Long Schlong Silver

by Kade, Teagan

  He begins to climb back up my body and I’m completely unprepared for the sensation—the weight of him, the light smattering of his hair against my nipples. My muscles tighten as one.

  Another finger teases the ring of my hole, a second testing the tight drum of my taint below. I’m powerless against this new penetration, the renegade digit pressing onwards into my ass.

  It’s still dark, owning to Armageddon outside, but I’m somehow seeing spots before my eyes.

  And then his fingers are leaving me, withdrawing from my needy pussy and ass.

  “Why are you stopping? What’s wrong?” I ask in panic.

  He takes hold of his prick and guides it against my opening. “Because a finger, even two or three, is nothing compared to this.” And with that he thrusts forward, shaft running long into my heat.

  “God,” he grunts at my shoulder, “I’ve never had anyone take me so deep, so easily.”

  I push back against him, pulling his cock deeper into my folds. “I guess we’re just made for each other.”

  A hand tightens on my hip, running to my thigh and pulling it high. He pulls back and thrusts forward hard, my name spilling from his lips in a heated rush.

  I half-scream, half-shout in an equal mix of pain and pleasure. It’s crazy, but my body wants more, needs more.

  “I’m going to fuck you all day, all night,” he tells me.

  I draw my knees up around his chest, my ass rounded out against the sheets and the slick suction of my sex against his cock clearly audible.

  “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, voice gritty and hard.

  There’s no time for meekness now. I tell him. “I want you to fuck me, as hard as you can—no mercy.”

  “I didn’t hear the magic word.”

  “Please,” I gasp.

  I gasp again when he pulls himself from my body, using the head of his cock to tap an SOS against my clit. “As you wish,” he says, driving inside me so hard, so violently I’m driven up the bed against the headboard, my hands shuttling out to grip onto the sheets to stop myself being pushed right through the wall.

  He’s brutal, impaling me fast and heavy on his fat cock, never slowing or letting the pace drop until we’re as sweaty as each other, animals in any other word.

  “Fuck.” It’s all I can stammer, the word drifting from my lips in a constant mantra against the assault.

  Any control I thought I had disappears fast. I crave his flesh, the contact, more than anything. I’m aching for it, need it like I need air in my lungs.

  He pounds into me over and over again, the sheer force of every thrust spearing me into the mattress. He takes hold of my hair with one hand and tugs my head back.

  “Harder,” I beg. “Please,” on the very verge of tears but also so, so much more.

  I can almost see it, the light gathering at my periphery and the need so close.

  His fingers twist around my hair and he hilts himself completely with the next thrust. “Yes,” he says between gritted teeth. “Take my cock. Take it all in your wet fucking pussy.”

  I never thought there was a time or place for talk like this, but I can’t get enough. “Harder!” I scream, a tear running down my cheek.

  He pulls back and drives my body against him. “Come for me,” he says. “Come around my cock.”

  The words are enough. My climax is so complete, so powerful the darkness is gone and in its place is a new and alien world of light and color, of sensation so strong I’m not even sure I’m still alive.

  I blindly grab for him, finding his shoulders, his thigh, digging into them while he presses his wet forehead against mine and pauses inside me.

  Somehow, I squeeze, squeeze his cock with everything I have, milking his swollen flesh until, with a stream of profanity, his own hot release follows.

  He collapses to my side breathing hard, minutes passing before we return to any semblance of normality.

  “You didn’t take me in the ass,” I note.

  He laughs, still struggling to breathe. “I didn’t get a chance.”

  “Another time?” I query.

  He reaches down to his cock, already growing hard in his hand. “Give me five minutes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  BOBBY

  I sit there on the bed watching Gisele for the good part of an hour, just taking in the small details of her face and shoulders, the delicate way her fingers spread across the pillow.

  No woman’s captured me like this before. For the first time in my life, I’m doubting myself, my actual confidence I can make a go of this. It’s terrifying and exciting in equal measure.

  I remember a bar in town used to have a sign out front that read, ‘Come in, it’s 3D Tinder’. I used to get a good laugh out of that knowing I didn’t even have to step a foot inside to get laid. The girls came to me, but Gisele? She has to know how many women I’ve been with, yes, but does she know she’s the first to actually mean something more?

  The alarm on my cell goes and I leap out of bed trying to silence it before she wakes. Every Friday I head down to the soup kitchen in Coulson county and help out, penance, I suppose, for former wrongs, not that anyone there cares. Still, I’ve come to enjoy it, actually look forward to it.

  I kiss Gisele on the cheek and close the motel room door as quietly as I can. I take out my cell and send her a message, tell her I’m headed out of town, that I’ll be back this afternoon. No need to tell her where I’m going. I doubt she’d believe me anyhow.

  In no time at all half the day is gone.

  I leave Coulson and head to the river, taking the speedboat across to the island and finding my way to the shack.

  The earlier fog has lifted, but the place still has a strange, otherworldly feel to it. If nothing else, I could hire this place out for horror films.

  I enter the shack and find the tackle box. I had time to think this morning. Gisele is right. It’s not a good idea to leave such important documents lying around out here where the anyone, or anything, could stumble upon them.

  But when I open the tackle box, the land titles are missing.

  I actually stop and continue to stare down into the empty box.

  The fuck? I think.

  I stand, still staring down into the empty space.

  Think. Think.

  I certainly didn’t take them out… which leaves only one possibility.

  You’ve been played, Bobby. She has played you like the fucking fiddle you are.

  “No,” I say aloud, the rational part of me trying to come up with a solid reason why it couldn’t possibly be her, but I know there’s no other explanation here. She took them, maybe earlier, maybe told someone else, but they’re gone alright.

  Still, I check the shack, kicking over boxes and equipment, pulling Dad’s trinkets from the shelves, tossing the place until it’s a giant fucking mess.

  Nothing.

  I kick the side of the shack, the entire structure swaying. “Shit!”

  I breathe in and out, as deep as I can, but I can feel my fury rising, my irritation at being used like this.

  I should have known. I should have been wiser, but no.

  My fist comes up. I tap the side of my head with it. “You fucking idiot, Bobby. You fucking, fucking idiot.”

  I pace around outside the shed sweating hard. I’m trying to calm myself, but I know what has to be done.

  I run down to the boat and jump in, full throttle to the other side of the river.

  *

  I pull into the motel parking lot with a screech. I’m out of the truck in seconds, pounding on the door to Gisele’s room. “Open up!” I yell.

  The door opens, a sleepy Gisele standing there yawning. “Where did you go?”

  She reaches for me, but I brush her hands off, moving into the motel room and starting to search from the back forwards. I’m not going to leave anything unturned here.

  “Bobby?” she asks. “What’s going on?”

  I stop what I’m doing an
d storm over to her. “What the fuck did you do with them?”

  I know the moment I say it she knows what I’m talking about, but there’s no second-guessing on her face, no weakness there I can see. “They’re safe and that’s all that matters.”

  So it was her. “Fuck!” I yell, kicking the bed and turning with my hands on my head. “Does he have them, this fucking client of yours? Tell me the truth. You owe me that much.”

  “Like I said,” she says, “they’re somewhere safe, and no, he doesn’t have them. I couldn’t just leave them there.”

  But I can’t let the anger go, the obvious damn betrayal here… That she’d even go behind my back like this is painful enough. We slept together all night long and she didn’t say a word. She had every opportunity.

  The more I think about it, the more it grates on me.

  “Where. Are. They?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  “Bobby…”

  She actually flinches when I stamp closer. “Tell me.”

  “It’s better you don’t k—”

  “Know?” I finish. “They’re fucking mine! How did you even get over there?”

  “I took your boat.”

  “Jesus!” I stammer, spinning in a circle.

  I know how insane I sound, how suddenly possessive I’m acting over something that meant absolutely nothing to me only days ago, but I can’t help it. That monster I’ve kept at bay all these years is suddenly crawling out of my skin again.

  I kick the bedside drawer so hard the lamp on it falls to the floor, the lightbulb shattering inside. “I trusted you.”

  Her hands are open, her stance non-threatening. “You still can.”

  I walk past her, stopping in the doorway. I can’t even fucking look at her right now. “No. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt all these years, it’s the fact you can’t trust anyone, least of all yourself.”

  I head to the truck blocking out her words. They dance in the air meaninglessly, the great relationship, the potential, we had echoing away with them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  GISELE

  Too many memories come back as I sit on the motel bed. I can still smell him in the room, feel his presence lingering here.

  I’m second-guessing myself. It was instinct. I knew those documents couldn’t stay there. Maybe a sliver, a shred of me thought about handing them over to the client. After all, that is no doubt what he’s after, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, not after what Bobby and I have been through these last couple of days. I needed time. I went straight to the single bank in town for a safety deposit box, being sure to hide my identity as best I could in the process.

  Why should he be mad at me for that? I’m on his side, aren’t I?

  The more I consider it, the more I realize how it must have come across—as he said, betrayal.

  I collapse onto the bed staring at the roof for answers.

  I’m hardly surprised when they don’t appear.

  You took a good thing and you went and fucked it right up, didn’t you? I tell myself, which is about the fill of it.

  It’s not the first time my need to control a situation, to be on top of everything, has led to the end of a relationship.

  They’ve always been fleeting if I think about it. Even in high school no guy could be with a girl who constantly wanted to tell him what to do. God forbid I didn’t want to suck dick all day. Did they ever offer to go down on me? No. Fuck no.

  I picture them one by one, all those cringey guys from the past returning like ghosts of boyfriends past.

  Bobby’s the first man ever to really consider me.

  Maybe that’s why he’s so popular, my head taunts.

  “Ahhhh.” I pull at my hair. “So damn annoying.”

  I could go back to the bank and get the bonds, notify the client, get out of here without a glance into the rear-view, but it doesn’t seem right.

  You? I have to laugh. Actually considering right and wrong? What’s the world coming to, G?

  But I can’t let the big dumb prick go. That’s the heated crux of it.

  I sit up, steeling myself for what I have to do next.

  It’s simple. I have to find Bobby, to apologize at the very least, try to make him understand why I did what I did, foolish as it was.

  I stand.

  It’s the only way.

  *

  If Bart’s surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it. In fact, this entire scene is a carbon copy of the one from when I first rolled into town.

  “I suppose you’re looking for Bobby,” he says.

  I stop in front of the counter. “I need to talk to him, urgently.”

  “What did you do?” he asks.

  I’m a little irritated at the assumption I did something here (news flash, you fucking did, Gisele), but I flatten out my smile all the same and act cordial. “It’s a private matter, but let’s just say there was some… miscommunication.”

  “Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”

  Irritation rising. “Please, do you have any idea where he could be?”

  Bart takes his time getting up and checking the window looking out back to where Roxanne sits. I’ve seen beached whales with more haste than this. “Well,” he groans, seating himself, “guess you already tried the houseboat, and you probably figured the speedboat wasn’t there…”

  “Yes,” I answer, eager for more information.

  “Hmm.” Bart nods to himself. “Suppose he could have gone up river.”

  I’m growing impatient. “Where, exactly?”

  Bart’s enjoying this. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s a big river, even bigger lake. Lots of places to hide.”

  “What makes you think he’s hiding?”

  Bart smiles, letting it go. “Say I do know where he is, how you going to get out there?”

  It’s a good point. “Isn’t there a water taxi around here, someone with another speedboat?”

  The smile grows. “No water taxis, I’m afraid, and speedboats are in short supply, but I do have a little something tied up down there.”

  “Show me,” I rush. “I’m happy to pay.”

  With another grunt, Bart manages to stand again, slowly walking his way around the counter. “That’s all well and good, but you might not be so happy when you see what I’m offering, at least not those pretty arms of yours.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  BOBBY

  I gun the throttle, the boat bow floating up into the air, tepid air pressing against my ears. At this time of day the water’s empty. I’m probably doing double, triple the posted speed limit, but I couldn’t give a flying fuck.

  Speed aside, nothing’s doing much to alleviate the deep burn of betrayal.

  How could she? I keep thinking. After everything we’ve been through?

  But that’s just it. We slept together, yes, wined, dined, but maybe it was just a ploy on her behalf to get into my pants and then my head, find what she was looking for and sell it off to her precious client. Maybe she’s changed her mind at my outburst, is in the wind right now laughing at my fucking stupidity.

  Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time my over-eager cock’s gotten me into trouble. It creates a sort of tunnel vision at times, all the blood pumping away from my head where I need it most. ‘Dick drunk,’ one of my old football buddies used to say. ‘You got to sober that shit up before you get down.’

  Wise words.

  I direct the boat down a small side channel largely hidden by overhanging foliage. I throttle down and cut hard right into another, smaller estuary to come out into the Cove.

  Dad said the biggest fish in the lake system used this as a kind of breather spot before heading out to take on the stronger currents coming in from the north. It hurts thinking about those times, those better days.

  When I was younger, we’d come out here drinking and fishing, a cooler in the back and a tale or ten in the wind. The old man was always good at spinning a yarn. Most of the time it
was bullshit, but he had a way with words—a trait I never quite inherited. I was always happier to let my playing do the talking, to shut up and score touchdowns. It was an easy life back then before it all went and fucked itself up.

  Your fault, comes the voice on my shoulder.

  I cut the motor and drop anchor, selecting a rod and jig, dropping it in near the bank where the traffic’s heavy. I’m not even really in the mood for fishing, but I needed something to take my mind off Gisele, and liquor was in short supply.

  I sit up on the side of the boat with rod in hand and pull in a deep breath. It’s icy as it goes down.

  My thoughts are caught in a tug-of-war. On one hand, I can understand why she did it. She’s probably been building up this career of hers for years, carefully manipulating men to get what she wants. She might even get off on it. She’s had this job for years and we’ve been together, what? Two, three nights? Highly memorable nights, granted, but the wedding bells weren’t ringing.

  Yet, I think, that perfect picture of the future materializing before me.

  “Shit,” I stammer, speaking to the water. “Why’d you do it? Why’d you go and fuck it all up?”

  I was so fucking certain she was different, that she could have been the one to pull me out of this funk, help me make something of myself again, but no. She went behind my back and she knew she was damn well doing it. How can I trust her?

  There’s a tug on the line. It’s faint at first, fleeting.

  I sit up a bit straighter and gaze into the water, but there’s barely a ripple.

  I ease back but a second later the tug comes again, this time so strong I’m almost pulled right into the water—again.

  I jam my foot against the hull, bracing myself, the rod bent into a semi-circle.

  What the fuck?

  I’m checking the water, but there’s still no sign of activity. Dad and I caught some big ones out here, but this? This feels like I’ve hooked fucking Jaws.

  Another pull, harder again, threatening to wrench the rod from my grip.

  I tighten my stance and drag the rod back, reeling. “No you fucking don’t.”