Cherry Blossoms

by KT Morrison

  “Rocco—”

  “Get in the back.”

  “Rocco, I’m serious, I—”

  “Just get in the fuckin back.”

  She complied. Eased away, flipped the console back down and she sat up and put her left leg out and over it, pulled herself through until she was on the back bench. She straightened her skirt, and flipped her hair, while Rocco got out of the truck, slammed his door and was now climbing into the back seat through the opened back door. He filled up the cabin back there next to her, closing his enormous bulk in with her, clunking that door behind him.

  Nia leaned herself, sitting, against the rear passenger door, folding her arms across her chest and keeping her legs together. “Agh,” she blurted as he grabbed her by her neck. He held her firmly and looked in her eyes.

  “What?” she cried.

  “Lift your skirt.”

  “No, Rocco, I’m sore, I—”

  “Pull that fuckin skirt up.”

  She pursed her lips and looked back at him with meanness. Her hands reached down, moving stiffly, she gripped the hem of her skirt and she pulled it up her thighs.

  “Higher,” he grunted, still holding her firmly, looking between her legs.

  She rolled her eyes, defiant despite his rough hand around her neck. She lifted her hips and she shimmied the skirt right up, bunched it around her waist and sat back down, her panty-bottom pressing into the leather.

  He looked at her bare thighs, the triangle of black lace with a solid satin front where her pussy hid. She kept her legs together. Her nipples swelled.

  He squeezed her, growled, “You scratched the shit out of me you crazy bitch. You want Maria to find out? You fuckin marking me?”

  “No.”

  “Bite my fuckin hand, spit on me...you scratch my face and I will fuckin put your lights out.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m fuckin serious,” he said, and he pointed a big blunt finger in her face.

  “I believe you,” she said.

  He let her go, tentatively, like he wanted to squeeze her harder, wanted to yell more things at her. Her hand came up and she soothed her neck, running her long fingers up and down, feeling where he’d gripped her like his hand was still there.

  He was looking down on her, his two hands working his button out of his pants. The muscles of his bare arms and his thick hands bulged and flexed as he worked. He was strong, she knew his power; her breaths came faster. She couldn’t today, she just couldn’t. She wasn’t ready. She wanted to, definitely wanted to, but she ached already and she would sting if she was spread by that thing he had.

  He did his fly down, she knew he was watching her, seeing her lewd gaze waiting for him to bring out what he had between his legs. Like a dirty cock-hungry whore. The fly unclenched slowly, his hand searched behind the denim, shoved behind the waistband of his white cotton briefs. He pulled it out and let it hang over the waistband, pinching it upward, letting it fold over and dangle loosely.

  A dead ringer for Dino. She’d seen Dino’s soft, bare cock all the time. He was so fucking sexy when he walked around naked. That muscular, young body he had, his manly cock swinging. He used to drive her crazy with all that wild masculine charm. Rocco’s penis was the same but bigger. He was bigger. He was far more masculine.

  He said, “Where’s that lube?”

  “Rocco—”

  “In your purse?”

  “Yeah, but...”

  He was leaning between the seats, reaching up into the front seat footwell, that big, soft dick recoiling into itself, disappearing into his fly, just the big puckered foreskin poking out. Then he was back, throwing her purse onto her stomach. She searched through it, hands hunting for the hard plastic feel of the lube she’d got at the pharmacy yesterday.

  “Rocco, I was so dry when we did it…that first time. I mean it, you hurt me. I couldn’t even make love to my husband when I got home.”

  That made him smile, but he said nothing. She found the bottle, a two-ouncer, black with frosty blue lettering. She took it and held it out weakly, showing him. He didn’t flinch.

  She sat up, getting closer to him. Squirted a coin-sized blue minty swirl into her palm. She looked up, biting her lip, showing him she was troubled; he was stoic.

  She took his hanging cock in both her hands, worked the lube over his skin. It was bright in the cab, a sunny day out past those tinted windows. She could see his cock in clear detail. His thick leathery skin, reddish brown, getting darker til it got to the end, his wrinkled foreskin almost dark brown. She stroked him, feeling his huge thing squirm and wriggle in her slippery grip. She squeezed and milked, brought stiffening life into it. His hand raked through her hair and she tilted her head to meet it, liked the feel of his strong touch on her.

  She put her mouth on it, raised its lazy weight up with the backs of her fingers and pushed it past her lips. It was sleepy and chilled, the mint was nice, sweet but medicinal. It made him slippery and his cock danced around her teeth and tongue and she struggled to keep it in check.

  Then he surged, stiffened. Being in her mouth brought his blood pumping. She could feel his girth swelling in her mouth, becoming substantial. She pulled her lips to a point, dragging his foreskin along with it, plumping it between her lips and pulling til it stretched out long, then gripping him below his glans with her thumb and forefinger and sinking, yanking his foreskin back with her fingers and plunging him deep into her mouth, his bare glans gliding along the roof. His cock was incredible. He was clean, he was soapy, but even early in the morning like this, he smelled like a man. His musk was there, in the creases of his scrotum, where his thick cock emerged from his body. A strong masculine smell, leather and spice and sweat. She looked up at him, hunched over, looming above her, his big truck not big enough to contain this big man. His head was bent, the back pressed to the velour roof. His eyes were lazy, dead; black orbs that took this scene in, this bad wife doing the baddest thing. Sucking another man’s cock. Sucking her boss’ cock in his truck. This man whose brother she dated and, for a while, thought she would marry. She was a bad girl. Her panties were damp and she smiled around his shaft. He smiled too.

  “Lay back,” he said.

  “Rocco,” she warned.

  “Pull those panties off.”

  “Rocco, I’m hurting, there’s people all around, you parked on the side—”

  He guided her with a palm on her shoulder until she rested her back on the door. From his expression, there was no argument. Her fingers slid under her panties and ran along her belly back and forth while he watched. Her knees came up and she peeled them down her thighs, over her ankles, snagging them on the point of a shoe heel, then off to the floor of his truck. Her legs pressed together, watching him, sucking her lips into her mouth, waiting to see what he would do next.

  “Open,” he grunted.

  She parted her legs, let them fall open, revealed to him her dark twisted flesh. His hands covered her knees, held them wide, and the sight of him, T-shirt, tattoos, muscles, huge hanging cock, watching her, his eyes looking at that secret girl part, made her gasp loud. She gasped high like a teenage Nia, exposed to this man, so fucking aroused his eyes between her legs felt like she’d been touched there.

  He leaned, his cock swinging forward, laying itself flat along her thigh. She felt its heat against her cold skin. The tip dangled down, its wrinkled foreskin lightly grazing her mound, the silky lube making it tickle.

  He took her ankles, one in each hand and he pulled her legs up so they rested over his hips, then pressed her knees together, his cock pinched between them. He eased his cock through her pressed thighs.

  “Oh,” she whispered, watching, seeing his thing coming through at her. He wasn’t fully hard, rigid enough to pass in and out. When he thrust through, his cock would dip and wag, the lube-glistened skin pulling and crumpling, the flared lip of his glans lurking there under his dusky sleeve. Her hands went to it, gripped it. He was big. Big enough to pass throug
h her thighs and still have two hands grip him. How did he ever get this inside her?

  She held her fists for him to fuck, encouraged him with honest, sexy gasps. They would be okay. She’d keep her job. They could fuck on the side. She would tell that sweet man at home most of the dirty things they did. He stiffened in her shiny grip. Pushing lube with his passage, making it foam along her thumbs. He was rock hard now and she felt herself wet and sticky between her legs watching this thing, this dirty action. She tilted her hips, a sudden desperate urge to feel him pass along her sex, feel this slippery club part her lips and ease its weight across her swollen clit. She squeezed him harder, flexed her ass, rose herself higher, felt his balls touching her thighs, felt their mass tapping against her, so low, right where she wanted to be touched. “Mm,” she hummed, her face clenching for a moment, concentrating on the weight they had as they tapped against her labia.

  “Fuck, Rocco, fuck,” she moaned. She wished she could have him inside her. God, she fucking wanted it so bad right now. She seemed so much brighter than that dark place she’d ended up in in that Montréal hotel room. Time had passed, Geoff was okay, the sun was out...

  She watched his cock, pictured it inside her, splitting her pink canal, probing deeply like she felt two nights ago. So deep, like it was in her belly. She thought of what it felt like for him to come inside her, the heat of his seed, the wetness, the force...

  “Ah, R-Rocco,” she whispered.

  That cock—she didn’t know how big it was, only that it was the hugest thing she’d ever seen. What? Four, five lengths of her fist, maybe? The last four inches of his cock went wider than the base, his glans was an enormous glistening bulb, as big as a clementine. Her thumb ran through the cleft that split his bursting glans as her legs gripped his foreskin and every time he thrust through her thighs that bulging, flared, angry-looking knot lunged at her out of its wrinkled shroud. She watched its black eye, the glans so hard and engorged her squeezing fingers couldn’t produce a wink, and she waited, waited for it to produce his seed, to bulge wide with his eruption and prove to her the effect she had on him.

  She watched the multiple folds along the bend of his wrist, the drawn dragons rippling along his skin there as his hands clenched her knees. The skin of his muscular arms had taken a sweaty shine. She looked at his fingers as they pressed into her flesh, her stomach fluttered seeing the size of his hands, how tiny they made her knees and thighs look. His breaths grew ragged and lusty, she could feel his tip get wet and slicker under her pressing thumb, could see then, the pre-cum streaming from him. His hands gripped her little legs tighter. She clenched her thighs, flexed her muscles, pressed the soft sides of her flesh tighter around his thrusting cock. A bus crept along behind him, the red and white TTC crawled along behind his bulk and she could see the profiles of passengers with headphones, reading books…

  Then he was coming, soundless, just breath snorting through his nostrils like some enormous farm animal. He launched one thick stream that landed on her shirt, dripping down the folded-up underside of her skirt. A drop wet her cheek.

  “Come on my pussy,” she hissed, letting her legs come apart, and stroking his flexing cock downward, long pulls with her right hand. He kept pulsing his white seed, spewing hot milk onto her hungry, desperate mound. “Yeah, come all over my pussy.” Her eyes rolled back at its feel as it tapped against her sensitive folds, reeling with its intense, wet heat on her delicate, engorged flesh.

  “That’s it, that’s it, ah,” she moaned, watching now, looking between her legs while she squeezed the last of it out of him, saw the mess he’d made all over her shaved sex. Her stomach was fluttering, she could see it tremble. He was so hot.

  Then she was posing for him, his masculinity drawing the little girl out of her, tilting her head and showing him her big, wet eyes, her long lashes. Did I do good for you, Daddy?

  She let his cock go, carefully, brought her hands between her legs and felt how wet he’d left her. She scooped his seed up, keeping it from sliding down and into her crack and all over his seat.

  “Get the towel,” she whispered.

  He kept one in his gym bag, tucked in the footwell next to her behind the passenger seat. He leaned next to her, his arm jerking his bag open and wafting his man smell out from his underarm. He plopped the towel between her legs, didn’t say a thing.

  He zipped up, backed out and got into the driver’s seat, slammed that door, shaking the truck. He left her there on her back, covered in lube, his semen on her shirt and on her face, leaking between her legs. She wiped the towel over her sex, wiped herself clean, dried the lube from her thighs and dabbed the spot of semen that had landed on her cheek and had slid behind her ear.

  Rocco had the truck in gear, looking over his shoulder now and merging into traffic, heading back up Jarvis to get back on the Expressway. She felt bewildered, dazed; her panties were found in the footwell, wedged between Rocco’s gym bag and the transmission hump. She worked them around, found the tag, and slipped them on over her heels, up her legs, and thrust her hips up to slip them up over her butt while Rocco drove in silence. Sitting in the centre of the rear bench her heart rate slowed and she adjusted her skirt, looking out the windshield at the cars below them as he got back to the Gardiner.

  As her heart rate became normal she felt something else come over her. Anger. Leaving her like that. Fucking her thighs, getting her to jerk him off, then coming all over her and what? He’s not going to say anything, just get back to work? Leave her to clean his fucking sperm off her?

  Now she shook her hair, irritated, staring holes into the side of his enormous head. He had a hand draped over the wheel a thumb absently drumming on its scooped ridges without the accompaniment of any music. She huffed, eased up off the bench and passed a leg through to the passenger seat, struggled to pull herself through the gap and get herself seated next to him.

  “Nice,” she snorted lightly, shifting her weight around to settle in the leather seat, reaching and pulling the seatbelt over.

  He looked over at her, eyes half-lidded, eyebrows even, aloof.

  She shook her head, thrust an angry hand out for emphasis, said, “You’re just going to come on me? Fuckin say nothing, keep driving?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I don’t know Rocco. Fuckin...a little dignity.”

  He snorted, his face mean, he said, “Relax.”

  “Whatever,” she mumbled to herself, rubbing a clean corner of the towel on the wet, spreading stain on her clean black top.

  GEOFF

  Nia squinted at the brochure, sitting up in bed, laying it on her knees and winding her neck back to get the letters to focus. Geoff had given her the brochure for Camp Arrowhead, the stay-a-way camp Odie had picked for herself. They’d discussed her doing this, Odie had been presented with the idea and wasn’t disinterested. They’d billed it as a cottage-like experience. Nia left it to Geoff to decide.

  “Jesus, Nia,” Geoff laughed, and he handed her her glasses which had been left folded on the bedside table. He sat next to her on the bed. “What do you think?”

  “It’s booked?” she asked him, opening the arms out and putting them on, now reading the glossy three-fold paper with bright smiling pictures of young girls on sunny days on the water.

  “She leaves evening of the twenty-first, back on August fourth.”

  Nia read from the brochure, leaning now towards the table lamp, let its yellow shine make the words easier for her to read. “Ontario’s oldest All-Girl traditional wilderness camp...swimming, sailing, canoeing, kayaking, arts and crafts, nature, dramatics, oh brother,” she rolled her eyes at their already dramatic daughter, “wilderness canoe trips...Geoff, is this safe?”

  “Yeah, it has great reviews. They have an outpost up there, lots of counsellors, it’s, like, the best one...” he said, getting up and heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

  “Fifteen hundred bucks, eh?” she called from the bed.

 
“She’s worth it,” he smiled into the mirror. It was expensive but he wanted to send her to a good one.

  “How you gonna manage?”

  “Huh?” he asked, leaning back from the sink and looking in on her, toothbrush shoved in his mouth.

  “Your Odie away for a week.”

  “I know. I’ll be fine. I’m envious...” he said, finishing up, rinsing, spitting and taking a moment to floss.

  When he got back to her, Nia had her glasses off, brochure away, sitting up cross-legged in her T-shirt and her loose PJ shorts, watching him. “You never went to camp?”

  “Nope.”

  “White kid like you?”

  “Ha ha. No, I never did. I played in a creek in the suburbs. There was lots of trees.”

  “Real fur trapper.”

  “Everything’s dirty with you.”

  “Ha, Geoff...that wasn’t dirty.”

  “I caught the beaver I was looking for,” he said with a sly look between her legs.

  She laughed, threw her head back, said, “You’re so juvenile.”

  “You married me,” he smirked, standing next to the bed, taking his watch off.

  “Odie’s not backing out? She’s going to miss her dad, isn’t she?”

  “She’s really excited. She wants to do it.”

  “She does?”

  “Yeah, I was surprised. You know how she is though,” he said, then cocked his hip and talked like his little girl, said, “I gotta get away from this rat race, you two are driving me crazy...”

  “Oh brother,” Nia chuckled, covered her mouth.