The second piece of fiction I ever wrote started out as a rant about those in my workplace who receive special treatment because they're tight with administration. Where I work, people walk into opportunities because they went to high school with the boss or because they make extra coffee and invite only those in charge.
In my story, it happens to be a man losing out to a woman because she and the boss went to high school together. (I wanted to try writing from the male perspective, and I felt less whiny since I wasn't writing about myself.) The man and his friends go to a bar and lament the inequality in hiring, and the cute, younger (female) bartender overhears and makes an outrageous offer--to be his reference because the boss needed some *ahem* oral persuasion.
What follows is a scorcher of a date between the younger bartender and the older teacher with steamy fantasizing and super-hot sex.
And then I went and ruined it with a Patient Lee Tittie Twister Ending. (I can't resist the twist at the end of a short story.) The ending resulted in my lowest scores ever on Literotica (vote for MST while you're there!) and most hateful comments I've ever received (and believe it or not, I've gotten some doozies. Literotica is not always a friendly place.), including threats to maim and kill me, all because I horrified the straight, macho readers at the very last minute.
After the sting of the comments eased, I realized that I had struck a nerve. Hard. They didn't hate my story because I hadn't written well. They hated it because I lured them in with the heat of the rest of the story and then poured a bucket of ice water on their *ahem* Johnsons by putting a man in a position usually "reserved" for women in the workplace--on his knees.
This week, my story feels particularly relevant. If you read this story and feel revulsion at the end, good. Women are not any more comfortable performing *ahem* oral things on a man they don't choose and more than a man feels. If it revolts you, it means you understand how these women who are finally coming forward to tell their stories felt. Choosing between your career and performing a coerced sexual act should not ever happen again to a man or a woman.
(This didn't happen to me or anyone I know, BTW. It's fiction. And the inequities in my workplace are greater than ever. Preferred parking, bathroom in a classroom, missing meetings, and a host of other perks--offered to one, but not the rest.)
Thanks for reading. If you'd like to read the story for free, click here. Usually I ask readers to subscribe to my newsletter, and I give the book in return. This week it feels important to get as many readers on it as possible.
Last weekend, I participated in the WritersWeekly.com24 Hour Short Story Contest. In this contest, we had 24 hours to write an 850 word story following the prompt below.
It was supposed to be the summer job of a lifetime, working as a chef at an upscale "summer camp" for adults. But, the air conditioner was broken again. After closing, the stale outdoor air brought little relief. The path to the cabins housing seasonal employees was dark but short. She stopped in her tracks when she came across one of the windows. With her pupils dilating, she couldn't look away...
I was traveling with my parents and my three children when the contest started, so between sleeping in the car and unpacking, I wasted about six hours dancing around the first thing that popped into my head: octopus. For a less-than-two-minute education on octopuses (yes octopuses,not octopi), click here for a clip from Animal Planet's show Tanked (one of the few shows my family watches together with no grumbling).
Since the key to winning the heart of the judges (according to the recommendations in the materials they sent to participants) was a surprise ending, I took the advice seriously. (If you've read my erotic shorts, you've read some Patient Lee Titty Twister Endings. This one's just a Twister.) I didn't want to use a plot twist I've seen on TV, so I stayed away from the horribly venomous Blue Ringed Octopus.
After struggling and sketching and trying to pull the story together, I was beginning to lose hope of bringing it together. But then the clouds opened up, the sun shone down on me, and Tool came on. Schism is my writing song. "I know the pieces fit." (See the video below.)
My parents took the kids to the beach, and by the time they returned, the story was half-written. I finished twelve hours early. Amazing what a little quiet time can do for the creative brain.
On the third day of Tanisha’s internship at Camp Wine and Sea, the octopus escapeyd, as though he thought by dinnertime, Chef Roscoe would be arranging his tentacles on a bed of rice pilaf.
It wasn’t true, of course. Alex, the Great Pacific Octopus, had been a dining-room fixture at the camp since it opened. Octopus was Chef Roscoe’s specialty, and it was on the menu every Saturday night, but Alex wasn’t dinner. He was the camp mascot, and he provided conversation fodder for the uncomfortable adults sharing tables with strangers on the first night of camp. Until the wine started flowing, Alex kept the party going.
Peter, the sommelier, discovered Alex’s absence minutes before the first dinner seating. He raced to kitchen. “Chef, where’s Alex?”
“The octopus?”
“Yes, the octopus. He’s not in his tank.”
"Again?” The chef groaned. “One of these days, I’m going to serve that monster in a tomato confit, I swear. Get the intern to look for him.”
Peter raised his eyebrow. “You want to leave that to her? She’s made a dozen mistakes since she got here. Besides, don’t you need her in the kitchen?”
“Would you rather she pour wine tonight?” The chef dismissed him without another word. Instead, Peter performed a cursory search of the kitchen and dining room himself, and when the first guests entered the dining room, peering into Alex’s tank, he distracted them with Sauvignon Blanc.
A misogynist, Chef Roscoe resented the management’s choice of intern for the summer. Tanisha Jones didn’t care what Chef thought. She’d earned her place in his kitchen with her 4.0 at the university and three wins in prestigious cooking contests. Even though he’d blamed every error in the kitchen on her since she arrived at camp, she was ready to stand tall against his pompous attitude.
While Chef was in the dining room announcing the evening’s menu—octopus braised in red-wine with Kalamata olives—Tanisha tended to the pots and pans on the stove. When he returned to the kitchen, he barked three orders in a row to her, and before she could do any of them, he said, “And put that octopus over there in the big pot for the third seating.”
Tanisha followed his instructions to the letter, knowing it didn’t matter. Chef set her up for failure every time she turned around, but she did her best for the sake of the diners who were paying a small fortune for a week at the adult summer camp.
The air conditioner quit halfway through the second seating, and by the end of the third, heat exhaustion threatened to knock out the staff. Tanisha and Chef Roscoe cleaned the kitchen as quickly as they could, and just when she thought she’d get some relief from the heat, her nose detected the odor of spoiling food. She scanned the kitchen, looking for the forgotten piece of fish or scrap of meat.
Sniffing the air, she followed her nose to the corner of the kitchen where she found a metal bowl containing an octopus, ready for the cooking pot if it hadn’t begun to rot from the intense heat in the cooking area. Swallowing the urge to vomit, she called, “Chef. You have to see this.”
“What the hell?” His eyes narrowed in anger. “You were supposed to cook the octopus. What did you cook?” His voice rose in pitch as his anger increased.
“The octopus in the jar over there!” She pointed to the counter next to the stove. “It was right next to the pot. I assumed that was the one you meant!”
Chef shook his head and chuckled without humor. “You idiot. You know Alex got out today, right?”
“Alex from the dining room?” Her face fell as it dawned on her. An octopus could open a jar to hide in it. “Did I cook Alex?” Her voice was a whisper, punctuated by projectile vomit as she accepted the truth. She’d cooked the camp mascot.
After cleaning her mess and the putrefying octopus, she stepped into the dark, wishing for relief from the heat. Instead, the stale air knocked her back a step, nauseating her again.
Regaining her balance, she started down the dark path to the employees’ cabins. Worry ran circles in her head. Would the camp administration fire her? Would animal rights activists call for her head on a pike? Could she live with herself after making such a horrific mistake?
She heard Chef Roscoe’s voice, stopping her short. She turned and found herself at his cabin, his open sitting-area window providing her a view of his kitchen. He sounded as if he was speaking to a puppy. “I got that uppity bitch. Yes, I did, Alex.”
Her eyes flew open, pupils dilating, when he stepped into view. Any thought that he’d stolen Alex to keep as a pet vanished as he placed the platter on the table, the octopus moving listlessly as it languished out of water.
Tanisha’s scream couldn’t save the octopus as Chef brought the cleaver down on Alex’s bulbous head.
The
Facebook challenge was to post a one-word story title and a brief synopsis. I
looked up from my spot in the passenger seat and saw the sign for Pittsburgh.
Three minutes later, this little story was sketched out in my head.
Here's a flirtatious excerpt about two men who meet in a Philadelphia sports bar watching a 76ers (basketball) game.
This sexy, MM short story makes its debut on August 19 at Patient Lee's Saturday Takeover on Queeromance Ink's Facebook Page.
(And check out Queeromance Ink's website to search for your particular favorite type of queer romance and erotica. Sign up for their weekly newsletter and receive FIVE FREE BOOKS!)
Pittsburgh
The warm blast of heat as I opened
the door of Tommy’s, the sports bar down the street from my office, hit me like
a hug from my mother. It was frickin’ freezing in Philadelphia this week, and
it didn’t look like it was gonna warm up any time soon. I was late getting out
of work, again, and I’d already missed the first quarter of the Sixers game. It
didn’t help that the bar was packed. I looked around for people I knew, but I
could hardly walk, never mind see. I pushed my way to the bar, just as an older
guy pulled his overcoat off the back of his chair and yelled a thank you to the
bartender.
“You leaving, man?” I asked as I
put my hand on the stool before somebody else grabbed it.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just stopped for
a beer. Basketball ain’t my thing.” He pushed his way through the crowd, and I
bellied up to the bar. I arranged my coat on my chair and loosened my tie,
checking the back on my Flyers tie tack to make sure it was secure.
“Stella Bella,” I called, flagging
the bartender over. Her name was Stella, but that didn’t stop me from adding on
the Bella. I’d been coming to this bar for four years, ever since I moved out
of my parents’ house in King of Prussia to my townhouse in Rittenhouse Square. Stella
was gorgeous. Long, brown, wavy hair, and an ass that filled her jeans to a
level that most men would find delicious.
Most men. Not me. I came out in
high school and took all the shit that came along with it, but I graduated and
went to Penn State Main Campus. I got my degree in business, and right after
graduation, I got a job at PNC bank in Philly. It was a good job, not my dream
job or anything, but I had a nice place to live and I was pretty happy with my
life. All that was missing was a guy who filled his jeans like Stella did. A
nice package in the front wouldn’t hurt either.
Stella put the pitcher of Yuengling
and a frosted glass in front of me. “How ya doing, Clarke?”
“Better now that I’m in here,” I
said. “It’s fucking cold out there.”
She filled my glass, clucking her
tongue and smiling. “It’s January in Philadelphia. What the hell did you
expect?” The State Farm commercial on the giant TV in front of me ended, and
the second quarter of the game started.
I didn’t notice the guy next to me
until I finished my burger. I was so fucking hungry, and so focused on the
game, I wouldn’t have noticed if a bomb went off. The Sixers were down by four
for most of the second quarter, and I didn’t want to have to depend on the
replay when they turned the tables on the Bulls.
He actually hit me when the Sixers
caught up. His arms flew up in the air when Robinson tied the game up. His hand
clipped my head, and his head snapped toward me. The shocked look on his face
was hilarious.
“I am so sorry,” he said. His eyes
were wide, and I could see that he hadn’t even realized I was there.
“Quite a game, huh?”
“Yeah. Great game, now that we’re
tied up.”
Stella leaned in between the two of
us, looked at me, and said just loudly enough to hear over the noise in the bar,
“I know for a fact he enjoys that.”
He blushed an adorable shade of
red, but I did, too. “How does she know that for a fact, huh? Did Stella Bella
tie you up?” I tried not to grin too widely. I didn’t want him to think I was
coming on to him. I was coming on to
him, but I’d been shot down in an embarrassing blaze of dismay enough times to
stay cool.
“NO!” He said it loud enough for
our whole side of the bar to hear. “I drank too much one night, and she—”
“She tied you up?” I laughed,
mostly from discomfort. Bondage wasn’t in my bag of tricks. Neither was hetero
sex.
“No.” He snorted out loud. “She
coaxed the story out of me. This bachelorette party was discussing Fifty Shades of Grey. I made a comment,
and she didn’t let it go until I told the story.” He took a long drink,
draining his beer. “I am so freaking embarrassed right now.”
The game resumed, and I let it go
for a few minutes. Stella brought another round, and this time, she spoke to
him. “Did you tell him all about it? I bet he’d love to know. I think he’s your
type.” She looked at me and gestured to him with her head. “He’s gorgeous,
isn’t he, Clarke?”
I cocked an eyebrow. Was she trying to fix us up?
“Clarke, this is Joe. Joe, this is
Clarke. I can’t believe you guys haven’t met here before.”
He had the same confused look as I
did. “I usually work second shift, so I’m not usually here until midnight,” he
said. “They got me on first shift this week.”
“What do you do?”
“Paramedic. I live around the
corner, so I stop in a lot on the way home. Tonight I just came to watch the
game with someone other than my cat.”
“Ha! Same. I work during the day,
but neither of my cats appreciate my obnoxious cheering. I’m in banking. Less
exciting, but then again, so am I.”
The Sixers got a three-pointer,
pushing them into the lead. Joe and I jumped up and cheered, along with the
rest of the bar. He turned to me and gave me a deliberate high-five. Our eyes
met for a moment, and a shiver ran through me. I tried to shake it off, but he
was hot. And it had been a long time since I met someone. But was he gay? I
wasn’t sure enough to risk it. Yet.
We returned our attention to the
game, and I was grateful for the distraction. This guy was making me hard, and
until I knew whether he was gay or straight, I didn’t want him to. The momentum
had shifted to the Sixers, and they were up by eight points.
Stella came around with refills.
She put them down on the bar and stood there, looking from Joe to me and back
to Joe. “What’s the matter with you?”
“What are you talking about?” I
asked. “We’re watching the game.”
“I’ve done all the work for you
two. If you blow this, it’s your own fault.” She snorted. “I mean, blowing
would indicate success, but . . .”
My heart was pounding. He had to be
gay. She had to be setting us up. He turned to me with raised eyebrows.
I grinned as the lump in my pants
returned. “So then you . . .”
“Oh, thank goodness,” he said,
grinning back.
The buzzer ending the game echoed through
the bar, and everyone jumped up, cheering. Without thinking, I leapt from my
chair and hugged him. I was almost embarrassed, but before I had a chance to
blush, his erection poked my thigh. Thank
goodness is right.
We pulled back and locked eyes.
“Did you say you live around the corner?” I asked. I couldn't resist. He was adorable, and I hadn't had sex in ages.
Stella raised her glass of ginger
ale to us as we grabbed our coats and left in a rush. The blast of cold air did
nothing to cool my ardor, but the snow had picked up.
“I think the meteorological term is
snowing like a son-of-a-bitch!” He
pulled his black-and-gold watch cap over his ears. “It’s just down there.” He
gestured with his gloved fingers to the gift shop down the block. “I live
upstairs.”
Three steps later, and my toes were
frozen through my wingtips. Joe was much better prepared for the cold than I.
Better prepared for the snow, too. I’d lived my entire life in Philadelphia,
and I still didn’t think to put my damn boots on in the winter. My heel slid
right through the snow, and I fell to the sidewalk, my skull smashing into the snow-cushioned
pavement.
My rational mind knew it was Joe’s
paramedic training which pushed him to cradle my head with such care, but my
rational mind was on break. I gazed into his eyes, and serenity engulfed me. He
shifted his head, and the snow and the streetlight formed a perfect halo around
his heavenly face. I heard horns—the angels, I guessed, but Joe’s head snapped
up, his eyes went wide, and everything went dark.
* * * *
The blackout affected a big chunk
of the city, but the accident which caused the horns I heard happened right in front
of Tommy’s, the sports bar we’d just left. We couldn't tell if anyone was injured, and it was
freaking dark. No streetlights, no neon, no LED signs flashing open, and now
that the accident blocked the one-way street, no headlights.
While I was still lying on the
sidewalk, I encouraged Joe to go to the accident. I could tell he was itching
to help.
“I already have a patient. I can’t
abandon one patient for another without transferring care,” he said, his voice
all business. He helped me to my feet once he’d finished his assessment and
determined I was okay. “Besides, I can’t show up on scene with a boner like
this.” He held my arm after that, which was just dandy with me. We were close
in height, and the traces of his aftershave drew me in.
He fumbled with the key in the dark
entrance to his apartment. “Jesus. It’s so dark I won’t even need to blindfold you.”
My friend, Ellie, wrote this story for me for my birthday in 2015. She took the Patient Lee Radio Challenge, and the song she got was "Trouble" by Iggy Azalea and Jennifer Hudson. She gave me her permission to share the story, but it is her property. Don't steal it. Enjoy.
“Don’t just stand there. Run!” Cheney yelled at the frozen
woman. Then she kicked out at the nearest would-be mugger, who stepped back
with his hands up before him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, lady! We were just trying to help her,” he said in a
startled voice, furtively looking down at his companion who was moaning and
holding his blood covered hands to his nose.
“Yeah help her with the weight of her purse no doubt,” she spat at the man.
Grabbing the younger woman’s arm, she dragged her further up the street to the
corner of the main road. “I told you to run, you deaf or something?” she asked
impatiently.
“I… I just…” the woman stammered and gave up trying to talk as she stared at
her saviour. Not the heroic muscled man she had been expecting but a gorgeous
tall, athletic woman.
“Okay let’s start simple, I’m Cheney and you are?” she had lowered her voice
and tried to keep a pleasant tone. This chick was obviously out of her
territory here. Girls from around here didn’t have designer labels in the price
range that this chick obviously did.
“That’s a good idea, I could use a drink,” Brielle said enthusiastically.
“You’re my hero now,” she trilled happily and linked arms with the taller
woman. “I could have been in trouble there if you hadn’t come along. I mean I
knew this part of town had a bad reputation, but I just didn’t think anyone
would try to mug me.”
“What are you doing in this part of town in the first place? You don’t exactly
seem like you fit in around here,” Cheney asked. She had tuned out most of the
incessant babble that came out of the girl’s mouth as the answer came in a
torrent of inane reasons. One drink then she would send the spoilt brat on her
way. She obviously had no idea how the working class lived and the more she
talked, the more annoying she became.
“… Anyway, after that, I was delivering a package for a friend. It’s something
special and had to be hand delivered. I guess I was lucky that I dropped it off
before those men found me,” she stopped her rapid chatter to take a breath,
realising her new friend was opening a door for her. “Oh sorry,” she giggled
and went through the doorway into the dimly lit bar.
Standing next to the bar as Cheney took her seat, Brielle fumbled in her
oversized tote bag for her wallet. Placing a hundred dollar note on the bar she
said, “Order whatever you like. I’ll have whatever you’re having, but I need to
go and find the bathroom first.” She pulled a face and hurried off toward the
back where Cheney had helpfully pointed.
The bartender, a statuesque, muscled woman with long multi coloured hair named,
Vix, made her way over after a few minutes. She jerked her head in the
direction Brielle has gone. “Who’s your new friend?” she asked with the
familiarity of an old friend.
“Lost lamb that wandered into the wrong part of town and found herself in
trouble,” Cheney shrugged. “She owes me a drink for being a Good Samaritan, so
I’ll have a Crown with a Corzo shooter. Wait. You better make that two and hope
she’s not expecting a chardonnay to be waiting for her.”
Vix gave a derisive half laugh and grabbed the Crowns from the chiller. Opening
the small bottles and placing a wedge of lime into the neck of each, she then
set up the shooters. “She doesn’t look like any lost lamb I’ve ever seen. She
looks like trouble to me.” Once again, she jerked her head in the direction of
the bathrooms.
Cheney turned her head, and her breath caught as she saw what the bartender had
meant. Brielle had removed her coat revealing a tight red leather dress that
was so tight it may as well have been painted onto the lush figure it barely
covered. The plunging neckline displayed at least a third of each well-rounded
breast, and Cheney had to admit that she had been wrong when she had called her
a lost lamb. This chick had been she-wolf in a lamb’s wool coat. Everything she
knew about women who dressed like that sent alarm bells ringing through her
mind. Still it had been some time since she had been on a wild ride, and a
little trouble can make for a good time now and then. If this woman was even
the slightest bit inclined, Cheney reckoned she might be worth the test drive.
Brielle took the barstool beside Cheney and downed the shooter in one noisy
gulp. Grabbing the lime from the neck of the Crown beer, she bit into it, closing
one eye as the bitter warming alcohol slid down her throat. “Tequila!” she said
loudly in the rhythm of the song. “Nice! Set ‘em up again please,” she called
to Vix and pushed the change from the hundred that had been left on the bar
back towards her.
“Whatever you say, Trouble,” Vix gave a full, throaty laugh and reached for the
bottle of Corzo.
“Delivering a package for your friend?” Cheney deflected Brielle’s attention
away from Vix. She may as well check the story out while she was here. It seemed
odd that the girl had been attacked right in front of the place she had been
staking out.
“Oh, yeah, no big deal. I had already dropped it off before those guys grabbed
me,” Brielle shrugged, seemly unconcerned. “I was lucky you happened to be
there. It’s such a strange little laneway. Honestly, I was surprised anyone
else was down there beside me.” She raised a questioning eyebrow at Cheney.
“Just a lucky coincidence I guess,” Cheney replied, revealing nothing about why
she had been there. She’d been stalking that laneway for over six months trying
to get something on Peter Hickman, a pawnbroker who was suspected of
involvement in an organised crime syndicate. Up until this point, she had
thought this woman was nothing more than a silly uptown girl in the wrong place
at the wrong time, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“Well, here’s to lady luck,” Brielle giggled and downed the second shot with a
large gulp.
They made small talk while sipping their beers. Cheney gave the cover story
that she had spent the last six months setting up a dojo that specialised in
self-defence for women. She offered a discounted rate for Brielle, who seemed
to seriously consider the proposition. In her turn, Brielle confided that she
was between jobs, but received a more than generous allowance from her trust
fund set up by a grandfather who lived in Port Moresby and owned several mines
and businesses there.
“That’s a dangerous part of the world,” Cheney said, surprise showing in her
voice. She knew that some of the evidence trails they had been following had
led them in that direction.
“Yeah, he’s what my mother liked to refer to as a hard man. I think it suits
him up there, not so many laws and taxes to get in his way,” she giggled.
“Every family has a black sheep and if he wasn’t stinkin’ rich we probably
would’ve disowned him years ago.” Changing the subject, she looked around and
said with a smirk, “This place is great, didn’t have you pegged as a lipstick
bar kind of woman. My radar is usually pretty good for that kind of thing.” She
reached out and placed a hand on Cheney’s leg. She seemed to purse her lips
while licking her teeth making a small sucking noise that sounded oddly
seductive.
“We don’t often see lipstick lesbians in here. People around here are a bit
more real, not just satisfying a curiosity while waiting for Mr. Right to come
along,” Cheney brushed Brielle’s hand from her leg. She tried to remain
disinterested in anything further than the drink they had come here for,
despite being on her second beer and third shot. In truth, the fact that the
sexy goddess of a woman sitting beside her had offered more tempted her more
than she wanted to admit. “I should probably be going, it’s one of my few
nights off, so I have stuff to do,” she said, trying to take the sting out of
her previous words. She needed to get out of this situation while she still had
the willpower to say no to Brielle’s advances.
“Oh come on, have just one more drink with me. You’re my hero, and I just want
to thank you properly,” Brielle put her hand over Cheney’s and stroked the skin
lightly with her thumb. Cheney looked at her hand and then back at Brielle
before letting her eyes travel down over the exposed cleavage. “Please, I will
even come and then help you with the stuff you have to do if you like,” her
voice was soft and almost wheedling.
Everything about this woman screamed trouble at her, yet it had been so long
since she had indulged her needs because of her career. The last six months of
living like a nun had made her unbelievably horny, and this chick was so very
tempting. She heard the lyrics of a song that had been on the radio lately run
through her head. “And baby trouble only makes for a good time, so all the red
flags be a good sign.”
“Yeah, okay. One more and then I’ll have to go,” Cheney gave in half-heartedly.
“You order, I’ll be back in a few.” She slid from the barstool and walked
towards the bathroom shaking her head at how easy she was being. Still, as she
looked back at Brielle she admitted, it could be a wild ride if she could just
let herself go and enjoy the moment.
Cheney walked into a stall and pulled her phone out of her bra. “Won’t be there
tonight, following a lead,” she typed and smiled. It was a stretch to imagine
that this vapid young woman was a lead, but she had been outside the
pawnbrokers when the muggers had attacked her. She admitted she was more than
interested in getting to know her better and why she had been there in the
first place. If she could have some fun along the way, all the better. It was a
weak argument she was having with herself, but one she could live with she
decided.
She waited for the reply as she sat in the cubicle. It was rare she had a night
off that she didn’t check in with or meet one of the team she worked with for
debriefing, but her excuse should hold them over until later tonight or the
morning for that matter. The phone in her hand vibrated and she smiled as she
read the response.
*****
Brielle signalled Vix for more drinks and smiled to herself, she’d lucked out
this time. She had been saved by a gorgeous woman who seemed more than
interested in her. This day just couldn’t be any better. Who knew her plans
would work out so well.
“Here you go Trouble,” Vix slid the beers across the bar to her and replaced
the shot glasses with fresh ones.
“Trouble?” Brielle inquired, cocking her head.
“Lady, that dress screams trouble. Add to that the fact that my friend had to
save you from being mugged earlier,” Vix shook her head. “I think I can tell
when trouble walks into my bar and that you are probably more trouble than
Cheney needs in her life,” Vix said with a tone that said she didn’t approve.
“Cheney looks like she can hold her own to me,” Brielle said as if insulted by
the innuendo that she would cause trouble for Cheney.
“She can,” Vix agreed, “but why make life harder than it has to be.” She
shrugged and went to serve another customer as Cheney came back from the
bathroom.
Taking her seat, she picked up the shot and threw her head back, downing it
quickly and chasing it with the crown. “What were we talking about?” Cheney
asked.
“You were saying you don’t see too many girls like me who wear lipstick around
this place,” Brielle said with a smirk. “Personally I like it that way. Natural
beauty is very alluring,” her eyes raked over Cheney’s features. “I look like a
troll without makeup. I just can’t pull off the natural look.”
“I find that very hard to believe, I am sure you wake up every morning looking
exactly as you are now, not a hair out of place,” Cheney laughed.
“I wish, but if you’re interested in finding out, I don’t have plans tonight.”
Once again, her hand strayed onto Cheney’s thigh, and her voice lowered to a
sultry tone. “Maybe we could discuss it over dinner? We could go somewhere
close by and get an intimate table for two perhaps?” She seemed to consider
Cheney for a moment. “Or we could just go back to your place and fuck like
bunnies,” she giggled as Cheney picked up her beer and chugged it, listening to
the proposition.
“Okay,” she stated, abruptly putting her beer down heavily on the bar as if
challenging Brielle to put up or shut up.
“A woman who knows what she wants. I like that,” Brielle moved closer until
their faces were less than an inch apart. Placing her hand against her cheek
and neck, she pulled Cheney closer still until their lips met. “Let’s go then,”
she whispered and pressed her lips against the willing lips of the woman she
planned to kiss all night or at least for the next few hours.
“I imagine you live close enough to walk?” she asked and took Cheney’s hand to
lead her out of the bar. Smiling Cheney took the lead and headed down the
street toward her small temporary apartment. She had walked less than half a
block when Brielle grabbed her and pushed her into a small dark alcove between
buildings. Pressing her body up against the other woman’s, she kissed her
deeply. There was a heat and passion to it that Chaney hadn’t expected from the
soft kiss in the bar. Her leg moved between Cheney’s thighs, and her hands
worked their way down her back to her ass.
Her mind spun as Brielle’s insistent tongue wormed its way into her mouth and
began a duel with her own. She wrapped her arms around the sexy woman pressed
against her and let the feelings of lustful desire overcome her senses. Brielle
broke the kiss and looked into Cheney’s eyes with a knowing smile and took her
hand, once again pulling her from the alcove to continue the journey home.
They walked closely side by side to the apartment, their hands often straying
to each other’s waists and asses as they bumped hips and separated again. The
climb up two floors of stairs became excruciatingly long as they stopped after
each of the four flights to kiss and rub up against each other with growing
heat and anticipation.
As soon as Brielle entered the small apartment, she began taking off her
clothes. Past the point of being shy with this woman, Cheney followed her lead
and had barely taken her shirt off and unbuttoned her jeans when Brielle pushed
her against the wall. Locked in a deep kiss, they pushed the jeans down her
legs together. Brielle’s hands caressing the soft skin as Cheney's hands began
their exploration of the naked woman holding her captive by their locked lips.
“I just knew you were the sensible underwear type,” Brielle murmured and brought
her hand up to Cheney’s damp panties and rubbed at her soft lips through the
cotton fabric. She probed deeper, pressing the cotton between the soft lips and
smiled in satisfaction when she felt Cheney shudder against her as she found
her already swelling clit. Removing her teasing fingers, she bit the soft lip
of the mouth kissing her and began to push the panties down Cheney’s thighs.
Cheney shuddered again as Brielle thrust her tongue into her mouth as she
simultaneously thrust two fingers into her pussy. She couldn’t believe how the
sexy blonde stranger was making her feel. She had no inhibitions about the fact
that Brielle’s hand was now covered with her juices, and she moaned into that
deep kiss. The fingers kept working in and out of her as a thumb found her clit
and began to rub at it with increasing pressure. She felt her knees buckle and
her body quiver as she began to come from the sheer pleasure Brielle’s
aggressive sexuality was giving her.
Brielle felt Cheney slump against her and withdrew her fingers, licking at them
like the most delicious ice cream. She helped Cheney to the nearby couch and
dispensed with her bra as she sat and lay back into the soft leather with a
rosy afterglow colouring her face. Having enjoyed the taste from her fingers,
Brielle began to kiss her way up Cheney’s legs to seek the source.
The tremors of her orgasm continued to run through her body as she watched the
aggressive blonde running her hot tongue up her legs between soft, feather-like
kisses. She was enjoying being passive for a change, and she felt her inner
muscles contract in need as the feather light kisses and tongue touched the
soft lips of her pussy. Brielle kept looking up at her through long mascara
thick eyelashes with a smouldering glance that made her that much hotter.
Cheney relaxed back into the soft cushions of the couch and lifted her hands to
her neglected breasts, letting her fingers trail lightly over the turgid pink
buds that sat atop them like dainty berries. Her breath shortened once again as
she felt the tongue and teeth of Brielle whip at her clit and fingers delved
into her for a second time tonight. Her eyes widened as she felt more fingers
trail down into the cleft of her ass cheeks and prod at the tiny puckering dark
star there. “Oh god, she wouldn’t!” Cheney thought a second before she felt a
small finger worm its way into her ass, giving her sensations she had never
felt before. Working in tandem with the fingers already fucking her and the
whipping of her clit, Cheney soon lost all focus.
It started from the core of her being and rushed out in a burst of tingling
sensation and then crushed back into her again as if lightning jolted her. Her
body was shuddering with spasm after spasm until her cries turned into hoarse
whispers, and her breath became ragged and strained. When she finally opened
her eyes again, she saw Brielle’s shiny face was resting on her thigh,
breathing warm air over her sensitive clit with a sexy smile on her lips.
“Oh yeah, that was amazing,” Cheney said slowly with a satisfied purr to her
voice. She pulled Brielle’s hand up to her face and breathed in her scent from
the fingers, letting her tongue swipe at the long digits. Brielle followed her
hand up and was rewarded with a strong embrace and Cheney taking her mouth in a
long soft, passionate kiss.
They kissed for some time as Cheney regained all of her senses. She pressed her
leg between the long, lithe legs of her lover who began to undulate, humping at
her leg almost immediately. To her great pleasure, Cheney found the pussy
humping her leg to be as wet as her own. She rolled Brielle over and began
kissing her way down her body. She made a point to kiss and lick over her firm
round breasts before gnawing softly at the nipples and sucking them deeply into
the warm cavern of her mouth. She swapped between the two mounds of flesh,
using her fingers to work on the other while she sucked at each swollen bud in
turn.
Finally having her fill, she moved down, kissing over the flat stomach. She
breathed in the scent of pussy mixed with the heady perfume of her body lotion,
creating an intoxicating blend of sweetness. Brielle widened her thighs and
bent her legs at the knees, making room for Cheney as she kissed down over her
pubic bone to her inner thighs, teasing her all the more before getting to the
final destination.
Cheney looked at Brielle’s pussy. It was beautiful, and she pushed on the
thighs she had just been kissing, opening her pussy wider. The lips were
perfectly shaped, and she watched avidly as Brielle’s pussy opened like a
butterfly before her eyes. Soft wisps of blond hair made a perfect path to her
clit. Her inner lips were very pink and the flesh seemed puffy with lust. She
looked up to see that Brielle had her eyes closed and was breathing deeply. Cheney
took a deep breath, enjoying the sight and smell before lowering her head to
touch the sweetly swollen bud that was Brielle’s clit with her tongue.
Brielle’s hips bucked as if begging for more, but Cheney held back slightly,
enjoying the teasing that was turning her on as much as the woman she was about
to make love to.
She ran her tongue slowly from clit to vagina, sliding it inside to savour the
tantalising nectar there. Her fingers strummed over the clit until the soft
whimpers became urgent cries to be fucked. “Please stick them in. I need to
feel them in me!” she had panted again and again. Feeling Brielle arch up
against her, Cheney lost all pretence of the tease and dove in using both her
fingers and her mouth to bring the sexy blonde rapidly to boiling point. Her
free hand strayed to the warm, soft flesh of her ass beneath the hot wet pussy
she was plundering and, guided by what Brielle had done to her, she pushed her
little finger into her tightest hole.
Brielle felt her body explode and grabbed Cheney’s head, mashing her pussy
against it, riding her face into the blissful high she was experiencing. Her
world became centred solely on the sensations that radiated from her pussy into
her body as she arched and bucked wildly before throwing the other woman
backwards when she could handle no more. She lay back breathing raggedly,
barely aware of her surroundings as her whole body quivered and tingled in
ecstasy.
Cheney slithered up Brielle’s body and rested her head on her breast, lapping
at the nipple with her tongue as her lover recovered from an earth shattering
orgasm. Content for the moment, she closed her eyes and let the effects of the
alcohol and several orgasms lead her into a light doze as she snuggled close to
Brielle.
*****
Coming awake to the sound of her phone, Cheney rolled off the couch and crawled
over to where her jeans lay crumpled against the wall. Her voice was thick with
the residue of sleep as she answered. The voice on the other end was urgent.
She became immediately awake and got up, walking into the bedroom where she
wouldn’t be overheard.
“An explosion? Was he there?” she shook her head unbelievingly. “The one night
I wasn’t watching. Oh God,” she groaned. “Yeah, I’m on my way, be there in
ten.” It was a five-minute walk, but she had a naked girl in the next room to
get rid of first.
She stepped into the bathroom and cleaned herself up quickly and put on new
underwear. In the living room, she began putting on the clothes she had worn
earlier. She picked up the red leather dress and tossed it to Brielle who had
sat up and was watching her with a bemused expression.
“Who was that, the boyfriend?” she asked teasingly, “Will I have to climb out
of the window now?”
“No, but you will have to go,” Cheney said with a laugh and indicated the dress
that lay across her lap. She watched as Brielle wrapped that luscious body in
red leather and briefly wished that she had the time to enjoy it again.
“It’s okay I have to get to the airport anyway. It’s a shame really; I could
have kept you occupied all night rather than just a few hours. Still it was a
far more enjoyable afternoon than I expected,” Brielle chattered as the
preoccupied Cheney gathered her coat and led them from the apartment.
“I’d love to see you again if you’re in the neighbourhood,” Cheney said
distractedly as she flagged down a passing taxi and bundled Brielle into it
kissing her chastely. “I’ll call you,” she said almost automatically.
“Sure. Maybe you could save me again, or I could save you… again,” Brielle said
with a wink, knowing that Cheney wasn’t listening to her because even as she
spoke the tall brunette had turned and run towards the sirens she could hear
close by.
Cheney slowed as she saw the blast area bathed in the flashing lights of
police, fire and ambulance. She made her way through the debris towards the
members of her team who had been working on the case. It was only as she got
closer she saw the expressions on their faces. Relief that she was unharmed
tinged with sadness she couldn’t place. She nodded at them and turned to the
detective in charge, Hansen.
“I got here as soon as I could. Sorry, I wasn’t here to see what happened. Did
Frankie see anything?” Cheney gushed her apologies.
“The dojo copped the force of the blast. Frankie’s been taken to the hospital
for superficial cuts and bruises. She could possibly have a mild concussion.
She was lucky she was in the back room at the time,” Hansen informed her
abruptly. “Surveillance shows you assisted a woman in front of the store this
afternoon,” he stated.
“Yeah she said she was dropping off a package before the two guys tried to mug
her,” she said, alarm bells ringing in her head. “Fuck!” Cheney swore out loud
as everything Brielle had said as they had left her apartment went back through
her head, and she knew she was in trouble.
“You better get back to base and file a complete report, she could be anywhere
by now,” Hansen gripped her shoulder, believing the horror on Cheney’s face was
caused by the situation surrounding them. Her mind though was singing to her…
This
is hard-core "porn for blokes." I'm not a bloke, but holy hell was this
hot. There's enough story to hold it together, but the "author's
purpose" (which standardized tests love to question) is getting the
reader off. Wife Shared at the Lake accomplishes this with a fury I
didn't expect.
Don't buy this to read in the doctor's office
waiting room or at the beach. Read it alone or to a partner and have a
good time. Trust me.
