The Firework Exploded

by Tara Sivec

  “See? Sam likes it. We want to make Sam happy, don’t we?” Bev asks Noel.

  “You think my brother, Alex, and Aunt Bobbie will allow an ice sculpture to remain standing all night?” Noel asks casually, having no clue that I’m now imagining Reggie holding my bloody dick in his hand and beating a block of ice with it. “You don’t think one, or all of them, will start daring each other to pee on the thing to melt it faster? Or in the middle of cutting the cake we’ll look over to find one of them flailing all around with their tongue stuck to the swan’s ass, reenacting the flag pole scene from A Christmas Story?”

  Now that she mentions it, I can guarantee that’s exactly what will happen.

  “Right, so no ice sculpture,” I mutter in agreement with a nod of my head.

  “Okay, that’s fine. Whatever you want, dear,” Bev tells me sweetly.

  “I agree. Whatever makes you calm and happy, Sam,” Aunt Bobbie states.

  “Now you got my hopes up and I want to carve an ice sculpture,” Reggie complains.

  “It’s okay, honey, you can still practice on the ice when it gets here. Won’t that be nice?” Bev asks.

  “What a great idea, Mom!” Noel concurs with a big smile. “It will all be nice and happy! Dad can still play with a chainsaw and ice, and Sam won’t have to worry about prying someone’s tongue off of a swan’s ass.”

  “And I promise not to pee on the ice you practice with, everyone wins!” Aunt Bobbie announces.

  “Are we in the Twilight Zone?” Reggie whispers close to my ear. “One of us is about to get stabbed. They are never this agreeable.”

  I nod in confusion and a little bit fearful of the three women as they huddle together, giving each other hugs while aiming creepy smiles in our direction.

  “This is what Bev used to do back in the day when Lucifer’s Waterfall was upon us every month,” he continues quietly. “She’d get me all docile and relaxed, and then BAM! She’d whittled a shiv out of a spatula and had it against my neck because I left the toilet seat up.”

  “Oooooh, don’t do that. Or put the lid down. Apparently they don’t like that either,” I tell him.

  “What are you, homeless? No one puts the entire lid down,” Reggie scolds, giving me another side-eye glare.

  “Okay, I need to finish getting dinner ready,” Bev announces, walking across the room and dodging all the boxes before stopping in front of me to rub my arm. “No Mason jars, no chalkboards, no birdcages, and no ice sculpture for people to pee on. Whatever Mister Ed wants, Mister Ed gets.”

  “Jesus H. Rocky Road, not that damn horse again,” Reggie grumbles with a shake of his head. “I thought we stopped obsessing about that horse years ago?”

  “WE WILL STOP TALKING ABOUT MISTER ED WHEN MISTER ED CAN WIN A RACE!” Bev shrieks. “Mister Ed is in charge of carrying on our family name, Reggie.”

  With that, she pushes between us and heads to the kitchen, while Noel, Aunt Bobbie, and Scheva busy themselves moving boxes against the walls so people can actually walk through the room without tripping.

  “That’s my cue to go hide all the spatulas,” Reggie sighs as he turns and follows Bev into the kitchen, leaving me alone with the three remaining unstable women.

  Maybe now isn’t the best time to talk to Noel about our problem. We still have a month of arguing with her mother about wedding arrangements to worry about, and now I have to figure out how to break it to Alex that Scheva got spooked because he got too serious. Maybe if I’m lucky, this little problem will just work itself out soon. It’s not like Noel is too worried about it, she knows it’s not going to last forever. She’s too stressed about the wedding to worry about something little like this. I’ll just make sure to do whatever I can to keep her calm and to keep giving her as many orgasms as I can to take her mind off of things.

  Like Aunt Bobbie said, everyone wins.

  Chapter 5

  Two Girls, One Fist

  Noel

  As much as I didn’t want to, I tried to keep Sam at my parents’ house as long as possible. After dinner, we went over the guest list with my mother for the tenth time. It took all of the strength I had to remain calm and not scream at her that we didn’t even know two-hundred people and she needed to find a way to cross off at least a hundred and fifty of the names and addresses she’d scribbled on notebook paper. Just because she met someone one time and had a conversation with them in the check-out line of the grocery store, did not mean they needed to be invited to the wedding. She almost started crying when I told her June, the cashier at Macy’s, was the first to go from the list. I am not a calm person. I like to argue and with my family, arguing is what we do best. Every time my heart started beating faster with the need to scream my head off that Mr. Yoder, the Amish man who built their barn last summer, is not considered a close family or friend, I just had to take one look at Sam and remind myself to take a deep breath and not cause a scene.

  Thankfully, aside from my father, everyone else took their cues from me and politely smiled and agreed with whatever I said. My father just continued to bitch and moan about how Mister Ed was the dumbest television show ever and I would quickly change the subject to something else before Sam realized Mister Ed had something to do with him.

  I’m officially the worst fiancée in the world to keep him around my insane family until an ungodly hour instead of taking him home as soon as my father snatched the glass of milk out of his hand at dinner and pointed his butter knife at Sam’s crotch. I didn’t know what else to do. Sam started getting that look in his eyes halfway through dinner. You know the one. Where no matter what you say or do, it turns your man on and he suddenly can’t stop rubbing your thigh under the table and winking at you.

  Normally, all of this would have me grabbing his hand and running for the door, but I was in a panic. Instead of being happy that the love of my life can still get turned on even when my father is waving a knife at his penis and my mother is complaining about Mr. Yoder and his ten family members being upset about not being invited to the wedding, all I could think about was how stressed Sam would be if we got back home, tried to have sex, and he couldn’t finish. The only thing I could think of to avoid that stress, was to just not have sex with Sam. To suffer through hours and hours of listening to my mother talk about more stupid ideas instead of being alone with him. I figured if we got home late enough, he’d be too tired and remember he needed to be up early for work tomorrow morning and that would be that.

  At midnight, Sam officially had enough, grabbed my hand and dragged me out the door. I figured my plan worked when he was quiet the whole ride home and assumed he was just too exhausted to speak, until we got in the house. He kicked the door closed, lifted me up against him, and shoved my back into the wall right next to the door.

  It seems like wedding planning is yet another item I can add to the list of things that turns Sam on. How in the hell am I supposed to deny him when he keeps telling me that he loves me and he can’t wait to marry me? Obviously, I can’t. Especially when he drops to his knees, yanks my jean shorts and underwear down in one quick motion, and then buries his face between my legs.

  I forget all about wedding planning chaos and Mister Ed finishing a race when his tongue swirls around my clit. My head thumps back against the wall and I close my eyes, clutching onto the back of his head as my hips thrust up to meet his mouth.

  He hums as he sucks my clit into his mouth, the vibrations from his lips making incoherent sounds fly from me, and my hips move faster against him. His tongue flicks quickly back and forth and I forget about everything, including my own name. When he slides two fingers inside me, curling them upwards when they’re as deep as they can go, I can at least remember his name. I start softly chanting it as my legs begin to shake and my pussy starts to tingle with my approaching orgasm.

  Sam flicks his tongue faster and faster, pumping his fingers in and out of me, and I come in record time, holding his head against me as I ride the wave of pleasure pulsing thr
ough me. Before my release is barely finished, Sam is back up on his feet, scooping me up into his arms and carrying me over to the couch with my shorts and underwear still dangling from my ankles. I’m in such a lust-filled, post-orgasm haze that nothing else matters but having him inside me. A spark of hope that this will be it, this will be the night his problem finally ends, has me clutching at him like a mad woman as soon as he puts me down on the couch and covers me with his body. I shove his hands away from his zipper and unfasten his pants on my own, pushing them and his boxer briefs down just far enough so I can wrap my hand around his penis and pull it out while he closes the distance between us and kisses me.

  He moans into my mouth as I tighten my hold on him and slide my hand from base to tip, over and over until it’s his turn to shove my hand out of the way. He’s so big and hard, and as he lines the head of his cock up against me, I know he’s definitely going to finish this time. The skin of his dick was so tight around him when I held it in my hand that it felt like it was two seconds away from bursting. I wrap my arms around his waist and grab his ass, lifting my hips and pushing the lower half of his body down at the same time.

  Thanks to how wet I still am from my orgasm, he easily slides right in and we groan in unison at how good it feels. His mouth never leaves mine, our tongues moving against each other as he starts pumping his hips, hard and rough, slamming his cock inside me. The thrusting of his hips are erratic and fast, and I love every minute of it, knowing he’s lost all control and just wants to take everything I have to give him.

  It’s all so hot and romantic. Until it isn’t.

  Yep, you guessed it. Fifteen minutes later, he’s still powering away between my legs and I’m trying not to wince with each push and pull of his cock, in and out of my now Sahara-like vagina. He stopped kissing me five minutes ago and buried his face in the side of my neck where I can now feel a trickle of sweat dripping down from his heavy panting. Instead of reassuring him that everything is fine, that he can stop and it’s no big deal, I do what any insane woman would do. I try out another idea, given to me by my soon-to-be ex-best friend.

  While he’s preoccupied breathing fire against my neck and growling angrily each time he drives into me, I take one hand off of his ass and blindly reach down to the floor next to the couch, grabbing my shorts from where I kicked them off. Using the tips of my fingers and trying not to make any sudden movements, I find the pocket where I shoved my cell phone and pull it out, making like I’m wrapping my arms back around him while I press the button to light up the screen and click on my web browser.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Just like that,” I mutter to him in my most erotic voice as I click on the Google bookmark I saved when I went to the bathroom at my parents’ house after dinner.

  Sam starts kissing my neck and I moan in approval, thankful that he has no idea I’m moaning because I’m happy the wifi at our house is working and the link pulls up with no problems.

  Hitting play on the video box on my screen, I bring my hand between us and angle the phone toward his face as he kisses his way up my neck and pauses with his lips on my chin when the crappy music starts playing.

  Sam pulls his head back and looks at my phone in confusion, the thrusting of his hips almost slowing down completely.

  “Shhhhh, it’s okay. Keep going and just watch,” I tell him, lifting my hips and urging him to keep moving.

  He’s now stopped fucking me completely and he lifts himself up on his elbows, giving me a puzzled look. I wave the screen at him to get his attention back to it and instead of nodding his head in understanding, he just looks back and forth between my face and my phone as the grunting and gasping coming from it gets louder than the shitty music playing in the background.

  “Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” I whisper softly, trying once again to lift my hips up to him to get him to start moving again.

  I deserve a God damn medal when I manage to keep the sexiness in my voice instead of screaming in pain when that movement doesn’t make his dick slide back home. Oh, no. There’s no sliding going on because there’s no wetness going on. I imagine this is what it feels like to be fucked by a Yeti with a dick covered in fur. There’s no give, no easy glide of one body part into another; there’s just the feeling of trying to shove something hard and dry into something soft and equally dry. The lips of my vagina fold in on themselves around his dick as I thrust upwards and try to keep the sultry smile on my face.

  “What is happening right now?” Sam mutters, glancing at the screen when loud sounds of slurping and wet slapping echo through the phone.

  Letting go of the hold I have on his ass with my free hand, I run my palm down the side of his face soothingly.

  “Shhhh, don’t fight it. Just keep going. You like watching two girls getting it on, don’t you? Yeah, that’s hot. You better hurry up, there’s some fisting about to happen at the two-minute mark,” I whisper encouragingly, taking one for the team as I push my hips up to meet him again.

  When Scheva suggested I take the tote of movies my mother tried to give us tonight and put on some porn for Sam to watch while we have sex, I told her she was insane. First of all, there is no way I’m going to watch any of those stupid DVDs and have to think about how many times my parents watched them and did God knows what with them playing in the background. Second, I told her we’d been there, done that. I’m not threatened by porn. I enjoy watching a little X-rated goodness to get things started and so does Sam. But we’ve never watched more than a minute or two before we’ve ripped each other’s clothes off and forgotten all about what was playing. Scheva reminded me this isn’t like any other time and I needed to step up my game if I wanted to fix this for him. She snuck into the bathroom with me when Sam was busy helping my mother clean up the dinner dishes and helped me bookmark a few good videos that she guaranteed would help and told me to do whatever I could to make him watch the whole thing, while we were having sex.

  So, here I am. This is what it’s come to. The lips of my vagina are still folding like a fucked up origami around Sam’s penis while I continue to move my hips as I set the phone on my forehead and balance it there so he has no choice but to watch.

  “What are you doing? What is happening?” Sam asks again.

  Since my phone has started to slip with each jerk of my hips, it’s now covering my eyes and I can’t see his face to know if he’s even watching the video. I can tell by how vocal the woman on the video is getting that it’s almost to the good part so I hope Sam is paying attention. I can’t even tell if his dick is still hard since I’ve lost all feeling between my legs and it’s starting to make me a little crazy and borderline irrational.

  “Look at the porn, Sam. JUST LOOK AT IT!” I shout, trying and failing to keep my voice from screeching like a howler monkey. “Two girls, one fist. Look at all that scissoring. It’s so hot.”

  Even though my cell phone makes it impossible to see if Sam is enjoying this, at least I’m now happy about purchasing the ginormous iPhone 6 plus, the size of a small computer. He can watch the porn covering my face and have no clue that my mouth is wide open while I try to gasp for breath through the pain. I leave my phone balancing and carefully move my hands back down to his ass, trying to coax him to do something, but he still refuses to move. Maybe the girl-on-girl fisting was too much. I should have eased him into this with something less shocking, like an under-the desk-blowjob video or some light anal.

  “HOLY FUCK! SHE JUST SHOVED HER ARM IN THERE UP TO HER ELBOW! I CAN’T UNSEE THIS!” Sam suddenly shouts.

  He scrambles off of me, pulling his dick out so quickly that I can’t stop my scream of pain. My cell phone slides off my face and down into the couch cushions as I curl up into a ball and press both my hands against my vagina to try and sooth it.

  “No! Come back! This will work, I know it will work!” I yell. “I’ll put on the one I bookmarked of the two girls dressed as cheerleaders. You like cheerleaders, right? They’re totally hot and I promise there
will be NO disappearing hands, wrists or elbows!”

  Clearly I have no idea what I’m saying, and I’m in full-on panic mode now as Sam sits at the opposite end of the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, rocking back and forth. The muffled sounds of a woman screaming, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Give me the elbow, too!” come from my phone wedged down in the couch, and if having my cold palms pressed against my vagina didn’t feel so fucking good right now, I’d reach down there and turn the damn thing off.

  “I’m just…I need…I don’t know…” Sam stutters.

  I try to push myself up so I can scoot to his end of the couch and apologize for trying to fix things, but my vagina is angry and won’t let me move.

  “Why do we even HAVE elbows?!” he shouts, his wide eyes looking everywhere but at me as he suddenly jumps up from the couch and stomps across the room.

  “Where are you going?!” I yell to him as he disappears down the hallway. “Just give me a few minutes to recover and we can try again!”

  If my vagina had a voice and hands, she’d most likely scream, “THE FUCK YOU SAY?” while smacking me across the face. I hear the door to the bathroom slam shut and the shower turn on and I ease myself back down on the couch, keeping my hands between my legs and my knees tucked up to my chest.

  So, trying to keep Sam as calm as possible didn’t work. NOT having sex with him didn’t work, and forcing him to watch porn didn’t work. I am quickly running out of ideas that will keep his blood pressure down so maybe he can stop taking those pills and we can stop all of this insanity.

  The only thing left at this point is to continue doing whatever I can to not stress him out. It didn’t work in the sex department, but hopefully it will work with the whole not having a heart attack and dying thing. We only have a few weeks left before the wedding and as much as I hate it, I’m just going to have to let everyone else handle things from here on out. I’ll focus on doing easy, peaceful things that have nothing to do with sex or wedding planning to avoid anxiety and undue strain on his poor heart that my family caused in the first place.