Your Choice
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2019 by OldSarge69

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - "Freeze, Asshole. I've got a.357 aimed at your head." And with those words 17 year old Deena realized the supposedly empty house she had broken into wasn't empty at all. And worse, it belonged to a cop! Lying on the floor, hands cuffed behind her, Deena made an offer. Unfortunately, he insisted she up the offer to "anything" including anal. "Your choice" he said. Jail or anything. A choice that wasn't a choice at all. An offer she couldn't refuse.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft   Coercion   Consensual   NonConsensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   Fiction   Crime   Humor   Military   Mystery   Light Bond   Spanking   Anal Sex   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Sex Toys   Size   Small Breasts  

It was already one of my worst days ever, and now, if I heard what I thought I just heard, it was about to get worse ... if not for me, then for someone else.

I was pissed ... not just pissed but furious.

My brand new truck ... brand freaking new truck I had bought two days earlier ... was sitting back at the dealership waiting to be repaired (some stupid computer part failed) and now I just heard the sound of glass shattering as apparently someone was trying to break in to my house.

“God, I hope your insurance is all paid up,” I thought to myself.

I have to admit something here. I was, as the old saying goes, “feeling no pain,” at the moment. Not quite drunk ... but definitely not sober either.

I rarely drank. On those rare occasions when I bought a six-pack of beer, that six-pack would last me about a month or six weeks. And while I had bottles of vodka, scotch, bourbon and rum in the house, most of those bottles were still pretty full.

I had been so pissed when I got home I immediately had a vodka and orange juice. Then had a second and third. A little while later I made a sandwich and, after eating, had a fourth drink.

Now I am a big guy... 6’5” and 225 pounds so four drinks were not going to make me drunk by any stretch of the imagination. But like I said ... definitely feeling no pain.

I slipped quietly out of bed, stumbled slightly, then opened my closet and put on my deputy’s uniform but left shoes and socks off. I added my belt containing my service revolver, handcuffs, flashlight and nightstick, then took out the military grade flashlight and my .357 and silently made my way to the kitchen.

The outside security light provided just enough illumination so I could see the intruder. He was wearing a hoodie, and oblivious to my presence standing in the doorway to the hall, opened my refrigerator.

Reaching inside, the intruder pulled out a container of milk, then closed the door and walked over to the sink. I watched as he opened cabinet doors until he found some glasses, then watched as he poured a glass of milk then started drinking.

“Breaking and entering and you steal MILK?” I thought to myself.

Then I remembered reading some BOLOs (Be On the Look Out) for someone breaking into houses and stealing mostly food. None of the B&Es (Breaking and Entering) had been in my neighborhood but apparently that had changed.

I also remembered the thief, or thieves, passed on cameras, jewelry and other easily disposable items while concentrating on canned foods. If there happened to be money just lying around, that disappeared as well, but the biggest thing usually missing was just food, prompting the Sheriff’s Department to dub the thieves as the “Hungry Bandits.”

The perpetrators were believed to be mostly teenagers. Perhaps teenagers who had the “munchies” after smoking marijuana?

I aimed my flashlight directly at his head, raised my revolver and yelled: “Freeze, Asshole!

“I have a .357 aimed at your head and will blow your fucking brains all over the place,” I threatened.

The glass slipped out of his fingers and shattered in the sink.

“Please, Mister, don’t shoot!” I heard what sounded like a young girl’s voice say.

“Raise your arms and turn around ... slowly,” I said.

When the incredibly bright flashlight hit the thief’s face I think I gasped.

Oh, definitely female!

She might not be what most people would consider as “beautiful.”

In the harsh glare of the flashlight beam I immediately noticed her nose had been broken sometime in the past and was slightly crooked.

There was a white line through one eyebrow where it was obvious she had had stitches.

Her mouth looked slightly oversize and since her mouth was open somewhat I could see she needed some dental work since her teeth were crooked.

No, not what you would describe as conventionally beautiful, but damn she was cute. Or maybe it had just been too long since I had been with a woman!

Her eyes were closed tightly against the flashlight beam and her arms were raised high over her head.

I slowly moved the flashlight beam down her body. The ragged long-sleeved hoodie she was wearing concealed her upper body and she was wearing a pair of clean but ragged shorts.

Her hips were very wide. What I had once heard described as “child birthing hips.”

Her legs ... her legs were slender. Some people might even say skinny, but DAMN ... they seemed to go on forever. The muscular definition was obvious in her legs.

She had to be at least six feet tall.

Once the flashlight beam left her face I noticed she opened her eyes and was looking at me. Well, since the flashlight was still shining very brightly I knew she couldn’t actually see me, just a shape.

“Uh, please Mister, please don’t call the cops,” she started saying. “I was just looking for food. I haven’t eaten in two days, and there wasn’t a car so I thought no one was home.”

Reaching over with the hand holding my gun, I flicked on the lights to the kitchen.

She blinked several times once the lights came on, then as she actually saw me for the first time I heard her say.

“Oh, shit, you are a cop!”

“Actually, a Deputy Sheriff, Miss,” I answered. “Well, a reserve Deputy Sheriff ... sort of like a part-time cop.”

“Now,” I said, “take off the hoodie. I have to make sure you aren’t armed.”

Her face flushed bright red.

“I ... I’m not armed, I swear,” she said. “I just have a knife in the front pocket of the hoodie.

“Look, I can hand it to you,” she said as the started to lower one arm.

“Freeze, bitch!” I yelled.

“I don’t think you understand the seriousness of just what it going on here.” I said. “You don’t move unless I tell you to move. In fact, you don’t open your mouth unless I tell you to talk or I ask you a question.

“Do you understand that?” I asked.

She nodded her head.

“Good,” I said, “Now, take off the hoodie.”

“Sir, I ... I’m not exactly dressed under...” and her voice trailed off as I cocked the .357 which was still pointed at her head.

“TAKE OFF THE HOODIE,” I yelled.

She jumped.

I think I saw some tears in her eyes, but she just looked down at the floor for a moment, then her hands reached for the bottom of the hoodie and slowly pulled it over her head. She slowly folded her arms across her chest.

DAMN!

When she said she wasn’t dressed I thought she meant she was only wearing a bra or something.

Wrong.

She wasn’t wearing ANYTHING under the hoodie.

In the few brief seconds before she covered her breasts with her arms I could see that her boobs were very small ... I would guess an “A” cup,

For the first time the young lady looked directly at me and for a minute I could swear her eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Is this where you are supposed to say, ‘Reach for the sky,’ or whatever that hokey line is?” she asked with a slight smile.

Then to my surprise she straightened up and pulled her shoulders back. I hadn’t really noticed that she was slightly slouched down before. A moment before I had guessed this young woman was about six feet tall. Now that she was standing up straight I had to revise that to around six feet, two inches, maybe even three inches.

Again I was surprised as she slowly raised her hands above her head, which, of course, caused her boobs to lift as well.

Yes, definite “A” cup, but her nipples! Her nipples were extraordinary!

I don’t know if it was fear, embarrassment, the cold air in the kitchen or excitement, but her nipples had to be over a half-inch long and at least a half-inch wide.

Once I could take my eyes off her breasts I began noticing the rest of her upper body. Skinny arms but you could also see the muscles.

She said she hadn’t eaten in two days. She was so skinny I could easily believe she hadn’t eaten in a week. Her waist was impossibly tiny.

“Can I put the hoodie back on?” she asked. “It is very cold in here.”

I told her to kick the hoodie over to me and once she did I quickly bent down and removed a knife from the front pocket of the hoodie. I suspect she had used it to break the glass from the outside kitchen door.

“It’s not that big of a knife,” I told her, “but still large enough to be considered armed.

“This is your lucky day,” I said. “Breaking and entering, carrying a concealed weapon. I think you are looking at several years behind bars.”

I again could see tears in her eyes.

Damn! Why did I have to look at her eyes?

Her eyes looked as big as saucers and were the most vivid shade of green that I had ever seen. These were the kind of eyes that you could just fall into.

Did I mention I had a weakness for large green eyes?

And for the first time I noticed the color of her hair ... what kind of cop was I that I had not noticed this as soon as she had taken off the hoodie?

Okay. Okay. I was a little distracted by the small but very firm looking boobs.

Her hair was red. Not just red, but a brilliant copper red. I couldn’t see exactly how long it was, but could tell it extended well past her shoulders.

Did I mention I had a weakness for red hair?

I realized I was staring at this young woman again. Her hair, her eyes, her boobs, her long legs.

And noticed that she noticed I was staring.

More than a little angry at myself I finally kicked the hoodie back over to her.

“Put that back on, then lay face down on the floor with your hands behind your back,” I ordered her as I removed the handcuffs from my belt.

“Please, Sir,” she started to say.

“Shut Up!” I yelled and she again jumped at the anger in my voice.

“I have already told you that you don’t talk unless I ask you a question,” I said.

“This is your choice,” I added. “Put the hoodie back on and lay down on the floor so I can handcuff you, or if you say another word I will handcuff you just as you are with your little boobs exposed for the arresting officers to see when they get here.”

Her face flushed a bright red, then without a word she put on the hoodie and lay down on the floor.

I walked up behind her, knelt down and handcuffed first one wrist, then the other.

“What’s your name, young lady?” I asked.

“Deena ... Deena Watkins,” she answered.

“And how old are you, Deena?” I further inquired. I had guessed she was about 19 or 20.

“18, Sir. I am 18,” she replied.

When I asked if she had any identification, she hesitated, then said she had left her ID at home.

“Well, if you left your ID at home, then what is this sticking partly out of your rear pocket?”

Again her face flushed red at being caught in a lie.

According to the driver’s license that was her real name, but she was only (did the math quickly in my head) 17. She was also 6’2” and weighed 135 pounds. I actually had my doubts she weighed that much.

When confronted with that, she tried to justify her lie by saying she would actually be 18 in just four days, which would be Tuesday. I again looked at her driver’s license and that part, at least, was true.

I told her I had left my cell phone in the other room, but I would be right back to call the other officers.

“Please, Sir, please,” she started begging, “can I please say something?”

I told her to make it short.

“I ... I noticed you staring at me ... at my boobs,” she said, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks as she lay on the floor at my feet.

“Please, if you won’t call anyone ... I will spend the night with you ... and you can do anything you want with me,” she sobbed.

I laughed.

“You must think I am pretty stupid,” I said. “The first thing you would do tomorrow would be to call the cops yourself and claim I raped you, that I forced you to have sex with me. Especially since you are only 17.”

“No, no,” she said. “I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

Did I mention I have a weakness for women crying? Especially really cute young women? Especially really cute young women who are lying on my kitchen floor, handcuffed. Well ... I have to admit this was the first really cute young woman I have ever encountered who was lying on my kitchen floor, crying while handcuffed! But I was starting to enjoy the situation.

That is the only explanation I have for the next words out of my mouth. Well, that and the fact I was not 100 percent sober.

“Your choice,” I began, “you can spend the whole weekend with me, doing as you said, ‘anything’ I want or no deal. Spending the whole weekend with me would be a lot harder for you to explain than just one night.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, and I could hear a little hope in her voice. “The whole weekend.”

“Now,” I said, “define the word ‘anything’ for me.”

Her face flushed red again.

“Anything but ... but an ... but anal,” she said. “I don’t like that.”

“Your choice,” I said. “Anything means anything ... including anal ... or no deal.”

She lay there for a minute or two before finally nodding her head.

“Yes, sir,” she said in a very low voice. “Anything means anything ... even that.”

“Say it,” I insisted, “Say the words.”

For a minute or two she was quiet, before she finally said the words.

“Anything ... anything includes ... includes anal.”

I gave her very firm instructions that she was not to move while I locked my pistol back up and prepared a few things before leaving the kitchen.

Deena’s Story

I think I nearly had a heart attack when the flashlight beam hit me and I heard the guy yell, “Freeze!”

I have never been so scared. Then when I saw he actually WAS a cop, or deputy sheriff or reserve deputy sheriff, whatever that is, I was even more scared. Most of the cops I know tend to shoot first, then ask questions later.

When he told me to remove the hoodie I thought I would die with embarrassment and tried to explain I wasn’t wearing anything under it, but he yelled again and I heard the gun click and knew I was about to die so I took the hoodie off.

I saw him staring at my boobs, then I really looked closely at him for the first time. Not at the uniform, or the badge or the gun but at HIM.

First, he is a lot younger than I thought, and ... and actually not bad looking. I mean he’s no Brad Pitt, but still not bad.

It was only at that point I realized I was actually having to look up at his face. Damn, he is tall. I am used to being the tallest person in the room but not this room. For more years than I care to remember I have always slouched down, trying to minimize my height.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, I stood up as straight as I could and pulled my shoulders back.

Then I tried to come up with some funny or sexy line and all I could come up with was the lame, ‘Is this where you are supposed to say reach for the sky?’

I still raised my hands and let him have a good look. Actually, it felt kind of sexy at first, then I remembered how much trouble I was in.

He finally let me have the hoodie back, then told me to lie down on the floor.

Then he had to catch me in not one, but TWO lies. First about not having any identification then lying about my age.

I knew I had only one chance if I wanted to avoid being arrested. I couldn’t help but notice how he had looked ... I mean REALLY looked at me ... once the hoodie came off. I could see in his eyes that he was interested.

Out of desperation I offered to spend the night with him and that is where I REALLY screwed up. Why? Oh God, WHY did I say anything? I should just have said he could fuck me, or I could give him a blow job or something.

But no, not our little Deena. Then when he asked me what I meant by “anything” I thought maybe I could backtrack a little.

“Your Choice!” he said. A choice that is NO choice. Anal or jail. The only time I had ever tried anal it hurt like hell. I mean my then boyfriend had shoved it in an inch or two ... no lube or anything to get me ready, I jerked away from him and hauled off and punched his lights out.

God, he actually started crying when I hit him. I mean he was a loser and about four inches shorter than me, but DAMN it is hard to find anyone close to my height or taller that is not already taken. I mean I’m not exactly a beauty queen and when the good Lord was passing out brains and boobs he overloaded one and forgot the other.

What did the cop just say? “Little boobs?” Yeah, I know, “little boobs.”

Why couldn’t men find brains sexy? I graduated high school when I was 16 with a near perfect 3.98 grade point average. I had been offered scholarships to several colleges, both because of academics and athletics, but leaving home meant leaving my mother and without me around she would either overdose or drink herself to death in a month.

Everything had been so perfect up until five years ago and then my father died. Mom had hurt her back in the wreck that killed Dad and started drinking almost immediately and not long after started doing drugs. Now what little money she had coming in from disability went to feed her habit.

I was trying to attend a local junior college while also working part-time at a fast food place but even then I had to start breaking into homes and stealing food or Mom and I would both starve. I really didn’t think about it like I was stealing. I meant I had kept a record of every can of food I had taken from every single house, and all the money I had taken (not much) and someday ... someday I would pay everyone back. I swear I would!

Oh, shit, I heard him coming back. God, I didn’t even know his name and pretty soon he would make me do anything ... even that ... and I didn’t know his name or how old he was or anything about him.

Just that he was tall and kinda cute.

I guess it could be worse, I mean he could be old and fat and ugly or a serial killer or something.

What? Did he just say he would help me up and then gently lift me up by the shoulders? I mean he didn’t even try to cop a feel. The cop didn’t try to cop a feel! Oh, shit, Deena, don’t start giggling. You are in a world of trouble here.

Rick Returns

It took me a little longer to get everything ready and much to my surprise it looked like Deena took my advice and didn’t try to move any.

I wondered what she had been thinking about. If I were her I would probably have been scared to death! Yes, she looked nervous but not really that scared.

Not only did she not look that scared, but I thought for a moment she was actually going to laugh when I helped her to her feet.

The cuffs were still on, but I grabbed her elbow and walked her to my bedroom.

“Okay, Deena,” I began, “once I remove the cuffs I want you to go into my bathroom (I pointed) and take a shower. There is shampoo, washcloths and towels ... along with a robe! You won’t need to put your clothes back on (God, her face just turned almost as red as her hair), just put on the robe and come back here. The windows are locked and there are burglar bars on the outside so you can’t escape.

“There is also a hair dryer under the sink but I’m not sure if it even works.

“I will be waiting here for you,” I said, then added, “and don’t make me wait too long. If I have to go get you ... then you really aren’t going to like it!”

I turned Deena around, removed the cuffs and she just nodded and walked to the bathroom.

When I left Deena in the kitchen I had grabbed some zip ties my Dad always kept around the house (I had bought it when my Mom moved to Florida to take an executive position with the banking firm she worked for) and some rope and tied the rope between the two posts on the headboard.

I had also grabbed some lube from the dresser and some Vaseline from the bathroom and opened the container and put it on the dresser, along with some wipes and some paper towels.

I was still pissed from everything that had happened today and was really trying to embrace the feeling. No more “Mr. Nice Guy” was going to be the operative words tonight. Not to mention I was still slightly high, maybe a little more than just ‘slightly high’ from the four drinks I had earlier.

Being a Nice Guy in my relationships with women had brought me nothing but grief. Once the clothes came off and they saw what I carried, more than one woman had shrieked and left. Only a few had ever let me have sex with them, and most of the ones who tried couldn’t take what I had to offer.

Anything, she had said. Well, anything would start with straight sex. Well, actually, as I considered the cuffs again, maybe something a little harsher than straight sex to start.

Then before the weekend was over I would own her ass!

Deena must have taken my admonition to “not take too long,” seriously because she was back in less than 15 minutes.

Damn! For the first time she actually LOOKED like a 17-year-old. Young, fresh and innocent. And for a moment I wavered.

Then I remembered she had broken into my house and lied to me about her age and not having any identification and I could feel my anger over everything that had happened today start to get the best of me.

“Take off the robe,” I ordered in my best “no nonsense” voice.

Deena’s face flushed red again and she started to open her mouth to say something.

“Don’t say ANYTHING!” I ordered firmly. “Just ... don’t!”

I was sitting on the bed and definitely enjoying the view as she loosened the robe, then shook it off her shoulders.

Her hair covered her boobs. In fact the hair extended down to her navel.

“Pull the hair back,” I ordered and again she flushed red before slowly pulling her hair back behind her shoulders.

Yes, very small boobs, but again her nipples were hard and long and wide.

Very wide hips, very small waist and just a small landing strip above her vagina.

Yes, she was a true redhead.

“Turn around ... slowly,” I ordered.

Shapely butt. Not that large, but definitely shapely.

And again her legs seemed to go on forever!

“Come here,” I said and she slowly walked over to me until she was just a foot or two away.

“Turn around,” I said but this time when she had her back to me I stood up and put my hands on her shoulders.

She was actually trembling.

I slowly ran my hands across each shoulder and gently moved my hands down her arms.

I moved closer until we were touching, then put my hands on her hips and moved the hands up her body until I reached around and cupped her breasts in my hands.

I am not sure but I think I actually heard her moan softly.

I know I felt her move backward against me until her body was pressed against mine.

I began squeezing her breasts but did not actually touch her nipples.

This time I know I heard her softly moan and then lean even harder against me. Finally I just lightly caressed her nipples with my thumbs. This time the moan was a lot louder and I think her knees nearly gave way as she sagged back against me.

I continued to squeeze one breast with my right hand, while moving the left hand down across her stomach to her abdomen.

Yes, another moan and then when I softly brushed the hair on her landing strip, a louder moan and she pushed her butt back against me.

I moved both hands back up to her shoulders again, then down her arms like I had already done earlier.

Only this time, once I reached her hands I moved her hands together behind her back, reached behind me on the bed and retrieved my handcuffs.

Before she had even registered what I was doing, I had both wrists cuffed together again.

Deena

Why the hell can’t my brains stop for a few minutes? All I can think about is what one of my former science teachers described as “acute stress response,” or “fight-or-flight” syndrome. In the presence of perceived danger, either mentally or physically, your body automatically releases hormones that prepare your body to both stay and deal with a threat, or to run away to safety.

In either case, the physiological and psychological response to stress prepares the body to react. The body’s sympathetic nervous system is activated due to the sudden release of hormones from the adrenal glands to release catecholamines, including adrenaline and noradrenaline. Physically, this results in an increase in heart rate, blood pressure and breathing rate.

I still remember that teacher stressing that “acute stress response” can happen not only when you feel actual danger, but can also be triggered as a result of a more psychological threat, such as having to give a presentation at school or work, or, in some people with a fear of heights, even having to go to the upper floors of a skyscraper to attend a meeting.

I also remember him saying that by priming your body for action, you are better prepared to perform under pressure.

I don’t think I can fight this guy! He is way too big for that. It looks like, in my case, my body is priming me either for flight ... or ... fuck. And I don’t think I can run either, without any clothes on.

My teacher never mentioned that “acute stress response” also makes your nipples even more sensitive than they normally are ... and my nipples have always been very sensitive.

When I was taking a shower, I could barely stand to wash my boobs.

And when I walked back into the bedroom, I could actually feel myself getting wet, “down there.”

When he told me to drop the robe, I could feel myself becoming even wetter.

Oh, God, then he was lightly touching my shoulders, and running his hands down my arms. When he touched my hips, then brought his hands up to cup my boobs, I could hear myself moan. God, it felt so good!

It wasn’t until then, when I saw his hands cupping my boobs that I actually realized how huge his hands are. My God, his hands are enormous! And his fingers! God, his fingers are so long and each finger is easily double the thickness of my fingers.

Now all I can think about is his fingers entering me. Two of his fingers are way wider than the three fingers I usually use on myself. I can’t even think what it will feel like to have three of those fingers inside me!

I heard myself moan even louder when he barely touched my nipples with his thumbs. I felt my knees give way for a few seconds and had to lean back against him. I don’t think I have ever been this wet, this aroused before.

Seeing his hands cupping my boobs made me realize once again – as though I could ever forget it – just how small my boobs really are. I have always had the smallest boobs of anyone in school. And I don’t just mean people the same age as me, but even a lot of middle school girls had boobs way bigger than mine. That was the story of my life: All “As” in school and my boobs have always been an “A” cup. I would gladly have dropped down to a few “Cs” if that could somehow transfer to having “C” cup boobs, but the universe doesn’t work that way – Dammit!

I felt such an emptiness inside me and wanted his fingers ... and more ... deep inside me.

Now one hand was moving down, across my stomach and down, too ... God, I moaned out loud as he softly caressed the hair of the little landing strip above my ... my sex ... my ... my pussy.

Oh, Shit!

His hands are twice the size of anyone else I have even known! Does that mean ... other parts ... are also?

And now I was thinking about the house I broke into about six months before.

I loaded up as much food as I could into my backpack, then explored the house. I had heard the two women who live there were in Europe on vacation and knew I had plenty of time to look around.

I found a little over $100 in the master bedroom in a dresser when I noticed a box under the bed. I pulled it out ... and just stared for a while.

Inside the box were three dildos and four other things I did not recognize at first.

One of the dildos was not much bigger around than my thumb but was silver in color and very long.

The second one was about eight inches long and about an inch and a half thick. It was very realistic looking, even including what was supposed to be veins.

The third one – Oh, My God – must have been 12 inches long and was thicker than a soft drink or beer can. It also was very realistic looking with veins, but I thought there is NO WAY any dick could ever be that big! It would have split me in two.

One of the things I didn’t recognize at first was almost more of an oblong shape. About an inch thick and about two inches long, but when I realized there was a switch on it and turned it on and it started buzzing, I realized it was a vibrator.

It took a while for me to realize what the other three things were, and even though I was alone, I could feel my face turn red with embarrassment. They were different size butt plugs. This was only a month or so after that jerk tried to fuck me in the ass without my permission.

Also in the box were a couple of bottles and a couple of tubes of something. As I read the labels I realized these were different kinds of lubes. One was strawberry flavored and another said it was a special warming lube that would “heighten her pleasure.” The other two, I guess, were just plain lubes.

I actually had to take some of the food out to fit everything into my backpack. I figured I could come back later and get more food since I knew the couple would be gone at least another week.

At first I decided to leave the butt plugs since my only previous experience with anal sex was so unpleasant.

I actually did come back the next night and get more food – and also took the butt plugs with me as well.

I have always wondered if, when they reported the robbery, they also mentioned someone stole their dildos and butt plugs.

That first night, after carefully washing and sterilizing the dildos, I actually tried the long silver one and the vibrating oblong one. The long silver one really didn’t do much for me but when I turned on the vibrating one and touched my clit (I also had three fingers inside me) I came so hard it was all I could do not to scream.

It was two weeks before I tried the medium size, realistic looking dildo.

It was even better, since it could go much deeper inside me than my fingers could. I also realized that if this was supposed to be the “average” size (still not sure about that), it was still bigger than either of the two guys I had actually had sex with.

I also found out how wonderful the “warming” lube was. I had to use it sparingly, since it was the only tube of that I had, but it did, indeed, “heighten” my pleasure.

At least two months passed before I worked up the courage to try the larger dildo.

And only then after drinking two of my Mom’s beers, then using the medium size, realistic dildo and, for the first time, FOUR fingers inside me, and the vibrating one to get myself off several times.

That first night, it seemed like it took forever but I finally managed to get the head inside me. God, I was so stretched I couldn’t believe my poor little pussy could ever handle something like that. That was all I did that night, just the head, and decided there was NO WAY I could ever get it all inside me.

Unfortunately, people have always told me I am stubborn.

The next day I was really sore, but three days later I tried again.

This time, after two more of my Mom’s beers, four fingers inside me and after using the medium size dildo, I finally managed to get the head of the monster dildo, plus about two more inches inside me. I was sweating like crazy.

I stopped at that point and told myself it would never fit. The next day I was sore again, but not as much as the first time I tried it.

Four days later, I tried again and this time managed to get about four inches of the dildo inside me. It actually felt ... not good necessarily ... but better than I had thought it would.

I was barely sore the next day, and three days later I tried again. This time I managed to get almost half, some six inches, and, this time it felt even better.

Four days later I thought I would scream when the head of the monster dildo hit my cervix. Nothing had ever been that deep inside me.

After that I used the monster dildo, there was actually a name embossed at the base saying ‘King Dong,’ about once a week, but only after getting myself off several times and using LOTS of lube. At this rate I would probably have to buy some more lube before long.

WHAT? It took me several seconds to realize that the clicks I heard were actually the handcuffs being fastened on my wrists again.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU SON OF A BITCH?” I screamed.

Rick’s Story

“What are you doing, you son of a bitch?” I heard Deena scream out, once she realized she was again handcuffed with her hands behind her back.

“Untie me, you bastard,” she screamed.

“I can’t untie you,” I told her, “you are handcuffed, not tied.”

I don’t think she appreciated my attempt at humor.

“Uncuff me, you fucking bastard,” she screamed, “I didn’t agree to this.”

“Actually, you did agree to ‘anything,’” I informed her, “and ‘anything’ includes this. Also, my parents were legally married so I can’t be a bastard, and we aren’t fucking yet, but we will soon be.”

I think her scream of anger meant she still failed to appreciate my sense of humor.

“But first,” I warned Deena, “I have to show you what happens to bad little girls who break into my home and lie to me.”

As soon as she realized she was cuffed, Deena began struggling but I had both hands around her elbows, and with her wrists cuffed together, she couldn’t do much of anything but yell.

I backed up until I was sitting on the edge of the bed and, of course, Deena had no choice but to be dragged along with me. She still had her back to me so I twisted her around until her legs were between my thighs, then closed my legs against her. I also reached up with one hand on the middle of her back and pushed Deena forward.

She tried to resist being bent over, but hey, I probably weigh a hundred pounds more than she does!

When her face and upper body hit the mattress Deena began struggling even more.

“The only thing you are going to accomplish, fighting me like that,” I warned her, “is to bruise your wrists.”

I now had my left elbow in the middle of her back and used my left hand to raise her cuffed wrists out of the way.

CRACK! Was the next sound heard as I very sharply brought my right hand down on her bare ass.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you son of a bitch,” Deena screamed as she began struggling even more.

“Deena, Deena, Deena,” I admonished her, “I am not going to let you go ... not until you have been punished for breaking into my house and lying to me.”

CRACK! My second blow was perhaps even harder, prompting a helpless scream of total rage from Deena.

CRACK! My third blow on her helpless ass brought another scream of rage, but perhaps not quite as loud as the last scream.

As the fourth CRACK echoed through the room Deena screamed again, but much softer than before.

The fifth CRACK brought a gasp as Deena seemed to finally realize she had no options left.

I had told her “Your Choice,” about “anything means anything,” and now she was going to have to live with her acquiescence.

I paused in my spanking to really look at the results of my first five blows. Deena’s ass was now a vivid red and I couldn’t help but softly caress her butt.

She jerked when I first laid my hand on her butt, but seemed to settle back down a little when she realized it wasn’t a harsh blow but a gentle caress.

I couldn’t believe how hot her butt was from the five blows!

I continued to softly caress her butt and almost imagined I heard a soft moan. Did I really hear that?

I decided to take a chance. Deena’s two legs were trapped between my thighs and I had been squeezing very, very hard to make sure she couldn’t move. I relaxed my grip and moved my hand down the outside of the thigh farthest from me. Deena didn’t move.

I again moved my hand up and caressed her butt some more and this time I am sure I heard a soft moan.

I moved my hand down the back of the thigh closest to me and, once I reached her knee, moved my hand and fingers between Deena’s legs. Her legs had been clasped together very tightly but as I began to move my hand upward ... her legs parted.

I think I heard her whispering, “No, No, No,” but as I continued to move my hand upward, her legs parted even more.

When my hand encountered the cleft of her sex, there was NO doubt about a moan.

I am not sure who was becoming more excited, me or Deena.

Deena

I had never been so fucking angry in my life. Once I realized what the big son of a bitch was going to do I called him a bunch of names and demanded that he release me, even threatened to kill the bastard.

“God, that hurt!” I thought as the first blow landed. The second one hurt even more!

Those two were followed by three more and each one seemed worse than the one before it.

Then ... then the mother fucking bastard ... started lightly rubbing my butt.

My butt was on fire! No one, NO ONE had ever treated me like this! Yes, my father had given me spankings for misbehaving a time or two, but THAT had been with clothes on.

“Oh, God,” I thought, “why does his hand feel so good?”

As the cop continued to caress my butt I could almost feel all that heat shift, move, transfer downward a little bit until my sex ... my pussy ... seemed on fire also.

“No, God, No! I didn’t moan! I couldn’t moan!” I thought to myself.

I felt his big hand move down the outside of one leg, then back up to my butt.

“Oh, No,” I thought as I gave an involuntary moan, much louder than the first one.

Again the bastard moved his hand down my leg, but the back this time and then ... I felt his hand between my legs.

I am telling myself ‘squeeze your legs together’ but ... incredibly ... I felt my legs shift apart.

‘Don’t spread your legs, don’t spread your legs, don’t spread your legs,’ I told myself. My legs didn’t listen and even spread wider, giving the bastard complete access to my most private parts.

When his hand touched my, by now dripping, pussy, I think someone could have heard my moan of pleasure from outside.

I felt ... such an emptiness inside me ... I wanted his fingers ... and more ... inside me.

Then after barely touching me, his hand moved away and I felt...

Jack

CRACK! I heard Deena gasp, then watched in amazement as she tried rubbing herself against my leg during the next four impacts on her bare butt.

If I thought Deena’s butt had been red before, it was even darker red now.

By now Deena’s legs were spread about as wide apart as she could so I, none too-gently, shoved a finger inside her.

No doubt about the moan, perhaps even a groan of pleasure, and I think I heard a very soft, “Yes!”

Deena was absolutely dripping wet inside and I could feel her wetness through my uniform trousers.

When I made a comment about how wet she was, Deena’s face – at least what I could see of one side of it – turned bright red with embarrassment.

I easily pushed another finger inside Deena and this time there was no doubt about her saying, “Yes, Yes.”

While I was pulling and pushing my fingers inside Deena, my thumb seemed to have nothing to do so I lightly began to caress her little rosebud. As soon as she felt the contact from my thumb she tried to jerk forward away from the thumb but, of course, she could only move an inch or so.

Leaving my elbow in the middle of her back, I let go of the handcuffs and reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube on the nightstand. I uncapped it, then poured a generous amount between her ass cheeks.

When Deena felt the cool liquid against her hot little ass I think she immediately knew what it was since she started struggling and began saying, “No, no, not that.”

I just continued lightly rubbing her little rosebud while moving my fingers in and out of her pussy. By now I think Deena was trying to match my movements with her body, pushing back when I pushed forward. Of course that also meant she was pushing her tight little ass against my thumb.

By now Deena was gasping for breath and just when I sensed she was about to have an orgasm ... I withdrew both my fingers from her body.

“NO!” I heard her gasp. “Please? Please?”

“You can only cum when I tell you to cum, Deena,” I told her.

Deena

I can’t believe how my body is betraying me. When my father was killed in a traffic accident and my mother hurt her back, then started drinking, I felt my life was spiraling out of control. Up to that point I had had an almost picture perfect childhood. Beautiful home, loving parents, everything a young girl wants. True, I knew my mother was a little high-strung, but my Dad was there to calm her down when needed.

Without my Dad, and with my Mom first just drinking, then later also smoking dope and slowly doing other drugs, it seemed my picture perfect world was crashing and burning.

My grades went from all “As” to mostly “Cs” and “Ds,” before a guidance counselor called me into her office and asked what was going on with my life. For the first time I told someone how helpless I felt, watching my mother becoming an alcoholic and how I felt my whole life was out of control.

“Deena,” she said, “things happen. Sometimes good things and sometimes bad things. But as someone once said, ‘This too, shall pass.’ Bad things don’t last forever, and good things don’t last forever. We have no control over that. The only thing we have control over is our reaction to those things. Don’t try to control what you can’t control. You will only drive yourself crazy trying. Control yourself! Control how you react to whatever happens.”

Since that day I had pledged I would do exactly that. That I would always be in control of myself. That I would not allow myself to become a victim of things out of my control.

And it had worked for five years.

But now I had no control of anything. I couldn’t control this bastard and what he was doing to me, but I could control myself and how I reacted to what he was doing to me.

Suddenly, my control was gone. My body was doing things I couldn’t believe. While this son of a bitch was spanking me, I could feel each and every blow deep inside me ... deep inside my pussy. He wasn’t spanking me THERE, but he might as well have been. My body, to my shame, was trying to rub my pussy against his leg.

Oh, God, he just shoved a finger inside me. And it felt ... GOOD! I think I whispered, “Yes!”

Then the asshole made the comment that I was “wet as the ocean.” I could feel my face turn red.

The son of a bitch also pushed another finger inside me, much gentler, and this time I heard myself say, “Yes, Yes.”

When I felt a finger lightly touch my ... my ass ... I jerked away as much as I could but he never stopped lightly rubbing me, while also beginning to move his fingers in and out of my pussy.

When I felt the coolness of the liquid against my bottom, I knew what it was and couldn’t keep from saying, “No, no, not that.” By now, however, his finger – I finally figured out it must be his thumb and God, I remember how large ALL his fingers were and especially the thumb – was beginning to feel ... not necessarily good, but not bad either.

With the continued stimulation of all three of his fingers I knew I was on the verge of a massive climax. Perhaps the strongest one I had ever had.

And the mother fucking bastard son of a bitch moved his fingers before I could reach nirvana.

I couldn’t help my frustrated cry of “No!” and actually asked “Please,” a couple of times before the bastard told me I could only cum when he told me to cum.

I WOULD NOT BEG! I WOULD NOT BEG!

Jack

Five more loud CRACKS filled the air and Deena was writhing even more strongly against my leg.

This time I pushed both fingers back inside Deena and heard her sigh of pleasure. I also began lightly rubbing against her rosebud again and heard another moan of pleasure.

After a couple of minutes I pushed my ring finger inside Deena also. And this time I could feel some resistance so I again reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube and poured some over her ass and started rubbing that against her rosebud while also pouring some over my other three fingers.

I would just lightly push against her anus with my thumb until I barely had half my finger nail inside Deena. There was no doubt of her moans of pleasure. I even pushed the tip of the bottle of lube inside her tight little ass and squeezed some lube directly inside.

She moaned even harder as she felt the cool liquid penetrate her bottom.

The slipperiness of the lube made it much easier for my other three fingers to penetrate and, by now, Deena was softly repeating, “Yes, yes, yes,” almost continuously.

I am not sure how long I continued to finger fuck Deena but when she began gasping for breath and I felt her body start to tremble, I again pulled my fingers away.

“NO!” she shouted. “I am so close, PLEASE!”

I again told Deena, “you can only cum when I tell you to cum.”

Deena

His fingers felt so good – both the ones in my pussy and the one rubbing my ass.

Then I thought I would go crazy when he pushed another finger inside me.

His two fingers were already bigger than my three fingers and his three fingers were stretching me farther than anything ever had, other than King Dong, of course.

When he added some more lube, even squeezing some directly into my little ass, I thought I would die. The additional lube on his fingers made it even easier for him to finger fuck me.

Between the stimulation of his thumb, which several times he actually pushed inside my ass slightly and the incredible feeling of his three big, huge, giant fingers I knew I was on the verge of a climax of biblical proportions.

And the son of a bitch stopped again.

I shouted at him to continue and even screamed “Please!” but the son of a bitch just again repeated I could only cum when he told me to cum.

I WOULD NOT BEG! I WOULD NOT BEG!

“Oh, PLEASE, mister,” I begged. “You can mouth fuck me, you can throat fuck me, you can ass fuck me, just PLEASE let me cum!”

His only answer was:

Jack

CRACK! Followed quickly by four more.

By now I had spanked Deena 20 times for her crimes and knew she had about reached the limit of what her body could take.

When I pushed three fingers deep inside her she almost screamed, “Yes!”

That was followed by pleas to finger fuck her hard.

I did.

I was also pushing my thumb a little further inside her tight little ass. Still barely thumbnail deep but she was moaning, loudly, each time I did.

As Deena’s body began trembling again, I told her, “Cum for me, Deena, cum for me.”

She screamed as her whole body almost convulsed, as orgasm after orgasm racked her.

Then I heard her say something I didn’t think I would hear.

“Please, Mister, please put your other finger in me,” she asked.

Of course I knew which finger she wanted, but I was going to make her tell me – graphically.

“Which finger, Deena?” I asked.

“Your thumb,” she said, “please put your thumb inside me.”

“Where, inside you, Deena?” I asked.

“My bottom,” she said and incredibly her face turned red with embarrassment.

“Is that what it is called, Deena?” I asked.

“My butt, Mister,” she was almost desperately asking.

The entire time we were having this conversation, my three fingers were still deep inside her, but just gently moving in and out and twisting slightly, while my thumb continued to rub and press against her anus.

Finally!

“Oh, God, PLEASE put your thumb in my asshole,” Deena begged. “Shove your thumb in my ass, you fucking rat bastard!”

Fucking rat bastard? Both as an MP and a deputy sheriff, most of the people I dealt with were and are, polite. Occasionally, however, usually dealing with someone drunk or on drugs you would come across someone who was belligerent. So, yes, I have been called a lot, I mean a LOT of names over the years. This, however, was the first time I have ever been called a “fucking rat bastard.”

I did what she asked!

I just shoved my thumb as deep into her ass as I could.

With an ungodly scream, Deena’s entire upper body somehow straightened up as she lifted off the bed when her latest orgasm hit her. She was, if anything, convulsing even more now than before.

The muscles in her vagina were squeezing my fingers together, almost painfully.

With a final scream and tremor, Deena just collapsed back onto the bed, unmoving. Only the fact she was desperately gasping for breath indicated she was still conscious.

I reached over and got the key to the cuffs, then released one wrist before gently picking her up and placing her on my lap.

When her bare buttocks, still vividly red and no doubt extremely sensitive, felt the rough fabric of my uniform pants I heard a whimper.

I just gently and tenderly held her against me while running my fingers through her incredibly long and thick red hair. Deena’s head was pressed against my shoulder and occasionally I would hear her moan softly.

After many minutes, once her breathing returned to normal, I stood up and gently placed her body back on the bed. I reattached the one cuff, then grabbed a zip tie from beside the bed. Running the tie through a link on the chain, I then looped the tie around the rope between posts and secured it.

Deena never moved, and while her eyes were open, I am not sure she was entirely aware of where she was nor what I was doing.

Finally, I took off my pants and shorts. I had been so hard for so long I knew I probably wouldn’t last long ... couldn’t last long.

I again grabbed the lube and applied a lot to my dick, then put more on my fingers and gently pushed three fingers back inside Deena.

Deena groaned and finally began looking around.

“God, what did you do to me?” she whispered.

I moved into position and, with one hand, positioned myself at her opening.

“Relax, Deena,” I told her, “you are going to feel some pressure and some stretching, but I promise I will go slow and not hurt you.”

I was somewhat amazed to hear myself add something else.

“I promise I will never hurt you again, Little One.”

As the head of my dick entered her, Deena’s eyes opened in wonder and perhaps a little fear.

God, she was so tight, but still opening before me easier than with any other woman I had ever been inside.

“Oh, God, Oh, God,” she kept whispering in a never ending litany.

I was just barely moving, but inch by inch I kept pushing inside until I felt the tip of my penis touch her cervix.

Deena gasped.

I have never wanted to move harder, move faster, move more in my life but I continued to lie still until I felt her relax some.

I slowly moved backward until I was about halfway out, then pushed in again.

Deena closed her eyes and again whispered, “Oh, God.”

A second, then third, infinitely slow stroke followed until, on the third push back inside, Deena thrust herself up to meet me.

She again gasped out loud, then I heard the words I thought I would never hear from a woman.

“Please, please, faster, faster,” she softly cried out.

I increased my speed and Deena was moaning and crying out almost continuously.

“Harder, harder,” she begged, as she was meeting each of my thrusts by lifting herself upward.

“Fuck me,” she said, “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

When I felt my nuts tighten up, I reached between us and found the button of her clitoris and rubbed.

We climaxed together and I think I came more than I had ever thought possible. I actually felt dizzy from the force of my orgasm, and while Deena’s was not as violent as before, I think it was even better for her, more satisfying.

I just stayed where I was, deep inside Deena. I don’t think I could have moved if I wanted to. And believe me, I didn’t want to.

Deena

For once in my life, I think I was almost incapable of thought. Once the big guy told me, “cum for me, Deena,” I came harder, longer and more completely than I ever dreamed of cumming.

I felt in it my pussy, of course, but somehow I felt it EVERWHERE! From my hair to my toes, I felt the incredible force hit me. I thought, for a moment, my boobs would even explode where they were rubbing against the bed. My nipples had never ached so much before.

God, I can’t believe I even begged him to put his thumb in my ass! Not just put it in, but shove it in. It was even more powerful.

I was almost unconscious from the force, the ecstasy, of it but still felt everything that was happening to me.

When he released the one cuff and softly cuddled my body against his, I felt so safe and secure.

I have to admit that never in my life had I wanted to hit someone so hard before, yet at the same time, hug someone so hard before.

When I tried to tell my arms to ... either hit or hug the magnificent bastard, my arms wouldn’t obey.

When he finally stood up then placed me back on the bed and recuffed me, I really didn’t care. Even after he tied the cuffs to a rope, I didn’t care.

Somehow ... I knew he wouldn’t do anything else like the spanking again.

I must admit when he put his fingers back inside me it felt wonderful but I was a little concerned when he told me I would feel some pressure and stretching.

Stretching more than his fingers had already stretched me?

Then when he entered me, for one insane second I honestly thought that somehow he had found King Dong and was using that on me.

Then I realized it wasn’t King Dong ... it was him.

All I could do was just keep repeating, “Oh, God.” I don’t know if he is any bigger than King Dong, but he sure isn’t any smaller. Yet, somehow it feels ... better.

He also told me he would never hurt me again. I think ... I think I already knew that. Had known that since he held me against him.

When he pulled part way out, then slowly pushed back in ... I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

Only a couple of strokes and I began thrusting my hips up to meet him.

When he began going a little faster it felt even better. It couldn’t have been but a few minutes and I felt him get even bigger, then he started rubbing my clit. We came together. It was incredible. Not as earth-shaking as the first time when I was still bent over, but even more satisfying. This time it wasn’t something being done TO me, but something we were doing together, something we were sharing.

And for the first time I felt someone cum inside me. It was amazing. During my previous experiences, I had insisted the guys wear condoms. Because my Mom was on disability and I was in school, the county provided birth control pills so my only concern was STDs, not pregnancy.

Even if I wasn’t on the pill, I don’t think I would mind if he came inside me.

Oh, My God! Did I really just think that? I could feel my face get red, then get redder still as I realized something else.

When he asked, “Are you all right?” with some concern in his voice, all I could answer was:

Jack

“You just made me feel things I didn’t know it was possible to feel, you are still inside me and I just realized I don’t even know your name,” Deena said as her face got even redder.

“Oh, that’s easy,” I answered. I was still on top but using my arms to support my weight. I shifted my weight to my left arm and reached up with my right hand and shook Deena’s right hand, which was still handcuffed, of course.

“Hi, Deena,” I told her, “my name is Jack ... well, actually Jackson O’Brien, but my friends call me Jack.”

“Friends, Mr. O’brien? Friends?” Deena said. “Right now I don’t know if I hate you for what you just did to me and what you made me feel, or...”

“Or,” I finally prompted when she didn’t say anything else.

“Or, Jack ... if I am falling just a little bit in love with you for what you made me feel, if not necessarily everything you did,” Deena answered.

“So, if you had a Love/Hate meter, where would the needle be on that meter?” I asked.

“For a while ... long while ... it was just about as far into the red as it could go,” Deena said. “Now, it seems to have stabilized in the middle and might ... might be leaning slightly to the blue side.”

“Anything I can do to help the needle,” I asked and wiggled my hips. I was still inside her, but no longer hard.

“I don’t think I am going to be able to walk for a week, now,” Deena said, “If we do anything else, it might be two weeks.

“Why ... why are you smiling at me like that?” Deena asked.

“Well, Little One,” I began to answer and felt my smile increase, “We seem to have hit that awkward moment in every first date, assuming you can say this is similar to a first date. An unusual first date, admittedly, but still like a first date.

“I would really ... really like to kiss you, but I know that young Southern belles have rules about kissing on the first date.”

The smile I got from that would almost light up a room, but her next comments solidified some feelings I was already experiencing for this young lady.

“Fiddle-de-dee, Rhett Butler,” Deena said, in a perfect Scarlett O’Hara accent. “You think you can just waltz in here, smile a time or two, then expect a kiss? You, Sir, should know that proper ladies such as I NEVER, well hardly ever, kiss even on the second date, much less the first.

“Why, my friends and family would be scandalized ... absolutely scandalized ... to even know I was conversing with a strange man while unchaperoned. That type of thing is simply unheard of in the South, and you should know that!

“If I were to allow you to kiss me, Sir, then I would be so mortified I might have to leave home.

“Where shall I go? What shall I do?”

Of course, there is only ONE answer for that!

“Frankly, my Dear, I don’t give a damn!”

And I kissed Deena.

Deena

It was about all I could do to keep from laughing when Jack ... Jackson ... Mr. O’Brien ... started talking about awkward moments on the first date and then said he wanted to kiss me. I think my heart started fluttering. In fact, I think it started fluttering when he smiled that smile at me.

My Dad, before he died, used to love watching old movies and he had a couple of hundred of them so I started doing a Scarlett O’Hara impersonation.

Damn, Damn, Damn! I thought I had been kissed before ... but never like this.

By the time we broke the kiss, both of us were breathing hard ... and I think I could feel something else growing hard as well.

“Rhett,” I asked, sweetly as I could, “I seem to be having a little problem with the bracelets on my hands (I shook my cuffs), do you think you could do something about that?”

“Of, course, Dear Scarlett,” Jack answered me, then reached over for the key.

Once the cuffs were off, my hands went to the back of Jack’s head and...

Jack

Deena pulled my head down and we resumed our kiss. I may have been kissed more passionately at some time in the past ... but I really can’t remember when.

I could definitely feel myself growing inside of Deena, and obviously Deena could as well as she gasped and moaned several times while we were kissing.

Deena’s hips began moving, from side to side.

“Deena?” I asked, “Are you sure? You said you might not be able to walk for two weeks if we did this again so soon.”

Deena remained in character.

“Oh, Rhett,” she exclaimed, “a big, strong, dashing man like you ... you should be able to carry me for a week or two.”

“To the ends of the earth, Scarlett,” I answered in my Rhett accent. “I will carry you to the ends of the earth.”

And I knew I meant it.

“There is this ONE little thing, first, Oh, Dear Rhett...” and then Deena’s brow furrowed as she concentrated, before leaving character for a moment.

“Jack, when was baseball invented, what year?” she asked.

I played baseball throughout elementary school, all four years of high school (varsity), and even continued to play while in the Marine Corps. I am normally always ready, willing and able to converse about baseball, and baseball players, for hours.

Believe me, at this particular moment I was NOT thinking about baseball!

“Uhh,” was about the most articulate thing I could think of to say first, before finally starting to remember some things.

“Baseball, in some form or another, had been played in England since the 1700s, and was brought to the United States by immigrants,” I explained. “Finally, in 1845 a group of men in New York organized teams, adopted rules and the first game we would recognize today as actual baseball was played in 1846.

“Oh, and by the way,” I continued, “Abner Doubleday, who used to be credited with inventing baseball, had absolutely nothing to do with it. Now ... Dear Heart, what has baseball to do with my being inside of you?” and I gave a little wiggle.

Deena blushed again, before confirming, “So they could have been playing baseball during the Civil War years?”

I nodded my head.

“There is this ONE little thing, first, Oh, Dear Rhett,” Deena said, back in character, “and I must say how shocked, absolutely SHOCKED I am to have to say this.

“I declare, Rhett Butler, you cheated!”

“The great, daring, dashing Rhett Butler cheated?” I asked, also in character. “Surely you jest, My Dear?”

“Nay, Rhett,” Scarlett said, “I saw it ... I mean I was intimately involved (she blushed again), and I saw it with my own eyes.

“You may think you hit a home run,” (and Deena broke character again, while adding in her own voice “a tremendous, stupendous, majestic grand slam,” before reverting to character) “but Rhett, Dear, you failed to touch second base.”

Of course most American males will know the reference to the “four bases” of dating: First base, French kissing; Second base, playing with her breasts; Third base, touching below the waist; and Fourth base (or home), actual penetration.

“I simply must insist ... insist, I say, Rhett Butler, that you stop and spend some time at second base before rounding the bases again,” Deena added.

I didn’t answer, just pulled back a little with my upper body and bent my head and engulfed her entire breast into my mouth.

Deena

My hands reached up and pulled Jack’s head hard into my breast. God, I have never felt my nipples so hard before. In fact, I realized, they had been hard and aching to be touched since, or even before, I walked in to take a shower in Jack’s bathroom.

Jack continued to suck harder and harder, no doubt driven to do so by my pleas for him to suck even harder.

His tongue swirled around my nipple while Jack’s mouth continued trying to almost pull my boob off my chest.

“Aaaagh,” I screamed as an orgasm racked me.

When Jack switched boobs and started trying to suck the nipple off that one, while pinching and pulling the nipple on this one, I had another orgasm.

By now Jack was pulling in and out and I was matching each of his thrusts with my own.

I never imagined anything could feel this good before.

“Jack,” I asked, “could I get on top?”

That is my preferred position ... well, I had only ever had sex with two other guys, but being on top was much better for me.

I expected him to pull out and lie back down so I could get on top, but instead he told me to put my arms around his neck and hang on. He grabbed my butt with both hands and pulled back so he was on his knees ... Oh, God, this almost feels better than simply being on top.

If I were truly Scarlett I would say that I nearly swooned, it felt so good.

Now Jack is on his back and I am on top riding him.

God, it feels so incredible like this. I don’t think I will last much longer.

Jack

God, it feels so incredible like this. If Deena continues to move like she is moving now, I don’t think I will last much longer.

I reach up and grab both her boobs with my hands and start massaging and squeezing while flicking her nipples with my thumbs. Deena grabs my hands with hers and start squeezing my hands even harder than I am squeezing her boobs.

I notice that Deena now has both eyes closed. I think she is getting close ... I know I am.

I look over at the night stand and see the lube. Her little ass is probably still slick from the previous penetration with my thumb, but I squeeze some more on my index finger and reach behind her and start rubbing her anus again.

Deena

God, I didn’t think it could possibly get any better and then Jack starts playing with my butt again. And I thought I didn’t like anything about anal?

For only the second time in my life, yet also the second time in less than an hour, I scream out: “Put your finger in my ass, Jack. Shove your finger in my asshole!”

He does. God, he does.

And then says, “Cum with me, Deena, cum with me.”

I can feel my entire body start to explode. Not just where we are joined, but EVERYWHERE!

When I feel Jack erupting inside me it is the final trigger. I open my mouth to scream as the earth starts shaking again ... and I don’t remember anything else until an hour or two later when I wake up in a tub of hot water.

Jack

For the second time tonight I see Deena’s entire body almost go into convulsions as she is racked by her orgasm. I am pumping so much sperm into her body it is almost painful to ejaculate this much.

I see Deena’s mouth open, I guess to scream, then see her eyes roll up in her head and she topples face forward onto me.

I still have my finger in her ass, but luckily my other hand is playing with her boobs, otherwise she would fallen face to face onto me.

I lower Deena onto me, and start squeezing her against me. It feels so right, so natural.

I think I must have drifted off to sleep still holding this young woman, still inside her.

I woke up about two hours later. Deena was still lying on top of me but I could feel that I had slipped out of her body. I eased Deena off onto my side since I had to use the bathroom.

I looked at myself. I was a mess. Deena’s lower body was a mess. The bed was a mess. Dried cum everywhere.

I went into the bathroom and started filling the tub while I took a leak in the toilet.

This house is where I grew up. After my discharge from the Marines, my Mom said she wanted to sell the house and move to Florida. My Dad had died years earlier.

So I bought the house and have been living here since. As you know, I am a big guy, 6’5” and about 225. My Dad was about the same height, but weighed a lot more.

Several years before his death, he ripped out the entire bathroom and special ordered a tub. The tub is seven feet long and about 42 inches wide.

One of the biggest mistakes he made was not reading the instructions that came with the tub. I know, I know, men NEVER read the instructions. Anyway, if he had then he would have realized the tub held 65 gallons of water and our house, at the time, had a 40 gallon water heater. So Dad had to spend a couple thousand more for a gas tankless water heater that advertised you could take a 24 hour a day shower and never run out of hot water.

After the tub was filled with nice hot water, I returned to the bedroom and picked Deena up. She was still practically dead to the world.

Back in the bathroom, I dropped to my knees and gently placed Deena in the hot water. I could hear her moan of pleasure. Then I climbed in behind her and pulled her back against me.

Then told her:

Deena

“Just relax, Little One,” I heard a voice say.

I woke to the most delicious sensation in the world. I was in a tub full of hot water and I could smell some amazing bath salts someone had added.

At first I didn’t quite know where I was or who I was with. I could feel someone in the water behind me, and two very muscular arms were holding me in place. The arms were crossed just underneath my breasts.

“How do you feel, Deena,” I heard a very deep voice ask. Somehow I could sense that he was asking the question because he actually cared, and not just to be making conversation.

It took a few seconds to recognize the voice, but then I knew it was Jack.

And I remembered ... everything ... breaking into his house, getting caught, being handcuffed and making the bargain to do anything, and “anything means anything, even that.”

I also remembered taking a shower (I looked around, in this bathroom), and how wet I was getting inside while showering and how much my nipples ached.

I also remembered being ordered to “drop the robe,” and Jack softly caressing me, driving me almost mad with lust as he lightly cupped my breasts and barely touched the nipples. Before my screams of rage once I realized he had put the cuffs back on me, then forcing me over his knee and the spanking that had begun.

How much I hated him and even threatened to kill him before ... he put one finger inside me, then another and then every time I came close to cumming, how he would stop fingering me and go back to spanking. I remembered even begging ... me, Deena Watkins, always in control Deena ... begging him to let me come.

I also could feel my face turn red when I remembered screaming for him to ... to “shove” his thumb in my ... asshole.

And how my entire body just exploded.

I remembered how gently he held me against him afterward, just stroking my hair and then laying me down on the bed and putting the cuff back on. I also remembered Jack entering me for the first time and telling me he would never hurt me again, and how huge he was and how he made me feel. Matching him thrust for thrust and how I came again, not as hard, but strangely, even more satisfying.

I also remembered how he introduced himself, and our little game of “Gone With The Wind,” dialogue before he kissed me. And what a kiss! How, after I accused him of cheating because he didn’t stop at second base, he made up for that. God, did he ever!

I also remembered our making love and asking if I could get on top.

And I don’t remember a lot more after that. Vaguely, I remember him saying, “Cum with me, Deena,” and how I felt my body start to explode for the second time.

Oh, God, did I really ask him to...

Jack

“Oh, God, did I really ask you to ... to use your finger on my bottom again?” I heard Deena ask.

“No, Deena, you did not,” I answer, then before she could say anything else, added, “actually you screamed for me to shove my finger in your asshole again.”

Deena was leaning back against me. We were still in the tub, of course, so I could only see one side of Deena’s face, but that one side turned beet red and the blush continued all the way down across her chest.

“Rhett Butler, you are NOT a gentleman,” Deena said, in her Scarlett voice. “Gentlemen NEVER repeat something a lady tells him during an ... indiscreet moment.”

“Frankly, My Dear, I never claimed to be a gentleman,” I adlibbed. Okay, okay, so I don’t remember all the different quotes from the movie.

“What I do know is that you, Scarlett, need kissing,” I continued. “You should be kissed often and by someone who knows how.”

Not sure if those are actually the correct wordings, but at least I’m not saying, “I don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout birthin’ no babies.”

“And, Rhett, I suppose you THINK you know something about kissing,” she teased.

I didn’t answer. At least not in words. Instead, I turned her face to mine and tried to show her just how much I knew about kissing.

After several minutes we were both gasping for breath.

“Rhett,” she asked, “can I ask a question?”

I told her to proceed.

“I’m not complaining, and Lord knows the water feels great and smells great,” she said, “but why are we in the tub – naked?”

“I didn’t think you would want to get your clothes wet,” I quipped.

“Actually, Scarlett,” I backtracked because she was glaring at me, “after I did the gentlemanly thing of listening to what you were saying, and applying my ... finger where appropriate, you swooned once your orgasm hit you.”

That REALLY earned me a hard glare.

“Rhett Butler,” she shot back, “I am just about to tell you where to shove that finger ... and it isn’t in MY bottom!”

“After you ... swooned ... we both slept for a while,” I hastened to explain. “When I woke up I realized you were a mess, I was a mess and the bed was a mess (she blushed again), so I ran some water and brought you in here.

“Now, since the water is starting to get cold, would you like to take a shower together?” I asked.

Deena blushed.

“I’ve never taken a shower with a guy before,” she said, before adding, “Actually I’ve never been naked in a tub with a guy before.”

“You’ve been in a tub with a guy with your clothes on?” I asked, smirking.

That earned me another glare.

There didn’t seem to be any point in drying off from the tub, just to get wet again in the shower so, after Deena stopped glaring at me, we just walked soaking wet across the bathroom floor. Luckily the floor is tiled.

Soon we were in the shower and I was standing behind Deena while washing her front.

At one point Deena told me if I didn’t stop spending so much time washing her boobs (she blushed when she said it) that pretty soon I would rub her nipples off.

That is just a chance we will have to take!

I finally trailed one soapy hand south while continuing to caress her nipples with my other hand.

Deena was moaning almost non-stop now, and when I reached third base, I slipped one soapy finger inside her.

Deena cried out and moved her buttocks hard against me. Of course, all this was also having an effect on me as well.

I felt Deena reach behind her and grab my erect penis and gasp.

“Oh, My God,” she said, “I had THIS inside me? You’re even bigger than King Don...” then her hand flew up to her lips as though she was trying to capture the words that were coming out of her mouth.

If I thought she had turned red with embarrassment a few times before, that is nothing compared to how red she is now.

“Who is King Don and when was he inside you?” I asked and couldn’t keep from smirking.

Deena turned even redder, if that was possible, but shook her head and refused to say anything.

“Deena,” I cautioned while wiggling my one finger that was deep inside her, “I can spend all night bringing you to the cusp of an orgasm then refusing to let you come but sooner or later you are going to tell me about King Don.”

I honestly didn’t know it was possible for anyone to turn THAT red without passing out, but Deena did tell me all about breaking into the house and finding the dildos and how it took over two weeks, trying every three or four days, to finally get all of the giant dildo into her. And the giant dildo was embossed with the name “King Dong.”

Then she said she had often wondered if the people living there reported the theft and included the missing dildos and anal plugs (and she turned very, very red again).

When I asked if she had tried the anal plugs she just glared at me before acknowledging “not yet, anyway.” And blushed even more.

I did tell her that as far as I knew, no dildos had been reported as missing, but wondered if perhaps we should send the owners a “thank you” letter. This was after she confessed she didn’t think she could have taken me if she hadn’t already been stretched some by King Dong.

I thought, when I suggested sending the “thank you” letter that Deena was going to hit me. Then she started giggling. Hey, I guess 17 year olds are allowed to giggle.

By now we had both been washed about as clean as it is possible for two bodies to get. Especially Deena’s nipples!

Not before, however, I used my fingers to bring Deena to an orgasm. Then, while seated on the tile seat in the shower, Deena used her mouth and hands to get me off as well.

She could only get the head and a couple of inches in her mouth, but the things her tongue could do! I groaned as I filled her mouth and Deena managed to swallow every drop.

We finally dried off and returned to the bedroom, both wearing robes this time.

Together we stripped off the bed, and seeing that the wetness went through to the mattress, flipped that and made up the bed again.

Finally, once everything had been done, Deena shyly looked at me and asked, “Now what?” I could hear how nervous she was.

And I knew I could not go on any longer, could not force her to do anything else. My feelings for this young girl were growing too strong for that.

When I told Deena to sit on the bed, she started to untie the robe but I caught her hands and said, “Not yet. We have to talk first.”

I took a deep breath.

“Deena,” I began, “I ... I know I forced you to agree to stay here with me all weekend. I know you didn’t want to do that at first. I’m not going to force you to do anything else – at all.

“What I am trying to say, Deena, is I release you from your agreement. You can leave any time you want. If you don’t mind riding a motorcycle ... I can even take you anywhere you want to go.

“I just want to ... need to apologize for what I have put you through already. This is not trying to excuse anything I have done ... I don’t think there is any excuse for that ... but it would have never happened if I hadn’t ... hadn’t had a couple of drinks before I saw you.”

The reaction I got wasn’t quite what I was expecting.

“Jackson O’Brien, you REALLY are a rat bastard,” Deena began, “not to mention a toe sucking pig.”

I am thinking, first “rat bastard” and now “toe sucking pig?” Four years in the Marines and four years as a deputy and Deena, in just a few hours, is already teaching me new phrases.

“So you are telling me the only reason you lowered your standards enough to fuck me is because you were drunk?

“You think you can get your kicks, get your jollies, what is you guys say, get your rocks off, and then it is ‘Wham. Bam. Thank You, Ma’am, now don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.’ Just go away and play, little girl!

“I won’t stand for it, you rat bastard,” she yelled and actually stamped her foot on the floor.

“You think I am some kind of vacuous, 17 year old high school student who doesn’t know anything and doesn’t think about anything but clothes or the latest phone or something.”

“Vacuous?” I interrupted.

“Oh, I forgot, you are probably a brain-dead cop,” she yelled, “Well, vacuous means...”

“I know what it means, Deena, I am just amazed to hear someone actually use it in a sentence,” I responded.

“Yea, I imagine words of more than one or two syllables probably aren’t too common at the Sheriff’s Department,” she shot back.

“I’ll have you know, you slimy rat bastard, I graduated high school the day I turned 16 with a near perfect 3.98 grade point average and for the past two years I have been taking college classes so I can obtain a degree in business administration,” she ranted. I don’t think I could have gotten a word in edgewise even if I wanted to try.

“Part of those classes include business law, and part of the business law classes were discussions on different types of binding legal contracts,” she continued.

“Although it is obvious that you, Sir, are no gentleman, there is a legally binding contract called a ‘Gentleman’s Agreement,’ which is also sometimes called a ‘handshake agreement.’

“As far as I am concerned, WE, that is YOU and I, have entered into a legally binding contract! And if you try to weasel your way out of our agreement, then I must warn you I will take immediate legal action to force you to live up to your end of the agreement.

“I have agreed to stay with you all weekend!

“You have agreed to do unspeakable, nasty things to me all weekend.”

When it became apparent that Deena had no intention of stopping talking ... or even slowing down ... and kept ranting about suing me for breach of contract ... well, there was only one thing I could do.

I walked over to her, grabbed her by the shoulders and started kissing her.

She STILL continued trying to talk, but the sounds were now like, “M’mmm, M’mmm, M’mmm.” That is the sound you make when you are trying to talk while someone else has their tongue deep inside your mouth.

Finally, she stopped talking and started kissing back. We soon had each other’s robes off and Deena’s long legs were wrapped around my waist.

I carried her over to the bed, dropped her on her cute little butt and immediately buried my tongue deep inside her pussy.

I didn’t care I had already cum inside her twice, and didn’t know how much, if any, had been washed away.

“Oh, God, no one has ever done that to me before,” she cried out.

That was about the only recognizable sound she made for the next 15 or 20 minutes.

When I finally entered her again, after using some lube, of course, I think we BOTH swooned from the force of our orgasm.

I am always an early riser and I again woke up about 5 am, Saturday morning. All I could do was stare at this beautiful young girl. No, I suppose she isn’t “Hollywood” beautiful. But she was beautiful to me and that was all that mattered.

After just watching her sleep for a while I finally got up and went into the kitchen where I started a pot of coffee, then began frying bacon, sausage and scrambled eggs. I had also made some biscuits and popped those into the oven before starting the bacon.

Deena stumbled into the kitchen, wearing her hoodie, just as the biscuits were coming out of the oven.

“Gosh, something smells delicious,” she said. “I’m starving.”

Deena grabbed a plate and I think took more, WAY more than half of the scrambled eggs, along with about half of the sausage and over half of the bacon, plus several biscuits.

I just raised my eyebrows and looked at her.

Deena looked down at her plate and blushed before saying, somewhat piqued, “I SAID I was starving! Someone didn’t let me eat last night! At least not food!”

I didn’t answer, just grinned.

However, when I saw Deena grab both salt and pepper, apparently preparatory to putting them on her scrambled eggs, I had to stage an immediate intervention.

“Whoa, young lady,” I interjected, “none of that. These eggs don’t need anything added to them.”

Deena looked rather doubtful, but put down the salt and pepper, grabbed a fork and took a bite of the eggs.

I actually saw her eyes close for a few seconds and think I heard a soft moan before they opened big as saucers.

“Oh, My God,” she exclaimed, “I have never tasted anything like that before. What is it?”

“Scrambled eggs,” I answered, but drew out the words like ‘s-c-r-a-m-b-l-e-d e-g-g-s.’

“Lots of people eat them for breakfast,” I added and couldn’t resist a smirk.

Deena’s eyes narrowed as she glared at me.

“I KNOW what scrambled eggs are,” she insisted. “In fact, it’s one of the few foods I actually know how to cook. THESE (pointing to my version) aren’t like ANYTHING I have ever tasted before.”

I smiled at her.

“That is because this dish is actually called ‘oeufs broullés,’ which is the French name for scrambled eggs, and this is how the French cook them,” I explained.

While I was saying that one sentence Deena had already finished most of her share of scrambled eggs before running back to the stove and taking about half of what was left.

“How does a cop learn to cook like this?” she asked.

“My Dad,” I answered. “Although he ran a printing company, he never made any secret of the fact that his true second love, after my Mom, was cooking. In fact, my Mom sometimes said she thought SHE was probably number two on that list of true loves.

“Dad always said that as soon as I got to the point where I could take over the printing company, he planned on opening a restaurant, specializing in French cooking. Unfortunately, he died before that happened.

“Dad spent four years in the Marine Corps and three of those years he spent on embassy duty, in Paris, France. Anytime he wasn’t on duty, he was attending Le Cordon Bleu, which is perhaps THE most famous French cooking school in the world.

“What little I know, Dad taught me,” I ended, then I laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Deena asked.

“Just remembering some of the things Dad used to say. He had all these little, he called them ‘pearls of wisdom,’ things he had learned over the years.

“Just remembering he once told me, ‘no woman will ever yell at you while you are cooking lièvres à la royale, and while considering that it takes something like 16 hours, spread out over two, or even three days to make and that’s a long time for a man to go without being yelled at about something by a woman.”

“I have absolutely no idea what ... whatever it was you just said is ... but if you ever want to make it for me I promise I won’t yell at you – much,” Deena said.

“Lièvres à la royale is a salmis (pronounced sal-me) of hare,” I answered.

“I also have no idea what a salami of hare is either,” Deena said.

“Not salami, salmis,” I corrected. “Basically that is reheating some type of roasted game meat in a special, very rich sauce. Usually it involves birds, but you can also use any type of game meat, including hare.”

“Wait ... you mean ... hare ... as in RABBIT?” Deena asked, and you could hear the almost horror in her voice. “You mean cute little bunny rabbits?”

“It doesn’t HAVE to be cute little bunny rabbits,” I informed Deena, “it could also be big, mean, vicious killer bunny rabbits as well.”

I think if looks could kill ... I would be dead because Deena is REALLY glaring at me now.

“It can also be prepared using any type of game,” I hastened to say, “and like I mentioned, usually it is prepared using some type of bird such as squab or duck.”

“Cute little ducks?” Deena asked, and I could now tell she was poking fun at me.

“No, just the Scrooge McDuck type of ducks,” I answered, thinking of Donald’s mean-spirited Uncle.

Deena’s Turn

Was it possible to fall any more in love with someone than I was already in love with Jack?

There, I said it ... well, didn’t actually SAY it, but thought it.

Was it actually possible that we had known each other less than eight hours? I almost could not tell you how many times we had made love throughout the night.

And especially after the shower when we had our one-sided argument. God, I loved that. Being able to tell off the arrogant beautiful bastard. Think he can get rid of me THAT easy! Actually, I know he wasn’t truly trying to get rid of me ... in fact his words, if anything, solidified the feeling I had had ever since he first smiled that mischievous little smile of his – Oh, must remember, never tell him it was mischievous, must always tell him it was, what is a good word? Oh, yeah, snarky! – little smile of his and started talking about kisses on first dates.

I was just really getting on a roll, talking about how I was going to sue him for backing out of our agreement when the ... beautiful rat bastard kissed me right when I was getting to the good part!

Next thing I know, I am flat on my back and his head is between my legs! Oh, Great God in Heaven! I have had friends TELL me about that ... words can’t do it justice. Nothing ... NOTHING ... I have ever felt even comes close to that. Perhaps the ... orgasm wasn’t quite as strong as when he ... put his finger THERE, but God, it was so much more satisfying.

Then, just when I think there isn’t ANYTHING new to learn about him ... s-c-r-a-m-b-l-e-d e-g-g-s. I ... I wanted to hit him for a minute when he said it like that, making fun of me.

Is it possible to ... orgasm ... from the taste of food? I think I almost did. Never, never, never in my life have I tasted anything like that.

If he cooks it, then I would probably even eat cute little bunny rabbits – I almost laughed out loud when he said ‘big, mean, vicious killer bunny rabbits.’

How can one man be so good in bed, so good with his tongue, so funny and quick witted, and on top of that, cook the way he does?

“You make me feel things I didn’t know it was possible to feel, make me laugh at the most unexpected moments and you cook like a world famous chef ... is there any way I can get YOU pregnant so you will have to marry ME?”

It wasn’t until I heard Jack laugh out loud I realized I didn’t just THINK that last part ... I actually said it out loud.

Jack’s Back

“You make me feel things I didn’t know it was possible to feel,” Deena said, “make me laugh at the most unexpected moments and you cook like a world famous chef ... is there any way I can get YOU pregnant so you will have to marry ME?”

I laughed out loud at Deena’s statement, then watched in amazement as her eyes widened and she had the most horrid look on her face.

“Oh, God, I didn’t say that ... didn’t actually say that ... did I?” Deena whispered.

I must admit it took a minute or two before I could stop laughing.

“Yes, Little One, you did,” I told her.

Deena’s face was already beet red.

“I ... I ... I’m sorry, Jack, I didn’t mean to say that,” Deena said, “And, Jack, please believe me when I ... I tell you that I would never ... use something like that to make you marry me.”

“You mean my being pregnant?” I asked, barely able to keep the laughter out of my voice.

“Rat bastard,” Deena said. “You know what I mean. That I would never use MY being pregnant to force you to marry me. You ... you haven’t asked but I want you to know I am on the pill. So you don’t have to worry about ... that happening.”

Deena

Did I hear him correctly? I mean he whispered it, but it almost sounded like ... like he said... ‘there are a lot of things that would be worse than being married to you.’

I mean it’s not exactly a romantic declaration of love and his undying devotion to me, but why is my heart beating so fast and why does it feel like it is about to explode?

Not only do I love the big ape, I also realize I LIKE the big ape! I instantly remember a conversation with my Mom, about a month after my Dad died. This was before Mom started drinking.

I came home from school and Mom was holding Dad’s picture in her hands and crying.

I hugged her and cried myself before Mom told me if she had one single wish for me, it WOULDN’T be just that I find someone that I loved as much as she loved Dad.

“No, if I had one single wish for you, it would be that you not only LOVE that guy, but that you LIKE that guy!”

With the world-weary certainty that only a 12 year old, soon to be 13 year old, possesses I informed Mom that it wasn’t possible to LOVE someone if you didn’t LIKE that someone.

That was when Mom dropped the bombshell on me.

“That is where you are wrong, Dee (about half the time she called me Dee instead of Deena). I loved my first husband but I never LIKED him.”

Mom had been married before Dad?

“You had been married before Dad?” I asked, then had another thought. “Wait, if you were married before Daddy, does that mean he really isn’t...” I couldn’t finish that thought.

“I’ll let you answer that question, Dee,” she said. “I am 5’10, which is tall for a woman. My first husband was 5’9” which is just ONE of the many things he resented about me, that I was taller than he was. You are already nearly an inch taller than me and you are only 12. So is your father someone who was only 5’9” or was your father someone who was 6’4”?”

Thankfully, Dad, the man I had always called Dad, was 6’4” so that question was answered.

“How can you love someone and not like them?” I asked.

“Because I was young and stupid and thought you can’t love someone if you don’t like them,” Mom answered. “Actually I soon realized I didn’t know that asshole well enough, or long enough to know that I really didn’t like him ... or the things he did to me. Yes, I loved him! No, I didn’t like him!

“We were married for four months. And I spent about half that time in the hospital recovering from some of the things he did to me,” Mom said, before bursting into tears.

I have asked, a number of times, how she and Dad met. Mom would never tell me, just said that a former “acquaintance” introduced them. I always had the impression the “acquaintance” was probably a former boyfriend, but she didn’t want to talk about it.

Until now!

“I had filed a restraining order against the bastard but he ignored that, came to the hospital late at night and tried to rape me while I was lying in bed. Burt ... Burt was working part-time at the hospital as a security guard and heard my screams and caught the SOB before he could do any more than rip half my clothes off.”

Burt, of course, was my Dad.

“He came back to see me the next day ... Burt, I mean, not my soon to be ex-husband. And every day after that. When I was discharged, he started coming to my house to see me.

“I kept telling him to go away, leave me alone, that I wasn’t interested.

“Thank God he didn’t listen,” Mom said. “Eventually I realized that as madly in love as I was with Burt, I was even more madly in LIKE with him.”

Within a year they were married, then two years later I was born.

Yes ... I was in LOVE with Jack. But even more than that ... I was in LIKE ... madly in LIKE ... with him.

Jack

I had mentioned that when Deena walked into the kitchen for breakfast that she was wearing her hoodie.

What I didn’t mention was that was the ONLY thing she was wearing.

And the hoodie didn’t exactly cover all of her butt or the front side either. Her landing strip looked even better than the bacon and sausage and I was determined to have some dessert after we finished breakfast.

And dessert was delicious! Dessert was followed by the main course, which was Deena on top riding me again.

Deena

After breakfast, Jack asked if I would help him clear the kitchen table.

“Don’t worry about washing anything, just stack it in the sink,” he said.

After we finished, he reached behind me and grabbed the end of the hoodie and pulled it straight up and over my head. I was then standing in his kitchen, stark naked! And it was daylight!

The big ape then picked me up and carried me over to the kitchen table and put me on top of the table, brought a chair over, sat down and spread my legs and ... Oh, GAWD!

About five million orgasms later I was straddling Jack’s legs with King Dong II (the live version) deep inside me. Oh, double GAWD!

The LOVE and LIKE meters were both off the scales!

Jack

We took a follow-up shower, but no fooling around this time. I think we were both a little sore from all of our previous activities.

We were just snuggling together when Deena asked, if I was only a “part-time deputy,” what did I do the rest of the time.

I explained that I owned a printing company. Actually, the largest printing company in our county, but didn’t mention that since our county was rather small.

Somehow, in all of our previous physical exertions, Deena had not noticed the “USMC” tattoo on my arm.

“You were in the Marines?” she asked.

When I told her I had been, she said, “I should have known,” then went on to explain that the older sister of one of her friends had dated a Marine, and her friend warned Deena what the older sister said.

“You close your eyes for a second around a Marine and he will have your bra and panties off before you even know it,” was how her friend put it.

I grinned.

“Well, in our case, it was even easier since you weren’t wearing a bra,” I quipped.

I have never met anyone who could blush as easily as Deena could. I was learning to love her blushes.

“Rat bastard,” she whispered.

When questioned about that comment and how many times she had already used it around me, Deena blushed (of course) and explained it was one of her Dad’s favorite expressions and one he used against anyone who earned his ire.

Deena, herself, didn’t really realize how often she used it since it was so automatic.

By now it was nearly 8 am and I asked Deena if she had ever been to Helen, Georgia.

She said she had heard of it, but never been there.

“It is supposed to be some type of German village isn’t it,” she asked.

I explained it was more like a Bavarian village, with shops featuring many items, not only from Germany but around the world and also many authentic German restaurants.

Luckily I have an extra helmet and 10 minutes later Deena and I were riding my motorcycle to Helen, which is about two hours away from where I live. And, yes, Deena put her shorts back on before we left.

I must say, it felt wonderful to be riding the ‘cycle with Deena’s body pressed up against my back and her arms around my waist.

Parking my motorcycle, Deena and I walked into the hotel where I usually stay and I could see Sue, the owner’s wife, behind the reservation desk.

Sue is ... how do I put this ... a LARGE woman. About 6’2 or 6’3 and probably weighs close to 300 pounds.

Before I could say anything, Sue had a few words to say first.

“Oh, God, we just got rid of one damn Marine and here comes another one to ruin my day,” were her first comments.

I just ignored Sue and instead turned to Deena.

“Deena, you know how some people claim to have seen Big Foot?” I asked (she nodded her head). “Well, they actually saw Sue here, without her makeup.”

“Screw you, Jack,” Sue responded.

Of course Deena was standing there, more than a little shocked apparently, because her mouth had dropped wide open and she had this amazed look on her face as she kept glancing between Sue and me.

“You are going to have to get used to Sue,” I advised Deena, “because a little of Sue goes a long way ... and there is NOTHING little about Sue.”

“Unlike certain parts of your anatomy, from what I hear,” Sue shot back.

“No, you are thinking about your useless husband again,” I answered.

And speaking of her useless husband ... he chose that time to walk out of his office.

“Oh, God,” he said, as he saw me in the lobby, “we just got rid of one damn Jarhead and another one takes his place.”

I was just about to unload on Bob (the useless husband) when, before I could say anything, he shot his right hand high into the air, bowed his head and intoned: “Let us pray.”

This is new, I thought. Then Bob began with his right hand still raised high:

“Oh, Lord, I have read that only 0.85 percent of the population of the United States has ever served in the Marine Corps. Less than one percent, Lord. And, Lord, that means I should be able to go through my entire life NEVER ... and I say again, Lord, NEVER having to deal with a single dumbass Jarhead, but instead, Lord, for reasons I will never understand, I have been inflicted with two of the ugly beasts.”

By now Deena was starting to giggle.

Bob continued.

“Lord, you sent various plagues against Egypt when they failed to do your bidding, including locusts, and Lord I don’t know how I have failed you, but I beseech you to please remove this plague of Marines from darkening my door. I ask this in your name, Lord, Amen!”

Bob slowly raised his head and opened one eye until he saw me still standing there.

“Shit,” he said, “didn’t work this time either.”

By now Deena was way past giggling. In fact, she was laughing herself silly, in a very un-ladylike manner.

I turned to Deena and told her that the tall, skinny, ugly guy was Bob, Sue’s husband, and he had been in a bad mood for quite a while, then explained why.

“Bob was reading a magazine one day when he noticed a story that really got him all excited,” I began. “He immediately ran and found Sue and showed her the article, which stated having sex burned the same amount of calories as running three miles. ‘What do you think, Sue, what do you think?’ he started asking her.

“Then Sue turned to Bob and said, ‘That’s absurd! Who can run three miles in 30 seconds?’”

Deena blushed and laughed, Sue had a big laugh and for some reason Bob just scowled at me.

Deena, however, really brought the house down.

“So I am safe in assuming you all know each other?” she asked.

We all got a good laugh at that one.

Anyway, Bob came over and shook my hand and asked how I was doing.

I reached over and grabbed Deena’s hand and said, “Now that I found this lady ... better than I have ever been.”

That earned me a little kiss on the cheek. From Deena, I mean, not Bob!

Sue gave me a hug and I introduced both of them to Deena, and Deena to them.

“So, Jack,” Sue asked, “what are you doing here?”

“Duh, Sue,” I responded, “you know, HOTEL! Rents rooms to people who have money!”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Sue said, “You know we can’t rent you a room anymore.”

“WHAT?” I asked, “What do you mean you can’t rent me a room?”

“I’ll tell you what, Jack,” Sue answered, “Deena seems like a pretty normal person, other than being here with a Marine, of course, so what if I rent a room to Deena?”

“Sue,” I warned, “you better start making sense ... soon!”

Ignoring me, and talking to Deena.

“Deena,” she said, “I do have to warn you about one thing, though. If you actually let Jack stay in the room with you, then the rental automatically doubles.”

Now I consider myself a fairly calm guy. Very rarely really get angry, but I was getting a little steamed.

I also consider myself able to exchange witty repartees with anyone. Very rarely can someone really pull one over on me, because I can usually tell which direction a joke is headed and deflect it – sometimes directly back against the person who was trying to get me.

I guess because I was getting a little steamed I never saw it coming. Never saw the mine field Sue was laying for me.

“What on earth are you talking about, Sue?” I asked, and I think she could hear I was getting perturbed.

“Deena, I hate to be the one to have to tell you that,” Sue told Deena, still ignoring me, “but Marines have never been house-broken. Every time Jack, or that other idiot Marine, Sam, stays here, we have to rip out the carpets in that room since they pee and poop on the floor.”

Mine field is primed and ready for its first victim.

“Dammit, Sue,” I retorted, “none of the rooms in this hotel have carpet!”

Boom! Not only stepped on, I jumped on it with both feet.

“Exactly,” Sue practically yelled, “between you and Sam you have ruined every carpet in this building!”

I thought we might have to call an ambulance for Bob, since he was laughing so hard.

Sue had an absolutely evil grin on her face.

I actually had to tell Deena, then remind her several times, the joke she just heard really WASN’T that funny.

After a few minutes everyone calmed down.

At least until Deena twisted the knife that Sue had stabbed me with.

“You know,” she began with a perfectly innocent look on her face, “I was wondering why there isn’t a single carpet, or even throw rug, in Jack’s house.”

This time I thought we were going to have to call an ambulance for both Bob and Sue.

“God, I like her, Jack,” Sue told me. “How long have you known each other?”

I looked at my watch.

“It’s almost 10 am now, so the answer would be about 12 hours,” I responded.

“Twelve Hours! Twelve Hours!” Sue exclaimed, “And you are already bringing her here for a romantic getaway?”

“Hey,” I said, “when you meet the right lady then it doesn’t matter how long you have known each other.”

That earned me another kiss on the cheek. From Deena again, not Sue.

“So, what rooms are available?” I asked.

“Well, 1A is available,” Sue said, “The one with the hot tub.”

“Hot tub?” Deena remarked, “I’ve never been in a hot tub. But unfortunately I didn’t bring a swim suit with me.”

“Believe me, Honey,” I answered, “you won’t need a swim suit!” In retrospect, perhaps it would have been better if I had ended that statement with just a smile. Looking back, however, a leer might have been too much.

Deena blushed. A lot!

“So,” Bob asked, “how did the two of you meet ... what was it... 12 hours ago?”

I just remembered what Deena had said about there being no carpets or throw rugs in my house and thought I would get her back a little.

Bob and Sue already knew I had spent four years in the Marines as an MP (Military Police), and also knew I had continued that afterward as a reserve deputy sheriff.

“I was responding to a possible Breaking and Entering,” I said, and really didn’t notice just how red Deena’s face turned. “Luckily nothing was stolen.”

Before I related that second part of that conversation I never really thought about the fact Bob, Sue and I had known each other for years. I mean, you have already heard how much we rag each other, but I didn’t really think it had taken several years to work our way to that point.

If there are any ladies reading this, you are probably thinking to yourself: Typical Male Stupidity!

As I was soon to demonstrate, I found out I have this ability to totally transcend Typical Male Stupidity and leap directly into the Realm of Abject Idiocy!

After I made the comment “Luckily nothing was stolen,” I had to add, “But once Deena saw me in my uniform, she practically threw herself at my feet and begged to be allowed to stay the night or even weekend.”

No doubt, you are thinking, yeah, that is REAL Abject Idiocy!

Sorry, not even close to being there yet.

Bob and Sue chuckled, then handed me the key to 1A. As I glanced at Deena I am not even sure how to describe how red her face was. “Just a little embarrassed,” I thought – indeed, if I thought at all.

I did notice how quiet she was being. Once we were in the room I walked over to the hot tub.

“You were responding to a possible Breaking and Entering?” she remarked. I didn’t hear the acid in her voice.

“Well, that is true,” I answered, “I just didn’t tell them you were the perp (perpetrator).”

“I ... I ... practically threw myself at your feet once I saw you in uniform and ... and ... begged to stay with you?” she asked, and this time I finally noticed she didn’t look, or sound, too happy.

I still really didn’t think too much about it, though.

“Okay, you didn’t ‘throw’ yourself at my feet, but you were handcuffed, lying on the floor when you ... practically begged me not to call the police, that you would do anything I wanted,” I answered.

In case you are wondering, still not at the Abject Idiocy level yet.

“I can’t fucking believe you just said that,” Deena yelled.

Okay, I admit I don’t like to be yelled at. Especially when I have absolutely NO idea why I am being yelled at.

“After that crack about not having any carpets or throw rugs at my house, I almost threatened to turn you over my knee and give you a spanking,” I shot back, and yes, there might have been a LITTLE heat in my voice as well.

“But then I remembered how much you seemed to like spanking!”

Still not at the Abject Idiocy level yet! There is worse to come.

As I mentioned, as soon as we walked into the room, I walked over to the hot tub. There is a platform around the hot tub to make it easier for normal people to enter and exit the tub. At 6’5”, I really didn’t need the platform, but stepped up on it to test the temperature of the water.

It was deliciously hot. I couldn’t wait until Deena and I could try it out.

When I looked over at Deena, I can safely say I have NEVER seen anyone that red in the face before. Her hands were shaking. In fact her whole body seemed to be trembling.

And me? I was still somewhat clueless. I didn’t know why Deena seemed to be upset. She had given me a couple of kisses on the cheek in the lobby, in front of Bob and Sue, just minutes before and I didn’t understand what had happened since then.

Deena looked at me and screamed one word at me.

Did I mention I didn’t like to be yelled at? And especially didn’t like to be screamed at, when as far as I know, I have done nothing wrong.

“Asshole!” is what Deena screamed at me.

I knew she was calling me an ‘asshole,’ but for the love of God, I didn’t understand why.

By now, I was angry. And I chose to interpret that word in a way that Deena definitely did not intend.

Abject Idiocy alert!

“Why, YES!” I yelled back, “you did seem to like that part as well. Even begged me to put my thumb inside. In fact, twice!”

If I can ever offer anyone any advice, NEVER, and I mean NEVER turn your back to a woman who has apparently gone off her rocker for no discernible reason.

I turned my back.

It was only for about two seconds, just long enough to flip the switch turning on the jets in the tub. I was still thinking about Deena and me, together in the hot tub. And clothing would not be required. Unfortunately the jets muffled the sounds of Deena’s footsteps as she covered the 10 feet or so from where she had been standing and where I was on the platform of the hot tub.

I turned around just in time to see Deena go airborne as she launched herself directly at me.

Now Deena had a full head of steam as she was running to me, BUT, I weigh about a hundred pounds more than she does.

The classic case of the irresistible force meets the immovable object.

I had a split second to take a half-step backward to brace myself to catch Deena.

Unfortunately, I was still standing on the platform around the hot tub and since I am so tall the top of the tub only comes to my upper thighs. Even worse, as I tried to take that half-step backwards my upper thighs hit the tub. I had one foot on the platform and one foot about an inch or two off the platform when Deena collided with me.

The immovable object lost.

With a mighty splash, we both hit the water, still fully clothed.

Fortunately, it only took a few seconds for the complete absurdity of the situation to hit both of us.

We both started laughing and very, very soon, we were giggling, wiggling and squirming amid a variety of sounds that included sighs, moans and groans, not to mention yips, yelps and maybe a couple of yahoos.

Before long we were both naked and Deena was straddling my legs as she lowered herself onto my waiting erection – for the first time, without using any lube other than her natural lubrication and any slipperiness from the water.

From my point of view, it was an incredibly, even painfully slow process. It was almost ... almost all I could do not to grab Deena’s hips and thrust upward, burying myself deep inside her.

The only thing that kept that from happening was what I was feeling for this incredible young woman. Even more than my own pleasure, I wanted to bring her nothing but more pleasure and more joy than she had ever believed possible.

Even though it seemed to take forever, I was finally fully sheathed inside her. Deena’s forehead was pressed against mine. Neither of us had moved before her body trembled with the first orgasm to hit her. After that first orgasm Deena found it easier to move herself up and down on me.

That first orgasm was soon followed by several more, of apparently increasing intensity. After a few more minutes it was becoming apparent that Deena’s legs were getting tired. I was sitting on a bench in the hot tub with Deena still straddling my legs. I told her to put her arms around my neck, then reached under her until I had her beautiful little butt in my hands, then stood up.

She gave a gasp, then almost nonstop moans as I slowly lifted her up and down on my erection and Deena had several more orgasms.

When I finally reached the limit of my endurance I thrust upward a final time then sent what felt like buckets of my come deep inside her. That also triggered a final climax from Deena as well.

I left Deena sitting in the hot tub while I got a couple of towels, then carefully lifted her out of the tub and dried her off, before drying myself.

A few minutes later we were both lying on the bed, still naked.

“Well,” I asked, “how is the needle on the old Love/Hate meter now?”

“I have to admit,” Deena replied with a smile, “for a few minutes there it was dangerously, even murderously into the red, but it seems to have stabilized now back in the middle. Might ... that is MIGHT ... even be leaning a little toward the good, blue side.”

“Let’s see what we can do about moving that needle in the right direction,” I remarked, then spread Deena’s legs apart and soon my tongue was deep inside her. I suddenly didn’t care that I had just come inside her a few minutes earlier.

And from the way Deena’s hands were clasped on the back of my head trying to pull me even deeper, I don’t think she cared either.

Deena must have had five or six orgasms before I, now hard again, entered her. And yes, I did stop long enough to use some lube. I knew she was a little sore from our earlier efforts in the hot tub.

We made incredibly slow, even languid, love. It seemed like it took hours but I know it probably was only 30 minutes before I filled her with my come again.

Deena was lying on her side with her head on my shoulder and an arm and leg stretched out on my body when I think I can say our relationship changed again.

“God, just when I think I can’t possibly lov...” she began and suddenly stopped right in the middle of the “L” word.

She quickly recovered and tried to rephrase her comment, “God, just when I think our lovemaking can’t possibly get any better, you go and do something like that to me.”

Up until this point, both of us had carefully avoided any use of the “L” word.

We kidded about the Love/Hate meter and the needle placement on said meter, but that is a whole lot different, an entire level different from actually using that particular word.

I knew, however, had known from the time she did her “Scarlett O’Hara” impression, I was falling in love with Deena. Not just falling in love, but totally, head over heels in love with her.

What I didn’t ... what I couldn’t possibly know ... was she feeling the same?

When I thought about how much I cared ... the hell with it, how much I LOVED her already, all I could think about was what she might be feeling.

Yes, she had offered to spend the night with me, and used the word, “anything.”

That of course was after I had handcuffed her wrists together and was telling her she was now looking at several years in jail.

While she was lying at my feet, no doubt terrified.

I had forced her to spend the weekend and, even after she said “anything” didn’t include anal, forced her to change that.

Then when she seemed to be enjoying my light caresses while standing beside the bed, I had handcuffed her again, and despite her angry, shouted threats and pleas ... proceed to spank her, then used my fingers on her. Yes, she had been begging for release ... sexual release that is ... by the time I finished spanking her. But was she really in full control of her mental faculties after what I had done to her? According to the legal definition of the word, I had “abused” Deena. Forced her to engage in something she didn’t want to do, or didn’t want done to her.

She was handcuffed with her hands over her head the first time I entered her.

I had been a law enforcement officer long enough to know that a good prosecutor could probably, rightfully, make a case of coercion, intimidation, illegal detainment, abuse and even rape.

Now, hearing Deena use the word “love,” even if it was only part of the full word, had my heart beating wildly.

Can she? Does she?

I also thought about how angry she had seemed to get when I told her she no longer needed to adhere to the terms of our agreement. I had read enough about the “Stockholm Syndrome,” to actually wonder if this could be applied to Deena. Had what I had done to her confused her enough that she no longer actually knew what she was feeling?

For those of you who don’t know, “Stockholm Syndrome” refers to the psychological changes that occur when a captive begins to identify with their captor, to the point where they bond with, and even begin to develop feelings for their captor.

Did Deena truly have feelings for me ... or was she just another victim falling for their captor?

At some point in your life ... you just have to roll the dice.

“Deena, I have never met anyone like you,” I started, “Deena, I lov...”

At that point Deena’s fingers were pressed against my lips. When she removed her fingers from my lips, she sat up in bed and looked at me.

“Don’t say it, Jack,” she whispered, “don’t say it because you think you are supposed to say it or because you think I am expecting you to say it!

“For God’s sake, Jack, don’t say it unless you mean it! I would rather you NEVER say it, not unless you mean it.”

“That’s the easy part, Deena,” I answered, “because I do mean it. I ... LOVE ... YOU! I think I have been in love with you since you first said, ‘fiddle-de-dee,’ while doing your Gone With The Wind sketch.”

“Then I have been in love with you even longer,” she declared. “I fell in love with you when you smiled that ... snarky smile at me...”

“I don’t have a snarky smile,” I interrupted.

“Yes, you do,” Deena insisted.

“Wait a minute,” I said, “doesn’t snarky mean cranky or grumpy or irritable or something like that?”

“Yes, it does,” Deena confirmed, “just like the one you have now.”

“I am not being ‘snarky,’” I insisted, “just inquisitive.”

“Well, your inquisitive is the same as everyone else’s snarky,” she insisted.

I figured I had better stop before I became snarky, so I just shook my head at Deena. She smiled, in fact, I think SHE was now giving me a snarky smile.

“Anyway, as I was saying before I was so RUDELY interrupted, I fell in love with you when I saw your snarky smile and then you started talking about the ‘awkward moment of the first date’ and said you wanted to kiss me but didn’t know how Southern Belles would react to a request for a kiss on the first date.”

Even though it was hardly the first date any longer, we kissed and kissed and kissed.

I don’t think I have ever felt so totally relaxed with any other person before.

I laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Deena asked.

“I just can’t believe I am here with a 17 year old,” I answered.

“Isn’t the age of consent in Georgia 16,” Deena asked.

“Yes, of course, BUT...” I began, “that is generally regarded if both people are within a few years of the same age. I am almost 10 years older than you. Still legal, if not frowned upon, and here is an even bigger BUT ... I am also what is termed in Georgia, ‘a person of authority’ since I am a deputy sheriff.

“There have been a number of cases, especially recently, where high school teachers have had sex with their students. One case I remember is where the teacher was fresh out of college, his first teaching job. He was, I think, 22. The student was 18. Obviously, both were well above the age of consent.

“He was still arrested because he was considered ‘a person of authority’ in the student’s life. I think he finally pled guilty to ‘sexual misconduct’ and can never hold a teaching job again. They also call it ‘Abuse of Trust.’”

Then I had a sobering thought.

“Deena...” I began, then stopped for a couple of seconds, “if anyone, and I mean ANYONE finds out you broke into my house and then we had sex ... Deena, you hold my life in your hands. I could be looking at some serious jail time here. And it wouldn’t matter in the slightest if you said it was consensual.

“The mere fact I held authority over you would overshadow anything that happened after that.”

Deena sat up in bed.

“Jack, I would sooner die than ever betray you,” she said. “I love you ... and your snarky smile ... and your awful Rhett Butler impersonation ... and I especially love what you do when you get to second base ... not to mention third base and home plate!”

I am not sure who was more surprised by what I said next.

I sure wasn’t expecting me to say it.

I didn’t even know I was going to say it until I heard the words coming out of my mouth.

“Deena, I want to spend the rest of my life with you ... will you marry me?”

I can’t even begin to describe the look of wonder in Deena’s face. Her eyes looked big as saucers as she contemplated my words.

Then with such a look of complete love in her eyes...

... she leaned towards me...

... and slapped me,

... then said, “ask me again.”

“You ... you ... slapped me,” I said, “and now you want me to ask you again?”

“Well, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,” she answered, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Now, ask me again.”

My first thought was, “What??? She wants to make sure SHE isn’t dreaming and she slaps ME?”

Then I repeated those thoughts.

“What? You want to make sure YOU aren’t dreaming and you slap ME?” I think a deaf person could have heard the astonishment in my voice.

“If I slapped myself it would probably hurt,” she answered, as though she was speaking with someone mentally impaired. “Now, ask me again.”

To tell you the truth, it wasn’t much of a slap. Barely what you would even call a slap.

But I decided to have a little fun with it.

“Aww,” I yelled as I reached up and touched my face, when she had slapped me. “I think you dislocated my jaw!”

“Jack!” she said, softly and I think I could hear a little warning in her voice.

“In fact, I think my jaw is broken,” I continued, then made another “Aww,” comment as I touched my face again.

“Jack!” Deena said again, not quite as softly. Yeah, definite warning tone.

“My whole face is bruised, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up with a black eye since you hit me so hard,” I kept going.

“Jackson!” came her words this time, definite lower tone and much throatier.

“In fact, I think I have whiplash since the impact jerked my head back so hard,” I continued.

“Jackson O’Brien,” she growled, yes growled, “you are going to have whiplash, a black eye, a broken jaw, a bruised face and a busted lip if you don’t shut up and ask me again.”

“How can I both shut up and ask you anything?” I inquired, then couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the look on Deena’s face.

Then I carefully reached out and grabbed both of her hands in mine.

Hey, you can never be too careful!

“Deena, I love you,” I said, “Will you marry me?”

I was still holding both of her hands in mine so all she could do is say, “YES! YES! YES!”

Then her arms were around my neck, her tongue was deep in my mouth and her boobs were pressed hard against my chest.

After that, words were not required for about 45 minutes or so. And, yes, I used my mouth on her beautiful pussy again.

As we were lying there I could not ever remember being happier.

I just wished my Dad were still alive, so he could meet Deena.

Then, thinking about my Dad caused me to remember some of the things he had said to me in the past.

I remember one time when he and my mother had had a serious argument. They barely spoke to each other for a week, then when they did they were so sickeningly sweet it made you want to throw up. For instance, at the dinner table: Mom, “Dear, could you please, pretty please pass me the mashed potatoes?” Dad, “Of course, Darling, is there anything else I can do for my little snookums’?”

After a week of this Dad came home from work early one day and he was carrying a dozen roses in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other.

I just looked at him. He stared at me for a minute, then came over to where I was standing.

“Jacky,” he said, (my father was also Jack, so growing up I was Jacky), “there will come some point in every relationship when you have an argument and YOU will be right. Not only will you be right, you will be the most right in the history of rightness (my Dad had a dramatic flair).

“You will be so right, your wife will know you are right, you will know you are right, anyone and everyone who knows you or her will know you are right.

“At that point,” he continued, “the only thing you can do is buy some flowers (raised one hand) and chocolates (raised the other hand), then go apologize to your wife!”

To say I was astonished would be an understatement.

“You are going to apologize for being right?” I asked.

“Of course not, Son, that would be silly,” he answered, “you are going to apologize for being a male.”

This time I couldn’t even form words because I think my jaw was resting against my chest.

My Dad took pity on me.

“I think the very first thing little girls learn, while still wearing diapers, is that it is always ... always ... always ... a guy’s fault. No matter what, no matter where, no matter when, if a guy is involved ... it is his fault. Even if the guy was not there and it could not possibly be his fault ... it is still his fault since he SHOULD have been there.

“If you are wrong, then you are wrong, BUT if you are right, then you are still wrong, because you are a guy!

“The sooner you can accept that, the better off you will be. No matter who said what, hell, half the time I don’t even know why I am wrong, I just know somehow I am because I am a guy.

“Sometimes, like the past week, I forget but your mother has been patiently waiting all week for me to remember just how wrong I am. Even though I am right, I am still wrong.”

“Dad,” I said, somewhat hesitantly, “you aren’t exactly painting a rosy picture of marriage here.”

He just smiled at me.

I also remembered other little tidbits, or pearls of wisdom as he called them, he has shared with me.

“Women have two rules: Rule Number One is – the woman is always right. Rule Number Two is – even if you think you have encountered a situation where the woman might, possibly, be wrong, re-read Rule Number One.

“Males must always remain calm, unless the woman wants him to be angry or upset. The woman must NEVER let the male know if she wants him to be angry or upset.

“The only important thing is what the woman meant, not what she said.

“If a woman says FINE, then don’t believe for a second that anything is fine.

“No man has ever won an argument with a woman because the woman ALWAYS has the final word in any argument. Anything the man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.”

I do remember one time Dad did, indeed, have the last word. I always worked on my homework at the kitchen table and was sitting there while Mom was cooking. Usually Dad did all the cooking but he had called and said he would be late, so Mom had to get involved.

Don’t get me wrong. It isn’t that Mom is a BAD cook – just an indifferent one. And her pies, especially peach, apple, strawberry and sweet potato are in a league of their own, but for most foods ... well, like I said, Mom was an indifferent cook.

Mom, on those occasions when she actually WAS cooking was usually a quiet cook, but that day she was banging pots and pans and making a lot of noise. Obviously she was upset with something. When my Dad came home, he walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer and twisted off the cap.

Mom glared at him and said, “I’m not talking to you!”

Dad took a drink, said “Ok!” and started walking to the living room.

“Well,” Mom asked, “don’t you want to know why?”

Dad said, “Not really. I mean we have been married a long time and I love you. I just want you to know I respect and trust your decision.”

Mom was speechless!

Another “pearl of wisdom” really left me scratching my head:

“The female praying mantis devours her male minutes after mating, while the female human prefers to stretch it over a lifetime.”

Some of the things he came up with were so outrageous (at least it seemed to me before I started dating), I would sometimes ask my Mom about some of them. Usually she would make a comment like, “Your Dad thinks he is a comedian,” or “Your Dad thinks he is funny,” but once or twice – when it was REALLY weird stuff – she would say “Your Dad is an idiot.”

However when I asked her about the female praying mantis and the human female, she had this startled look on her face, thought for a minute, then said, “Well, even a broken clock is right twice a day,” then walked off laughing. And the more she laughed, the more maniacal the laughter became.

There were times I thought I had the weirdest family in the world!

I remember at one point telling my Dad he was going to give me emotional scars for life with all these rules about women and I would never be able to develop a long-term relationship with a woman.

He smiled, somewhat wistfully, then said, “One day you will be minding your own business and you will see her. If you are at the beach she might be wearing a bikini, or she might be walking down the street wearing one of those summer outfits, I think they call them sundresses, or she might have on a pair of skin tight blue jeans or very short, form fitting shorts. As soon as you see her, you will know deep in your heart that finally, here is a woman you are perfectly content with to let her slowly drive you completely out of your mind, one ‘Yes, Dear,’ after another!”

“Dad!” I complained but he just slowly walked away with a big smile on his face.

Remembering what my Dad had told me about how it is always the guy’s fault, I knew I had to apologize. Still not completely sure what I had done wrong, but, hey, I’m a guy.

“Deena, Honey,” I began, “I ... I just want you to know how sorry I am about what happened and...”

That was all I got out before Deena pressed her fingers against my lips.

“No, Jack,” she said, “I was wrong, it was all my fault and I need to apologize to you. I’m sorry, Jack.”

Holy Crap. Deena is saying she was wrong and it was all her fault and she is apologizing to me?

My Dad never told me how to handle this situation!

Deena explained how out of control her life had become after her Dad’s death and her Mom’s injury and subsequent drinking and drug use and what the guidance counselor had told her about the only thing she could actually control was her reaction to events in her life.

How successfully she had done that ... up until the point where she broke into my house. Then not only was her life out of control, but she actually lost control of herself, and her reaction to what I was doing to her.

Of course I kept trying to apologize for the things I had done to her, but she kept telling me to “hush” and let her talk.

When I had said the things I did in front of Bob and Sue about how she threw herself at my feet and begged, it again reminded her of how helpless she had felt at first.

As our conversation escalated once we were in our room, it just reminded her more and more how out of control she had become.

“It was just so ... mortifying I guess Scarlett would say, but the more we said to each other the more I remembered how helpless I felt and just became more and more embarrassed – and angry,” Deena explained.

I again tried to apologize, but this time she replied with a little heat in her voice.

“Jack, you don’t understand,” she said, “I was so in control of everything in my life I had lost most of my friends. If someone suggested going to Steak ‘n Shake for a meal, I had to insist on IHOP. If they suggested IHOP, I had to insist on Steak ‘n Shake.

“No matter what anyone else suggested, I had to insist on something different because I had to be in control – of EVERYTHING. Like I said, that need to be in control had already cost me nearly all my friends.

“It has been less than 24 hours, but I now realize if I had continued on that path ... I was going to become a very lonely, very bitter woman. No friends, no boyfriend, and no husband ... I mean what kind of a man would have put up with someone like what I had become? And God help them if I somehow came up pregnant and had kids!

“What you did to me ... yes, it was very humiliating at first. I was so angry at you for taking control away from me.

“I now ... now realize you have shown me a different path. That my life can be different. Yes, I still feel the need to be in control some but I also know that I don’t HAVE to be in control.

“I can give you ... willingly give you ... control. Because I know you love me just as much as I love you and you will never do anything to hurt me. That you will always be by my side.”

We kissed and cuddled for a while, but I still wasn’t through.

“Okay, Deena,” I said, “but I do want to make one thing clear. I will NEVER hurt you like I did that first time. I will NEVER spank...”

Deena put her hands up to my lips and stopped me.

She turned beet red again before saying anything else.

“Jack, yes it hurt so much at first,” she said, “but after a while ... it really (and she blushed even more) really started feeling good and sexy. I almost didn’t want you to stop.

“Yes, Jack,” she added, “we ARE going to do that again. But this is one of those times when I have to be in control and by that I mean I have to be in control of WHEN I turn control over to you.

“And in case you are wondering,” she added with a big smile, “the next time there might be more than just one ... just one finger in my ... bottom.”

Sometime later, after making love again, Deena and I were laying together when she remembered we were now engaged.

“Wow,” she said, “we’re engaged! Can we go out and pick out an engagement ring now?”

“Of course, Honey,” I answered, “however I think we need to make that the second thing we buy. Something else has to take precedence.”

“What, Love of My Life, could possibly take precedence over our ... OUR engagement ring?” Deena asked with a very curious look on her face.

“Have you ever heard a military fighter jet taking off, using full afterburners?” I asked.

“Actually, yes,” Deena answered, “My Dad took me to a couple of military Air Shows. I’ve seen the Blue Angels and Thunderbirds. Why?”

“Well, Dear Heart,” I answered and couldn’t keep the smirk off my face, “When you orgasm, or take off, you are just about that loud! I need ear plugs.”

Come On! It was FUNNY! Even brilliant.

Unless, of course, when you orgasm you actually are about as loud as a military fighter jet taking off using full afterburners.

Next thing I knew Deena was sitting up in bed and her face was just about as red as it was just before she tackled me, taking us both into the hot tub.

“I AM NOT THAT LOUD,” she hollered.

“Maybe a few decibels difference,” I admitted, with an even bigger smirk on my face.

She just glared at me for a minute or two when suddenly she got the biggest smile on her face.

“You know, Jack,” Deena began, “I am probably like most women. I really prefer to eat meals at nice restaurants, where you can sit down and savor every bite. Like at an expensive steak place where you can get a juicy steak with a loaded baked potato. You can just enjoy every single bite and eat at your leisure, no matter how long it takes.

“Occasionally, however, there is something to be said for fast food places. Instant gratification at its finest.”

Now I was wondering how this conversation turned from talking about engagement rings, to noisy orgasms and ear plugs and now to fancy restaurants and fast food places.

I responded the only way I could think about.

“Are you hungry?” I asked Deena.

Growing up I would sometimes hear my Mom said to my Dad, “Jack! Jack! Jack!” Remember, back then I was Jacky and my Dad was Jack. Those words would always be said in a tone of voice implying my Mom was dealing with a supreme idiot and it was high time she tried to show him the error of his ways and straighten him out.

Now, not only did I hear Deena repeating those same words, “Jack! Jack! Jack!” but incredulously in the EXACT same tone of voice my Mom used to use.

How do women do that? Is it some innate, something they are born with, or is it something they learn over time?

“Jack! Jack! Jack!” Deena began, “there is a little something I need to tell you. Something ALL women know, but very, very few men ever find out about.”

I wisely didn’t answer.

“Did you know, Jack, that the female praying mantis (I felt a chill run up and down my spine) rips off the head of the male and devours him within minutes after mating, but the female human prefers to take her time and devour her mate slowly?

“Now while I much prefer to devour my meals ... and my prey, I mean mate ... over an extended period I must admit there are times I think the female praying mantis has it right.

“Just rip his head off after mating and devour him on the spot. Instant gratification!

“I love you, Jack, and just want you to know ... I will miss you.

“Now, are there any questions, Jack?”

“Just one,” I answered and couldn’t help but notice the disbelieving look on Deena’s face that I would dare have a single question.

“Are we ready to go and pick out an engagement ring?” I asked, “It has to be a beautiful ring for my beautiful bride-to-be.”

I think I heard Deena mutter, “Nice Save,” before she added something in a chilling tone of voice, “This Time!”

When we left the hotel we first stopped and had lunch. Deena had never eaten German food before so we opted for a sampler plate that had a little bit of everything on it including: Sauerbraten (Roast Beef Stew), Schweinshaxe (Pork Knuckle), Rinderroulade (Beef Roll), Bratwurst (Grilled Sausage), Kartoffelpuffer (Potato Pancake), Kartoffelkloesse (Potato Dumplings), Sauerkraut (Fermented Cabbage) and Spätzle (Egg Noodles).

Deena didn’t care much for the Schweinshaxe but pretty much loved everything else.

After lunch we spent an hour at a jeweler’s picking out a beautiful engagement ring, then walked around Helen for the rest of the day.

We stopped and had photographs taken at one of the places specializing in “old timey” photos where you wear period costumes. I was the Desperado, Black Bart, while Deena, wearing a pretty skimpy costume, was a bar maid.

I also did something I had never done before. I went clothes shopping with a woman!

The only clothes Deena had was what she had worn up here (shorts, panties and a hoodie), so we bought another pair of shorts (though of much nicer quality), a pair of designer jeans that looked like she had been poured into them, a really nice hoodie and a small change purse that would fit into her front pocket.

I couldn’t help but notice when Deena transferred everything from her old shorts into the change purse the only things she had were her driver’s license, a ten dollar bill and a few quarters.

We also visited a store specializing in ladies’ lingerie! It is none of your business what we bought there but I LOVED it and couldn’t wait to see Deena model it for me back at the hotel. I would have liked to have bought Deena even more lingerie but there is only so much you can buy when you are riding a motorcycle.

By the time we made it back to the hotel it was nearly seven pm and Deena couldn’t wait to show Bob and Sue the engagement ring.

I think they were both a little shocked I had already proposed to someone I still had known for less than a full day but Sue did have a question for me.

“What IS it with you Marines and tall, skinny-ass redheads?” she asked. Then before I could even answer, she had some advice for Deena.

“You need to get some meat on your bones, Girl,” she told Deena, “if you are going to keep your man warm at night.”

Deena blushed, of course, then blushed even more when I informed Sue that Deena was having NO problem keeping me warm at night.

When I asked what she was talking about with the reference to Marines and tall, skinny-ass redheads, that was when I found out my old buddy, Sam Johnson, had been here a few days earlier with a tall, skinny-ass redhead and after only one night in the Honeymoon Suite, they were also engaged.

“Sam?” I asked, and Deena could hear the amazement in my voice. “Sam is engaged?”

When Deena asked about Sam I had to explain about Sam being married for four years to a supermodel and Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. How Sam had been floundering for the past six years.

That, in fact, Sam’s wife was half-owner of the hotel and Sam had inherited that when she died.

The only reason I knew so much about Sam was the first time we met, just after I got out of the Marines, I was staying at the hotel and Sam walked in. We were both wearing Marine Corps ball caps and, hopefully this doesn’t shock too many people, but when former Marines get together ... they share an occasional adult beverage.

Sam got pretty drunk and I might have been slightly inebriated myself.

I remember that we were actually encouraged to leave one particular establishment after we started singing Marine Corps running, or cadence songs. “Encouraged to leave” sounds a lot nicer than saying we had actually been thrown out of that establishment.

Sam had been a drill instructor and knew ALL of the songs, even the ones I had forgotten about. And we sang a number of those before being “asked” to leave.

One of the nicer ones was:

“I don’t know,

But I’ve been told,

Eskimo pussy’s,

Mighty cold.

Oorah!

Get Some!

Oorah!

Get Some!”

And if that was one of the nicer ones, you can only imagine what some of the others were. Or, on second thought, perhaps you can’t imagine, but trust me on this.

I don’t think Sam remembered too much else of what was said that night, but he ended up telling me all about Lisa, his late wife.

“I suppose his new wife is also a supermodel?” I asked Sue and was shocked to hear that, in fact, Julie (his fiancée) and Deena (my fiancée) looked enough alike to be sisters.

“Deena is probably several inches taller than Julie,” Sue said, “but, yeah, they could easily be sisters.

“Both are very, very pretty (Deena blushed) but, and don’t take this the wrong way, Deena, not supermodel perfect.”

“What is the name of that song by Alabama you like so much, Sue? I asked. “Close enough to perfect for me?

“Deena is close enough to perfect for me,” I said. That earned me an enthusiastic kiss.

Bob and Sue insisted on buying us dinner to celebrate the engagement and we agreed to meet in the lobby at 7:30.

We spent a wonderful hour and a half at dinner and got back just a few minutes after 9 pm before Deena and I retired to our room and I got to watch a live modeling session.

I even got to help the model dress ... and undress.

Damn, I forgot the ear plugs.

We slept late the next morning (Sunday). Actually, we weren’t exactly sleeping.

Before we left we found out that Deena and I, along with my Marine buddy Sam and Julie, were responsible for Bob devising a whole new marketing campaign for the hotel.

Or as he explained it:

“There are a ton of things to do in Helen and the surrounding area,” he said. “We have, within a few miles, world-class rapids or a lazy day just floating down the river on an inner tube. We have beautiful waterfalls and challenging mountain hiking and biking trails. We have great places to dine, and wonderful places to shop. There are tons of mountain crafts and arts to choose from.

“But, let’s face it, Helen is not necessarily the most romantic place in the world.

“We call it the ‘Honeymoon Suite,’ but I can only think of one couple who actually honeymooned here. And they were actually from Helen and had dated in high school. Then her parents moved to California and his moved to Texas. Both married other people, then divorced before finding each other on social media.

“They honeymooned here because of the memories. Maybe it was different in my father’s time or his father’s time.

“Sam and Julie only spent one night in the Honeymoon Suite before they were engaged. Hell, Jack, you and Deena didn’t even make it past a few hours before the two of you were engaged.

“I plan on calling it the Pre-Honeymoon Suite. Imagine advertisements saying, ‘Hey, guys, ready to pop the question but not sure if she will say YES! Stay in the Pre-Honeymoon Suite and you can almost be guaranteed she’ll give you the answer you want.’

“For Ladies, the ads will read: ‘Ladies, tired of JUST being a girlfriend? Stay in our Pre-Honeymoon Suite and he will fall in love with you all over again. Just be ready when he drops to his knees and asks.’

“Both ads will end with the tagline: ‘All’s fair in love and war.’”

“I haven’t seen Bob this excited,” said Sue with a big smile, “since ... since he read about the guy running three miles in 30 seconds.”

That broke the three of us up, but for some reason Bob just scowled.

“Go ahead,” he said, “Laugh! They laughed at all the geniuses. They laughed at Alexander Graham what’s his name when he invented the door bell and they laughed at Einstein and electricity.”

It may have been a few minutes before Sue, Deena or I could talk since we were laughing so hard.

Finally, Sue stopped laughing long enough to ask, “Do you want to tell him or should I?”

I told him it was Alexander Graham Bell, and he actually invented the telephone, not the doorbell, while Deena explained he was probably thinking about Thomas Edison, not Einstein. Although, as she went on, Einstein invented the light bulb, not electricity. In fact, most of what Einstein knew about electricity he probably stole from Nikola Tesla.

“Well, when I win the marketing idea of the year, we’ll see who has the last laugh,” Bob said.

Still laughing, we left Helen around 10 am, stopped for lunch and arrived back at my place at about 1 pm.

I had gotten a text from the truck dealership late Saturday saying my truck was repaired and they offered to drive it to my house and leave it for me, so the truck was waiting on us when we got back.

Deena and I made love several times all Sunday afternoon, before going to a steak restaurant, and yes, Deena SLOWLY devoured her meal while smiling so sweetly and innocently at me the entire time.

Back at my place we made love again and again, until finally it was time to take Deena home.

We had spent hours discussing this already. Deena really needed to go home and check on her Mom, and tell her Deena was now engaged.

At Deena’s insistence, I dropped her off at a convenience store about a quarter-mile from her house. Deena could buy a few things for her Mom to eat, and Deena would call me the next day and we could begin arranging to spend the rest of our lives – together.

I have a small safe at home where I keep some of my guns, along with some cash for emergencies. About $1,000 or so. Remembering Deena only had a $10 bill on her, while Deena was taking a shower I took a $100, two $50s and 10 $20s and put it in her change purse.

I might not be the most sensitive guy in the world, but I still knew that giving a girl $400 after making her spend the weekend with you and having sex multiple times might send the wrong signal.

Around 9 pm (it was dark), we drove to the convenience store and exchanged some tongue before Deena got out of my truck. I think we were both crying some.

I can’t even tell you how much I missed her that night and my dreams were filled with the thoughts of a long legged redhead.


I certainly never imagined the next time I saw Deena, it would be while she was sitting in the interrogation room at the Sheriff’s Department, after she had been arrested and charged with murder.

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