by Jamie Knight
She was sure I had come down, no doubt feeling the tremor run through me. Ada put her hands on my shoulders and turned me around. My eyes to the ceiling, my sweet love got on her knees before me.
I could almost feel the vibrations as her knees hit the porcelain as she took my cock tenderly in her mouth. I knew she was a cock monster but would never call her that out loud. I preferred to put a positive spin on it and think of her as my good girl. Not only because of her papist upbringing, virtue was very important. Personally, I had no character to clear.
Softly massaging my balls in her gentle hand, she sucked my cock, working my load into her mouth, maintaining eye contact as she did so. She took the oncoming blast of cum with aplomb.
Rising, her feet squeaked softly on the bathmat. She maintained her hold of my cock, stroking it with a smooth rhythm, and bent over at almost a right angle like she had on the camping trip, bracing her free hand against the shower wall as she stroked the head of my cock against her wet and ready pussy. Getting my head all the way in, she put her other hand next to the first and I took her firmly by the hips as I started to pump her tight little pussy, bringing a moan up out of my deepest soul. Her pussy got even tighter as I fucked her. Getting me out without a second to lose, Ada slid the head of my cock into her asshole, taking my load inside her.
Certain she would pull me out and finish me with her hand or possibly her mouth after washing me off, Ada shocked me, and not for the first time, by pushing back even farther, working my cock into her asshole. It was farther than I had ever been before or dreamed of getting. Not because of her protestations or convenes but my own worries about possibly hurting her.
My cock was totally crammed into her pussy as it was, and it was built to be penetrated. She had no such qualms and was already thrusting herself back and forth, stroking her tight little asshole, wailing like a banshee as she did so. The acoustics of porcelain and limestone made it even louder than it would otherwise be.
She felt so transcendently good it was mere seconds before I was exploding deep inside her, filling her up in a way I had never imagined I would ever be able to.
I came hard, my cum mixing with the hot, cascading water from the shower head. Cold, despite the warmth and steam of the water, and more alone than I had ever been before, even during the worst periods of my nerdy childhood. Laying my face against my arm, propped up just so on the cool tile wall, all I could think of was Ada, my Ada.
Chapter Seven - Ada
Babies are fairly notorious for being early risers. Matt had been no exception when he was young. What was different, at least as far as I knew, although he was my only child, was that this was a habit that seemed determined to stay with him throughout his whole life.
He was only eight and I would have to wait for his teen years to be sure it stuck, but so far, every morning he was up a fair few hours before I was. Often before the sun had come up, he was quietly working on some project or another when I came in, a key element in a shockingly disciplined routine that had helped him write some kids books which had gotten published. The money from them went directly into a college fund.
Strictly speaking, my kid had more money in net assets than I did working on Wall Street. Amy used to joke that Matt was the kind of baby who never cried. I always laughed, but the weird thing was that I really didn’t think that he ever did cry.
I remembered some very pathetic sounding whimpers in terms of diaper emergencies or asking to be put to bed. Other than that, though, there wasn’t much of anything.
I was worried he might be at least partially mute, but the doctors said his vocal cords were fine. He could make sounds; he just chose not to. I didn’t remember Kingsley being much of a talker either. He was more of an observer.
Lovecraft Academy was one of the best schools in the state. Going straight through from grade 1 to grade 12, different years were held in different wings of the behemoth structure, stretching for five city blocks in every direction. It was one of the few all-inclusive academies left. They had looked at us rather askance when I first tried to apply. The stereotype of a single mother was clearly something quite different in their heads.
They put Matt through the entrance exam anyway. He was seven by that point and able to sit for it himself. He got the tenth highest score in the history of the academy.
When they ceased choking on their pipes and recovered their monocles, the board gave Matt a place along with a full scholarship. The clout of having such a student being associated with their hallowed halls was worth all the gold in El Dorado.
Today, the gargoyle gates buzzed softly as the automatic openers did their thing. If I was being perfectly honest, the place gave me the heebie-jeebies, some overwhelming sense of existential, cosmic dread that I could not quite name. Matt seemed happy though and was learning a lot, so I just grinned and beared it. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the parent-teacher conference days.
“Have a great day. I love you,” I told him.
“I know,” my dear boy replied, stoically accepting a kiss on the forehead.
I watched him go, as I always did. It was quite an emotional thing for a mother to watch her son walk away in uniform, even if it was just to prep school. My mind flicked back to that terrible day, so many years ago to Kingsley in his dress uniform, telling me that he was being deployed, his shiny new school ring where I hoped our wedding band would be. He might as well have punched me hard enough to leave an indent of that damn ring in my forehead.
The different schools thing had never bothered me. We were still less than an hour away, even though he was near the border with Connecticut. It had never occurred to me, in my childish ignorance, that going to West Point meant that he would be sent away. There was still a war on then, but I didn’t really think about it. Mission Accomplished was already declared. Or was that the other one? I really had lost track after the cowboy was booted.
Shaking my head hard, I wiped away the tears so that I could see clearly, always an advantage while driving, and headed for the office. It was presentation day and my input would be required.
I got parking on the first level, square between two empty spots. Truly one of the great marvels of the universe. Until I remembered that the girls owned all three levels and attendance tended to be pretty scanty on presentation days. Only those who really needed to be there showed up.
“It’s like the apocalypse out there,” I commented, shedding my tweed jacket.
“Godspeed,” Macy said, going to hang up my jacket.
It reminded me of a lecture hall at college. There was even a digital protector affixed to the ceiling and connected directly to a laptop set up for Power-Point. It was far from the first presentation I had attended, but it never ceased to amaze me the lengths the partners had gone to in terms of the venue, particularly considering that the offices took up a few floors in a downtown office building.
It was almost as if they’d had the entire building specially built and rented out the upper floors at a profit, but that was crazy. No one was that rich.
I was a front row kind of girl. I had been since kindergarten. I liked to be as close as I could get to the decanting of knowledge, soaking it all up like a particularly studious sponge. Flipping open one of my old-fashioned, leather-bound notebooks, one of composed notes based on my readings and on dedicated to new questions, ideas and inspirations, I readied my fountain pen for action. It may have looked absurd, but it was how I worked best, and it was something that helped to distinguish me among the firm’s stable of sheeple and bootlicks.
It was like a dream. As subtle as I could, I actually succumbed to cliché and pinched myself hard. Nope, still very much awake. Someone must have slipped me something. That was the only explanation. Except I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink that morning, as the low rumbling in my belly did attest. By far the greater priority at the time was getting Matt to school on time.
Sherlock Holmes had a great line about the i
mpossible and the improbable I couldn’t quite remember. I was too tired and hungry and lost in shock. Though it was becoming clear that no matter how improbable, the only possible answer was that Greene Planet had sent Kingsley Marten, my Kingsley Marten, to give their presentation.
I held it together. No idea how but I actually managed, I surprised no one more than myself. Listening intently, trying not to get lost in his beautiful voice, my pussy got wet like it always did when I heard him. I did my best to make notes and keep my mind on the job. It was a task made easier by the fact that he didn’t look in my direction once. He addressed all of his statements seemingly to the entire audience, no doubt using the old trick of picking one person roughly in the center and talking to them, so it looks like you are addressing everyone.
It really was a great idea with massive potential. The military connection was more of a selling point than a detriment. Those in the camping and RV market trended toward preferring vehicles that are tough and utilitarian. Both things were also given high priority by the military. That was how Hummers, basically a domestic version of the Humvee, got so popular for a while.
He was tapping into that market only with an even better piece of branding, The Pilgrim appealed to history and heritage types as well. They were the rugged individualist with quite a lot of disposable income, at least if the Marlboro and Jack Daniels figures are anything to go by.
He was leaving. Going to get away. Collecting his things after the presentation, he was preparing to walk out of my life again an hour after returning. Fuck if I was going to let him to do that to me again!
Pushing down my screaming fear, I marched right up to him, but stopped cold as soon as he fixed me with his gaze. His beautiful, beautiful gaze.
“Ada?”
All my words fled. Every step from my seat to the table, I had thought of something else to say to him.
One word from him and it all vanished, leaving my mind completely blank. My only conciliation was that he seemed every bit as gobsmacked as I did. It just wouldn’t do for me to be in a near state of shock and have him be there cool as a Slurpee.
It was like a force of nature, the electricity cracking between us, our bodies coming together in a deep, passionate kiss, the years melting away as though we had never parted.
“I-I’m so sorry,” he tried, pulling free.
“Shut up and just kiss me,” I demanded, going back for more. All the pent-up emotions came out in a rush. Everyone had already left the hall so there was no risk of us getting spotted. Not that I gave a good goddamn if we were.
“Dinner tonight?” he asked, his lips lightly shared with my soft red shade.
“Fuck yes.”
Chapter Eight - Kingsley
I was actually singing.
Not the internal, dance down the hall kind of singing.
Not humming or even whistling a happy tune.
No, it was full throated, in the shower, no one can hear you, belting with every fibre of your being singing.
As I danced down the hall, I grabbed my umbrella from the tasteful bronze stand by the door to twirl as a cane as I Old Soft Shoed my way into the bedroom, finishing off with a stylish spin and tap. All my dreams had literally come true and I could scarcely contain my joviality.
The closet was almost bigger than the mind could hold. Running on for several feet of neatly arranged clothes, all set up into outfits of varying levels of formality. Where we went partly depended on what I decided to wear and what I wore depending partly on where we went. A classic catch-22. In the end, I decided in the only diplomatic way.
Selecting five outfits and random, I blind chose two and then flipped a coin. Alexander McQueen sans tie it was. I even had a matching pair of sunglasses that would look pretty cool even though I was going to be wearing them mostly on my head. Our date wasn’t for hours yet, but still I liked to be prepared. I did have the fullest sash in Boy Scouts after all.
Taking a moment to pause, I could not help but muse on how odd and wonderful life could be. I had been given a chance to correct the greatest mistake of my life and it really had come out of nowhere, blindsiding me on the morning of an idle Tuesday. My mind very much on other things, not considering for a minute that I might get a second chance with Ada.
She could have slapped me or screamed, or worse, ignored me all together, but she didn’t. It was a sure indication that she still felt the same way I did. The kiss was the final proof if any more was needed. While my life to that point had been good, giving me the opportunity to do everything I had ever wanted to do, it had still felt incomplete. With even the chance to have Ada in my life again, it felt as though I had been reborn.
I was early of course. Punctuality was a family trait that had been beaten into us, at times literally, by the earlier generation. My parents opted for the non-violent approach. My mom’s knock out punch was saying that she was disappointed. I could probably have handled a violent rage better than that.
To see her look down and shake her head, like she was sad to be related to me, made me die a little each time. Which was why the times were so few. Such a response was reserved for only the most severe of infractions which I knew full well I wasn’t supposed to do. Those instances stopped entirely when I was about ten.
I looked over the menu, marvelling at the selection of meat. I wasn’t a militant vegan or anything. I was more of an omnivore, proceeding to eat a bit from all four food groups, so there were alternatives to meat that could be had. I also philosophically didn’t like the idea of eating something that hadn’t done anything to me. Eating the flesh of the slain was usually reserved for one’s strongest and most bitter enemies. I had a difficult time imagining cows or pigs in such a situation. Chickens, on the other hand, were a lot craftier than they looked.
I flipped the menu closed, partly so I could read the name on the front to make sure I was, indeed at the right restaurant. I really needn’t have worried. The name was right, and the time was still technically wrong. Ada had ten minutes to spare in order to be right on time. One of the disadvantages to being routinely punctual was that so few other people were, which could cause a lot of stress, particularly for one as naturally fastidious as I.
It might sound cliché, but here too, I blame my parents. Both of them academics and life-long Atheists of the absurdists school, I had been taught that in a universe where nothing we do matters in the grand scheme of things, where mortal lives were but a fleck in the eye of eternity, the only thing that mattered on a mortal level was what we did.
As such, I should endeavour to always do the very best I could to make my otherwise meaningless existence, in the most literal sense of the word, count for something. If nothing else than making life better for my fellow foolish mortals. It made sense to me at the time and was the principle by which I attempted to live the rest of my life. It was surprisingly easy to hold a standard that you consistently fail to live up to. The important thing was that you try.
This was my dad’s position, in any case. I tried very hard to ignore the fact that following this advice was what had led me to breaking it off with Ada in the first place. I genuinely believed that it would be better for both of us. I looked down at the breadbasket, which had been brought to the table along with the menus and realized that I had managed to eat half of it without noticing.
“Kingsley?”
My eyes went up and quite nearly fell out of my head. Or at least that was how it felt. Gently as you please, beautiful Ada reached out a hand and softly closed my mouth which had dropped most of the way open.
“You like my dress, I see,” she smirked, sitting down across from me.
I did indeed, and not just for the wonderful things the sleek, black number with the plunging neckline did for her already spectacular tits. I loved the way it hugged her in general, accentuating her perfect form as much as it concealed her, making no secret of how little she had changed since we last saw each other. Though, it only stood to r
eason as I hadn’t changed much either and was only a year older than her.
Things were a bit awkward at first. How best to break so long a silence? We had done pretty well after the presentation, but those had been pretty special circumstances. At the restaurant we were trying to get back into the swing of things.
“Are you still painting?” I asked.
“Shockingly, yes. Not as much as I would like to, but I have a studio at my place and magazines, mostly indies, still willing to run my stuff. Granted, most of them are associated with Amy in some way.”
“Amy Apab? The Rebel Queen?”
“That’s the one.”
“She’s not dead or in jail?”
“Revived and acquitted. Luck of the Irish, that one. She’s still running the publication she started in college, only now it has a circulation of 15,000 and is printed on fancy paper. The online version is doing even better. She commissions me for covers mostly.”
“I can see it,” I said, “the Art Spiegelman of our generation.”
“Oh, hell no. My stuff wouldn’t get near the New Yorker, there would be riots!”
“Put you in pretty good company though, including Dali.”
“That’s true,” she conceded, “still, I prefer the indie scene. Not because of any bullshit idea of ‘authenticity’ I can just do whatever I want with no push back, which is nice.”
“I can see that,” I said, flashing back to my last conversation with Greene.
“So, what are you up to these days?”
“Oh, you know, same old same old, designing this, improvising that, lots and lots of schematics, particularly when I foolishly think I might be close to done.”
“Rings a distant bell,” she teased, “what was that thing you built in 10th grade? The dog catcher?”
“The dog-net. I god sick of Lucky running off - ”