TMI Tuesday: May 24, 2016

Monday is here–a new week, a new TMI Tuesday. Let’s play!

BFFs, sex, and break-ups

Jack’s Answers

1. Hey, how are you doing?
Oh, not too bad. I guess I could always be better, but right now not bad at all. In fact, I’m feeling pretty content of late, and in fact happy most of the time. Which means I have begun expecting the other shoe to drop, so to speak.

2. You are given a strong but soft to the touch (and on the skin) rope. What will you do? (pick just one). Explain your choice.
a. Throw it in the garage to use later to tie down a tarp or something.
b. Use it for indoor wall rock climbing.
c. Tie up your lover and have your way with him/her.
d. Lasso your secret crush and take them with you.
Of the four choices, I’d go with (c) because consensual restraint is hot, but also because I lack a garage, my own ceiling isn’t high enough for indoor wall rock climbing, and any venue where I might try it is sure to have its own rope; and lassoing my secret crush just screams lack of consent. But my instinct is to go outside of the four available options and use the rope to swing Indiana Jones-style across a bottomless chasm, pluck some priceless artifact from its centuries-old resting place, and escape before the natives kill me with darts and arrows.

3. Tell us 3 reasons why you or anyone should masturbate.
1. It’s a no-strings-attached sexual release
2. It relieves stress.
3. It makes pain-in-the-ass religious fundamentalists upset.

4. Would you have sex with your best friend? Have you had sex with a best friend in the past? How’d that work out–did you stay friends?
Eighty to ninety percent of the time, when I’m having sex it’s with my best friend. You know her as Jill.

5. What are your top 5 reasons to break up with someone?
1. They insist on monogamy, and I want to fuck someone else more than I want to be with them.
2. They support Donald Trump.
3. They’re too clingy.
4. They’re not clingy enough.
5. They’re a serial killer.

Bonus: Post an image you find erotic? What about it arouses you?

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The most arousing thing about this picture, for me, is that it took me less than five seconds to find by searching “sexy tumblr” on Google.

Jill’s Answers

1. Hey, how are you doing?
I’m doing fantastic! Life is so good right now. I wake up every morning with a smile on my face, and even my unruly class can’t seem to get me down. I’m enjoying this nonstop positivity while it lasts.

2. You are given a strong but soft to the touch (and on the skin) rope. What will you do? (pick just one). Explain your choice.
a. Throw it in the garage to use later to tie down a tarp or something.
b. Use it for indoor wall rock climbing.
c. Tie up your lover and have your way with him/her.
d. Lasso your secret crush and take them with you.
(C) is something I’ve been interested in trying, though I would want to be the one tied up, not the one doing the tying. Up to now my experience with restraints involves being handcuffed or very spontaneously tied with a stray article of clothing. The scenario described here seems really exciting.

3. Tell us 3 reasons why you or anyone should masturbate.
1. It is relaxing and stress-relieving.
2. It’s very pleasurable physically.
3. It helps speed things along when you’re trying to come during sex.

4. Would you have sex with your best friend? Have you had sex with a best friend in the past? How’d that work out–did you stay friends?
Although my best friend is very hot and I have fantasized about having sex with her, I probably wouldn’t actually do it. For one thing, she is way too conservative for that kind of thing. For another, I suspect it would lead to extreme weirdness and our relationship would never recover. However, I do enjoy meeting new friends with whom I can have sex.
[Editor’s Note: So I’m not your best friend?]

5. What are your top 5 reasons to break up with someone?
1. I’m not happy in the relationship.
2. My partner isn’t happy in the relationship.
3. I can’t trust the other person.
4. There is no healthy communication.
5. The relationship itself is unhealthy or destructive.

Bonus: Post an image you find erotic? What about it arouses you?

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I love feeling the weight of another body on top of mine.  Preferably while he or she is doing something to my pussy.  I chose this image based on the thumbnail and assumed it was static.  Ultimately it proved too good to pass up.

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Sinful Sunday: Fun in the Park

SS 5-22

We snuck off behind the restrooms, and I unbuckled my belt and opened my jeans.  Jill dropped quickly to her knees and her mouth enveloped my rigid length.  I tried to listen for activity nearby, but as she began to suck I lost track of everything.  But don’t worry; we made sure there were no children playing nearby before we started.

See who else is being sinful at Molly’s Daily Kiss!

 

Sinful Sunday

Finishing Always Feels Good, Chapter 4

Looking for Chapter 1? It’s here.
Chapter 2?  Here.
How about Chapter 3?

This chapter contains no violence.  Congratulations; you’ve made it to the sex.

It was almost two o’clock in the morning. Carrie sat at a table, one of her wrists still cuffed to a metal rail just like she’d seen in interrogation scenes on cop shows. The adrenaline had long since drained from her bloodstream, leaving her physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Fear and anxiety hung over her head like a storm cloud, though it wasn’t so omnipresent that it prevented her from dozing right there at the table. Without her body’s natural fight-or-flight response, she was able to really reflect on the events of the evening, and she had come to the conclusion that she was probably screwed.

The bitchy blonde officer she’d seen earlier in the evening came into the room.

“All right, ma’am. You’re free to go.” That was unexpected. She unlocked the handcuffs and Carrie rose to her feet. Just putting weight on her legs hurt. Her whole body ached, in fact. She had a pounding migraine that she was certain sleep wouldn’t fix, and her chest, shoulders, and stomach still hurt hours later. Her forearms were on fire, the skin still burning from where Jamie had clawed deeply with her nails. They’d taken her to the bathroom and let her clean up a bit when they first brought her in, so at least her face wasn’t bloody. But her lips were swollen, and probably her nose, too. She didn’t even want to think about the bruises she’d find on her body once she got undressed for bed.

Carrie wanted to ask the officer why she was free to leave when they had caught her in the act of savagely strangling another human being. She realized it was probably best to keep her mouth shut and say nothing. Instead she rubbed her sore wrist, noticing the vivid impression the cuff had left on her skin. The officer led her down a short hallway that culminated in a spartan office with a desk and a file cabinet. On the opposite side of the room was a door. The officer gestured to it and told her good night, her face expressionless.

As Carrie reached out to push open the door, she panicked. “What about my stuff?” Her voice sounded strange, thanks to her puffy lips. “I had an expensive wristlet. It had my driver’s license and credit cards in it. And my phone?”

“Ma’am, you didn’t have any personal effects when you were taken into custody. We took nothing from you.”

Carrie stood there dreamily. Could that have been true? She supposed it was, and she exited the office. Rick sat on a bench in the hallway, and when she saw him she smiled in spite of herself. Her smile grew when she noticed her wristlet and her shoes sitting on the bench beside him.

Rick wasn’t smiling, though Carrie noticed with relief that he looked afraid as opposed to angry. “Jesus. You look like you just lost a title fight or something.”

“Is it really that bad?” She turned to see Alan standing nearby, his hands in the pockets of his dress pants.

“Well, it’s just…” Rick’s voice trailed off; she wasn’t paying attention anyway.

“What are you doing here?” Alan gave a surprised shrug at the question, and moreso Carrie’s almost accusatory tone. She elaborated: “I wouldn’t have ever expected to see the two of you in the same room again. Not after tonight. How are you guys not tearing each other’s throats out right now?”

“We called a truce.” Rick stood up from his bench and handed Carrie her wristlet and her phone. “There was enough drama tonight. No sense making it worse.”

She turned to Alan. “Still, how are you here right now, and not with Elisa?”

“Well, the easy answer is she’s in surgery. Gonna be there a couple more hours while they fix that leg you broke.” Reflexively Carrie began to apologize, just for Alan’s sake. She stopped when she realized she wasn’t actually sorry. The bitch deserved it, and anyway, she was prepared to do a lot worse than what she had actually done, and would have had the military police not shown up when they did. So she remained silent and let Alan continue. “Anyway, she’s probably going away for a long time. Her and that other girl you fought.”

“Really?” Carrie’s eyes were wide with surprise.

Rick spoke now: “Security cameras show them both confronting you, acting belligerent, and attacking you first. Elisa punched you in the face unprovoked. Jamie was holding you.” Carrie’s mind flashed back to a few hours earlier, and she winced with the memory. “That’s why you’re out here, and they’re both in the hospital with police posted outside.”

“So Jamie isn’t dead?” As Rick confirmed that she wasn’t, Carrie had to admit to being the slightest bit disappointed.

“You really beat the shit out of her. They think she’s got serious neurological damage from when you smashed her head in.” Carrie hoped that Rick wasn’t as upset about it as he looked and sounded.

Alan spoke now: “And Elisa’s got a long, hard road ahead of her.” He paused and swallowed hard. “If she ever walks again, she’ll need years of physical therapy.”

“So why aren’t you at the hospital right now?” Carrie asked again.

“The not-so-easy answer is that I don’t love her. I never loved her. She isn’t an easy woman to love.”

“I knew it!” Carrie dialed down her joy over hearing Alan say it lest she appear heartless. “Still, she is the mother of your children.”

“Yeah, and I’m going to be stuck with sole custody when she goes to prison for assault, if not for attempted murder.” Alan let this sink in. “Like, around-the-clock.” Carrie had to bite her tongue to keep from suggesting that Alan pack up the kids and move with her and Rick to New Mexico, where they could form a wonderful poly triad. She could look after the kids during the day, and at night Alan and Rick could look after her. It was a joke, obviously; being in the military meant one didn’t have much of a say where he or she lived. Still, Rick wouldn’t have liked the suggestion. The two men had called a truce. There was no sense pushing her luck.

The three began to walk down the drab white hallway. Leaving the security office behind, they came to a flight of stairs and began to climb it. Alan continued: “I know it’ll be better once she’s out of the picture.”

“You really never loved her?”

“I thought I did. But she’s boring and uptight.”

“She’s also got a huge Christian stick up her ass,” Carrie reminded him.

Alan agreed: “She’s also got a huge Christian stick up her ass.” At the top of the stairs they walked through a doorway and into the hotel itself. They found themselves walking down a corridor, and Carrie wondered if it was the one she’d taken to the ladies’ room earlier. Alan went on: “Anyway, like I said, it looks like assault and conspiracy at the very least. I can’t be with someone who’s that kind of violent. I’m all about the love.”

“All about the love?” Carrie’s voice dripped with skepticism, and she prodded him to elaborate. At the end of the hall the trio came to the hotel’s main lobby and continued down another corridor toward the elevators.

“Yeah, it’s true. I’ve never been a hateful guy. I don’t think so, anyway. But it took getting to know you in Osan to show me that it was okay to live my life on my own terms. Here’s this hot chick – “ He turned to Rick and said, “No disrespect.” Rick shrugged, so Alan continued. “Here’s this hot chick who has this really awesome philosophy on life. She’s fun, always down to party on base or off. She’s young, beautiful, and full of this…energy, really. I couldn’t even describe it back then. Remember Mudfest?” Carrie nodded as she thought back to that gorgeous, muddy day in Boryeong many summers before. “You loved it, didn’t you?” Alan asked. “Elisa hated it. She was too uptight and too reserved to even stand in mud, let alone revel in it. Basically, you were the anti-Elisa. You showed me how fulfilling life could be. And I don’t even mean because we were…sexually involved.” He lowered his voice as he spoke the last two words, trying to demonstrate the slightest penitence for Rick’s sake. “I mean, you were always a positive person to be around. You didn’t make me feel awful about myself. You didn’t shove religion down my throat. You were a great mom, that much was obvious.” At this, Carrie felt herself blushing. “Plus you were comfortable in your own skin. You helped me to see what I really wanted out of life.”

“That’s sweet,” Carrie said, and she looked at Rick to make sure he wasn’t fuming over Alan’s words. He wasn’t. That was weird. Still, she changed the subject just in case. “I could really go for a drink.” She thought back to the margarita she’d dropped on the floor when Rick confronted Alan. “I wonder if there are any bars still open.”

“Not here at the hotel,” Alan said.

“We’ve got something better in mind,” Rick offered. When they reached the elevators he pressed the call button and the doors slowly slid open. Carrie walked in first and settled against the mirrored back wall, with Alan standing on her right and Rick to her left. She looked at the former, then regarded the latter.

“Are you okay with Alan being here?”

Rick nodded. “I told you, we called a truce. We spent the last couple hours talking while we waited for them to let you go. Turns out I’m capable of letting bygones be bygones. Who knew, right?”

“I sure didn’t!”

“Even though it really hurt me, what you and he did to me wasn’t much worse than some of the things I’ve done to you. Even with Vicky. I see that now.”

“We never should have tried opening up,” she said with a sigh of resigned despair. “We did everything wrong.”

“We made mistakes,” he admitted. “But there’s no reason to keep looking at the past when we should be looking forward.” Carrie agreed.

The elevator doors opened onto the seventeenth floor and the trio stepped out. Rick led the way to his and Carrie’s room, on the opposite end of the floor down a hallway that seemed longer to Carrie now than it had when they checked in the night before. She asked them to slow down a bit, for her sake. “There’s too much walking. I can hardly even move.”

“We’re almost there,” Rick said as he fished his wallet out of his pocket and withdrew his room key. He kept walking, and Carrie leaned against Alan for support. He put his arm around her, undoubtedly still wary of crossing Rick with a move as overt as that. Still, she appreciated the effort. They walked together, Alan holding her gently, careful not to use too much pressure. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her more than she already was.

They arrived at the room, and Rick unlocked the door and admitted the other two before stepping inside. He paused by the door to take off his formal jacket and tie. Alan did the same. Carrie, meanwhile, headed straight for the king-size bed. The mattress was vast, dressed impeccably with a comfortable duvet and several large, decorative down pillows. She took a seat on the foot of the bed, feeling the soft bedclothes against her battered body.

“Feels good to sit somewhere other than that chair,” Carrie said to nobody in particular. She looked over at Rick, standing at the room’s minibar in his white formal shirt and slacks. He’d undone his two top buttons, and she had to admit he looked hot. Bottles clinked noisily together until he found what he was looking for. Carrie looked up at Alan, standing by the side of the bed. “In that room, in the security office, there was this hard wooden chair. I sat in it for like three hours. My ass was numb by the time I got up.”

While Rick mixed a drink, Alan sat down by Carrie’s side and began to smoothly massage her shoulders. She whispered a warning, her voice excited in spite of herself. “Rick is going to kick you out of here if he sees you doing that!” After all, a civil truce between the two men was one thing, but she knew Rick wouldn’t be okay with something like this. Still, Alan didn’t yield. Truth be told, Carrie didn’t want him to. He didn’t even stop what he was doing once Rick turned away from the minibar and headed over to the bed, a highball glass in one hand, a bottle in the other, and a full ice bucket under his arm. Draped over his shoulder were a couple hand towels. Carrie wondered what those were for.

Rick set the bottle and the ice bucket down on the nightstand along with the hand towels. Then he proffered the highball glass to Carrie.

“What is this?” she asked, regarding it with interest.

“Whiskey and soda.” She turned up her nose and shook her head, so he set the glass down on the nightstand.

“What’s in the bottle?” It was already in Rick’s hand; he passed it to her and Carrie regognized the black-bat-on-red-circle logo instantly. Bacardi Gold rum. She twisted off the cap and took a sip even as Rick sat down by her side. His hands replaced Alan’s on her shoulders, massaging kindly even as the other man began to caress her hands.

She looked down at what he was doing. “Gentle,” she said. “Please. They hurt.”

Alan got off of the bed and knelt before her. He moved his hands down to her thighs, petting her tenderly through her tattered ballgown. At the same time, he lowered his face to her fingers and softly kissed them. Carrie’s head was suddenly swimming. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. She tried not to focus on how much strife her attraction to Alan had caused her marriage and instead did her best to concentrate on how good he and Rick were making her feel.

“We need to get her out of these clothes,” Rick said, and Carrie felt a charge of electricity pass through her body as he slipped his fingers beneath the straps of her gown. In rapt anticipation, Carrie brought her shoulders in close to her body – it hurt, but she held them there – and in seconds the garment was down to her waist. Grimacing with unease, she managed to rise to her feet, and the men slid it the rest of the way down.

She sat back down on the bed, feeling somewhat self-conscious in just her bra and a matching pair of lace boyshorts. She’d deliberately selected the sexiest ensemble she owned, though when she put it on earlier that evening she didn’t expect to display it for anyone. Maybe for Rick, but sure as hell not for Alan. That he was here in a hotel room with her seemed to defy all rational thought.

“You want to take off her bra?” Rick asked Alan even as he was tugging her boyshorts down over her hips. Without a word, Alan got to work unclasping it, letting it fall lifelessly to the bed and freeing her breasts in the process. Meanwhile, Carrie tried her best to help Rick take her panties the rest of the way down without straining. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to move them over her legs and off her feet. Rick tossed them onto the carpet, leaving them to rest atop the forgotten ballgown. For good measure, he tossed her bra onto the pile as well.

Carrie took another sip from the bottle of rum, savoring the distinctive taste on her tongue. She wondered exactly what the two men had in mind for her. The possibilities seemed limitless, but she knew she was going to enjoy whatever lay ahead. She leaned back on her elbows, trying not to look too wanton, too hungry for them, even though that was certainly what she felt.

Rick spoke: “This is probably going to sting a bit.” Before his words could register in Carrie’s brain she felt biting cold at the top of her back, between her shoulder blades. “I’m sorry,” he said as he wiped her with a wet hand towel. Carrie looked over and saw Alan dunking the other towel in the ice bucket. She tried to protest before Rick cut her off: “It’s pretty bad back here.” At the same time, Alan was dabbing at a spot on her shoulder where Jamie had dug in with her nails.

“It really hurts,” Carrie said, her eyes shut to the pain.

“We’ve gotta clean you up,” Rick said. Alan followed his towel with a sweet kiss on her broken flesh. Carrie felt the ice-cold water drip down her back and it made her wince.

“Please. I can’t – “

“Just a little more.”

Alan spoke now: “Maybe we should…”

“Yeah.”

Carrie felt their hands on her, slowly lying her down atop the duvet. She dared to open her eyes, staring at the ceiling as the washcloths moved over her, soaking her with frigid water and half-melted ice. Someone’s hands caressed her breasts, then drifted over her stomach and down to her hip. She imagined that that was Alan, and that the other pair of hands that held her head in place and washed dried blood off of her neck belonged to Rick. She had no way of knowing, of course. But she liked thinking she was right.

Their ministrations were light, implying a kindness or even a sympathy Carrie could scarcely believe. She had nearly killed two women. Granted, it was in her own defense, but still; motivation was less important than result. Perhaps more to the point, she had caused two women to want to kill her. Did she even deserve such consideration? The fact that one of the men currently pleasuring her was the husband of one of the women was not lost on her. Carrie tried not to overanalyze the situation, and told herself to simply focus on the here and now.

“I need to press hard for a second,” Alan said. She felt the pressure increase on her left leg and she bit her lip to avoid crying out as it reached a crescendo. After a second he stopped. “You’ve got a nasty cut here. Lots of dry blood. I got most of it.”

“You need another towel?” Rick asked. He was icing Carrie’s collarbone, where a large patch of skin was black and blue.

“No, I can just fold this one.” Alan got up to wet the towel again, then returned to the bed.

“Want to help me turn her over?” Alan didn’t reply to Rick. Instead, Carrie felt their hands under her hips and her shoulders.

“Ready?” Carrie didn’t know if Alan was asking her, or if he was asking Rick. She pressed her elbow into the mattress and in an instant she was lying face-down, her arms crossed under her chin.

“Ow,” one of the men said as he beheld her. It was Rick. “Lots of bruises back here.” The men wasted no more time examining her before getting to work. Their hands swirled against her shoulders and back, dragging wet washcloths along the swollen surface as rivulets of water dripped down her body. Every so often someone would kiss her, and even though they didn’t kiss her lips as she wanted them to, the heat still provided an exciting contrast to the chill. And even though she couldn’t see them, she knew whose lips were whose. She could tell it was Rick who kissed her shoulders. She knew it was Alan at the small of her back.

“You’re really swollen back here,” Alan said at one point, indicating a massive bruise on her lower back, just above her ass. “I’d better put some ice on it.”

Carrie winced again just at the thought. The cold water was shocking enough. Ice, though?

He could sense her hesitation, and it gave him pause. Rick spoke next: “There’s a shower cap in the bathroom. I’ll put some ice in it so it’s not too cold. I’ll even wrap it in a towel. But if I don’t ice it now the swelling is going to get worse.”

Carrie nodded, still unsure. Rick got up from the bed and set to work making her an improvised ice pack. At the same time, Alan moved his hands from the tops of her thighs down to her feet.

“How does that feel?” Carrie didn’t speak right away. Instead she murmured her satisfied approval.

“Don’t stop,” she said with a reserved chuckle. “It feels good.” He continued, his hands gentle on her skin yet firm enough to soothe her aching muscles. She sighed – was it a sigh? It may have been a moan – as he worked on her legs and feet, and for a moment it felt like she and Alan were the only two people in the world.

She could see Rick walking back from the bathroom and braced herself for what she knew was coming. But to Carrie’s surprise the makeshift ice pack on her back didn’t distract her from the pleasure Alan was providing.

“I’ll leave this here for awhile,” Rick said.

“Not too long. I’m not staying in this position all night.”

“Definitely not. You want some more rum?” Carrie nodded and Rick handed her the bottle. She propped herself up onto her elbows and took a drink. Rick sipped from his cocktail, then set both back down on the nightstand. Then he kissed her. Carrie didn’t usually care for the taste of whiskey on his lips, but right now she was happy. She was still sore, but being cared for by two men she loved had nearly erased the trauma of being attacked.

It was a sweet, soft kiss, and when it broke Rick sat beside her and began to massage her shoulders, being careful to avoid the spots where she’d been scratched and cut. At the same time, Alan’s hands were kneading her ass. It wasn’t a sexual gesture, but it still felt arousing to have his hands on her like that.

“Dude. Switch with me. I want to do that. You come massage her shoulders.”

“No way! I’m having too much fun! Anyway, I already massaged her shoulders.”

For an instant, Carrie worried that this was it: This was where Rick was going to get up off the bed, punch Alan out, and drag him into the hallway. Then Rick set her mind at ease: “Then let me do it too.”

He shifted his weight and leaned over her. Carrie felt all four hands on her ass. “You take that cheek. Let me get this one.”

Their hands roamed the insides of her thighs as well, and she wondered if they could feel her heat on their fingers. She was definitely wet; any further up and they’d definitely feel that too.

The massage lasted more than ten minutes, and when it was over they lay together in silence, the men’s arms ensconcing her in a protective embrace. Carrie lay on her side with Rick in front of her, his eyes reflecting the room’s dim light as Alan’s chest rose and fell against Carrie’s back. Overwhelmed with emotion and relief, she felt like crying again. Unlike earlier, she managed to hold back the tears.

She kissed Rick again, opening her mouth to him as he opened his to her. They kissed hungrily, with all the passion one might expect following a harrowing brush with danger. Rick brought a hand down to Carrie’s hip as she moved her own between his legs, fondling him through his pants using the heel of her hand. She felt him spring to life in response, and though she was certainly in no rush she enjoyed the thought of opening his pants and letting him out.

Carrie was so preoccupied with her husband that she didn’t even notice that Alan had risen from the bed. Therefore it was a very welcome surprise when his hands parted her thighs.

She pulled away from Rick. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes we are.” She smiled upon hearing his words. “If you want to, I mean. Is this what you want?”

She nodded, excitement in her eyes. “I’ve wanted this for a very long time.” She hoped that he could read her appreciation on her face. But that appreciation was replaced by an expression much different and far more intense as Alan slipped his fingers inside.

Rick carefully maneuvered Carrie onto her stomach to allow Alan greater access. She arched her back as best she could, but he was already caressing her deftly, his thumb stroking her excited clit. His fingers felt as good as – no, better than – she remembered, and she pushed against him. She wasn’t trying to resist. She pushed against him because she was unable to resist.

As he fingered her, Carrie watched Rick undressing. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and dropped it to the floor, followed by his undershirt and his slacks. Carrie stopped him before he could drop his boxer briefs as well.

“Let me,” she said, and sat up. As she pulled his shorts down by the waistband he sprang toward her, unrestrained. His cock was thick, veiny, and gloriously uncut. She closed her hand around his hardness and pumped him several times from the base all the way up to the fat, swollen head. Then she took him in her mouth.

Carrie savored the way he tasted, and drew him as deeply as she could. It wasn’t easy, however, with Alan working his fingers in and out of her. She was soaking wet and very slippery, and his hands moved rapidly. He was using both of them now, that much was more than evident. One continued to strum her aching clit. The other was deep inside, the digits playing over her G-spot, tantalizing the nerve endings. Together, they were prodding her ever closer to the point of no return.

Carrie felt her climax looming – the first of many, she was certain – and reached out, clasping Rick behind his ass and pulling him ever closer. As her fingers pressed against his skin he filled her throat even more fully than she could ever recall him doing. She swallowed every inch, consuming him until he was nestled as deeply as he could be, his stomach pressing against her nose and making her gasp around his hardness.

She came then, his cock suppressing her moans. Alan’s hands hadn’t stopped moving all the while, and her hips began to roll as she rode the waves of pleasure. At the same time she resumed sucking Rick, lips pursed as her head moved rhythmically up and down. When her orgasm finally subsided she paused to catch her breath. She tried to speak but couldn’t.

Alan spoke instead: “God, that was so hot.”

“Yeah. So hot.” Carrie’s voice was an inadvertent whisper, further muffled by the mattress beneath her face. After a second she looked up, catching sight of Rick as he stroked himself mere inches from her mouth. Carrie licked her lips to show him how badly she wanted to swallow him again. And just in case he didn’t get the message, she spoke: “Fuck my mouth.”

“Hand me a condom,” Alan said. Instinctively Carrie turned her head back toward him, even as Rick got up to fetch a condom from the nightstand drawer. Alan was already naked, and the sight of his chiseled, muscular body brought back a flood of memories. His shoulders were firm, his chest broad, his arms thick and powerful. And speaking of thick and powerful, Carrie thought as she watched him roll the latex over his engorged cock.

She was snapped back to reality by Rick as his hand on the side of her head earnestly returned her to the task at hand. She slid her mouth over him and began to suck, even as she felt Alan parting her lips from behind. His hands held her hips as he entered, driving himself all the way inside. At the same time Rick took a handful of her hair, his pelvis rocking back and forth. They filled her so completely, so perfectly, that she wouldn’t have been surprised if their cocks met somewhere in the middle.

Rick maintained his rhythm, each movement of his hips sending his hardness deeper down her throat. Carrie’s eyes watered and she struggled to breathe, but he didn’t slow down, and she didn’t want him to. He tightened his grip on her hair, still tangled around his fingers, and used her brown locks like reins. Carrie moved a hand down between her legs and slowly rotated her fingers over her clit, Alan’s hands now gripping her tight, round ass as he fucked her. He moved in and out like a piston, each thrust an unsurpassable high until the next one. His balls slapped against her hand and her clit, and soon she was screaming her release into the quiet of the night.

Carrie’s body trembled. She could feel her pussy dripping, soaking the duvet and Alan’s cock along with it. His thrusts were more rapid now; she knew he was close. It had been far too long since Carrie felt him come, and she couldn’t wait. His breaths came in shallow, ragged wheezes, and by the time he finally announced his climax her heartbeat was racing with anticipation. She felt him fill the condom, his groans and bleats of pleasure thrumming in her ears, and then Rick chimed in as well. He slipped out of Carrie’s hungry throat and she took him in her hand, moving it up and down his length until he painted her neck and her breasts.

She felt Alan collapse against her, bracing himself against the mattress with his arms so as not to put all of his weight on her. He exhaled hard, his breath cooling her overheated back and shoulders. Carrie wanted him to turn around so she could see the pleasure in his eyes but she couldn’t bear to look away from Rick and his still-erect member. At last, her husband reclined against the bed, and Alan slipped away from her as well. She relaxed then, coming to rest on the still-wet duvet.

Carrie smiled, seemingly for the first time all evening. She hoped her men could tell how satisfied she was. “Finishing always feels good.” Her voice sounded dreamy, though not tired. She realized that she was wired, and probably couldn’t sleep now even if she wanted to.

Alan spoke: “Who says we’re finished with you?”

TMI Tuesday: 5/17/16

Hello there! TMI Tuesday here.

Bad Times
tmi_badsex

Jack’s Answers

1. Have you ever had bad sex? Why do you think it was bad?
I probably have, but I don’t know that I really classified it as such at the time. Back then, sex was bad if, at the height of passion, a jealous husband or boyfriend burst into the room and kicked the living shit out of me. Sex wasn’t bad if, for example, it took forever to get my partner off, or if she accidentally nicked my frenulum with her teeth. Generally speaking, I was just glad to have an orgasm with another person present and actively, willingly, participating. If I’ve ever had bad sex, it may have been the kind of sex where the physical pleasure was actually quite plentiful, but some other factor made it “bad”. That is, it involved someone with whom I probably shouldn’t have been having sex, i.e. an ex-girlfriend who thought sex meant getting back together, a person who may have been attached elsewhere, etc.

2. Have you ever given bad sex? Why did that happen?
I hope not. Honestly, I don’t think so. Who am I kidding? I probably did when I was younger and thought I knew everything about how a woman’s body works. Although by the time I was thirteen I had read a hell of a lot about human sexuality, so maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe I was as much a sexual dynamo when I lost my virginity at sixteen as I am today.

3. What instantly puts you in a bad mood?
Not much. These days my mood is generally pretty good, and while I’m intelligent enough to realize this won’t last forever, I’m enjoying it while I can. Very little gets me down. However, if you’d like me to tell you about things that disappoint or annoy me on a regular basis, i.e. the sort of thing that makes me roll my eyes and/or wish for the annihilation of all mankind, I can do that. They are: Bigotry, our instant-gratification/entitlement culture, untangling cords, the way my daughter tries to park herself in my shadow from the moment I pick her up from school until she goes to bed (though that one is pretty endearing), female friends who mistakenly believe that just because I’m married I don’t want to have sex with them, the stupid pre-recorded bullshit “entertainment” that plays before a movie at the Cinemark Theater chain, YouTube ads you can’t skip, willful ignorance, Chris Hardwick, 90% of contemporary pop culture, and the media’s determination to keep the American people scared, angry, and divided.

4. Have you been hurt during a sexual activity? What was the activity? How were you hurt or injured?
No, but a recent partner did text me a couple days later to tell me, and I quote, “Just fyi, my pussy is sore. Don’t remember the last time it’s been sore after sex. And for that, I thank you.” Technically not an injury, but without that anecdote I’ve got nothing.

5. During sex, what instantly turns you off?
Spouting conservative talking points.

6. Bad sex–is there really such a thing?
Yes. Of course there is. Just ask any of the women who’ve been victimized and then blamed for their own victimization. Ahem. Sorry to bring the room down all of a sudden.

Bonus: Biting during sex–
a. do you like it?
b. do you do it?
I don’t require it, but I’m certainly not opposed to it. It can be very sexy, and in fact, it’s something Jill and I do semi-regularly. But it’s usually part of foreplay or making out. It’s not really something we do for its own sake.

Jill’s Answers

1. Have you ever had bad sex? Why do you think it was bad?
Yes, I have. The person I had it with was a horrible lover. He was much more aggressive than I was capable of handing at the time, and he was very inconsiderate as well. Nothing turns me off quicker than a selfish lover.

2. Have you ever given bad sex? Why did that happen?
I don’t think I have. Or at least I hope not. I always give any partner my absolute best effort, even when I’m tired. Which is often.

3. What instantly puts you in a bad mood?

When someone doesn’t show me basic respect and courtesy, or is selfish, that always puts me in a bad mood.

4. Have you been hurt during a sexual activity? What was the activity? How were you hurt or injured?
Yes, I have. If you’re a longtime reader of this blog, you’ve probably already heard this story, but once, many years ago, a guy I was having sex with tried for anal sex without any warning or lube. Obviously that the last time I let him touch me.

5. During sex, what instantly turns you off?
You may be detecting a theme by now, but selfishness or lack of concern for my pleasure is an immediate mood-killer. Believe me, I love to give pleasure. I absolutely love it. Few things excite me as much as making somebody come, or even just knowing that whatever I happen to be doing to them is exciting them physically. But I like some reciprocity, and if my partner can’t be bothered to make me feel good, I’m not going to expend much effort for them.

6. Bad sex–is there really such a thing?
Hello. Have you been reading my answers, or no?

Bonus: Biting during sex–
a. do you like it?
b. do you do it?
Yes to both! Generally speaking, I like biting and being bitten gently. I’m not into teeth marks.

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Finishing Always Feels Good, Chapter 3

Looking for Chapter 1? It’s here.
Chapter 2?  Here.

This chapter contains graphic violence.

“What, you’re threatening me now?” Carrie asked. “You think I can’t take care of myself?”

Elisa didn’t answer. Instead, Jamie turned Carrie around to face her. “You couldn’t take care of your husband.” Her eyes were cruel lumps of coal set deeply in her face and framed by those icy blonde locks Carrie wanted to grab with both hands and yank out of her head in clumps. “You couldn’t satisfy him physically. You couldn’t satisfy him emotionally either.”

“That’s not true. He was stationed – “

“Oh yes it is.”

“Look, I gave him a pass. You know he had permission.”

“He didn’t just fuck me. He loved me.”

“It isn’t true. But if you want him, you can fucking have him.”

“Oh honey,” she began, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “I don’t want him anymore. I’ve got a man of my own. And my man would never text another woman behind my back the way Rick did. You should have read the awful, awful things he said. I almost feel sorry for you, being married to such a backstabber.”

She swallowed hard, choking down the memories of the texts she knew he’d sent. “And you loved him, so what does that say about you?”

“I never loved him. He loved me. Do you want to know what he said about you? About being married to you? Raising children with you? Do you want to know all the names he called you?”

Carrie didn’t need to hear Jamie say it. She’d seen the texts on Rick’ phone years before, and she never forgot any of them. Just thinking about the things she read, after taking a twenty-five-hour flight to Singapore in a desperate bid to save what was left of their tattered marriage, was almost enough to bring Carrie to her knees. She blocked out those thoughts, and focused on the here and now.

“Rick was hurting over what I’d done to him,” she said, and nodded her head in Elisa’s direction. “With her husband. I’m the bad guy here. I did awful things to Rick. And if I was that bad to my own husband, who I love, what do you think I’m capable of doing to you two?”

“Oh Carrie,” Elisa smiled, her brow furrowed deviously. “Look at you, pretending you’re confident and brave. I know you’re not. I know that on the inside you’re shaking like a scared little girl. You know that everything we’re telling you is true. But the truth is, Jamie and I don’t want to make you feel bad about yourself. We aren’t here to make you cry over what a miserable failure you are and then laugh about it. We’re here to break you physically.”

Jamie chimed in: “Then leave you lying on the floor while we go back to the ball and party.”

“After all, did you really think I was going to let you lure Alan into your clutches and do nothing?”

“You bitches think I can’t fight both of you?” Carrie’s voice was unsteady. She was confident that she would get a few good punches in, and maybe bloody the other two women up a bit. But she was much more of a lover than anything else, a fighter especially. The thought of defending herself in this manner was frightening. Still, she gathered her courage and looked Elisa right in the eye. “Alan still wanted to be with me. That means you weren’t getting the job done at home. You’re boring and uptight. He told me so the first time we met, and I could always tell it was true. Every time we were in the same room together, doesn’t matter where, I always thought of you with – how did he put it? A huge Christian stick up your ass.”

Without warning, Elisa’s fist crashed into Carrie’s face. She staggered back, unable to breathe. She couldn’t even see. It was like someone was shining a flashlight right into her eyes. Carrie felt burning pain and blood on her face, and she instinctively wiped it away as her vision slowly returned. She could hear one of the women yelling “Hold her! Grab her!” Elisa stood in front of her; Jamie was in the back, trying to restrain her arms. Carrie shook her off, then blindly swung an elbow at her for good measure.

Elisa sent another punch careening at her. Carrie dodged her fist even as Jamie grabbed her from behind once again. Fingernails dug into her skin and Carrie tried desperately to get free. Her adrenaline kept the pain at bay, but Jamie’s persistence was remarkable.

“Hold her…hold her,” Elisa was saying. Jamie did one better and climbed up onto Carrie’s back. Her legs clasped around Carrie’s midsection and if Carrie was able to spare a thought she might have wondered if it was as comical a sight as it seemed. She bounced clumsily from one foot to the other, trying to get Jamie off of her back. It was at this point that Carrie realized that she’d lost one of her shoes when Elisa punched her, so she kicked off the other one as well. She paid no mind to where it landed and turned her attention immediately to throwing off the monkey clinging to her back.

Jamie didn’t make it easy. Her thighs pressed tightly against Carrie’s sides, her feet crisscrossed over her stomach. All the while her hair – the hair she’d just repaired in the bathroom – was being pulled with terrible force. Carrie bucked hard, desperate to toss her opponent to the ground. With renewed urgency she pushed back against Jamie as Elisa reached out for Carrie’s pale and very vulnerable throat.

Quickly Carrie reared back, pulling herself away from Elisa’s grasp. At the same time the back of her head slammed into Jamie’s face and the woman tumbled off Carrie’s back and onto the floor. As she realized she was finally free, Carrie wasn’t sure whether to repay Elisa for that punch in the face, or else turn and pounce on Jamie. She did neither. Instead she grabbed Elisa’s outstretched hands, then swung her head forward. She’d seen people getting headbutted in wrestling matches and it seemed so effortless and consequence-free. She didn’t realize it would hurt her as well.

Still, the sight of Elisa holding her nose bolstered Carrie’s courage. She wasn’t the only one bleeding anymore. She rushed forward, arms extended in an attempt to knock Elisa off-balance. When she reached the older woman, Elisa was ready and swung out, catching Carrie in the face. By now, Jamie was back up on her feet and followed Elisa’s punch with one of her own. Then another and another. Carrie tried to move into a better position but couldn’t; her opponent was standing on her gown. So instead of moving away, Carrie moved closer. She grabbed Jamie’s arm and dug in with her nails, savoring the sound as she screamed out in pain. Blood rose up from the jagged wounds in crimson streaks. At that point, even as Elisa tried to restrain her, it was easy for Carrie to push Jamie off of the dress.

“Hold her!” Jamie yelled.

“No, you hold her!” Carrie used their lack of coordination to her advantage and rushed Jamie, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her hard into one of the columns. Jamie’s eyes were wide with surprise and panic, and when she hit the marble with a loud crack Carrie silently hoped it was her spine. Still, she didn’t let up. Carrie maintained her grip on Jamie’s shoulders and slammed the back of her head into the column once, then twice, until her eyes narrowed and then closed completely. Then Carrie let go and she sank to the floor.

She turned to face Elisa, and in doing so noticed that a large group of partygoers had gathered at the end of the corridor. There had to be thirty or forty servicepeople and spouses there, clogging the hallway in their finery and just watching. Carrie was kind of surprised that no one had tried to break it up, actually. She thought someone would have had the guts, the initiative, to step in. Apparently not. She refocused on Elisa, who actually looked scared for the first time all evening.

“It’s your turn now.”

Bolstered by a jolt of white-hot anger, Elisa charged. Her arms swung like flails, desperate to land a blow that would take Carrie completely out of action. But she sidestepped easily, raising her leg to give Elisa a hard kick in the ass as she passed. She pivoted on her feet to face Carrie once again. Her bloody nostrils flared like those of a furious bull, her bruised and swollen lips pulled back to bare her teeth in an animalistic sneer. Carrie would not have been surprised if Elisa snorted and pawed the ground with her foot before charging again.

The two women faced off. Elisa seethed with rage, her eyes narrow and focused. She was trying to psyche Carrie out, to intimidate her into either running away or running headlong into Elisa’s next attack. But the younger woman kept her cool. She wasn’t going to let Elisa provoke her into making any mistakes. They stood there for a long while, mere feet from each other, neither woman speaking or making any sound. Even the crowd had gone quiet lest they miss a muttered epithet.

Carrie spoke first: “Come at me, bitch.”

Elisa lunged, attempting to grab Carrie and pull her close for a beating. Her reach was long, her hands strong and her grasp firm. But none of that mattered when Carrie dodged and swung her own fist. Her arm was far more slender than Elisa’s – indeed, Carrie was certain her opponent could have clasped her hand around Carrie’s bicep and still had room to spare – but unlike Elisa, Carrie was still thinking clearly. Despite the fact that the other two had started it, Carrie was the only one who’d kept her head throughout all of this.

Carrie’s fist connected with the side of Elisa’s head, but the punch barely slowed her. She gave another punch, this time with her other fist against the other temple. Elisa lunged again, and this time Carrie managed to grab her arm before she could ensnare her. Urgently she tried to wrestle Elisa to the ground, unsure what she would have done once she got her there. They grappled together for a moment, Carrie fighting to maintain her grip on Elisa even as her opponent struggled to get free.

Elisa finally broke Carrie’s grip, deflecting another punch before swinging around and catching Carrie in the abdomen with a deft roundhouse kick that sent her stumbling over Jamie, still lying prone beside the column. When she regained her footing Carrie braced herself for another kick. It landed square against her ribs, leaving her breathless. While Carrie was stunned Elisa followed the kick with a strong, sure punch that impacted Carrie’s face, smashing her nose with a loud, sickening crack. She felt her lip split open, blood washing hot and thick over her mouth and down her chin. She spit some out of her mouth and hurried to duck another punch.

Elisa was swinging blind again. Carrie moved out of the way of a one-two combo that might have torn her ears clean off had she been slower. Elisa wheeled quickly on the balls of her feet, trying to stay a step ahead of Carrie as she evaded the continuing assault. One punch missed its target. The next one landed on the side of Carrie’s face. Two more missed. Another hit home, colliding hard against her shoulder. As Elisa prepared her next punch – this one aimed once again for Carrie’s already blood-slick face – Carrie steeled herself, then snatched Elisa’s arm as it shot toward her like a bullet. She swung it toward the nearest column, slamming it furiously against the marble.

Elisa howled in pain as her metacarpal bones crunched under the force of each blow. The column dripped heavy with blood, but still Carrie didn’t let up. When she was finally done battering Elisa’s hand into uselessness, she leaned the older woman up against the marble. Elisa was dazed, clearly deep in shock from the trauma Carrie had dealt her. She cradled her shattered hand, her body trembling, mouth frozen in a silent scream.

Carrie realized that the entire room was suddenly silent. Only the faintest echoes of the ball could be heard in the distance. She readied her fist for one more punch that would surely end the fight in a decisive manner, leaving her standing victorious over both of her assailants and hopefully giving second thoughts to anyone else present who might have considered getting up in her face.

As she drew back her arm, Elisa lurched on her right foot. She was probably instinctively trying to steady herself lest she fall, but there was no sense in taking chances. Carrie kicked high, bending her knee and stomping her foot down on Elisa’s unsteady leg. The assembled onlookers – whom Carrie had more or less forgotten were were standing there – gasped in horror as Elisa’s tibia exploded through her shin, showering the walls and floor with blood and sending bits of bone skidding toward the crowd.

Behind her, someone shouted. Carrie didn’t even turn around. At the same time, the silent scream finally gave way to a blood-curdling cry of agony and terror and Elisa sank slowly to her knees. Which, of course, just made her howl even louder. Carrie moved in close and took her throat in her hands, silencing the scream as she began to strangle her.

“You’re finished,” Carrie said quietly. Her voice was calm, her words almost a whisper. She tightened her grip on Elisa’s neck, watching her eyes bulge and roll back in her head. At the same time Elisa began gasping desperately for breath. Carrie didn’t stop. Instead, she said it again, louder this time: “You’re finished.” She repeated it for good measure, anger in her voice. She was snarling now, her expression quite possibly the main reason no one had yet intervened. “You’re finished. You’re finished. You’re finished.”

Carrie felt herself nearing a state that she could only describe as euphoria. After the cyclone of emotions she’d felt after suddenly seeing Alan for the first time in years, the hurt she felt over coming face-to-face with Jamie, and the anger Elisa had brought out of her, there was something strangely soothing about holding the woman’s throat in her tight grip. Even as she throttled her, Carrie realized how perverse that sounded. She really wasn’t a violent person, and she didn’t know why the thought of killing this woman was bringing her such peace. None of it mattered anymore. Despite the expression on her face, she didn’t even feel angry.

Carrie was shaken out of her ecstasy by the shock of heavy footfalls on the ground nearby. Suddenly hands were all over her. A military police officer was forcing her down to the floor, smashing her face into the carpet in the process. Probably that blonde bitch from earlier, Carrie thought as she felt her arms being pinned roughly behind her back. The familiar click click click click click of handcuffs followed, and then she was restrained. As they pulled her to her feet she could see paramedics lifting Elisa onto a stretcher. One was applying pressure to the gory lower-leg fracture Carrie had given her. Nearby, Jamie lay on the floor beside the pillar where Carrie had left her. Her face was pale, her eyes open a sliver. A paramedic was shining a penlight into the young woman’s eyes. Carrie wondered if she was dead.

A voice sounded clearly over the excited din of the congregation. “That’s my wife! That’s my wife!” Carrie turned to see Rick fighting his way through the crush of onlookers. She was relieved to see someone who presumably didn’t want to kill her, even if she did remember – just barely – that she was supposed to be pissed off at him. She wasn’t sure what to say, or even what kind of look to give him from across the lobby. She managed a weak smile with sad, tired eyes, then looked away as the officers led her out. As she walked through the room, she spied Alan standing amongst the mob. Poor Alan.

To be continued.

TMI Tuesday: May 10, 2016

It’s the month of May AND it is time to play TMI Tuesday!

may_tmi

Jack’s Answers

1. May 9 – Today is National Lost Sock Memorial Day. How many single socks do you have because the mate got lost?
At the moment, none. I save single socks for a couple months, and if their counterparts haven’t shown up by then, I toss ’em. I’m not a puppeteer; I don’t see any point holding onto a bunch of uncoupled socks.

2. This month is National Bike Month (in the USA), do you own a bike? When is the last time your rode your bike?
No bike at the moment. The last time I rode my bike was years ago, and unfortunately that’s as precise as I can get. The last time I rode any bike was last week, at the gym. It was a stationary bike, obviously.

3. Of course we all know it is Masturbation Month. How are you celebrating?
Well, not by abstaining, that’s for sure.

4. As a kid, many of us would think or say, “I don’t ever want to be like my mom (or dad)!” Now that you are grown, which parent do you think you are most like.
I’m more like my mother than my father, god help me. My mom was the more empathetic one, whereas my dad was a bit more emotionally distant. I certainly take after my mom when it comes to parenting.

5. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?
My parents raised me to be realistic. They told me I was important to them, but that the rest of the world wasn’t going to break a sweat to make me think I mattered. It’s a far cry from the attitude I see from many parents today, i.e. the notion that the world owes their children something. However, it seems like there should be a happy medium. Rather than taking their words as inspiration to work harder, it hurt my confidence for a lot of years. I’m one of billions of human beings on the planet. How could I possibly matter? Nice one, mom and dad.

Bonus: A lot of people do sexting. Do you ever have sexy talk with a real phone call? Do you rehearse what you are going to say or do it freestyle?
It’s rare. I talk on the phone on the following occasions: When calling my clients, something that happens on an almost-daily basis; when Jill is more than half an hour late from work and I call to see where the fuck she is; when on a long car ride by myself if I’ve run out of podcasts to listen to; when my mother invariably calls while I’m masturbating. (I can’t not answer. The one time I don’t, some horrible tragedy will have befallen someone in my family.) These are the only situations wherein I regularly talk on the phone. If Jill and I are spending the night apart, we might engage in a little phone sex, but it’s rare that we do, and when it’s happened it’s been completely freestyle. On my end, anyway. She might be reading from a script.

Jill’s Answers

1. May 9 – Today is National Lost Sock Memorial Day. How many single socks do you have because the mate got lost?
About five. I just tossed a bag full of single socks when their mates failed to show up.

2. This month is National Bike Month (in the USA), do you own a bike? When is the last time your rode your bike?
I don’t own a bike. It’s been years since I’ve been for a bike ride. Jack got me one for Christmas about nine or ten years ago, and while I was pretty good about riding it for awhile, I sold it in 2014 or 2015.

3. Of course we all know it is Masturbation Month. How are you celebrating?
With multiple orgasms every day so far! It’s been awhile since I was able to masturbate daily, but I’m really hoping it continues into June and beyond.

4. As a kid, many of us would think or say, “I don’t ever want to be like my mom (or dad)!” Now that you are grown, which parent do you think you are most like.
My Dad. He is caring and thoughtful, and generally a positive person. [Editor’s Note: Trust me, she’s much more like her mother.]

5. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?
Nothing! I had an amazing childhood. I was blessed with wonderful siblings and amazing parents. We are all still close. My mother was able to stay home with us until I was an adult, at which point she went back to work. I think having her home really influenced my relationship with her, and shaped me into the mother I am today.

Bonus: A lot of people do sexting. Do you ever have sexy talk with a real phone call? Do you rehearse what you are going to say or do it freestyle?
Not as often as I’d like to! About the only time I have phone sex is if Jack and I are spending the night apart. I think the last time was in November, when I was away on business. And it’s never rehearsed. It’s always 100% spontaneous. [Editor’s Note:  I guess that settles that.]

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Finishing Always Feels Good, Chapter 2

Looking for Chapter 1?  It’s here.

This chapter contains mild physical violence, as well as a fair amount of psychological and/or emotional violence.  Trigger warning for STI shaming. 

The woman on the stage in the front of the room was the Secretary of the Air Force, whatever that meant. At the moment she was droning on about honor and service, but Carrie was imagining her sitting at a desk, typing up memoranda and collating documents. Maybe even answering the telephone. “Hello, U.S. Air Force. How may I direct your call?” She understood the position entailed much different responsibilities than a civilian secretary would bear, but Carrie needed the laugh. She sipped impatiently from her cocktail, wondering if it would be considered poor form to take her iPhone out and browse Pinterest. The wristlet that held it was an expensive new one by Vera Bradley; she’d bought it to wear to the ball, and it matched her dress. For an instant, she considered just doing it regardless of whether the other military wives at the table might judge her for it, or would judge her husband.

Sensing her boredom, Rick reached over and covered her hand with his, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry this is so boring.” His voice was a whisper.

Carrie looked up and smiled at him, suddenly self-conscious. She absentmindedly ran her finger around a stray brown tendril that escaped from her updo to frame her face. She twisted it around her finger like a young child might. The speech couldn’t possibly go on much longer, could it? The secretary was talking about something patriotic no doubt, but whatever the content of the speech, Carrie couldn’t relate. She couldn’t help but wish the speech could just be over right now, if only so she could finally eat dinner. And then have another drink or two at the bar, do some dancing, and then take Rick back up to their hotel room and fuck his brains out.

The room erupted in applause as the secretary stepped down from her podium. Carrie wondered if the applause wasn’t merely because she was finally done talking. Fucking windbag. Dinner was served in three separate courses, beginning with an organic mixed-green salad with English cucumbers, carrots, roasted roma tomatoes, feta cheese, and toasted walnuts dressed with a white zinfandel vinaigrette; and continuing with a main entree of boneless chicken breast topped with prosciutto, fresh basil, and asiago cheese with a roasted garlic marsala sauce, plus mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables on the side. Dessert was brandied cherry chocolate cake, but Carrie politely declined hers.

Dinner passed in relative calm, but the ambient elevator music playing through the speakers and the sea of men in military dress uniforms and their perfectly-clad and -coiffed stepford wives created a surreal atmosphere that made Carrie uncomfortable. It was like something Norman Rockwell would have painted, if Norman Rockwell had been in charge of designing propaganda for the Military-Industrial Complex. Carrie found herself relieved that all of the evening’s ceremony had concluded when she and Rick walked into the adjacent ballroom for the afterparty. She smoothed out the classy red gown she’d chosen for the evening and took in the veritable sea of opulent evening wear swaying in a very inelegant manner on the frames of the wives getting down on the dance floor. Carrie and Rick made their way to the bar, her heels clicking across the ballroom floor. A small group of airmen stood before them, placing their drink orders.

“What do you want?” Rick asked her as they waited. “Wine? Margarita? Corona?”

“I don’t care. Something strong.”

Rick pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his dress pants as the airmen vacated and he and Carrie reached the bar. He ordered his wife a margarita with an extra shot of tequila, and a draft beer for himself. While they waited for their drinks, Carrie turned to the entrance of the ballroom and watched in shock as a familiar couple walked in. Her eyes went wide and her breath left her lungs. Alan was tall, with short, dark hair and dark eyes, plus chiseled, masculine features that Carrie still found as attractive as she ever had. He wore the same formal dress as Rick, and linked to his arm was his wife Elisa. She wore a modest black dress with a simple braided style of bun atop her head and a haughty expression on her tired, weathered face. Carrie was frozen in place, unsure what to do. Standing on the opposite side of the ballroom, neither Alan nor Elisa had noticed her yet. She took an instinctive step back, quickly turning to face Rick once again. She forced a half-hearted smile as he handed her the shot and the margarita, noticing as she downed the former that her hand was trembling. Carrie’s entire body was rigid with tension, her heart thundering in her chest so forcefully she couldn’t ignore it. She set the shot glass down on the bar and began to drink the margarita.

Rick spoke: “Take it easy. The night hasn’t been that bad.”

She continued to smile, hoping Rick couldn’t tell she didn’t mean it. The pervading sense of doom she felt threatened to ruin her night almost before it had begun. The four hadn’t crossed paths yet, but there was no way the two couples were going to be able to avoid each other all night. Carrie hoped they had wandered off and gotten lost in the crowd. She wouldn’t have minded if they’d disappeared into the throng of people on the dance floor, even if it meant she would have to stay away from that location all night.

After a moment Carrie was unable to resist a quick glance around the room, hoping she’d find Alan and Elisa deep in conversation with another couple or otherwise occupied elsewhere. As she looked, Alan locked eyes with her and she watched his lips part in the same state of disbelief she’d just experienced.

Time stood still. All the sound in the room fell away. The band was silent. Hundreds of separate conversations suddenly went mute. A tornado of memories hung in the air over Carrie’s head along with the sudden, panicked realization of what was about to happen. At the absolute most, a scant one hundred feet of crowded ballroom separated the two couples. As Carrie and Alan stared at each other, Elisa and Rick needed to take only the briefest pause in order to register the situation, quickly following their spouses’ gazes until they realized the four of them were all in the same room once again. This is what they’d all been dreading for so long, and while Carrie had no idea what would happen next, she knew damn well it wasn’t going to be good.

Rick looked away from the other couple and down to Carrie, who managed to tear her eyes away from Alan a split second too late. Her expression was serene, her mouth turned upward into a sappy smile. A look of restrained affection – a less secure husband might have classified it as longing – remained on her face. Rick had seen it.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.” He took a step away from her.

“What?” Carrie threw up her hands in a shrug of feigned innocence.

“Your face. The look on your face.”

“I’m just surprised. You would be too, if you-know-who was here.”

He looked down at Carrie’s hand, clutching melodramatically at her chest. She took a deep breath. The grin had all but faded from her lips, but she was still gazing off in Alan and Elisa’s direction. As Rick thrust his beer into Carrie’s hand she snapped out of it just in time to see him close the gap between them and the other couple in only half the strides it should have taken him.

She called out to him. “Rick! No!” Carrie gave no thought to Rick’ beer or her margarita as she dropped both to the floor and ran after him in a broad whirl of red dress and brown hair. As she grabbed him by the dress blues he swung his arm back, throwing her off of him. He lashed out, propelling his fist at Alan’s face. The other man reached up with blinding speed, grabbing Rick’ fist with both hands. Anticipating the sheer force of the looming blow, Alan parried his opponent, using every bit of energy he could muster to send Rick’ arm off-course. In the end it didn’t matter as Rick sent his free hand sailing into the other man’s stomach. Alan was solid muscle without a bit of fat on him; that much Carrie knew from experience. Still, the punch left him doubled over and gasping for breath.

As Rick grabbed Alan’s lapels and pulled him back up, Elisa scrambled against the wall and out of their way. Carrie, meanwhile, leaped to her feet and tried to break up the fight. Alan returned Rick’ punch and Rick delivered another, fists burying themselves in abdomens and impacting against ribs. Carrie made use of her elbows and shoulders, forcing her way between them. When her black stiletto heel inadvertently came down on Rick’ patent leather dress shoe, he cried out and turned on his feet to face the interloper. Alan took advantage of this pause and shoved Rick backward. Then he fell to his knees, still desperate to catch his breath even as Rick tumbled into a woman in a slinky ankle-length cocktail dress and hit the floor hard.

“Is there a problem here?” asked a scowling military police officer. He was round-faced with a prominent brow.

“Too much to drink,” Elisa said without the slightest smile.

Carrie looked down at Rick, already rising to his feet. His lip was bleeding, but the look of hatred burned into his face was far more frightening. She bent down to Alan, letting her eyes meet his once again. She allowed herself only an instant to feel the familiar stirrings as she drank deeply of his gaze. “Are you okay?” she asked. For a moment, she almost forgot the room was packed with military personnel and their spouses. Worst of all, she almost forgot about Alan’s wife, and her own husband.

Alan blinked and nodded his head. After a second he answered in the affirmative. All the while, he held her gaze just as he’d done all those times in Korea. Carrie extended a hand and helped him up. The feel of his skin on hers sent a current of electricity through both of them and made the air around them come alive. She was flooded with memories: His smile. The way he smelled. The way his body felt against her. The way his cock felt inside her. The way he sounded when he came. She thought about the first time they’d been together. She thought about the last time. It occurred to her that even though Alan had made it to his feet, they were still touching. She looked down and realized he was the one holding her hand, and not the other way around.

That’s when Elisa launched herself off of the wall and grabbed Carrie by the hair. The younger woman writhed in her grip, turning her head to face her attacker even as she twisted Carrie’s brown locks in a tight, unyielding fist. “Get your hands off of him, you whore!” Elisa pulled her head even further back. Carrie fought against her, finally sending a knee up and into Elisa’s rib cage. She groaned, but managed to hold tight to Carrie’s hair. Then Carrie grabbed Elisa’s and yanked even harder.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” Carrie’s voice was colder than ice, infused with a steely determination that would have given any other woman pause. Elisa didn’t relent. Carrie released her grip on Elisa’s hair and quickly clasped them over her wrists, pulling with all she had. That’s when the round-faced military police returned, this time with three other officers who separated the two women by force.

“Take it outside, ladies,” said a blonde officer in full uniform. She was perhaps a few years older than Carrie, and Carrie disliked her immediately. She and her cohorts pushed Carrie one way and Elisa the other as Alan and Rick glared at each other without saying a word. They simply stood beside their wives, each silently acknowledging they’d been very lucky not to be the two discovered fighting. If there was an easier way to end a pair of military careers, neither one could think of it.

After a moment, Elisa broke the silence. “Let’s go, Alan.” It wasn’t a request. She turned to walk away from Rick and Carrie, her hand clasped tightly on her husband’s forearm.

Alan didn’t move. Instead, his expression softened, and he regarded not only Carrie but Rick as well. “Look, I know it isn’t worth much to you, but I’m really sorry about everything. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody, and I sure as hell didn’t mean to ruin your evening just by being here.”

“Man, fuck you.” Carrie looked up at her husband. She wasn’t expecting such a sharp rebuke. Instinct dictated she play the peacemaker and apologize to Alan on Rick’ behalf. But Rick wouldn’t have liked it if she did so she bit her tongue. Rick continued: “You better get out of here before I get really pissed.”

Carrie winced as she saw Elisa pull Alan by the arm. What a cold, unfeeling woman, even to her husband. Carrie took solace in the fact that, even when she was rendezvousing with Alan in an alleyway in Osan, she would never have humiliated him in public the way Elisa just humiliated Alan.

Once the other couple was gone, Rick spoke: “I can’t believe you’d just humiliate me in public like that.”

“Humiliate you in public like – “ Carrie let the words sink in, feeling anger boiling just under her skin. She tried to keep it there. “Humiliate you like what, exactly?”

“Oh, knock it off, Carrie! You really think I wanted to be reminded of what you did to me?”

“What I did to you? What about what you did to me?”

“You think I wanted to be confronted by those two, at the Air Force Ball of all places?”

“How is this my fault?” On some level she knew he was right, but she was unrepentant: “What, we’re just supposed to stay home for the rest of our lives in case God forbid we happen to run into the guy I fucked behind your back? I mean, Jesus!” Carrie’s hands were clenched into fists. “That was a long time ago! What do you want from me?”

“I want you not to act like you’re still hung up on him.”

Carrie turned on her heel and stormed away, stomping through the ballroom intent on the exit. Her emotions were frazzled, and she realized she was fighting off a panic attack. The edges of her vision started to blur, and she turned her head to see a young blonde woman staring at her.

“What are you looking at, bitch?” Carrie snapped. As she spoke she realized that the blonde woman was the only person in the world who could push her from her panic right back into boiling-hot rage. Her name was Jamie, though Carrie always thought of her as the Singawhore. Rick had met her while he was stationed at COMLOG Westpac, and she nearly destroyed their marriage. Carrie had never met her – she’d only seen a picture or two – but she’d recognize her anywhere. Over the last few years she’d given Jamie more thought than she probably should have. She knew the face, and she knew the shoulder-length blonde hair. More than anything it was the hair that made the connection in Carrie’s mind.

She stood on the arm of an enlisted man. Carrie wondered if he was married too. Probably. She wondered if his wife was in pain the way Carrie had been in pain. She remembered the humiliation, the abandonment, the isolation. It was all she could do to keep from calling her a homewrecking slut, though what she really wanted to do was give her a swift kick in the ribs the way she’d just done to Elisa. There’s still time, she thought with a tentative smile. The night is young.

Carrie turned and headed for the exit in a huff. As she did, she bumped into a woman in an elegant ballgown, making her spill her drink. Carrie didn’t apologize. She didn’t even slow down. She barely even acknowledged she had done it. Not so elegant anymore, she thought as she left the ballroom. There were a couple people in uniform milling about a large lobby that, beyond a few floor-to-ceiling marble columns, was essentially featureless. Three corridors forked off of the lobby, one leading to the elevators, another to the main lobby and the hotel’s entrance, and a third to some conference rooms and, to Carrie’s relief, the restrooms. She followed that corridor to another large lobby and her destination, the ladies’ room.

Inside, Carrie checked her hair in the mirror. As expected, Elisa’s assault had completely ruined it. She ran some water from the sink and tried her best to fix it. All she could do was comb it back with her hands, then smooth out the sides and rehabilitate her bangs a bit. She stood there for a moment, feeling her heartbeat speed up. Suddenly there were tears, but Carrie refused to acknowledge them. Instead, she focused on her hair. If she’d had some hairspray, or even a bobby pin or two, she might feel a little more confident.

She looked at herself in the mirror, trying not to focus on her ruined coif. What the hell? Some careless idiot spilled a drink down the front of my gown. Her evening was just getting better and better by the second. Carrie took a paper towel from the dispenser and wiped away the sloppy tears that ran down the sides of her face. Her makeup smeared and she decided to just wash it all off. When she was done she looked at her hair, her face, and her rumpled clothing and she felt like giving up. She wanted to say fuck it and just go upstairs. She wanted to take a long, warm bath and go to sleep before Rick even came up. If she did that, by morning she might have been able to force herself to forget everything that happened.

That’s when she remembered that their hotel room had no bathtub, just a large, glass-walled shower. And while it was admittedly a beautiful piece of architecture, it wasn’t what she wanted tonight. She stared into the mirror, made the most spectacularly fierce face she could manage, and decided that she wasn’t going to give up. The only thing she was going to do was return to the ballroom, have a few drinks, and have a good time. She might even manage to turn a few heads.

Wait. Might? Of course she was going to. She always did. And if it pissed off Elisa, or even Rick, that was too bad for them.

She smoothed out her gown and went to the door. As she pushed it open, Carrie found Elisa standing just outside the ladies’ room. Jamie was beside her. Carrie realized they weren’t standing there because they were waiting to use the restroom; there were several stalls and all were unoccupied. Anyway, the restroom door didn’t lock. They could have come in at any time if that was their aim. Besides, as far as Carrie could tell the two women didn’t know each other. No, it wasn’t some remote coincidence that had put the two women Carrie hated most in the entire world right in front of where she was standing. This was something else.

In spite of every instinct, Carrie buried the anger she felt toward both women, pressed forward, and attempted to walk around them.

She was foiled. “Listen,” Elisa began in the best attempt at a civil tone Carrie had heard her make all night. “I’m only going to tell you this once. If you ever see my husband again, you are to turn around and walk in the other direction. I don’t care where you are. I don’t care what you’re doing. If you see him, you will walk away. In fact, you will run away. He is poison to you.”

Carrie stood dumbfounded by what she was hearing. “You don’t control what I do anymore than you control what Alan does.”

“Don’t mouth off at me, young lady.” The civility was fading.

“Oh please! You know it’s true. How many times has he cheated on you since he left Korea? I’m guessing even if you knew, you couldn’t possibly count.”

“My marriage isn’t your concern.” By now all traces of politeness were long gone. Elisa stood over Carrie like a strict schoolmistress attempting to intimidate one of her charges into toeing the line. At the same time, Jamie moved from Elisa’s side to Carrie’s. Her disregard for the concept of personal space was jarring, and Carrie did her best to keep an eye on the little blonde homewrecker.

Elisa continued: “You may have had something with my husband once upon a time, but that’s ancient history now. And whatever promises he made you, whatever sweet nothings he may have whispered in your ear, I’m telling you now that they were all lies. Alan may have wanted you, but he didn’t care about you. He never did, and he never will.”

“Bullshit.”

“He’s never even mentioned you once since Korea.”

“Why would he mention me to you?” Carrie asked incredulously. “All that matters are the texts he sends me. If you want to see them, I’ll show you my phone.” This part was a bluff intended to gain Carrie some footing. Alan hadn’t contacted her at all. But if Elisa wanted a dirty fight, she was going to get one.

“You’re lying, sweetie. I know you are. Alan learned his lesson. He isn’t going to risk everything he’s got by texting you when I have expressly forbidden him from doing so. We’re both fortunate he didn’t bring home a nasty case of gonorrhea or chlamydia. He isn’t going to push his luck.”

Her words stung, but Carrie didn’t let it show. “Funny you should mention that. We used condoms every time. He said he didn’t want to give me whatever he caught from you.”

Elisa’s hand stung even worse. Carrie rubbed her cheek until the shock of the sudden slap faded. “I suggest you think very carefully about the situation you’re in,” Elisa advised. “There are two of us and one of you. There’s nobody coming to your rescue.”

To be continued.

 

 

TMI Tuesday: May 3rd, 2016

Another week, another TMI Tuesday.

Weekdays

tmi_tuesday

Jack’s Answers

1. Do you wish every day was like Sunday?
Not really. I don’t like the pervading sense of doom that I associate with Sundays, undoubtedly due to the fact that it’s the last day of the weekend. Ever since I was a kid I’ve dreaded Sunday afternoon because the start of the school week loomed heavy over me.

2. Why don’t you like Mondays?
Who says I don’t like Mondays? You must be thinking of the person in that Boomtown Rats song. No, I have made peace with Monday, and while it’s far from my favorite day of the week I am able to look on the bright side. Namely, the fact that after two days of having my wife and child home and in close proximity, on Monday I am once again granted a few hours of peace and quiet.

3. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday love–which is best day for sex?
All of the above.

4. Do you look forward to hump day aka Wednesday?
Honestly, not really. My daughter has a half-day at school, and an after-school class that makes for a very long and tiring day. I understand that Wednesday is the midpoint between Monday and Friday and once you’ve crested the peak that is Wednesday you can go limp and tumble down the rest of the week, but honestly I don’t start celebrating until Thursday.

5. Friday night just got paid…do you get paid on Fridays?
I’m self-employed and get paid by the job. So if I have a job on a Friday (and I usually do), I get paid on Friday.

6. What were you doing 10:15 Saturday night?
Fucking.

Bonus: Today in Washington, DC metro area it’s another Rainy day and it is Monday. What’s your weather?
The day started out kind of chilly and overcast, but quickly warmed up. In fact, when the sun finally went down, I was pretty grateful.

Jill’s Answers

1. Do you wish every day was like Sunday?
No. I really prefer Saturdays to Sundays. We have too many obligations on Sundays, and there’s a general unpleasant sense of needing to get everything done before the start of the school and work week.

2. Why don’t you like Mondays?
It always seems to be the craziest day at work. My students are coming off the high of their weekend and don’t listen, behave, or even cooperate. Also, it can sometimes be a hassle to resume my weekly schedule after two days off.

3. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday love–which is best day for sex?
All of the above, really. But the weekend seems to be the best simply because we can stay up later.

4. Do you look forward to hump day aka Wednesday?
It’s okay. It does mean half of the school and work week is over, and after Wednesday it’s all downhill. However, our daughter has an extracurricular activity on Wednesday evenings, so it’s always a very long day.

5. Friday night just got paid…do you get paid on Fridays?
Only if the last day of the month happens to fall on a Friday.

6. What were you doing 10:15 Saturday night?
I think we were home having sex.

Bonus: Today in Washington, DC metro area it’s another Rainy day and it is Monday. What’s your weather?
Today was beautiful and warm. We even managed to go swimming after I got home from work.

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!