“What do you want that for?” VJ wasn’t condemnatory, just curious.
“I need my car keys so I can meet you at the Sea Shanty Inn.”
“We’ve already loaded your car on the back. You’ll be traveling up front in the cab with us.”
“What?”
“We put your car in the storeroom out back,” VJ said.
That just confused Yasmin even more. “What storeroom? Out back where? We can’t leave my car here. I’ll be needing it at some stage for sure.” This sex odyssey could end at any time and she needed her car because it was her freedom to move on. Besides, the trunk was full of her photographs, personal papers, and things she wanted to keep. And there was no way she was driving off and leaving them behind.
“The storeroom out back of this mobile home. You know there’s no back window in the bedroom right? That’s because the storeroom is there,” VJ tried to explain.
“Let’s show her. Come with us,” said Pearce jumping down the steps and out of the RV.
They walked round to the back of the vehicle, and Pearce took a key ring out of his pocket. He unlocked a door Yasmin hadn’t noticed before and pulled it wide. It swung back on hinges so the entire width of the RV became one big door.
Inside, her little car just fit, its nose almost touching the far wall, its rear wheels clamped to metal poles. Beside it was a shiny motorbike, and against one side wall was a huge shelving unit filled with boxes and covered over with netting to stop them falling off the shelves.
“Wow. I didn’t know this was here. I’ve never even seen that door before. But then, I guess I haven’t been around back of the RV much either, just walking past it. It’s like a real garage.”
“Yeah, it’s meant for people to store a car or boat in when they travel. We don’t have a boat and we’ve found the bike much more practical for getting around while we travel. But it’s ideal for your car. So, let’s go.” VJ locked the door, while Pearce led her up to the truck cab.
“I noticed you called it a mobile home. Other people say RV and some call their place a trailer. What’s correct?” she asked as they pulled out of the trailer park.
“A trailer is mobile in that it is delivered on a truck—or on two trucks if it’s a double wide. And it can be moved somewhere else later. An RV or mobile home is something you drive around yourself. It’s got its own engine, wheels, and so on. Technically this is a mobile home, but lots of people call it an RV,” VJ explained as Pearce drove.
They talked about the internal differences in the homes for the few minutes it took them to drive into Resort City and park in the lot at the Sea Shanty Inn Roadhouse.
“Interesting décor,” she murmured into Pearce’s ear as they waited for their meal. There must have been at least ten stuffed pelicans decorating the room. But the food was well cooked, they were served quickly, and the meal was inexpensive, so Yasmin was more than satisfied with their choice of eatery.
Then they were on the road, heading toward the beach they’d been told about with the walking track to the waterfall.
The beach was tucked away, off the beaten track, so they stayed there for several days, swimming, surfing, making love on the sand, and walking to the waterfall. The waterfall was very pretty, with clouds of mist spraying the entire valley making it lush and green and well worth the three-hour walk.
***
Several weeks passed with them moving onto new places, seeing the sights, going on walks, or swimming at various beaches, and behaving like tourists, before traveling on again.
Mondays and Thursdays they devoted to work, Yasmin setting up several databases, spreadsheets, and paperwork templates, then entering data and sending out correspondence. VJ actually worked for about an hour every day answering mail, but on their scheduled work days he locked himself in the bedroom, developing proposals, deciding on new products, talking to the inventors. Even Pearce found himself sorting through boxes of paperwork and helping out. Plus he cooked. According to him it was the only way to avoid starvation, but Yasmin could tell he was enjoying himself as he often whistled while he chopped and peeled and barbecued and sautéed something delicious for them to eat.
Yasmin found herself enjoying the work. VJ acted as a sort of manager for several different companies and individuals who had invented, or who manufactured, specialized products for people with disabilities or special needs. She knew about gripping sticks with long handles to enable people with bad backs to pick things up from the floor, but she was amazing at the incredible imagination of the people who’d designed some of the products VJ marketed.
“Often they had a parent or grandparent who couldn’t do something, and they sat down with friends and came up with these inventions. Some of them took years to make, but I only deal with things that have a proven track record,” VJ explained.
“Some of these gadgets are so simple, yet brilliant. I love the extra-long shoe horn. Once you see it, the concept is so simple. Yet nobody thought of it before,” Yasmin replied.
“I was hooked by the things designed for left-handed people. I’d never even thought how hard it must be for them to use right-handed equipment,” added Pearce.
Yasmin was getting through the paperwork in the cardboard box faster than she’d expected, but she’d also thought of other administrative systems to simplify and clarify various tasks, and VJ was thrilled with them too. She loved the idea that she was more than just a cog in a wheel, that she was making a difference and helping both the men and ordinary people out in the world. It gave her the same warm feeling of belonging that being with these men gave her.
She’d only been living with them for a few weeks, but it seemed like she was truly part of them, part of a team, part of a family. Of course, they did spend all day every day together either working, traveling, or vacationing. But still, she knew more about these two men than she did about most of her extended family.
***
“Likely we should stop for fuel this morning. Where’s the next town,” asked VJ who was driving.
Pearce got out the map and he and Yasmin pored over it for a while, calculating distances and times.
“The next big town is more than an hour away and we’re close to the exit for the National Park we planned to visit. There’s a little town just before the turnoff so why don’t we look there first and see if we can avoid having to go on then come back?” suggested Pearce.
“Can do.”
The town was smaller than “little”. It was pretty much just a general store which also sold fuel and takeout. While the men fueled up the mobile home and washed the windscreen and headlights, Yasmin wandered into the store thinking of buying some fresh fruit for lunch.
She changed her mind when she saw the sad-looking foodstuff on display, but there was a rack of postcards and she thought it might be nice to send cards to a few of her relatives and former work colleagues.
After all, I can’t moan about not being connected to people, when I never bother to do the connecting, can I? she thought guiltily, mentally counting the number of days since she’d last checked her emails.
She purchased half a dozen postcards and stamps from a surly-looking teenager with ear buds in her ears and the music from her iPod so loud Yasmin could hear it too, then sat out front at a picnic table to write them.
A beaten-up brown car pulled around the back of the building as Yasmin sucked the end of her pen and wondered what to write to her aunt.
The men were still busy with the motor home when Yasmin remembered they’d run out of bottled water, so she picked up her postcards and her purse and went back inside to buy some.
The refrigerators were on the far side of the little store, and as she passed the door into the stockroom she heard a man say angrily, “Is that all you’ve got? That won’t last me a week.” Huh! Dissatisfied customer.
She grabbed half a dozen bottles of water and turned to go to the cash register, when a gray-haired woman with a bulging tote bag came out of the stockroom an
d went to the till, popping a switch under the counter, opening the cash drawer and taking out a handful of notes. The woman dropped the money in her tote, adding in a couple of cartons of cigarettes, which were on a shelf behind the counter.
The brown car pulled up out front, the woman hurried out and climbed into the car, which raced off.
Did I just see a robbery? Or am I imagining it?
Yasmin walked cautiously to the stockroom and stuck her head inside. An older man and the teenager were tied up, and lying on the floor.
“Holy shit!” Yasmin pulled out her cell phone, switched it on, took a few photos of the people then hurried to undo them. “Are you all right? Should I call 9-1-1?” she asked.
“I’ll call Sheriff Beeton,” said the man.
“Fat lot of good he’ll do,” said the teenager, surlier than ever as she pulled duct tape off her mouth and looked at the smashed ear bud of her iPod.
“Yup, likely a waste of time, but if he doesn’t come out we can’t claim the insurance,” the man replied as he hauled himself to his feet, patted the girl on the shoulder, and limped over to an old-fashioned wall phone.
Yasmin stared at them both, then at the wide open back door. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked the girl.
“Not unless you have a spare set of ear buds,” the teen replied. Then a grin broke across her face. “Hey, maybe the insurance will pay for a new set as well as for the crates of cigarettes.”
“Is that what they stole?”
“Cigarettes, soda, and some candy. Best part of five hundred bucks gone.” The teen was back to being surly.
Pearce and VJ wandered into the store to pay for the fuel, but the man didn’t want to touch the cash register in case the woman who’d robbed it had left fingerprints.
“How about we give you the cash then and head on our way?” suggested Pearce. VJ nodded.
“No, we can’t leave. I saw the woman and want to give her description to the Sheriff,” Yasmin said.
“You saw the robber?”
“Oh yes. I got a good look at her face as she took money from the till. She had gray hair tied up in a bun, and high cheekbones—”
“You saw the robber? You looked at her? Why weren’t you hiding? What were you even doing in here when a robbery was happening?” VJ’s voice was rising higher and higher. By the end of his sentence he was almost screaming.
Yasmin just stared at him, amazed. “I bought postcards, then I came back inside to get water. We’re out of bottled water.”
VJ grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Are you crazy, woman? You could have been shot, beaten, killed! What were you thinking? Don’t you know enough to drop to the floor when there are criminals around?”
“Relax, VJ. There’s no problem. She wasn’t violent. In fact, I didn’t even know she was robbing the store until she opened the till.”
“No problem?” Now it was Pearce almost shouting. He tugged her arm turning her to face him. “Why didn’t you call us? Anything could have happened to you.”
Pearce dropped a handful of cash on the counter, swung an astonished Yasmin into his arms and said, “We’re outta here. No one is going to hurt our woman.”
Yasmin kicked as hard as should could, swinging her heels into his thigh, and slapped him across the face. “Put me down you overgrown ape, and get your brain out of rectal storage. I’m not hurt. No one is hurt. There was no violence. But I do need to tell the sheriff what I saw.”
“But— But—”
“She’s right. She’s a witness,” VJ sighed. “But dammit all, Yasmin, I can’t bear the thought of you in danger like this.”
Pearce put her down, but kept an arm around her possessively.
Just then the sheriff walked in. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, with thinning, sandy hair, a belly overhanging his belt, and a tired-looking face. Trailing after him was a pimply, gangling young man, who didn’t look old enough to drive, never mind wear a uniform.
The next fifteen minutes were very chaotic, but Yasmin soon worked out that nothing would be done, no fingerprints would be taken, and the robbery would not be taken seriously. As Sheriff Beeton explained, “No one was hurt, no weapon was used, and for five hundred dollars it makes more sense to just let the insurance company pay up than to tie up scarce County resources.”
“But they unlocked the back door. What if they go around unlocking other business’ back doors and you end up with a spate of burglaries?”
“Well, Joe, we’re both getting older, you know. I’ve never heard of people unlocking doors without keys. Usually they employ an ax. I reckon you left it unlocked.”
“You don’t believe me.” The owner, whose name must have been Joe, looked hurt.
“It’s just part of getting older. We think we’ve done something, but really—”
Joe and the girl both started arguing at once. Yasmin watched them both and she was sure they were telling the truth. The door had been locked. Which meant the burglar had gotten a key cut somewhere. Shouldn’t that make it easier to trace them and catch them? And the woman hadn’t tried to hide her face at all. She obviously didn’t think she’d be caught.
VJ cut across the acrimonious dialog. “Sheriff! Sheriff! Is there a local locksmith? Has he been robbed? Does he maybe have a list of who bought keys from him and what they open? These people are brazen. They must feel it’s pretty safe to go around robbing small amounts like this. I reckon they’ve assumed no one will be bothered to follow up on them. If you talk to the locksmith it might be possible to track down the culprit. And I’d be advising all the business owners in the district to install nice, strong, metal bolts on their doors, too.”
Sheriff Beeton sighed heavily, nodded, and wrote down the description Yasmin gave him. When she mentioned the car, he reread his notes about the woman and looked thoughtful, but he said nothing.
Yasmin insisted he take her cell phone number, and Pearce said, “We were planning to stay for a few days in the national park down the road. We’ll drop by again before we leave.”
Chapter Four
The men were incredibly possessive for the rest of the day, following her whenever she left the mobile home, tucking her into their sides and holding her hands as they walked, even standing outside the bathroom door when she visited the ladies room in the national park.
In one way, it almost made Yasmin laugh, but in another it was very touching. Despite the fact that there had never been the slightest hint of danger, VJ and Pearce were convinced she had taken a dangerous risk by looking at the robber and staying to give her statement to the sheriff.
“I wonder if the locksmith had a break-in recently,” she said. “The sheriff seemed to prick up his ears when I described the woman. She’s older than your average criminal.”
“I think it was the car that caught his attention. Although there must be hundreds of beaten-up brown cars around,” added Pearce.
“Well, we have two days here to try out some of the walking tracks, then Thursday its nose-to-the-grindstone day. On Friday we can decide if we want to stay on and look around some more or go back to the store and see if there’s any news,” said VJ.
“Right now we have someone who needs her ass spanked,” said Pearce.
“Say, what? Why?”
“For scaring us, instead of looking after yourself and calling us to help you,” he continued.
“Fuck that for a joke. I keep telling you, there was no danger.”
“Oh, I see. You can dish it out but not take it,” gloated VJ. “Although I did like the way you slapped him and told him to get his head out of his ass. That was awesome to watch.”
With no warning, the two men surrounded her, Yasmin’s jeans and panties were pulled off and she was lying across Pearce’s lap. His hand cracked down on her ass hard.
The sharp slap sent a blaze of heat through her body and directly to her cunt.
Before she could catch her breath, he’d slapped the other ass cheek then the
tops of both thighs.
Her butt was hot, yet the cream was seeping from her pussy onto his thighs, the slaps had aroused her so much.
Part of it was knowing how much the men cared about her, but part of it was the spanking. For some unknown reason, it aroused her, caused her belly to clench, and desire to coil deep inside her.
Pearce spanked her ass a few more times, right and left cheeks, then he ran his fingers through her cream and slipped a digit into her ass. “I’m going to fuck you here, tonight, while your ass is all hot and pink. I’m going to ream you so hard you never forget to take proper care of yourself again,” he whispered, his finger twisting and turning inside her.
Yasmin gasped and squirmed, trying to rub her aching clit against his thighs.
“Oh no you don’t,” said VJ, sitting on the floor so his face was level with hers. “That pussy is all mine tonight. Open your legs wide, Pearce, so I can touch her.”
Pearce spread his legs wide, balancing Yasmin so her body was supported by him but her pussy was hanging over open space.
Yasmin grabbed hold of his ankle to avoid slipping off his knee, and then VJ’s hand was on her slit, sliding up and down, the fingers rubbing across her clit before pressing deep into her channel.
Pearce brought more of her cream around to her anus, wetting his fingers and pressing a second one into her dark hole.
The pressure was delicious, with fingers in her pussy and her ass. Yasmin pushed back, then thrust her hips forward, loving the feeling of the two hands working her.
Pearce stopped holding her with his spare hand, and slid it up inside her tee shirt, then rubbed it over her back, across her side, and around to cup her breast. Now he had one hand playing in her ass, the other tweaking a nipple, stretching it and pulling it.
VJ had two hands working her pussy, one playing with her clit and lips, the other thrusting deep into her channel.
Half upside down, holding onto Pearce’s ankle to brace against the men’s fingers moving inside her, Yasmin was overcome with sensations. It was too much—yet not enough. Her breast, her pussy, and her ass were all pulsing with need. The orgasm was building inside her, growing, demanding to break out. “I can’t— I want— I need—” Yasmin couldn’t form the words to make a sentence.
Feels So Good Page 3
