Now I just need to find out how not to act like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar until we can set our plan in motion. Hard part’s over, as they say.
6 BATES - NOVEMBER
I’m one dumb asshole, that’s for sure. How do I keep getting myself into situations like that? Usually, it starts with my dick talking and my brain getting surpassed, but somehow this time I tried to be all brains, and it didn’t help, at all. Yeah, maybe it has something to do with my inability to say no to a certain young lady, and sure, my token protestation could have been a little more convincing, but still, the fact that it took her all of five minutes to talk herself into my pants is a disgrace.
Or the fact that I’m feeling weird about this and am still debating whether to go through with the plan, because holy shit, how stupid of an asshole do you have to be to need convincing for an undertaking like this? It must cover easily ninety-nine percent of male fantasies.
Then why do I find myself feeling like shit at odd times over the next few days?
Madeline. Not her, or her actions, or anything that went down with her kids, really—although I do wish she would have been smarter and waited another day so we could have sent her with that other group we met to Missouri, or wherever the fuck they were heading to, same as the college kids. Who I feel sorry for is her daughter, and my discomfort multiplies by a million when I think of what her life must be like right now. It’s impossible not to see the parallels to Sadie, although she’s pitching in an entirely different ballpark. I even wonder if I should bring up a possible rescue mission in our next clandestine meeting, but Miller already shot down the suggestion twice—and it wasn’t an easy choice, which is one of the reasons why I trust that asshole to make the right decisions for all of us. Right now, with the snow and cold, it’s impossible to go on an extended trip, but even so—we lack intel, we’re not enough people to storm their stronghold, and any one of us who gets killed will be one less able fighter to protect our own.
But that’s not really what makes me uncomfortable. It took a day or two of thinking, but it was actually Sadie’s suggestion that started it. Or, rather, her reasoning. I’m the first to admit that guys have a tendency to get pretty stupid and one-track minded where sex is involved, but damn, I really didn’t realize just how much agency matters—and consent should not be a gray area. Of course I got that Madeline thought that she was contributing to the cause by spreading her legs for whoever was willing, but the stupid animal base of my brain was quick to reason that nobody was making her do it, or even expecting her to, and it wasn’t like I didn’t make an effort for her to enjoy it, too. And she did, far as I could tell. She told me so, and she didn’t look or feel like she was faking it. But now I can’t stop asking myself if her only reason was so nobody would look twice at her daughter, and damn, that’s a miserable thought.
Problem is, I can’t really discuss the weird shit that’s rumbling around my brain with anyone. Sure, the part about that crazy bitch I could discuss with Burns, but the fucker is too smart for his own good. He’d start asking himself why I am so caught up in my own bullshit, and then he’d start looking around, and I already feel like he’s scrutinizing me for how much time Sadie and I spend together. I doubt he’d rat me out to either Bert or Miller, but he might drop a wrong comment to Lewis, and she wouldn’t let this slide without blowing the whole thing wide open. Can’t say I wouldn’t deserve it. So why am I right now sneaking into the garage at one in the morning to get the blankets and pillows I stowed away, one by one, over the last days?
Right, because a beautiful, smart girl asked me to, and I can’t say no to a pretty lady.
By the time she joins me twenty minutes later, I have everything set up. The car—with only the back row installed and lots of room to move—has been under a tarp for the past two days, and thanks to some space heater repurposing it’s toasty warm inside. There are the blankets, and the pillows, and a bottle of lube I sure hope we won’t need or else I’m failing at my job; tissues and some bottled water, and some snacks—mostly to put her at ease or give her an excuse if she changes her mind. Part of me is praying that she will. The far greater rest of me isn’t, because damn, feeling conflicted or not, I’ve had some serious issues over the past days keeping my dick from reporting to action at the weirdest of times. My heart may not be fully in it, and my brain’s running a counter campaign, but the old boy is ready to rock.
And, damn, none of that better make it out of my mouth tonight, or I’ll scar that girl for life.
Sadie looks a little scared but determined as she joins me in the car, careful to be quick to close the front door to keep as much of the heat inside as possible. The tarp is thick enough that the illumination provided by the two flashlights shouldn’t leak outside but I’ve strategically put them on the lowest part of the car so she’s not getting a starkly illuminated view of all the goods. I might even turn one of them off, depending on how shy she is. The asshole voice in my mind provides I may as well do that now since there’s no way in hell that she’s not super self-conscious. This is a recipe for disaster—and I’m too stupid to keep myself from going forward.
I offer her a warm smile as I pat the blankets on the seats, moving to the side so she can easily crawl past me and sit down there. She’s in her normal sleeping clothes—a warm track suit with thick socks that make me think more little girl than cheerleader role-play. I’m a second away from calling it quits, but before I can do more than open my mouth, she pulls the thick sweatshirt over her head, revealing nothing but perfect, soft skin underneath. My mouth shuts on its own accord as she proceeds to shimmy out of the pants, taking her underwear with it in one go. The socks stay on as she settles back into the cushions and blankets, a perfect mix of discomfort, anxiety, but also challenge and barely hidden lust.
The smart thing would have been to keep my trap shut and just go for it, but I need to make sure this is really what she wants. So I ask her, and get a shaky snap of a reply back. “Yes, I’m sure.” She doesn’t call me an asshole but I can see she’s thinking it.
“You know that I’ll stop any time you want me to,” I urge. “Now, or five minutes from now, or even when we get to the point of no return.”
She’s scowling at me, but at the same time starts to laugh. It carries a slightly nervous note, but is otherwise her usual, relaxed self. “Chris, we’re only having sex. We’re not enacting a suicide pact.” She goes as far as smiling sweetly, which is a hell of a devilish things to do, fully naked in front of me, her legs pressed together coquettishly rather than in trepidation. She’s killing me, and she knows it. “Thank you for being so thoughtful and considerate,” she teases, only her fingers drumming nervously on her thighs betraying her. “I appreciate it. I also appreciate it that, should I actually change my mind and bail out, that you’ll still let me touch you and explore.” She sure blew my mind when she casually dropped that yesterday afternoon when she handed me back my mended pants. “But could we, please, stop talking now and get going?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I quip as I lean forward. Her body tenses, then relaxes as she makes herself abandon what must be a storm of doubt still raging in her mind. She sure looks surprised when I don’t go right for the kill but instead kiss her—on the mouth, lips closed, before I slowly take it one step further and add some tongue. My hands find her warm, soft body, but I touch her waist and lower back only at first as I pull her toward me, giving her the choice what to do about her legs. She spreads them, inviting me closer, but because I’m kissing her and her arms are wrapped around my shoulders, she’s now less exposed than moments ago as I pull her against me. I’m still in my T-shirt and track pants because I intend to spend some quality time on her before it’s time to shed my clothes, but get the distinct idea she’s caring less about that now than when she got into the car.
I’m not stupid. Well, not in the details. I’m well aware that, while memorable, this won’t go down as the best fuck of my life. This isn’t about me, or
even us—this is all about her. Yes, there’s that small thread of satisfaction that she’s asking me to set the bar for every single guy who’ll come after me, and I intend to make life hell for them. That’s the least I can do. But she’s young, and inexperienced, and while I don’t doubt her determination will bloom into enthusiasm eventually, I don’t count on seeing much of that tonight. That’s for another guy who she’ll eventually choose for the right reasons, not the rational, fearful ones; some lucky chump who she’ll be madly in love with, and who she can’t wait to climb all over. I know I’m not that guy. I know I’ll never be that guy, and tonight isn’t that night. I don’t mind, or at least I keep telling myself that as I make my way down her body, first to kiss the elegant column of her throat, then deviate to spend some time with her perky tits, and then further down while my hands inch below her ass to pull her forward to the edge of the seat. I can smell the clean scent of the soap she must have used to wash up earlier, and thank fuck she hasn’t embarked on any landscaping endeavors. I enjoy a bare pussy as much as the next guy, but the last thing we need is her to get busted because she cut herself shaving, or her mother getting suspicious why she’s suddenly no longer sporting a bush. She has shaved her legs, though, I notice as I keep running my hands up and down her warm skin to ease her mind a little. When I look up at her face, I see that she’s trying very hard to appear at ease, but her brow is knit and she keeps gnawing on her bottom lip. I smile—and then dive right in, because from up close, I can smell her, that special kind of feminine musk that has been missing from my life for far too long. And I reason, I’m also doing her a favor when I drive her wild enough that her brain shorts out and she forgets to be nervous.
It doesn’t work quite like that, of course, but I’m happy to discover that she’s not just all about contingency plans but shows signs of genuinely enjoying herself. Sure, there’s the expected shyness, but she’s quick to pick up on hints when I urge her on. Her nerves never quite disappear but the tension in her limbs changes gradually, first into a more relaxed state and then a different kind of excitement. I lick and suck and kiss until my jaw starts to complain, and take my sweet time with introducing first one, then a second finger, giving her ample time to get accustomed. I don’t feel or see her hymen but I have no reason not to believe her that she’s a virgin. She sure is tight as fuck, at least at first, which both gives me the worst kind of hard-on, and makes me feel guilty as fuck. She does get wet quickly, and when I keep going with two fingers and go back to licking her to find out just how she likes it best, I manage to make her come, which surprises her way more than me. It’s not a huge explosion, yet judging from the slack-jawed look of awe on her face, I did just blow her mind. Yay me! Afraid my face will portray some of the mixed feelings my mind is still full of, I go back to drawing the aftershocks out as long as possible, repeating my new mantra: it’s all about her.
I know we’re done here—at least with this part—when I feel her thighs tense before she tentatively nudges my head with a finger to make me back off. She’s still bright-eyed and not quite coherent as she stares down at me, at least the shy bashfulness of before gone. She looks conflicted, which, at first, makes me think she will bail out, but what she says runs into a different direction.
“I need to tell you something before it’s too late.”
I raise my brows at her as I rock back on my heels but keep a comforting hand on the inside of her spread thigh—to keep her from physically backing off, but also because I thoroughly enjoy the view. “Tell me what?”
She does more of that gnawing on her bottom lip but then visibly steels herself. Oh, this is going to be good, I know it. My mind jumps to conclusions, and the most sensible one is that she just found Jesus and realized she’s way more interested in warm, squishy parts than my peen. Never had that happen myself, but I’ve heard stories…
“I wasn’t quite honest with you when I proposed this,” she hedges. “I didn’t lie,” she’s quick to assure me—but actually looks guilty.
“Just spit it out,” I growl, probably sounding more pissed-off than I am. Because really, I’m not. I’m mostly curious. And horny as fuck, but the lackluster enthusiasm is helping keep that at bay. The pants help hide the extent of that from her, which I’m suddenly glad for.
“I—” she starts, then licks her lips again as she stalls. “I know this sounds terribly childish, and that’s part of the reason why I didn’t tell you, because I knew that if you knew you’d instantly reject me, and—”
This is not going anywhere I saw this heading. I’m not even sure this is going somewhere. To ease her mind, I move closer, as if to kiss her, but stop with our faces inches apart. “Sadie, just tell me,” I urge her in a low, gentle voice. “If it’s as bad as you are already making it sound, I may laugh at you, but I will still fuck you, if that’s what you want.”
It is, that much as I can tell from how her eyes widen when I say “fuck,” and how her already flushed cheeks get just a hint redder. Her voice is hoarse—also from moaning before—and low as she utters her confessions. “I may or may not have been harboring the silliest crush on you for quite some time. And, well, when I realized that I actually like you, like, the real you, not the girly-crush fantasy I’ve had of you, I kinda, really, decided that I want you to be my first. I know it’s terribly silly—”
It’s not, and the shift that her words cause in my mind is something that would haunt me otherwise if I wasn’t hunched over a naked, beautiful woman who I’d just brought to what likely amounts to her first real climax and my dick wasn’t screaming to bury itself deep inside her tight, warm pussy. I manage what I hope is the right answer—“I like you, too”—and feel the last piece of the puzzle click into place. No, I absolutely have no issues with making this all about her, and no, I’ve never minded a woman using me to get off, because, hello? Who doesn’t want to have sex with a woman who thoroughly enjoys a good fuck? But the way Sadie proposed this, and the storm of doubt she accidentally kicked off in my mind got my thoughts locked inside the wrong headspace. Only now, with her admission of wanting me—not just my dick—it’s as if she grabbed my head and set me straight.
Now we’re talking.
Or not, because I’m too busy devouring her mouth, and while she seems stunned at my sudden fervor, she’s quick to reciprocate, and suddenly I can’t get out of my clothes fast enough.
There’s still the matter of this being her first time, but I’m not that kind of an asshole and she obviously comes with realistic expectations, so I trust that taking it slow is all we need as I kneel down between her spread thighs and line my dick up with her pussy. She’s a little apprehensive but I can tell that my shift in mood has caused a similar one in her, making her act more like herself than the rational young woman who approached me about making sure her first time is something she gets to enjoy. Realizing that makes me goof off a little as I rub myself up and down her slit, making sure to pay special attention to her probably hypersensitive clit, which makes her giggle and grind her hips just a little—and that’s when I slip inside her. Just a little, barely more than an inch or two, until I meet resistance. She doesn’t go rigid but can’t quite hide a wince. I pull back but not completely out, doing my best to keep my weight off her as I capture her lips with mine again. “Easy, Tiger,” I whisper as I start a slow, rocking motion to entice her body to accept me.
She grins but it’s a pained expression, even though her eyes are still dark with lust. “Just keep going,” she tells me, her fingers digging into my shoulder and upper back. “It’ll likely get much easier once you’re fully inside.”
I have no idea where a virgin gets that kind of knowledge, but then what do I really know? I’m not the girl who is having sex for the first time right now. I wisely don’t tell her any of that and instead keep going. I don’t like that I’m hurting her, but there’s no real way around it. Unless she’s telling me to stop…
I know that’s her reasoning, but it sure as hell isn�
��t my reasoning, and I’m making an executive decision as I stop and pull out. She looks confused, then hurt, then confused again when I park my ass on the seats and instead lift her to straddle me. My dick does some obscene bobbing between us as she positions herself with her thighs outside of mine, her long, toned legs fitting there perfectly. She looks unsure what to do next, and I’m more than happy to guide her, feeling like cheering out loud when her hot, wet pussy slides onto the tip of my dick.
“Let’s try it this way,” I offer. “You have all the control—how fast you want it, how deep you want me in you, what feels best for you. And I, I get to enjoy this, too.” I lean forward and capture one perky nipple to eagerly suck on while my hands settle on her hips and ass and start to move her up and down, and forward and back, in slow, rocking motions that she’s quick to pick up. Just as I thought, she likes the idea of not being reduced to just reacting but setting her own pace, and playing with her tits distracts her enough to take her mind off whatever has been bothering her.
Yes, I was right—this is no balls-deep, porn-flick reenactment. But I also was wrong, because this feels amazing, and before long I have to start running through a list of football teams to keep myself from blowing my load too soon. And then I realize, I don’t have to, because there’s no need to prove anything to her, or needlessly draw this out. She gets into it, and she obviously likes it, but there’s no way I’ll get her to climax a second time; not like this. So I pull her close and devour her mouth, and maybe I make her squeal with indignation for a second when I tease her asshole with a finger yet without any intention to do more than that, and then I come deep inside of her, which is the best sensation in the world.
Beyond Green Fields #4 - The Ballad of Sadie & Bates: A post-apocalyptic anthology Page 4
