Double Feature

Interlude

It was not nearly enough.

"Get up," he growled. She'd never heard that tone from him before. It didn't scare her at all. She relished the thought of whatever was coming.

Taking her hand, he stood and prodded her out into the aisle. Her clothing was in disarray, and she made some attempt to straighten it, one-handedly, as he pulled her up the ramp. They walked quickly down a dimly-lit narrow corridor, toward the glowing red exit sign. Mark shoved open the bolt, kicked the door out of their way, and picked up his pace.

Behind the theatre, there was an overgrown lot filled with waist-high weeds, ending in a chain-link fence. Not much light shone back there, not from the theatre's parking lot nor the city's street lights. The nearest was fifty years off and broken.

"What?" she asked him, like a bad mafia movie, as if she didn't know. Her voice broke the silence like brittle glass.

He didn't look at her, in fact, he put his head down. However this all factored in with his ideas of right and wrong, it overwhelmed him. The utter conflict of blinding lust on one side, and a sense of love and purity on the other, only served to prod his sexual craving, "sin," they'd both been taught from a young age, into a maelstrom throughout his body. He'd been caught in it to some degree before; it had always ended badly. Well, that could not be helped. He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "Look, I know it's wrong, it's bad, and I'm sorry for even thinking about... but...god, Melissa...I gotta...I gotta..." He sounded like he was in pain.

The interpretation was simple. She had seen his struggle with his conscience, against his honest reaction slowly being drowned in a mire of broken commandments. It was painful to watch. In what she considered her past life, she'd been through the same set-up several times. More intensely than just about anything, she hated the way normal young people were shamed and threatened into denying what they felt for fear of condemnation, a judgement mostly of men (read: other people). On the other hand, neither did she like the wet underwear against her sensitive female parts, and this admission, vague though it was, coming from him, the stoic, added to the problem. Just for that, she was going to goad it out of him, piss him off enough to trip the lock in his head. Now that she'd given him a taste of her, and he obviously wanted more, she could provoke him, couldn't she? Even if he acted out of anger, it would be better than forever extinguishing this fire.

"You gotta what? Throw me up against this fence and have your way?" By then they'd actually reached the fence. It was about 12 feet high. On the other side, a cliff of sorts plunged nearly straight down. Glancing over at him, she thought to herself his coloring, even in the low light, looked a little pasty. Time to prod things along. "Fucking A," she continued, "this is getting old, Mark! How long? How fucking long? What do you want? For me to love you? Get a grip."

She couldn't call that a lie, but it was untruth just the same.

Part 2

Well, obviously she was not in for a romantic evening. What exactly was I offering her? Certainly nothing honorable. More like, a dusty field full of unripe tumble-weeds and a stepped-up schoolyard fence. The chilly air had cleared my head a little, but the thought of her flesh pushed up against that fence, into diamond patterns, was too much. I was hard again. This was so ridiculous. I didn't do this shit. I had standards, know right from wrong. You don't force women. You don't do it in plain sight. You don't let your base instincts get away with you like that so all you can think of is the first opportunity to sink your meat into that tight pink slot and push it till you're sated. But what would I know? I'd never had sex like that.

She kept in front of me, deliberately putting her back to me. When she'd stood still, facing away for several seconds, she stretched out her arms and threaded all her fingers through chainlink squares above her ears. Her forehead rested right on the wire, with one of those diamond shapes exactly centered. Her eyelids were lowered and tears seeped from under them down her cheeks.

We'd cried in front of each other before, though always under controlled conditions like church, so I wasn't really freaked by this reaction. It wasn't what I'd expected though. She'd been nasty and sexual a minute ago, damn near accusing me of intent to rape. Her next outburst had sounded like she wanted it that way. No, couldn't be... She wasn't...?

"Why are you crying?" It's one of my gifts, I've been told, empathy. Immediately my soft spot for women in pain showed through, despite other less soft things that weren't going anywhere.

She choked, but couldn't get out any understandable words.

I went up to her and hugged her from behind. If I'd had any ideas at all of NOT finishing what we'd started, this was a mistake. Embracing her soft, shaking body from the back like that released my lust for her. I've never professed to being psychic, this was probably just instinct, but when I touched her again complete comprehension of her reaction flooded me. Adrenaline and blood flowed fast through my system to my uncomfortable prick. This girl wanted it so bad she was crying in frustration.

Threading one hand through her hair, I used it like a bridle to hold her head still while I licked all the saltwater off her face. She froze, gasped, and her eyes flew open. Never had I done anything even remotely kinky with a woman. Melissa gulped. Trying to look at me, she yanked her own hair several times. There was no sense of fear left in me. This was not me, it was someone else, or that's what I kept telling myself, uselessly.

Meanwhile, I soon lost the desire for any kind of foreplay. In the theater we'd entertained ourselves for nearly two hours already on such delights. As if something had flipped a switch in my mind, all thoughts of the teasing, gentle kind of sex ("lovemaking") I'd thought of as right and proper were dead and buried. My cock was the only piece of me thinking straight right then. I shoved it into the small of her back and pulled up her shirt and bra, exposing her breasts to the sky. I forced her bodily against the steel chain link. She let me. Her zipper went down easily enough, but in spite of there being no button or snap I couldn't find a way to open her nearly skintight pants (later I learned it was a hook and eye.) Rip! I pulled whatever was hindering me apart. The navy blue contrasted with her pale skin as they peeled down. Her underwear was wet in the crotch, a large patch that ended under the curve of her ass. I didn't bother removing them. They'd do just fine pushed to the side.

Backing away just a bit, I had my burning wood out in seconds. Balls, too. Worried about getting caught in my zipper, I eased the faded jeans down my legs six inches. I didn't like the thought of my ass hanging out in front of God and everyone. No way to help it.

Grabbing her about the waist, I prepared to give her a boost. "Climb up there a little." One foot, then the other, the toes of her soft moccasin-like shoes slipped into links a foot off the ground. She had somehow kicked one foot out of her pants. Then she moved each hand up half that distance and pulled. I jammed myself back up against her, probing past her panties; i was holding them aside with one hand now. Her cunt juices ran down onto me as soon as I touched her with my spear. Strange thoughts floated in the sea of upcoming sex, about my arsenal--my gun, pistol, spear; bullets, cannon, all these weapons I was going to use on her. A little voice over my shoulder said, in a thick pentecostal holiness accent, "You been holdin' out WAY too long, boy!" Damnit, was I going psycho? What the fuck was wrong with me, thinking like that?

Not caring anymore about lining it up or going slow, I plowed my eight inches into that girl's slick poontang. Her wetness covered me from tip to nuts, creating smacking sounds as I rode her there, holding her up, on the fence. Her back arched and she ground her ass back against me. The inside of her was so soft, so caressing, I just wanted to keep fucking her forever. Several times she slipped but each time she found a new handhold. Each time I rammed it back into her to hold her steady. She fit me tight; if I'd been another quarter inch it would have been too much.

It went on for what seemed like hours, though it was just minutes. We churned around and around, struggling against our clothes and gravity, against and into the itch of release. Clouds blew past the moon, mixing light in strange ways over our rhymically crashing bodies. Her grasp faltered finally as I whipped my cock backwards. With the next forward thrust, I slammed her into the wires held her flat against them, frog-legged, while I continued to wind my spring into her clenching hole. I don't know what did it for her; I was past caring. Her moans graduated into choking grunts and then drawn-out gasps punctuated by "uh's." My prick was still swelling, little by little. It had never, ever been that hard, not even after 8 months of total abstinence I'd tortured myself with once. I'd have been afraid my skin would split, but that didn't matter, either. In the moment, she was mine, my possession; this was how I owned her. I was going to keep banging that pussy, ripping her up till I was damn good and ready to be done.

Without warning she howled. Like a coyote. Her cunt shut down on me so hard for a moment I couldn't move in it but an inch or two. Her internal heat rose a few more degrees instantly, and a second later I was sliding slicker than glare ice. My lower guts tripped over themselves as I realized she'd orgasmed. Then, both in mockery and in pure animal victory, I howled over her. She broke it off and laughed just a bit. "Oh, my legs, ow!" she said.

Still spread-eagled, bent-kneed on the fence, she made a pretty picture, just as I'd envisioned at first. She was going to have imprints, especially where her breasts jutted through and on her elbows and knees, the leverage points. Fucking her like I imagined that rapist she'd alluded to would, my concentration centered solely on my piece. My only goal was to drive it as deep as I could, as many times as I could before my own body betrayed me in cumming. It wasn't even in my thinking anymore, running on auto-fuck pilot, whether I hurt her, satisfied her, or how long our copulation did or didn't go on. I needed to shoot, to blow my wad; the pressure built up in places I'd never been aware of before. My balls had drawn up flush with my body and only got tighter. The wrinkled skin still was catching her wetness. Something behind the base of my cock throbbed very hard; it tingled and caved in, and I couldn't hold back. I was starting to cum. I jacked myself in her pussy two last times, already blasting semen from both barrels down that one narrow tube. It damn near burned on it's way through all the ductwork affectionately known as the "o-ring," around in a circle from testicles, up past prostate, around bladder, and barreling like a luge down the mountain from root to top of my woman-fucking, -plowing, -packing meat. I jabbed it into her like a sex-crazed heathen, never having imagined it being like this. Grinding her hard, the rest of my load shot out of me, spurting repeatedly. Her cunt tightened around me again; she made several low grunting noises until finally she caught her breath and held it. All this time I was still pumping out sperm. I couldn't stop; didn't want to. I had to grab the fence myself by the time it was over, so close was I to passing out.

Slowly, I became aware of voices behind us in the lot, some distance away.

"Where they fucking?"

"Yeah, I think so..."

"Did you see that? Damn it's making me horny."

"God, that's SICK!"

They were too close for comfort. We had to get out of there. Her feet hit the ground with a thud. When her knees wobbled and wouldn't hold her, she sat down hard on her bare ass. I reached down intending to pull her to her feet; rather, I keeled over, and landed on my half-bare ass. The decent into hell and sex was over. Here we were, back where we started, in a vacant lot under the night sky. Neither of us would mention it, I didn't think. Formally, solemnly, I intone-voiced that we'd have to make our own peaces with God. We looked at each other, cracked up, and then ran for my car.