“I bet you do. Please Flain, smack me, just one to prime the pump? Then you can do what you want.”
“Shut your mouth. I’m in charge. You were the boss before this.”
“Yessir. Forgive me.” He knew I loved that. The control with the explanation.
He ran his finger down from the top of my crack, pushing in when he reached my anus. I was nervous. Didn’t know what to think. A cock that big in a hole that small? Originally he’d had trouble entering my vagina, but no matter, he dropped to my pussy. Reaching deep and inside he cupped my groin like his stirrups did my knees. Three of his fingers sunk in. Once inserted he fucked me in violent bursts then lifted my body from the ground. It was painful and imbalanced and made me want more but he wouldn’t do as I asked. I hugged the tree to try and relieve some pressure then decided I wanted more pressure. Releasing the trunk my face tilted forward and I banged my cheek on the hardwood. Flain prepared my body for his ridiculing cock and I accepted his preparation. My mind was in a tizzy, needing his abuse, and again I thought why the fuck is this normal? I am currently living my fantasy.
“Now this. Then that,” he said.
When he lowered me down, and how the hell this was managed, I have no earthly idea, his fingers were replaced by his dick, all fourteen inches burying inside me. There I was held a foot off the ground impaled on Flain’s big cock. The innermost layers of my work toughened body moaned beneath the strain, the level of excitement in the woods augmenting, increasing as he pumped once or twice, and I Laney McComb, was literally “fucked” into the air. What passion and power and maturity of body I experienced on the tip of Flain, his pumping fierce and angry, wanting to injure me, while I leaked as if I’d been punctured. And I had. My God was I punctured!
“Shit! Owww! Flain! Holy fuck! I can’t take it!”
“You want me to stop?”
“Fuck no! I want you to break me in two!”
“What a nasty little bitch you are.”
“I am. I am. Owww! Ouch!”
“Raise Ney with me and I’ll fuck you up the tree!”
“Yes! Yes! Consider it done!”
That was cute. I thought that was cute. Hitting me when I was weak. Making certain I meant what I said. I’d be answering to that promise later, but for now I wanted my whipping.
“Redden my big fat ass?”
“Glad to oblige the new mommy.”
“O boy! Oh boy howdy!”
With discipline I assumed the position. Thumbs together. Arms straight. Feet to ass vertical. My back planed and my face to the ground. I’d have to absorb the force with my elbows. Bend them slightly whenever he struck. Flain’s big cock was in my rearglancing vision as he cracked his knuckles and waited. My abuse, his fury, was certain. This was mostly romantic to me. Psychotherapy could probably help that. They’d discover my inner child liked to beat its own ass with a belt. For entertainment. To have something to do while trapped in the prison of my psyche. Ass spanking helped that child cope. And coping was the key.
“Saddle up!” he said and the first one came, the shot landing middle palm squarely on my crack so that both naked buttocks got their prize. The sting was so intense that when I closed my eyes I had a vision of multiple cock-headed cobras striking my ass all at once. Right behind it Flain exploded with another and my shoulder went into the tree. The shock absorber of my torso coupled with my arms couldn’t withstand his assault.
“Are they nice and red?” I asked.
Flain was incommunicado. A third and a fourth, a fifth and a six took the power from my legs and folded my knees and I screamed “Flain! Please Flain! Give me another and another and another!” Three more in succession from my place on the ground lifted my knees from the earth. He then fucked me doggy style, yanking back on my hair until my head touched my spine. “Harder! Pull harder!” I screamed. When he released I went to my stomach, Flain rolling me onto my back, where he could easily choke me with his cock. He fucked my mouth until my eyes bugged out and he knew I couldn’t breathe. Flain backed his dick away: “do you require more tenderizing?” I responded “as much as you can give!”
“That, you shouldn’t have said.”
He pulled me by the hair and if that can be enjoyable Flain Youngman had it down. During the trip of ten feet deeper into the brush I managed to make it to my stomach. What I wanted to do was escape and have him chase me naked through the forest, me screaming, him hunting, panting and breathing, until he tackled, mounted and fucked me. That would be the best idea! Of course, in the middle of the role, the one I was currently playing, he might think he’d gone too far. Might think I’d lost my fucking marbles. Once Toby and myself enacted such a “game” in the middle of a summer’s night. We both ran naked off a bluff. Glad the water was deep. And that bourbon was sold in this county. Fuck it. I’ll do it anyway. Flain must catch his prey.
“Catch me you fuck! I’m quick!”
“Laney! I’m forty-fucking-seven!”
“You want the pussy! Run this pussy down!”
“Alrighty then! You asked for it sister!”
I step from my bindings, my humanly clothes, and I’m off through the forest like a cavewoman. Like a stripped down wench on the savanna. Running from a “cockosaurus!” My shoes are on, light hiking boots, and Flain Youngman’s no match for me. Not in the “naked hunt” game. I sprint by a stream for a hundred fast yards, leap it and I’m on a trail. A state trail. Shit, this is dangerous.
Slowing the pace I make adjustments, so as not to encounter other hikers. My breasts feel like they’ve blackened both my eyes and remember, I’m stark fucking naked, except for these great hiking boots. I support both boobs with either hand, part my legs and stretch my groin. Looking between the split of my thighs I can see my ass is already purpling with the bruises that I cherish like a keepsake. They will remind me tomorrow what happened today. Then I’ll probably want another spanking.
“The good doctor can bongo a butt. His whole hand made a whole bruise.”
When Flain came from the cover of the woods beyond he was silent, erect and ready. Converging on my cunt from directly behind me I didn’t hear him step. His big cock went in all the way to the balls before he grabbed my hips, maddeningly fucking, chanting insults from his standing position, the feverish lust in his loins and limbs assaultively increasing with his pumps. I accepted what he gave. There chased in the densest woods
“Harder! Flain! Fuck my pussy harder!”
He did and when I came I dropped from his cock and trembled on the trail epileptically. Flain wasn’t done with the game. He put me on my stomach in the dirt of the path and banged on my ass like a drum. Multiple shots that ground my breasts in the pebbles of the well-worn, well used trail. Then he was gone again, laughing and cackling, running naked in the woods, back towards his truck and our clothes. The old bastard is really fucking fit. I’ve seen him several times with his funny trekking poles, dressed in a garbage bag, hiking and sweating on the side of the road and it all of a hundred degrees. The motherfucker is deliciously crazy. If we didn’t find a baby in a grave, I’d be glad to have his if he wanted. With that in mind and my bottom brilliantly stinging I decided on a five-minute break. To soak my ass and body in the stream. As a child I’d played in this particular pool and now I was playing again.
“This will be nice. I wish Flain would come back.”
Flain was nowhere near. He was dressing in the woods by the church. Apparently he had that “old man” muscle that reemerges when you get years on you. When my grandfather was old, frail and consumed, by varying cancers and illnesses, I saw him get pissed at my dad. We were digging a grave and dad fucked it up or didn’t do it the way papa wanted. Papa flicked his cigarette at my daddy’s large head and pulled the bucket out of the hole. A hydraulic hose on the backhoe snapped and he exclaimed “I’ll be damned! We need to use fuckin’ picks and fuckin’ shovels! They don’t require no maintenance!” Old man muscle fascinates me. Especially the one in Flain’s pants.<
br />
“Ahhh, this is nice.”
I’ve got my boots off and am floating in the pool, the water cold and invigorating. Waterbugs are skittering all around my head and I’m singing “waterbugs! Hey you Mr. Waterbug! My ass has been spanked o’ plenty! Ya! Ya! Ya! Ya! Ya!”
When I finally hear “excuse me mam” I’m well past saving myself. The entire Scout Troop is aligned on the bank watching me float naked in the water. My boobs are my buoys and they are thoroughly enjoying it, squatting and smiling in silence, not a giggle amongst their group. This is a really clear stream, but I’m not a merit badge, so I stand and attempt to be defiant. As much as one can with an overbruised ass, buck naked in front of Boy Scouts, who were content to let me float, until their Senior Patrol Leader spoke. I think they would’ve squatted on that bank for a week, happily staring at my privates. Boys are so fucking easy. Ok, let me be offended.
“How could you! My God! Go away! Don’t you little bastards have mottos and shit! You’re ogling me in my innocence! I’m attempting to return to mother nature! Find my spirit animal! Be in the moment!”
There’s a toe headed pervert in the middle of the group that responds “I’ll help you hunt that animal! These dick tuggers are boring!”
He’s around twelve and I can tell he’s the clown so I address him as the gentlemen he isn’t. Whenever a situation has spun out of control it’s always good to rely on the funny one. The others are staring like hyenas.
“Blondie! Could you lead your troop away? Apparently your leader won’t lead!”
The one who has chortled “excuse me mam” is a shitty example of a Boy Scout. Everyone on the bank has their “shorts’ tent pitched” and he’s the worst offender in the group. His pubescent boner is throbbing with his heart when the toe headed clown says “shit. Come on. Leave her alone. Ya’ll can beat your damn meat for a lifetime over what you’ve seen today. Mam, we thank you kindly. Be seein’ ya. Scout’s honor. I swear.”
As they filed onto the trail they looked over their shoulders. Sweat and testosterone coated the air and I feared they might double back. No worries. Flain walked up. He’s laughing so hard he can’t stop.
“Laney. You’ve made them into Boner Scouts. Most of those boys will never leave Remount. Now, they won’t have to. Just knowing you’re alive and that if they stay, they might get another glimpse of you, will be enough to sustain their existences and send you a Christmas card.”
“Can’t say I’m proud of myself.”
“No need. They’ll say it for you. Expect your business to quadruple. Might want to invest in new equipment.”
“No sir. We got us a baby! Gonna save every penny like the Scrooge!”
Flain thought that was adorable. He hung my clothes on a branch, undressed himself and floated in the pool with me. I straddled Flain and inserted his cock. Rotating my hips, I fucked his big dick, and kissed his lips, eyes and cheeks. His length permeated the walls of my womb and with the cold of the water and his body matching mine we were joined for what we must do. The beauty of sex and that of loving parents are things that beget one another. I consider Flain the father of my child, though that child wasn’t born by me. We choose to love it and we choose one another. By becoming two we begat number three and Ney is one of us. I feel this now when I’m with him. It happened so quick that it makes me believe a higher power placed Ney in our path. For that I thank “him” or “it” or “they,” or whomever I’m supposed to thank.
“Laney, I, um, l…”
“Flain, I love you back.”
I wanted to say it first. He thought that was cute. So did the boys in the bushes. Their giggles weren’t quiet anymore.
“Oomph,” he whispered as he came inside me and the Scouts were no wiser as we rose. They fled when they saw his “peter.” One yelled “bejesus! It’s a club!” Another “he’s got a third arm!”
“Lord, kids,” Flain said while we dressed.
“Those were teenage boys. All they think about are genitals.”
“That and what holds them up.”
10.
The man we put in the Pinto is still there when we return. Worse yet, his phone, still on top of the church, is ringing and we can hear it.
“He’s not awake,” Flain said. “He should be. That my dear, isn’t good.”
“Should I get his phone and see who’s calling?”
“You better. And bring the phone down. He should’ve been awake by now, driven away, and been arrested. That’s his parole officer calling I bet. If you wouldn’t mind go and see.”
There’s an old wooden ladder behind the air unit. I lift it and lean it on the church. Climb the fifteen feet to the top. The roof is tarred and blistering hot. There are bubbles on the eastern side where a leak is apparent to me. In the dead damn center of this tarred and sticky mess his phone is ringing with the screen face up. It’s one of those old antique kind that a microwave can’t even kill. I tiptoe to the cell and as I reach down it stops ringing and I pick it up. From the heat you can’t see the numbers. I put it in my pocket and descend. Once in the shade I give the screen a minute and the numbers come to the forefront.
“Flain?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Flain? It’s the Sheriff’s department! They’ve called eight fucking times already!”
Still, Flain says nothing.
“Flain, this might be serious! They seem eager to contact him!”
It became serious really fast. Flain was already working on the man. In the shade that the Pinto cast. He’d drug him from the car, laid him flat, and was pumping on his chest with his hands heeled together, screaming “sir! Can you hear me! Open your eyes! Sir! Give me a sign!”
I’m running and yelling “Flain! What is it? Why’re you pumping his chest?”
I fall to the ground and wait next to Flain. He asks for no help and by giving no order I am stationed to watch him work, what the man is doing he’s done hundreds of times and for him it’s like using a fork. The blood has congealed on his face and nose and Flain says “he’s asphyxiated. Choked to death in the car when we left. Didn’t think he would. Something must’ve ruptured, or already been ruptured, when we exited on our little hike. It was more serious than I thought. Laney, this is my fault.”
“Flain, I hit him. Is he dead?”
Flain’s ear went to the mouth of the man while his fingers searched for a pulse. He then slammed at his chest a few more times and said “Laney, yes, he is dead.”
“Then I killed him?”
“Yes, he’s dead.”
I burst into tears with Flain’s arm wrapped around me, him saying “accident,” while I hear “murder,” and see myself stamping license plates, lodged on D-block in Wetumpka, Alabama at the Julia Tutwiler Prison for Women for the rest of my lengthy days. My response was immediate, ethical and quick. Weren’t morals important here?
“Flain, we have to call the Sheriff?”
“You don’t have to call anybody.”
“What’re you saying? They’ll be an investigation?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. No investigation is necessary.”
The car was beating down the road without its lights on. Flain knew he would come eventually, because Flain had called his home. Our Sheriff, seventy years old, with forty-eight years in office, was alone in the car that encroached. He’d brought the news of Toby’s death to me in my home and now he was coming to arrest me. To see what I’d done to a fellow human being with a tool turned into a weapon. Over the lightning flash of my temper. I was panicked. But knew what was right.
“I called him after it happened. Didn’t have to. But I did. This man is out of county with an ankle bracelet on. I bet the other Sheriff asked a favor from ours because our Sheriff…”
“…lives a mile from here.”
“Yes Laney. He’s really close. There are things that you don’t know. Situations you aren’t privy to.”
“Flain, what the fuck are you saying? Why didn’t yo
u tell me you reported this? What kind of a friend or lover are you? Do you want Ney to yourself? Need to get me out of the way? Did you know I would hit this bastard? Flain, I don’t even know you. I…”
“The Sheriff can decide what to do.”
“What is there to decide? I killed him. I put him in that hole.”
“This is extremely complicated. We’re on Mars and headed for Jupiter. I hate to say it, but you can relax.”
“No! I can’t relax!”
“You did the world a favor today.”
“Flain! I’m not fucking Dexter!”
“Today you are my dear.”
The Sheriff pulled in with a wave. No fanfare, SWAT or FBI. He waved, made a note in his spiral pad, licked the tip of his pencil and pocketed it. Things were already in motion. Beyond me and Remount, Alabama. He wasn’t looking at us or talking on the radio and most certainly wasn’t unsettled. The Sheriff sat there, his fingertips drumming, smiling from time to time. When he came from his car he said “hello Dr. Youngman” and Flain replied “Sheriff, good to see you. Sorry about the mess.”
“No worries. Laney dear, are you okay?”
After he asked I launched.
“No Sheriff. That, I am not. I’m responsible for the death of the man lying here because this man put a baby in that grave over there that has since been filled by us. The baby was Toby’s with some other woman and this bastard placed the child in an open fucking tomb instead of leaving the infant at my shop. We took the baby out, Flain and myself, and gave her to the Dorman’s for a bit. We’ve decided, today, to raise that baby. Then while we, Flain and myself, were gallivanting around in the woods, this man, who was previously living, died in that fucking Pinto. He said a really nasty thing about a twelve-year old girl that he raped in front of us. I hit him hard with a shovel in the face. Didn’t mean to kill him, but I did. That’s the truth. Put the cuffs on me. I am guilty, sealed and signed.”
Stirrups Page 7