Boston Posh

by Wol-vriey

  Sara shuddered; Jeff looked serious—like he was telling the truth.

  More depressing truth Sara didn’t need, however, particularly not something as scary as this. So she changed the topic.

  “I’m worried about Rachel.” In addition, she felt horny, the result of both her unaccustomed morning alcohol binge and her boiling-over sexual frustration. Dammit, Jeff! Get a hard-on and plow me, will you?

  Jeff took a sip of scotch. “Don’t worry,” he said. “The private eye’ll find her. They always do.”

  “I’m worried about him finding her alive.”

  He looked into her eyes. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

  In that moment, Sara loved Jeff fervently.

  Jeff looked down at his glass of brandy like he’d just remembered it. He downed the remainder in a single gulp.

  He staggered to his feet, pulled Sara up after him. “I’m sleepy—let’s go to bed.”

  She smiled, feeling oddly happy. Yes, even snuggling would be nice.

  Outside, the humming stopped. Sara looked out through the window. The dragon was airborne and disappearing fast—a sparkling streak heading out towards the harbor.

  She sighed her relief.

  ***

  Malone arrived at noon.

  The Forks immediately made themselves scarce like they always did whenever Sara had visitors.

  Sara was glad Malone didn’t see them—how could I ever explain their presence here?

  Jeff was still sleeping when Sara made her way downstairs to receive Malone.

  All the warmth she felt from cuddling nicely with him disappeared immediately when Malone unwrapped the paper parcel he’d brought with him.

  His explanation made it even worse. No way was it possible that her own daughter Rachel had . . . But . . .

  She grimaced in disgust when he revealed the jagged line of stitches down his belly and explained their significance.

  She nodded glumly, when he was done explaining. “I’m sorry, Malone, but I’m in no condition to talk money now. I’ll have it delivered to you later.”

  He nodded, rose to leave. “No problem. I understand.”

  Malone left.

  Sara sat rigid in his wake. She heard the voice of the maid letting Malone out, heard the click of the front door shutting behind him. Her eyes were riveted on the head laid on the table in front of her.

  She broke down and began crying.

  Still weeping profusely, she made her way back upstairs.

  ***

  Mary Eloise Baker, the maid who’d let Malone out, came in to tidy up the living room.

  She caught one look of Rachel’s head, shrieked, and fainted.

  ***

  Jeff gaped at Sara. “She what?”

  Sara nodded, sniffling, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She caught a glimpse of herself in mirror. Damn, I look a total mess.

  She wondered how she could be thinking of her looks at a time like this. I’m sixty-four dammit, not some teen on a date.

  Jeff put his arms around her. Sara forced herself against him as tightly as if she wanted their bodies to fuse into one. The gravity of what Rachel’s death meant horrified her. She couldn’t hold back her tears. They flowed like the proverbial river.

  “I’m all alone in the world now, Jeff. All alone.”

  “No, you’re not,” Jeff asserted. “I’m here with you, and I’ll never leave your side again. We’ll be together, till death do us part.”

  His words were exactly what Sara needed to hear. Her depression melted off her shoulders like snow in sunshine. She smiled. Unconsciously, she routed her pain over Rachel’s passing into Jeff’s promise.

  She looked up into his eyes.

  “Oh, Jeff, I really love you.”

  He smiled. “I love you too.”

  “You’re really serious about not leaving me?”

  He laughed. “I should ask you that question. As I remember it—you dumped me, not the other way around.”

  Sara laughed. She did feel much better. She realized however that she needed to keep this happy feeling going, else the sheer horror of Rachel’s decapitated head downstairs would send her into a total out-of-control emotional downward spiral. Love, love, love. This love could heal her, but she had to work on it, build it up.

  “So promise me you’ll not jilt me this time,” Jeff said.

  “There’s no chance of that happening,” Sara said.

  Jeff nodded. “You’re right,” he said soberly. “David’s dead.”

  Sara hit him playfully. “Don’t tell me you’re still upset over that. If I’d known you were going to be Mr. President someday, I’d never have left you for him. Look how I missed out on being First Lady.”

  They both laughed.

  Then Jeff kissed Sara. She responded eagerly. Her body, her pussy was aflame with desire for him. Her soul burnt with passion.

  She pushed him back onto the bed and lay on top of him. She kissed him furiously, tears of joy falling from her eyes into his.

  All the while she squashed her body against his, so that he’d be in no doubt what she wanted—if he could give it to her.

  Then with a thrill she felt him harden in his trousers. His cock pulsed greedily against her thighs.

  Jeff freed his lips from hers. “I do believe little Mr. President down there wants to make a State of the Union address to you.”

  Sara giggled. “Let him out. I’m desperate to hear how things are heating up down south.”

  She suddenly felt evil. “Go on,” she added, “free the poor frustrated slave like your namesake did. Let your negro have white pussy to eat without fear of being lynched.”

  Jeff burst into laughter. “Damn, Sara. That’s the most politically incorrect thing I’ve ever heard in my thirty-seven years in politics.”

  She grinned. “All’s fair in love and war.”

  She quickly unzipped him and released his erection. Yes, she thought, finally.

  She lowered her lips to it, not minding that it stank a little. She slurped it up greedily, running her lips rapidly up and down over its unwashed length.

  Jeff pulled her off his member. “That’s even better than I remember.”

  “Jeff, you can’t remember; last time I gave you head was forty years ago.”

  He shrugged. “I’m mixing it up. First Lady gave first-class head too. Reason I married her.”

  He pulled her up to him and undid her blouse, then slipped his roughened hands under her bra, freeing her breasts. Sara ditched both items of clothing.

  Jeff gaped at her massive breasts, their skin taut as opposed the sag that dominated most of her flesh. Delicate veins marbled each curved white expanse. “These are much larger than I remember them. Did they grow up over the years?”

  She giggled throatily. “Of course not, silly. They’re dinosaur fat implants. But you’re sucking them anyway.” She bent over his face.

  Jeff took her massive left nipple into his mouth and vacuumed it. It throbbed between his lips. Sara groaned with the pleasure.

  His unkempt beard prickled her breast. The contrast of this rough sensation made the feel of his suckling lips all the more exquisite.

  Her pussy clenched with each caress of his lips.

  Jeff pushed her away. “Fuck! I can’t wait any longer.”

  Me neither, Sara thought.

  He quickly stripped naked. Like Sara’s, his skin sagged on his body, and he had a little paunch.

  Jeff rolled Sara over on her back and spread her legs. He spit on his penis, and placed its swollen head between her engorged labia.

  Sara gasped—a sharp intake of breath that felt like she was choking—when he entered her. The feeling hung between pleasure and pain—she had no idea which it was.

  The strangling feeling dissolved into familiar pleasure as Jeff slid to the depths of her.

  We’re just two old people who’ve found love again in our twilight years, she thought happily,

  Her eyes rolled up in their so
ckets as he thrust into her. The sexual pleasure galloped through her like a field of racehorses.

  Hard and fast, harder and faster.

  Images of dead Rachel threatened to douse her passion. Sara wasn’t having it. She pulled Jeff’s body down on hers. She locked her lips to his, digging her tongue deep into his mouth. She held him tight to her, gripping his neck with her hands. She wrapped her legs around his buttocks and locked her ankles.

  She disentangled her lips from Jeff’s and looked deep into his eyes, saw that his passion was as fierce and intense as hers. His eyes were wide and staring, his lips curled down in a scowl, his overall expression a strangled grimace.

  Damn, Sara thought, he looks like he’s having a fucking heart attack. Guess he’s got a lot of frustration to work off.

  Jeff was still fucking her however. Long, hard strokes of cock that danced between pain and pleasure. Wow, she thought, this is the real meaning of ‘ass-whupping.’

  Jeff’s breathing became labored.

  Sara willed herself to meet his orgasm with her own. She let go his neck, and reaching down between her legs, rubbed her clitoris so her pleasure peaked as his did.

  Jeff came. “Yessssss!” he growled like a bear as he spurted into Sara.

  Sara came also, pumping her bony crotch up against him. The pleasure was so intense she screamed. “Oh, my God, yess!!”

  She spiraled upward in ecstasy forever.

  Jeff went limp on her and rolled off. Sara descended in stages from her fucked-out bliss.

  “Oh, Jeff,” she gushed, when she could finally speak. “That was incredible.”

  He didn’t reply. Sara turned to look at him and saw he was staring up at the ceiling with a fixed expression—a broad grin like he was the happiest man alive. She looked at his chest; he wasn’t breathing.

  Alarmed, she grabbed his wrist, felt for his pulse. There was none. Jeff was dead.

  Dammmit, Jeff. You were having a heart attack?

  Sara stared at his corpse in utter disbelief. Then, like a band of al-Qaeda suicide bombers, despair rushed at her from all sides. Despair that threatened to fracture her mind.

  Sara lay beside Jefferson Lincoln, holding his arm and weeping copiously. She held tightly onto the memory of his love for her, of the beautiful lovemaking they’d just shared, the knowledge that he’d died happy, in her arms.

  It was all that kept her from cracking up.

  Slowly, Sara came to terms with losing him.

  She shut his staring eyes, kissed him on the lips one final time, then got up, and got dressed.

  She had to inform the Forks that their favorite captive was dead.

  Sara was remarkably calm now. Everything bad that could happen to her anymore had all happened in the space of one morning.

  She parted the bedroom drapes. What the hell is that white stuff raining down? Looks like popcorn.

  CHAPTER 36

  Sara

  When Sara got downstairs, there were still no Forks in the house.

  She roused the fainted maid in the living room.

  Mary Eloise Baker woke up. Then she sighted Rachel’s head and almost fainted again. Then she recognized Sara through her terror and her sense of duty won out over her emotions.

  At her mistress’ request, she staggered outside, then back in again to confirm that yes, it was indeed raining popcorn. She held out a handful so Sara could see.

  Sara nodded. “It’s a fucked-up day all around. Jeff’s dead, Mary.”

  The maid gasped. “Mr. President?” Her eyes misted. “But how? He looked fine this morning.”

  “Heart attack.”

  “Now listen,” she told Mary. “The Forks left when Malone delivered . . .” she pointed to Rachel’s head, which was now stinking. “. . . and they aren’t back yet. I want to bury Jeff before they return. Otherwise they might eat him like they did all the senators they caught.”

  (Sara recalled very well her conversation with Lord Tav and Lady Yaz about the legislators.

  “We assumed that ingesting your leaders would help us understand humans better,” Lord Tav had said.

  The Fork sighed. “Unfortunately we were wrong. No matter how many senators or congressmen we ate, we learnt nothing we didn’t already know.”

  “We did however learn that human politicians generally have no idea what they’re doing,” Lady Yaz added helpfully. “If you knew what we do about their motives for aspiring to office, you’d be thanking us for ridding you of them.”)

  Mary nodded. “What should I do, madam?”

  “Call all the servants away from their duties. Smith used to be a military chaplain. Tell him he’s conducting the service.”

  Mary nodded and hurried off with great urgency.

  ***

  Jefferson Lincoln was buried out on the front lawn of the Fischer Mansion.

  A guard of liveried male servants carried his body—wrapped in a US flag and laid out on a long silver dinner tray—out to the grave in military fashion.

  Dressed in their Sunday best, the rest of the house staff stood around the grave, their faces draped in sorrow.

  Two servants stood sentry a distance from the funeral party, concealed beneath trees, watching sky and ground for dinos.

  It was still raining popcorn. A light patter of it that floored the grave like tiling.

  Old Smith, the butler, a small, portly man with heavy muttonchops, officiated, using Sara’s ancient wedding Bible.

  “Dearly beloved, we now commit this departed one into the bosom of our—”

  The mourners all gasped as the Forks materialized amidst them.

  Lord Tav and Lady Yaz, the golden leaders of this Fork grouping, were surrounded by several plastic and tin Forks—lower officials and servants.

  Lord Tav and Lady Yaz levitated out over Jeff’s still-empty grave.

  “We were delayed,” Lord Tav said. “Now we sense that President Lincoln is dead. As your conquerors, it is our privilege to prong him. You will therefore hand over his corpse.”

  There was a collective gasp of horror from the assembled mourners. Then an angry grumbling.

  Sara immediately stepped in front of Jeff’s star-spangled corpse.

  “Oh no, you’re not eating him,” she growled at the Forks. “No one eats a US president. You should know that.”

  An assenting murmur went around the servants.

  “It is our right,” Lady Yaz said. “Do not be impertinent, Sara.”

  “If you insist on eating Jeff,” Sara retorted. “I’ll stop cooperating with you immediately.”

  (This was a gamble/bluff on her part. Other than their request that she babysit Jeff for them, they’d not asked anything else from her. Okay, except for somewhere to park their fucking fiberglass dragon.)

  The Forks hummed between themselves for a long minute.

  “Okay, we will not prong him. You may bury most of him.”

  Sara scowled. “Most of him?”

  “Yes. Most. We need . . .”

  Two white beams pulsed out of Lady Yaz’s breast-tips. Both rays of light curved around Sara’s body to rest on Jeff’s corpse behind her.

  Sara turned and watched.

  The tips of the beams of light formed into two knives that cut a hole through the stars and stripes wrapping Jeff. Then they cut deeper—into Jeff’s body.

  Next, both knives became hands that pulled the edges of both wrapping and body apart and delved inside him.

  Then, one hand, one knife, holding and cutting.

  Then two hands again, emerging with something big and brown, which they left lying on the corpse.

  Both light beams blinked out.

  “What is that?” Smith the butler dared ask. He looked set to faint from horror.

  “Yes, what?” Sara seconded in a strained voice.

  “His liver,” came the reply. “You may bury the rest of him. We however exert our right to keep this.”

  Sara gaped at the chunk of meat lying on the flag-wrapped body.


  “Jefferson Lincoln’s liver,” Lord Tav continued, “is crystal-clear, irrefutable proof of Fork greatness, and how pathetic you humans are in comparison to us.”

  Sara stared at the brown mass with its pale splotches and truncated blood vessels. Damn, she thought, it’s wobbling like its alive. She choked back her urge to upchuck all over it.

  She was relieved that the Forks hadn’t said they wanted Jeff’s head, but still . . .

  “What the hell do you want with his liver? I mean, how can this disgusting thing possibly show how fantastic you are?”

  Lady Yaz—her gold body glittering—replied to Sara. “It is symbolic. This American president was previously the most powerful man on the planet. But he died a weakling, his body ruined by the ravages of alcohol addiction—at death, he was a glorified wino. And why? Because he could not handle what we Forks had done to his kingdom.”

  Sara didn’t get it. She said so.

  Lord Tav laughed. “But surely, this is obvious. The human liver is the organ that most directly suffers the effect of alcohol abuse. Simple ownership of Jefferson Lincoln’s mortally messed-up organ therefore suffices as incontrovertible evidence—”

  “Of your greatness,” Sara finished glumly. She brushed popcorn out of her hair. The white stuff was everywhere now. Sara wanted the forks to get lost before Jeff’s grave filled up with it. This funeral was absurdist enough already.

  “Exactly,” Lady Yaz said, pleased. “You too see it now. It’s very obvious.”

  Tree shadows now dappled both Fork’s bodies. A breeze blowing from the trees chilled the humans assembled around the grave.

  Lady Yaz turned to the Fork entourage. “Take the president’s liver away and give it a drink,” she ordered. She and Lord Tav laughed loudly.

  Four plastic Forks instantly floated forward. They levitated Jeff’s gently twitching organ into the air and floated it away into the house.

  Sara was horrified as she watched them go. “Why give it a drink? It’s just a dead organ.”

  “It is still alive and addicted to alcohol. We want it to be a happy captive.”

  Jeff’s liver was ‘still alive?’ Sara decided that when the shit hit your fan too often, you either threw your fan away or allied yourself with those pooping on it.