down by a horseless carriage.

The witch put two fingers together and touched the panties tag, then lower, started massaging her clitoral hood through the fabric. Round and round in a dime sized semi circle as if she were drawing a sun in the sand.

Nicola crushed her eyes, trying to look away, but she moaned, the witch felt her body tremble and smelt her fingers. “I think no man has touched you. In a world where women sell their bodies for the price of a meal your morals are something to be proud of, thief.”
I`m not at thief, Nicola thought, defiant. She wanted to curse, to call the witch all the names she knew and her mother didn`t think she did. But she bit her lips till they bled, she did not wish to lose her mouth again.

The witch wiped the saliva gleaming on her top lip in the candlelight off and pulled Nicolas legs up onto her shoulder. “Up we go.”

Before Nicola could blink, the witch had removed her panties and lain them on the floor. For once, she didn`t mind the mess. “That`s better.”

“Wait-” Nicola said, but the witch, squatting drove her tongue forward, in, penetrating the wet warmth of her insides. Her right hand pushed aside her labia and the left massaged her clitoris. She was not a selfish person by nature, she would let the thief enjoy it.

That heat rushed through Nicola`s body again. Her cheeks burnt and every goose bump became a volcano leaking lava, her skin burnt and she thought she might catch fire as her being betrayed her and she screamed.

Now she`ll take my mouth, damn it.

But the witch was busy, using her own mouth, working her tongue between Nicolas thicker lip`s. She might have been a fool stuck in a desert, happening upon an oasis, driving her face harder between Nicola`s groin. She was sure in her fury the witch might bite down.

Nicola twitched as the bottom fell out of her stomach, something welled then breached, the witch opened her mouth as Nicola screamed again and ejaculated. The witch swallowed as the hot brine coloured liquid splashed her like a hosing severed jugular.

Nicola sagged, spent. She heard the witch laugh again, not wipe her face as she stood and scratched her ear like puppies liked. The juice around her mouth like she had drunk bad milk direct from the jug fell about her black high heels. They clicked once as she moved forward, lay herself gently across Nicola and kissed her.

Nicola gagged as she tasted herself. She tried to turn her head but the witch lapped at her tongue like a thirsty pup. She twisted Nicolas nipples, then spread her own legs as bizarrely she put all her weight forward, her head pressing over Nicolas shoulder.

“What-”
“Ssh, this is my favourite part. My mom used to do this trick to my father once in a while. He couldn`t walk for a week.”

The witch said some words from a dead language Nicola knew not and gasped with horror as she felt something hot and fleshly dangle from the witch press against her thigh.

“No, don`t-”
The witch grabbed the bed either side of Nicola`s head, creasing the sheet`s and cheered. “Here, we go.”

Everything went white as the witch plunged forward, impaling violently Nicola with her prick. They stuck together and Nicola tried to bite the witches ear but she must have sensed the thief’s fury for she pushed herself up on her arms. She stayed there like an aborted press up, savouring the thief’s anger, pulsing electric like through her. Making her vibrate.

Making the witch purr.

Then softly, remembering her promise not to bruise the thief’s insides, nor wear her out too quickly, the witch started working her hips slowly back ad forth. Primarily frustrated for she was used to a quicker pace. Wham – bam. But this was the girls first time judging by the blood she felt slip over her temporary scrotum.

“How`s it for you?” she said for something to say, to keep up the connection of a partner rather then having any genuine matter for her opinion. Then in time with her grinds she moaned. “Take it, take it.”

Nicola took it, trying not to cry as the witch pounded into her, clamped her lips against her ear lobe and nibbled like a dogs chew toy. But she bought no blood, seemingly some leverage to hang on to as she upped the pace. Shuddered. Howled as she erupted.

“Oh fuck!”

Fell.

The witch lay on her, light as a blanket and suddenly, desire expended, she became tender. Hugging the thief like they were old friends.

“Kiss me.” she said and didn`t wait for an answer. Nicola didn`t open her mouth but a peck seemed sufficient for the witch. “Can`t lay here all day you know. We`re not on holiday.”

She gave Nicola another quick kiss on the cheek like a mother wishing her child well on school and suddenly Nicola was free. She heard a clink and the chains fell off her. She could breath again, the room stopped spinning and her venom had a target.

She could pick up the bedroom lamp and break the witches face open.

But first she would complete her own promise.

She would use her mouth to tear her mouth off.

She would call her all the names under the sun. But when she tried to. She did not talk.

She barked.

The witch smiled and tickled the terriers ear. “Naughty girl. You know your not allowed on the furniture but you`ll learn in time.” While the witches desire was gone the witch had no need for a partner, but a friend, some company was always welcome.

What harm could a small terrier do? Certainly not tie her to a stake and burn her to ash as her own father had. Honestly, that man could not take a joke. Or being dominated.

Nicola barked and barked but the witch took no action but to tie a blue collar gently round her furry neck. “Come on, dear. Lets go for a walk. Polly, do you like that name? I think its suits you as a dog.”

Later, when she felt frisky the witch would return her to her human form.

Maybe tomorrow.

If she behaved.

The Muse By Jerome Brooke

“You are up next, baby,” Virginia said, touching my arm. I went to the mic, and opened my notebook.

 

“My brown body I will cast

At your feet.

I have sold my virgin body,

To you, Master.

 

A handful of copper coins,

Man of the West;

My red blood covers my rags,

Cruel Master.

 

 

I cannot sleep, I do not eat,

Will I see you,

Before I die? Will my son,

Know his father?

 

Your hard wife, a high lady;

She can spare me,

Surely, a crust of bread, a place near,

 

Her hearth.     

I am your concubine, only,

My mouth warm,

My lips soft; you may watch,

Me bathe, Master mine…”

 

There was polite applause at the end of my poem. I returned to the table, and was rewarded with a kiss by Virginia. “That was a very, very nice poem. You can watch me bathe too, baby! Come to my place. We will send out for pizza,” she offered. I picked up my bag, and we went to the street. The lady waved down a taxi, and off we went. She lived nearby.

We took the elevator up to her condo. I left my backpack and bags near the door. She called out for a pizza, and fixed me a diet coke. “Can you stay here tonight?” she asked, placing her hand on my knee. She was a woman of middle years, with dark skin and hair.

I took a shower, while she filled the tub. I joined her in the bath, and offered to rub her back. After a moment, she put my hand on her pendulous breast. She leaned back against me, and spread her plump legs. I slipped my hand to her leg, moving up to her delta. After a few moments, she climbed up onto the edge of the tub, and leaned back on her hands. I moved close, and began to trace her soft folds with my tongue. I found her point of pleasure. “Up, up. There, yes. Good. Good.”

After she had climaxed, she slipped back into the tub, breathless. After a few moments she went to her knees. I rose, while she used her expert tongue to get me ready. “On my face baby,” she whispered, opening her mouth. I anointed her face and tongue. “Wow, look at me!” she giggled.

We moved to her bedroom, where she mounted me, covering my face – a knee on each side of my head. She began to moan, then to call out. “Wow,” she moaned, as she moved down, to arouse me once more. She eased me in to her secret garden, with a smile.

# # #

She was off the next day, and we went out for brunch. “Stay with me for a few days, sweetie. You can compose while I am at work!”

“Sure, pretty lady. I will check the want ads,” I agreed.

“Why? I will take care of you. Perhaps later. Here, an extra key and some money if you go out,” she smiled.

“My muse!”

Sister Patience By Jerome Brooke

Mother Superior – As you have instructed me I have written a confession of my many sins, and the kind efforts by you and the Sisters of the Order to save my soul. Pray for me. Thank you for giving me refuge in the convent of the Sisters of Perpetual Sublimination, and allowing me to atone for my sins. I ask that you administer punishment for my transgressions. I hope that I will soon be free of my sins, and given the resolve not to sin again.

# # #

Mother Superior, I pray that you will forgive me. I will continue to seek to expiate my sins. Sister Patience has shown unswerving determination to reform me, without complaint. Glory Be! Brother Theo.

“Follow me to my cell, Brother Theo!”

Sister Patience led me down the hall of the convent, to her room. The cell was barren save for a narrow cot, a kneeler and a few items of furniture.

“Take off your cassock! Hurry!”

I removed my garments, and found Sister Patience had taken off her habit.

“Kneel at the tub!”

The holy woman stepped into the shallow tub, and poured cold water over her form. I watched as she continued her bath. She was a woman of mature years, with dark hair.

“There! I see proof that you are not pure in mind! Mother Superior will be disappointed!” warned the holy woman.

After her bath, Sister Patience went to her cot, after donning a white shift.

“Come, lie beside me. Remember, you must be pure in mind tonight. After I fall asleep, be firm, and do not touch my secret parts. We will be like brother and sister.”

# # #

Mother Superior, forgive me for my sins with Sister Patience. I will do penance! Glory Be! Sister Virginia has also sought to have me do penance for my many sins. Brother Theo.

“Mother Superior has asked me to take personal charge of your discipline! You must obey me in all things!” Sister Virginia frowned, shaking her finger in my face.

The holy woman was a woman of age, with white hair and a deeply lined face. She was plump, having been plagued by the sin of gluttony all her life.

After her bath, in cold water, she lay upon her cot. She summoned me to her side.

“I am confident that my purity will be safe with you this night. Do not touch my secret parts after I fall asleep. Say the rosary till you yourself fall asleep, Brother.”

# # #

Mother Superior, forgive my sins with Sister Virginia! I woke in the night to find the good woman at my person. She would give me no rest till I had served her desires. I only pray that the other sisters will desist from smiles when using her name! In a spirit of kindness, Sister Constance has taken me in hand. She has spared no efforts to save me from perdition. Glory Be! Brother Theo.

# # #

Mother Superior, bless me for I have sinned. Sister Concepcion has been unable to help me reach sublimation. Glory be, Brother Theo.

“Brother Theo, You must intercede for me with Mother Superior. When I go to services at the Cathedral, everyone stares. Even the Cardinal shook his head, when I saw him at the entrance. Many of the women are amused by my condition!”

“Your period of confinement is fast approaching. We need to decide on possible names. I will ask Mother Superior to set up a day care centre, here at the convent.”

“Last time the homily was on the Immaculate Concepcion. Everyone seemed to be smiling, and staring at me. This is all your fault!”

“We must pray!” I said.

# # #

Mother Superior, I will be pleased to confer with you on a more formal basis. I understand that you, like us all, feel a need for spiritual guidance. Glory Be! Brother Theo.

“Hello, Mother Superior.”

“Hello, my son. Do come in, sit here on the bench.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“I often feel a sense of isolation, Brother. I have spent my life here, and have yet to reach sublimation!”

“Holy communion, the sacramental meal – the host, is always of value, Mother Superior.”

“Yes, you are right, my son.”

The holy woman rose, and came to me. She knelt at my chair, and raised my cassock. I stood to offer her communion. She opened her mouth in readiness. I thrust into her open lips. She began to practice the holy rite, using her hand to assist.

When she had reached exaltation, she pulled back, and bowed her head in prayer for a moment. She rose, caught my eye, and swallowed.

“Come each day at this time, my son. Daily communion will be of great value. But come, I desire to seek sublimation.”

The holy woman sat upon her chair, raising her black rode to her face. She spread her legs, in invitation. I knelt before her, and drew close.

# # #

Mother Superior, I am pleased that you have decided to have me instruct the novices in the fundamentals of sublimation. Your suggestion of private confession and chastisement is very wise. I will also offer holy communion to them. Glory Be! Brother Theo.

# # #

Mother Superior. I am most pleased to hear of the miraculous events. The immaculate conception of a child by a number of the novices, demonstrates the power of the goddess. I am humbled that you have reported the events to the Elders.

I am overwhelmed that the Senior Abbess of Order of the Sisters of Perpetual Sublimation has chosen to elevate me to Sainthood. I am gratified that the Elders will permit me to become a man of the cloth. I will be pleased to take holy orders. I will meet with you for the laying on of hands. All this has been possible only thru your aid and encouragement. Glory be! Father Theo, ST.

# # #

Father Theo. We have elected you to the Board of Elders. Your first term of duty will require you to inspect all convents of the realm, to determine if the sisters of the faith are true to their vow of chastity. By Order of the Board.

Grey By Caitlin Hoffman

“This is the last time,” I insist, and yet even as I speak, I don’t believe the words. Our skin is inches from brushing too close, our mouths seconds away from crossing that line, and neither of us care.

“Isn’t that what you said the night before?” you whisper, trying not to smile. The thrum from my fingertips is holding you hostage, making you ready to pounce.

“I have to go. Right now.”

“The same with me. We have to walk away from this.”

We fall into a kiss instead, a kiss that slaughters all of the finer parts of ourselves. I love the way you destroy all my sensibilities and always leave me craving more. Your hands are travelling too far already, and I have to shove you off.

“No, none of that. Kissing… kissing is enough. It’s not too much. Anything more than that…”

We don’t listen to my words. We tumble in again. The air, once so cold, is already hot enough to make our hair sweat. Your hands go in my ponytail, toying with the band that keeps it all together. Soon it’s falling loose on my shoulder, and then your fingers are playing with the rim of my shirt, daring to go further. I push back against you, clawing onto your hips, hoping to hurt you and scare you away. All it does is make you kiss deeper, make you hold harder, make you moan louder. It’s so dangerous, what we’re doing here. We can’t help ourselves.

A light from a passing car causes us to shirk in terror. I cover my face and as much of my skin as I can with my coat, hoping the light won’t reveal me for what I am. The car passes, the threat subsides, and we find our way into a dim-lit kiss once more, this time completely out of sight and off the road.

“We need to be more careful.” you hiss between breaths, fingers teasing the edge of my skirt. I lurch forward and pull you into me, sure to gyrate my hips against your own.

“Isn’t that what you said before?” I whisper back, finding that the crook of your neck is the perfect place for my tongue. I can feel those nerves of yours screaming underneath, throbbing right into your organs below. The release will come soon, but I want to linger as long as possible. The danger works as an aphrodisiac, making each kiss that much more inflamed. We are engulfed by our desire; it doesn’t matter what society says.

Not for now, at least.

“I should go.” these words come to me in a rush as I suddenly remember what street we’re on and what neighbourhood we’re in, and how much trouble would come to the both of us if we were caught here together. You shush me hurriedly, guiding my hand to the bulge in your pants, trying so hard to ignore the fact that we are so wrong together.

“Stay, just long enough for me to feel you.”

“We can’t…”

“We have to.”

“You have a wife at home. A wife that isn’t coloured.”

“Don’t talk about her, please.”

“But…”

You stop me with another kiss and a hand that presses directly against my mound. At the sudden breach of intimacy I gasp, every nerve paying far too much attention to where you’re going to put your fingers. My wetness is not secret anymore; it’s smothered on your palm. You rub, first slow, then fast enough to weaken my knees. Intoxicated by every grip we hold on each other, I let myself give in. After all, forgiveness is no good if you don’t sin first.

I grab back and rub on your jeans, feeling you harden underneath. You’re so thick, so sturdy, so potent in your want for me. There’s no hiding from each other anymore. Then comes the lurch of your zipper, and the spring of your erection now free in the palm of my hand. The slap makes us both ache, longing to cut out all the cold in our world and leave nothing but this sizzling eruption of our love. Is this love? We don’t care. All we know is we need each other, despite the world.

I slam you against the wall, unleashing the rawness in me you always say you adore. You always used to tell me that no women in your own circles was so honest about wants and needs. You always said I was the only person you felt comfortable around. Despite my colour. Despite my race. Despite the rules that choke our society.

I’d be lynched if they found me kissing you. And you’d be disgraced.

“Oh, harder, tighter…” you instruct, your thick, creamy accent melting me more between the legs. I’m numb now, deranged and trickling, mewing like a cat for you to slam into me. For now, you only give me your fingers, slipping a few in even though your penis is inches away from my entrance and its throbbing, soaked juices. Everything is clenched, tight, ripe for the picking, but you don’t yet dare to cross that line. We’re in arrest, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the forbidden fruit to slip off the vine and smother us in delicious, sticky sweetness.

I can only imagine how beautiful we look, surrendered to the dark and the motion in our arms, our tongues entwined with a delicate, translucent force, our bodies moving to the same indecipherable rhythm that has haunted humans since the beginning of time. I always thought the meeting of flesh to be a beautiful thing. Sacred, sanctioned, a gateway to serenity. Ever since my lust crossed the train tracks, however, I have thought of it as nothing but sordid. We do not exchange poetry, but sin. And neither of us care.

“Please, come into me. Before I have to leave.”

You obey, instantly, slipping in while I guide you with my hand. Despite my arousal, I’m still tight, and you force your way in with a lustful precision that makes my head swoon. I love the way you jerk your hips to get it all the way in, to explore me with every inch you’ve been given. I clench tighter and move myself against the wall for support, wrapping one leg around your waist so you can hold on and dive deep. Your moans are too much for me. I slap both hands onto your neck, putting us nose to nose, daring you to keep staring. You can’t meet my eyes for too long, afraid of the intensity within, so instead you put your lips on me, accentuating the wetness below. We rock, and my back is scratching against the brick but I don’t care. I can’t care about anything but the fact that you’re in me. So deep in me, deeper than any other man has been. Do you understand what you do to me in these moments, when we’re rocking back and forth tasting each other’s skin? Do you know that in the nights we can’t meet I rock against my hand, trying to reinvent the cataclysmic bliss in your touch? Do you have any idea that no matter how many men of my own neighbourhood I use to pass the time, not one of them compare to your bright, blonde hair and steamy, blue eyes? Yours is a soul whose colours do not compare. Nothing and no one can distract me from the fact that every minute without you is a minute closer to hell.

“I want this to last forever.” you say.

The quickening in your thrusts and trembling in your abdomen show me that you’re trying to slow your own orgasmic climb down, for the sake of us staying together as long as possible. Despite myself, I take one hand and put it around the base of your cock, squeezing just a little to tempt you with more pressure. You knock your head back, cursing. Your balls tighten up and you spasm, lurching, spraying, fucking me with such intensity as you come that my clit begins to scream in need of its own separate release. That little bulb above my vulva is so sensitive that as you pull out and spill your remaining milk against my skin, the shot of you almost makes me fall into my own peak. Just almost.

You collapse on me, and even though you weigh at least forty pounds more, with your thick farmer arms and runner’s legs, I still manage to hold you up. In my arms, you feel so very much like a child, a child fearsome of his own wants, dreams and insecurities. I know then that you’ll never be as free as me. For, no matter how many times we meet, it’s always in your neighbourhood, not mine.

“This should be the last time.” you say suddenly, as you get a grip on reality again.

I readjust my skirt, not caring about the fact that the stain won’t wash out this time.

“Is that so, my love?”

“We’re kidding ourselves, aren’t we?”

I stick my tongue onto the back of my teeth, not wanting to admit the truth. My mouth betrays me.

“Yes, we are.”

“We’ll never live in a world where this is okay. You and me, together. White and black.”

I blush, but thankfully it’s still dark enough outside so that you won’t notice. My hair is tangled and soppy from our sex, and I curl it about my fingers.

“You’re off then, Mr. Madison?”

It breaks me, the way you fix your tie and zip up your jeans, all without looking at me.

“Indeed I am, Margaret-May.”

The heat from my legs is fading now. The swell itself has receded. All that is left is a tingle in my lips, and the determined pulse of my clitoris.

“Same time tomorrow?” I say, a wry smile played upon my lips.

You don’t answer as you skulk away, and I know that means yes.

After Dinner By Jerome Brooke

“Do read to me, Emile! Please!” said the Countess. “A play, perhaps.”

I selected a book from the shelves of the library of the countess. Madam had a large library, for someone living in Haiti. Most had sat on the shelf unread until my arrival. She had shipped them en masse from her chateau outside Nice, after she had inherited the plantation. I began to read to her from the book. She poured a glass of one of her cordials, and gave it to me. I sipped the glass of crème de menthe, as I read from the collection of Moliere.

“Very nice, dear one. But yours are so much better!” I smiled at the grandiose comparison.

“You are so kind. I do hope my book does well in Paris,” I replied. I continued to read from the book. The Countess had secured publication of a collection of my poems in France. She saw herself as my muse and protectoress.

Marie entered with a tray of bonbons, and a decanter of wine. She gave a saucer with the sweets to each of us, with a slight smile to me. “Merci, Marie,” I thanked her. “Very nice.” Marie smiled, and left. Perhaps she would visit my room later. She would be happy with a piece of silver.

“You must be careful, Lucian. I have warned you about the black women. They are only trouble.”

“Oui, Madam.”

“I would send her to the fields, but I suspect you visit more to see her, and the other tarts, than to see me!”

“We are lovers, Madam – an older woman, and her young lover. We outrage society! And you are a countess,” I said, kissing the hand of the dowager. “Black women are always there.”

The Countess pulled me close, running her hand down my side. She began to unbutton my trousers, seeking pleasure. Enlivened by her own daring, she brought out favored toy, and began to use her tongue. Her head moved up and down, and then she froze. She looked up, and caught my eye. She drew back, and swallowed with a gulp. She touched her throat, with a smile. “So much!”

The Countess settled back in the sofa, and raised her dress and petticoat. I knelt before her, and pulled down her pantaloons. I placed my hands on her plump legs, and drew close. I began to trace her soft folds with my tongue, as she began to moan. I continued to minister to her, until she cried out in passion.

“Tonight, Lucian. Go, and refresh yourself before dinner,” Madam sighed, catching her breath. “What you do to me, pretty one.” Madame rang for Marie. She stood, and began to unlace her dress, to prepare for a bath. Marie caught my eye, and winked as she helped the countess to disrobe. I bowed, and left for my own room.

After dinner, I retired to my room to pen a letter to my family in Paris, and to look over some of my work in progress. Later, I refreshed myself, and then donned my nightshirt and robe. I went to the suite of the Countess, and entered the anteroom. I found Marie waiting, and gave her a quick embrace. I entered the chamber of Madam, to find her waiting in bed.

“Come to bed, Cherie. Rub my back, dear one,” the Lady said. “You are so sweet.” This would not take long. Madam always fell asleep soon after pleasure. Marie would be waiting.

Charlie’s Room By A. A. Garrison

When Randy returned from the Gulf, on leave, Charlie wasn’t with him.

He’d promised to visit her personally, Charlie’s ma. It was Charlie’s last coherent request, before the fever and delirium swallowed him up. Randy made it his first stop, before even his own ma, or changing out of his fatigues. It was how he was.

Charlie’s house. Or just his ma’s house, now. Their little Carolina hometown wasn’t too much to start with, and the property was a good few miles outside of it, off a nameless dirt road that went to hell in heavy rains. Still, the house wasn’t so bad, tall and brick, a kind of poor-man’s Georgian, incongruous to the woods. Randy had liked it as a child, the backwater property and its big funny house, had always invited himself over come Friday night; it was where Sherlock Holmes would live, he’d thought. His rental car spit gravel all up the driveway.

He parked beside a pragmatic coupe that could belong to an old woman, and camped the driveway for a time. The house had changed since his last visit, not so much a physical thing as perceptual, a pall drawn by his upcoming task. Unshuttered windows stared out, lifeless. It was summer and the lawn was healthy and cared for – Billy, the woman he’d come to see, had two green thumbs – but the landscaping was somehow wrong, contrasting, the property’s vacancy. It might’ve sensed Charlie’s end.

Randy made a false start. Billy. This was impossible. It caught up to him all at once. He lifted his camo hat and brushed away sweat, breathing deep. It had been easier fighting in the desert.

Another few minutes, and he at last left the safety of the car, a flagstone walk to the door. He caught muffled noises from inside, and his guts sunk; a part of him had been hoping she wasn’t home, or was in bed or the shower – anything for a reprieve. He sucked another breath and thumbed the buzzer.

The door swung open at once, perhaps on a switch, and there she was, the bereaved. For a dilate moment, the two kept to their respective sides of the door, long enough for him to see lazy jeans and an around-house tee-shirt, a face that had aged more than it should’ve. Then she was in his arms and sobbing, neither saying a word, Randy in a consoling mode learned in the army. The two swayed like tired dancers.

After some time on the stoop, she said his name twice and led him out of the heat. The living room was wholly unchanged from the old days, Randy saw, dark and windowless in the home’s center, twin recliners and a big friendly couch. Along one wall was the heinous Panasonic console TV they’d had forever, Charlie’s old movies and video games. Randy went sick with grief, suddenly, but he choked it back, for her.

Billy was a mess. Slumped shoulders, a tremor to her. Gone was the graceful strut she’d always shown, full of womanly confidence; she walked the way dogs pant, seeming to follow Randy despite going first. She set him down on the couch and filed beside, intimately close. She smelled vaguely of cinnamon.

“The funeral was nice,” she said afterward, in the even, unaccented voice he knew her by.

Randy nodded. What to say. He realized she was still holding his hand, and let her.

“Just tell me,” she asked. “Was it quick? Just… was it?”

A roadside bomb, shrapnel in the gut and leg and face. Three days’ waiting. “It was quick,” Randy said.

A shadow fell over her. “Don’t lie.” Her hand pulled away some, as animals do before taking off.

“Never.”

She searched him, those deep Spanish eyes, then said “Okay.” The hand eased and she sucked into her lap, kind of, tears bombing down.

Randy said nothing more. Consolation mode. She stayed in her lap, and he studied her. Olive skin. Browny-colored hair in a perm that needed refreshing, just showing white in places. Textbook Mediterranean. She hadn’t changed much from the woman of memory; there were some crow’s-feet and laugh lines, and some deckle-edge wrinkles around her lips, but she was the same old Billy. It was odd, seeing her this way, her shiny side covered over with pain. Loneliness shone through her like a bulb, and he supposed that the worst; Charlie had been an only child, and his dad had been dead before Randy came into the picture, in third grade. Billy had never remarried.

She looked up, wearing a strained grin that was for Randy’s benefit. “Your mom came by last week. Brought a pie. Peach.”

Randy returned a perfunctory smile of his own. “She bakes a helluva pie.”

“Ate the whole damn thing.” Back to her lap. “Comfort food, I guess. But.”

“It’ll do that to ya’. Loss, I mean.” And it did; Charlie wasn’t the only of Randy’s missing friends.

“Yeah. Last thing I need is pie, though.”

Randy appraised her without meaning to do so. She was alright for a woman looking at fifty, could probably get by with a pie or two. He thought of telling her so, but it seemed wrong. “Said he loved you,” Randy said instead. “Charlie.”

She raised up again, the face already crumbling. Her eyes misted and she melted into him as she had outside, really bawling now. Her hand squeezed his as if shocked. He wrapped his free hand around her shoulder, bedding her in his clavicle.

Ironic: It was like his knee, almost exactly.

Randy had been eleven or close, over at Charlie’s for another Friday night, the two up to no good out in the woods, when he’d hurt his knee. They’d been playing army, with orange-capped versions of the M16s they would be issued not ten years later, and Randy had slipped on a mossy shelf of rock, his left knee meeting the rock’s sharp. Randy had freaked, not from the pain but the sheer disaster of it, all the blood. Charlie had walked him back, their arms tangled over each other’s necks, and Randy hadn’t been able to hold back, him wailing in full audience of Charlie and, later, Billy, who’d had the mense to send Charlie off. Randy had been unable to stop, now from embarrassment and his inability to stop, perversely, and she’d set him on this very couch and held him to her chest, soothing him quiet just like he was, currently, her. Life is a circle, another army-lesson.

She cried no less than twenty minutes, soaking a lapel. When she at last quieted and came up, she looked a little better – puffy and dopey, as if roused from sleep, but better, the way we do after a good cry. “Oh, Randy,” she sighed, blushing.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, reading some embarrassment.

She still had his hand, and gave it another squeeze, with what tried to be a smile. Her eyes sharpened behind their glaze of tears, as if just recognizing him. “Do you remember when- ?”

“I skinned up my knee?”

She smiled, now genuine, showing teeth. “Yeah! Funny, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Her brightness faded as fast as it had arrived, perhaps on a dial.

A silence then, this one uncomfortable, tensioned. Their eyes found each other and locked, and something passed between them, too big for words. Her mouth slit a little, as if she had something to say but couldn’t quite get it out. In a movie, it would’ve preceded a swooning kiss.

But they didn’t kiss. She gave his hand a quick pat, sandwiching his between her own, and then let it go and hunted up some Kleenex. Several boxes cluttered the coffee table, some empty. She blew her nose and dabbed her eyes, then quit the couch, forcing him to follow.

“Thank you, Randy,” she said, with a tender clap on the shoulder, the kind older women give young men. “You don’t know.”

“I told him I would. Was nothin’.”

She leaned in for an asexual peck on the cheek. “No no, it is. Your mom was here, and Pierce’s folks and the others and, but it wasn’t the same.” Pierce was her late husband. “Thank you,” she repeated, firmly. Randy could remember her real smile, from Before, and saw it now, in her eyes.

And again, that creeping tension, like they were on a date. Randy indicated the door. “I’m gonna… My folks’re… “

“Yeah. Come on,” she said, and walked him out.

She never asked about his time in the Gulf, and that was fine.

# # #

When Randy’s mother requested he take a second pie over to Billy Wilcox’s, Randy was more than happy to, and not because he wanted to cheer Billy up. He needed out of the house.

Life back home was just short of a nightmare. Mom, Dad, Randy’s kid brother Jake: they all wanted to know. The temperatures, the people, his routine there, how was the food and… ? Jake, at twelve, had even asked if Randy had “bagged any rag-heads.” His parents had sent the boy disapproving looks, but Randy had seen the interest in their eyes, no less than their tactless son’s but worse because they would deny it. They had a God-given right to these facts, apparently, maybe in the Bible somewhere. Too much cable news, Randy thought.

He’d answered the questions, curtly, but he’d answered – except for Jake’s. Miraculously, the phone had rung just after, providing an out. What he would’ve said, he didn’t know. Yes, he’d shot people, bombed people, reduced them to ugly lumps of meat like Charlie’d ended up, and it was nobody’s damn business but his own. He tried to give his parents as much of their son as possible, but there was a division there, and not a small one. The contrast between Here and Over There… it was light and shadow. He’d been warned, by leave-veterans, about feeling “removed” upon coming home, but there was no preparing for this. When he’d entered the house he grew up in, the distance had been nothing short of leprous. After three days, he felt more kinship with Rodney, the family labrador, than these strangers.

So Charlie’s was fine. Randy had expected his votive visit with Billy to be the worst of his leave, but after his experiencing home and all it entailed, she was actually preferable. A solidarity there. His family was still living The American Dream, what he’d risked his life to defend and was no longer a part of, whereas Billy shared his grim reality, his secret partner in this tragedy. On the other hand, Randy couldn’t blame them, his family, and refused to let their ignorance bitter him; not their fault, after all. He’d once been like them – been them – and now, he just wasn’t. But there was that gap, all the same, and it was ocean sized.

He called Billy first, this time, and her voice changed upon hearing his, became younger. It reminded him of calling his last girlfriend, before she’d heard he’d enlisted and found reasons to dump him. Yes, Billy would be home all day, and Randy could only bring the pie if he promised to eat some. He agreed; Mom did, in fact, know how to bake a pie. He got the pie from Mom, threw out some goodbyes, and went out to his truck, in the carport it had occupied for the past year.

The pickup had been his baby before shipping off, a rebuilt ‘70s Ford jacked up on candy-colored shocks, mud tires up to his hip, tread deep enough to hide in. He hadn’t been so vain as to take real pride in the thing, not like some men, but it had been something to sink spare time and money into. Charlie had been the truck’s real fan, and, really, it had been mostly for him. They would swan off in it on weekends, to the movies or the taverns in the next town over, with whatever insignificant others they were seeing at the time. Randy could’ve done with a cheap beat-around pickup, truth be known, but with Charlie such a car freak and never able to afford his own, it had gone from there, Randy an enthusiast by proxy. But now, even with Charlie in the ground, it was still a blast to drive, especially after Randy’s year of being driven.

He keyed the ignition, loving the whipcrack roar. After recalling the basics of operating a motor vehicle, he backed the behemoth down the driveway and into the suburban street — if anything here could be remotely urban. He and Dad had returned the rental days ago, but this was the first he’d been out in the truck. He gunned the engine and tore down the road, and it was orgasmic, as much from blowing off his folks as seeing the street go in fast-forward. This brought a zing of guilt, but the rush dissolved it. He drove the hilly country roads, to Charlie’s.

Billy’s economy Geo remained in the driveway, looking unmoved from three days ago. The day was clear and overwhelmingly pleasant, but the house still stared with those dead windows, evocative of Charlie just before he went. Randy again traversed the flagstones, now in mufti. The door opened before he’d let off the doorbell.

“Hey,” Billy said, smiling warmly, like those Fridays a million years ago. “Hey.”

Randy said “Howdy,” and froze a moment, the pie in both hands: Billy was different. She was made up, for one, her face powdered, earth-tone lipstick. She still wore jeans and a tee-shirt, but these were tucked in, flattering to her figure. A cloud still hung over her, yes, but it wasn’t so overbearing, perhaps a silver lining now. And there was more, too, in her body language. Anticipation? He couldn’t tell.

He extended the pie. “Blueberry. And Mom said this’un’s low-fat.”

She relieved him of it. “That’s fine, but you’re eating most of it.” She nodded him inside and closed the door. She had on perfume, he noticed.

The house assumed a different aspect on Randy’s second visit, divorced from the burden he’d been under – not necessarily happier, but better, like a scabbed-up wound. Charlie was everywhere. The living room, them up all night watching Schwarzenegger videos. The hallway in which Randy had broken a lamp during some mischief. Gilded pictures of relatives he’d never met. The place was one big memory. It choked him up again, but it was okay now, healthy. Part of letting go, he supposed.

The kitchen was no different. Charlie, a big boy, had been fond of the kitchen, so Randy had seen a lot of it. It was littered with Billy’s knickknacks: samplers, carved wood miniatures, a circus of refrigerator magnets. Randy picked out a couple magnets from years ago, one of which he remembered Charlie getting in school. There were some framed pictures in the mix: high-school graduation, basic-training graduation, Halloween as a kid. One showed Charlie, Randy, and a wrench named Will Moody at a desert airstrip, taken a month before the bomb.

“We can eat somewhere else,” Billy said, from far away.

Randy snapped to. He’d been staring. “No, this is fine.”

Billy gave him a look, then set the pie on the counter and got out the milk.

Randy found his eyes migrating to her, perhaps to avoid the memories waving from every inch of the room. Today’s outfit hugged her body, showing off the matronly curves she hadn’t lost. The jeans did her ass justice; jeans are unkind to some women, but she wasn’t one of them. When she started from the fridge, he looked guiltily away, unsure why.

Plates clinked, and she dealt out two cuneiform slices of pie, a super-big and a super-small. She passed him the big one and a glass of milk. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Yes, mam.”

They ate, mmm’ing and slurping milk, the silence not awkward. They finished about the same time, and Billy said, “I want to show you something.”

Randy was down for “something,” as long as it kept him from home.

Billy led him upstairs through the dark house, her blue-jean ass inches away as they mounted the risers. It detailed when she took a step. Randy studied the risers. They stopped in Charlie’s bedroom.

Strangely, there weren’t many memories here, not what you would expect from Charlie’s ground zero. During Randy’s visits, they’d devoted most of their time to the woods or the kitchen or living room, his bedroom memories consisting of sleep and not much else. It had never been too decorated, and now was almost entirely bare, just a bed, an empty bookshelf, and a desk wearing some years-old Car and Drivers, as it had been from adolescence on. Charlie had never liked to be alone, and the room reflected that.

Leaving the light off, Billy went to the desk and scratched open a drawer, a large binder inside, its cover was untitled. He’d never seen the binder before. She creaked the bed and patted beside her. Randy sat.

“A scrapbook,” she explained. “Charlie’s.” The cover opened with a breath of old paper. The matte leaf read CHARLIES SCRAP BOOK in marker, hard to read; the room faced east and it was afternoon, the light low and uncertain.

The book was in her lap; looking there necessitated a view of her breasts. Randy sort of forced them out, selective perception. “I never knew he kept a scrapbook,” he said.

“Me either. Found it last month. After.”

The next leaf was lousy with sequins and rhinestones, the cheap stuff a kid would use in a scrapbook. Amidst the storm of decoration, a faded Polaroid depicted a young Charlie and a frosted cake, MY BIRTHDAY in more marker.

“His seventh,” Billy said, a fondness in her voice. She ran a finger down the photo.

Randy focused on the picture. “Think I was there for the eighth.”

She flipped forward several leafs, flashing similar art, then stopped. This one read EIGHTH BIRTHDAY and wasn’t quite as gaudy, the picture showing Charlie and another cake, and a gap-toothed Randy.

“So I was right,” Randy said, for something to say.

Billy looked at him with a lipless grin, tearing up like a child. He put a preemptive arm around her and she answered at once, burrowing into him. Her chest hitched as to quake her breasts, but she abstained from a full-out cry. She thumbed through the scrapbook.

The leaves all followed the same format, random decoration around an object of interest. A third-place ribbon from the school’s science fair. A snakeskin Randy could remember Charlie parading around. Newspaper clippings involving cars or movies about cars. One picture was a magazine cutout of Winona Ryder; Charlie had been known to have a thing for the actress, for reasons he kept to himself. Edward Scissorhands had featured prominently in their VCR. The clipping gave Billy and Randy a laugh. Over the narrative of pages, the decoration went from dime-store ornaments to crude drawings, to half-decent drawings to none at all, the last leg only pictures or clippings. The final leaf contained a single newspaper clipping, that announcing his and Randy’s deployment with several others from the area.

There was a glassy pause, and Billy seemed to stop breathing. Then the scrapbook slid from her lap and she pancaked against Randy, convulsing more than crying. He returned to consolation mode without thinking, petting her complex hair and squeezing her shoulder, letting her hand find his. A receptacle. He almost joined her a couple times, hot warmth threatening behind his eyes, but his tears had been cried.

“Sorry,” she sobbed, into his chest. “Sorry, but. It’s just. It’s different with a man. Things come out.”

He pet her in response, The Consoler.

Then she raised up, suddenly, right in his face, wearing an expression of terror. Time stopped and their eyes fused, her mouth again parted as if heavy with words – a replay of yesterday, another pre-swoon moment. But this time she pistoned forward, their mouths meeting.

It was quick and meaningless, all lips and barely that. She pulled back and neither spoke, the two discussing it via their eyes. Randy felt to be outside his body. The kiss had taken him by surprise… yet hadn’t; he’d expected this, unconsciously, from the moment he heard her voice lift on the phone. It seemed okay, natural as the dessert just eaten.

“Billy,” he said tonelessly, without reply. They held each other’s gaze for a time, and she must’ve read something in his because she came back strong, bringing tongue and hands and the sweet of blueberry pie.

Randy’s heart tripped and he went underwater, she changing position and all over him. The kiss didn’t stop and soon a hand was showing his to round and soft, he again squeezing. “Randy,” and she straddled him, her top off like magic. Great amounts of flesh foisted out, tipped the dark of baker’s chocolate.

“Ain’t right,” he said, not believing it for a second.

Billy didn’t so much as pause. She proffered her breasts with both hands and he accepted, taking sloppy mouthfuls, nipples the velvety of cat’s ears. She was still crying but only bodily, her face that of a criminal child’s. She ground industriously against him, knees flapping.

More kissing as she worked at his pants, mingling shadows in the darkness. The air teased his bare skin and then her hands were on him and busy, him accepting her so easily. “Ain’t right,” he said again, and it was a joke. He pressed into her caress, cupping her and kissing and their foreheads joined. She wasn’t the only one needing release.

Then she was away, Randy left on her dead son’s bed as she stood before him, the dark stealing her age. Her pants fell and the rest too and she stood with an air of question, hands knit at her navel.

“S’okay,” Randy said. He held out a hand. “S’okay, Billy.”

Her face smoothed and she climbed up and it started all over, she against the headboards and opening up butterfly-like, just catching the window’s far ambience. A musk of sweat and woman, traces of perfume. She pulled at herself moaning and soon he was inside, easing then pushing then pushing. Their hands melded and his head found her neck, in the windblown posture of the mating. Her tears warm on his close-cropped head, his collecting in her clavicle. The bed went into uproar, the only sound for miles.

“It’s alright, it’s alright.”

In time, she cried out enormously and he with her, as only the aggrieved can, the tumult stopping and starting and stopping, their hands uncoupling by degrees.

They lay in what might be sleep, after, she at his breast and smiling through tears.

# # #

The shower was big enough for two. They’d gone twice more, exorcising the hurt. A soft afterglow now, dull red like closed eyes. They bathed without bathing, in a swaying embrace, wordless and shameless. Olive skin against desert-tanned-. He consigned his head to her shoulder, bedded in the wealth of hair.

She spoke just by his ear: “Is it really worth it, Randy? Is anything?”

Randy opened his eyes but didn’t lift his head. The question was valid, he just had no answer.

Billy pulled back. “Randy?” She brushed a hand over his cheek.

He looked at her, took away her hand, kissed her slowly. She didn’t ask again.

A Good Night’s Sleep By Franklin Sr.

She stretched from what she considered a good night’s sleep, it was Saturday morning and waking up alone wasn’t really that bad, she was getting used to it. A few drinks with friends last night, a late night chat over the phone and restful peaceful sleep. She’d been working at the new job for seven months now. A quick move over several states and here she was, the assistant manager of the second largest storage warehouse in the state, not too bad for a 32 year old divorced mother to none. Yes, she wanted kids and she still had lots of time; that biological clock that her mother spoke of still had a few years to go. For now though, sex was just for fun, she’d know when it was time to get serious. Anyway, today was a get ready for tonight sort of day. She was going on a triple date with two of the girls from work, and she had been set up with one of their husband’s friends. She’d met him briefly about a month a go, he seemed nice, sort of quiet, but it was just an introduction at a barbecue; she didn’t think much of it.

Tonight was to be casual, barbecue at Polly’s place, then down to the beach for a few drinks and a fire, she loved those squishy marshmallows roasted over the fire; when done just right, there was nothing better to put in your… she laughed, her thoughts were getting naughty as her mind projected to her date with Rob. She just wanted to have a good time tonight, nothing more, no intimacy, although a passionate kiss and the feel of a man’s arms around her would certainly be welcome.

She chose a nice short sleeve form fitting summer blouse, worn over her sports bra it looked sexy, she whispered “summer sexy” when she looked at herself in the mirror. Her capri pants were a soft brown, not too tight, and the outfit was topped with white tennis shoes, no socks. She carried a light sweater just in case and a clutch purse.

The barbecue at Polly’s place was great, a lot of laughs, a few drinks and there was no awkward feelings between her and Rob on their first date, maybe because they had met before, or maybe because they both just expected a few laughs and nothing more. Down at the beach they all sat around and exchanged a few chuckles, the marshmallows were good and all enjoyed the warmth of the squishy insides and the brown toasted crispy covering, the guys especially liked them when followed by a long gulp of cold beer.

Through the evening, the couples paired off and she found herself alone with Rob. The  past few hours didn’t tell them a lot about each other, but they did enjoy each others company and it didn’t surprise her when the words, let’s go to my place for a few more beers escaped her lips. Rob was game and on arrival she was heading for the fridge when she found herself wrapped up in two very strong arms being kissed hungrily. She liked it and gently pushed him back, smiled and said, do you want a glass with your beer? He laughed, said no and they both sat on her couch and stared at each other. After a few sips of beer, he put his arm around her and they sat for a seemingly long time. Slowly, gently, she put her hand on his stomach, he bent down and kissed her, her hand moved downward, his hand moved upward to her breast, they both stopped, kissed hard with passion and he moved forward, pushing her gently on her back. Rob put his hand under her blouse and kissed her naval, he edged upward towards her breasts and gently nibbled her nipples through her sports bra. Her hands were behind his head, tangled in his hair, pushing him, guiding him to wherever she wanted him to go. She pushed the top of his head now, no guidance needed and he slid down between her legs. They were both still fully clothed, but that did not stop him from pushing, breathing, biting gently at her mound, even though clothing covered the moist precious prize beneath. While savouring the scent, he reached up and undid her bra; she liked that and swiftly removed it, then slid her blouse off. Rob looked up and saw two beautiful spheres, he reached for them while still mouthing her mound through her slacks.

Her tits felt awesome in his hands, they were full and soft and at this moment her nipples were pointing to the sky and seemed to yell, pinch me, pinch me, so he did. He pinched them hard, she felt the shiver and couldn’t tell if she said it aloud or jut thought it to herself, but somewhere in her mind, she heard, “harder, harder, harder” and as his thumb and fore-finger rolled her nipples around in a circular motion, then back again, she breathed heavily and enjoyed the moment. Little bumps had formed on her areoles around her nipples, she wanted more and when she opened her eyes, his fingers were still pinching her rock hard nipples and his mouth was still grinding on her now wet pussy. Wow, she thought, the guys done this before, she smiled to herself, closed her eyes and hoped this would last.

She allowed herself a few more moments of euphoria and then took him by the wrists and pulled him upwards. His mouth stopped at her breasts and he sucked each nipple before continuing upward and kissing her hard on the lips. She felt his hardness as they kissed and she reached for him. He liked her squeezing his cock, but he wanted to taste her first. He slid down her pants and saw the cutest little pair of red panties, they were damp and he put his nose close and wafted in the scent. He slid her panties off and saw a short narrow strip of wispy pubic hair, like an arrow pointing the way to a hidden treasure. He nudged her legs open, her sex glistened, he felt the pressure on the front of his pants and knew his cock needed its freedom. It could wait one more minute, his head slowly disappeared between her thighs and his tongue softly lapped at her moistness, he heard her groan, he licked at her clit and it popped out of its sheath. It was engorged and he sucked it gently. She was dripping when he pulled away. He took his finger and ran it up her slit, then licked her juices from his finger, when she saw this, she wanted him even more.

She reached for his belt buckle as he stood up, when his pants hit the floor, his boxers were right behind. She stared at his hardness for a short time, stroked it, watched the skin go back and forth from the head of his manhood, She reached underneath and handled his balls, a small groan came from his lips, she gave them a gentle squeeze and took the head of his cock in her mouth, he felt a slight tremble in his knees. He pushed forward, she did not move, she took in more, and then more, he moved back and started to pump slowly. Oh that felt so good, he withdrew, dropped to his knees and sank his hardness into the soft wet flesh that he had tasted only moments ago. She gasped and as he looked into her eyes, he saw her smile, her eyes were dancing, her breasts were bouncing back and forth in rhythm with his strokes and she was saying ever so softly, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, and he was very happy to oblige.

The tingle in his balls started and he knew he was near his end, he wanted to take her from behind, he loved that position, to be able to grab onto a woman’s hips and just go wild as she pushed back to accept her man’s hardness, it was a great feeling made even greater when both parties were synchronized, accepting and hotter than hades. As he was thinking about this, she groaned loudly, he looked at her and her face grew strained, her pussy gripped his cock as if it were a vice and he knew she was cumming. A moment later he felt the heat of her moistness as it spewed from her, only to crash against his shaft sunk deeply inside her. He loved the feeling of the heat, of the wetness, of the spasms of her cunt against his cock. He watched her orgasm subside and she relaxed for a brief moment, smiling up at him. He smiled back and started to pump his shaft into her again. He reached down and put both her legs on his shoulders, in this position he could drive like a jackhammer and he did for a short period of time. She liked it, it was evident when he pulled out and her facial expressions went from glad to sad. He turned her around and ploughed his cock deep inside her. She pushed back, she was still wet and he couldn’t help but pull out once more and lick that sweet pussy. Maybe it was the taste of both their juices mingled together, but she smelled great and tasted oh so sweet. He heard a low moan and an ooohhhhh came from her lips; he noticed her leg twitch slightly and her toes were wiggling wildly, no doubt about it, her second orgasm. She enjoyed the few minutes spent on licking her ass before he drove his cock back into her pussy, not too many men liked to plant their tongue up someone’s ass, another plus for him in her books.

Rob was at full throttle now, he couldn’t stop, she was pushing back hard, he was driving forward and knew his time was near. As he grunted each breath and she was shouting fuck me Rob, fuck me damn it, his ass cheeks tightened, he was holding back now, stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, then he just couldn’t… he felt it happen, it seemed to start in his asshole, work up through his balls and spew out the end of his cock in gush after gush of hot cum. He looked down and squeezed each of her ass cheeks as his cock continued to spasm inside her, a few strokes while he was cumming added to the indescribable pleasure; and when he’d finished, he stroked inside her just a few more times because it felt so damn good. He fell exhausted to the floor, she slid down beside him, cum dripping down her leg. She bent over and squeezed the head of his dick, took his last drop of cum on her finger and spread it on her nipples, he moved over her, licked her nipples clean and heard her say; I had a good nights sleep last night and this is what happened, care to come to bed for a good nights sleep?

A Little Bit of Lovin’ and a Bushel of Winter Wheat By Charles Langley

The Lincoln Town Car pulled up in front of  Millie’s Boarding House and State Senator Misty Garth got out without waiting for the driver to open the door for her. She stepped gingerly

around the mud puddles and mounted the steps. Millie came dashing out the door, drying her hands on a dishtowel as she ran.

“Is it all right to hug a Senator?” she asked.

“It’s all right to hug an old friend,” Misty said, grabbing her in a bear hug.

“Bill with you?”

“Left him in Raleigh to take care of things. Since he sold the farm, he mostly just cleans up business matters for me.”

“Best thing you ever did, marrying that man. I knew when you moved out on Jed Purdy and went back to school, you were going places. Marrying Bill cinched it.”

“Bill got me started off in politics. They wanted him to run for Councilman. Told them he didn’t have the time. Suggested they offer it to me. Backed me all the way ever since.”

“You sure look different now from the way you did when you came here offering to work for room and board. You still have that little girl look, but now it has authority attached to it.”

“Still have that little girl feel. Especially with Bill’s arm around me. Nothing  like a good man to convince you life is worth living. And nothing like a no-good one to let you know it isn’t.”

# # #

When Jed Purdy brought home a bride from the backwoods of Mittford County, neighbours took bets on whether she would freeze in front of  the fireplace without a sufficient supply of logs or starve in the lean-to that served as an ill-equipped kitchen. There was the third possibility that she would work herself to death trying to clean up the mess and grime that had accumulated there since  Purdy had taken over the hardscrabble farm. Whatever her future, they felt sorry for the fourteen year old waif who arrived with her entire wardrobe on her back and a pair of ill-fitting brogans on her sockless feet.

“With twenty more pounds on her skinny carcass and some tar soap for her hair, Misty would be beautiful,” Lee Petersen opined, “but as it is she’s just cute as a pearl button.”

If you were extremely kind you would say Purdy was a victim of hard luck and misfortune, but it you were at all truthful you would add that the hard luck and misfortune that accounted for his downfall was Jed Purdy himself.

Each Spring he either planted his crops so early that late frost killed them, or put them in so late that they didn’t have sufficient strength to survive the rains. What little crops he was able to reap went quickly to the society for the preservation of itinerant moonshiners or ended up an ante in the pot of Bud Hawley’s everlasting crapgame.

Misty decided on death by hard labour and set forth on the Herculean task of cleaning up the equivalent of the Augean stables. In no time at all the wide pine boards that were the floor gleamed from lye and hand scrubbing. The inside of the log walls was whitewashed. Years of smoke stains were removed from the mantle and fireplace front and the run down premises began to take on signs of human habitation.

Folks thought her habit of hard work would rub off on Jed, but such was not the case. He fished, and hunted, drank and gambled, but still had no time for chopping wood or tending the farm.

“Bill Garth got more of everything than he will ever use,” Jed told Misty. “I want you to go over to his place and git us some wheat for flour.”

“We got no money to buy anything,” she answered. “How you ‘spect to get wheat?”

“Garth ain’t had a woman at his place since his wife died four years ago. I’m sure you got something you can swap for food we need,” he told her.

She looked at him in astonishment.

“It ain’t like you was a sweet young thing never done nothing,” he continued. “You can give away all you want and still have plenty left for any three men.”

Next morning she walked the two miles to the Garth place.

“Jed wants to know do you have a spare bushel of wheat?”

“I don’t keep any more of my crop than I can use,” he said. “The feed store can accommodate him.”

“We got no money for the feed store. He thought maybe I could swap somethin’ for the wheat. Something kinda personal like.” She turned her face away from him while she was talking, so he wouldn’t see the blush on her cheek.

“You mean what I think you mean?” He saw by the look on her face that she did.

“That worthless son-of-a-bitch. Swapping your body for things he should have earned. I’ll give you the wheat, you don’t have to do anything. But tell him not to send you back again.”

“I cain’t take no charity. I cain’t swap for it, we’ll just have to do without.”

Misty went into the tidy bedroom and began undressing. She shed her housedress and petticoat and was taking off bloomers with the Gold Medal flour trademark still evident when Garth came in. She lay back on the bed to wait for the ten minutes of grunting, thrusting and moaning that was considered love-making in her home.

Half an hour later he was still kissing her on her eyes, her throat, her breasts. His hands were caressing her, bringing her to fever pitch, in a feeling she had never had before. When he finally took her it was with tenderness and care.

“I’ll leave the wheat at the millers,” he told her as breathlessly she was putting on her clothes.

“You can pick up your flour tomorrow.”

When she got home Jed was waiting.

“Sure took long enough,” he told her. “He have to grow the wheat?”

She said nothing, just went into the bedroom and closed the door.

Jed came in, pushed her backwards on the bed and climbed on without taking off his shoes.

Misty tried to push him off, but he was too strong.

“Don’t you even want to kiss me or put your hand on me first?” she asked.

“What other whore things he teach you?”

“He didn’t teach me nothing. It’s jest there’s more to it than wham, bam.”

“You ought to know, Whore.” he spit out the words. “No, you ain’t even a whore. Whores git money. All you’re good for is a bushel of wheat.” He grunted and groaned for a few minutes, then rolled off and went into a drunken sleep.

Two weeks later Jed had needs again.

“Bill Garth got cords of dry firewood under tarpaulins. More’n he’ll ever use. I want you to go over and git us a cord of that wood. Gittin’ cold in here with jest picked up branches.”

“You got as much timber on your place as he has. All it takes is cutting and stacking.”

He struck her across the face with the back of his hand.

“When I tell you to do something, do it. Or else I’ll  larn you a thing or two.”

Next day he came back from a hunting trip with a fruit jar of corn squeezings but no game. A pot of pinto beans simmered on the stove, but Misty was long gone. He unscrewed the jar top and started on the liquor. More important things to do than worry about a woman.

Misty went to the boarding house with just the scanty clothes on her back. Good help was hard to get and Millie greeted her warmly. Weeks later when Misty went to the town’s only lawyer to inquire about a divorce, she got a surprise.

“No record of you ever being married,” he told her. “No license taken out and the preacher who married you was never ordained. You’re free as a bird.”

But not for long. Bill Garth came courting as soon as he heard she was free.

# # #

“Thing’s turned out so well for you,” Millie told her over a pot of sassafras tea. “And to think the whole thing started so simply.”

“You’re right. My life and my career started at Bill Garth’s farm, with a little bit of loving and a bushel of winter wheat.”

Barbara’s Waterboarding By Sandy George

Barbara lay on her back on the waterboard, her wrists manacled under it. She didn’t know how she got there. She only remembered sitting at the stylish bar in the hotel when the bartender came over with a drink for her. He said a man had bought it for her because she was a beautiful girl. Her only other memory was a vague one about getting into a luxurious car.

Even though she was blindfolded, he knew she was on a waterboard because her Tormentor had tipped her up and her head had gone underwater. She had felt like she was going to drown then felt the unimaginable pain of inhaling water into her lungs. She knew her Tormentor was a man because she had heard him speak, a deep, resonant baritone that made her moist between her legs. She wished he would come back and talk to her again; maybe he wouldn’t hurt her next time. She heard a noise, a scraping followed by a footfall. She knew the Tormentor didn’t walk like that. It must be someone else.

Suddenly she felt something between her thighs, something hard and cold. It moved up between her thighs until it reached her cunt. Then it pressed firmly against her lips, pushing them apart and entering her. It must be an enormous dildo. She cried out as it was forced into her, stretching her more than she thought she could be stretched. She begged whoever was doing it to stop; she was afraid she would rip, and the pain was becoming unbearable. Then it did become unbearable as the dildo was revolved while in her, the massive head ploughing in a circle inside her cunt and she screamed. Then she heard the laugh. It was a sniveling snicker sounding like fingernails scratching sandpaper. The rotation stopped and the dildo was jerked out of her, hurting her, but what followed was worse. She heard the awful laugh again as she felt his fingers press against her anus, and she realized he was smearing a creamy substance on and in it. The fingers went away and the dildo returned, shoved hard against her ass. Again she screamed, out of fright this time, as the huge tool was jammed remorselessly into her. Again she felt like she would tear, but the lubricant kept that from happening. The head was now inside her and the revolving began again. It wasn’t as bad as it had been inside her pussy, and in revolving it passed over her spot, giving her a surge of stimulation. Then she felt fingers at her cunt and a hand pushed inside her abruptly. It reached her spot from that side and it and the dildo worked it together. She couldn’t keep from responding to the implacable assault, and was bucking and thrusting against the hand and the tool inside her. She felt the climax building, then washing over her in savage waves until she collapsed, limp. The abuse didn’t stop. She was so sensitive now that it was unbearable, but the hand pulled out and pinched her clit hard. She screamed but the pinching continued, now jacking up and down the clit’s tiny shaft. Then she felt the board tip, and once again her head was underwater. She held her breath as long as she could, but the stimulation of her clit made her gasp and the water came in. The pain in her lungs and the anoxia from not being able to breathe morphed into an explosion as a massive wave roared through her. Her mind drifted; she had almost passed out.

With relief she felt the board tip up and heard the shuffling footsteps fade away. Then softer steps were coming toward her. Could it be her Tormentor? Yes! His deep voice commanded her to spread her legs. Drowsily, she complied. She felt him over her, kissing her breasts, each in turn. His hand closed over her mound, softly squeezing her sore pussy, then caressing inside her labia. She moaned as she responded to him, her nipples growing inside his mouth. He pulled her closer to him, and she felt his enormous cock pressing against her cunt. He entered her slowly, as she felt her pussy contracting around him. He pushed his cock completely inside her, and began slow, excruciatingly exciting strokes, moving almost completely out of her, then impaling her all the way as she quivered beneath him. In spite of the soreness of her clit, she started to heave up toward him, taking him as deeply as she could. She began to feel her climax building as he increased the pace of his thrusts, his balls thumping against her ass. As her climax grew she felt his prick swell and then his semen gushed inside her. It made her come now, her body wrenching in ecstasy as she clutched him deep inside her. He stayed in her until her body slowly calmed, then he withdrew gently and kissed her mouth. He unshackled her wrists and she could hear him leaving. She removed the blindfold and saw a stooped old man’s back as he went out the door. Before it closed she heard him laugh, a sniveling snicker.