EROTICA:SHORT STORIES TABOO SEX ROMANCE BUNDLE DIRTY GROUP BOOKS (Menage MM Rough Gay BDSM Lesbian Foursome Stepdaddy Threesome Stepbrother Milf Daddy

by CELENE CAREY

  “You don’t know?” She laughed, cleared her throat. “You don’t know about Jonathan, do you, Mr. Hilton?”

  Jonathan? Jonathan who?

  “Veronica’s boo? The man she’s lived with for I-don’t-know how many years now?”

  I didn’t know how to feel. Was she fucking both of us? I gave her strict rules. I brushed the dumbstruck look from my face and smiled at her as she glared in contentment; at least she wasn’t out of the loop. After realising I’d spoken to him, the man who slept beside my belongings at night, touched and caressed her, I realised I didn’t care. Or was I that good at pretending? So good at pretending that I fooled myself? I wasn’t buying that.

  “Ok, what does this change? How is this my fault? And in what way do you need my help?”

  She sat now and fixed her jacket, it didn’t need any alteration. She tried not to look uncomfortable in the pregnant pause that was about to give birth... before the water broke, she spoke, “I didn’t help make things any better. I think she hates me as much as she hates you.”

  “Hates me? I think you’ve been mislead with the wrong ideas. Matter of fact, I’ma ignore that. What did you do? To make what worse?”

  She went on, on the verge of tears, to finally explain how Jonathan found out about what Veronica and I had been doing, what Veronica had been doing, and how she couldn’t control herself and made a pass at her while she was seeking comfort. It made some sense. Veronica needed comfort, or did she need to forget? Did she need the sex I needed to forget? She used me and left. I almost felt cheap, but really I was pleased and amazed that a woman could be of that strength. I didn’t know how to tell Becky that I’d seen Veronica just last night and that she was fine.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  She said nothing; she seemed ashamed. I thought about her short fingers trying to grab Veronica and it was funny. I stifled the laugh and strangled the smile trying to dance on my face, but it eventually came out, not loud, but a small chuckle. Becky went from sorry and hurting to furious in a second. She almost jumped across the table to slap at my face; I caught her hand before it could hit.

  “Don’t fucking laugh! It’s not funny! Veronica is my best friend! I really didn’t mean to, I can’t help the fact that she’s so attractive and I couldn’t help the fact that she was so close and smelled so...” she faded off, and sat back in the refuge of my office chair, lost in her thoughts. I let her think about what she’d done and gave her some space. I left the office, told her I was getting some coffee. Coffee that was outside my door, that I could’ve asked Michelle to get… and I took five minutes longer than I really needed to. When I came back, she’d transformed into what I suppose she really was all along.

  “So this is what I’m suggesting,” she bombarded me, before I was halfway through the door, “I need you to talk to Veronica, unless you have some hang-ups about being the other guy, which I don’t suppose you do, since you look like you already have things figured out. Tell her I came to you; don’t tell her I told you to talk to her. I’ma leave my number, call me when you get through to her and tell me what she says, okay?”

  Why do women do this? You either want her to know you care or you don’t. Mind games never work, but I was interested to see how this played out. Becky seemed like a tough cookie. I liked her; she had my interest as well. She is confident, strong in who she is, something I bet attracted more of the wrong kind and intimidated the type she wanted. She didn’t strike me as gay, she struck me as powerful, and power is what I want.

  BOOK 56

  Controlling Her 6

  Older Man Younger Girl Short Reads Series

  Dominated Unprotected Bare & Fertile Taking

  Kilie Sams

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  Copyright 2015 Hardcore Erotica Stories

  Published by Hardcore Erotica Stories

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  First HARDCORE EROTICA STORIES Printing April 2015

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ~

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure inventions of fiction.

  Desperate times

  Veronica

  When I went to work the following morning, everyone looked at me as if I was quarantined. I supposed a rumour had started that I had caught the flu. Now my sick days were gone, what was going to happen when my good old package from Mother Nature came around? I guess I still had my casual days; I could casually wear my baggy shorts and a T-shirt and casually sit on my couch. Sophia was quiet all day, as opposed to her usual curious and questioning chatty-mouth self. She gave me space. It was awkward, it was the last thing I needed. I needed a friend, someone I could talk to about anything to get this off my mind. I offered for us to have lunch in New Kingston instead of the boring old canteen food.

  I treated her to my favourite Chinese place up the road and out of sight. It was on me since I knew what her salary was like. Although it was little-to-nothing, I don’t recall ever hearing her complain. She told me about the date she and the guy from Systems went on, how excited she was, how she liked his bike.

  “I’m riding on the back of a bike for the first time,” she squealed.

  I felt thrown into the past by the time machine that was her laugh. I felt like I was in high school again, sharing promises and secrets. She was wise beyond her years, but still had a long way to go. We need to understand that some people are like closed doors and some like open roads, not everyone will give way and not every road will lead in the direction we want it to. This didn’t have to last. She was so sure of what she wanted and I was sure she didn’t know herself well enough to know exactly what she needed. I was twenty-three and still learning new things about myself. Like, for instance, that I hate sleeping alone; I got so used to Jonathan beside me that I took having someone to lie still with for granted; I woke up more often than I needed to pee. I also don’t like apples very much, maybe it was having to eat them very often, or the fading enamel that hurt whenever I bit into one. Or maybe the fact that there was a roaring sex god that lived inside me? Of course, not many would ever know that. I don’t think anyone knows all those things but me. What did Sophia know about herself that no one else knew? What was the truth behind her smile? Did she even know? I pretended to listen as I heard her speaking, maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. I smiled at her, and answered when I could.

  She’d asked me, “Did you work on your relationship?”

  It was totally off topic and caught me by surprise. I turned down the conversation with a sharp, “It ended,” and continued eating my chop suey as if my heart wasn’t crawling out of my chest when I’d said it. She knew again that this wasn’t up for discussion.

  We talked our way through an hour and a half and ended up being late back to work. When we got there, my boss wasn’t there so we were saved by the bell. I worked a few more short hours, called Jonathan on my break, left a short voicemail saying, “I miss you. Please come home,” but I didn’t apologise, couldn’t apologise because I didn’t know what exactly I would say. I meant what I’d said instead. I did miss him and when desperate times called for desperate measures, I’d beg. I’d chase him if I had to, there was no walking away from me; he loved me too much and he knew it; I loved him too much and he knew it. I hoped he knew it.

  Mom Dearest
/>   Veronica Blair

  It’s been three weeks and Jonathan hasn’t come home, another week and I’ll be on vacation; we were supposed to be going to Mobay, staying at a resort, vacationing. Mother called and I finally got the nerve to tell her what happened.

  “Baby, I’m sorry to hear.”

  I could hear the sincerity in her voice as she tried to find the right words to say.

  “Are you sure this is what you want? You don’t sound so well; why don’t you try giving him a chance?”

  I didn’t tell her what had happened, just told her we broke up; she assumed, like most people, that I had been the one to end it. What reason did I have? Then again, what reason did I really have to cheat on him in the first place? I couldn’t tell her what I’d done. I waited for her to realise I wasn’t going to talk about it so she could change the topic. She did.

  “Well, whenever you’re ready, you can always come home.”

  “I am home, mother,” I said in a stern voice. I was home. I had been for three weeks, waiting for Jonathan to come back and he didn’t. Maybe he really never was; maybe I needed to let go, but it was hard for me to understand how he could let go after so long. I was still holding on like he was my lifeline. He was my lifeline. Mom kept stressing that I should come visit throughout the entire conversation. Maybe that is exactly what I needed. I went online when she hung up and booked my flight for next Saturday morning.

  Jonathan Matthews

  I’d been at Max’s for a week, before that I was at Jeffery’s. My friend’s were good friends; they understood me, they understood the male anatomy. I don’t know if any of them had ever faced what I was facing, but I know they didn’t ask, didn’t speak her name, and they offered me a place to stay. It was two weeks after I had left, Wednesday; I took my lunch time and I knew Veronica would be at work. I knew her schedule. I went over, used the spare key, let myself in. The place was a mess, I’ve seen it in worse condition, but the bed did not look peaceful. I missed her, she was always the best part of my day, whether we were having sex or not. Sex did not define our relationship, I thought, communication, understanding and love defined our relationship. I thought what we’d been through had made us impenetrable, but she’d lost her way. The tissue roll on the dresser showed she’d been crying. She’d been crying over me. I wished I could fix her. I can’t. I stopped myself from going there. Instead, I focused on what I’d come to do. I got my gym bag out and packed a few more things. I was tired of washing, and the guys had been cursing about their water bills. Hurriedly, I packed better shoes, more appropriate things for work. Thank god I wasn’t a suit. I packed clean underwear. My dirty laundry was still in the basket. What had Veronica been doing? Two weekends had passed; she needed to clean before the landlord gave her ass an eviction notice.

  I sat, procrastinated, I didn’t want to go. I turned the T.V. on, put the bag at my foot, and watched her favourite station, WB; I watched a young boy living with two older men, one his father and the other his inappropriate uncle, three episodes and a new show later I was still sitting there; the place didn’t reek, at least, thank the lord. The couch cushions smelled like her, how she smelled after a long day at work, 100% woman. It was a soft body splash with a temptation perfume, mixed with sweat and ventilation. You know, that a/c smell?

  I’d been dozing off a little when I heard the front door creek open. Grabbing my bag, I sprinted past, leaving Becky alone in the doorjamb screaming, “Come back!” after me, funny accent and all. I assumed she’d tell Veronica I was there, but Veronica would know. She was very peculiar that way; plus, if Becky hadn’t caught me, I’d probably have left the T.V. on like she’d told me not to do a thousand times. She used to wait until I was asleep and climb out of bed to turn it off at night. On the drive to my mother’s, I fought the urge I had to cry. Seeing mom would be good for me.

  I left Washington Gardens and took a drive down memory lane to downtown. I picked up mom in the market. The car reeked of raw meat, the smell of salt mackerel mixed with chicken wasn’t the best, and I didn’t even want to know what the other unfamiliar smells were. I was afraid of parking down here. I drove up Spanish Town Road and made my way slowly through Denham Town. It wasn’t a good feeling I ignored, thinking of Veronica when I saw the barefooted children playing in the streets, or thinking of how she’d react and curse about bad parenting, then go off into a daydream of what our child, our daughter specifically, would be like and how she’d be raised.

  “You can park it in the church. There’s a careful pastor, he’ll watch it,” mom said from the passenger side. You could find her proud smile from Google map’s satellite. I drove up the lane, took the corner slowly and parked up the road from her building in the church yard as she insisted. For a woman who didn’t like change very much, and one who was stuck in her old ways, she was sure happy she didn’t have to tug the market bags through the market or pay a cart boy to push them around for her. They were even more reckless with the new laws in place.

  Being back in my old room felt different, these walls held so many of my scars, and I had no clue I’d remember everything so vividly; it was probably because the place looked exactly the same as when I had left for college.

  “Mom, go put your feet up. I’ll unpack the bags.”

  Huffing and puffing after climbing the stairs, she put her feet up on a hassock, pulling the rag she’d stuffed in her bosom out and wiping her face. I went to the fridge, unpacked, and got her some ice water and then the fan from her room. She watched the local news and snoozed in her chair; old age wasn’t treating her very well. She no longer looked like the strong woman that had protected me all my life. She’d cut the bad seed that my father had planted in me from my roots and ensured my life stayed on the right track. I was grateful for her, no matter what.

  “Come ma, get up. Time to take a nap.”

  “What nap? I got bible study today.”

  “Uh-uh, not today ma. Come on, go rest. I’ll take care of dinner for you.”

  She listened to me. I didn’t see that one coming. Looking for her bible, she took it with her to bed as I followed behind her with the fan. No water, I had almost forgotten, but she’d stored some in the lower cupboards. I made run down and boiled dumplin’s and bananas.

  When mom finally woke up, she watched the 7 o’clock news and enjoyed her dinner. The sound of her fork constantly knocking her plate warmed my heart. I remembered when she used to make the trips to get me food in school. She was a strong woman. One Veronica should have written about. But I never shared so much; she knew I wasn’t as fortunate as her, but she didn’t know how unfortunate. My life wasn’t all bad; I did well in school, did well in sports, got a scholarship to do journalism, and was now living a dream. Well, had been living a dream; my dream had now become a nightmare.

  The sweet smell of home

  Veronica

  I knew someone had been in the apartment. Was it Becky or Jonathan? I ignored my phone, it had been off for a few days. I’d gotten too tired of the disappointment of Jonathan not calling and too tired of Becky calling. Fucking lesbian slut. I sighed deeply; she was still my best friend. Maybe we would reconcile when I was back, though I wasn’t holding my breath. I hoped she wasn’t either, for her sake. I began to pack for my journey. I hadn’t told mom I was coming. She didn’t need to know I was. She claimed she wanted me to. Well, there was a surprise in store for her, and daddy too. I packed for California summer. My flight was scheduled to leave at 6:15 a.m. I should arrive at about midday, a good time of day to walk in on a Saturday morning. Dad would be out and mom should be home gardening or something of the sort. I got myself together, set out my documents, and checked in online Friday. I was ready for my trip back home. When I looked at the dresser, I knew who had been here. Jonathan’s deodorant was gone, all his colognes, his watches. He had left the ring he wore with all my things on the opposite side. I set my alarm and cried myself to sleep.

  The six hour flight to Sacramento was as bad as
it sounded, or maybe it was just me. I was cranky and frustrated- mostly with the driver driving me to the rental car place, my American licence wasn’t expired. The two hour drive to my small home town gave me the time to wind down. I cut the a/c; I was so used to Australian heat I had to let the windows down. I let the familiar smells do what they needed and wanted to my senses, and played soft alternative music from a jack connected to my phone. I had not bothered to set my roaming up; what was the point?

  When I pulled up the driveway, sure enough, mom was on her knees, handkerchief tied on her head, looking really domestic in the garden. She didn’t turn to see who it was, just continued ploughing with her gloved hands. It wasn’t until she heard my voice that her head whipped around.

  “Careful, you might give yourself a whiplash, old lady.”

  My tiny mother ran into my arms, almost weeping in excitement. I was grateful she held them back; I didn’t know how weird my father would’ve reacted if he came home to find his supposed-to-be-away daughter and his wife crying in the garden for all his very proper neighbours to see. I looked at my mother for what felt like the first time, and suddenly all the resentment I’d held in my heart towards her melted away like a snow cone on a shade-less sidewalk. I used my thumb to softly wipe a blotch of dirt from her wrinkled cheek. I guess I really did need to come visit more. She was aging, slimming, but her eyes were still as bright as the day I was born. She smiled at her only daughter and gently pulled my hand, headed in the front door’s direction.

  I didn’t really feel like talking. I really wanted to get out of this outfit, take a warm shower (something I hadn’t done in what felt like decades), and just put my feet up and get comfortable, but mom couldn’t wait.