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.

A Pound of Flesh By Charles Langley

The plaque on the door said “Sam Eliot, Attorney at Law”. It didn’t say that Sam was Samantha or that she was five foot six inches of curvy cuddleness and that she was proud of her obvious assets. It also didn’t warn you that she had a black belt in karate and could protect herself from unwanted attention to those assets. Plaques on a door don’t usually give you all the information you need to know.

Inside the office, Sam was the only thing that made coming through the door worth while. Certainly the imitation oak desk wouldn’t have attracted you, nor would the cheap metal file cabinets right out of Office Depot have gladdened your eye. The only sign of luxury was a leather couch against the far wall. Missing were the rows of law books all law offices were expected to display. Sam’s reference materials were on the Macintosh computer on the table in the far corner.

You got to the office through a foyer where a single platinum blonde handled appointments and phone calls for the eight pint sized offices beyond. Although the girl at the desk had all the right assets in all the right places, one glance at Sam made the receptionist look like a runner-up.

When Arnie came into the office, Sam took notice.of this ruggedly handsome James Garner type and immediately wanted to know him better. Much better. Sam was like that. She never argued with her hormones.

“How can I help you,” she asked, running over in her mind all the things she would be willing to help him with.

“I’m not sure you can, but I certainly hope so,” he said, his eyes taking an erotic inventory.

If not love at first sight, it was certainly lust at first encounter.

“The whole thing is kind of crazy,” he continued. “We had a fraternity bash in my last year at Rutgers that made all drunken orgies look like Sunday school picnics. Under the influence, I made a bet with another senior. I lost, and now, five years later he is here to collect his pound of flesh.”

“You mean that figuratively, of course.”

“I wish. We had just finished ‘Merchant of Venice’ and thought it cool to bet in a Shakespearean manner. We both treated it as a drunken joke, but this week he showed up demanding his winnings.”

Sam composed her lovely features into a frown. It bothered her that this hunk could be so stupid. She looked him over carefully. There wasn’t anywhere on his torso where a pound of flesh wouldn’t be sorely missed.

“Have you offered him cash, instead?”

“First thing I thought of. But the son-of-a-bitch made a killing in software and has more money than he knows what to do with.”

“Give me his name and address. I’ll see if I can find an out.”

The meeting was over. Stupid or not, she hated to see him go.

It was a week later when Bill Evans seated himself across the desk from Sam.

“Glad you could make it,” she said. In looks he wasn’t at all a loser, but compared to  Arnie he came up short.

“Now what is this I hear about a joke bet gone sour? You know it would never hold up in court.”

“You have to hear my side,” he said. “All through school this guy was Joe College. He played basketball like a pro, took all the academic honors, had girls raiding the dorm to steal his shorts. He made me look like a born loser. Now I have money I don’t need, lawyers on retainer doing nothing, and the time to drag him through a case that will show he wasn’t as smart as everyone thinks he is.”

“In other words, this is a spite case that you know you can’t win?”

“You might say that”.

She sat back in her chair, shoulders thrown back, sure that he would appreciate the merchandise she displayed. It was obvious that he did.

“What if I came up with something that would have the same effect but would cost less time and money and still show him up as a loser?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Since Arnie first came into my office he has spent as much time hitting on me as he has preparing his case,” she lied. “He has a certain appeal, but all I’ve given him is the time of day. And I intend to bill him for that. What if you made out without trying where he worked hard and failed?”

Bill was grinning from ear to ear. He was practically drooling.

“You mean… ?” he stammered.

“You know what I mean. I know what I want, and I don’t waste time about it.”

“Let’s get this straight. You’ll give me anything I want if I let you win this case?”

“I won’t give you a damn thing. But I’ll let you take what you’re man enough to take, without any repercussions.”

He thought about it. This made it even more enticing.

“When?”

“Right now.” She walked over to the door and locked it.

His eagerness made the oft referenced eager beaver seem reluctant. He rushed forward, reached, but never grasped. Somehow he found himself landing flat on his back short of the couch. This had to be an accident. He charged forward again. This time he felt himself flying through the air and he knew it was over when his face encountered the corner of the desk. He stood up, painfully, and put on his coat.

“Sorry,” he said as he went out the door, “You win. I thought you were a woman.”

You’ll never know how much a woman, she thought as she adjusted her clothes.

Next day Arnie heard the good news. Case closed. No details of how it was done.

“What’s the fee?” he asked.

“A pound of flesh,” she answered, “but I don’t want you detached from it.”

The Collar, The Leash and The Wife By Aiden Mulane

It was a thin bright pink leather collar. Bright and feminine with small silver studs that ran around the outer edge. I had affixed a little heart shaped tag to it with a small silver ring. The bright pink tag had letters embossed on one side. They said in large capital letters “SEX TOY”.

The leash was six feet long and was a normal dog leash except it was bright pink. I had bought the tag and collar and leash at the pet store down the street. They have an automated machine that creates dog tags there. You feed it some bills and then you type in what you want written on the tag with a little word processing interface, fonts, colours, size of type, it does it all. When you’re done it spits your creation out like a candy bar. The collars and leashes were displayed on racks in the middle of the store. I found an inane number of leashes and collars in the store. They looked lonely hanging there.

Of course to leave the store I had to go through the checkout line. I walked to the back of a five person deep queue. Two people directly ahead of me had their dogs with them. Apparently they were not shopping for their spouse. This particular pet store encouraged you to bring your dog and socialize while you shopped. An older overweight gal directly in front of me who was carrying a little Chihuahua tucked under her arm said hello. Her dog looked like it needed a Zoloft Prozac cocktail. It was twitching and shaking neurotically, its eyes glancing around nervously like it was in the middle of a robbery. It looked over at me suspiciously and I felt the urge to startle it but held back.

The other dog, a short haired mutt, kept looking up at its fat balding owner importuning to be let go. It was pacing the floor endlessly pulling on the leash. It was determined to get to the front door to make its mark where a legion of dogs had peed. For some reason the transactions ahead of me dragged on and on. Finally it was my turn.

The young, short, most likely gay cashier looked up at me as I handed him the collar and leash and smiles. He says “hello” happily in a fawning effeminate, did you realize I am gay manner. He looked down at my purchases and surveyed them both carefully. He must have noted that they were both bright pink and for what must be a small lap dog. His face brightened even more. Maybe he thought no straight man would be buying such a collar? Maybe he thought he had a chance with this six foot four masculine broad shouldered football player type of a man who just happened to be buying the happiest, go luckiest, gayest leash and collar set in the store? Maybe he was just curious. I don’t know. He said to me as he leaned forward on the counter looking into my eyes “Oh how cute. What kind of dog do you have?” I paused for a moment, thinking about it, then I looked him straight in the eye and said dryly “I do not own a dog, this is for my wife.” The words seemed to strike him physically. He actually winced. I had expected a laugh. He leans back away from me quickly and swipes the bar code. No small talk now. The soft beep of the bar code reader seemed to hang in the air. Without a word he handed me my change and I nodded a perfunctory thank you and left.

I had hung the collar that morning high on a short finishing nail stuck in a bedpost at the foot of the bed. It was my way of putting my wife on notice. It was my way of telling her what she would be wearing when I came home from work that evening. No discussion, no asking for permission, just the collar hanging where it would be sure to be noticed. I wanted her to think about what was to come, to anticipate the evening. To realize that I was going to be in complete control of her once again.

I got off early to surprise her. Coming in quietly, I found her taking a nap. She was lying on our large four poster bed on her side, her beautiful hips accented by the pose. She was a sexy, sexy woman. She was five foot two inches tall, one hundred and five pounds of full breasted full lipped sexiness. From the first time we were together there was a spark between us; a sexual fire that blazed continuously. Now and again lustful winds would fan it to a raging bonfire.

Being careful to be quiet I quickly undressed and stood naked looking at her. I retrieved the collar off the bedpost. The leash and some other toys and accoutrements I had gathered were in a gym bag under the bed. Looking down on her sleeping peacefully I mentally reviewed my ideas for the evening. My cock began to stir. I gently reached under her long blond hair and slid the collar around her neck. As I fastened it she began to awaken.

Without saying a word I reached under her back and lifted her with one arm while pushing her torso away from me and up; with the other arm I pulled her legs closer to the edge of the bed. I put my index finger to my lips to remind her “no talking.” Gently, slowly, I stripped off her blouse and sexy lace bra. I motioned for her to lift her bottom so I could work her slacks and thin lace bikini panties off. She sat there, her legs hanging over the side of the bed coming out of her slumber. She looked up at me and spread her arms wide and arched her back with a quiet yawn, her bright eyes shining, her beautiful breasts gorgeously displayed as she stretched and looked at me expectantly. She reached up and pensively touched the collar circling her regal neck.

I leaned down and pulled her close, kissing her lips tenderly. She was warm and soft. I smelled her hair and kissed her neck. I broke the embrace and looking her in the eye I said to her “play time”. I kissed her once more, more forcefully. Our lips still pressed together my hands found her breasts. My fingers massaged and squeezed them. I languorously pinched and fondled her nipples. I felt her warm body lean into me. She pressed her lips to mine harder.

I backed up and looked at her. I noticed she was wide awake now. In fact she was already breathing slightly faster. The collar tended to do that to her. It was the touchstone of our playtime. When the collar came out she never quite knew what was going to happen or just where the road would take her. The only thing she knew was that she belonged to me and was mine to use as I wanted. Now the pretty pink collar was fastened securely about her neck, the little tag hanging from it that declared she was my “SEX TOY”. Anticipation rushed through her.

I gruffly told her to get down on her hands and knees and kiss my feet. She got off the bed and slowly bowed down to me. With her hands and feet on the floor she lowered her head and kissed my feet. She tenderly kissed the top of each foot and then turned her head and gazed up at me. My cock began to stiffen. I lifted one foot up a few inches off the ground. “Suck” I said. She wrapped her lips around my big toe. She swirled her tongue around it. She sucked it like it was a little cock fellating it deliciously.

“Okay sit up,” I ordered her. I moved forward and pressed my crotch to her face as she sat up on her knees. I grabbed the back of her head and forcefully pulled her face into my crotch. “Lick my balls, and no hands” I warned her. She sat back on her heels. Her warm tongue laved my scrotum. At first my half hard cock laid across her forehead then I held it up being careful not to let her touch it with her lips. I saw her looking up at it and knew she wanted it in her mouth. Not now, not yet. She looked so sexy kneeling naked before me, her long blond hair cascading down her back, the collar the only thing she wore.

Of course this time was not really for me. It was not really about my pleasure. The whole experience was for her. It filled a need she had deep down inside. Somewhere in the place that a well educated, fashionable, beautiful woman cannot find the courage to openly talk about; At least not a woman that grew up in her “we don’t talk about sex” family. It was a real need deep down inside her; imprinted somewhere below her neo-cortex, way down deep inside her reptilian grunting fuck me like an animal part. In there was an atavistic animal need; the need to be used, to not be responsible, to be in someone’s control, to be dominated. Later I would have my fun but now this was her time. It was her time to be lost to the world.

She knew that while the collar was fitted around her pretty neck she belonged to me, not as a wife but as my “SEXTOY”, my whore, my plaything. I make it happen, no permission needed. I talked to her slowly letting the words sink in, giving her time to digest each sentence. I wanted her to see herself in the picture I painted. “You have the collar on now” I said. “You understand you belong to me?” she nodded yes. I kept going painting a picture of her fate. How I could whip her and spank her if I wanted to. How I could order a pizza and make her suck the teenage delivery boy’s cock for the tip. How I could make her lick my sweaty balls and ass until I was satisfied. I reminded her that whatever nasty, dirty, sexual thing I wanted her to do, there was nothing she could do about it. A wide smile mixed with a bit of fear spread broadly across her face. She gave me a quick nodding, yes to let me know she understood.

Leaving her on her knees I went to the bedroom and got the leash and a little black whip I kept in my bag. The whip was about 24 inches long from handle to the end of the half dozen or so knotted leather strings. Each string had a knot tied in the end to give it some weight. I fastened the leash onto the little ring on her collar. She looked up at me with expectation. I held the leash and began to walk forward. She followed me on all fours. I led her to the living room where we stopped next to the couch.

I jerked the leash and told her to stand up and bend over the couch. As she did I barked an order. “Spread your legs wide”. She looked lovely bent over the back of the couch, her smooth legs leading up to her beautiful curvy ass. She was quite a sight. With one hand holding her in place with the leash and the other wielding the whip I began to slowly warm up her backside. I started swinging slow light snaps of the whip low on the back of her legs. First one leg then the other, rhythmically going back and forth. No marks yet on her skin. The slightest murmur of a moan coming from her lips. Short almost soft strokes of the whip. I built the tension by whipping faster and faster and harder and harder as I very slowly almost imperceptibly moved up her legs to her bottom. She was making me hot with the way she was trying to control herself. Each time the whip landed it would cause her to jump a little. A muffled moan came now from her pursed lips. She looked so good bent over her sweet ass reddening, her roundness accented by being bent over the couch. A couple of times I thought she was going to speak but I jerked the leash and she got the message.

On and on I whipped her. At one point I caught her trying to rub her pussy on the couch but I jerked the leash and warned her.I kept on rhythmically whipping one spot then another and another. Sometimes hard and sometimes soft, sometimes quick and sometimes slow.

I told her that I was pleased with how she was handling herself. I told her that it made me hot to make her ass red. I told her to spread her legs wider and she did as she was told. I deftly with quick snaps of my wrist landed a couple quick sharp blows right on her pussy. She cried out and shivered. Slowly with anticipation of each smarting blow I landed a dozen more on her swollen pussy and her whole body shook even harder. As a finish, an accent if you will, after her legs and bottom and pussy were bright red, I lifted up her long hair and gave her several hard smarting blows between her shoulder blades. She swooned then froze, for a second not sure of what else was to come. Her posture seemed to ask “how much more was I to give her?”

I dropped the whip and turned her around quickly kissing her lips sweetly. I wrapped my arms around her still holding the leash. My lips pressed harder, my tongue entered her mouth. She shivered. My hands drifted down her back to her hot bottom. It felt good to feel the heat coming off her nicely reddened ass. She pushed her cheeks against my hands as I ran my hands over her bottom. She pressed into my body trying to get some touch on her breasts and pussy.
Then I gave her a hint of what was to come. I told her it had been a hot day and I had made sure to keep hydrated. “After all it was wise in this heat” I said to drink a lot of water. She did not catch on right away. Pausing I held still and looked at her face. I wanted her to think about it for a minute. To anticipate what was coming next. She knew right away when I repeated myself “it is wise to drink a lot of water” I could almost see the idea working its way through her mind to cognition. The awareness of what I was saying started a kind of earthquake in her body. She stood there and sort of wavered for a second almost losing her balance. “Hold on there” I said laughing as I put one hand in the small of her back and steadied her.

I was not kidding when I said I had kept hydrated. A couple small bottles of water and then a 32 ounce ice tea had filled my bladder to its limit. I knew her mind was swirling and she was getting even hotter as I felt her begin to lose the power in her legs. She started to sink. She could barely stand on her own. I had to hold her steady with both arms now. Grabbing a handful of her hair I pulled her face close and kissed her once more roughly on her open mouth. Her hard nipples felt good against my chest. I pressed against her naked body enjoying the moment. I noticed that I could actually feel her heart beating wildly in her chest. Her breathing was almost a panting now. I waited a few moments and changed my kiss from rough and open to soft and closed. I kissed her sweetly. I licked her neck, biting and sucking I move up and down it with my lips. I breathed in her sweet smell and warmth. I bit her earlobe and tugged at her ear with my teeth. I ran both hands over her body now and felt the moment deepen. We stood there suspended in time.

Finally I broke the embrace and stood back from her quickly still holding the leash in one hand. She stared at me intently as I was the only thing that existed in the whole world. I watched her beautiful breasts rising and falling with each shallow quick breath. Her red nipples were rock hard and jutting out sexily as she moved. I pulled her close again holding one arm around her waist as I dropped my other hand to her pussy. As I looked into her eyes I reached down and rubbed her mons gently, softly. She pushed her hips toward my hand and closing her eyes began to moan softly.

I was going slow now, very slow, for her. My cock was rock hard and I wanted to mount her and give her a good fucking right now. But this was for her. I was making her wait for it because that is what she needs, what she really wants. Slowly I parted her lips with my middle finger while my hand cupped her mound. Ever so softly I applied a delicious pressure and slid up and down her vulva with my middle finger ever so slightly spreading her pussy lips. She moaned louder now and tried to get closer to me. She was wet and oh so hot. So wet my fingers were slick and shiny as I brought them to her mouth and made her lick them. “Lick them clean” I said. She sucked them greedily using her tongue and lips earnestly.

I jerked the leash harshly, pulling her out of her reverie. “Come with me”. Slowly, wobbling, she walked as if she was drunk into the bathroom, her arms at her sides. We had a large two person walk in shower. It was tiled floor to ceiling. “Inside,” I ordered. “Now kneel”. I wanted her kneeling before me. Her regal beauty subordinated to me. She was mine and she loved it. She was being used and she adored it. She was in my power and she reveled in it. I took some cloth wrist cuffs and tightly tied her hands behind her back. She was moaning softly, nonstop purring catlike moans. The cuffs pulled her elbows together accenting her form, pulling her shoulders back and jutting out her breasts. I stood over her admiring her beauty and watching her intently. She tried to catch my cock in her mouth. I pushed her away and warned her harshly, “you wait to be to be given permission, follow my orders”. I noticed she was rhythmically contracting her legs together in time with her breathing. She was trying to get some pressure from her thighs on her needy pussy. A lovely red flush covered her bosom. I wondered if she had been pushed too far and might faint?

I held the leash in one hand and my rock hard cock in the other. She again reached her mouth forward trying to suck me and I jerked the leash. “Not now” I said. It was hard to get my cock soft enough to pee. She was such a sexy sight. I closed my eyes so as to not look at her. I began to will myself to urinate. She closed her eyes and leaned forward anticipating. It took a minute or two but slowly a few drops started to come. Very slowly at first a few more drops then some dribbles and then very slowly a waxing stream spurting from my cock. As the first few drops hit her breasts she arched her back even more and jutted her breasts forward. Her moans louder and higher pitched now.

The stream started to come steadily building in force. I started to draw tiny circles on her breasts, round and round her jutting nipples. I ran from one breast to the other. Going round and round the concentric circles getting larger and larger until I was circling an entire breast one at a time. My hot piss was splashing off her tits. Pee was running down her arms and chest and belly, collecting as it spilled down to the juncture between her legs. Pee soaked her pussy. My urine dripped off her puffy swollen labia. Collecting in little rivulets down the little landing strip of pubic hair she had onto the shower floor. What a sexy sight she was, her moans louder and louder, her back arching, her body quaking and swaying. Still trying to rub her legs together and not fall over, trying to get some pressure on her hot, hot wet pussy. Her thighs clenching and relaxing rhythmically: Her moaning tied to the rhythm of her breathing.

I worked the urine stream up from her soaked breasts to her chest and shoulders. Weaving the stream back and forth, higher and higher, lifting up higher still, I aimed at the base of her neck. She lifted her chin and leaned forward straining. She was lost in herself, lost in the feelings, lost to the moment. My SEXTOY. I was peeing hard now the flow coming swiftly and faster, full force. She pulled against the leash lifting her chin higher. Raising up my aim I told her to open her mouth and she did so eagerly opening wide and sticking out her tongue. I could hear her in my mind “give it to me” she was saying. I did, I began to fill up her open mouth. She opened wider as to not miss a drop. I quickly filled her mouth with my pee. She wanted it all. “Swallow it” I said, and she did. The stream splashed across her pursed lips and face as she closed her mouth to swallow. Higher still I aimed between her closed eyes soaking her forehead and hair. She tilted her head back to allow my pee to wash over her head and down the back of her neck. She wanted to be covered to be soaked in it. Down, down her cascading hair it went until it pooled around her on the shower floor.

Her moans became guttural now, growling forest noises some kind of animal would make; Sounds coming from deep, deep inside her, back to the time when speech was unknown to man. Sensing she was about to cum I also felt my supply start to wane. I let go of my cock momentarily and reaching down I quickly laid her on her back. What a sight, she laid there glowing, shining, glistening. Her body soaked in my pee. Her arms still cuffed together behind her were now under her and were having the effect of making her arch her ass up towards me.

I looked down at her one hand holding the leash and the other my cock. Her knees were splayed wide apart as she could get them, her beautiful mons and swollen pussy lips pushing up at me, inviting me. She was twitching rhythmically. It was only a momentary pause but she laid there glistening, waiting, needing met to finish. I knew what she needed now and I wanted to give it to her. I wanted to give my beautiful wife what she ached for.

I aimed carefully between her legs just above the tile floor zeroing on her pretty pink asshole. I circled the stream around it for bit then tighter and tighter concentric circles until bullseye! I hit her right on her pretty little rosebud. She opened her mouth wide and let out a scream. I quickly moved up to her swollen open pussy lips. I watched her whole body having spasms after spasm of intense pleasure now. Quick tonic contractions flowed through her in waves. She forced her legs even wider and the pitch of her voice climbed as my pee splashed on to her hot sex. My urine mingled with her lubrication. I worked the stream up and down the midline of her pussy and around the outside. I aimed carefully and parted her swollen wet lips with the flow. I forced the stream into her open vagina like a small cock. As she contracted and moaned and shook my pee was ejected back out of her pussy in little squirts.

I knew she was almost there and I was getting low on ammunition. I knew it was time. Again I aimed carefully slowly working again up from her asshole to the very top of her pubis. Finally I zeroed in on her engorged swollen, protruding clit. I danced around and around it and then, with deft precision I peed directly on it, hitting it forcefully. Her movement stopped just for a second, her voice trailed off. She was suspended in time, just for a moment and then… She erupted in orgasm. She was cumming, and cumming and cumming; Her voice a shrill scream now; it climbed higher and higher reverberating off the tile walls; her wet glistening body bucking, writhing, shaking. Her lower half lifting off the floor up and down, over and over again; her fingers clenching, opening and closing with each spasm.

She was lost in orgasm. She was beautiful. Her whole body convulsed and writhed rhythmically as she lived for a time in ecstasy.

What was once a fast running stream now ebbed until I was left only with a small spurts and dribbles cascading off the tip of my cock onto the floor. I leaned forward steadying myself with one arm against the wall and looking into her adoring flushed wet face I contracted and squirted the last few spurts into her open mouth. She gasped as she tried to swallow and moan and swoon and drink all at once. My bladder finally empty I paused. I gave her a moment to revel in the experience. I waited until she stopped shaking. I surveyed the scene. My urine covered her head to toe. My pee was all over her and the floor and the walls and my forelegs. Once I was satisfied she was coming back to Earth I undid the cloth cuffs and freed her arms. I lifted my right foot and put my toes to her mouth. She eagerly sucked them and ran her tongue around and in between them. I pulled my foot away and untied her hands.

As a last sign or respect and submission, I made her kiss my feet while she kneeled, first one then the other gentle little kisses on the top of each foot. I stood in the shower with her. She sat back on her heels looking up at me with love in her eyes, she was dazed and glowing. She was beautiful.

I came closer to her and she wrapped her arms around my legs and embraced me as best she could while kneeling. It was then I noticed there was another source of moisture on her face. Several tears were running down her cheeks and mixing with my pee. She was gently crying, quietly sobbing as she hugged me lovingly. I stood still for awhile as her embrace squeezed my legs harder and sobbed quietly.

I moved the shower head so the stream would not hit her and turned on the water letting it warm up. I reached down and undid the collar as she looked up me adoringly. A couple of tears ran down the corner of each of her pretty eyes. I motioned her off to the side and rinsed off my legs a bit while she watched me intently. “Clean up dry off be quiet, and get in bed, I am going to take a nap” I said gruffly. She stood up and tried to kiss me. “Not now” I said, “do what you’re told.” Before I lay down I made sure to hang the collar high on the bedpost where she would see it. My wife lay down with me and as we fell asleep snuggling I felt a fullness in my balls that would need to be taken care of. It was going to be a good weekend.