by Jess Bentley
Immediately the boyfriend is behind her, biting her shoulders, pulling her flimsy tank top down to her waist. Her breasts overflow from his hands, bulging out between his splayed fingers. She arches her back, writhing between them, sandwiched immediately. Overwhelmed. Embraced.
Even though I have seen this video dozens of times, it still trips a switch inside me. My belly is flooded with warmth. My fingers drift up my thighs, instinctively finding that warm seam that so desperately needs to be touched.
Rocking against my fingers, I am careful not to touch myself too vigorously. I am still a little tender from the waxing, and every sensation is magnified a hundred times. I am lit up like a string of Christmas lights. I am vibrating, slippery and hot, holding myself back as my fingers tease my lips, trying to time myself to the best parts of the video.
Here it comes. They’ve all undressed and now kiss and wrestle with each other, slippery as seals, beautiful molded flesh twisting in a complicated choreography. It takes my breath away to watch them trying to balance and satisfy each other at the same time. Trying to negotiate how they take turns, to make sure everybody gets off a fair amount.
And here, the amazing apex. I spread my thighs, rocking forward so that my fingers are pinned underneath me. I can slide back and forth, varying the pressure as I ride myself, urging closer and closer to climax.
The woman feigns surprise as her boyfriend spreads her ass cheeks. He squirts out a generous handful of lube that slides down the tanned channel of her spine and streaks around her dark entrance.
At the same time, the best friend licks his fingers and scissors her lips open from the front. It’s amazing. They’re going to do it. She knows it. She wants it.
Dropping her head back so that her eyes half close, she seems to almost go limp between them like a ragdoll as they both breach her orifices at the same time. One in her ass, one in her pussy. Simultaneous and outrageous. Huge, throbbing, almost brutal.
I match my rocking to theirs, knowing just how long it takes for her to reach a shrieking, shattering orgasm. That’s what I want. Right there.
And I find it. Yet it still blows me away. White lights fracture in front of my eyes, splintering and then raining down in front of me like fireworks glittering against the night sky before dropping back to the earth in spent ash.
After it’s over, another video automatically plays, but I don’t want to see it. I just close the laptop and let the images linger on the inside of my eyelids like burned-in negatives.
Maybe Mona is right. Maybe I am kind of freaky now. Maybe porn has ruined me. But nothing that feels this good can be 100 percent wrong.
Chapter 4
Cass
Scanning the email again, I let the relevant words jump out at me. Offer… Service… New York… Promotion? Sort of.
If I am being honest, half of me knows this is the right thing to do. After all, it’s not every day that your run-of-the-mill paratrooper gets a chance to rise to leadership like this. I mean, coordinating all of the National Guard in the Northeast? Ensuring border and coastal safety from Maine down to the Carolinas? It’s amazing.
But the other half of me thinks that another tour of duty is the way to go. Or as many tours as it takes. It’s not just the rush of flying by night into enemy territory, strapping up, then leaping out into the black night air, silently falling to the earth behind enemy lines. Executing the mission with deadly efficiency. Returning a hero, even if you can’t tell anyone about it.
I mean, that’s the real American dream, right?
But I know that in reality, that dream has an expiration date on it. Eventually anyone who is any good gets promoted to leadership. And I am very, very good. One of the best. It is sad that means getting grounded while the people who report to me still get to fly, still get to jump.
If I took the job in New York it would be domestic training missions instead of enemy combat, but at least I would still be jumping. I would still be doing some good a few thousand feet in the sky.
Growling to myself, I snap the laptop closed. I don’t have to make this decision tonight. I don’t have to make this decision for a week. I’m sure the answer will come to me. Retire gracefully and take a leadership position at the oldest military base in the country, or continue signing up for tours until they put me out to pasture like any other soldier?
That is the question.
But not for today.
Will appears in my doorway, blocking the whole damn thing. He stands with his forearms on the top of the door frame, flexing as he leans into the room.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask.
“I’m ready to go,” he informs me. “It’s stuffy in here. Let’s go get a beer.”
Nodding, I realize that’s probably the best plan for the evening. It’s Friday, it’s hot, and staring at emails is not going to magically create an answer for me.
“Yeah, all right,” I shrug, standing. Glancing in the mirror, I seem to be decently dressed. Jeans. Clean T-shirt. Clean shave. Just got my haircut this week.
“Burgers?” Will asks.
He looks me up and down as though he is also glancing in the mirror. Since we are twins, sometimes it feels like looking at my own reflection. But we’re not exactly the same. I like action. Will likes plans. I like jumping. Will likes mapping out the strategy with little circles and triangles to indicate the different players in the op.
After high school, we both did a couple of years of college. Our dad wanted us to go right into the military, but our mother thought more schooling would make us better soldiers, in a way. More worldly. She said that education certainly couldn’t hurt a soldier.
But after two years, we had both had enough. The urge to serve was just too strong. Besides, growing up in North Carolina, you’re constantly surrounded by the most elite of armed forces. Paratroopers. Eighty-second Airborne. Special Forces. They say that when the president picks up the red phone, the phone rings at Fort Bragg. And as far as I know, that is true. If it ever came to that, our nation would be in good hands.
Will got a two-year degree without even trying. It seemed like just showing up was enough for them to give him anything he wanted. That seemed to satisfy our mother, and she allowed us to enlist even though I hadn’t gotten as far as Will did.
And then he even kept going. Now he has a bachelors degree in American history. He’s a regular brainiac, practically a scholar of military strategy.
I am a better shot, though. Just saying.
So, despite being a man of few words, Will is actually the brains of this operation. He even outranks me, but if he is smart he doesn’t bring that up too often.
I would call him a bastard, but since we are twins that would make me…
“Burgers sound good. I could use a beer.”
As I walk forward, Will pivots out of the doorway. We are careful not to bump into each other too often in this tiny townhouse. I am glad we got housing close to the base, but it is barely bigger than the footlockers we had in the barracks during basic training. For two big guys, it takes a lot of mental energy to stay out of each other’s way.
“Yeah, good,” Will says distractedly. “Let’s get out of here.”
The email flashes through my mind again. I push it away, but realize that it would be difficult to escape thinking about it so close to government land.
“Hey, how about we go off-base?” I suggest innocently.
Will pivots toward me again, scowling.
“The NCO club has jalapeno poppers.”
“Every place has jalapeno poppers,” I scoff. “I’m just saying that it’s nice to get out, right? Live among the free peoples? What, are you afraid they are going to offer you a college professorship or something?”
Will rolls his eyes.
“No, man, I’m committed to the cause. You know that. Five minutes.”
He walks away before I can catch his eye. This is a conversation we have had many times. Will doesn’t really love the military
the way I love the military. Like I said, he’s the brains. He would rather be writing books or some kind of bullshit like that than actually living the military life. Not that he would ever admit it. But I know my brother. He has a strong sense of duty, but would probably rather be performing that duty behind a desk if he could.
Still, I’m glad I won the argument. I don’t want to risk running into anybody here who might ask about the email. Not that anybody would. I mean, chances are slim. With 250 square miles of military base around here, and all of the secrets operations going on at any time, nobody really asks a lot of personal questions. We all know better. You never know when you’re going to run into somebody who is legitimately working on a top-secret project of national security. That thing where people joke about how “I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you?” Not really a joke around here.
Since it is Friday night, I know just the place. Will is going to hate it, or at least that’s what he will try to say. Secretly, he’s going to love it. I will make sure of it.
“Hey, quick,” I call out, slamming two shot glasses on the counter and filling them with Patron.
Will raises an eyebrow at me. “Seriously? Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Nah, I know what a lightweight you are.” I shrug innocently as I shoot back the ounce of tequila.
I can feel it seeping through my chest, warm and sharp. Feels good. Feels really good.
Will swallows his without complaint, and I fill the glasses up again without saying anything. He doesn’t even remark on it, just knocks it back and then rinses out his shot glass in the sink.
“That’s enough, let’s get going.”
Is it enough? I’m not sure. I take another quick shot for good measure, just in case. I’m a big guy.
All the towns around the base seem to still be half military. We would have to go practically to the state line to experience real civilian life. But at least we can get a taste of it here.
And you can tell who is active duty and who is civilian. People either have that look of predator or prey about them. Not in a bad way… it’s just that there are sheep, and there are sheepdogs. And then there are wolves. The sheep don’t really know they are sheep. It’s our job to know they are sheep, and keep them safe in their happy little sheep lives.
But every once in a while, there are people who seem to kind of straddle the fence. Sometimes I will look at a guy and it takes a half a second to figure it out: is he really a soldier, or just some hard-on who wants to fight? The difference is courage. That’s how you can really tell.
Like this guy Ty. I know what he is. Everybody can see exactly what he is.
Our boot heels crunch on the gravel as we cross the parking lot. Ty is sitting next to the door outside, slumped on a barstool while he stares at his phone. When he notices our approach, he stands up, heels shoulder-width apart. I don’t know if he is doing it on purpose, but he is trying to front like he has some kind of military training. Like he’s ready to go.
Next to me, I feel Will bristle slightly. He senses the challenge too. He may be the brains of the operation, but he is still a fucking giant. He could beat down Ty without breaking a sweat.
“Who is this guy?” Will asks under his breath.
Without breaking stride, I answer, “Club owner. Thinks he is tough. He’s nobody.”
Ty breaks into a crooked, snaggletooth smile as soon as we are under the awning. It is a smile that could easily turn into a deal, if we were the kind of people who were here to make a deal. It is a smile that says he is offering more than just entry into his bar, if we happened to be looking for more.
We aren’t looking for more. I hope he doesn’t try offering any of the drugs or girls or gambling that he thinks he is kingpinning to Will. That would make for a very rough evening. Will doesn’t appreciate that kind of stuff at all.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Ty drawls with a slippery Southern accent.
I pull a twenty out of my pocket and hand it to him. He glances down with a slight scowl of disappointment. Apparently he was looking for more.
“Well, okay, go right in,” he smiles, gesturing toward the door. Lights pulse from behind the darkened glass.
Before Will can really get a bead on that guy, I shepherd him toward the door. Once we’re safely inside, he gives me a sideways look and scowl to let me know that it’s too late. He figured out what kind of lowlife Ty is.
“Nice place you brought me to,” he mutters sarcastically. “You come here often? You got some kind of secret life I don’t know about?”
Peering through the darkness and inconvenient strobe lights, I locate a table and nudge Will toward it.
“Just sit down,” I suggest tensely. “Think of it as dinner and a show, okay? I’m just hungry. Aren’t you hungry? Let’s get some beers and try to have a good time.”
When I finally get him settled, I watch him look around the room out of the corner of my eye. He will find a way to have a good time, I know it. All I need to do is get him to relax a little bit and we can maybe live in the moment for once.
“Well, hello, boys,” the woman says, wiping down the middle tabletop with a bar rag and flipping out a napkin and pen to take our order. “Can I get you something to drink? You thirsty?”
“Couple of shots of Patron,” I answer right away. “And a couple of Budweisers… Basket of poppers and fried pickles… Will? You want something too?”
Will scowls and shakes his head, turning away. He is not amused by my little joke about ordering half the menu for myself.
“Honey?” the waitress insists, leaning toward him and dragging her fingers along the outside of his arm.
It is a Southern thing, the way women are affectionate, yet conniving. She’s trying to get him to engage. Using those charms God gave her.
And it works. I’m sure he doesn’t want it to, but I can see him relax just a little bit under the touch of her fingers. He’s a big scary guy, but he’s just a guy after all.
“Okay, yeah,” he finally sighs. “Cheeseburger, medium rare. Bacon and mushrooms.”
“That sounds delicious,” she coos, leaving his arm with a brief pat and scribbling a note on her stack of napkins. “I’ll be right back with those drinks.”
She gives us each a wink, shaking her light brown curls over her shoulders just because she can. She’s curvy and… sturdy is the word I would use. Not a lightweight. She struts away, lithe as a bobcat.
“See? I knew you were gonna love this place,” I smile, trying to get him to loosen up a bit. “You just gotta give it a chance. Trust me. It gets better.”
“What is that supposed to mean? It gets better? Does it get cleaner or something?”
“It’s not so bad, is it?” I ask, glancing around.
He’s got a point, I guess. I am sure the lights are low for a reason. It’s not a total dive, though, and we have definitely been in worse places. He’s just tense.
“I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I guess it’s not that terrible. Local culture and whatnot.”
“That’s the spirit,” I smile.
Will flexes his shoulders, then relaxes.
“Are the burgers any good?”
“Yeah, really good.”
“Can we get them to go?”
“Oh, ha, funny. No… I mean, maybe, but I brought you here for a reason. This place is okay. Trust me. The show should start any minute.”
Will stiffens, looking around. “What show? What are you talking about? You didn’t say anything about a…”
But he is cut off immediately by the sound of a voice coming out over the PA system. A smoke machine blasts in the corner, sending a cold fog across the floor. Lasers shoot over the ceiling. It’s kind of ridiculous, but also kind of fun.
“Good evening, everybody! Welcome to Sweeney’s Friday night!” comes a voice that I instantly recognize as Ty’s.
It puts a sour taste in my mouth, but I will try to ignore that.
“Are you guys ready
to have a good time?”
A couple of hoots ring out from the back of the room and there is a smattering of clapping from over by the pool tables.
“I said, are you guys ready to have a good time? It’s Friday night, assholes! Let me hear some noise!”
Everybody but Will and I get in on the action, offering up a cheer, a yell, a whistle.
“That’s more like it! All right… you know the rules. Hands to yourself, unless she is asking for it! Singles are appreciated, you cheap bastards, but tens and twenties are better! These ladies work for a living. Let’s show them some hospitality!”
“Hold on, what is this?” I hear Will mutter.
But it’s too late. The show has started. I know he’s going to love it.
Three women walk out from the dark hallway at the back of the room, probably from the ladies’ room. The first two offer practiced, small-town beauty-queen smiles as they stride through the tables and barstools, moving their hips to the slow country jam that pulses through the speakers.
Big hair and glossy lips, they seem to be scoping out territory, trying to figure out where to best position themselves for tips. The first one is in a cute little nightgown that comes down just below her hips. I’m sure she is wearing panties, but I can’t see them from here. Her long legs end in bright pink slipper heels that clack against the floor as she walks past.
“Strippers?” Will asks quietly. “How is this even…”
“Oh, we’re not strippers!” the woman says suddenly, spinning around to reverse course and look him right in the eye. She shrugs one shoulder so that the strap of her nightgown slips down. I can see Will glance at the motion, then force himself to look back up at her eyes. Such a gentleman.
“This is a lingerie show, honey,” she purrs, just audible over the music. “Haven’t you ever been to a lingerie show?”
He glances at me, alarmed and half pissed. She senses his discomfort and smiles at me hopefully, giving our table one last chance. Then she seems to figure out she is not going to be making any money here, and shrugs sweetly as she abandons us.
“Well, you boys have a nice night. Just holler if you need anything, okay?”
