Drake Gerritson gives Grace a sly look when she asks him to keep an eye on the three kids, but she sure can’t just leave them. God only knows what they’d get up to. Drake winks at her after he agrees to watch them; he’s no fool. She’s sure that he’s going to tease her mercilessly the next time he and Ruby come over to dinner.
There isn’t anyone in the hall closet, thank God. The towels are a wreck, much worse than before, and Dia is just as happy not to lie down in the mess. There are pale packets of condoms spilled on the floor. She pushes Hal firmly into the dark, and pulls the door shut behind her. He gives a little grunt, skidding on things, and there’s a thud of his back hitting the wall and the shelves, and he’s laughing again. “Are you going–”
“Yes, I am,” she says in her mildest voice, and feels his hands on her legs, sliding upward. She steps wide, making it easier for him, and his hands slide around baffled under her skirt for some time, while she smiles.
“You’re wearing a garter belt in a hurricane,” he says, in a voice full of awe. “And lace …somethings.. on top.”
“The panties come off better that way, on top,” she says.
“Why?” he says.
“It’s what I have that’s worth keeping. I did have stockings, you see, but they’re toast.” She reminds herself not to sound so sheepish. She doesn’t need to explain or apologize. Or even tell him that she put those things on this morning to… make herself feel more secure. She would have worn her collar, too, if it wouldn’t have brought up more questions than she’s willing to answer right now.
“That’s not all there is to it,” Hal says gently, and suddenly the closet’s darkness doesn’t feel so secure as it did. “Is it?”
Grace’s breathing sounds loud in the dark.
His hands brush the lace gently. “You’d be amazed at the stories people tell, to get through the day. And a storm like this? What’s a story, between friends? It’s all right. It’ll get better.”
There’s a moment of silence, while his hands tug the lace, and it slides down quite nicely. It feels good, coming off, and she sighs.
“Can I kiss you now?” she says, reaching out and taking the band of lace from his hand, and putting it up on a shelf where she’ll remember to retrieve it.
“Yeah,” he says. “I think I’m okay, you kissing me. I think I’m okay anything you want. I’m okay if–”
“Are you going to stay this shape?” she says, hearing more roofing rip loose far above them.
“Yes,” he says. There’s more strength in his voice. “I know… I know how. Now.”
“You’re sure,” she says.
“Good, that’s what I like to hear!” she says, and hears herself laugh, and then they’re both laughing, and then she’s fallen into his arms and they’re kissing, still giggling. His hands slide around on her hips and he moans, and then she’s pressing him back into the wall, feeling the jeans already undone, and her hands stumbling over his to get them yanked down his legs.
Then she says, on some whim, “I like pain and… humiliation, too,” as clearly as if she’s been told to do so by Sir.
He says, “Ahh, really? Now don’t be so common. That’s what they all say. They don’t mean it, you know. A Princess has to say what she wants.”
And somehow it’s funny, and sweet, and she laughs, and kisses him. The kissing is better than anything she ever remembers. Anything.
Then her knee is up high, with her foot propped on a shelf, in a way that she dimly recalls thinking sometimes when she wakes up in the morning. One of those thoughts, amusingly irrelevant to her previous self. That thought, recognizing, oh yes, there’s room, I could prop my foot there, and then he’d be at just the right height– and he is. But he’s got his hand in the way, touching her first, the fingers curling up so astonishingly well. His forefinger knows what it’s looking for.
She gives a harsh cry, amazed, and he smiles, kissing her, and pulls back. “You’re all wet, sweetheart,” he whispers, stroking her fingers down into the dampness. Then his other hand comes round on her hip, slides down her rear, under her, between her buttocks, and she braces wide to give him room. Then his hand fans out on the garter lace, pressing it hard into her flank. “Your ass is all wet from your cunt,” he whispers, and she hears the smile. “God, I can smell you.”
“Harder,” she whispers, pushing back into that grip. “Yes. More. Please.” He gives her the pressure she needs, fingertips at the same strength as his palm, pressing the lace into her skin, pushing her back.
His fingers slide deeper in front, exploring, and then brushing back outward, sliding upward, then pressing into the nub of her clitoris.
She gasps. “That,” she gasps, rocking into him, shameless, showing his fingers the need. Then his hand spreads wide, grips her whole pussy, and his other holds her ass still. Strong as a horse…
He’s breathing hard. “Still, hold still, baby,” he says.
“What?” she pants into his shoulder.
“You have to ask. The Quiet People, you have to ask. You have to say what you want.”
She’s imploding, shivering hard, trying not to make a racket out of sheer conditioning. But the house is rattling and peeling apart in the wind, so nobody would hear anyway. “Pleasepleaseplease…” she gasps, then rocks her head back up to stare into his face imploringly. “Please. Take me.”
“Up the cunt? Up the ass? Up your fantastic mouth?” he gasps, and his chest is heaving hard with each word. He strokes, featherlight, against her cunt, just a touch sliding into her, and then another touch on her mouth, and a deeper one sliding up the hot part of her butt, up onto the lace of her belt.
She’s beyond caring. “Anywhere you want, anyhow you want, all three at once, if I could find a way to do it.” Her voice is harsh, almost impatient.
“Yeah?” he says, not moving.
“Yes, please,” she says.
“Then pick up a condom and let’s get it on me,” he says, and he sounds like he’s breathing harder.
“Why–why–” she hears herself say, and she pulls herself together. “Why do you sound like–”
“Like a slut?” he says calmly. “Nah, I’m the anti-slut,” he says, and suddenly he’s laughing. “I’m so careful, you’d never believe. You know why? You want me to turn into a horse right here, or in your uterus?”
“What?” she says, jolted.
“It ain’t pretty, it ain’t nice, what all the popular girls do, getting themselves knocked up on impulse by boys with no beards,” he says harshly, and she can hear the anger suddenly. “But it really ain’t me. Sorry, babe. If that’s what you like, you can kiss me good-bye and walk out and get laid by some idiot prick to give you your next Lucas. But not me. I ain’t never done bareback without rubbers, knowing what I turn into. And I’ve known you, what? Two, three hours? I like you a lot better than that.”
She goes cold, suddenly, in the sweltering heat, and stares into the dark like he spit in her face. “Lucas was the best thing that’s ever happened to me, a gift.” Her voice shakes, loaded with outrage and hurt. “Besides,” she adds, quieter, “we used condoms. One broke. I’m not a complete moron.” She can feel herself open her mouth in a groan that she doesn’t let out. For maybe never having had Lucas, in a different world than this.
“Ah, see?” he sighs, his voice gentling. He gropes for her hand and squeezes it. “There’s that, too. There’s no telling with my spunk what kind of litters we might drop. I don’t want to hurt you, not never, nohow. Accidents happen, you know that better than most.” His voice in the dark turns thoughtful, at odds with the feel of his erection brushing up against her thigh. “I’ve never had my fertility tested, but…”
“Ah!” she cries then. “You’re silly and geeky, too!” Mock-horrified, trying to lighten up. She could feel the apology in the grip of his hand as clearly as if he had said it. She squeezes back.
“And a weirdo, don’t forget,” he says, wiggling his fingers in hers.
“I don’t know if I can do this in the dark. I’ve never tried.” Her voice fades in and out strangely.
“Get some rubbers. I’ll make sure it’s on right when I use it.”
She bends down with his hand on her rump feeling her go, and she scrabbles after the packets, and picks up three, and feels his other hand close around hers, and take all but one. He has her give him a whole wad, which he stuffs in his shirt pockets. His shirt flaps open, she feels it brush her face when she leans close. “For later,” he says. “We’ll use the goo in those. I have plans,” in one of his silly voices.
She stands up, and gasps when his other hand slides onto her belly. It’s bewildering, hearing his voice shift silly like that in the dark.
“You feel where the rim of the rubber unrolls on one side?” he says in the dark, with his fingers over hers.
“Yes, I can,” she says, as steady as she can manage. There’s a moment of struggle. It’s gooey. It slips, and she drops it, and she gasps. “Damn.”
“Princess,” he says, and his voice is amused, “there’s plenty. We got time.”
“Stop,” he says then, with his hand on hers. “Just feel it, Princess. Touch my cock. Just get to know where I am, what it feels like. I can wait.”
She strokes him, with her fingers gooey with latex-scented lubricant. She strokes back his foreskin, strokes the rumpled skin wonderingly. It’s soft. She’s never been with a man who has one. He gives a tight hiss through his teeth, and it moves in her hand. Hot fluid drools out of the warm, slippery head of it. She concentrates, gets the condom onto the tip of his penis, and starts pushing the slippery ring. It doesn’t go anywhere.
He laughs. “Inside out! Coyote jokester takes the point, score!”
She sighs, and somehow she starts laughing too. “Hal,” she says.
“Yes, Princess Grace?”
“I really want to–”
“I want to fuck like rabbits,” she says lightly, “if I could just get my act together.” She doesn’t quite manage to keep from sounding plaintive and frustrated.
“Flattering,” he says. “Now, me, I could actually do that. You, not so much. Try the next one the other way.”
“I used to know how to do this,” she sputters with laughter, and sighs. This time it works.
“Yes,” he says, “I’ve heard that people fumble their way to ecstasy like this every day of the week.”
“And twice on Sundays?” she says, dryly.
“Oh God, I hope so,” he says.
“Is it on right?”
“Oh, it’s great. But you did it with your fingers all covered in my personal goo. You rubbed me up and got it all over the outside. Not so safe, Princess. I’ll get this one on, and you can do it next time.”
“Next time,” she repeats.
“That’s not a question, I hope. That’d be sad, and I haven’t even given you reason to avoid me. Or I don’t think I did.”
He groans, and then he’s pulling her forward, and guiding himself in. “Get what you ask for.”
He’s hot and he’s big and she’s tight, but she’s sloppy, and he takes his time, muttering in her ear about what he’ll do to her mouth and her ass. Much of it, he holds still, braced against the wall, and he tells her, “You take me in the way you want, at your speed,” and she groans. Her hip joint will ache in the morning. If there is a morning– but then he gives a little jolt with his hips, jerking her back into her body, into how her vagina is relaxing slowly, ever so slowly, around the penis inside her, and she gasps. She feels his hand on her thigh, then.
“I’m in. Put your leg down, I can hear you hurting. Just stand firm, baby, while I move.” And he does, both of his hands wrapped tight around that belt, until it begins to rip, pressing her forward into him, his fingers gripping down in her butt hard enough to leave bruises.
It doesn’t take very many adjustments, hardly any time at all, and they are rocking madly, in tune with the motion of each other’s bodies and frantic with the friction that it makes. She can still feel that crazy thread of energy linking their hips, oscillating wildly now. She wonders if he feels it too, or if she’s going spectacularly mad. She can feel him shudder deep and begin to lose himself, and she groans, “Hal… Hal. You have to say it. You have to tell me. Or I won’t. Please. You have to tell me to. Tell me to come. And I will.”
“Ahh, he says,” but I ain’t done you all of the ways you asked, have I?” And he comes, and he comes, and he comes, while she shudders under the spasms. When he pulls out of her, with a softening penis and a deep sigh of happiness, she’s still vibrating madly in her own skin, with her own hot syrupy fluids cooling on her thighs. He lifts both arms around her shoulders, lazily, and looks at her.
“I think you need more,” he says, and his hands cup her breasts, slide into the bra, unhook it, so it hangs crooked and sloppy. “I ain’t done nearly enough to please you. I’m a bad lover, getting all that excited. Nailin’ my princess in a linen closet with your foot on a shelf, that ain’t right.”
“Please,” she begs. All of the fear, all of the day’s terrors, all of it recedes before the vast wave of her need, her body roaring its imperatives, shuddering her in his grip.
“Well, this is nice,” he says, into the darkness, and his hands strokes over her skin, touching her nipples, squeezing her breasts, and none so gently, either. “I did hear a few things, but nothing like this. You ain’t gonna have fun with most of these boys, you’re way too freaky for them. But I know, Princess, I do.”
“How…how..” she gasps, and feels tears leaking down her face.
“You got no idea what a clever woman can do with a boy who turns into a dog,” he says, with the sound of another condom packet ripping open, “and never once give him the right to come out of his kennel, or eat from a table, or fuck in a bed.”
“It’s a story I tell when I’m sad,” he says, flatly. “Right now, my arms full of the hurricane-riding Princess in garters? Nuh-uh.”
“Hal,” she says.
“That wasn’t always my name, but I’ll take it,” he says, and wraps his arms round her, tight. “Hal is a story I tell when I’m nice.”
“Hal,” she pants.
“So now you know half of my secrets, darlin’, and I ain’t kept even half my word to you.”
“Hal,” she says, and it’s painful, the ache in her groin.
His hand slides down her belly, and she shudders. She lurches in his grip. His fingers are covered in an unrolled condom. He slides his latex-covered fingers into the amazing amount of liquid drooled out on her leg, inside her, and he touches her clitoris gently. Then he slides them inside her vagina, wetting them, and says, “Turn,” and she does, and the wet latex-covered fingers brush at her ass, slide swiftly down from the lace into the hot depths, and the fingers rest tormentingly at the part of her anus, just resting there. Her breath hisses in and out of her teeth, she breaths so hard.
“You want it?” he says, and in front, his bare fingertip touches her clitoris. “Want me to bend you over and spank you too? I could do that. I could spank you red, and keep your ass and your cunt as hot as a pistol.”
She draws in a deep breath. “Please, yes,” she says, and the big palm comes down on her flank with a bang like the end of the world.
One rubber-covered finger is inside her ass when she gasps, and then the next strike and the next, until she’s bent over the man’s hot bare knee, sniffling, with her ass stretched by condom lubricant and her own juices, holding three fingers, and the threat of a fourth, and she’s whimpering out loud for mercy.
“You feel good,” Hal says, and rubs her her butt and the hot wide-spread part of her ass, he rubs her pubic hair in front, rubs all around everywhere but the nub of her frozen climax. “Ahhh, I could fuck you all week, just lay in bed and turn you from one side to the other, and have you rub me up one side and down the other with those breasts. And hello, the mouth. Ahh, yes. Let us give praise to that mouth. Rubbing yourself on me, tasting me, making promises with a mouth like that. That mouth wants cock, don’t it?”
She nods, with her eyes leaking tears, draws in a deep breath. “Is it safe? Safe sex, to go down on you?”
“Do you trust me that much?” he says. “Shouldn’t you find out on your own, before you get talked into putting your mouth on me?”
“I didn’t expect– tonight– I wasn’t– it’s been so long–”
“Yeah,” he says, and his hand strokes the lace of her garter. “There’s some older studies show a small risk of AIDS on normal guys, and more if you’re thinking diseases like herpes, but the epidemiology people have been scrambling so badly for funds–” and he puts on a silly voice. “Isn’t medicine fun? It might have made me, too, you know.”
She wipes her eyes. “Something, someone, made you like this?” she says.
“That’s the story when I’m doing history, and boy, is that dry as an old bone.”
“You are silly,” she says again, softly. It’s an strange sensation, not knowing whether she wants to screw him senseless or fold him in her arms. Actually, she wants to do both.
“You still want it?” The question makes her chest hurt.
“Yes, I do,” she says, firmly. “If I’m going to fuck you in a closet, Harold Two Horses, I want it all.”
“You like fucking in closets?”
She finds herself laughing. “I don’t know, I’ve never done it before.”
“You want it all, wow.” He moves, and his voice is harder now. “I think–if I’m clever–I can do both. You won’t move, I tell you not to. Understand?”
“Yes,” she says.
“Right,” he says, and gets them both on their knees, with her face in his crotch and his arms stretched out below that, reaching between her thighs, the fingers still moving on her ass and her cunt. “Now take my cock in your mouth, and tongue it, but don’t move,” he says. “Not even to shift your knees on dirty towels, or for my finger-rubber up your ass, or for my thumb working your cunt,” he says.
Then he starts moving his fingers on her clitoris, and he says, “Now that’s service, having a woman offering herself, anything you want, her tits, or her nice warm wet grabby cunt, or her clean tight little ass, or her mouth. I want to feel that wet mouth wrapped around my cock.”
She swirls her tongue all around his cock, which is still a bit soft, relaxed, almost fragile. She closes her teeth on it, ever so carefully, showing him how much he can trust her, and he doesn’t jerk, he doesn’t flinch, he just goes very still, and he sighs. A long, long sigh.
“That’s so good,” he says. “You gonna bite my cock if I give you release? You gonna make me sorry I let you come?”
She doesn’t move. She doesn’t bob her head to answer. She’s been very well-trained.
He pulls his cock out of her mouth. “You want me to say it? Nah, you want me to say it when I’m coming in your mouth.” He puts it back in her mouth. “If I had lube, I’d come in your ass too. Been hogging this closet a long time, waiting for me to get hard again, I bet somebody might open the door and see you on your knees, sucking me off.”
She feels the jolt of dread, pushing her closer to climax.
He slides it back into her mouth. He’s begun to harden up as he talks, to stiffen and arch upward and his fingers get harsher, moving, the latex beginning to go almost painfully dry in her ass. “If they’re nice, I might let them look at you. You like being looked at, in your lacy underwear? You think you’d like that, somebody watching you serve me? See you on your knees with my fingers way up inside you?”
He pulls out, and she gasps. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
He says, “Reach my pocket. Get out some more condoms, put some more of that lube on my fingers, for your ass. It’s probably dry by now. It don’t last long. So did you wear pretty underwear on show?”
“We did,” she says, struggling to reach around with the packets. “But sex wasn’t part of our contract. He only looked, never touched me, not once in seven years.”
“Ahh. Now that’s sad.”
“So that’s a story for a day when I’m feeling lonely,” she tells the dark, the hot humid air that smells of his sex, and of hers.
“Oh yeah. Not tonight. So you can think about telling me that one, but not tonight. You’re all mine tonight, I don’t wanna share, you gonna have to forego getting put on display, sorry. And some folks, we wouldn’t like knowing, would we? We don’t tell Aunt Frog about what we do in closets all by ourselves, with our pants down and our stash of lube, just imagining we got our own princess all to ourselves and she’s lost her panties oh no. Aunt Frog has some ideas what nasty habits the kennel lady had, but we don’t talk about it. What’s the point?”
He starts pausing sometimes, with the base of his penis mashing the tip of her nose, and his testicles tight at her chin. It’s hard to hear him talk, it must be hard for him to give her words, whispering his truths, but he does.
He says, quiet and harsh and half-lost in the wind, “Nobody who knows what else the dog-boy turns into has ever, ever wanted to get my prick in them. Oh no. Just you. You’re special. You might–if we are both very careful–one day get to fuck me in some of my other shapes. You could even fuck the horse all right, once you got used to him.”
She moans, and he grabs her flank, pressing against the bruises he’s made. “You like that idea? Being fucked by a horse? I can fuck you any shape I take. Don’t laugh, rabbits can do some surprising things when they’re as big as me. You’d like me as a dog, I’d lick you all over and try to hump your leg, I get so crazy. The tusk-boy, though, he’s gonna be rough. He likes cunt, though. Boy he likes cunt. Ugly as sin, so that boy gets no help. You’d think he’d grab girls who ain’t careful at night, but funny thing is, no. He won’t take nothin’ but free, he’s too proud to take what ain’t offered. He only likes it when a woman is really turned on, he knows that smell. He ain’t never been fucked, and he’s proud of it. You think you can bring tusk-boy down to his knees, crying and pleading for cuntjuice? The horse would be the hardest, though. I mean, I’m small for a horse, but still. Up the ass would be easiest. Would you like that, bending over a bale of straw with an uncut stallion covering you? Kennel lady, she was afraid of horse cock, and she had reason to be. Not you. Ain’t no condom big enough for that. You want to play safe, I’d need to wear a whole roll of plastic wrap, and for you? I’d do that.”
He pulls out of her mouth, and his fingers stop moving. “Would you?” he asks, soft enough that it’s hard to hear him over the wind dragging at the walls of the house, groaning.
Grace says, “Would you wear it, when you’re a horse? Would you let me do that to you?”
“Oh yeah, Grace,” and his fingers move again. “For you? Yes.” He gives a snort of a laugh. “I let total strangers pick up my feet and clean out my frogs, hell, I can let you touch me anywhere you like it.”
She frowns, and an image of Lucas howling in diapered fury comes to mind. She has the feeling it may not be that simple. Her jaw hinges ache, so soon, from opening that wide. “We’ll have to see then,” she says, hoarse with the semen she’s swallowed already. She reaches forward then–because she hasn’t allowed herself to put her hands on him, yet–and slides up his thighs with her palms. She reaches forward, and strokes his waist, and his flanks, and the strong upper slopes of his butt.
“If you like it too, then we–” and by God, she’s talking about days in the future, she is, “–then we’ll see what it feels like. You’ll have to be so terribly careful.”
“Yes,” he says. “But a horse is. All the time.”
“You remember, from one shape to the next?”
“A lot of it, not all,” he says. “I don’t remember pain very well. What caused it, I mean.”
“Come here, sweetheart,” she says, and urges him to her, and takes his cock in her mouth as he moves. She whimpers around his cock, holding her head still, running the tip of her tongue in circles just under the head. It’s not just service. It’s not just abasing herself to the needs of another.
She wants the feel of him leaning into that touch, meeting that need drumming his body, the taste of him straining toward her, reaching as clearly as his hands stroking her. It feeds her own tension, winds her up until she’s knotted tighter than Penelope’s macrame. Her hands begin to ache again, the pain burning down the inside of her elbows, and she presses the heat of her body, the rushes of tingling energy, into his flesh with her palms, hoping he feels it, too.
Then he starts to rock his hips a little, sliding his penis very slightly in and out of her lips. Saliva drips out of her lips, down her chin, uncontrollably, with the size of him pushed into her mouth. He starts thrusting in slow, thoughtful drags.
“You think I’m being too rough with you, telling you things like that? You gotta be careful, baby, you gotta be quick and be strong, you gonna fuck me. It’s sad. I’m just telling the truth here, you earned that.” And he pulls out of her mouth.
“No, not too rough. Just honest.” She rubs her cheek against the tender skin on the crease of his hip, presses a kiss there, blinking tears in the dark. “So am I,” she says then.
He touches her hair, cups her head. “I know. Oh, I know. You want me to give it to you?”
“Please,” she pleads, feeling more tears come dribbling uselessly down her face. “I don’t know why, I just– I need– I always did–”
“Oh man, you’re wired like Pen’s house, whacked out all to shit. Okay, then maybe I know what you need,” and he draws her face down, and he pushes himself forcefully into the back of her throat. “Take it.”
The clearly spoken command makes her tense, shivering, then relax into it, and she controls herself. She’s never taken any man’s penis this deep in her throat, and she can either choke on it or submit to it. Fighting it means gagging, and she knows that won’t work. Relax, wait for breath, let his cock slide away again. It takes concentration. She can’t listen to the wind and things banging and the hum of metal things flapping in the wind, she can’t be afraid of anything else, not with his cock hitting her soft palate.
He breathes in short, tight pants. “I need to work on getting back around through these shapes. I probably need to work with you sitting on me like that, just like you did. I know your hands are strong, but it’s more than that. You gotta be strong in your mind, Grace, if I can’t make it back right away from dog shape, wrestling me down from the front door when I’m barking mad at the neighbor. I’m bigger than you, it takes a choke chain. But I loves my people, I do, I run all day happy, being a dog. I’m so happy, lay in your lap and just kick my foot all day long.”
He gives a little hiss of pleasure as she tongues the vein on the underside, giving it particular attention. “God, where did you learn to suck prick like that,” he says. “I bet you know how to wear a strap-on dildo and bend over your boyfriend and fuck him through the mattress too. Wear that double-headed thing in your cunt and fuck him up the ass like my fingers are fucking you, and make him yell. The lady who kept the dog-boy, she liked fucking me up the ass. Found out how much I liked it. I liked a girl fucking me like that. You think you could make me happy fucking me like a boy? Fuck the horse up the ass, with you right there where I might kick? Don’t know if regular horse stallions got that thing doing, but I do.”
She grunts, but she doesn’t move. He’s doing the moving, sliding in and out, not worrying whether she can breath easily.
“You don’t just like a little time getting prick in your mouth,” he says then. “You like it a lot. And the spanking. Boy, have I got some fun things to try.” Then he draw his fingers out of her ass, and he uses that palm to spank her instead, pulling the angle of it so it pushes her forward into him as he shoves himself into her mouth.
Four taps, testing it, and then he’s smacking her steadily, breathing hard, and then he’s saying the word. He says it.
“Come… come now,” he says, in a barrage of smacks, and his thumb between her legs does her clitoris, and she’s floating away from the world in a climax so huge that she has no idea what her mouth does to his cock, although liquid is pouring out of him into her mouth.
She comes harder than anything she’s ever experienced in her life. Ever.
Author’s notes: Another very, ahhhh, interesting collaboration effort. NSFW, FRM for smut and kink.