by Selena Kitt
“Please don’t tell me it’s an empty plate.”
“No.” She smiled. “Brownies. All you can eat. A whole pile of them, still warm.”
“Mmmmm.”
“So you go over and pick up a brownie… now what do you do?”
“Oh this is an interactive story?” Clay cleared his throat. “Ummm… I gobble down that brownie in two seconds flat, in fact, I just eat the whole damned batch, gulp, in one glorious sitting.”
“Noooo!” Erica kicked her bare feet on the seat, rolling from side to side in protest. “Wrong answer!”
“Damn. No $64,000? No brownies?”
“You have to take your time,” Erica emphasized. “You’ve been thinking about that brownie, smelling it, looking at it, and now you finally have it in your hand and you want to taste it… but you want to savor it. You want to really, thoroughly enjoy it. So lick a little bit of the frosting. Nibble. Go slow. Savor it.”
“Wait a minute, you aren’t talking about brownies are you.” Clay tickled her knees, making Erica laugh and squirm. “This is a metaphor isn’t it?”
“You’re very quick.”
“My bananas are all in a complete bunch, I tell you.”
“That’s what it’s like,” she said, taking his hand and placing it over her mound. “To put your mouth down here.”
Clay groaned when she parted her swollen lips using his fingers, her hands guiding him.
“See… soft, warm, gooey…” She grinned. “But I have to tell you about the secret spot. When you finally get to that spot, it’s less like savoring that brownie and more like licking a Tootsie Pop. You just lick, lick, lick until you finally get to the middle.”
“I’m confused,” Clay murmured, his fingers starting to move on their own, exploring the pink labyrinth of her sex. “Am I nibbling or chewing? Or licking? Oh wow, it’s so hot in there…”
Erica slipped his fingers inside, moving them in and out. “Like that. Mmm hmm. Good. Now, how coordinated are you? Can you walk and chew gum at the same time.”
“Uh I think so… do I have to try it? And are we switching candy and dessert items here? From brownies to Tootsie Pops to gum… I’m still confused.”
“Feel this?” Erica used his finger to brush over that little sensitive bud of flesh at the top of her cleft. “That’s the spot. That’s the center of the Tootsie Pop. That’s where you stay and lick and lick and ohhhh yes… if that was your tongue… oh God…”
“Okay, to hell with the dress rehearsal,” Clay said. “Let’s do this thing.”
Erica happily opened her legs for his eager mouth, and Clay spent a long time kissing her thighs, her mound, parting her with his fingers first, then his tongue, teasing, nudging that spot with his nose, his tongue delving lower.
“Wow, you take direction well.” Erica complimented him as he finally, oh sweet Jesus in heaven, finally flickered his tongue back and forth over that magic little button.
“Yes, I’m sure I’ll have a long, successful career in the armed forces, taking orders from my superiors. Or maybe I’ll be a Tootsie Pop licker. That’s a job, isn’t it? Someone has to do it…”
“Stop talking.” Erica moaned, undoing her bra and flinging it off so she could play with her own nipples. “Lick.”
He had teased her so long and so well, she was more than ready for her climax, and Clay did just as he was told, lick, lick, lick, his fingers moving in and out, the wet squelching sound filling the car as Erica thrust her hips up toward his delightfully torturous tongue.
“Ohhhh Clay!” Erica cried. “Now! Ohhh Clay now, now, lick it! Now!”
She shuddered, her orgasm lifting her pelvis off the seat with a thick, wet sound, her bottom peeling away from the vinyl, and Clay made a low noise in his throat as she quivered in his hands, under his lightning fast tongue.
“Wowwwwww.” He lifted his head, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, and asked, “Can we do that again?”
Erica giggled as he climbed on top of her and she pulled his head down so she could kiss him full on the mouth, her tongue thrusting, tasting herself.
“Mmmm.” She met his eyes in the dimness. “I taste good.”
“That is very wicked and incredibly arousing. Why is that?”
“Oh goodness, feels like you’re nice and ready again. What are we going to do about that?”
“Go make brownies?”
“Okay.” Erica reached for her clothes and Clay sat up, stunned until she burst out laughing. “Your face! Oh that was precious!”
“Ha.Ha.” Clay grabbed her and pinned her down on the seat, holding her wrists above her head while he tickled her ribs and under her arms, making her howl with laughter.
“Bad girl,” he chastised, kissing the tip of her nose. “That’s what bad girls get.”
Erica pouted. “I thought bad girls got spankings.”
Clay’s eyes brightened. “You asked for it…”
“No, no!” Erica protested, twisting from side to side under him so he couldn’t reach her bottom. “But wait… do that again, what you were doing before…”
He frowned. “What?”
Erica put her wrists above her head. “Hold my hands up here. By my wrists. Yes, like that.”
“Now what?”
“Now put it me.”
Clay eagerly complied. Erica sighed happily, feeling him slide inside of her, taking the weight of him, the heat of him, so hot inside she felt like the core of the earth pulling him toward her center.
“Oh Erica,” he whispered. “Oh God that feels so good. I can’t stand it. I can’t…”
“Hold me down,” she whispered, urging him with her voice, her hips, “Hold me down and take me. Yes, like that. Do whatever you want to me, Clay. I’m totally yours. Do whatever you want.”
“Oh God!” he exclaimed, hand tightening around her wrists, hips thrusting deep, deeper, deepest, Erica taking all of him at the end, feeling his final release not just between her thighs, where he was spilling his seed like a white river of molten liquid, but in the way he squeezed her wrists in his hands, with the same rhythmic pulse, keeping her locked in his little prison of pleasure.
“Mmm.” Erica kissed his cheek as he started to come back into his body. “That was a very good lesson. I learned how to throw newspapers and you…”
Clay lifted his head and looked down at her. “And you have newsprint all over you.”
Erica glanced down to see his handprints on her thighs, her waist, even her breasts. The ink from the papers had rubbed off on his hands and then rubbed off on her skin.
“Something to remember you by.” She giggled. “Now you’d better take me home. I have to meet my best friend at Hudson’s tomorrow to pick out a wedding dress, so I need my beauty sleep.”
“No you don’t.” He kissed her nose and shook his head. “You couldn’t get any more beautiful. If you did, my head would explode.”
“Well we can’t have that. I hate cleaning up messes.”
“That explains the swallowing.”
Erica laughed and punched him in the arm.
Chapter Seven
“Erica?” Leah hesitated in front of Erica’s bedroom, calling softly. She rapped on the door—such a foreign gesture. Before things had gotten so complicated, Leah would have just walked into her room and climbed in bed with her best friend. But they weren’t just best friends anymore. Leah was about to marry Erica’s father, and whether they liked it or not, whether they talked about it or not, that changed everything. Erica’s mood changed like the wind lately. One moment they were the best of friends, the next you’d have thought Leah was responsible for all of the failings of the Western world
“Go away!” came the muffled reply.
Leah sighed, knocking again. “Erica, can I talk to you?”
Rob could sleep through a nuclear blast, but since Grace was born, Leah had slept lightly and she’d heard Erica leaving the warehouse late at night, coming back in the wee hours of the morning. Le
ah knew the pattern well—she’d done it herself when she was sneaking out to meet Rob. Erica clearly had a new love interest, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that it was Clayton Marshall Webber III.
“It’s almost noon. Are you going to sleep all day?”
Leah heard Erica’s gasp and a moment later the door flew open and Erica stood there in a pink satin robe, holding the ends together with one hand, her hair a tousled mess, eyes bloodshot. Without makeup to cover it, Leah could see the dark circles under them.
“What time did you say?”
“Noon,” Leah repeated, watching Erica bolt to her dresser, rifling through her clothes.
“Shit!” Erica stepped into a pair of panties, pulling them up. “I’m late!”
“For what?” Leah sat on Erica’s bed like she used to, looking around the familiar room, everything frilly and pink. “I thought we could go to lunch at Hudson’s. I wanted to buy you jewelry to wear for the wedding. As my bridal gift.”
“Can’t today.” Erica hooked her bra, pulling a white sweatshirt over her head, making more of a mess of her blond hair. “Have you found a place to have this shindig yet?”
Leah sighed, shaking her head. “I hate to go to the Justice of the Peace. I don’t know how in the world I’m going to plan this wedding on such short notice. I may have to give up the idea, I don’t know. How are we going to find a reception hall on this sort of a notice? It will have to be the fastest wedding planned. You’d think I was pregnant or something!”
Erica snorted. “And what about invitations?”
“Well as soon as we know when and where!” Leah rolled her eyes. “Rob said he’d have a courier hand deliver them if he had to, in order to save time. Tomorrow we’re going for the blood test and to apply for the license.”
“Blood test,” Erica muttered. “Right.”
Leah frowned, hesitating before asking, “Erica, where have you been sneaking off to at night?”
Her friend paused as she reached for her dungarees. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, you can tell me. We’re best friends, remember?” Leah reminded her, watching Erica pull on her pants. “Is it that boy Clay, the one you invited to Christmas dinner?”
“If you must know… yes.” Erica scowled, grabbing a hairbrush off her dresser. “But don’t tell him.”
Leah flushed, shaking her head. “I won’t.”
“I know better.” Erica scoffed. “Now that you’re getting married, you’ll tell each other everything.”
“Why are you so mad at me?” Leah wondered out loud. “Is it because I’m marrying your father? Because I thought we were over that…”
“Over it?” Erica snorted, yanking the hairbrush through a tangle. “Yeah I’m over it. Besides, he’s not my father. And you are most definitely not my mother.”
“What?”
Erica opened a jar of cold cream on her dresser. “My mother wasn’t even my mother, so as far as I’m concerned, none of you can tell me what to do.”
Leah sat up straight, frowning at her friend’s reflection in the mirror as she spread white stuff over her face. “What are you talking about?”
Erica rolled her eyes. “Look, I know you’re living in your own little world right now, and everyone’s walking on eggshells trying to protect you, but God, Leah, you aren’t the only person in the world. You’re not even the only person in this house.”
Leah’s heart felt like it was beating in her throat. “What do you mean Rob’s not your father?”
“You know the blood test which proved he wasn’t your father?” Erica asked, using tissues to wipe away the white cream on her cheeks.
Leah nodded. She had been so grateful to Father Michael for volunteering to do some digging while she was still at Magdalene House and see if he could prove, one way or the other, if Robert Nolan was her biological father, as Leah’s mother had initially claimed. The test had mercifully come back conclusively ruling him out as her biological father.
“Yeah, well… you and I have the same blood type.” Erica rubbed foundation on her face from her compact with a sponge, covering the dark circles as best she could. “That blood test ruled him out as my father too.”
Leah gaped at her. “How… what…?”
“I’m adopted,” Erica explained patiently, dusting her face with powder. “They adopted me when I was a baby. From Magdalene House. How’s that for a kick in the pants?”
“Wow.” Leah blinked in disbelief. They had talked a little since Leah had come home—Leah had told Erica about living at Magdalene House, the girls she’d met there, her experience of pregnancy and birth, but Erica had been moot about what she’d done and what had happened while Leah was gone. Leah knew something had happened, because she had seen Erica taking part in the Mary Magdalene ritual, but she didn’t know how to approach her about it. How could she tell Erica she’d seen her that night?
Finally, she just blurted it out. “I’m a Magdalene baby, Erica.”
Erica stopped applying her lipstick, only the top one painted. “What?”
“My mother told me. Finally, she told me the truth.” Leah swallowed, meeting Erica’s eyes in the mirror. “She and your mother… they were in the Mary Magdalenes together.”
“I know.” Erica looked thoughtful, painting her bottom lip. “But I didn’t know you were... I should have realized…”
Leah made a face. “It’s not great news, but it’s better than thinking Rob was my father.”
Erica smacked her lips together, turning to face her friend. “Just how much did your mom tell you?”
“Not much.” Leah shrugged, taking a deep breath before taking the plunge. “But I already knew most of it, Erica. I was there… I saw you… I saw your Dad—er… Rob. I saw you both.”
Erica blinked in surprise. “I saw you too.”
“You did?” Leah gasped, wide-eyed. She held out her hand and Erica took it, coming to sit beside her on the bed. “How did it happen? How did you get involved?”
“It’s a long story. It started when I found my mother’s journals, from before I was born... well, adopted. You aren’t going to believe this.” Erica laughed, shaking her head. “But my mother was in love with Father Patrick.”
Leah nodded. “That’s what my mother said.”
“She told you?” Erica raised her finely arched eyebrows. “Anyway, you know me and secrets. I have to poke my nose in everything.”
Leah laughed. “Curious kitty cat.”
“It was all so mysterious and scandalous, and I just kept on, wanting to find out more. I kept thinking I was going to infiltrate this secret society and expose them and what a big story that would be…” Erica laughed at the way Leah was looking at her. “I know, I know, curiosity killed the cat. And before I knew it, I was drugged up and strapped to a cross…”
“They drug you?”
Erica wrinkled her nose. “That’s not all they do.”
“I noticed.” Leah couldn’t get the images out of her mind, the Marys in white being pleasured on one half of the room, the Magdalenes in red being gagged and bound, sometimes whipped, on the other.
“How in the world did you get involved?” Erica wondered out loud.
“There was a girl at Magdalene House,” Leah explained. “I told you about her. The redhead who reminded me of you. She was one of the Magdalenes. She told me about because she wanted me to come with her for that ritual. I guess they were paying girls to be, like, waitresses…?”
“Oh the attendants. The girls in blue?”
“Yes,” Leah agreed. “I mean, it paid a fortune. Fifty dollars! I thought I could use that money to run away from Magdalene House with my baby. Besides, I didn’t really quite believe her, not at first. I just thought… I don’t know what I thought. But I didn’t expect to walk into that…”
“Who would?” Erica chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “Anyway, once I found out that Daddy… Rob… was involved, well… what could
I do? If I told anyone, he’d get in trouble too. Besides, they make it pretty clear, once you’re in, it’s a lifetime sort of commitment. If you tell… there are consequences.”
“Father Patrick told you that?”
Erica gave a little shudder, reaching for one of her Keds. “He scares me, Leah.”
“He scares me too.” Leah remembered the way he’d been at their dinner table, so smug and patronizing, telling her she was a sinner in the eyes of God, that her baby was a bastard, unclean, and would remain unbaptized. After everything she’d seen, knowing now what she did about what Father Patrick had done, not only to Erica, but to Erica’s mother as well, his holier-than-thou attitude astounded and offended her.
But of course he thought he was above them, above it all. Untouchable. Leah had been around nuns and priests her whole life, and she’d learned her lessons well. It was hard not to think of them all as infallible, even invincible. She remembered her mother’s words—he was like a living god—and shivered. They took young, impressionable girls and brainwashed them into their ritualized sect, drugged them, abused them, and used their years of Catholic indoctrination about the infallibility and irreproachability of the church to keep them from revealing the secret.
It made Leah burn with anger. “It all scares me, Erica. I’m afraid for you. It’s like some well-oiled machine. The Mary Magdalenes have sex with the priests and the girls who are unlucky enough to get pregnant end up at places like Magdalene House, forced to give up their babies. And the church profits from it all. I don’t care how much hush money they give them, it’s not enough. It could never be enough. My mother said they make double that on the babies they adopt out. They’re profiting from this everywhere you turn. Even the girls who aren’t Magdalene’s—I told you about that sweet woman, Jean, the one who was mentally retarded? Her family just left her there, and they put her to work in the laundry. And they get away with it. Either they brainwash everyone into not talking about it, or if that doesn’t work, they scare them silly. Besides, who would believe it, even if you did say something? It would be your word against… what, a thousand clergy?”
