Before an immediately leery Simone could question his intentions, Aaron removed a compact, gold hued tablet from the bag; declaring as he flicked a switch located on top, “I just thought I’d shed a little light on these obscene, downright evil proceedings. I mean to save the woman I love from marrying the sons of the devil.” shed a little light on these obscene, downright evil proceedings." he flicked a switch located on top, " the words Cool Bean
Simone’s eyes flew wide as she immediately identified their “gift.”
“It’s a sun lamp!” she screamed; mouth agape as a smirking Aaron flashed the luminous tablet in the direction of her wide eyed husbands.
Cringing as she heard both of her men cry out in a fit of pain and terror, Simone sprang forward to tackle the ‘gift giver’; knocking the sun lamp from his hands as she pinned him to the ground.
“Want to really see what a big girl can do?” she demanded, slapping his face hard as she added, “I’ve known for quite a while now that you were a complete and total douche. Why didn’t you fill me in on the fact that you were a complete and total psycho as well?”
She froze as she felt the presence of two strong hands on her sturdy shoulders; pulling her away from the now flailing body of her stunned ex-boyfriend.
Aaron promptly hopped up to his feet and ran terrified out the front door.
Heralding his departure with a hearty cry of, “The first smart thing that you’ve done all day—and don’t even think of coming back, Psycho Dude!” Simone ran into the arms of her husbands; relieved to see that their strength and beauty remained golden and untarnished in the wake of Aaron’s attempted attack.
“It only makes sense, love,” Taylor whispered, joining his brother in clutching their wife closer than close. “Moments ago, we pledged our lives to you.”
“Then you turned right around and saved those lives,” Chase finished, claiming her lips in a binding kiss.
6
The newly wedded trio completed their evening by flying off to their honeymoon, most literally. Simone laughed with joy as her two adoring grooms swept her most literally off of her feet; clasping her body in their arms as they flew her to the moon.
The three celebrated their union against a dazzling skyscape of sparkling crystalline stars; basking in the luminous glow of a golden crescent moon—one that looked much like the one whose likeness topped their café.
No matter how many times her lovers treated her to these lovely nocturnal flights, Simone never grew tired of them; nor did she tire of the feel of her husbands’ strong arms wound tight around her waist.
As an adoring Taylor used his perfect body to brace and support her back, Chase kissed his way down her full, lush body; kissing and licking her smiling lips, her heaving breasts, and her tender bellybutton before kneeling between her parted legs.
Simone threw her head back as Chase kissed open her sensitive feminine folds; kissing and licking her throbbing nub as his brother claimed her lips in a passionate kiss.
Both of their long, wet tongues worked in tandem to drive her insane, with Taylor licking the roof of her mouth as Chase laved and kissed her clit.
“Mmmmm,” she sighed, smacking her lips hard against Taylor’s as she reached backward to stroke the tendrils of soft, honey blond hair that blew wild in the wind.
Not to be outdone, Chase shifted his head back and forth to intensify the friction of his warm, moist lips on her clit, his tongues and fangs joining the fray to grace her with the intimate kiss.
Simone cried out moments later against Taylor’s lips as Chase sent her over the edge of an incredible climax; one that sent shards of erotic pleasure searing upward through every fiber of her being as she trembled outright.
Immediately catching her quaking body in two loving arms, Chase seized her lips in a passionate kiss; running massaging hands down her sturdy back as their arms entangled and her breasts crushed the surface of his hard, massive chest.
“I love you,” he whispered soft and sweet against her lips, clutching her to him as his brother took his place at her back; rubbing and massaging her shoulders as he too whispered, “I love you.”
“I love you both so much,” she replied, wrapping her arms around Taylor’s back as their hips and thighs locked between them.
As Taylor continued to kiss her senseless, pulling her body still closer to his, Chase held her back as he gyrated his hips against her full, buxom ass; raining sweet baby kisses down her neck and across her shoulders.
Reaching down to stroke her breasts, Taylor also tilted his rock hard hips against hers as their bodies bound between them, his long, reverberating cock penetrating the depths of her soaking wet pussy.
Even as Simone reached backward to grasp and caress Chase’s long, rock hard shaft, she reveled in the sublime feeling of Taylor inside her; surging forth to stroke her very core as he cradled her in his muscled arms.
Not to be outdone, Chase tossed the lengths of his black silken hair full against her back as he writhed shameless against her, his cock hardening and lengthening in the palm of her hand.
Pulling her closer to him, Taylor bowed his head to her neck and grazed his fangs light against her skin as he continued to probe and penetrate her.
Throwing her head back, Simone’s glance filled with the vision of a rich crescent moon that christened and oversaw their blessed union; its beams illuminating both of her lovers to intoxicating effect.
Even with their fangs bared and their fingernails taking the form of claws, the beauty of her two newly weeded husbands stole her breath; and as the three climaxed seconds later, both Chase and Taylor clinging to her as they moaned and cried their pleasure, she knew without a doubt that she was the luckiest blasted woman on earth.
For that matter, she was the luckiest woman hovering just above earth, and immediately below the moon.
“Because if anyone has me ‘over the moon,’” she mused, rolling her eyes at her own apologetic, out and out corniness, “It’s these two wondrous men who’ve managed to take a bite right out of my life.”
ROCK ‘N’ ROLL LOVER
1
“Spyder? My new student’s name is friggin’ Spyder?”
Some days, Nicole Moore figured, were better than others.
“So before the tutoring session, am I going to have to confiscate his graphic novels—or his illegal weapons and/or controlled substances?”
This day, the 22-year-old figured further, was not one of those mythical better days.
Still she knew that she had to honor her commitment as a tutor intern at Fitzgerald State College; a position that, if successfully completed, could be her key to a lucrative assistant professorship at this same university.
“So there will only be a few more Spyders, Jeds or Brittnis to navigate through to achieve a B plus before I’m outta here,” she reminded herself, adding more warmly, “Along, of course, with a number of genuine, hardworking students who—because of either tough home lives or substantial learning challenges—just need a little extra help and guidance. It’s always my pleasure to help these kids. Why do I get the distinct feeling, though, that Spyder belongs more to the former category than the latter?”
Shaking off the feeling of cold, hard dread that threatened to overwhelm her, Nicole adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and settled her curvy form in the straight wicker chair that sat behind her work station at the Fitzgerald school library; a basic wooden table that formed a far corner of the basic one story library.
“Show no fear,” she reminded herself, adding as she raised her gaze to behold the young man who currently approached her work station, “or out and out wonder, amazement or good ol’ fashioned covetous desire.”
Indeed, the man who now approached her table probably qualified as the most beautiful male she’d ever seen—if not the most beautiful blasted human being, overall.
Standing tall and statuesque above her desk, the olive eyed brunette regarded her with a dazzling white toothed smile; one
that shone forth from a bronzed, chiseled face that also boasted carved cheekbones, full, moist lips and a genuine cleft chin.
“Lord, I didn’t think that anyone actually had a cleft chin these days, outside of Hollywood,” she mused, arching her eyebrows at this disturbing realization.
Beyond being symmetrically arranged to the point of near flawlessness (OK then, complete and total flawlessness, if she was to be brutally honest), all of these downright fascinating features came framed in a long, silken mane of ebony hair that fell across his muscled shoulders and down his planed back.
“OK dude, so thanks for just triggering my hair fetish,” she gritted her teeth, her gaze lingering for a moment on those luscious, silky locks as she added, “Big time.”
Forcing her gaze away from that luscious mane did little to help this situation, as her eyes ended up travelling down the length of his tall, lean muscled form; a body adorned today in a pair of sinful tight blue jeans and a T-shirt that came emblazoned with his own hand painted image—along with the name “Spyder” printed above in a bold flash of scarlet red calligraphy.
“Well if I was that cute, I wager I’d wear my own picture on some random article of clothing as well,” she mused—realizing too late that she’d mused aloud.
“Did I just say that out loud?” she asked the god before her, biting her lip hard as her worst fears were confirmed by way of a nod and a smile.
“Indeed you did, Miss,” he confirmed, accenting his words with a playful wink.
Nicole nodded.
“Yikes, I was afraid of that,” she grinned, adding as she offered her hand, “If you’re not already prepared to turn tail and race headfirst for the nearest exit, Spyder, then do allow me to introduce myself. I’m your new tutor, Nicole Moore. That’s N-i-c-o-l-e and Moore as in Mary Tyler, just in case you need a verified spelling to submit as part of your harassment complaint.”
Spyder guffawed outright.
“Are you kidding, Miss Moore? I am so relieved that the person I’ll be studying with all semester has a sense of humor,” he told her, adding as he rolled his eyes heavenward, “You’ll probably need it, once you start helping me with my reports.”
Nicole shook her head.
“Oh nonsense, the thought never even occurred to me,” she countered, simultaneously waving away his concerns as she also waved him in to the chair nearest her own. To her immediate left, as a matter of fact. “As long as you make it to each of our weekly sessions along with all of your classes, we’ll get you through this semester of English comp—and with flying, or at the very least passing, colors.”
Spyder nodded.
“Well I hope so,” he told her, adding with a deep sigh, “I really don’t mean to be such a screw up in class, Miss Moore—I mean, Nicole—but my night job takes up most of my evenings and I get very little sleep. It seems like I have very little energy or concentration left over for school.”
Nicole arched her eyebrows.
“Your night job, ay?” she asked, adding silently this time, “Is he a stripper, maybe? One of those male companions, like I hear about on the talk shows? A gal always can hope.”
Seemingly oblivious to the train of thought that was quickly turning obscene in nature, Spyder told her, “I’m a rock star. Well, not a star exactly, at least not yet; but rest assured that I’m not wearing a T-shirt with my own name and picture because I’m a complete egomaniac,” he paused here, adding with a teasing wink, “Or even because I’m cute.”
Nicole rolled her eyes.
“Something tells me that my earlier assessment of your masculine beauty is bound to follow me around for the duration of my association,” she muttered.
Spyder laughed.
“I love the way you talk, Miss,” he praised her, adding as he pinned her with a pensive stare, “It’s so, I dunno, smart. And I just know that you can help a struggling speed metal musician pass English comp.”
Nicole nodded.
“Yes, I do believe I can,” she told him, adding as she stroked her chin in a show of thoughtfulness, “So you say that you’re a musician. Do you happen to write your own songs?”
Spyder nodded.
“I sure do,” he said with a proud smile. “As a matter of fact, I write all of the songs for my band, the Lightning Rods.”
Nicole smiled.
“Well that’s great!” she affirmed, adding with a broad gesture, “If you can write a song, then surely you can write a composition.”
Spyder gritted his teeth.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he told her, adding as he averted his gaze to the table beneath them, “The last two grand compositions that I happened to pen were titled ‘Saturday Night Party, Sunday Morning Hangover’ and ‘Sexy Sally’.”
Nicole chuckled.
“Well now let’s take a closer look at these two titles,” she suggested, adding as she leaned across the desk, “The phrase ‘Saturday Night Party, Sunday Morning Hangover’ shows a strong grasp of cause and effect concepts. And the title ‘Sexy Sally’ has a nice lyrical flow—provided, of course, that the song accompanying said title is not overly sexist or vulgar in terms of its lyrical content.”
Spyder shook his head.
“Oh no, not at all,” he assured her, adding as he raised a finger for emphasis, “Rest assured, Nicole, that I have the upmost respect for chicks—that is, ladies—that is, people of the female persuasion…” he broke off here, showing by the way he shuffled his sneaker clad feet beneath the table that he still wasn’t sure he had it right.
Nicole chuckled.
“Look, I can tell already that you’re an intelligent, well-spoken dude with a sense of humor and a creative spark,” she assured him, adding as she inclined her head in his direction, “Now all we have to do is take all of that mental clay and form it into some strong, cohesive compositions.”
Spyder thought a moment, then grinned.
“You know, until today I wasn’t even aware that I had mental clay,” he told her, voice tinged with awe as he thrust a triumphant fist in the air. “That rocks! And so do you, Nicole. I have to say that, for once in my life, I’m actually looking forward to studying.”
Nicole nodded.
“Well that, my good man, is a pretty high compliment,” she told him, meeting him high above the desk in a celebratory high five. “As a matter of fact, I’d say it rocks. Now let’s get to work!”
2
One week later
Once again Nicole sat tall and proud behind her neat, basic work station at the Fitzgerald State College library; though this time she was in no way fearing or dreading the student she was due to meet here in less than ten minutes.
Indeed, she only feared and dreaded the grade he may have gotten on the first composition he was due to complete under her expert tutelage.
Oh, she knew that Spyder McKenzie was smart enough to pull off a winning composition. She only hoped that he had taken the time and initiative to complete, edit and polish his essay—which concerned the romantic themes and undercurrents prevalent in the works of The Bard, William Shakespeare—and in accordance with the deadline set by Ms. Hart, his English comp teacher—a particularly prickly instructor who’d even once threatened to give her a failing grade.
“During the entire course of my four-year term of undergraduate study here at Fitzgerald, my affectionate, heartfelt nickname for her was Ms. Hart-less,” she mused, adding with a shudder, “Hey, I was an overly stressed undergrad. Cut me a break.”
She only hoped that the finicky old professor would cut her newest pupil a bit of a break; for aside from showing a great deal of creativity and more than a little writing talent, Spyder expressed a genuine willingness to learn. And while he sometimes stumbled in a few minutes late for their weekly tutoring sessions, at times even arriving in a semi-conscious state that had to be corrected via a handy dandy ‘coffee IV’ (translation, a pint of Starbucks premium blend retrieved in a frenzy en route to the library), he always
did manage to make the sessions; arriving with a bright smile and—mostly—prepared to learn.
“Although it seems that today, he happens to be running a few minutes later than usual,” she noted, biting her lip as she took a cautionary look at a clock that adorned a nearby wall. “I sure hope everything went OK with his first big composition.”
She cringed in spite of herself moments later, as her usually beaming pupil walked into the library with a deep, pronounced frown; approaching their table with slow, trudging steps as he averted his eyes to the ground below them.
“Hey Nic,” he greeted her, tone low and dispirited.
“Hi Spyder,” she returned, adding as she pinned him with a gaze of keen concern, “Is everything all right?”
Spyder sighed.
“Everything’s OK, I guess,” he assured her, tone vague and unconvincing. “I only wish that I had done a bit better on my first big compositions for Ms. Hart.”
With these words he withdrew a neatly folded paper from the zippered pocket of his smart pleather jacket; holding it between them as he told her, “I was so hoping I could tell you, Nicole, that I had earned an A plus on my first big report. Guess I should have known better; I was aiming too high.” He paused here, flipping open the paper with a dramatic snap to reveal his mysterious hidden letter grade. “After all the excellent help you gave me, I guess this is the best I could do, Chief. Sorry.”
Nicole’s eyes flew wide as they regarded the phantom letter grade; one emblazoned across the top of his typewritten cover page in a brilliant flash of scarlet red ink.
“A minus,” she said the words in a low, hushed tone that conveyed an expression of pure and complete disbelief. “I know that the show has been off the air for years, Spyder, but I still feel I must ask. Am I being Punked?”
Spyder guffawed outright.
ENSLAVED BY SHIFTERS Page 80
