“My Babysitter’s a Vampire,” I said. “But we all watched that recently.”
“Well, you’re the expert,” he said. “What do you suggest?”
I got out my smart phone, and after much debate, we watched The Little Vampire.
CHAPTER NINE
I think that I get labeled a sex comic just because I'm a woman. Like, a guy could get up here and literally pull his dick out and people would be like, 'He's a thinker.'
~ Amy Schumer
ONCE THE HOUSE WAS QUIET, and everyone else had gone to their rooms, I took Peter’s hand. I lead him, scandalously, to the guest bedroom. It was one of those all-purpose rooms with a queen-sized bed, too many pillows, and a fancy comforter. How many out-of-town visitors had fucked on that mattress, I had no idea, nor did I particularly want the image in my mind.
“Help me throw all this shit in the corner,” I said reaching for the lace-trimmed pillows with embroidered Bible verses on them.
“Your sister likes to decorate,” he said without any hint of derision.
“I do too,” I said. “But I lean towards Japanese simplicity and not mass confusion.”
“It’s not that bad," he said seriously, causing me to question his taste. Picking up a pillow, he read its message, “Whatever you do, do it for the Lord.”
“I will be shouting, 'Oh God,' in a few minutes,” I said. “Does that count?”
“You’d better not shout too loud,” Peter said.
“Why the fuck not?”
“I don’t want your family to dislike me after only just meeting them.”
“They’re asleep,” I explained.
“They won’t be…”
I stripped off my clothes entirely. Getting started first and then undressing in the middle of foreplay is fun, but I’d been worked up since pre-dinner. He had his hands on me during the PG-rated vampire film, and I thought I was about to lose it a few times.
I wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.
“No foreplay?” he asked.
“I’ve been wet since you kissed me four hours ago,” I said.
“That long?”
“Yeah, I almost excused myself…”
“Jesus, you're a horny little…”
“Don’t stop,” I said. “I like the idea of being a dirty slut here.”
“On your sister’s guest bed dedicated to the Lord?”
“Yes, fuck me and call me a nasty slut or something.”
“You are a horny little slut,” he said.
“Peter, I know you’re a good guy, honest.” I looked at him seriously. “I want to be fucked hard. Talk so dirty the fucking flowery wallpaper peels.”
He slipped off his last item of clothing and revealed his stiff uncut, massive cock.
“You nasty middle-class whore,” he moaned. “I’m going to pound that tight pink cunt until you start praying to become a lesbian.”
"Now you're talking," I said. "Keep this up, and you can have a career as a smut writer."
"Your wet pussy is mine," he said. "I love your tight little cunt and those stiff brown nipples. You're going to get fucked hard tonight, Jessica L. Rogers."
He guided my body to the bed, laid me on the edge facing him, and lifted my left leg high into the air. My legs created a scissors position. With his free hand, he guided his soft glans to my clit. He teased but did not penetrate.
“I want you inside me,” I gasped. "Please."
“Oh, you do?” He slapped his dick hard onto my swollen button and smiled at me. “Time to suffer. I’m going to work that clit. I want you to scream. Beg me like a slut. Tell me you want to be fucked silly.”
“I'm not supposed to scream. I thought,” I said. My mind could barely think of the correct words to say. I wanted Peter to stop fucking around and put his beautiful dick inside of me. “Please,” I begged. I reached for his balls and ran my fingers along them. "Please, Peter, I need to be fucked."
“You like big black balls, don’t you? Tell me what you like, slut.”
“I want you to fuck me already,” I panted. “Please, I’m going insane.”
He wiggled his head into my pussy a bit, separating my lips enough to penetrate me, but he refused to plunge. He moved his cock back and forth. Seeing his large hand wrapped around the shaft that wasn’t inside me, I realized how massive and thick he was compared to most, maybe all, of my other lovers. He pulled out and slapped my clit.
His organ made a wet sticky slapping noise as it smacked my clit over and over. Again and again he whipped his manhood, working up a frenzy of lust in my mind.
“Get that beautiful cock inside me,” I demanded.
“I’m not your sub here, bitch,” he said. “I’m looking at your sweet taco, whore, but I think I want to fuck that tiny little O. You like being fucked in the ass by—”
I had to draw the line somewhere. “Not tonight stud. We already had one hospital visit this week.”
“Can’t handle a big, monstrous dick, huh?”
“Not there,” I laughed. “Come on and put it in my fucking pussy. Fuck. Jesus Christ, what does a woman have to do to get fucked around here?"
He dropped to his knees and dove his face into my wet flesh. I nearly screamed. He mumbled dirty words, but I couldn’t make sense of his speech. Keeping my legs in a scissors position he drove his tongue into me, reaching places he had not gone deep enough with the head of his cock to touch.
I moaned.
He lifted his head and said, “You like your hot box eaten out with a master tongue, don’t you? I’m going to suck you like a vampire.”
“Shut up and get back in there,” I managed to say before needing another gulp of air. I let out a small cry when his tongue hit my nerve center again with force and motion I wasn’t prepared for. I held my breath.
Somehow, Peter got a finger inside of me while he worked the tip of his tongue around my clit. His pinkie rubbed my star-shaped hole south of the hot box, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to take his cock inside me there. Probably not, but the gentle movement of his finger tip drove my brain to the point of no return.
“Oh God!” I shouted when I finally exhaled and inhaled. I felt everything at once, a soft, delicate motion at my ass, a feather light caress with his tongue at my clit, and a finger pounding that was as hot, and as rough, as some guys I’d fucked with smaller cocks.
I was so close to reaching a climax.
He dropped my leg onto his head. My scissors turned into a headlock. Where’d his other hand go? I wondered, but I didn't have the energy to ask with words.
He grasped a nipple with the lightest of touches and pinched.
I exploded.
“I’m commm”—I gasped for breath—“innnng!”
He maintained a delicate balance. No southern penetration, just a light come-thither motion. The contact between clit and tongue was barely enough to feel, which made it all the more insanely terrific. The gentle nipple pinch confused my mind about where to concentrate. I simply gave up trying.
His finger thrust into my pussy set the stage for a mindblowing orgasm.
In-out, hard, harder, harder still.
I felt his finger curve up into my g-spot, and I panted again as I started the climb.
“My dirty little bitch wants to come again?” he said.
“Quit fucking talking and go back to—Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
He returned to my clit and added a finger to his vaginal penetration while maintaining soft, gentle contact with both my bottom and one of my nipples. If only he had a third hand, I thought for a moment, before my mind went blank again.
“Oh, God!” I shouted. “Fuck, I hope nobody can hear me.”
Then I didn’t care.
He took me right to the edge. I was moaning in time with this finger fucking—when suddenly—he flipped me to my back. He spread my legs apart and held each ankle with his hands. His grip was sure, but not rough. I felt his shaft enter me. His cock spread and stretched my pussy open, an
d he fucked me. Hard. Balls slapped into my ass. He remained silent except for his grunts and deep breaths.
I moaned softly and closed my eyes.
A tree branch of a cock was rhythmically stroking into my wet flesh. I could hear the slapping noise as if I was a drum being pounded on by a master musician.
We began to breathe in time with each other.
“Oh,” I let out.
“Ah,” he exclaimed.
“Ooooo,” I moaned.
“Uhhh,” he said on a deep thrust. “I’m going to explode in you princess. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I said. “I can’t take anymore.”
“Oh, God, Jesus, Holy Fuck!” He slowed his pace to an even, steady pump. I felt his balls tighten. I reached down and worked my clit in time with this strokes to get myself ready to come with him.
He came.
I felt his cock release. I felt his pleasure shudder through his body into mine.
I bit my lip.
I came as he finished, working my clit until it was too sensitive to take even the lightest of contact.
“Oh, my Lord,” I said. “That was unbelievable.”
He crawled into bed and held me. Sleep came as he tenderly kissed the back of my neck and stroked my hair.
CHAPTER TEN
If it’s a choice between a man who gives flowers and a man who enjoys giving oral, most women would take the oral. And it’s free. Oral sex is recession-proof.
~ Gabrielle Union
I WOKE UP ALONE. Peter had been quiet enough when he left, sometime after I’d fallen asleep, that I hadn’t noticed his absence until waking. It was too early to be awake, in my opinion, but I could hear voices coming from the kitchen. Sitting up, I realized how sore I felt…
Peter had text messaged me: I had a lovely time, hope it wasn’t too rough or too dirty.
I text messaged a reply before I got dressed: I’m still naked, you’re missing out.
We exchanged a few more pleasantries. I excused myself and jumped in the shower. I wanted to get to the kitchen before the kids did something crazy like make a giant mess or burn down the house. The hot water washed away my sins and soothed my sore muscles. I wondered what was next for me. I enjoyed Peter’s company—a whole lot—but I had also been thinking about my adventures with Brad on the ocean. I had other potential lovers who I had been chatting with over email.
I was juggling too many men, I knew.
But I didn’t want to lose sight of my mission.
Fifty-two men.
It was crazy, hectic, insane, and maybe it would be the death of me...
Life is filled with complex decisions that don't always have right-and-wrong answers.
Gray areas.
I would not settle.
Although to be fair, most women I know would fall head-over-heels for either Peter or Brad. Or Kirk, for that matter, assuming no prior prejudice against an esteemed member of the bar.
I finished my shower, towel dried, and went to see what damage had been done.
A LIGHT HAZE OF SMOKE FILLED THE KITCHEN, and I involuntarily coughed as I entered.
“What’s burning?” I asked.
All four kids (everyone except Abby—who I assumed was still asleep) were at the kitchen counter chopping, mixing, frying, and let’s be honest, making a fucking mess. At least the house wasn’t burning down.
“Beth burned the bacon,” Ruthie said.
“I like your alliteration,” I said kissing Ruthie on the cheek. “You’re going to be a poet.”
“What’s alleration?” she asked.
“Never mind,” I said while kissing Peter, “if I tell you, it’ll ruin your creativity.”
Zack ducked my kiss and said, “It’s when you have each letter—”
“She said not to tell,” Bethany objected. She let me kiss her, but she went right back to burning bacon.
“Lower the heat, hon,” I said. “Bacon should be cooked slowly, like good s—”
“What?”
“Never mind. I forget, sometimes, you're just kids.”
“I know about sex, Aunt Jessica,” Bethany said. “I’m fifteen, not five.”
“Okay, but let’s not talk about it now?” I pointed to Ruthie. “She’s only eight and Peter is only ten.”
“Later?” she asked. There was a hesitation in her voice that I picked up. The was a hidden—perhaps embarrassing—subject that she wanted to broach.
“Yes, for sure,” I said giving her my ‘mature and responsible’ face. “You can talk to me about anything you want. I’m always available for a heart-to-heart. Oh, and I’ll always keep your confidence, too.”
She looked down, avoiding my gaze, and said quietly, “I'll ask you later.” She looked at her siblings and then returned to flipping burnt pieces of bacon.
“One caveat,” I said upon reflection. “I won’t keep a secret from your parents if I genuinely believe you’re in real danger, okay?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Well, let me help with the eggs.”
We managed to finish cooking together without major incident. Midori and Abby rose from the dead. Zack took his mother a plate of food. After the younger children had scattered and the two convalescing patients went back to bed to watch Nickelodeon or the Disney Channel (I owed Midori big-time for being such a good sport) I asked Bethany to stay and help me with the dishes.
“So,” I said softly. “Talk to me, hon. What’s on your mind?”
It took her some time to develop the courage to speak, and it was slow at first, but once she’d broken down her walls of fear, she told me of her dilemma.
“Matt's sixteen and one grade ahead,” she said.
“He seemed like a nice kid. You like him a lot?” I asked being careful not to sound overbearing or too curious, but at the same time, showing her I cared about her and her dilemmas.
“Sure, he’s got a car and his driver’s license.”
“Sounds dangerous," I said.
“I know my mom is super religious. I guess I believe, too. But I’m not sure…”
“That’s okay,” I explained. “You’re still young and trying to figure out life. I think you’re too young for”—I glanced around to be sure we were alone—“sex.”
“I know,” she said. “But, still, lots of girls my age…”
“Lot’s of girls your age are doing meth, too,” I said. “I’m very progressive. You know that. It’s your body, hon. I’m not condemning you, or telling you what to do. I’m just saying that fifteen is still on the young side.”
“How old were you?” she asked.
I’ve always promised to be honest with people I cared and loved, so I told her the truth, “I was fifteen.”
“And?” she asked. Her eyes widened, and she leaned closer to me as if I was about to share a state secret.
“He was a senior, and I was a sophomore. He was inexperienced, and the act was awkward. I wish I’d waited another year or two, to be honest.”
“I don’t know if I can,” she said without thinking. Then she blushed and looked away. “I mean…”
“It’s okay, honest, Beth,” I said. “If you’re careful, there’s nothing wrong with sex. It’s just—you need to remember the laws in California.”
“It’s a crime?” she asked. “We’re both minors.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Believe it or not, if you have sex in California, and you’re under eighteen, it’s a crime. Even if you’re both the same age.”
“That’s fucked up,” she said.
I watched her face turn—as if she’d eaten a sour lemon—and she quickly apologized.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You can swear around me—if were alone.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, really. Don’t forget I’m not fucking conservative or religious and I give a fuck what words you use. I do care if you're a good, compassionate, and caring person. And I think you are.”
�
��Thanks, Aunt Jess,” she said. Then she looked at me again, and after pausing, she asked, “Do you really think I’m too young?”
“I think you’re old enough when you decide to do it responsibly. Use protection. Go to a clinic. Don’t get into a bad situation—I mean like with drugs or alcohol—and make sure you set good boundaries.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for instance,” I said, “you should discuss being mutually exclusive. You should consider getting on the pill, but you’d also better stick with condoms. You need to talk about being safe and careful, and also you should talk to him about what you’re allowed to tell others. Never forget you’re both at risk of getting into legal trouble if you do things like take pictures or videos.”
“Ewwww,” she said making a face.
“Well, don’t knock it until you try it, hon,” I said. “But, at your age, that shit is a federal crime.”
“No?”
“Yes,” I said. “Do yourself a favor and stay off Snapchat.”
“I thought—”
“Okay, maybe that’s a bad example. I just mean, don’t let him take pictures or videos of you. That’s my advice, not a judgment.”
“Alright,” she said. “I’m not even saying I’m having sex.”
“Good,” I said. “You have time to think about it and make a good decision.”
We chatted for another thirty minutes. I realized that one of the problems a modern young woman has in a conservative home is the reluctance to be open and honest with their parents. I wanted Bethany to be free-spirited, strong, and true to herself. I wanted her to make her own choices, but I also had to remember that she wasn’t my child, even though I loved all my nieces and nephews as if they were my own.
Life is complicated.
“Thank you,” she said as the last counter was wiped dry.
“You’re more than welcome, Beth,” I said. “You’re not that far from being a grownup, responsible for your own life, so don’t rush anything. Your parents love you, and even if I don’t always agree with your mother, you should respect her and remember that she and your dad put this roof over your head.”
Fifty-Two Pickup: Threes (Jessica Rogers Book 3) Page 6
