Look Closer: No Safe Words Here 1-4 out of 5. Boxed Set

by Mercy Walker

  Way to kick the hornet’s nest, dumbass!

  So with some listening, and some rather uncomfortable digesting of past learned information, I’d come to the conclusion there was no such thing as love—undying forever kind, or even in the heat of the moment. There was just lust and hate, and a millions degrees in between. Thus I would doubtlessly lose my virginity to a guy I’d probably never see again.

  So I started planning for it in earnest. I wasn’t much for procrastination.

  First, I technically took my own virginity. I ordered a latex dildo molded from the neither regions of an adult porn star I’d found by back tracking through some of my brother’s favorite sites.

  No one ever erases their browser memory—stupid...

  The Dean Phoenix Super-cock arrived at my door in a plain brown paper wrapped package, and since I was the only member of the family who regularly got home before four in the afternoon every day, I liberated it from the mailbox and took it to my room completely un-noticed.

  It came with cleaning instructions, and a tube of Astro-glide, which was rather thoughtful of the dildo and porn producing folks at Falcon Video.

  I waited until after dinner that night, showered, locked my bedroom door, and turned on my favorite Black Keys album. Not blaring, just load enough to cover any painful utterances I might make during.

  I pulled the Dean Phoenix Super-cock from its plastic boxing, and sat there on my bed staring at it in my hand. It was only eight and a half inches—by far not the largest I could have ordered, but bigger than the national average for male genitalia (a meager six inches) and seemed to weigh enough to make me have to hold it with both hands. After I got used to the feel of it in my hand, I slathered it with lube from its mushroom head to its base—right over its large, latex balls.

  I then proceeded to masturbate, which I’d done regularly for the last two weeks while I awaited the Dean Phoenix Super-cock’s arrival. After a bit of this—to get my feminine juices going (a tip from a better sex sight I poured over diligently)—I started to insert the dildo into my vagina. After a few inches I felt a sharp, horrific pain, and then felt a warm oozing down there.

  I’d popped my cherry.

  I grinned madly through my pain. I’d done it. I’d taken my own virginity.

  I pushed in and out a few times, to make sure I’d broke my hymen completely, and then cleaned up. I’d used an old towel as a drop cloth. One Mom wouldn’t notice missing. So after I cleaned up myself and…Dean…disposing of the blood stained towel was a snap.

  Since that night I’d used the dildo three more times, each time bringing myself closer and closer to climax. But I just couldn’t go all the way over the orgasm cliff. Somewhere deep inside, I still wanted my first time to be with the guy I liked most in the whole world.

  An oddly romantic notion for me. And though reasonably I had no firsts left—I’d even tried out fellatio on Dean—I apparently wanted my first orgasm to be a co-ed event.

  So I moved onto the second stage of my plan: finding a male in my own age demographic that also appealed to my libido.

  For the first time ever I scoped out the boys of Hill Crest High School. And to my chagrin, I found them quite lacking: in brains, in charm, in manners, and most of all in good personal hygiene.

  But one day as I passed by Mr. Cantalides Algebra two class room, I overheard Mr. C gnashing his too big teeth at one of the varsity basketball players.

  EG Banks was Six feet, three inches tall, built broad of shoulders and thin of hips, and had a disarming charm to his every action. The fact that he had a face like an angel, and the prettiest brown eyes, just made him all the more attractive. He also had the darkest flesh I’d ever seen in person, but there was a warmth that seemed to shine through that darkness, like amber, like caramel mixed with dark chocolate.

  He was simply just yummy to behold.

  He was also, by Mr. C’s tirade, close to failing that course…which was rather perplexing. EG was tenth in his class, and a yearly recipient of the honor society designation.

  Intrigued by EG’s apparent mathematical problems, I sought him out at lunch, explained that I could help him raise his near failing grade to at least a B-…maybe higher.

  “What do you want in return?” had been his rather sage reply. I decided there and then I liked him. He would do nicely as my first sexual partner.

  “Nothing monetary, I assure you. I’d just like for you to have sex with me.” He choked on the mouthful of Mountain Dew he had just swigged. “I’ll pay for the motel room, provide the contraception, and I’ll even order some pizza to be delivered afterward.”

  “Shiiit…” EG hissed. And then, after mauling my proposition around in his head for well over a minute, and then surreptitiously giving me a thorough once over, he nodded his head and said, “Deal.”

  So I’m a virgin until Saturday night, at approximately eight in the evening. After that I will be a worldly woman, and I will move on undaunted by what life has in store for me.

  Everything was planned to perfection, down to the last detail…

  And then I started having this…fantasy.

  It still involved EG, and the hotel room…but that’s where my plan for first fornication diverged from my fantasy. I wanted, more than anything, and for no apparent reason, to tie or chain EG from the ceiling (I wondered if hotel rooms were equipped with hooks dangling from their ceilings). I wanted his arms up over his head enough to keep him on the balls of his feet.

  Then there was another Falcon Video creation added to the mix. It was billed The Equalizer, and was a double headed dildo. It was over twelve inches long, and was actually a solid piece of shiny maroon molded rosin.

  That and a ping pong paddle I’d picked up at a yard sale a couple years back. It was strong and about ten years old, but it had soft felt covering both sides of the paddle.

  I sighed as I envisioned my plans for EG in my head. Damn, it was going to be the hottest first orgasm any girl had ever had.

  In five days and counting, I’d be rid of all my pesky biological imperatives, and silly shyness. And I couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Seven

  Lila

  I barely even remember letting the handyman in. What was his name? Gus? Gabe?

  All I could see in my mind’s eye was midnight blue water, the waxing moon making the ripples in its surface glitter. But the ripples were being caused by my naked husband…and another man.

  I’d heard the quiet splashes of someone in the pool—that’s what had woken me. For the fifteen years we’d lived here I’d been paranoid about the pool—especially when Emily was alive. I’d had nightmares that I wake to find a dead child in the pool, floating around like drift wood in the ocean.

  I’d known for years that teenagers had snuck into the pool, occasionally. But they could take care of themselves. But just in case, I went to Emily’s window and looked out.

  And that was when I saw my handsome husband stark naked, kneeling by the pool, his hand in the water, testing it. I stood there for a moment, appreciating the sight of him as he stood up. I’d always loved looking at him naked. There was just something so masculine about just the way he stood.

  But then the other naked man had moved out of the shadows, dropping something on the ground before he got to my husband. Tom took the younger, smaller man into his arms and kissed him—the kiss was chaste and probably only lasted a moment, but to me, it had lasted an eternity.

  One of Tom’s hands was on the small of the other man’s back. The other was grasping an orb of the younger man’s ass.

  My mind went blank as I watched them both climb carefully into the water. I watched as they swam, as they touched and fell on each other, and kissed with a dark, desperate passion I hadn’t even known my husband possessed.

  I heard the young man laugh, and then he go up out of the pool and sauntered toward what he had dropped by the side of the pool. That’ s when I recognized him. He’d grown since I’d last seen him: taller, broader
, more manly.

  But it was still The Wilkes Boy. And he was the same age Emily would have been.

  Sitting in the kitchen now, a cold cup of coffee untouched by my side, I couldn’t aver as to what bothered me worst. That my husband was cheating on me. That he was cheating on me with another man. Or that he was molesting a teenager.

  Well, the Wilkes Boy was nineteen, so technically Tom wasn’t a pederast. But who knew how long it had been going on? My breath hissed out through my teeth as I wondered how oblivious…no, how fucking stupid I had been, not to have seen what was going on. And in my own house!

  My mind suddenly clicked onto the fact that Tom’s gun was locked away in the small gun safe under his bedside table. “For protection” he’d said when he’d insisted on having one in the house, against my vehement objections.

  Tom’s gun…

  I heard the air conditioning turn on and had to think about it for a few awkward beats—why the broken air conditioning was working again. And then I heard footsteps on the cellar steps.

  Oh, the handyman. Gus or Gabe…Carl?

  He came through the door to the basement and gave me a smile. It wasn’t politician bright or dazzling, but I could well imagine that he didn’t sleep alone often. But then I took the rest of him in. His clothes were stained with oil and paint, his hair was unkempt and curly—some light streaks of gray shot through it. And he had a couple days worth of stubble on his beguilingly handsome face.

  But his melted chocolate brown eyes were warm and friendly, and had a touch of crow’s feet. On a woman crow’s feet were a shameful mark of advanced age, but on a man, it was still just damn sexy.

  He was as tall, if not taller than Tom, and he didn’t look gym toned like my husband—Tom worked out like a demon…and now I knew why…

  No, this man was strong and broad, and his muscles were earned by serious work.

  Suddenly I realized he was standing right next to me…and he was looking at me expectantly.

  Crap, he’d been talking while I’d been ogling him…what the hell had he been saying?

  My sudden embarrassment pushed aside my overwhelming husband troubles. It was bad enough I’d ignored him while he was speaking to me, but I’d been sizing him up like a pervert at a strip club.

  “I’m sorry, Mister…?” I couldn’t bring myself to call him by a wrong name too.

  “Thurogood, ma’am. Jake Thurogood.” He smiled again and averted his eyes for a moment, then said, “Just call me Jake. That’s what everyone calls me. Call me Mr. Thrurogood and I start looking for my old man.”

  I smiled. He was a charmer. Though definitely blue collar.

  “Okay, Jake…I’m sorry, but what did you say before?”

  Jake brightened, and I think his chest puffed out a little with pride.

  “Oh, I got your air conditioning unit going again.” He held his arms out and we listened to the air whirring from the vents overhead. “Obviously. You had a frayed wire. Looked like it burnt out, which has been going on a lot lately because of the heat wave. It’s overtaxing most units in the area.”

  I nodded and smiled. A wire. And he’d fixed it in how long? I suddenly felt embarrassed again. A stranger was in my house, and I didn’t even know how long he’d been there.

  I pushed that thought aside. “So, Jake, how much do I owe you for your time?”

  He blushed. “Well, It only took me about ten minutes…and a wire…so I’d say, twenty dollars will be good.”

  Twenty dollars? I shook my head. That wouldn’t even pay for the gas that brought him here. And I knew well and good the service man I usually went through started at a hundred and fifty dollar minimum just to drive out to Cherry Lane. It wasn’t exactly a centrally located suburb.

  “That’s nonsense, Mr. Thurgood.”

  “Jake, please ma’am. And I didn’t do much.”

  I waved him off and went over to my purse. I took two hundred dollar bills out of my purse and then handed them to him. “I would have been billed twice this by my regular service company…and you have no idea how…inconvenient having no central air was last night.”

  Or how humiliating…

  Jake put up his hand and shook his head. “I can’t take that much for a wire, ma’am.”

  I canted my head to the side. He had excellent manners. But being called ma’am by a man that was probably my age was getting on my nerves.

  “Call me Lila.”

  He gulped, and I could see he was mauling it over with the same intensity that most people thought over cheating on their taxes. “Alright, Lila…but I still can’t take that much.”

  I shook my head wearily. This man’s moral code was just too much.

  Then I saw in his eyes that he was thinking something over.

  “But there are some shingles loose and missing on your roof. I saw that right away. That’s causing a leak somewhere.” He pointed his oil stained hand up to the corner of the kitchen’s drop-down roof. There was a water stain about the size of a fist there.

  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed. It could have been there for years—we received so little rain.

  “I could work on that for a while today…I have some shingles in my truck, and I always have my ladders. Though it might take me a few hours to find the leak.”

  I turned and pointed to the water mark, and noticed the small gray streak running below it down the wall.

  “But isn’t it right there?”

  “No, ma’am…” he shook his head. “I mean, Lila. Leaks show through the lowest point in the roofing. But that doesn’t mean that’s where the water is coming through.”

  “Oh…” I nodded. This man knew his business. Made me wonder what else he knew about?

  I held out the two hundreds again, and he waved them off…again. “Pay me when I’m done with the shingles. I might have to come back tomorrow to single out the leak…can I look up in your attack? There could be some water damage there that would help me find the leak quicker.”

  “Of course,” I said, and looked up at the clock in the kitchen. It was nearly eleven already.

  “But first, Jake…I’ll fix you a sandwich for your lunch—”

  “That’s not necessary, ma…Lila. I’ve got a PB and J in my truck.”

  I shot him through with the look I used at the PTA to get my own way. He shrank back just a little.

  A big, strong man afraid of little old me…that was a laugh!

  Primly I said, “I insist.” And then I looked him over again and asked, “Do you know about guns?”

  Chapter Eight

  Lars

  I’m not sure what was up with me…maybe all my extra time spent on work had addled my brain pan…who knows.

  I was ahead of schedule on this month’s harvest. I’d be ready for delivery on Friday, no problem. Then I’d have the weekend to myself…maybe go out of town for a couple of days…

  But right then I knew that my usual morning-fuck was headed my way—Justine. She was hot, for a suburban house wife. And the fact that she literally let me do absolutely anything I wanted to her, just made her all the more attractive.

  Hell, I’d hog tied her once, I’d used an electro shock collar on her…once I even shrink wrapped her from her neck down to her ankles, and then hung her upside down from a meat hook in the ceiling. I’d skull fucked her that time until she puked.

  But what I had an itch to do to her today was a little pervy…even for me.

  I waited for her behind the backdoor in the kitchen, where she came in every morning for our little fuck fests. I let her get about three feet into the kitchen before I grabbed her from behind. She screamed and put up one hell of a fight. It made me hard as a fucking brick…and she smelled even better when she was scared.

  Then she figured out that the man holding her arms behind her back was the only man that lived in my house…so she settled down and let me have my way. That was until I veered to leave the living room.

  There had been a consistency to our li
ttle games. She’d enter, take off her clothes, and then read the directions I’d leave for her. I’d make her wait, and then come in, fuck, spank, smack, pinch, or bite the shit out of her…depending on my mood, cum up her ass, in her mouth or pussy…sometimes all over her firm, young titties. And then I’d pull out and go take a shower.

  But we’d never, ever left the living room.

  So it wasn’t surprising when she got nervous at all the changes to our routine.

  So I just picked her up under my arm like a human surf board, and carried her into my bedroom. I tossed her on my unmade bed and started pulling her clothes off her.

  She looked scared, but turned on. And when I pulled her panties off, I swear the crotch was already soaked. She wanted whatever I was going to dish out.

  I got out some plastic ties I use to bundle my crop with, at least until it dried properly for packaging. I used those ties to bind her hands over her head, and to the middle slat of my rod iron bed. Then I got out two leather belts, ready to festoon her legs to the bottom of the bed…but I thought better for it. This whole thing was so different than anything I’d ever done before. I decided that I wanted to fuck Justine in the weirdest way possible.

  So I took my six inch switchblade out of the back pocket of my jeans and flicked it around until it glinted menacingly in the dim light coming in through the flimsy drapes. I had black out screens installed, so that if I wanted I could make the place a freaking cave. And since I had such hellishly wacked hours, I often did just that.

  Justine whimpered when she saw the blade, her legs kicking and her words coming fast and meaningless as a lovely sweat broke out all over her.

  But the closer I got, the quieter she became. Shit, if I had been trying to kill her, she was making it all too easy. The bitch didn’t have hardly any fight in her. Just a need to be dominated, subjected to pain and degradation…and a willingness to do anything to make me happy.