Goody Two Shoes

by Cooper, Laura

  “Swallow!” he orders.

  I swallow every drop with a gulp.

  Slowly he withdraws from my lips and pulls his pants up. Before I can say anything he walks back around the desk and plops down in his chair. Me, on my knees feels forgotten.

  Wait a minute, where is my orgasm? Vagina protests with a fist in the air.

  “Hush!” I say to her.

  “Is there a problem, Tara?”

  “No, I just thought…” But I am afraid to ask for an orgasm. After all, it doesn’t seem particularly lady like now does it? Saying the word ‘orgasm’ out loud and all.

  “You want to come too, is that it?” he asks, genuinely interested.

  I simply nod as I sit back on my heels and stare at the pattern on his oriental rug. There! I’ve admitted it… well sort of. But I feel like a Tramp. I mean look at me, on my knees on a stranger’s rug!

  “You’re absolutely right, Tara. Please have a seat on my sofa and spread your legs,” he says calmly as if he’s explaining how to change a tire. He opens his bottom desk drawer and pulls out a massive dildo, the sight of which gags Vagina. It seems as though technology has hit the sex toy market since Simmons bought me the small hard plastic one in my attic. This one is rubbery looking; it’s shaped like a man’s penis and he twists the purple top to show me that it buzzes like a small chainsaw.

  “Here you go. Give this a try,” he smiles devilishly as he hands the shivering toy to me. “It’s time to put on a show for me. Show me exactly how you pleasure yourself at home.”

  My hands shake as I take it from him, “Oh, I uh… I’m not sure I can do this Jonathon.” The sight of it stuns Vagina and Clitoris into silence; they aren’t sure either.

  His head moves from side to side with a pitiful look, “What’s wrong, Tara? Let me guess, you’ve spent so many years tending to snotty noses and everyone else’s needs that you don’t remember how to pleasure yourself?”

  He’s taunting me, and I know it, yet on some level he’s right. It’s the spectator part that causes me to shiver, “I’m not exactly Playboy material here…”

  “Get up!” He orders brusquely, sending alarm through my blood.

  He grabs my arm with frustration; I can’t help but feel intimidated as he drags me across the room to a full length mirror that’s leaning against one wall. “Now look at yourself!” He orders.

  The woman in front of me is flushing with desire, her graying hair is wildly flowing across her shoulders and perspiration marks her bare body. “Do you see what I see, Tara?”

  I nod; I don’t look much like the prim and proper housewife who’d walked in here. I reach up and wipe a stray smear of his come from my left cheek.

  “Go on. Show me,” His arm surrounds me as he leads me back to the sofa. “I assure you that I find you unreservedly beautiful. I want to know the look on your face when you’re fully pleasured. Please share that with me, darling?”

  I gaze at the fireworks that sparkle in his eyes and can’t help but smile. I want to give him what he wants, I’m just not sure I’m not going directly to hell immediately afterwards. Leave it to Vagina to move things along. Almost robotically my body lowers onto the leather sofa and my feet move up to the edges beside me. As the purple dildo touches Clitoris, all Holy thoughts are erased from my mind; I want more!

  Jonathon sits down beside me for comfort, “Yes, that’s it precious one. Let go.” His hands stroke my hair and his lips move to nibble at my neck. And what I feel is loved; as though I’m not in this alone. His hands roam down my breasts, plucking at the nipples through my bra and then comforting them with his warm breath. My head falls back against the sofa and Clitoris shakes with happiness as the vibrator pleasures her.

  “Would you like to borrow my fingers, Tara?” he whispers close to my ear.

  I nod, still some inner shyness rears its ugly head and I am unable to ask for what I need. His fingers slide expertly inside me and their length finds my core. Instantly I come. His touch inside me, compounded by the vibration is too much. But Vagina isn’t done. I push the vibrator deep into the fleshy folds against her twin and she shutters again. Jonathon is the master conductor and his fingers are my personal symphony. After losing count of my orgasms, I begin to feel exhaustion creeping into my bones. Just one more! Vagina yells, but Clitoris is already napping after having complained about exhaustion.

  As if he can read my thoughts, Jonathon’s palm presses hard on the vibrator, forcing Clitoris to shiver, twitch and shake uncontrollably from her slumber. He pushes his fingers deep now, further than anyone or anything has touched before, and I scream into his neck as the final orgasm rattles the very teeth in my head.

  “Very good, Tara. Now lick my fingers clean.” His deep voice startles me, but his fingers press against my lips.

  What? I think to myself. I’ve never tasted my juices; it’s just not what proper ladies do. But his fingers push into my mouth and I have no choice but to taste. It’s not so terrible, and that gives me relief. I smile timidly again.

  “Ah, see what magic happens when you let it?”

  I nod, too shy to admit that it was more magic than Disney could imagine. Awkwardly I try to hand him back the purple dildo.

  Clearing his throat and regaining polite posture, “Keep it. You need it. Now Tara, you’re about to begin a wonderful journey. Our sessions will be conducted each Friday at 4:00 P.M. sharp. You will endure a series of activities, and should you meet our expectations, you will be asked to join the Tramp Stamp Club.”

  “How many sessions?” I ask, now quizzically ashamed of my naked body on the sofa.

  “Generally five or six. It really depends on you. And then of course there’s a Graduation Ceremony to display what you’ve learned. Assuming you understand the meaning of each lesson and how to incorporate it into your life, you will be inducted into the ‘Tramp Stamp Club.’”

  “And the meaning of today?” I ask, curious.

  His lips peck the tip of my nose, “Agh Tara! Alright, because you’re so damned precious I’ll give you a start!”

  I nod and smile; because I think I’m in love with him.

  “Today you’ve learned that your inhibitions stem from a lack of confidence in your body, even though it’s quite clear that I find you exquisite. As for the rest, the power you felt, the need to please me… well that’s all you. You’re a natural! When you leave here I want you to go find the sexiest, tiniest bikini you can find, and wear it at home this week. Oh! And go buy yourself some more toys and batteries. If what I just witnessed is any indication of your need, they’ll come in handy.” He kisses my cheek tenderly.

  “Oh,” I groan. Me in a bikini sounds like a train wreck and me, actually physically walking into a sex toy store seems like an opportunity for lightening to strike. I wrap the purple dildo in a tissue and slide it into my purse noncommittally.

  But Jonathon shakes his head, “Precious one, you are absolutely beautiful in every way. If you show up at my house without new tan lines, there will be repercussions.” And he swats me on the thigh with a smack.

  It doesn’t startle me; as a matter of fact the image of him standing over me with a whip has me oddly excited. Vagina eagerly envisions him in that stance. Tramp! Suddenly it occurs to me that I’ve just cheated on my husband under the guise of the ‘club.’ “Do you think I should tell Simmons about this?”

  “I’ll leave that up to you. Talk with Patty about it and see what she thinks. She knows more of your relationship with Simmons than I do,” he shrugs as if it isn’t a crucial part of what he deems important. Basically the exact same expression Patty gave me when asked the same question to her. I can’t wait to get to the part where I can so easily dislodge my guilt.

  “What if he’s mad that I’ve done this?”

  “Is he a man? Does he have a cock?”

  I nod, “Of course.”

  “Then I really wouldn’t worry too much over it. Lesson 1 begins here at O’Malley’s next Friday at 4:00 P.M. D
o not be late. Tardiness will be dealt with accordingly.”

  He leans forward and holds his hand out to guide me to my feet. I slide my dress over my head and smooth my hair. “It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Galloway.” The words seem strangely inappropriate, but that’s what comes out.

  His lips move forward to touch mine ever so slightly, “Very nice meeting you too, Tara.” His muscular hands turn me towards the door and I feel him pat me on the ass as I take my first step away from him. I have to giggle. I feel like a teenager again. In this case, my visit with the principal has been a lot of fun!

  As I pull into my driveway I notice Simmons’ car is not there. I sigh, because what else is there to do but sigh. I have a lot of thinking to do; this kind of reckless behavior isn’t sitting well with my Catholic upbringing. I’m feeling queasy and go upstairs to take a hot bath. That’s when it occurs to me that I have the secret to Jonathon right in the other room! I dry myself and cover with my trusty Walmart bathrobe and head for his office. I want to know every single thing there is to know about Jonathon.

  If you want someone to fall for you, you’ll have to give them something worth tripping over

  The Tramp Stamp Club

  By Quinn Carmichael

  Love

  Hawthorne, who I now realize to be a family member and clearly not service staff, has led me into the massive living room and instructed me to wait. Within moments he directs a woman into the room to join me. I glance up from my blackberry and nod at her arrival. But she skitters to the chair across from me and falls into it as if she’s never used feet before. I study her ankles for a moment; they are slightly pink around the edges where the five inch heels touch her skin. It’s occurred to me before that women go to a great deal of trouble to look nice. I stretch a smile in her direction as a symbol of compassion. And I’m rewarded by a nervous smile that reminds me of my wife on our wedding day. “Quinn Carmichael,” I announce to her as if my presence requires an answer. “Bonnie Dangerfield,” she responds with less enthusiasm. “Are you my lesson for today?”

  “Lesson?”

  “I guess that’s a no,” she says, but it’s hard not to notice that she’s chewed her fingernails to shreds. The result is that her hands seem worn and tired.

  I shake my head, “I’m Ellen’s writer.” I again make an announcement that serves no purpose other than to create noise.

  “Yes you are!” A voice booms from the doorway. As he steps towards me I’m struck by the man’s height. At six foot three I’m usually the tallest man in the room, not today. But his eyes aren’t on me; they’re glued to Bonnie in a most unusual way. It’s as if he’s madly in love with her, like two star crossed lovers from some other time finally joined in this world, in this living room. I stand stunned as I watch the sudden transformation of the woman across from me. Her demeanor flips from nervous to sensual in the matter of a split second.

  I study her again, this time with greater scrutiny. She’s a tall woman, almost flat-chested, with sandy brown hair that is apparently cut by a stylist who still watches ‘Friends.’ She bears the pure tan of the Jewish, and it isn’t an insult to say her skin is her finest feature. It gives an air of inner elegance that’s apparent even beneath her overly stylish hair cut and exhausted fingers. A few moments ago I would have remarked that her eyes were a steady hazel and seemed dull and bored, but under Jonathon’s loving stare they’ve turned into something more magnificent. Now they’re the color of the river itself. Every miniscule movement on the part of Jonathon registers in them, like rocking a boat on their surface. Without warning she converts into one of the most stunning women I’d ever seen. Jonathon has flipped some sort of switch within her and my cock startles to awareness in her presence.

  I don’t blame Jonathon for forgetting that I’m in the room. Hell I’ve almost forgotten I’m here too. But he turns towards me and reaches out with a strong handshake. I like a man with a strong handshake; it shows character.

  “Great to meet you, Quinn. Ellen has told me where she left off. Let me get Bonnie upstairs and I’ll be right back to get you. Why don’t you head into the library and pour us both a bourbon?”

  As I wander into the library I began to wonder what Ellen see’s in him, Jonathon I mean. What’s he got that I don’t? Well, for one he’s rocking that Indiana Jones look. Not his clothes, but I could see him lassoing a train. It’s a casual confidence that I’ll never have. I slam the first bourbon then pour two more and prepare my laptop and recorder on the arm of the chair.

  “Sorry about that. Alright then, Quinn, tell me about you. Are you married?” He sits down across from me in the same spot that Ellen had. I first noticed his shoes. You can tell a lot about a man by the kind of shoes he wears. For instance, Penny loafers are common in the South, but in my mind they show that a man is too lazy to tie shoes. Jonathon is wearing bucks, extremely clean and neatly tied.

  Taking a sip of the bourbon, “I am. Almost thirty years.”

  Jonathon grins, “Wow, you married young. Marriage is the most wonderful institution. Did Ellen mention that we’re finally tying the knot ourselves?”

  I shake my head, “She sure didn’t! Why the change of pace all of a sudden. I mean you two are inseparable the way I understand it.”

  He peers at me over the rim of his glass; I notice his eyes glitter as he says her name. The man’s in deep, and having met his fiancé I can’t say that I blame him. But he sits his glass down on a coaster and looks at me curiously, “We are inseparable. With a woman the likes of Ellen it’s best to stay close by. If I hadn’t all these years, someone would have stolen her right out from under me. I don’t have any doubt about that.”

  “Can’t say I blame you,” I say plainly.

  Jonathon nods understanding, “She’s a handful. Sometimes I worry we’ve missed too much already: Kids, grandkids… all of that. But I made a promise and I’ve stuck to it. We’ll get married when her story is published and not before. I swear I thought she would break down by now, but not my Ellen. That woman is solid as a rock.”

  “I’ll try not to feel too much pressure to get it done then,” I say with a sarcastic chuckle.

  But he leans forward with a tinge of threat, “You get it done as fast as you possibly can, you hear me?”

  I nod.

  “Alright fair enough, I know Ellen wants you to write what she says verbatim. I’m not a writer like the two of you. I’ll tell you the story she wants, and you write it. I’ve got a few tasks to deal with upstairs, so let’s get moving along.”

  Suddenly I know what his task is. Living room Bonnie is his task. As businesslike as he tries to sound about it, he has a certain gleam in his eye I recognize immediately: Lust. He can’t help it.

  I lean back in my chair, “Jonathon, can you tell me what goes on here? What does the Tramp Stamp Club actually do?”

  And he chuckles; “Now there’s the question of the century, eh? What newspaper wouldn’t like that story! I’ll give you the short version. We help men and women who are in suffering marriages remember why they fell in love.”

  I feel like raising my hand and yelling, me, pick me! “And the success rate is fairly high?”

  Jonathon nods proudly, “A hundred percent. Why Quinn? Do you think you need us?”

  I laugh, “My wife would never consider trying anything like that. The mere mention of sex makes her blush.”

  “And what about you? It only takes one partner to get started?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. My wife is like a Nun, Jonathon. She was a virgin when I married her…”

  “I assume that’s not the case anymore?” Jonathon grins with a tease in his voice.

  I can’t help but chuckle, “She’s not a virgin, but she might as well be. She abhors sex. While we were younger having children it seemed okay to her. I even bought her a vibrator once. Imagine that! My sweet, perfectly prudent wife, using a vibrator.” And laughter consumes me.

  “Come on, she can’t be that innocent.�
�

  I cross my heart with my fingers and shake my head, “I swear.”

  “Alright, alright, well we don’t want to corrupt anyone’s religion here. But I should remind you that it only takes one partner to change things. It may give you a better understanding of what we do here.” His provocative sales pitch seems practiced, but surprisingly natural. He continues, “I’m sure Ellen would agree to train you if you ever get to the point where you’re willing to give it a shot.”

  My eyes perk at the image of Ellen Devereux in my bed. “Speaking of Ellen, we better get started before she comes in here and finds us fucking off.”

  He shrugs, “I’ll just blame it all on you.”

  I laugh again, “I’m sure you would, and I don’t think I want to be on her bad side.”

  He dons a faux frown and raises his eyebrows, “Really? Most men, including me, pray to be punished by her.”

  I laugh heartily now. But I’ve never been tied and punished, so I have no real concept of what he really means. I don’t understand it. Would I be willing to try it? Hell yes!

  But he leans forward and clasps his hands over the coffee table, “So let me get started,” And he does.

  Jonathon Galloway, 1972

  It’d been four months since Horace Deveraux’s funeral. Jonathon had finally been able to pin Ellen down to joining him for dinner. It really wasn’t much of a date; she’d been working a lot lately and asked him to join her for a simple meal at home. It seemed like she’d turned into some sort of hermit since her father’s death, but that made little sense to him because he knew she hadn’t held much affection for her dear old Dad.

  Jonathon’s skin warmed at the thought of her alone on that God forsaken island tending to her own solitary desires. He had all kinds of visions of the things Ellen did while she was alone, and somehow it all seemed so romantic to him. As if she were some lonely writer glued to her typewriter, staring out into the open ocean breeze while muddling over the mystery on the page in front of her. He silently dreamed of her.