by Ami Snow
“You taste good, Mr. Travis,” giggled Imogen, squeaking playfully as she batted her eyelashes, “I could suck on this cock all night long.”
“Fuck,” breathed Tucker, throwing his head back, “You're such a good little girl. Go on, baby, have another taste.”
Imogen placed her lips against the tip of his cock, swiveling her tongue around the moist hole. She giggled as she watched him squirm, his knees jerking forward as she planted soft, wet kisses on the top of his cock, a wispy, transparent trail of saliva stretching out against the tip of her small tongue. Tucker watched as her eyes fluttered, his length disappearing inside the warm, wet space of her beautiful, gaping mouth. He grunted, his eyelids drooping shut, his hands tugging at the tangled locks of her hair as he watched the bulge of his cock poke through the flesh of her flushed cheeks, the slurping noises of her mouth echoing throughout the trees.
“I'm sorry – I can't –”
Tucker's eyes flickered open, his legs twitching. His disgruntled expression vanished, and instead, the creases of his forehead deepened in honest concern as his eyes focused on the tears streaming down her sullied cheeks. He scrambled forwards, pulling up his boxers as he placed an arm around her shoulders.
“Imogen,” he whispered, “What's wrong? Did I do something –”
“No, no,” wheezed Imogen, “I'm so sorry, it's nothing – I –”
“We don't have to do this,” said Tucker gently, “Listen to me seriously for a minute – I would never ask you to do anything you're not comfortable with. If this is a mistake –”
“It's not a mistake,” Imogen cut him short, breathing deeply, “Mr. Travis, I just – I brought you out here because I needed you to tell you something but I couldn't – I'm sorry –”
“You couldn't resist?” said Tucker, the smirk returning to his face.
“No,” barked Imogen, taking a deep breath, “It's my hormones –”
“Hormones? That's – wait, what do you mean?” She could almost pinpoint the exact moment the realization dawned on him, clouding over his eyes.
“I'm just gonna be blunt with you – I'm pregnant.”
The word ricocheted in Tucker's ears, his expression darkening. He glanced up at Imogen's wet, glassy eyes staring back at him, her lip trembling as she waited for an answer. He rose to his feet, stumbling towards the darkness. He hurtled forward several feet, stopping abruptly. His heart pounding in his ears, he looked back at the empty space, his eyes dropping to the lone, sparkling glint on the barren dirt – one of Imogen's crystal stud earrings.
Chapter Eight –
“Hey, guys, anyone seen Tucker?”
Ronald pulled the baseball cap over his eyes, shielding his eyes from the garish rays of the sun as he mentally counted off the members of their group. He scowled, turning towards Connor and Macy, who were rolling up their sleeping bags and disassembling their shared tent.
“Connor, did you see Tucker out by the lake?”
“Nope,” Connor shook his head, scrunching his forehead as he peered around him inquisitively, “Haven't seen the dude since last night.”
“He's probably fucked off somewhere,” muttered Imogen under her breath, fidgeting with her bare earlobe. She desperately clawed at the wrinkles of her sleeping bag, hollering over her shoulder, “Anyone seen my earring?”
“Nope, sorry sweetheart,” said Ronald, lingering over her, “Need some help? We gotta hit the road soon.”
“Right,” grumbled Imogen, rising to her feet, “I'll be right back, I'm gonna go retrace my steps and look around for a bit.”
Imogen jogged towards the declining path of the hill. She stopped, placing her hands delicately over her queasy stomach, slowing down. She scrambled towards the familiar tree with the unique marking slashing across the leathered skin of the bark. She dropped on all fours as she dug at the dirt frantically, her fingernails caking with mud and morsels of gravel.
“Looking for this?”
Imogen twitched, turning around, disillusioned, her eyes widening in amazement as Tucker crouched down next to her. He opened his palm, revealing a single, shimmering crystal earring. Tucker coughed awkwardly, feeling a strange rippling in his chest as he watched her richly painted, satin pink lips curve in a demure smile.
“Thanks, Mr. Travis,” said Imogen, piercing the stud through her earlobe.
“Imogen, can we talk?”
She nodded briskly, nervously fumbling with the loose skin of her elbow, bracing herself. She uttered throatily, “Sure, Mr. Travis , but –”
“I honestly think it's time you call me Tucker, you know, seeing as we're in this delicate situation.”
Imogen looked up, smiling half-heartedly, “Right, Tucker. I should tell you, I'm keeping the baby.”
“I figured.”
“You're not mad?” She looked up at him, biting her lip, starting again, “Mr. Travis, I'm not trying to screw you over or blackmail you or anything, but I'm a grown woman –”
“I know, Imogen. I wasn't always a failure, you know. I was gonna be a dad at one point, it was the absolute highlight of my pathetic life. Then Brenda lost the baby –” Tucker sniffed, clearing his throat gruffly, “I'm not letting that happen again.”
“Tucker, listen to me,” said Imogen slowly, taking a skeptical step backwards, “I need you to understand that I want this to go right – I've got a job and some money saved up for a place of my own – it's not much, but I'm gonna make it work.”
“And I'll –”
“No, Tucker, I'm not finished,” said Imogen, her voice quavering. She took a deep breath, sticking out her chest, continuing firmly, “I don't want my child growing up without a father, but you need to think about the choices you're making.”
Tucker's mouth hung open, taken aback. He stuttered, “What are you –”
“It's exactly as it sounds, Tucker,” said Imogen, staring fiercely into his sunken, agitated eyes, “You're not gonna be a part of my child's life if you can't get your head out of the gutter. Get sober, get a real job.”
“Listen,” snarled Tucker, glowering at her.
Imogen stared back at Tucker, her gaze unflinching, eyes narrowed and challenging. She noted how much older he appeared when angered, the wrinkles gathering in his forehead, his thin eyebrows mashing together, the faint indents on the corners of his grimacing mouth deepening. He softened, lowering his eyes, humiliated, “Fuck. You really got me there.”
Imogen cupped her hands under his chin, pulling his face close to hers. She closed her eyes, pressing her lips daintily against his, leaving a light, pinkish smudge on the cupid's bow of his lip. She rubbed the back of her hand against the bristly stubble sprouting out his jawline, whispering, “There's help. I don't think this is a mistake. Everything that's happened – us stumbling into each other's lives after all these years...”
Tucker cleared his throat, his eyes stinging with tears. He pressed on his tear ducts gingerly with his fingertips. It was a strange sensation – he couldn't recall the last time he cried, he had almost forgotten what it felt like. He spoke quietly, his voice hushed, “You're amazing, Imogen. I don't think I've met anyone as strong as you.”
Imogen laughed shakily, “I'm not –”
“I'm serious,” said Tucker, “Listen, Imogen, you're right. I don't want you to do this alone. You're not going to do this alone.”
“Tucker?”
“I'm gonna get sober, I promise. Ya know what's funny? Spent my life trying to drink myself to death – I can't believe I've got something to look forward to now.”
“You've got a dark sense of humor,” said Imogen, sighing as she reached for Tucker's hand, “One day you're gonna have to realize you've got your own life to look forward to.”
“Right,” said Tucker, rubbing the back of his head, a slow smile spreading across his lips, “I can't believe you're only twenty-three. Wise beyond your years, babe.”
“Of course,” said Imogen, a soothing warmth rising inside her chest. She planted
a swift kiss on his cheek, whispering, “We're gonna get through this together.”
“Right,” said Tucker, kissing her softly on the lips.
“Crap,” hissed Imogen, pulling away, “I can't believe I didn't even think of this – what do I tell my dad?”
Tucker shook his head, “Baby steps. I promise you, I'm gonna sober up and get a job – whatever it takes. Whatever happens to us, however the hell this turns out...we've just gotta keep one priority straight,” said Tucker, bending over, his lips just inches from her rounded stomach, “always.”
Imogen stretched out her hand. Tucker looked at her, momentarily stunned. It was as if she was literally radiating, her beauty captured by the golden rays of the sunlight, kissing her creamy, bronzed skin. The breeze ruffled her lustrous mane of dark hair, loose strands brushing against her glowing cheeks. There was a certain look of serene bliss, sparkling in her narrowed, determined eyes. He laced his fingers around hers, the pair walking hand in hand towards the campsite. Imogen turned her head slowly, taking one final glance at her surroundings. A subtle, knowing smile spread across her lips as she looked straight towards the winding, derisive path ahead. Imogen gazed head on, a bright, fearless smile lighting up her fixated, steadfast stare, her palm firmly pressed against the life inside of her. She marched headstrong onto the trail ahead, and with each step she took, her fears slowly slipped away.
THE END
Captivated By Dad’s Best Friend
TABOO ROMANCE
By: Amanda Bolton
Captivated by Dad’s Best Friend
Mack East, three times Mr. Galaxy champion and star of countless action videos, turned and looked at the beautiful young girl sleeping soundly by his side in the hotel room. The contrast of her translucent face nuzzling his massive black bicep was extraordinary. He doubted if Sally, who was twenty-one and voluptuous, weighed half as much as he did when he was in his prime. But what bothered Mack was what he was going to say to her father, Fritz, his old work-out partner and film producer. He still lived at the back of Fritz’s property in a small bungalow.
It had all begun when he got home from the gym last Tuesday. Mack had just received an email from a company that represented celebrities who did the autograph shows up and down the East Coast. Although he never made enough money signing autographs for pictures, posters and books, it was good change to have to fall back on. Plus, he appreciated the fans who still remembered his old movies and videos from the eighties. He had been young in those days with aspirations of making it big in Hollywood. But the acting jobs had faded with the demise of the barbarian movie subgenre in the nineties, forcing him into debt and to taking whatever work he could get. But there were still plenty of people who wanted a minor celebrity as a trainer and the money was good. But not good enough to keep him on the west coast and soon he found himself on the east.
He’d received a call from Fritz five years ago who had heard his old buddy wasn’t doing to good and needed a place to stay. Bodybuilders tended to stick together, at least the ones who had been on the championship circuit, and he took him up on his offer. Fritz had done well with his career. He’d never tried to ride the acting rail, but used the money he received from endorsements to build a successful gym in the northeast. Mack had avoided working at “Fritz Fitness” because it would have been too depressing to be both dependent on his old friend for a room and a salary. So he continued working at the Silver Surface Gymnasium which had brought him to the area. The money wasn’t too bad and it allowed him to pay off some debts and his ex-wives. It also permitted him to pay Fritz rent, something he had vowed to himself to do when he moved into the small bungalow on the back of the property.
Mack stuck to himself in the bungalow, working out a special exercise or just watching old movies on the TV he’d brought along with him. He didn’t even have cable, but the local stations came in clear enough. And he had plenty of DVD’s of the Old Italian sword and sandal movies he had grown up watching as a kid. He credited those movies with keeping him off the streets of the town where he’d grown up in Eastern Pennsylvania. His parents couldn’t afford much, but they helped him join the local gym and paid for his membership which led to the awards he would go on to win. Awards which were stored in a locker.
At forty-five his career seemed over. Few people remembered seeing him on TV or at the Drive-Ins. His movies had never been all that popular, but it helped him with his acting focus. However, the foreign producers seemed to want blond white boys for their starring roles. Black guys from the US were recruited, but usually for supportive and walk-on credits. Still, Mack had nothing but good memories of his film days. He tried to avoid the Hollywood parties with the producers who promised everything and never returned calls. He still had his scrap book on the bookshelf.
So he was excited when the company wanted to know if he would like to be added to the celebrity list at the Late Movie Theater Convention coming up next week. The money wasn’t all that great, but it would get his name back out there and give him a chance to connect with some of his old fans. Granted, most of the younger fans wouldn’t even remember his name, but he was always grateful and willing to sign any book for a small fee. He even had his “Black Hercules” banner all ready to put up behind him and stack of photos to autograph. It would be fun and they promised to supply him with a hotel room as well. Curling a fifty pound dumb bell by his table was always a sure-fire way to attract some female attention.
His only problem was that he didn’t have a car any longer. Driving around on the east coast could be expensive and he no longer had the money to afford the repair and insurance bills for one. Mack had sold his last car when he moved in to the back of Fritz’s place. He lived close enough to the bus lines and had no problems taking one to the gym where he worked every day. Besides, the bus allowed him the chance to read on the way to work.
He looked at the schedules for the bus line to and from the hotel where the convention would be held. There was just no way he could make it happen. Even taking the train involved implied that at some point he would have to go from one spot to another in less than an hour. With the unpredictable weather, he could just imagine himself trying to run from one bus stop to the next in the middle of a thunder storm.
Which meant he had only one choice: go ask Fritz for some help.
He tried to have as little with Fritz’s family as possible. It was bad enough he was forced to turn to the man for charity, it was worse to look at someone who had started their career after he did and had out-stripped him in fortune. But Fritz was a good guy and left Mack alone, just made sure he got his monthly rent check and would occasional ask the big man to watch the house when he left on a trip.
Like Mack, Fritz now lived alone. There had been a wife when he first moved in, but Fritz managed to get divorced from her soon after. It had been a bad affair and he refused to mention the woman’s name. Fritz had a daughter from that marriage, Sally, but Mack didn’t see her too often. He used to have her on weekends and she was a teenager when Mack first moved into the bungalow. He remembered her as a boppy little white girl who was into pink and whatever was popular on TV that month. She seemed to have inherited her mother’s looks and her dad’s common sense.
But Mack had no choice but to see if Fritz could get him to the hotel for the show. He didn’t have enough time to arrange anything else and a cab was too expensive. He’d offer to pay Fritz for the gas and his old friend knew he would be good for it. It was still humiliating to do it, though. It was such times Mack could remember being the man who hogged all the attention when Fritz first showed up at the gym, a scrawny little German kid, fresh off the plane from Bavaria trying to make it big in America. Mack had taken him under his wing and showed him the basic exercises he had to do and what to eat. Now he was the one going to his former student for help.
Mack walked up the driveway wearing a muscle shirt, shorts and a pair of flip flops. He wasn’t big on being formal at home, that was for people with desk jobs
. As he came up the concrete he saw Irene, Fritz’s lastest woman. Irene had stuck around longer than most and Mack wondered if Fritz might me keeping her around permanently. She was a lawyer with her own practice down in Wilmington and she came up to see Fritz on the weekends. Irene was a tall Irish lady who specialized in property law and managed to look good in a pants suit. Fritz had referred to her as his girlfriend the last time he saw them together. She was just getting out of her SUV when she saw Mack.
“Hello, Irene,” he greeted her, “have you seen Fritz? I need to ask him a favor.”
“In the house, I think,” she told him. Irene was hauling out some briefcases which meant she was going to be around for the weekend. Mack went in the side door, calling out his friend’s name.
He found Fritz with his daughter Sally in the TV room. Fritz had bought one of those projection TV’s and liked to use it to watch the game on Sundays. He’d invited Mack over a few times, but Mack usually worked on those days so never had a chance to take him up on it.
“Hello, Mack,” Fritz called out to him, “You remember my little girl don’t you? She just turned twenty-one last month, can you believe that?”
“They grow up so fast,” Mack agreed. He hadn’t seen either of the kids he’d had with his ex-wives in years. He assumed the money he sent out there went to their upkeep.
Sally had grown and filled out nicely. She was a good five-five and had curves to spare. She took after he dad and was very fair with blond hair which cascaded down her back. She was wearing a backless top and heels which showed off what she had to offer. She turned her baby blue eyes on Mack and smiled.
