Mountain Man's Secret Baby

by Lauren Wood

  “I can’t understand why somebody like you would be single. You’re the total package. Oh my god…you just fucking did that. No woman knows how my nipples are my weak spot. How is it that you seem to know me better than they do? Is it because you go the extra mile? Have I always been that predictable and didn’t know it?” Sheridan gave her short and hard strokes that were meant to make that telltale wet slap every time that he buried it deep. He could feel the convulsions starting to radiate down her excited walls. The way that those walls were now closing in on him made him grateful that his cock was not claustrophobic.

  “Make those shocks take the brunt of what you’re doing to me. Give me the blunt end of your instrument and make it feel so fucking good that I will always want to be with you. Show me what you have learned and what I have yet to learn. Your stick is not easy to get…used to. You fuck me like an animal and I have to admit that taking off the chains was a good thing. You’re banging me into submission and leaving me panting and wanting more. My god… I don’t think that I’ve ever had this kind of…fucking climax.” I’m being used and abused and I know that I will never look at him the same way. I can’t have him thinking that this one time is going to be enough. I forgive him for coming to me under false pretenses. I’m glad that he did or I wouldn’t be here getting the fuck of a lifetime.

  “Yes…play with my body and make my cock into your own personal toy. You’ve always had me and all you had to do was look at me to find the truth. Yes… Shana… Shana… Shana.” He could feel the rising storm and that swirling white tornado coming up the length. There was a moment of complete serenity and then his mind short circuited with the pleasure that became something that he would always measure the next time that he was with her by.

  She felt the ejection of his manhood and the way that her pussy seemed to hunger for the very sweet sauce that had now driven into her. She was beating her heels against the ceiling leaving puncture marks. “I lie here taking this and I know that he’s the one that I have been dreaming about. I just hope that I can prevent him from straying and the last thing I want is to see him with another woman unless of course it’s agreed upon beforehand amongst the both of us. I can see us experimenting for the sake of what other pleasures are out there to be had. Birthdays and anniversaries are going to be very interesting. We are going to try to outdo each other with how kinky and perverted we can get.”

  He saw the way that she looked. She had that well fucked satisfied smile creased across her face. They were both slippery to the touch. He pulled back slowly and watched as each inch began to emerge from the hot little cocoon. His knob was the last to exit. He saw his discharge clinging to the inside of her lips. He always wore something to protect himself from the possibility of getting someone pregnant, but he never even managed to get it out of the wrapper.

  They promised each other that they were always going to be in each other’s lives and that was a promise that they were going to take very seriously. Even after he was drafted, she followed him to Chicago and they soon found out that they were going to be with child. This whole thing had started off by her being the ultimate prize and in the end that’s exactly what she was.

  THE END

  HOT PACKAGE

  Chapter One

  “I have an unhealthy attachment to my freedom to ever consider going to work for an accomplished art dealer. I agreed to sit down with you because I respect everything you have accomplished. I just don’t know if it’s the right fit for me to have my own show.” I was comfortable doing my own thing and selling my pieces on the Internet.

  “Darby, I contacted you because you have become a growing concern in the art community. People have been raving about your pieces and how they seem to come to life before their very eyes. I don’t mind telling you, I was a little jealous, but felt we can do some great work together.” Granger was a man who knew how to make people famous with word of mouth spreading amongst those who were of discerning tastes.

  “I’m not very comfortable around people. I can’t stand crowds. They make me feel the room is closing in on me. I’ve always been a closet claustrophobic. I would prefer you keep this little confession between us.” I didn’t like the limelight and my work was appreciated by those who were drawn to the allure of my mysterious persona.

  “I understand, but this is your chance to broaden your horizons. I have a client who is interested in procuring a few interesting pieces on the subject of death. I will receive a small retainer and the rest of what he is offering is yours. We can call this a test to find out if our working relationship can stand up to scrutiny. I’m not going to stunt your creativity by offering some words of wisdom.” He was a bit of a beatnik with small glasses like John Lennon would wear. His colorful vest made him appear to be bigger than life, but this was his trademark to differentiate himself from other art gallery owners.

  “I might be willing to give this one chance. I make enough to live on and I don’t need anything more. You could call me a minimalist. I don’t mind admitting to a curiosity about how the other half lives.” His black shirt was hanging loosely over his jeans. We were standing and looking at the exhibit of some of his other artists.

  “I think you’ll agree his offer is hard to ignore. To be perfectly honest, I don’t have any other artists who can grab his attention with something shocking and quite unexpected. He wants you and has given me enough incentive to track you down. I want you to take this slip of paper and look at it at your earliest convenience. I don’t mind if you sleep on it for a bit.” I felt in awe of some of the names under the umbrella of his gallery.

  “It’s never been about the money. I like the idea of having something mainstream, but I don’t want to take away from the freedom to explore my creativity wherever it might take me. I do feel it’s time for a change and maybe your phone call was exactly what I needed to shake things up.” I had worked at home in my own private studio with a view of a pristine lake to give me inspiration. It was a temporary residence.

  Heartbreak had led me down a dark and lonely road. It was the most painful time of my life, but it revealed the darkness on the canvas. I had a cult following within weeks of my first creation. I was feeding my scarred soul by splashing my emotions on the canvas.

  “This is your chance to become a break out hit. I’ll be happy to take your hand and guide you every step of the way. You won’t be the first artist to come into the light kicking and screaming. I do need to give you fair warning that fame comes with its own pitfalls.” Granger was a man with a lot of pull to get things done in a timely manner.

  He wasn’t very muscular, but the rumors were swirling about his body having not an ounce of fat on it. His wild mane of white hair was courtesy of a medical condition. He actually colored his goatee to match what was on top of his head.

  “I feel somewhat intimidated in your presence. I’m sure you get that all the time from other artists clinging to the possibility of becoming the next big thing. I never had any delusions when it came to making the kind of mark on the world that Michelangelo did.” The stench of his cologne was sickening and made me wonder how any woman could be with him. He was immune to the odor emanating from his body. I was afraid he bathed in the stuff.

  “Darby, you have your own style unlike anybody else. Your paintings seem to jump out at you when you look at them closely. I found one remarkably able to convey this stillness and fear in my heart. The woman screaming had me living vicariously through her eyes.” I never labeled my work and I wanted it to speak for itself without anything to detract from it.

  “I’ve been living on my own since I was 16-years-old. My parents died in an avalanche. I had the courts make me an adult by getting a job to support myself. I learned to live with what I need and not what I want. Most people who make loads of money feel that there’s never enough.” I had no interest in getting into the world of contemporary art. I lived by my own rules and I didn’t want to answer to anybody.

  “Artists are known to suff
er for their art in one form or another. I’ve learned to navigate their eccentricities. The only thing I ask is you give it some thought. It is after all the time of giving. The holiday season is fast approaching with Christmas no more than a few weeks away. I want to smack them in the face with something they will never see coming.” I took a brief moment to pause for the cause. I opened the small piece of paper to witness more zeroes that I had ever seen in my life.

  “What exactly does this person expect from me for this kind of money? I will never debase myself and corrupt my ideals for the sake of the almighty dollar.” I had to put my foot down and be steadfast in my approach when it came to my work.

  “He wants something unique and he has requested your personal stamp of approval. He wants a piece to speak to him in a language that only he understands. It doesn’t matter if it’s on canvas or some kind of sculpture. I’m going to leave that to your imagination.” He was lanky and had the vibe of some made up idea of what an art gallery dealer should look like. I could see through him like transparent glass.

  “My art is never rushed. I will need a suitable amount of time. Don’t contact me and I will be the one to reach out to you when the piece is done. This whole thing is a little bit hard to swallow. There has to be a catch. People tend to ask for things which are unique because they don’t want it to be duplicated. I want my art to be appreciated and I make sure every piece bought is followed by due diligence. I won’t sell my stuff to just anyone.” I sold enough pieces in the year to offset my expenses and give me a sizable nest egg to fall back on.

  “I knew you were going to be difficult, but I’m willing to give you some freedom to express yourself. Darby, this is your chance to gain a wider audience. Give this client what they are looking for and I will sign a blank check for your own showing. This is not the moment to get caught up in semantics.” He was very convincing and had me wondering if I had done myself a disservice by keeping my stuff under wraps.

  “It looks like I will have a lot of time to come up with something. The blizzard threatening to blanket the city is going to give me the solitude I’m looking for. It’s also going to give me a dismal look at nature at its most destructive.” My black hair was nothing compared to the purple streaks and green tips. I wore very little makeup and my style of clothing was a throwback to a different era.

  The jeans with the knees cut out were accented perfectly with a colorful t-shirt. I acquired my style by going to the flea market on Sundays. There was one particular vendor who catered to everything I was looking for at a nominal cost.

  I could literally disappear into a crowd of people without them realizing I was there. I had stood in a room of crowded men and women feeling like wallpaper. I didn’t scream that I was open sexually and my arms across my chest closed me off from being approached by the opposite sex. It was different when I had home-field advantage.

  “I will admit you weren’t exactly what I was envisioning when I called you. I wasn’t expecting someone of slight stature when the internet makes you sound like a giant amongst your peers.” Being 5’4, 125lbs made me invisible even with my unusual hair color.

  “I always get that and they never know quite what they’re going to get until I walk through the door. I like the surprised look on their faces. You did a good job of hiding what you were feeling. I did see a momentary crack in your demeanor when I first announced myself.” He saw me standing in the doorway and had to do a double take.

  “I would call you an acquired taste like a fine wine aged to perfection. I like your carefree attitude. I can’t say that I could live your kind of lifestyle, but I admire how little you need to be happy.” He was standing right beside me, but I didn’t feel like he was invading my personal space.

  “Nobody has ever described me as an acquired taste, but it’s far more appealing than some of the things they have said about me.” I had very few friends, but those who knew me understood my strange ways. I had a certain process when it came to getting into the right mindset and everything had to work out perfectly. My sex was like my art. There was nothing normal about it.

  “I would like to think this is the start of a beautiful working relationship. I’ve always had an eye for talent.” He didn’t make me feel like I was the subject of him undressing me with his eyes.

  “I suppose it depends on how things work out in the end. I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t have this piece done before the deadline. I do hate working with a timetable, but I might be able to make an exception.” There were times I didn’t even wake up until noon before rolling out of bed to have a late brunch.

  “I’m not telling you what you want to hear. I see some great things in your future. The world can be your oyster. Don’t be your own worst enemy.” It was sage advice, but there was no way that I was going to change my unique style.

  I couldn’t be somebody’s idea of the perfect artist. I was my own work of art in progress. I’d seen my fair share of sheep penned in like animals in some kind of cubicle. It would’ve been a fate worse than death to feel trapped and unable to break free of the chains of conventional thinking.

  “This storm approaching is the perfect atmosphere to create something to have you screaming at the top of your lungs. I always request to be there for the unveiling of my work. I want to be a part of it. It’s the look in their eyes bugging out of their skull that makes me happy on the inside.” I saw the first snowflake which was soon to be followed by several more which were going to be unique in their own way.

  “I would like you to get started immediately. The sooner you get this done, the better chance we can continue this profitable arrangement. I wasn’t lying when I said you could have your own show in my gallery. I will promote it and have the right people coming to express their interest in your creativity.” He wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, but his words were a linguistic nightmare in my eyes. He had painted himself into a corner by appealing to the common denominator.

  I grabbed my orange leather jacket on the way out the door. It was vintage seventies. I didn’t own a car and I never got a license. I did have a bus pass. It wasn’t long before I was exiting the hustle and bustle of New York City with the fumes from the exhaust choking me from the open window. It was stuck.

  I had no interest in putting down roots and I never knew when the moment would come when I would want to pack up my bags for different scenery.

  Chapter two

  I walked the last few blocks with the light snow covering my footprints like sand on the beach. The chill ran through me and I was going to need something warm to bring up my body temperature. The red knit hat over my head kept my ears warm and the heat socks were a nice investment.

  I was about to put my key into the lock of a two-story year round cottage. I had rented it from a little old lady. I made her believe something that wasn’t true. I had colored my hair and put on makeup with a smile to seal the deal. She and her husband traveled during the winter to tropical getaways. They were anxious to make something from their cottage during the off-season.

  The wood grain siding along with a huge deck in the back made it the perfect place to breathe in the beauty of nature. It was an open concept with several vintage touches including a kitchen with an old wood stove. I could almost feel my body warming by the fire in the living room when I heard the telltale sign of a huge truck rolling down the street.

  It was a white van, but I couldn’t make out who was driving. It pulled into the driveway next to mine. It had been vacant for months.

  I sat down on my porch to be the fly on the wall. It was a rocking chair and I found myself coming out during the morning when the air was crisp to have my coffee.

  This huge hulking figure came across the lawn trudging through the snow. He extended his hand in a friendly greeting.

  “My name is Jonathan Winters. My family owned the place I’m moving into before they retired and passed it onto me. This is my chance to get a fresh start.” He was tall and imposing with a height o
f over 6-feet and 200 plus pounds. This was a man who could’ve been my wet dream come true.

  He was wearing a black bomber jacket with fleece lined leather gloves on his hands. His boots were made for the elements, waterproof in a plain beige color with nothing to stand out from the crowd. His jeans filled out in all the right ways. I almost gasped when something flexed out of the corner of my eye leading me to believe his anatomy was quite substantial.

  “It’s nice to meet you Jonathan and people around here call me Darby. I would say you are fortunate to move in before the storm arrives. I do hope you have a generator. It’s a basic necessity around here during any season.” I was sizing him up with my glasses down to the bridge of my nose.

  “I don’t know if there is a generator, but maybe I can come over and use yours. This place is off the grid and I like the solitude. The view is amazing and I’m not talking about the lake. It doesn’t look like many people take advantage of the year-round amenities up here.” He was my next door neighbor in an area that was mostly homes for the summer.

  Only a scant few stuck around all year round. There was one down the block who walked by from time to time with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He never looked up and seemed to be muttering something underneath his breath before getting into a heated argument with nobody. I tried to avoid any need to converse with him.

  “I would be happy to show you some hospitality with a home-cooked meal. I could even come over and help you unpack.” He got all fidgety and looked around like something was going to come out of the words to claim him as a victim.

  “No… no… It’s not necessary and I have very little. I will get settled and come over with a bottle of wine when I’m finished” I was already thinking of ways to get him out of his clothes and what dirty little deeds I could do to put a smile on his face.