Sex Sessions: After The Cut (Camera Tales #2)

by Charisse Spiers

  To be honest, I don't give a damn about a career, and that baffles me when beforehand my parents tried to take that away from me. I had no identity back then and wanted one, but now, I have one and don't need one. I like the simplicity of our life. That's why I don't care what people think about what we do. We film the most intimate parts of our relationship. We create porn. So what. It sounds worse than it is. It gives us the flexibility of being with each other more, and that's worth every damn judgment. For longer, we get to be . . . us, and still survive.

  I know I'll figure out my path at some point and create a plan to get there, but truthfully I don't care what I'm doing in ten years as long as I'm with him, because he's my future, and I'm ready for the ride on an open road with no destination in sight.

  For effect I squint my eyes, feigning anger. "I hate that I love you."

  "Really? Damn. No chance I could change the way you feel?"

  "I don't think so. You've really done it this time."

  He leans down into my neck, running his lips along it slowly from bottom to top and back again until he's at my ear. "You sure about that?"

  Chill bumps are creating a covering on my entire body. My grip around his waist becomes tighter, trying to pull him closer to me even though there is no physical space left between our bodies. His body lies on top of mine completely, but all of his weight is on his knees and shins below our middles. "I'm determined to change your mind."

  "It's not possible."

  My eyes close and roll to the back of my head. Within an instant, my body surges into a fit of laughter as his fingers dig into the tops of my ribs on each side, tickling me. My body seizes in every direction like someone having a seizure. I scream. "Stop!"

  I would imagine my face has morphed into something ugly. I've never been a pretty girl when it comes to mega laughing fits. All of my awareness drains and the expressions I wear reflect the ticklish pain that I have to endure against my will. I've never figured out why some people are more ticklish than others, or how some can mask it to show that it doesn't effect them at all, even though deep down it's killing them. Me, I can barely be touched in the right spot and I lose it.

  "Say mercy."

  I try to push him back without giving him access to my armpits, but all strength has left my body. The only thing that remains is the constant need to jerk and tremble from the tickling sensation assaulting my body. I can't breathe from the constant laughing. My stomach hurts from the nonstop contracting of my muscles. And if that's not enough my voice is becoming hoarse from the onset of screaming and laughter. I'm in a state of tormented blissful harmony.

  He doesn't let up, but rather, get's worse. A snort that I don't recognize and is completely unladylike exits from a mouth I hope isn't mine, even though I'm sure it is. My vision is blurred from the watering of tear ducts, but I see the silent laughter on his face. He's making no sound. I try to kick but his body is blocking me. "Please . . . Can't . . . Breathe."

  "You know what to do to make it stop."

  "Mercy! Have mercy."

  His fingers fall from my body. My chest and stomach are heaving. My breathing is nowhere close to evening. He grabs my face between his hands and holds my eyes staring into his. "I'm ready for forever with you."

  The door flies open. "What are you doing to her? It sounds like a pack of Hyenas in here."

  Our heads turn to the door at the same time. Tynleigh is fully dressed in denim shorts and a turquoise and pink tee shirt that really brings out her tan, a pair of matching sneakers, a cup of coffee in her hand, and her long brown hair in a low wavy ponytail that falls over her shoulder. The strings of her swimsuit tied behind her neck are visible just above the collar of her shirt. "Do you really think entry prior to knocking is wise, T?"

  "With her sounding like that I knew there was no way in hell you were hittin' it, and if you had been I'm willing to cross that forbidden line to see why, because that shit would be bad for you. Laughter should never be the direct response to sex, sprout."

  I laugh again. "Still, don't come knockin' if the boat is rockin'. Get out."

  "No!" I scream. "Help me! My brain is compromised with shit I don't need to know about your dad and I can't get ready with him on top of me. He's holding me hostage."

  "Saxton, get off. Coney Island is calling my name. I can hear it. Today is my day to act like a kid with no responsibilities and you're not going to ruin that for me. I took the entire day off for this, so get your ass up. Besides, I know you. You aren't trying or your ass would be bare."

  He grabs the back of my legs and presses them forward, turning my ass up toward him, and then starts rocking his crotch against mine, slowly and seductively, while looking at his sister. I'd be embarrassed that I'm completely naked if he wasn't covering all of my goodies. "She's delusional, and my ass doesn't have to be bare to whip it out. You can shut the door now."

  I yell between laughs. "Oh my god. No I'm not. Stop it, Saxton! He was totally talking about your parents knockin' boots. I'm scarred. I'll never be the same. If you don't get him off we'll never make it to Coney Island. I'm calling an S.O.S."

  She walks forward like a woman on a mission, setting her mug down on the dresser against the wall. "Leave, T, or I can guaranfuckingtee you'll see more than a bare ass."

  "I think you're forgetting I'm older than you, sprout. I've seen the snake you're packing at points in my life. Whether it was a baby or a mama makes no difference to me. Your terror tactics don't scare me. Don't make me break out the spirit fingers. You know, after years of cheerleading, I'm so much better at it than you."

  "Don't fucking touch me," he says with bite behind it, catching me off guard. His tone is suddenly less play like and more agitated.

  "What are spirit fingers, aside from the obvious?"

  "Saxton here can tell you all about it . . . or you can witness it. The choice is his." She's almost at his backside and he flinches, but doesn't let go of me. "You can make this easy on yourself by getting off of her. Things can get ugly when someone stands between me and an amusement park."

  "I can't. She's naked. Just leave and I'll get off of her."

  "He can't be trusted!" I blurt out before clamping my mouth shut.

  His head whips toward me so fast I swear he's going to have a crick. His eyes narrow at me. "If you knew what was good for you right now you'd keep quiet. The soreness you're experiencing is about a six. I can still go all fucking ten, baby."

  "I've seen all the parts she's got my entire life. Pick another argument. I'm going to count down from five, Saxton. That's how long you have to stand up and start walking."

  He leans into me further, smothering my breathing. "Tynleigh, I'm not fucking kidding. Leave or you'll regret it. I prefer not to hit a woman, but for one that knows she's pushing my limits I'll make an exception."

  "Five, four, three . . ."

  He scoots us both up the bed as she closes in on him. She's too close for him to go anywhere else but further up the mattress. I have no idea what is going on right now, but what I do know is I kind of want to find out. That makes me a horrible girlfriend I know, but when a man that is so secure in his manhood on every level starts getting squirrely like a girl it really makes you curious. "My elbow is ready."

  "Two, one." Without a second's lapse she digs her fingers into his skin in a precise location she doesn't have to guess. The sight before me becomes one I'll never forget as long as I live. He's so close to me I can't breathe, bucking and jerking against me with the manliest, sexiest laugh, and one I've never heard from him. It's deep and strained, short of breath.

  He tries to elbow her to knock her away from the underarm area, but that just gives her better access it seems. She jumps on top of him, on top of me, to hold him still. All I can do is put my hands over my mouth and try like hell to smother my laughter so I can live; while I watch him toss and scream like a little girl. I'm totally buying her a corn dog or a chicken on a stick when we get there. I figure that's appropriate since we
likely won't be around alcohol. Against his command my mouth has a mind of its own. "So you can dish out the tickles but can't take it?"

  He looks at me, teeth clenched. He's in physical pain and I'm dying inside. "You're getting it later," he says, in a short, clipped tone. "In more ways than one." The laughter starts to slip through my lips, but I lock my lips tighter as he pushes off my body, standing with her still attached like Spiderman. "Fuck, okay. Enough. I'm off. Stop, Tynleigh."

  She stops the tickling motion but doesn't remove herself from his body. Instead, her arms lock together at the front of his neck to match her feet on his stomach. He looks at me, slightly choked I'm guessing with his arms grabbing hers, as I push up on my elbows, hands on my nipples to try and cover myself. One leg crosses over the other to act as a pair of panties of sorts. "Walk away and I'll get off," she says, but not in a quiet manner.

  On accident I burst out in laughter. I can't hold it back anymore. "Oh my god. I'm sorry, but she totally just manhandled you. I know your weakness now." One hand immediately covers my mouth, before disappearing once again. "You're so sexy, baby. Stay testosterone strong. I love you."

  He walks toward the door, before turning around to face me. "You and me." He does the finger motions to match. "We aren't finished. Now I know whose side you're on. Like I said . . . Payback's a bitch."

  He's full of shit, Tynleigh mouths from behind him. My lips line as my eyes widen, waiting for them to leave. Before I can catch myself I find that my head is slightly nodding up and down in agreement. Following my line of vision, he turns his head toward her in a hurry, as if he's trying to catch her talking behind his back, but she begins rubbing the top of his head with her mouth closed. "Good brother. Refrain from the temptation. Just say no."

  He backs away, through the doorway, and just before he closes the door she winks at me. My face luckily doesn't crack throughout the stare down from him. I know nothing, I mouth.

  The door finally shuts to the bedroom, leaving me alone, everything now silent. "I'm in so much fucking trouble."

  "Yes you are," he replies, catching me off guard with a response, but again, the door is shut, and he makes no effort to open it.

  Crap . . .

  "Love you!"

  "You're still in trouble."

  I laugh again as I roll over on the bed and stare at my ring. I'm not sure that I like the silence. I want his laughter back in here. I want him back in here. I prefer his presence to his absence any day.

  The bad part is . . . I look forward to being in trouble with him. As a kid, when your parents tell you that you're in trouble it makes you nervous. It makes you squirm. I remember a time that Ben and I had teamed up together on something that wasn't good. I don't even remember what it was now, but it was done in vain, only for Dad to find out that we had basically taken up for each other in the error of our ways so we were both in for an ass whooping. We stared out the bedroom window together, layers of pants on, and watched as he picked a switch from the switch tree, shedding the leaves as he made his way toward the house, whipping it side-to-side in the air to make sure it was a good one. It was terrifying. Worse than the actual punishment is the anticipation. It's a constant thought of the pain that will accompany your bad behavior, but with him, I want the pain that I now know he can cause. I want the hours of thought of what he's capable of doing to me later.

  He’s my one and only. He’s the love of my life. He’s my owner, my partner, my best friend, and my life mate. Never in a million years would I want that with someone else. I push myself off of the bed; because the faster I get ready the sooner I can be back by his side.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Saxton

  I glance at her from my peripheral vision, just like I've done this entire ride. Her head jumps from looking out the window to me, and back again. I'm being an ass, remaining silent the whole way and leaned against my window; minding my own business, but it's really more of a joke. The girl has me pussy-whipped ninety-nine percent of the time. I just want to see how long she can hold out before she caves and does something about it. Most people only get to see the sweet exterior she carries around, but only a select few, such as myself, are blessed with the opportunity to see her sassy side; the very side that has me in this exact predicament: pussy-whipped.

  She's already casually laid her hand on the seat between us a few times, halfway open, making it near impossible not to laugh; especially when she slowly navigated it toward me after several minutes of waiting empty handed, but with careful focus on the bill of my hat and Bryant's not so sly attempts in the front to touch my sister, it ended a success. I kept all limbs to myself. God as my witness I wanted to grab it, though, and hold it tight for as long as she wanted me to.

  I was a little caught off guard that she didn't immediately take my side earlier. Couple code should be well established by now. I thought we were past that, but then again, a person will do surprising things to fit into someone's family.

  I should know. Salem's family was completely unlike anyone in mine, for the worst, and some of my not so proud moments as a human happened back then for that exact reason: wanting to be liked by the person you're dating's family. Looking back now, it shouldn't have surprised me at all that she was the way she was. I dodged a lethal bullet there, on all supporting levels.

  The real traitor in all of this is Tynleigh, and my form of revenge has yet to be determined. There are two things in life that will make me scream like a little bitch, shaming the big dick swinging between my legs. Hypocritically speaking, I know, I despise being tickled. It puts me in a state of physical pain that I cannot endure more than two seconds. I go into a panicked defense mode and my world enters a state of emergency. My actions become a matter of survival at that point and I cannot be held accountable for my behavior. She's used it against me my entire life. I am deathly afraid of being tickled like some people are over more understandable triggers like snakes, spiders, and needles. I accepted long ago, again, that based upon occurrence and for a temporary lapse in time it makes me a pussy. It's a side I don't let people see; especially hot as fuck females I'm not yet permanently bound to. Right now she can still walk out that door at any given time. No woman wants a pussy of a man. I don't like the way it feels. I don't like the way it makes me act. Nails on a chalkboard effect for me. End of story. Moving on.

  Number two—pay close attention—would be sudden spikes in adrenaline caused by the following: heights, speed, and sudden change in motion or direction caused by drops, twists and barrel rolls or loops that make me feel like I'm going to fall. That rapid heartbeat and stomach sinking feeling leaves me sweaty, nauseous, and ready to throw up. Three out of four times that's how it is going to end.

  My memory is a little hazy on the cause that started it all, because I've had this fear for as long as I can remember, but I want to say it was the earliest memory I can pull and what I would say is a faulty safety harness, or whatever the hell they're called, that didn't tighten or lock close enough to my body on the seat of the rollercoaster. Or maybe I was just a lanky, skinny fucker that didn't belong on that damn ride even though I was tall enough, but all I remember is flying forward as we descended quickly down the drop and then hitting the top of the loop at seventy miles per hour and holding on for dear life as my body fell way too far from the seat before the bars stopped my narrow shoulders. I didn't think we'd ever make it to the end, but embarrassing screams never stopped, deafening those around me the entire time.

  I about shit my pants.

  I may have peed a little.

  I swore I'd never do it again if I made it off alive.

  And when I finally got off that damn roller coaster I threw up everything still in my stomach and then some.

  For months I had nightmares of falling; to the point that half a body roll happened during sleep and I jerked in bed to prevent going off the edge, even lying in the middle, nowhere near the drop. On occasion I still do. I do not like fucking amusement parks. I've tried them
a few times over the years to try and beat this fucking fear or to impress a girl, with no luck.

  So why in the hell am I going to Coney Island?

  Because I love that girl more than I can explain to another human being, and when Tynleigh ran her damn mouth openly, knowing I would say no, and I saw the excitement in her eyes, I couldn't do it. The decision was made for me. She owns me. I will face my worst fears and step in front of death to watch her experience things she's never gotten to, so here I am, sitting in this car with a nervous stomach and sweat perspiring on my forehead under my ball cap while I endure raging thoughts. Tynleigh set me up. I deserve to be soured about it for a few minutes, even if just to prove a point.

  I grab the bill of my hat and smack Bryant with the back upon removal, the material slinging into the side of his head. "If you don't fucking stop doing that in front of me . . . One more time, asshole. If your hand disappears under her shorts again I'm breaking it. Who invited you anyway?"

  He turns around, a cocky ass grin on his face. His hand remains on her bare thigh sitting just below the bottom hem. Backstabbing disloyal bastard. It amazes me I'm still his friend after this shit. "The one that likes my hand in her shorts. Looks like I'm crashing your wedding too, bro."

  My hat becomes a lethal weapon in my very hand, he the target, and my body surges forward toward the front passenger seat to get around his ducking motions. "Cut it out, Saxton! I'm trying to drive."

  The second I get him locked in my sights I'm pulled back with force as my hat is ripped from my grasp, a tiny blonde settling herself straddled on my lap, her index finger centimeters from my face with a large diamond staring at me. There is no ounce of laughter present. For such a little person she packs some heat. "Before God and every witness in this car, if you don't shut the hell up about Bryant and your sister then you won't touch me next time Ben is around!" She's yelling in this small space of the car's interior like we're football fields apart.