Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace

by Hill, Joey W.

  “There’s a fresh pot of coffee.” Lyda set aside the local paper and gave her an all-about-morning-sex appraisal. “Freshen my cup, and then get on your hands and knees, straddling him.”

  Gen moved to do as ordered. When she brought Lyda the cup, Lyda caught her robe tie. “Lose the robe. I want to see gooseflesh before I warm you up.”

  Gen removed it. “Your knees outside his rib cage,” Lyda continued. “Elbows pressed into the floor above his head, so your breasts are in his face. Forehead down.”

  As Gen moved to take the prescribed position, Lyda caught the side of her neck, holding her still for a mind-numbing kiss. Gen kept her fingers closed at her sides. She was starting to learn too, wasn’t she? To be trained, like Noah. She could tell what mood held their Mistress right now. A desire to be totally in control.

  “Nice.” Lyda hummed against her lips. “You brushed before you came to the kitchen. Girls are nice like that.”

  Lyda gave her cheek a quick pinch, then put pressure on her shoulder, sending her in the direction of her will. When the position put Noah’s mouth in her cleavage, Gen quivered. Even more when their Mistress slipped her foot back in the other shoe and braced that heel on the round part of Gen’s ass, applying biting pressure. If his grunt and indrawn breath were any indication, she’d put the other one back in its harrowing position on Noah’s testicles.

  She’d never stayed in such a state of constant arousal as she did with these two. It was like their Mistress kept her simmering in her dreams, and waking opened the furnace doors. Noah’s cock twitched, increasing the heat.

  For the next eternity of minutes, Lyda enjoyed her coffee and the paper. Gen listened to her turn the pages, make comments about local happenings that required no answers from her or Noah. Their focus was on how crazy she was making them. Noah’s breath rasped against Gen’s breasts, and Gen’s pussy dripped on Noah’s abdomen. She knew because Lyda told her so and tsked. Gen bit back a cry as Lyda shifted the pointed heel in between her buttocks to tease her rim, threatening to shove it in there if Gen was going to make such a mess.

  Gen could smell the musk of Noah’s earlier climax, knew her pussy had marked that area. She wanted to rub herself against it. But they stayed motionless as possible while hungering for their Mistress and each other. In her position, Gen knew her breath must be teasing his closed lids through the fabric of the blindfold.

  At length, Lyda set the paper aside again, and scraped back the chair. “Wash out my cup and start a fresh pot of coffee, Gen. Then release Noah and both of you join me in the shower. Time to scrub one another clean.”

  Gen didn’t think she’d ever handled two tasks so quickly. It was a miracle she did it without breaking any glassware. Then she knelt by Noah. She removed the blindfold first. She wanted to see him stare up at her with his mouth stretched by the gag, hands tied. Helpless to her, in a sense. The look in his eyes made her nipples get even tighter, and when his gaze flicked to them, her breath caught. She unbuckled the gag next, guiding it out of his mouth. Saliva came with it of course, but she didn’t care, pulling a napkin from the holder on the table to pat his lips, stroke the impressions the straps had left there. More arousal trickled down her thighs.

  “Untie me,” he said, staring up at her with fevered eyes.

  “Say please,” she whispered. He bit her finger and made her smile, even as her chest felt tight.

  “Please.”

  Releasing the cuffs from the base, she backed out from under the table. As he emerged, he reached to unwrap the cuffs from his wrists, but she stopped him. Aware of the weight of his gaze on her bowed head, she did it, putting the cuffs on the table before she wrapped her hands around his wrists, rubbing them.

  “Gen,” he said. Nothing else, just so much feeling in that word. In love. She was in love with him. So in love. And not just him.

  As if summoned by the thought, the imperious voice echoed down the hall. “I know my pets are not dragging their asses. There’s probably only twenty freaking minutes of hot water in this hillbilly backwoods.”

  Noah’s eyes sparkled at her. Joining hands, they hurried for the bathroom.

  Lyda was putting shower products in the stall. Noah glanced at Gen. In the grip of a shared arousal, it was as if they were of one mind. He sank to his knees at Lyda’s right knee, Gen at her left. Noah put his mouth on her thigh, one hand clasping the back of Lyda’s knee. Gen rubbed her cheek against her other thigh, wanting to go higher, so Noah took the lead, guiding her. He nibbled Lyda’s right buttock, ran his tongue along the crease between it and her thigh. Lyda leaned over to test the water, adjusting her stance so Noah could place his mouth between her thighs. Encouraged by Lyda’s hand on her head, the shift of her body sideways, Gen slid forward to close her mouth over Lyda’s clit in front while Noah’s mouth teased her labia and perineum, her rim, from behind.

  Lyda made a noise of approval and swayed. Noah’s hands went to her hips, steadying her, and Gen placed hers on Lyda’s thighs, closing her eyes in sheer bliss as Lyda’s fingers tightened in her hair, her other arm reaching back to do the same to Noah, directing the two of them to nibble, nip and tongue-fuck her, alternatively, until she was making lovely, long moans, her body writhing between them.

  “Stop,” she commanded breathlessly, tightening her fingers to draw them back. She gave them a slumberous, sexy look, then stepped into the shower. Turning, she moved to the back wall. Then she beckoned to them to join her.

  The next twenty minutes were playful, joyous fun. Lyda soaped Gen’s breasts, running her fingers in all crevices, doing the same to Noah, then letting them do it to her, so that they were all exploring, kissing, fondling. Then Lyda changed back to a demanding Mistress, shoving Gen against the tile and plunging her fingers into her, worrying her clit with her thumb. At her command, Noah pressed up behind Lyda, slid an arm around her waist, bent his knees and impaled his Mistress on his cock.

  “Cup your breasts for us, Gen,” Lyda said with hoarse demand. “Play with your nipples while I enjoy your cunt.”

  Gen did, until she was crying out for mercy, to be allowed to come. Lyda let her go only after she did. Noah fell shortly thereafter, their cries and moans echoing through the shower and making Gen want to start all over.

  * * * * *

  Such over-the-top sexual intensity could easily bespell a person, make her believe she was feeling deeper emotions. So over the next several days, Gen tested the theory, and was happy to find she enjoyed the nonsexual things the three of them did together as much. She savored every new thing she learned about them. Yes, the Dom/sub thing was always a pleasant undercurrent, but it was part of who Lyda and Noah were. A part she realized she liked very much, in or out of bed.

  That second day, they did a lot of shopping and sightseeing. She and Noah bought Lyda a T-shirt that said Badass Bitch. She retaliated by buying them bright red Dr. Seuss shirts that said Thing 1 and Thing 2 and making them wear them. They sampled fudge, wandered wide-eyed through Ripley’s Believe It or Not, and went hiking in the National Park. Noah coaxed Gen into letting him piggyback her for short stints to give her tired feet a rest. It was charming and sweet, and not at all a hardship to rest against his back, her cheek against his shoulder. Lyda’s hand occasionally brushed her back or hip. Then there was dinner and the nightly walk with Dot, followed by more bedtime pleasures.

  The next day, they went driving around outside of Gatlinburg to explore antique shops, dusty stores piled to the ceiling with paperbacks, and places run by local artisans. When they found a craft supply store, they had to drag Gen out of there at closing time. Lyda promised she could return later…if she was good. The sensual threat set off all sorts of fantasies in Gen’s head, while probably scandalizing the shopkeeper.

  When they returned to the cabin, Lyda left Noah and Gen to their own devices for dinner, opting for an energy bar and a run. She told Noah she’d catch up to them on the walk with Dot.

  “How far does she run?” Gen asked
Noah as they went across the bridge to retrieve Dorothy. He grinned.

  “Do you really want an answer to that?”

  “Let me guess. She found out how far Army Rangers can run, called them a bunch of pussies and doubled it.”

  “Tripled it, more likely.” He had his arm around her, hand tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. “I’ve told her if she wasn’t so beautiful she’d be totally butch. She told me she has no problem being both.”

  “No, she doesn’t.” Gen sighed.

  Dorothy met them at the door on her walker. She spent a certain amount of time each day using it so her muscles wouldn’t atrophy. Gen watched, quietly charmed by Noah’s gentleness as he helped Dot into her scooter, then held open the screen door so she could motor down the ramp.

  Gen’s affection for Noah’s grandmother had strengthened into adoration over the past few days. It was fueled by her merciless teasing of Noah, always tempered with a tender love in her eyes and touch. Noah was obviously nourished by the relationship, and that alone would have made Gen love the old woman. Studying them together, Gen realized it was the most relaxed she’d seen him, even when he was with her and Lyda.

  “There she comes.” Noah nodded. At the base of the steep hill they were going down, Lyda was coming up, moving at a steady pace. Sweat dampened the T-shirt between her breasts, the running shorts clinging to her hips and toned thighs, her thick tail of hair swinging over her shoulders. She had on her earbuds, listening to the player she had strapped to her arm.

  “Heavy metal,” Noah said. “She runs to old school stuff. AC/DC, Aerosmith. If you ever want to really piss her off, slide some Guns and Roses or Poison into the mix. She considers them rock wannabes.” Since he was behind Dot, he rubbed his backside with a grimace, pantomiming an awkward gait, as if he’d had rebar shoved up his ass. Gen hid a smile.

  “I never swung that way,” Dorothy remarked, “but she is a cool drink of water, isn’t she? Makes you feel all fluttery. She’s sort of beyond your reach, like bumping into Grace Kelly or Greta Garbo.” She lifted a hand to draw Noah parallel to her. “Stop walking behind me making faces, boy. I’ll box your ears.”

  “Yes ma’am.” He squeezed her hand. Dorothy looked back at Lyda. “But she makes me think about what Rita Hayworth said. ‘They go to sleep with Gilda, but they wake up with me.’ She needs things, just like we all do.”

  “Sometimes I’m not so sure,” Gen said. “She’s as self-contained as an island. If you erode one shore, she’ll just add on to the back side.”

  “So take a boat out to her. Kings or garbage men, we all need love. To be needed and accepted for who we are, deep inside. That’s the way you solve every problem, and find out what’s important, and what’s not.”

  She held Gen’s gaze long enough for Gen to realize the woman was trying to say something that covered more than just Lyda. Noah touched Dot’s shoulder. “Don’t be a busybody,” he said mildly.

  His grandmother looked up at him. “Just saying the truth, my boy,” she said. “The truth your heart knows.”

  Lyda reached them then. As she ran in place, she removed the earbuds, tucking them into the armband. “I love running here,” she told Dot.

  “Of course you do,” Gen said. “There are ninety degree inclines everywhere.”

  “Maybe it’s what I have waiting at the top of the hill.” Lyda crooked an arm around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss, surrounding Gen with the scent of sweaty woman. Thinking of how hard Lyda pushed her body and Dot’s warning about arthritis, Gen decided she’d learn how to give Lyda massages. Rub lotion into every inch of her skin. Maybe she and Noah could take a class together so they could do it at the same time. There was plenty of that lithe body to share.

  It was the thought a person had when she intended to be with someone for a long time. This weekend had made it easier to fall into that mode of thinking, the three of them working so well together, but vacations could be like that. The quick shadow in Noah’s gaze at his grandmother’s pointed comment warned against that. As did the other things Gen knew about Lyda—or didn’t know, as the case might be. Take a boat out to her…

  She realized then she hadn’t been self-conscious about Lyda kissing her. True, it was just a press of lips to lips, not a knee-weakening tongue invasion, but it had been a lovers’ kiss. Dorothy was pointing something out to Noah. She’d seen it, Gen was sure, but it didn’t seem to offend her. Lyda’s expression told Gen she’d noticed her lack of self-consciousness. And liked it.

  Gen slid a finger along Lyda’s collarbone, collecting perspiration. “I’m going to learn how to give massages,” she said. “Then I can make your muscles feel better after your hard workouts. I’ll also feed you ice cream.”

  Lyda gave her one of her sultry looks. She did a few more cool down circles around them at a trot, until Dorothy told her she was making her dizzy and Lyda dropped to a walk next to them.

  It was one of the nicest trips Gen could remember having…ever.

  * * * * *

  Lyda took the wheel on the first leg of the return trip. Gen was in the front with her, Noah in the back, stretched out on the seat, sleeping. Gen turned on her hip to study him. He had his long legs bent, one foot braced on the floorboards, the other knee leaning against the seatback. His arm was over his eyes, the other loose across his chest. He hadn’t taken many extra naps here, his sleep less disturbed. Except for last night.

  About three a.m. she’d woken to find Lyda and her alone in the bed. When she’d lifted her upper body to peer over Lyda, she’d seen him through the window, sitting on the back porch swing in darkness. His head was tilted, listening to the evening sounds. Making sure the covers were tucked around the soundly sleeping Lyda, Gen picked up his pillow and the throw at the end of the bed and took them out to the porch.

  Noah studied her with his dark eyes, saying nothing, but he made room for her. She propped the pillow against his thigh, lay down on her hip. As he stroked her hair, she curled her hands around his thigh.

  “You should be in bed,” he murmured. “It’s more comfortable.”

  “I want you to know I’m right here. We both are. Even if she sleeps like the dead.”

  “She always has,” Noah glanced through the window, into the darkened room. “She says it’s why she’d be a terrible mother.”

  “What do you think her mother was like?”

  “I thought she might be like Lyda, terrifying, but I was wrong. She doesn’t talk much about her family, but one time she said, ‘I make them uncomfortable, because I’m so different.’ She says they have the Christmas-card-once-a-year, contact-me-if-someone-dies kind of relationship.”

  “That’s sad. But I get it.” Gen couldn’t say her relationship with her own mother was much different. Their phone calls usually petered out after ten minutes, and they’d started spending holidays separately back in her twenties.

  They were three people without close family ties, and perhaps because all of them were aware of what they were missing, they sought it elsewhere. She grazed his chin, stroking the sandpaper stubble. “Whether she says it or not, or we mean it the same way, we love you, Noah.”

  Their eyes held forever, it seemed. Rather than struggling for the right thing to say, like she’d done the day at the guesthouse and chosen so wrongly, she let her feelings be guided by that penetrating look. Following the map it laid out inside her heart, she didn’t analyze the words that came to her lips, just spoke them.

  “You’re a treasure. You’re also a pain in the ass. You’re beautiful, sexy, frustrating. You’re sad, broken. Strong, amazing. All those things separated out might mean different things, but all together, woven into one special soul? That’s a gift.”

  She touched his mouth again. “I don’t want you to say anything. The words are for you. You do with them what you will. We’ll simply love you.”

  Settling her head on his thigh again, she closed her eyes. After a time, he stroked her once more, his feet keeping the porch sw
ing moving in a cradle rock. She fell asleep that way, vaguely aware of when he carried her back to bed, tucked her in between him and Lyda and curled close behind her.

  Coming back to the present, Gen thought about how he was with them, with his grandmother, and how he’d reacted to Elias. Last night, the words she’d spoken had been pure feeling, but she knew they were right. What purpose they’d serve, she didn’t know. But she hoped it was like looking at the concept for a collage, sorting through paper choices, seeing the picture form until that click moment when she knew how it was going to work.

  The thought reminded her she had some magazines to flip through, but she turned back to Lyda, intending to ask if she wanted her to read an article, play some music or initiate conversation, doing her part as the person riding shotgun.

  Instead, in a blink of the universe, she saw Lyda’s expression change, her lips draw back, her body going rigid. Then she wrenched the wheel to the right.

  The world exploded.

  There was the impact, the flash of the car hitting them. The Escalade was spinning out of control, hitting the guard rail—oh God—going through the guard rail. The nose of the car dipped like at the top of a roller coaster.

  Screaming, air pushing through the lungs…pain, crashing metal…Gen head hit something hard, blood in her eyes…

  Please, no.

  Silence.

  Gen opened her eyes. Things were rocking, back, forth, back, forth…a seesaw. It was like she was on a seesaw, vertical, facing down. She needed to throw up, but she was wheezing, a hard pressure against her chest. Her forehead was itching. What a crazy thing to annoy her right now.

  “Gen. Gen. I need your help.” Noah’s voice. Urgent, imperative. “Look at me. Look toward my voice.”

  Her head turned before her eyes opened, and she fought the desire to throw up. She was looking up at him. How was that possible?

  “Gen.”

  Noah had never snapped at her, as demanding as Lyda, his eyes hard as stone. Why wasn’t Lyda saying anything? “I…I can’t seem to move.”