by Mercy Walker
Fucking pathetic…really.
But when my blade snicked right on through those plastic ties, she sighed in relief.
“Oh thank god…” she had moaned.
I looked down on her, ready to slap that prim, pretty face. But instead I held the switchblade right up to her face until it was almost slicing into her cheek.
“Don’t thank him yet, you dirty whore.”
Her face flushed, but I knew she liked when I talked dirty to her, especially when I degraded her.
I put the knife on the bedside table, then shucked my clothes. I could see her fear melt away as I got naked. Women have always liked the way I look. That’s why I never change anything about myself just to be “fashionable.”
Shit, I’m not a fucking bulimic supermodel, with my testies in a mason jar under the sink. No, I’m a freaking predator, a cuntivore, a fucking monster with a handsome face and a dick big enough to make most any woman crawl on her hands and knees, just begging to get their tightly wound asses fucked good and proper by a man that doesn’t give a fuck what they think, or what their hopes or dreams are.
All a guy like me wants is for the woman to do what I want, and to make me shoot my load good and hard.
But as I said, I was in a twisted fucking mood. I crawled up on the bed, and slowly made my way up onto her, our naked bodies skimming against each other as I moved farther and farther up her body. Finally we were face to face, and I could feel her breath, rapid and warm, against my face. It was fresh to. She must brush every day before she comes over.
Her eyes were wide and trembled. I was really terrifying her.
I shook my head, leaned down and kissed her, long and slow. Her body immediately went rigid, and she started hyperventilating. But her lips moved against mine, her mouth opening as her body relaxed, her thighs spreading for me as my hips pushed them apart even further.
Gently I pushed into her, and you’d think I’d hit the golden G-spot. She writhed like a fucking snake, her hips undulating beneath me like a belly dancer, and the sounds she was making—shit…I couldn’t have paid a prostitute to make the kinds noises she was making.
The whole time I was slow fucking her, Justine was feasting on my lips like she was fucking starving, and her legs were wrapped around my hips like an anaconda. At first her arms just stayed pinned to her sides. But after I’d started really laying my cock into her, she started twining her lovely arms around my neck, deepening our kisses.
I forgot where I was, or who I was with…I didn’t even know when it was anymore. And suddenly I was with Angeline again, in her bedroom, all those freaking years ago…and I was in love.
I pulled away, not knowing how the hell I got there, and freaking out at the fact I was dick deep in a woman that had been dead for over seven years.
I pushed her death—the why and how—from my mind, took in her gorgeous face, her lithe, sinuous body writhing under mine, and decided to just go with it. I’d always said I’d give my left nut to be able to fuck Angeline again…and now I was going to get to do it, I just had to give up some sanity points first.
I remembered the first time she’d said she loved me. It was while I was making love to her, and we’d just finished our first job together. The way those words had affected me, making my heart thud dangerously fast, and then I’d come like a catholic school boy—too fast, and with more guilt than is humanly possible to live with.
And just like then, I felt the head of my cock start to tingle…and blam…I shot my load right up inside her, with her kissing me, and mumbling hot and heavy against my lips.
When I opened my eyes, it was just Justine. Pretty, moist and luminous…and most certainly sated with the rather touchy feely fucking I’d laid on her.
I gulped as I thought about that last time with Angeline. I’d practically cried like a baby when I had to pull out of her that night.
I swallowed that grief and forced myself to pull my cock out of Justine’s slick, warm pussy. She moaned, and tried to hold me inside her with her legs. But I pulled her off me.
I shook my head and wiped off her feminine juices from my cock with her running shorts.
“You better hurry,” I said as I stumbled towards the bathroom and the shower. I’d done it all wrong. I was supposed to feel relaxed and sedated after fucking Justine. But now I was itchy, and shocky. And I kept on having little flashing glimpses of Angeline as I walked away.
“We ran overtime.”
Justine’s head shot up and looked at the alarm clock by the bed. She was a half hour late. “Shit!” she cried out.
Exactly…
I did make it into the shower, and felt a little less jittery after a hot shower.
I went down stairs, because I remembered I hadn’t set the last three timers yet.
I really needed to go out and buy a master timer, one that could handle as many separate water apparatuses as I used. But I’d probably need something computerized. And automation of that magnitude often led to malfunctions. And I was far too close, and too deep into this business, to be able to just eat a lost crop.
I got to the bottom of the basement stairs, opened the second metal door, and flicked on the light switch. The bird-like chirping started immediately, and signaled that my alarm was going to go off if I didn’t deactivate it in ten seconds. I had it disarmed in five.
I turned and looked around me. Fourteen hundred square feet of wall-to-wall hydroponic marijuana plants grew green, lush and tall under ultraviolet lamps suspended from the ceiling.
My current crop was all but harvested, but I had over a year’s worth of crops in variant degrees of growth. I pulled in about a million five every month. In another year I’d be able to pay off my contract, and then I could start saving for my early retirement…or not. I could always blow it all off, and start over somewhere new.
That’s why it’s called freedom. Something submissive little Justine would never dream of, or understand. Freedom to do whatever you wanted didn’t come easily. It had to be paid for, with merry bushels of cash, and blood.
I reached up and pulled my Berretta 9 m from its ceiling cubby hole. I pulled out the clip and checked the rounds, and then clicked off the safety and hooked the barrel down the back of my pants.
I trudged off into the growing jungle of my basement to set some timers.
Chapter Nine
Natalie
Thursday…
The lady at the Comfort Inn didn’t take my question about drilling into the ceiling of the motel room I’d reserved, to affix a meat hook, very well. She actually lost her professional calm and threatened to call the police if I showed up at her motel.
I’d been dubious about whether I could rig a hook sturdy enough to hold a scarecrow from, not to mention a two hundred pound basketball center—so this wasn’t the worst news.
I’d originally planned my deflowering for Friday because my parents would both be out of town on their annual anniversary escapade to Reno, to “reconnect.” Translation: to fornicate like bunnies while away from the kids.
In the past they’d set up overnight baby sitters for me and my brother. But for the last five years it had just been the two of us for these blessedly parent-free weekends. Last year I’d been all by myself, since Marc was away at college.
I’d squandered the chance to do anything even resembling teenage rebellion, opting instead to order takeout pizza and Chinese while watching a marathon of Game of Thrones. I hadn’t regretted it.
But with my pending plans suddenly up in the air, I had to readjust my thinking. I’d chosen doing it at a motel simply because it was the cliché, and I’d wanted it to be as kinky as possible.
But then I’d been thinking about what my dad had gone through to hang the huge punching bag in the middle of the basement wreck-room. He’d needed to find the main house support, and to drill into the most central weight bearing beam. It had taken all day.
I didn’t have that much time…
And then the obvious an
swer hit me: I’d just use the hook my father had lovingly mounted in the basement. It was more than sturdy enough to hold EG, and there was already a pull-out couch/day bed shoved against the wall.
What else did I need?
Standing in the finished basement, staring up at the hook that held the gargantuan punching bag in place, I decided that trying to pull the damned thing down by myself would be a futile thing to attempt.
“Dad!” I screamed, hearing him up stairs in the kitchen, complaining about how much the electric bill was that month.
He stopped in mid-rant and yelled his response down the stairs at me. “What the hell do you want, sweetheart?” Troglodyte or no, no one could scream as courteously as my father.
I was at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at him. “Can you come down and take the punching bag down for me?”
His bulldog like brow scrunched up in apprehension. “Why?” he groused. “That sucker weighs two hundred pounds!”
Oh, good! Then the hook really would be able to immobilize EG…
But why indeed?
I took a deep breath and went with something plausible. “I’m going to be testing a new science fair exhibit this weekend. The fair is only three weeks away.”
My father was pro-athletics to a fault, but secretly he loved that I was so smart. And another science fair trophy would look good on the living room mantle.
Grudgingly he said, “Okay.”
Chapter Ten
Marcus
Chilled out on the couch, I felt my cell phone vibrate. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw it was a text from Tom. I felt a tingle start down my spine, and it didn’t stop until it went down the crack of my ass and made my dick harden. He’d fucked the hell out of me just last night…twice…and he was still horny?
Of course, so was I…
I read the message: Come over. Wear those swim trunks again.
I smiled. He’d liked the whole pool boy thing. I thought he would.
So I scrambled up stairs, stripped out of the shorts and t-shirt I’d been bumming around in, and then pulled on the requested trunks—they were white with blue palms running down the legs, and they were from last year, so they were too tight. On top of that I threw on a black tank top. I thought it would be nice to have something to take off.
Maybe he’d take it off for me…like I was sure he’d take the trunks off for me.
Maybe with his teeth…
I was halfway across my lawn, about ready to climb the fence, when I realized it was broad daylight. I stopped, pulled out my phone and texted: Wheres ur wife?
A few seconds later he messaged back: Out 4 a few hours. Get ur hot little butt over here!
I smiled again. This was just too sweet. I wasn’t home a full twenty-four hours and I was already going to get my ass fucked for the third time. It was going to be a freaking record. Now I really was tingling all over.
The backdoor was open about six inches, and I slipped in, pulling it shut behind me. I stood and listened for a few heartbeats. I could hear the refrigerator kick on, and the whir of the air conditioner.
Thank god. Last night had been hot…but it had been hot as freaking hell too. I was so dehydrated by the time I got home I downed two thirty-two once Gatorades before I staggered to bed.
Thank god my parents slept like the freaking dead.
I found Tom’s shirt on the floor of the hall. I picked it up and brought it to my face, taking in the scent of him. Not just a classy cologne, but that masculine natural smell Tom exuded.
I moved farther down the hall and found his belt. I was starting to like this game.
Up the stairs I went, running across his shoes and socks—I didn’t sniff them…I may be twisted and horny, but I had limits. But right in front of the open door to his and Mrs. Sherwood’s bedroom were his slacks and underwear.
I did sniff his underwear—guess I’m pervy enough for that.
The shower was on, and I could hear Tom humming “Stars and Stripes Forever.” I knew he loved the fourth of July. I suddenly wondered if we’d create our own fireworks that night?
“Getting all clean for me?” I asked as I sauntered into the bathroom, thoroughly checking out Tom’s rather inspirational form through the nearly non-existent opaque glass shower door.
He chuckled and leaned out the shower door. “Thought you’d like me wet and clean instead of sweaty and smelly.”
Since his gorgeous baby blues were fixed on me, I took the opportunity to slowly strip the tank top off over my shoulders and toss it on the floor.
“I like you any way I can get you…as long as you’re going to fuck me, that is.”
I moved away from him—he’d reached to try and pull me into the shower with him. We could have shower sex anytime. After last night, I was pretty sure we’d end up in there after round one anyways.
But I had my eye on another choice piece of taboo real estate: him and Mrs. Sherwood’s bed.
I felt dirty just thinking about it. The bed was meticulously made ala Martha Stuart—my mom had gotten into that kick too last week. That was until she realized how much work it was. I got a perverse kick out of throwing myself onto the bed she’d probably spent twenty agonizing minutes making. Fluffing, pulling out creases and flattening wrinkles with the palm of her hand.
I jounced up and down a few times as I heard Tom turn the shower off. I intentionally messed Mrs. Sherwood’s bed even more by scooting around until I was lying on my back, head pointed to the foot of the bed, my head lulling over the edge. I raised my hips and pushed down my trunks to my knees. I was hard as a brick, and knew I cut a hunky tan figure against Mrs. Sherwood’s pristine white duvet. All that new muscle from hitting the university’s high tech gym. That and good genetics when it came to the creamy mocha of my flesh.
Tom was gonna lose it…
I let my head lull back and hang over the edge of the bed. So I had a great view as Tom strode out of the bathroom, towel held immodestly in front of him as he dried the dripping water from his short, sexy hair.
He stopped and smiled that million dollar, mega watt smile of his—he’d always had the smile. No wonder he’d become a politician.
He looked down at me with a mixture of horny male, and kinky enough, a fatherly pride? It seemed part of him was ogling every hard, muscular inch of me…and the other part of him seemed to feel some kind of twisted parental pride.
It was the first time I’d ever seen this look on his face, and it was as creepy as it was sensual. I suddenly really wanted to roll play that Tom was my actual father, that mom had cheated on good old dad and this hunk of burning hotness was my biological father…and we were reconnecting in a very un-ABC Family kind of way.
He must’ve seen the sudden surge of hunger in my eyes, because he tossed his towel on a chair by the window and I got a good, long look at his long, hard cock.
I guess he’d decided to be the guy fucking me, instead of my daddy.
I reached out my arms to him, and he drew closer. He leaned down and kissed me, soft and gentle. And then he straightened into a kind of squat over my face, pushing his big, fat cock downward, aiming it straight for my mouth.
God yes! I had been hungering to suck his cock for months…
I opened my mouth wide and he pushed himself right on past my lips, and slid halfway down my throat before he clogged my air supply and brought on my gag reflex. Funny, I’d thought I’d lost that after fellating three members of the university basket ball team—back, to back, to back.
I found out I was wrong, as Tom pressed his weight down through his hips and his wide cock forced its way down my throat. My nose was buried in his nice, big grade A sized testicles when I felt his belly slide against mine, and then his mouth engulfed my pulsing, tingling dick.
Say what you want about older men, they can suck dick just as well as they can fuck you. And that was just past a-fucking-mazing. Before I could get my bearings Tom started humping my face, and I gasped for breath whenever his mo
nster schlong would pull out far enough to unclog my trachea.
By the way, I think it’s bullshit that our human anatomy won’t let us breath through our noses when our throats are clogged full of man meat. It’s just not right!
We ended up rolling around on the bed until I was on top, so I sat up and gave Tom’s lean, muscular body an appreciative once over…well, maybe I gave it two or three once over’s…while I reached down and squeezed and stroked his mighty, jerking man meat.
I loved the way it felt in my hand. How freaking huge it looked as I jacked it, making it throb, watching it turn redder and redder the closer to orgasm he got. Hell, I knew from experience that his big old balls would cinch up like they were doing pull ups—or like butterfly wings—right before he’d shoot his load.
And what a load. He gave seven and a half squirts of jizz each time he came…every time he came.
I don’t know how I hadn’t drowned in the shit last year when we’d started fooling around, and were going bareback.
I didn’t miss having his seed inside me…If I’d learned anything in college, it was safety first was more than just a nifty catch phrase: it was a rule to live and die by.
But last night I had missed that feeling having him emptying himself into me used to give me. Like his…his love was filling me up, all warm and extra gooey.
Extra gooey? Jesus Christ, that was corny and rather icky…
I couldn’t finish that thought…hell, when Tom thrust his tongue up into my asshole, and twirled it around to get a look around, I could no longer think at all.
Oh god, oh god…ohgodohgodohgod!
Tom had never rimmed me before, and though I’d enjoyed having it done a few times back in my dorm room, having the man of my father-fucking dreams lapping at my twitching hole was like the difference between riding a tricycle, and blasting off on the space shuttle.
My cock shot up and slapped my belly of its own volition. The head of it tingling, my balls churning.
Shit! We’d been at it for less than five minutes and I was about to lose my shit already.