by Vivien Vale
I don’t recognize Jack’s expression. I can’t quite place it, and of course I’m really not able to think clearly. The wave of pleasure is picking me and taking me on the longest fucking ride.
When his jaw muscle tightens, I know he’s not far away from coming. My own orgasm is building deep within me.
Our fountains erupt at the same time when Jack unleashes his huge load of cum into me.
We are weightless and floating. Shooting stars, firework, and explosions all intermingle.
When he’s finished, he stays inside of me. My pussy is tight and not eager to let him go. In fact, I don’t want this moment to end, ever. I want it to last forever.
I know nothing stays the same and lasts forever, but I try and hold onto this moment for as long as I can. Right up to the second when he pulls out of me.
As soon as his massive cock is no longer filling my insides, there’s an emptiness I’ve never felt before. I marvel how quickly I have come to need Jack.
I need him, just like he needs me.
We complete each other. In every way.
“Now then,” he murmurs into my ear. “You ready?”
Before I can ask him for what, he starts kissing me. He starts on my ear lobe and moves down to my throat. Strong fingers, able to do so much damage, caress and tease me.
Already I can feel myself get horny again.
Jack
I’ve still got a fucking cocktail of emotions bubbling inside of me. And the sight of my angel just leaves me wanting more.
If I expected Avery to object, balk, or whimper in fear, I’ve been fucking wrong. Quite the opposite is how she behaved.
Sure, she played her part well, but more than that, I think she fucking enjoyed every minute of it. Of course I’m in no fucking fit state to judge anyone or comment on his or her behavior. I’m a totally washed-up fucking looser.
I might have had a fucking fantastic fuck, but my head is still screwed.
Sure, the images of my the explosions that haunt me in my night terrors have gone, but I know I’ve got a bit of a way to go yet. The fucking revenge part has not eventuated. Maybe when I’ve avenged all those deaths, I might find peace.
Or is that when I’m fucking dead? What the hell am I going to have to live for when I don’t have my vengeance and my rage?
“You okay?”
Avery’s soft voice rouses me out of my navel-gazing.
Her. I could live for her.
“I’m about to reward you for being a good little girl.” I run my fingers along her inside thigh. Her eyes light up at my words, and I watch the ripples of pleasure wash over her as my fingers act like a feather.
I can tell it won’t take much to make this little girl happy.
Part of me still can’t fucking believe that she’s here. Not only is she here in my cabin with me, but she’s also stayed with me after listening to my tales of horror and destruction.
She’s one fucking special lady, and I’m going to give her the only reward I know to give right now.
First, I kiss her on her lips, and then I move to her breasts. I spend a bit of time wrapping my tongue around her nipples. I bite into them and revel in her body writhing underneath me.
My mouth cups over her breast to suck on it while my hand kneads and massages her other one.
Tiny moans of pleasure cross her lips. Each one of them is like a pat on the back for me. No honorary medal means as much as the pleasurable sounds this girl makes. I should know. I have received more than a few of them in the past.
I leave her breasts and let my tongue travel along her belly, down toward her pubic hair. She hasn’t had a chance to shave since she got here, but I don’t mind in the least. It’s less wild than my beard, and just like I predicted—honey gold.
My teeth bite into her and then my tongue finds her clit. She’s already wet as wet can be. Her juices flowing faster than a waterfall.
This girl is fucking hot.
I take my time. I want Avery to fucking enjoy this. She deserves this.
Gone is the timid little Daddy’s girl. She’s blossomed into a woman of her own making.
My tongue works her clit, pushing at it, rubbing at it and finally my mouths sucks on it. I can sense the pleasure building within her. Her legs are spread, and I have a great view of that delicious fucking pussy.
I get right in front of her and drape her legs over my shoulder, lifting her lower back off the floor a little. My hands find her ass and start kneading each cheek.
To make sure she doesn’t come straight away, I leave her clit and push my tongue right up into her. I bury my face deep into her pussy, reveling in her wetness and special scent.
The experience is intoxicating for me, and I can feel my own fucking cock harden again already. But this is not about me, it’s about Avery.
Avery deserves to be rewarded.
My tongue is deep in her pussy, and I curl it over and push against her sweet spot.
“Ohhhh yeessss,” she hisses, and I can feel her body tense.
I pull out again. I don’t want her to come just yet. I want to draw it out as long as possible.
“Don’t stoooooopppp, pleeasseeeee, Jack,” she’s begging, and her wish is my command.
My tongue goes right back to where it was a few seconds ago. I can feel her buck her hips toward me. I do my best to push in and out of her as fast and hard as I can; she’s trying to match my rhythm with those small hips of hers.
I move my hands off her ass and grab her hips instead. This way I can help her get the most out of her movement.
She seems to be shaking all over. I can hear her whimper, and I think it won’t be long before she’ll come.
The walls of her pussy grab at my tongue as I move in and out of her. I’m getting faster and faster.
Her orgasm starts somewhere in her belly and explodes outward. Muscle spasm after muscle spasm takes hold of her.
I can feel the inside of her wet fucking pussy pulse and contract as I tip her over the fucking edge.
She’s yelling wordlessly, and her legs tighten around my neck.
I keep licking away at her pussy. Eventually, when her muscles no longer spasm, I pull my face out and go back to kiss her.
I can feel my beard full her juices, and probably some of my own cum from before.
“You’re a little messy.” Avery rakes her finger through my jumble of facial hair. She stares at her index finger.
“I think we’ll need to fix this.”
Before I can protest, ask questions, or stop her, she’s scurried away from me. I watch as she makes her way into the bathroom.
“Boof! Boof! Boof!” Buck barks, freshly awakened by Avery’s frenzied little movements.
I look down at my cock, which is still rock-hard and dripping with need and Avery and a few other things, and shake my head at it.
If Avery’s got the dog all riled up, then it’s sure to be a bit before my stiffy gets any attention again.
When she returns, she’s carrying a small bowl with water, a washer, a towel, and something silver.
I furrow my brow.
“What are you going to do?”
She smiles at me. “First I’m going to clean this mess out of your…” She seems to be searching for the right word.
“Beard,” I help her out.
Avery shakes her head. “No, I don’t think what you have can be called a beard anymore. It’s more of a wild facial growth, really.”
What has happened to my Avery? Where’s the timid, frightened little girl?
“What do you mean?” I growl, but she ignores me.
“Hold still. I don’t want to spill water everywhere.”
She’s surprisingly strong when she wants to be.
Of course I can’t help but touch her naked body, which she’s presenting to me on a silver platter.
“Stop it. I’m trying to get all the juices out of this hair of yours.” She smacks my hand as it tries to reach up and play with those del
icious tits of hers. I love how they fit fucking perfectly into my hand with a little spilling over the side.
“Now for the hard part.” She picks up the silver looking object.
I pull back. “No. Uh-uh.” I grab hold of her hand.
“I’m trying to trim this mess of hair of yours so you look halfway respectable.”
She’s determined, I can tell.
“Why?” I’m not going down without a fight.
I should have fucking expected this. You let a woman into your house, make her cum in front of your fireplace, and next thing you know, she’s taking over.
“Boof!” Buck barks, trotting little circles around us. No doubt he’s happy we’re getting up to something he can be a part of again.
Christ. My little angel has even turned my dog against me too. No doubt next time I go into town she’ll buy a shitload of makeup and stuff it in the bathroom, leaving no room for any of my fucking things.
I sigh.
“You’ll look and feel so much better if I make it look a little neater. You’re about as a shaggy as, well, Buck. And you’re next, buddy,” Avery says, turning to point at the dog.
That sure takes the pep out of Buck’s step. He turns his head, looking at her with his puppy dog eyes and sees nothing but determination staring back at him.
Buck decides to make himself scarce. Smart dog.
Wish I could do the same.
“Look, you’re going to be really handsome if you just let me clean you up a bit. Trust me.”
It is those last two words that hit their mark.
Trust me.
I once asked people to trust me, and look where they ended up.
But I did trust her, didn’t I?
Of course. I would do anything for Avery. I would walk to the end of the world for her.
So I guess I ought to let her cut my fucking beard.
“If you must,” I grumble and watch her get to work.
“You better sit on a chair,” she commands, and I pretend to salute her.
That earns me another slap on the wrist.
“March, soldier,” she says, even though I think ordering me around has left her a little red in the face.
Once I’m seated, she starts on the right side of my face. I see her cut carefully around my face. She’s taking this job of making me look respectable very fucking seriously.
I try and touch her on the breast, but she glares at me when I do.
“Stop it, Jack. I want to do this right.”
And so I behave myself. Instead of touching her, I watch every one of her movements. I can feel her intensity, and I wonder where she learned to trim a man’s beard.
“You do this often?” I joke.
She shakes her head.
“So I’m your first subject.” I feign horror.
Avery laughs. “Jack, you’ve seen my pussy. You don’t have enough women in your life, you know that? If you did, you’d know that we’re quite adept at trimming beards…just not the ones on our faces.”
Excellent. And now I’m thinking about her sweet little cunt again.
When Avery says, “Done,” I don’t believe her.
“Really?”
“Go have a look,” she invites me.
Even without looking, I can tell she must have done a great job, because I feel different already. For some reason, my face feels lighter.
When I look in the mirror, I grin. She’s done a fucking fantastic job.
“Like it?”
I take her by the shoulders and look her in the eyes.
“I’m a new man. Love it and you.”
My lips meet hers and we melt into each other.
With a little less beard getting away this time.
Avery
This cabin is so much more spacious than you would ever think if you saw it from the outside―or even from the inside, if it was your first time.
If you’re accustomed to luxury penthouses and posh hotel suites, then you probably wouldn’t see this spartan dwelling as very roomy at all. I mean, it’s positively cozy—as real estate brokers like to say—by my usual standards. But it’s not big.
And yet, wandering around with a straw broom, getting familiar with every corner of this place while cleaning up every speck of dirt, my standards have completely changed.
Standing on its own in the wilds of Vermont, Jack’s cabin is a safe, warm and welcoming refuge.
The cabin is large enough for not only survival, but for living well with room to spare.
It’s spacious for Jack’s needs, at any rate. But I’m enjoying my time here today.
It feels like a home. I don’t remember the last time a place felt like that.
Houses, apartments, condos, even this cabin―none of them are homes by themselves. It’s the obvious care put into it, the residue left over from years of thoughtful living. Those are the things that make any place home.
I begin sweeping towards the stairs, moving the broom bristles back and forth in a cheery rhythm.
I start humming, which surprises me as much as it would surprise anyone. I’m not even humming any melody in particular, I’m just expressing…something.
I wouldn’t call that ‘something’ happiness, though. After everything I’ve been through, and with all those loose ends left unresolved, I can’t let myself use or even think about the h-word just yet.
But I’m experiencing things that feel like the cornerstones that my life has been missing all along, parts of the foundation of the person I really am—the person I’m supposed to be.
With Jack, I’m learning things about myself that maybe I wish I knew earlier, but I doubt anyone else could’ve taught me nearly as well.
I move straight from humming to whistling as I start the task of sweeping the stairs. I doubt there’s a vacuum cleaner anywhere within a dozen miles of here, so I sweep slowly and meticulously, leaving no part of the step unswept until I have a small pile for the trash can.
I’m still whistling when I start working on the second step. I think about what else makes this cabin feel like a home.
It must be the warmth I’m feeling. Not just the welcome heat of the cabin, but the sense of caring and companionship I feel from Jack—even when he’s outside working on his big secret project.
My whistling eventually turns into a melody as I make my way further up the stairs and I sweep more small piles of dust and dirt into the dust pan. Who needs a vacuum cleaner anyway? Who needs to hire people to do this type of thing? Other than, I guess, Mommy, of course.
Part of what makes a house a home is doing it yourself. Jack has his projects here, and now I have mine. If there’s one thing he seems to need here, it’s someone who cares how dirty that fireplace makes everything. I’m working on getting this place as clean and tidy as it’s ever been, and Jack’s working on…well, whatever he’s working on.
I’m looking forward to seeing it when it’s finished.
I’m enjoying this melody that I’m whistling, even though I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. But I wish I had some way to record it right now.
Doesn’t really matter, though. I’m just enjoying whistling while I sweep. Singing while I work. Even sounds like some of the birds outside the window are singing along with me.
I’ve almost made it to the top of the stairs. I can’t wait to learn more about myself out here, without my social media accounts to worry about or any boring state dinners to attend.
I want to explore this new world that Jack has shown me. Have some time to think about who I am and what I want to do with my life—beyond, I guess, just being with Jack.
This is what domestic life is all about.
I reach the top of the stairs before I know it.
I’m still whistling―I guess it does make the time and the work go faster.
But usually when I’m whistling, Buck shows up eventually. I’m surprised he hasn’t yet. I figured I would be swatting him away with the broom to keep him out from under my f
eet—but instead, he’s surprisingly quiet and nowhere to be seen.
I empty the dustpan into the bin waiting at the top of the stairs. Jack does need to start getting bags for his trash cans. I bet he just empties them out into the fire—if he ever even uses them at all. That’s something we can work on.
I want to make this place feel like even more of a home.
I start sweeping the landing at the top of the stairs, working my way from one corner to the center, getting a nice satisfying little pile of dust that Jack’s somehow missed over the months, or years, since the last deep cleaning of this place—not that I mind.
I’m quite happy to put my own touch on Jack’s home in the woods.
I keep whistling, carrying the broom and dustpan back down the stairs. But apart from my whistling, it’s been quiet here for a while now.
Is Jack still outside? I wonder.
“Jack,” I call out.
When I’m about halfway down the stairs, I hear something, or someone, walking loudly.
Not Jack, who lumbers so hard it shakes every floorboard he sets foot on—even when he thinks he’s tiptoeing.
Not Buck, who tippy-taps and bounds and prowls as it suits his mood.
Where’s that noise coming from? It’s hard to tell. I don’t see anyone downstairs, and the door is still closed.
Now there’s just silence again, except for the faint chirping of birds outside. Maybe they’re still inspired by my whistling.
I put the broom and dustpan back in the closet, thinking about what else I need to do to get this place in good shape.
I hear something again, a kind of banging. There’s no rhythm to it—it just sounds like somebody opening and closing a door randomly.
That must be Jack.
Maybe he needs to fix the door, maybe it’s falling off the hinges or something. Maybe his big secret project is a new door altogether.
Red. I hope it’s red. Like the cardinals he feeds in the backyard.
I walk back towards the front door, and my brow furrows as I see that it’s wide open.
The wind is swinging it on its hinges as it slams against the outside of the cabin.
Did the wind open the door?
No, it couldn’t have. There are wet boot prints coming from outside and going up the stairs. Jack must’ve run upstairs quickly while I wasn’t looking.
