Speaking of whom...Master Terence had left six more messages in my inbox on Fetlife.
Six. The last one had made me gag. There were fetishes that would require Defcon four to be announced afterward, so they could bring in the guys in those anti-radiation suits to clean up.
Think! Think! I write therefore I make up shit, but it has to be interesting shit.
They’re outside, therefore there are trees. Grass. Dirt. Cow pats, otherwise known as cow pies, as if you could eat them. Back up on that one. No Defconning here.
Hay. Bales. Twine to tie bales...did they still do that, or was it automatic and done with wire? Make it twine. Let’s have some bondage, baby. This is one retro farm.
What about a barn?
A clean barn though. No animal poop. No animals. A barn that humans use for fucking, of course. The rest of the year it sits there, uninhabited and silent, and creepy.
People die in creepy barns, from clowns.
Was this relevant?
I blinked at my forearm...
Back to the fucking.
I wasn’t going to be able to publish this under my usual pen name. It was too normal.
I grinned. A name had popped into my head that said it all. This was me. This was all writers.
I was, ta dah, a Drama Llama. Author of a true story called, Fan Anonymous.
I could visualize the cover and had just the stock photo for it – this pretty girl being clutched by her boyfriend, with her legs up high and wrapped about his hunkalicious body.
Needed more action implied on the cover, though. Maybe a gun somewhere? That’d say action, drama, a story with kaboom and all that stuff.
Becca probably had never shot anyone but I could work something into the plot.
Cecil could be tall, dark, roughly shaven with sex stubble that rasped against her neck in that sensitive place below the angle of the jaw.
And he liked biting...a hungry man. Hungry for Becca.
A girl he’d met on the train coming into Whoop Whoop...
Fill in the town name next edit pass.
She’d tripped going down the three metal steps on the way out of the train. He’d helped her up with a hand hooked through her elbow, and couldn’t help seeing straight down her cleavage to those breasts. They hypnotized him with luscious promise...
Full promise? Biteable promise. Pick one.
“Oh! Thank you...”
“Cecil.” He did his obligatory grimace. “A grandmother demanded my father name me that after my grandfather.”
“I see. Relatives. Hah!” Her grin was infectious, especially when she briefly touched his arm as if to assure him. “I’m Becca.”
He saw too, when she stooped to pick up her suitcase, more of her female attributes.
Where her breast bulged from the top of the lavender bra, he glimpsed the top of a nipple. Now he had a tent in his pants only the blind would miss.
He tended to be a tits man, unless the ass was spectacular, and Becca had promise in both departments. Anything he could bite, really. Thinking of sex with her was premature. They’d barely met. But she needed a lift out of town, and he had his Jeep. He’d floored the vehicle, accelerating into the bends and smiling when she screamed in delight. With the top of the Jeep down, the wind whipped her short black hair into a frenzy.
She’d invited him over to see the barn.
Why the fuck have a barn if she’s new in town? Fix this.
The barn was ominous in the moonlight with light and shadows playing over the straw-strewn floor. Now he had her just how he wanted her, trapped against the barn wall, her top stripped from her and the baling twine tying her wrists behind her back.
“Did you think me safe?” He kissed down her neck.
Becca sighed a little at each kiss and he noted how her breaths came faster. Where he’d shoved his thigh between her legs, spreading them, she pressed herself against him, writhing and squeezing...as if that alone might get her off.
“No. Oh god.” She arched her neck, begging him for more kisses, but he held back. “Please?”
“You didn’t think I was safe, girl, but you let me bind you? Why?”
“Because.” Through moistened eyelashes, she blinked at him. “I know people. I knew you were safe. And I want you to do what you want. I need that.”
Fuck. Before he could do anything, he needed to warn her. “We’re out here, at night, middle of Nowhereville. I could do anything to you. Never let a man do this to you again. Hear me?”
Her mouth trembled at his harsh words. “Sure. Except, I know your parents, Cecil. I’ve known you since we were kids. Don’t you remember me?”
Becca? That Becca? Holy fuck.
“You’ve sure grown up.”
“Yeah.” She swallowed. He hadn’t removed his thigh from between hers and now he increased the pressure. Her next words were husky. “God. So have you.”
Her eyelids fluttered, closing. In the last millisecond, before he lost sight of her beautiful green eyes, they’d rolled upward. She liked this, liked him being all pushy and tying her up. This was the girl he’d lusted after as a teenager. Hottest ass in town. Yeah, his memory sucked.
“I could still have been a serial killer, a changed man. Do this again and I’ll spank the fuck out of your ass.”
It wasn’t logical, and he knew it, but she had been stupid.
Her next words were whispered and he had to lean in close to hear them.
“Sorry. Except, I always wanted you to fuck me.”
Jesus. With her neck so close, he couldn’t help closing his teeth on the muscle that ran down the side. Her sharp gasp only made him bite harder. When he had her whimpering and almost crushing his thigh between hers, he released his mouthful of girl, licked her once.
“Fuck you? I’m going to nail you so deep and hard, you’re going to be sore for a week, Becca.”
She said nothing, only regarding him wide-eyed, with her precious bottom lip rolling inward.
Those wet fucking lips, big eyes, and her trembling...
“Fuck, Becca. You are so innocent looking and angel-like I’m going to earn evil points for doing this. You’re not a virgin?”
“Hell, no. Don’t stop.” Disappointment furrowed her brow. “Please?”
“Begging works.” He kissed the crease between her eyes. “It wouldn’t have stopped me anyway.”
Then he unzipped and unbuttoned, shrugged off jeans, shirt, and underpants. He towed her to the best hay bale, where he made her lie belly down over his clothes.
Show big humungous cock? Or leave it to the dirty reader’s imagination?
Her body might just perfect. “This isn’t going to be a quick fuck, Becca. You’re my little dream come true.”
“Heyyy. Big dream?” At that, she wiggled her ass, side to side, as if to tempt him into some fast fucking.
“Big.” He laughed and swatted her butt then pushed aside her panties.
Oh yeahhh, target acquired. Using a big handful of her butt cheek, he fastened her down onto the bale. Then he slid a finger inside her, until it was buried as far as he could force it to go, and pumped it in and out in shallow bursts. Her moans and the clamp of her walls on his finger had him smiling.
“No matter what you do, I’m taking my time.” Already wetness welled past his finger onto his hand.
“Okay. Okay.” Her whispers sounded automated, as if pleasure swamped her mind.
Good.
“No need to rush, not when I have you all tied up and willing.” He took the middle of the rope where it joined her wrists and pulled her hands toward him, then sucked on a few of her fingers.
“You are willing aren’t you?” Her face was turned sideways and he brushed aside strands of her hair so he could see her eyes.
“I...”
The poor girl was panting too much to speak.
As she gathered breath, Becca swiped her tongue across her lips. “Yes.”
“Good.”
So he kissed and bit ev
ery part of her pretty body as he revealed it. Her bra came off first, then her jeans. They slid down her legs so slowly she was cursing him by the time he tossed them aside. Her panties he drew partway down, just enough so he could view her pussy – her dripping wet pussy.
Too much pussy and not enough cock? But...his POV. Boast he has a big dick? UGH. No! Plus her jeans were still on but his finger was in her before? Imaginary denim? Fix this.
With his palm on her bare ass, he kneeled beside her and asked her another question, despite knowing how much she was aching to have him inside her. She’d begged him to fuck her, several times, but he liked messing with her head.
“You ready for me? Wet?”
She frowned, her mouth twisting, pouting. “You know I am.”
“Say it.”
“Yes? Please?”
“Right words.” He kissed her on the mouth, forcefully, then went behind her, wrapped his hands over her hips, positioned the head of his cock at her entrance...and shoved himself deep inside, in one, powerful stroke.
“God, god, god. That feels so big!”
Holy shit-fuck. No. Nono. Delete the hell out of the above. Bleach...and blech.
The slap as he smacked into her ass was echoed by her gasp and choking swallow.
With his thighs, he pressed her legs wider apart then toyed with her pussy with his thumbs. Still inside, balls-deep, he squashed her down onto the hay, making her want. “More?”
“Fuck. Fuck.” She gulped. “Yes!”
He leaned over her and kissed her back then began to shunt in and out, watching as her little fingers clasped and unclasped, tightening, same as her pussy tightened on his cock.
Preparing her, getting her aroused to the point of swearing at him, then fucking Becca, took all of an hour and a half. Making her come three times took a little longer but he could watch her do that endlessly. A pity he had to go to work some time.
This woman could become an obsession.
Hmmm. More orgasms? More the merrier
One can never have too many orgasms...old Chinese proverb.
Chapter 4
Though Becca’s phone calls eventually stopped, the book progressed. Because I didn’t need to write it, as in have a deadline or anyone expecting it, the thing wrote itself. Soon, I was finished, then I’d published it as an eBook, placed it on retailer sites, and cast the book to the fickle winds. My latest book baby had grown wings, burped, and taken its first toddler steps.
Then, I had but to wait for all the cursed reviews bewailing the lack of sex, the excessive sex, the bondage, the lack of s and m, the lack of condoms. Then there was the fact that Australians had sheds not barns? I wasn’t sure if that was correct. Besides, pfft, it’d occurred to me too late to correct.
Instead of being skewered and lambasted slowly over a pile of steaming reviews, Fan Anonymous sold like hot stuff on a stick. From the sales numbers even the Martians had popped in to purchase. Mcwilliams and Ramsbottom House contacted me, begging me to sign a mainstream publishing contract. The media interviewed me. And interviewed me again. My bank account swelled. G and the kids saw less of my corporeal body but this would pass. My family wasn’t going anywhere, but fame and fortune had to be grabbed by the tail before all the lube made it slip through my clutching fingers.
One summer afternoon, the first day in forever, I went for a walk on the winding paths above the beach and through the park that frolicked beside the river. Bush turkeys dashed about, pecking and scratching for food beside picnicking mums and kiddies. The water was shallow just below the path and the mouth of the river flourished with schools of tiny fish. As sailboats and jet skis passed, the ripples flicked specks of sunlight at my eyes. Dogs waded out chest deep, forever chasing whatever creatures they’d spotted in the shallows.
Bliss.
I breathed in a sigh, smiled, then turned to head back to the car.
School would be out soon. I had to pick up the kids.
On the way home, I tuned out their squabbles to think upon the sequel I planned. Maybe I should keep Cecil and Becca in the story too? Maybe I should stick to the new couple only? This couldn’t be a true story again, or could it?
I needed a muse. Where did other authors get their muses? Garage sales?
Maybe he did arrive in my mind. Something happened.
By the time we reached home and I parked in the garage, I had a thousand new ideas. Desperate to get them down, I reached for the notepad in the glove box and began to scribble.
Was it half an hour before I put down the pad? All was quiet. The heat of the sun made the roof creak. No children’s voices. Had I heard them exit? I turned to check the back seat.
Instead of children, and of course they’d long ago left the car, I found two life-size, blow-up dolls sitting, strapped in and smiling with their painted mouths.
“Oh, dear god.” Now I remembered where these had come from – a school play.
Stuck to one of the doll’s chests was a note.
Once upon a time, we had a mother. PS We have run away to join the circus.
I snorted. Jayne’s sense of humor was legendary.
Where was I? I picked up the notepad. I should get these notes on the ’puter before the ink dissolved or something.
Chapter 5
I sat on the granite, kitchen bench...oops counter top, tapping my heels on the glossy ivory-colored cupboard doors, admiring my nails. I never did my nails and these were background white and perfect, with black skulls and various other red-and-black, macabre designs upon them.
Very cool.
My skirt was short and a gorgeous soft red silk, my heels were black and the glass of champagne felt cool against my lips. Bubbles meandered up through the golden liquid to pop on the surface. Pure alcoholic elegance.
Wait, wait...
I had grit on my eyeballs. I blinked madly and cleared my vision, finding the ceiling above, sheets below.
I was sprawled on a bed. I flopped my head left then right. King-size. Hotel room. Click click. My two brain cells turned on. G was sitting up against the bedhead...make that headboard...beside me, typing on his laptop. An empty champagne glass near my nose contained the tiniest dregs of clear wine.
Dream slash alcohol induced stupor.
Those pretty nails had been a dead giveaway.
A banging sound penetrated the fog I currently inhabited.
My mouth was filled with a patented sludge formed from a mixture of flavor-of-old wine and drool. And sheet. I spat out the corner of the sheet that’d migrated into my mouth while I slept...while I languished in luxurious unconsciousness.
“Do I need to join AA?”
G spoke without looking away from his screen. “You? More like CA, for Chardonnay and Champagne Anonymous.”
I hiccupped. “Anonymous. Wouldn’t that be ironic.”
“Yep.”
“What’s that banging?” I frowned in the general direction of the wall as it swooped and swayed.
“Next door. Author screwing cover model. That one with the huge ass.”
“Which author?” My gossip radar jangled.
“Author? No, I meant the cover model. He’s got so many muscles his ass is like a...like a...”
I thought through that one. “A gong filled with muscle?”
Finally he looked at me, eyebrows waggling up and down. “What the fuck?”
“Oh shit. Look. I’m pissed as a newt. My similes all ran away and drowned.”
“Hmmm.”
“A man with an inflated ass?”
“God, no.” G went back to typing.
“Who is that?”
We were at a romance convention, I remembered. People had fed me too much wine and, being polite, I’d swallowed it.
“What. Fetlife. There’re some fun groups. The Robot Overlord one is amusing.”
Robot overlord? Trust G to find that one. I hadn’t checked in for months. Master Terence would be pining away, though he had his cock to keep him company.
> I stirred, pushing up onto my elbow.
A half a minute later, while I was still blinking away my pickled cobwebs, and wondering if I should tell our neighbors to reduce the volume on the moaning, G brandished a filled glass in my face.
“More?”
As an enabler, G was tops. I sat up properly and took the glass. “What does a robot overlord do...have?”
“Tentacles, it seems. Who knew?”
“Uhhh.” I thought hard. “Like sponge rubber, or real octopus ones, or those bendy ones like accordions in metal?”
“If I get a chance to touch one, I’ll report back.”
I should really try to write. My muse had been slacking on the job and Book Two was hovering on only twenty K words. I leaned over and snagged my laptop from the floor, squirming back into the pillows with it in one hand and the glass in the other.
“The very idea of tentacles makes me shudder.”
“Oh?” I could hear the raised eyebrows though G didn’t turn his head. “All the better to probe your every orifice. No worse than those cocks in your stories. Purple putrescent shafts of glory? Glorious rods of manhood? Throbbing wonder-squirters?”
The last made me giggle. “Not quite, but close.”
The wall thumping had ceased. I listened to the silence and remembered the children. “Have you called the babysitter? To check?”
“Not yet. Though it’s nine thirty. Here. You do it.” G tossed me his cellphone.
The babysitter answered quickly. In the background I could hear the TV. “Hi! Mrs. G?”
How I loved her labelling me by my husband’s initial.
“Is everything okay?”
“Sure is! They’re both asleep.”
“Okay. Thanks. Just checking all was good. Bye.”
“Bye!”
Odd. Getting either of them to stop using various phones, laptops, or game devices, this early, normally required Armageddon to befall us.
“Jesus H. Christ.” G was staring open-mouthed at the TV. “Someone’s kidnapped the president’s son.”
They were showing the last-known footage of the black limo carrying him to school this morning, in Canberra. Nothing had been seen of him since, though the driver had turned up unconscious miles from the school.
Fan Anonymous: A True Story if you squint, sort of...maybe... Look! Squirrel! Page 2