You Can Never Spit It All Out

by Moore, Ralph Robert

  Joyce curled her long body up under Alicia's body. "What are you doing?"

  "Cupcake! Don't fight me. You told me you're tense, right? Let me do what Alicia does."

  As Pablo watched, Alicia unbuttoned all the front buttons of Joyce's blouse. Like the blouse was a birthday present dying to be unwrapped. No point in objecting. He knew his wife would get angry at him, not Alicia.

  Once Alicia had Joyce's blouse off, tossed to the side, Joyce bare from the waist up except for her white bra, Alicia leaned her upper body directly over Joyce's eyes. "Lift your arms back for me, baby cupcake. Do it."

  Joyce hesitated, then obediently lifted her bare arms back, until the backs of her hands touched the pile of the carpet, exposing her shaved armpits.

  "You ready for mama Alicia to take away all your problems?"

  Tears rolled down the sides of Joyce's face. "Please don't hurt me."

  "Joyce, you want me to get her off you?"

  Alicia put her finger on his wife's lips. "When did I ever hurt you, little cupcake? Just lay under me, with your armpits exposed to me. You like my weight on you?"

  Joyce nodded, like a child.

  "Feels good to have a woman's weight on top of you, right?"

  Foolish, teary-eyed grin from Joyce.

  "Know what? I think we're sisters! Do you feel that?"

  Joyce's sincerity wrenched him. "I do."

  "Me too!"

  Alicia lazily swung her long, brown hair away from her face. Held up both her thumbs. "See these little thumbs here, sister? You're going to fall in love with these little thumbs."

  She leaned down. Reached her thumbs into Joyce's exposed armpits. Started digging in, deep.

  Joyce bucked, trying to get out from under Alicia. "I don't like this!" But Alicia, although she was smaller, had the advantage of being on top of Joyce, her strong legs holding Joyce's body down while she kept digging her thumbs far up into Joyce's bare armpits.

  Joyce, face bright red, let out a scandalized cry, switching her face left, right, trying to escape what Alicia was doing to her.

  "Stop fighting it!" Alicia reared her head up, arrogantly, dark eyes staring down into Joyce's innocent blue eyes. "Don't make me slap you!"

  And at some point, after long minutes, trapped under that soft weight, boxed in by those bullying thighs, Joyce gave in. Just like Pablo knew she would. Wasn't the first time he had seen that happen.

  Alicia dug deeper, Joyce keeping her eyes squeezed shut, fingers jumping on the carpet, mouth contorting.

  Finally, Alicia, satisfied, lifted her left leg, took her weight off her little cupcake.

  She left a short time later. Joyce was still on the carpet, sitting against the sofa's front, dazed, crumpled blouse in her lap. Meaning to put it back on, but too distracted.

  Pablo opened their front door for Alicia. She gave him a smile. Turned her back on him, but still watching with those sly dark eyes, posing before she left, hips slanted sideways, inviting him to betray his wife by finally checking out her tight little ass.

  Don't do it, Pablo.

  As he shut the front door, locked it, he lowered his head. Turned around. Short of breath.

  Joyce stood by the sofa, blouse still off. Looking dazed. Too dazed to crawl back into her shyness.

  She looked down as he approached. Saw the way the front of his pants sagged forward.

  He didn't say anything.

  She wet her lips. "Okay."

  It was better than their first time. Because he didn't have to keep coaxing her. She got out of her clothes without a fuss. Pulled down his pants, underpants. Spread her warm thighs, knees raised. Face turned away, eyebrows lifted, waiting for him to slide up.

  Could have just been regular fucking. He waited to see if it would be. Didn't have to wait long. Eyes squeezed closed, shutting him out of what they were about to do, she raised her bare arms over her head, backs of her hands resting on her white pillow, offering her bare, shaved armpits to him.

  She would never directly ask him to do it. Too shy for that. But she trusted him, like a wife sometimes trusts a husband in bed, especially after too many drinks. And maybe knew it was what he probably wanted, as well.

  He could have not gone along. But he felt his cock sliding even longer, harder inside her as he saw what she wanted. What Alicia had put in her. Dug his thumbs up into those wet armpits, dug them in deep, dug them in even deeper as she bucked under him, eyes popping open, staring like a fish on a hook, long, long moan of shame coming up out of her.

  "She won't return my calls!"

  Pablo at the microwave, checking to see if their frozen lasagna was ready.

  Almost a week had passed since that Friday night.

  Joyce had called, sent text messages. No reply.

  They made love a lot since that Friday. At least twice a day. Sunday and Tuesday, three times. And he had accidently caught her more than once, masturbating on the toilet. That's the thing, when someone like Alicia gets inside you. Trying to rub it out, but it doesn't rub out.

  He brought the salad spinner out of the refrigerator, using his right hand to transfer the cool, wet greens to their salad plates. Topped the dark and bright leaves with cucumber slices he had scored down their jade sides with the tined ends of a fork, to make them prettier.

  Took the jar of Hidden Valley Ranch dressing out of the cold shelves, shaking it vigorously in the air like it was his cock.

  Her phone played the opening bars of "People."

  She tried so excitedly to answer her phone it flipped out of her hands into her bowl of salad. Snatching it out, shred of romaine lettuce falling on the table top, she brought it to her ear. "Hello?"

  Dipped her anxious face. "Yes! Where have you been? I've been trying to–"

  Listened.

  Shook her poor, shy face. "Absolutely! We'll make lobster or prime rib or whatever you'd like."

  She wanted to say more, of course, but was stopped by the voice on the other end of the line. "Okay. Well, we'll see you then!"

  Ended the call. Looked at the phone in her hand, her magic lamp. "She's coming over tomorrow night, for dinner. She said don't prepare anything special. She said she had a surprise for me!"

  Joyce spent most of the time waiting for Alicia to show up in front of the mirror, fussing with her eyes, adjusting her makeup. Standing in the bathroom's doorway, so he could hear their front doorbell when it rang, watching her nervousness, he felt sad for her. Sad for him, too. But mostly sad for her.

  "The doorbell just rang."

  "Huh? What?" She had a toothpick up by her eye, fluffing out her black lashes.

  Followed behind his bulk to the front door in her tight blue jeans, arms held by her sides, backs of her hands lifted horizontal at her thighs.

  Alicia wore short-shorts. He noticed gloomily Alicia's legs looked better than his wife's legs. But had figured they would. Always an advantage. A lot of social interactions end up being about legs.

  Alicia was less flattering this time. Let Joyce prattle on for a while, just fixing her with a cold stare. Joyce's pupils growing in size as her mouth kept talking, wondering if something was wrong.

  Pablo lifted his chin. "You want something to drink?"

  Alicia walked over to the sofa. "Give me a beer."

  "I'll have one too!"

  Shot Joyce a stern look. "No. I want you to drink whiskey tonight."

  Joyce in a panic. "Okay. Yeah!"

  Pablo got a beer for himself as well.

  Took a seat in the easy chair, giving the couch to the two of them.

  Joyce, sitting next to Alicia, grew quiet. In essence, waiting for instructions. Alicia drew her bare right leg up, high-heeled open-toed sandal on the sofa's cushion. Leaned her long-haired face forward. Kissed the top of her own perfect knee. Looked at Joyce.

  Joyce's face was bright red. "Does your knee hurt? Would you like me to kiss it?"

  Alicia shook her dark hair. "No."

  Joyce was having trouble breathing.<
br />
  "You look tense."

  Grateful. Big smile. "I am! Do you think you could…Could you–" She raised her arms over her head, blinking, shyly exposing her armpits to the other woman.

  "Not right now."

  Joyce's upper arms deflating back to her breasts.

  "Finish your drink! You've only taken a couple of sips."

  She brought the glass up to her lips. Eyes staring at Alicia, gulped some down.

  "All of it."

  Throat bobbing, swallowed the rest. Leaned forward, coughing.

  Alicia got up, went out to the kitchen. Returned with the whiskey bottle. Poured Joyce a fresh drink. Set the bottle down on the coffee table in front of them, within easy reach. "We're supposed to be celebrating, little cupcake." Twisted her face sideways, with a meanness. "Why aren't you drinking?"

  Joyce, flustered, drank half her new drink. Stopped, gagging.

  "Come on, baby sister! Don't let Alicia down."

  Eyes red, Joyce finished her drink.

  "Poor little shy baby. You're not used to drinking this much, are you?"

  Flustered. "I don't drink that much. But I can. My mom was an alcoholic, when I saw what she did to herself growing up I–"

  "Hush, baby cupcake. Alicia's gonna help you." She reached in the front pocket of her short-shorts. Pulled out a little white pill. "This'll help you. Just swallow it, and you can drink and drink all night long."

  Joyce reached dumbly for the pill.

  "No!"

  Confused.

  Alicia balanced the pill on the top of her bare knee. "Okay. You can take it."

  Joyce nodded.

  "No!"

  Joyce put her hand back in her lap.

  "I want you to take this pill, but you can't take it using your hands."

  Getting upset. Trying to be reasonable. "Then how do you want me to take it?"

  Alicia stayed silent.

  "Do you want me to use my feet?"

  "No."

  Pablo took a swig of his beer.

  Joyce, frozen on the sofa next to Alicia, switched her eyes left, right, thinking.

  Looked into Alicia's eyes.

  Leaned her face down, towards Alicia's legs. Held her pink mouth over the other woman's bare knee. Dipped her lips down to the knee, little tongue coming out, obediently licking up the small white pill.

  Alicia's sideways triumphant glance at Pablo.

  His wife's little tongue licking Alicia's bare knee again, even though she already had the pill. Her small hand sliding around to the soft, strong curve of Alicia's calf, in a supplicant's caress. Such a quiet moment. And there was no going back from that surrender. The hook was in, and he knew he could never cut it out. Of Joyce, of him.

  After that, it was just a question of Alicia taking control of what she had won.

  She stood up in front of Joyce, in all her bare-legged dominance.

  Plucked up the whiskey bottle. Went around to the back of the sofa, Joyce's blue eyes following.

  At the rear of the sofa, grabbed Joyce's blond hair, roughly, and forced her head back. Started pouring whiskey into his wife's mouth, just a little at first, then more.

  Joyce, underneath Alicia, gulping obediently, hands rising in alarm, instinctively, but never stopping what this little girl was doing to her. Because, you know, by that point, wanting to be treated that way. Aching to be treated that way.

  Once Alicia had Joyce glassy-eyed, she walked back to the front of the sofa. Stood in front of Joyce, hands on her hips, flexing her beautiful bare legs. Raised her right hand. Snapped her fingers. Joyce rose, taller, but submissive.

  "I'll bring her home by dawn. Don't wait up."

  And the two were gone.

  After the front door was locked, the apartment silent, Pablo got down on his knees in front of the sofa, where Alicia had sat. Buried his nose in that cushion, nostrils searching for the smell of her cunt while he masturbated furiously.

  Afterwards, after pressing his face into that cushion two more times, he got some white paper towels from the kitchen, returned to the sofa, tried to blot up all his sperm. But that's the thing. Once sperm is loosed, with all its tiny swirling demons, you can never fully mop it all up. There's always that thin layer of translucent crust remaining. Even if you can't see it.

  He had no idea where Alicia had taken Joyce, of course, or what she was doing to her, out there in the dark, wet night. He sat on the sofa where she had sat, trying to watch TV. None of the shows he stared at were that good, but it didn't matter. TV is about letting you know the world is going on, it's not like your lonely home, and that's a reassurance.

  The first time he called Joyce's phone was at two in the morning. Three rings, out there in the mysteries, and then Joyce's recorded voice. "I can't take your call right now, but please leave a message." Would that be the last time he heard her voice as it used to be, the years of their marriage?

  He called a few more times that late night, early morning, disconnecting after the three rings.

  Must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, the light was coming in through the window. Him still sitting on the sofa, cartoons on the TV. Looked at the phone in his right hand. Six-thirty. Tried again. Three rings in his ear, but as their familiar rhythm sounded, he heard, in his other ear, the opening bars to "People."

  Got up off the sofa. Called Joyce again.

  "People" was coming from outside the front door to their apartment.

  Looked through the peephole. Saw nothing. The empty pale green wall opposite.

  Unlocked the door. Swung it inwards.

  Joyce, lying on the carpet by their front door.

  Blood on her clothes.

  He sobbed. Got down on his knees. Face in her face, calling her name.

  She stirred, eyes shut.

  Carried her inside, over to the sofa.

  Put her down on it like a big, stuffed doll.

  She didn't look good. Blond hair mussed, dried vomit on her lips, down the front of her blouse.

  And the blood.

  "Joyce?" Used the tips of his thumb and forefinger to pinch her earlobe. Her face roused, moving left, right.

  "Joyce?"

  Blue eyes finally opening. Looking out at him. "Pablo?"

  "What happened?"

  Blond eyebrows drawing together. "Where am I?"

  He felt cold. "You're home, baby. Are you all right?"

  Groggy eyes. "Did I go to the bathroom yet?"

  Slinging her arm over his shoulder, hugging her around her hips, he puppet-walked her into their bedroom. Got her sand-filled body down on the bed, on her back.

  "Are you in pain?"

  Annoyed face. "Am I who?"

  He twisted off her sneakers and white socks, like you would with a sleepy child. Undid the brass button at the front of her waistband. Lifting her small feet, grabbing the gold-threaded cuffs of her blue jeans, pulled her jeans down, down, down off her bare legs.

  Blood on both legs. Dark lines down both legs, from the tops of her thighs to her ankles. Spitting on his hands, he rubbed his wet fingers down the fronts of her thighs, her shins, wiping away the bright red blood so he could better see the dark lines.

  Tattoos.

  Tattoos of a pair of thinner, sexier legs needled down the fronts of her legs.

  A lot of detail and shading. Very realistic. Like there really was another woman's legs superimposed over her own legs.

  Alicia's legs. Someone had tattooed Alicia's legs over Joyce's legs.

  Joyce was still out of it, so she didn't protest, too loudly, as he pulled her pink panties off.

  The tattoos led all the way up to her cunt. This smaller, sexier body tattooed over his wife's body.

  Gently flipped her over, onto her stomach.

  Same thing on the backs of her legs. Alicia's superior legs, tattooed atop, all the way up to an inked-in smaller, shapelier ass, the dark lines meeting at Joyce's asshole, much like the dark lines at the front of her body met at Joyce's cu
nt.

  Rolled her on her back. Pulled off her blouse. Yanked into the air her brand new bra.

  Again, this slimmer body tattooed on Joyce's, smaller, younger breasts drawn over Joyce's fat, white breasts, convergence of flesh and tattoo at the nipples.

  Alicia's body had been tattooed over Joyce's body.

  It had been a long night.

  Joyce had fallen back asleep. Plenty of time later today to ask questions.

  She was naked. Easy for him to slip out of his own clothes, quietly. Freed cock sticking straight out. That look you get in your eyes, when you're doing something bad, but it's unlikely you'll ever get caught.

  He slid up inside her.

  Smile on her shut-eyed face. In her sleep, she raised her long arms over her head, clumsily, exposing her armpits.

  He ran his big hands up and down the tattooed legs. Kissed the tattooed breasts.

  What he was doing wasn't that awful. He wasn't violating Joyce. He was fucking the tattoo.

  "Really? You don't remember anything?"

  She sat at their kitchen table, head bent, smelling her cup of coffee. Not ready yet to actually drink it.

  "She must have taken you to a tattoo parlor at some point."

  She leaned over sideways in her kitchen chair, yanking up the waste basket he had put there, head down, aiming her mouth, throwing up into the basket. And…one more time.

  When she straightened back up in her chair, she actually looked better. Color back in her cheeks, though still hollow-eyed.

  "Do you remember some guy tattooing you?" (And let's not think too much, just yet, about some other man seeing her naked, hands all over her body.)

  "She did."

  "She remembered? Do you mean you?"

  "Alicia tattooed me." Dipped her head, trying a first sip of the hot coffee.

  "Alicia tattooed you?"

  Annoyed nod, still sipping.

  "In her apartment?"

  Shrugging her thin shoulders. "She got me so drunk. I don't know."

  "Was it somewhere inside?"

  Bursting into tears. Hopeless stare up at him, specks of light sliding in her blue eyes. "What am I going to do, Pablo? I can never wear shorts again. I can never wear a sleeveless blouse!"

  He took a step back. "Lots of people have tattoos." That was the best he could come up with.