tagErotic CouplingsAll Wrong and Backasswards

All Wrong and Backasswards

byPayDay©

Author's Note: This is my story, I wrote it, stealing is lame. If you don't like it, don't read it. All comments, votes, favorites, and feedback (even the bad) is appreciated. This is the whole story at once (11 parts, no chapters). All characters are eighteen or over.

DISCLAIMER: This story is purposely out of order, and has been re-submitted for edits and numbering, so all feedback may have been valid at the time of original posting. Each section is numbered if you want to read the story in order. Sex is @ part 11. Hope you enjoy:

All Wrong and Backasswards OR

'Twas The Night Before Thanksgiving: A Cinderella Story

*** 8

As wrong as it was for it to be happening, Annabelle gave the best blow jobs. No other woman, of the few there were for the man since her, ever compared to her abilities. In the six years since he had been with her last, she had learned some new tricks.

The twisting wrist, sliding in opposite, and colliding, directions with her mouth, for instance. Somehow she had learned to roll her tongue while bobbing her head. Apparently she also learned a few tactics with her teeth versus her lips.

"Oooohhbellle....." That move definitely got the groan out of Fredrick as he leaned against the cold wall at the back of the local bar. She was sucking his balance along with his rod. For the life of him, he could not figure out how this woman, who dumped him, was back and suddenly gave better head, or why he was even letting her. He was forgetting why he cared; he had seen the drool on her jacket.

Fredrick could see her shoulder, just to the right of the drool from his vantage, moving with a vengeance beneath her long dark hair - longer than it had been before. She was rubbing her slit at a frantic pace, trying to mutual in unison as she dripped onto the asphalt from under her skirt. Her right hand, the one on his shaft, hooked a thumb below his sack, and began to pull it and roll it in time with her strokes.

Time was up, no one could see, and they were just out of the edge of the parking lamp above. "Belle, I love you..." Fredrick knew she was a swallower, and she had been watching his face the whole time. Her yellow eyes reflected in the night; even when he was not looking, he could feel the heat of their glare.

She pulled of his wet manhood - hand halfway and still holding his balls - and spoke. "I know you do, I'm glad you're ready for me now," her mouth was back on his piece instantaneously after her remark.

Each of his hands snatched a hairful of her soft mane, bunching, grabbing, and pulling it all at once as he forced himself down her swallowing throat. Annabelle had two fingers deep within, flicking her own clit with her thumb as he gushed into her mouth; the couple orgasmed together in tandem; soon after she was grabbing her breasts - over her coat - with her own hands, and he the wall for support. Annabelle had always loved the hair pull before she came.

Fredrick started to slide down the brick-face, 'weak knees' an understatement. She was sucking six years of unnecessary heartache out of him. When his head cleared, he finally felt Annabelle tucking his shrinking dick into his pants, and zipping him up. She spoke as she latched his belt.

"We should go to your place. I want to see what you've done with yourself, since you're ready now. I'll follow you." Fredrick walked Annabelle to her car, the same car she used to drive. When her keys hit the lock, he spun her around, pressed her to the car, and kissed her with passion.

It was the first kiss from her that felt utterly connected. She was not lying this time around, and she had parked right next to his car. It was the last thing she had seen of him - his odd old car - the day she left in the snow.

*** 2

"What the hell is wrong with you this morning?" It was actually near 11:00 AM, but they were fresh out of bed. Fredrick was loading the laundry into the machine as she stood in the unfinished doorway of the unfinished kitchen of the unfinished house. It was Sunday; he always did laundry on Sunday. Annabelle had helped him for the past four months, since he had met her, and since they had become friends. Well, 'more than friends' since two weeks after meeting.

"What the hell is wrong with me? Are you fucking stupid?" Annabelle was in a huff as she pushed aside the damp hanging laundry in the kitchen to pierce a vision his way.

They had spent the night drinking. "Did he not remember what I said? What we did?" That was all she could wonder.

Despite wonder, she did not care, and was now furious as he gave her the 'I don't understand why you are mad' look. Annabelle was out the door before he had a chance to finish loading the washer or put pants on.

Annabelle should have left hours ago, she should have left last night; one of her other boyfriends had called five times to try and get her to come back, and once this morning as well. She knew Fredrick loved her, but in her mind, he only loved what she let him know. He was not ready, not in her opinion.

He never called her bluffs; he never accused her of the obvious; this was becoming a problem.

He only ever tried to make her and everyone else happy - never himself. A few times he had asked her about some inconsistencies, but always in a factual nature, she had lied in return; Fredrick believed Annabelle lies, or so she thought.

Fredrick only ever called once, only ever left a message; he never tried to track her down, or pin her down. He never demanded of her, he never asked her "Who was that?" when she whispered into the phone or left the room with it. In fact, he never spoke while she was on the cell; in the car, when she received a call, he stayed silent, unconsciously aiding her schemes.

He trusted her; that was the problem; he wasn't a boy like her other friends, no, he was a young man; he was more a man every day she was around him. He had given her a key to his home the day after they first slept together, and he had made her wait for sex.

That's why she stayed, that's why she left; she hated the pain she caused to him, she hated the way he made her feel. Fredrick made her feel wonderful, as if she were finally worth something. At least, that is, until last night and this morning when he had failed to man up.

He had angered her without intention; hurt her without intention; he had bared a part of his soul in unison with her - and Annabelle was frightened of Fredrick's dark side.

There were bruises from his strength, tear marks from her own. Fredrick though, was so much darker than her; Fredrick had acted, in the last twenty-four hours, against every assumption she had made since she had met him.

She only had a thin coat, a hat, and a backpack. Her sneakers were too airy for the snow, deep fluff that fell during the night and pre-dawn early morning.

"At least let me drive you! Belle! What the hell is going on?!" He yelled to her in his boxers, all white trash, Annabelle now halfway down the street. By the way she held her head and scrunched into herself as she walked, he knew she was not cold; Annabelle was crying.

He had picked Annabelle up last night, at her request, only a few hours after a fight. This was the first weekend where he did not have to help anyone. This was his first two-day-off weekend since they had met, as he usually only had Sundays and late evenings off.

His future required work.

It was only her third day with him since she had said: "We can't be friends anymore."

This third time, she had decided to: 'Get drunk and sleep over.' The other two 'days' were really only evenings, only a few hours: A family visit for one, the other a movie together on the couch. Fredrick thought they were 'back where they were' after she said they were nothing at all.

She shot him that infamous finger and screamed, stopping one foot as her body scrunched together. "Don't you fucking follow meee!" the last word came out in depressed agony; Annabelle almost fell to the ground before barely continuing to walk; she never turned around.

He stood in only his underwear and nearly knee deep in snow, fallen snow steaming from his body; he stood there for minutes after she turned the corner.

He never had a chance to tell her he loved her. He never had a chance to tell her that he knew she was sleeping around, that he did not care she was a cheater. Fredrick never had a chance to try and work out the fuddles in their relationship.

It was a week before Valentine's, and he had already made her a gift.

*** 9

Annabelle had her hands in his pants as he was unlocking the door.

"What happened to the house?" She was breathing into his ear, whispering on her tip toes. Fredrick could see the steam of her breath pass his vision in the dim light of the lamp post.

"Uuuuuhhh.. I sold it.. ooooh.. Taxes are insane, rent's cheaper."

"Good, that place was a shithole." She was still whispering, still rubbing him off, but he had managed to unlock the door. Fredrick knew she only stayed with him in that shitty neighborhood, in that shithole of a house, because he was there.

He had known all along, but it was what he could afford on his own, then; it was the beginning of a life he thought he had to lead, until he met her.

Annabelle slid her hand out of his pants, and bounded up the dark stairs when the door opened.

Fredrick flicked the switch for the stairwell light to the small second floor apartment by the time she was halfway up. He took her coat when he reached the top of the stairs, placing it in the closet while she flicked every other switch and explored the home.

She still moved the same way; she still studied in the same way; she still made him feel the same way. The 'Annabelle Effect' that he loved so much, her natural vibe that made men love her and do as she asked, still teased his being. The 'Effect' had not drawn him to her; he had a natural resistance to it, but he still appreciated the feeling.

The smarts and attitude - the person - below, that had made him love her.

Fredrick saw past fronts, he always could; in the past four years, he had gotten better at it; his previous flaws that she had exposed, and exploited, no longer existed. Her nose ring was gone as well.

"You feel different. You have a child, don't you? Nono.. Wait... Someone got the best of you, didn't they?" He spoke to her as she studied a poster from his old home - now framed. Fredrick was leaning in the doorway to his living room with crossed muscular arms when she turned to look at him.

"You did... There was never a boy, a man like you." Annabelle was not looking at him as she spoke. She was looking at the picture of herself next to the calendar to his immediate left; herself from six years ago in jeans and a lacy white bra, holding his old pet rabbit.

Fredrick was about to speak, to say what needed to be said; Annabelle was faster and sharper - she always was - and that fact always turned him on.

"I know, we both handled it wrong. It's done. We start again, ok?" The look in his eyes as she finished was the same as it had been years ago; the same as it was in the bar when she caught his eye; he had the look of 'I think you are the most wonderful thing in the world' all across his face. Annabelle accepted it as the truth; she would trust him for once.

"Do you want to watch a movie...? Something to eat? Or you want a beer...?" Fredrick was actually at a loss. He wanted to sleep with her, to make love, but he didn't want to ruin what he had just found again. He didn't want to just fuck; he wanted this entire woman again, for once.

Annabelle was on him and pulling off his fleece and t-shirt as the thought crossed his mind.

*** 5

Fredrick only randomly saw her, and all but twice she was in her car.

The first time was a month after she had left in the snow. It was only a month because he did not leave his house, or bed, for anything but work. That's generally what happens when a person of a certain disposition loses everything they truly want.

She was at work that first time he had seen her since the day in the snow. He had not expected her to be there, but she was. He had only come to see his friend Dave, who also worked there, though at the fuel pumps. She had changed her shift.

They did not speak as he stood in grungy, filthy, work clothes; she only rang up his cup of java, never looking him in the eye. He looked down at her, but only for their height differences. He had tried to speak everything at once, only a single syllable came out. Annabelle looked like she wanted to cry, and she had gotten a nose piercing.

Fredrick simply left, it was more than he could handle, and too soon. He only waved to Dave a short distance away.

A week or so later, he passed her on the road. Then a month after that, she was in her car in a parking lot; they had made eye contact that day as well, both looking down as she was about to leave and he had just arrived. Just when he would get Annabelle out of his head, he would see her again.

This continued for years, they both lived in the same area; the surprise appearances always somewhere unexpected.

A few times he had seen a man in the car, in the passenger's seat. Annabelle had almost always let Fredrick drive her so that she could change the radio station every two seconds with more ease. He did not know, but he was the only one she ever let drive her vehicle.

He had also sworn she was on the Internet, nude and not in her car. He knew those eyes, he could never forget them. He knew her moles, their placement seared into his brain. Then again, he may have been projecting. He was more than likely projecting, as every restaurant they had been together in seemed hollow without the arguments about who would pay.

That was his first clue to her philandering, among many others; the money issue always set off alarms in his mind, the radio as well. He knew she oozed sex and men fell at her feet. He enjoyed the jealousy he caused when she was with him. Every man in the room always wanted her, their own dates and wives be damned.

Fredrick also knew it came with a price.

He still remembered the first fight they had, one of three in those four months. It was about how they were not dating, and he was just some guy.

"You're not my boyfriend, even if you think you are. I always pay." Annabelle was furious at him, and he could not figure out why.

"That's not true, and I never said I was. I go out of my way to not let you pay because it's the right thing to do," Fredrick's father had taught him to take care of women.

"Bullshit," the phrase from her triggered every part of his cheater warning system.

His brain was telling him she was lying, and that she paid all of the time for other men; that other men tried to pin her down when he just wanted any time she could spare as often as possible.

If she always paid, they had nothing to offer her and she could make a clean break. He held it in; he had no proof beyond his own actions, nothing to fight with in a fight that should not be happening.

Everything had gone strange that day, especially since after they left her mother's house. Apparently her mother had asked her "What's Freddy to you? I see him all the time?"

"Mom, we're just.. friends..." Annabelle hated her mother; she had no choice but to be there.

"Ok Anna, but you could use a man, and he's the only one I've ever see you with since you decided to stay with us..."

"He's just a friend. I have to go," Fredrick was waiting outside, and she still had to figure out how to explain why he saw her last night when she claimed to be home.

He had not made a big deal about it, instead mentioning it casually: "I swear I saw you earlier when I was chatting with Dave, before I came to pick you up..." He did not wait for an answer from her, as if he knew. He never brought it up again either.

By the time Annabelle was in the car, after speaking with her mother, she was making jokes about it with Fredrick. He did not respond in kind, instead he spoke seriously to her.

"Well, I don't want to say 'what are we' so," that was their private joke for silly boys, "what do you think I am?" He put her on the spot, the only time he ever did such a thing.

"I told her the truth, that you're just a friend." That statement seemed to agitate Fredrick, but he did not push. Instead he casually spoke on a new topic, explaining how he had to help someone all day Saturday, the next day, starting very early. He was ruining her plans to have fun by being a friend to someone else. None of the other 'boys' she went with ever did such things.

That's what made her leave for two weeks.

...and then he received her cold call. She had told him to leave her alone, so he did so, despite his pain. She called him, acted as if nothing had happened, said she needed to talk, and then came over.

"Look, I still want to be your friend," Fredrick could not stand her use of the word. He knew the difference, but he kept his mouth shut. "...and don't give me that 'I think you are the most wonderful thing in the world' look either, 'cause I'm not..." She was trying to tell him, she tried all the time.

"Well, I think you are... Belle, I really do," He wanted to tell her he loved her, that it wasn't like she thought, and that he was not stupid, but he was trying not to scare her away at the same time; he stayed as silent as he could. Fredrick was the only person to call her Belle as no one else ever asked past what she told them; the only other.

He had asked to see her license as proof to the use of his moniker, he had thought she was joking and he was trying to find out her last name at the same time.

"...but I'm not." Annabelle left it at that, and they watched a bad movie - their favorite kind. They lay together on the couch, Fredrick on his back, Annabelle on his front while he slowly massaged her, never making an actual pass. He was just glad to be with her, as always. The next day was Saturday, and for once, he had no where to be.

Before they fell asleep that night, together, naked, and after sex she initiated, Annabelle asked him to drive with her and meet her father and step mother; her father, the preacher. Her hopes were that he would put up the front she had seen him use. The 'I'm a stand-up individual who goes to church' front he had used for his own parents.

She was the preacher's daughter, and Annabelle was raised the same as Fredrick; far too religious and leading a double life: One life for church and family, one life for freedom in excess; dirty, dirty excess. Her level of freedom was greater than his, though not by choice.

He had to pay bills, he was growing up fast at twenty-three; Fredrick had a mortgage, insurance, maintenance costs, etcetera -- and he was doing it on his own.

She was free because her father had kicked her out of the house at nineteen when he had heard enough rumors of her deeds; though he still paid her bills and her rent was free with her mother. Stability was available to her, especially with her paycheck; her bills were only a cell phone and gasoline. She had met Fredrick three weeks after she moved to this state.

Fredrick, when he met her father, instead chose to be who he really was, just as he was to her mother and step-father. Her return had brought him confidence in who he was, and her mother thought he was great.

It was the worst thing Fredrick could have done, short of the pinch to her perfectly round - opposite of the freshly tattooed - ass cheek; and that was barely noticed by her little brother. The look she shot him when he did it was pure fire; pure: 'stop motherfucker' and stop now.

He did not realize his errors until they left; not fully until around 1:00 PM the next day. Annabelle had him start up the car; he was going to drive home. She and her father stood at the garage exit; the stern look of her father, and the sad state of her posture, said it all even though it did not fully register in Fredrick's mind.

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