Slips Of The Tongue Ch. 08

Attuned, Jules was ready. She removed her left hand from Tina's hip, reached around her leg, and then proceeded to carefully pluck one bead at a time. Tina was shivering so intensely that she could hardly stand, so she eased her back against the wall behind her and braced herself; quaking with each newly removed bead's stimulating her anus and bucking with each new flick of Jules's tongue around her bejeweled clit. A moment more and Tina was howling in sheer delight. With her back against the tiled wall, Tina grabbed her breasts and began to race circles around them with her lips and tongue, moaning with pleasure as she devoured her long pink nipples. And then, having a good idea of just how many beads were left in her ass, Tina felt her orgasm crash through her. Jules felt Tina's ass gripping the remaining beads tight, so let them go to focus all of her attention on Tina's solid clit. Jules sucked and polished it with Tina's rhythm until the pretty blonde woman fell silent. Then, even after Tina resumed breathing, a thin, shrill whispering breath rising through her throat, Jules continued to gently kiss and polish her clit and drank every last stream from her come jetting urethra.

The session finished, Tina and Jules washed each other off a second time. Dried off, turned up the apartment's heat and remained naked for the rest of that morning. Tina watched Jules go about making them coffee, admiring her luscious body and thinking that the world must be perfect because perfect people like Jules and Gwen were alive in it.

"Julie," she said, turning to look out Jules's kitchen window and out onto the street below, "There's a bunch of stuff I think I should tell you."

4

Thursday, December 20th, 11:53 pm

William Bridgewater, formerly known as Billy the schizoid freak, the dude that dragged what's her name by the hair while peeling down the road in front of the school the winter of sophomore year, now had a new life, a beautiful wife, two little boys, a cute little colonial and a nice mid size S U V. Mrs. Bridgewater, Ashley, was on her knees at the foot of the living room couch, sucking her husband's cock while he watched a DVD from his lesbian porn collection. She didn't mind, not that much anyway, as he watched his favorite porn stars do their thing over the top of her bobbing head. Billy still told her every day, even when he'd get that far away look in his eyes, that she was more beautiful than all those women combined. It was just that he needed a little extra push, that's all. He was too young for Viagra, at least that's what he believed, and he really didn't much like to have to take another pill because that's all he ever seemed to do. So he watched the brown haired chicks eating out the blond chicks because he hadn't liked watching the black haired girls since what's her face pressed charges. Brown hair, blue eyes and high, perky tits worked for Billy. That's why it was nice being married to Ashley. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and maybe not so perky tits, not since Jacob and Kyle sucked up the best of them. But, when she got to bobbing his meat and she made those little noises, Bill could almost swear that it was really Jesse's face he was fucking.

"Billy?" Ashley whined after coming up for some air, "Can I get on top now? Maybe; maybe you'll come faster."

Mr. Bridgewater sighed as he tried to look around his wife. Ashley went for the remote by his side. But, like a viper, Billy's hand captured her hand and began to squeeze; not too much. Too much would get the cops over here again. Just enough would do the trick. Ashley looked away, and waited to get her hand back.

"You're ruining the mood Ashley." He whispered.

"I'm sorry. Said Ashley, speaking softly, her eyes still averted, "I didn't mean; to. My neck hurts. Please let me just; get on now."

For a moment, he stared in that penetrating yet blank way of his. She wasn't seeing it. She didn't want to see it, but she knew that's how he was studying her, the spastic little maniac inside his head trying to bend the bars of his cage, to reach through him and make him reach his fingers around her throat. .

"Sure." Billy finally said, "Get on then."

As Ashley got to her feet and generously licked the fingers of her right hand and wiped them between her nether lips, Billy raised the volume of the TV just loud enough to drown the tiny snores coming from the baby monitor on the end table. Then, Billy's dick still wet from his wife's mouth, Ashley eased onto her husband's lap and stuffed his little chubby into her Zoey Monroe blonde haired pussy.

Having settled her cunt onto Billy's cock, Ashley's pussy sweat began its usual heavy flow. And sure; such a cascade of pussy juice had its advantages, but they were more for Ashley and far less for her husband. In order to keep his cock from slipping out, Billy had to concentrate and grip Ashley tight about the hips, which was a huge inconvenience when all he really wanted to do was listen to Zoeyand imagine her fucking him. But, maybe, this would turn out to be a good session; the kind of romp that started with the usual head, Ashley complaining, Ashley coming, and then Billy's not coming because her pussy was always so slippery when wet, until she invited him to stick it in her ass, which was always nice and tight. So there they were: Ashley grinding and squishing, saturating the cushion beneath him, while Billy just; waited it out. So Billy waited; reaching the fingers of his left hand around his wife's ass so that he could while his time by spreading some of that great gush almighty into her little asshole. A few minutes later, Ashley began to whine with her impending orgasm. Thankful, Billy heaved a sigh of relief. Christ, he thought, she's so slick; I can't feel my dick in there. Then, Ashley came, chest heaving, heart thumping, and covering her mouth before something that might wake the kids came out. Billy let her settle before he lifted her and switched positions, helping his wife spread her knees across the stretch of pussy juice saturated cushion. Billy looked down at the still swollen red head of his cock and Ashley's pussy lubed asshole. With his right thumb, Billy pushed his head down while pushing the rest of his meat in with the gentle force of his hips. Pop; went his weasel, coaxing a whimper from his wife. Oh just shut the fuck up and take it, he thought. Eventually, as Ashley got more comfortable and as Billy got his rhythm, he remembered how much he enjoyed the feeling of his wife's asshole squeezing his cock just right, reminding himself that he should be more thankful. Meanwhile, Ashley had started rubbing herself off another climax, which was fine by Billy because it only served to squeeze his cock even more, extending his pleasure. So there they were, Mr. Bridgewater fucking Mrs. Bridgewater in the ass, rocking the couch and sending a tremor up into the wall and causing the 18 by 24 picture of them at their wedding to shake slightly out of place. Then Billy heard it; a sort of scratching, squeaking sound just beyond the bay window behind him. His thrusts stopped. Ashley's hair stopped bouncing. She turned.

"Why, why'd you stop honey?"

"Shh!" Billy hissed, "I heard something outside."

The sound came again; maybe an animal, a winter starved raccoon or dog? Billy, his dog train of thought reminding him of how the males remain stuck in their females led him to briefly debate whether he should carry Ashley along to the window while still engaged deep in her ass. Then the sound came even louder this time, and he felt his anger at being disturbed as he made Ashley's teeth clench with the sudden removal of his very hard dick from her petite rectum.

"Oh be careful Billy!" hissy whispered Ashley as he approached the window, "Don't get any of my ass gunk on the curtains! I just washed those!"

Billy gave his wife a side long glance, and reminded himself that he would think twice next time before marrying for the sake of securing long term pussy. Standing close to where the curtains met, Billy stopped to listen again and try to peer through the space of night between the seams. Through the space, he could see that another snow storm was raging in its quiet way, and then realized that he should go and turn on the porch light. Billy reached, flicked on the light, and then stepped back to part the curtains. It was then that his cock began to disengorged; its blind head descending to face and then bow to the words written across the outside of his bay window: "Billy has a tiny little dick." Ashley, covering herself with two throw pillows, gave a shudder, which served well enough to cover the laughter that almost spilled out before she got the chance to cover her mouth. Billy scrambled to the door, unlocked it, and then burst through the storm door to see a figure standing on his steps. The individual was dressed in baggy white jeans, a clean white hoody and was wearing what Billy understood to be a Casper the Friendly Ghost mask.

"What the fuck!?!" he exclaimed as the figure advanced one step.

In the next instant, Billy was too astonished to see the figure quickly raise a small object toward his face, and then spray him with a good dose of mace. Screaming and howling like a stuck dog, Billy scratched at his eyes while his shriveled dick and raisin ball sack became hidden inside the brush of his pubic hair. Casper watched and heard Ashley scream and run into the kitchen. It was then that the not so friendly ghost gave Billy a well placed kick in the crotch, rendering him keeled and dry heaving. Seconds later, Ashley came back running, a very large and pointy kitchen knife raised high in her right hand, the throw pillow covering her pussy still held in place with the left. She found her husband on his knees, groaning and sobbing. He was half in and out of the house, already a half inch of fallen snow covering his head. Cautiously, Ashley peered through the open storm door, , her knife raised, and saw that the masked intruder had disappeared into the quietly raging snow.

5

Red, yellow and green light jeweled outlines of trees, bushes and houses still brightly shown through the falling snow. The weather forecast called for increasing blizzard conditions, and folks were advised to remain at home. As for Gwen, driving was still manageable, but she thought she'd might never find her way back to her retreat if she hadn't made a digital voice record of each house's display and its associated turn along the route. She'd found an appropriate sanctuary online, a nudist Buddhist bed and breakfast, secured a couple weeks of overdue vacation time and booked herself a room.

Since the age of ten, when she'd discovered masturbation, and while her siblings were fully embroiled in their teenhoods, Gwen was always finding quiet places to hide. It didn't matter; whether it was a strategically placed card board box in the attic or an open meadow beyond the neighbor's farm, Gwen would find her solitude away from the standing room only chaos at home. Isolation was curative, a means of healing, especially on the warmer days, among the tall grass and wild flowers; the golden sun shining down on her naked body while the juices of her introspection ran down her inner thighs. In time, Gwen's fondness for seclusion led her interests toward meditation and Eastern philosophy, which proved helpful through the post traumatic stress aftermath of the trial by Billy.

Gwen had arrived safely enough at the base of the hill upon which the unusual bed and breakfast took dominion, but had no chance of getting the car any further up the slope. She cut the lights and then the ignition. In the silence, Gwen listened to the soft static of the steadily falling snow. Her wind shield obscured, Gwen looked down at the passenger seat beside her and the friendly smiling white mask set upon it. It's vacant shadow eyes stared back at her. Her heart still racing, Gwen smiled a thin but broad smile before stuffing the mask into her glove box.

Lounging perfectly naked by the B and B's temple hearth, were two women and four men. Three patient knocks upon the sanctuary's entrance suddenly broke their holy silence. The proprietor of the establishment, Eashwari Childress, graced with the ageless beauty, luxurious black hair, and rich sienna brown skin of her mother and the stature and glowing lapis blue eyes of her British father, looked up from her needle point. A wave of glances passed among the guests. One of the men, Mr. Harris, gestured for her to remain seated while he rose from his armchair. Setting his news paper down, the retired ex cop from Hoboken went to the door. Peeking through the eye hole, Mr. Harris appeared to recognize who was seeking entry at such a late hour. He opened the door, smiled, and stepped aside so that all could see Gwen undressing and hanging her ice encrusted clothes on pegs set eye high on the mud room's right wall.

"Evening Gwen." bid Harris as he admired her more like a piece of art rather than something sweet to put himself into.

"Hey Mr. Harris." Gwen responded, offering her own smile as she tugged the two pairs of thick socks from her feet and then pushed the white panties down to her ankles, "Hi everyone. Sorry to be getting back so late. It's pretty rough out there now. I'm sorry Eashwari, but I had to park my car at the bottom of the driveway."

Harris returned to his seat and paper. Eashwari regarded her guest with an expression that was somehow both loving and indifferent. Gwen pulled the sports bra from her body, and then tucked it , along with her soiled socks and panties, into a white plastic bag she'd hung there earlier. Naked and damp, she took the plastic bag, stepped into the room, and closed the door behind her.

"I apologize for any inconvenience, Yogi," said Gwen as she advanced to where Eashwari, sat, "But I believe I'm far enough away from the road so that I won't be plowed in."

Eashwari, as naked as her guests, but covered by the brilliantly colored sari she was working on, raised her gaze to meet Gwen's. Though appearing quite young, thirty or so was Gwen's guess, Eashwari was actually twenty years older than that. She was the picture of health, worldly, wise and so captivatingly, naturally stunning that Gwen found it hard not to stare. Gwen was grateful for the last two weeks of her retreat and for the hours and hours of conversation and instruction she'd gotten from this splendid human being.

"Ms. Travvers." she said in gently accented English, "You have attended to your business?"

"I have." answered Gwen, bowing her head and clasping her hands before her sex.

"And the answer is?" asked Eashwari, her blue sapphire eyes boring into her soul and seeing the truth inside.

"The answer is still love yogi." Gwen answered.

A gentle smile played around Eashwari's lips as she gave Gwen a slow nod. Gwen bowed slightly, wished her hostess and her fellow guests good night and then turned toward the stairs that led to the second floor.

Gwen's room was a warm beige and pale violet accented open space with wall to wall Indian patterned carpeting, furnished with a throw pillow covered futon, flanked by pots of dormant orchids, a painting hung on the west wall of the goddess Derga pulling out the entrails of a beautiful young woman and an alter to Shiva, her sculpted likeness centered on a shelf mounted against the east wall, sticks and cones of incense laid out before Her. She crossed the room and tossed the bag of soiled clothes into her open suitcase. Pausing to study the now familiar space, Gwen took in a great breath of the jasmine that permeated the air, its exact source still a mystery. She moved into the small bathroom, and studied her reflection as she unbound her black hair, and then brushed it loose around her shoulders.

Ghosts rioted at the back of Gwen's mind, and as she peered into her own eyes, she imagined them struggling to kindle her pain. There was Domenique; crushing herself against Love while Jules tried to pry them apart. There was Tina, crushing her love against Gwen, and there was Billy; devil horned and bat winged as he poured gasoline over them all. she took a huge risk, painting her message on the Bridgewater's window, pepper spraying Billy and kicking him in the nuts. But, she'd done it. She survived and she felt satisfied; for now. So much for her spiritual health. Eashwari certainly wouldn't have approved. Or, maybe she would have, if Gwen had given her the full story:

bloodied lips, black and purple bruises across her ribs, shoulders, thighs and calves, big kitchen knives to her throat, ankles bound, hands left free because Billy liked to see her try to fight him off.

Gwen turned away from her reflection suddenly, angry for having reminded herself of how stupid she'd been. She set her brush down, and then stepped back into the bedroom.

She stood in the middle of the room, regarding the contents on the desk; an empty Suzy Q wrapper, a nearly empty bag of cherry Twizzlers, her iPad, a half dozen pens and pencils, a notebook and her make-up case. She hadn't applied a single bit of the stuff over the last two weeks, but she'd used the case's mirror to inscribe her notes backward, like Leonardo Da Vinci had done when recording his journals. Gwen turned toward her bed and eyed the ancient wash worn teddy bear that had always been around for crying fits. It was what she opted to take along, rather than bring her trusty little bullet. Whether she followed through with her Billy closure or not, she intended to leave Eashwari's nudist Buddhist hide away a new woman. Gwen's intuition, the advisement born in the silence between her thoughts, the muted yet open mike from which the Goddess spoke to her, had failed her. Domenique had failed her, and so Domenique was gone and their four member sex carnival troop would be the show that was to go on without her. She had two more days to meditate on all that Eashwari had taught her, and after that, she had the rest of her life to get love right.

Gwen stepped to Shiva's alter, lit a stick of ginger and lemon grass incense, blew the coal bright, and then set the stick in its holder. Crossing the room, Gwen dimmed the lights, took a fresh bath towel, laid it in front of the alter, and then sat upon it in lotus position. In that posture she remained for an hour or more, struggling with her ghosts, trying to silence them, trying to listen to the silence, only to be burdened again by one new viper thought or another; Domenique, Billy, Love and all the other neuro atypicalities that led her away from the truth.

The first thing Gwen realized as she rose out of her meditation was that she'd been crying. The second was that Eashwari was seated on her bed, the dozens of throw pillows piled on either side, naked still but for the time frayed teddy bear cradled in her lap.

"Yogi."

"Ms. Travvers; you realize that I am yogi only in that I teach yoga, and that I am not recognized by any authority as being a teacher of Buddhism?"

"I understand Eashwari. You are a friend giving friendly advise."

"Exactly. Now tell me; why is it you weep?"

"I am a total idiot. I don't know how to put good advise into practice, and I feel that my hate is too great for me to keep to myself."

Eashwari closed her eyes and nodded slowly.

"That is it then: swallow the burning coals of your hate and destroy yourself, throw it at another, which also leads to self destruction or; give in to the craving until you finally arrive at the understanding that hating or loving for desire's sake will never lead to true satisfaction."

"And true satisfaction comes from?"

Eashwari tilted her head slightly, and studied Gwen for a moment.

"Come here girl."

Gwen looked away, wiping the tears from her cheeks. An instant later, she got to her feet and went into the bathroom. Then, A damp hand towel in her hand, Gwen strode to Eashwari and took a seat beside her.