Knox County Ch. 01byRehnquist©
This will be a long story set out over a series of chapters. There will be many characters, and not all of them will be getting some in every scene. Actually, as currently plotted, some of them won't be getting any for quite some time.
I hope you will give the story a go and let me know any suggestions you may have. The fun part about creating characters and maneuvering them through a story is allowing them to be themselves and, to a certain degree, be normal while still allowing for unusual and unexpected twists in the plot. And, of course, for steamy sex.
Thanks to all, and any and all comments, even negative comments, are greatly appreciated. But please don't just tell me the story sucks; tell me why you think it sucks. I'd also appreciate comments on which characters you like, dislike, are intrigued by, and so on. Thanks again!
Sean McMahon stood in the receiving line, murmuring and shaking hands. He no longer heard what they said; it was always the same. "Sean, I'm so sorry," or "It's a blessing, Sean," or "She's happier where she is, Sean." The words no longer mattered. They were a blur, and he only murmured in response to most of them and shook their hands, thanking them for coming and their kind thoughts.
Roger stood next to him, and he noticed Roger clapping backs and chatting amiably. Sean heard him tell more than a few mourners that he'd be fine, he'd pull through. But the words didn't register. His mind was getting hazy, and he only wanted the night to end.
Sean didn't get his focus back until the ride home. He was in the passenger seat of Roger's Jaguar, Emily scrunched up in the back amidst piles of documents and prints.
"You should take some time off, try to get past this," Roger said. Sean looked out the window at the dark landscape. The outlines of the trees caught his attention and he drew them in his mind. "Did you hear me?" Roger pressed.
Sean didn't look at him. "Yes, Roger," he said, his voice little more than a whisper.
"This has been a dreadful time for you," Emily chirped in from the backseat. "You should do what Roger says."
There were cows on the far end of the field now, a few standing, munching on grass, most of them laying in the pasture.
"Well?" Roger said.
Sean sighed. "I'll think about it," he offered.
"Then it's settled," Roger said. "I'll send Emily around with some brochures, some ideas for you. This weekend shall we say?"
When they pulled into his driveway, Sean left the car without a word and went into his home. House really, he thought. It wasn't a home anymore, not with Holly gone. It seemed empty, bare, devoid of life. Like Carlin said, just a place to put his stuff.
He went into his office, sat behind the desk, and reached down for a bottle of Jameson's stashed in the bottom drawer. He pulled it out and poured himself a solid glass of pure booze. Once done pouring, he tossed the whole glass down, tasting nothing, feeling the burn as it made its way down his throat into his stomach. He poured another and left the glass next to the bottle on the desk. As his eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, he began to make out shapes. There, on the wall, a painting of Holly just after a long afternoon of gardening. On the table beneath it one of Holly's dried flower arrangements. The leather armchair in the corner, deep burgundy leather, picked out by Holly. He scanned the room and it was all Holly. All except his diploma, placed there by Holly in a frame picked out and purchased by Holly.
"Aw fuck," he said, sweeping his arm across the desk and sending it all crashing to the floor below. He sunk his head in his arms, crying. He reached out for the glass of whisky and, when he couldn't find it, slumped in the chair for a moment before getting up to clean the mess.
When he rounded the desk and looked down, his eyes were caught by how it had all fallen. The heavy tumbler had hit the corner of the desk and broken into six or seven pieces, the half-drained bottle resting in the remains of the bottom, liquid seeping into a couple of paperbacks and onto a desk calendar, pens and pencils scattered from their cup. And, in the middle of it all, a small picture of Holly on their wedding day, smiling out in sepia tones from the crazy angle at which the frame had come to rest against the desk.
Sean looked at it from all angles: top, floor level, each side, across the room. He turned on the desk lamp and repeated the process. No, he thought, not yet. He turned off the desk lamp and turned on the reading lamp next to the armchair. Better, he though, but not quite yet. He unplugged the desk lamp and placed it in the corner, next to the reading lamp, plugged it in, and turned them both on. That's it, he thought.
He left the room and hustled back in a few minutes later, charcoal pencils and erasers in one hand, a large sketching pad in the other. He laid on the floor, the shadows sweeping from left to right across the dark hardwood floor. His tears were dry, his eyes focused, and his hands started racing over the paper.
* * *
Cynthia Holloway cruised along Route 36, ignoring the speed sign when she entered Armitage, Pop. 8600. The top was down, the moon was up, and the winds were sweeping down the car and up into her short tennis skirt. She felt the excitement build as her eyes swept both sides of the road. It was a little after nine, and she was on her way home from the Club. Her regular Tuesday afternoon of tennis, Tuesday evening dinner with the girls accompanied by a few cocktails, her regular route home.
There was nothing else to do on Tuesday nights. David rarely came home before midnight on Tuesdays–hell, he was rarely home before eight any other day of the week. She figured–no, she knew–he was having an affair. She didn't know who with, but he was fucking someone else. There was no other way to figure it, no other reason for him to be there so late, so long after all of his employees had left. So fuck him, she'd do what she wanted. Consequences be damned.
A quarter mile in, just past the Tastee Freeze, she saw him pull out, the red lights spinning. Shit, she thought, must've been behind a truck in the lot. She flipped on her turn signal and turned left on Ashburn Street, a half block from John Glenn Middle School.
The cruiser slid in behind her and flipped off the dome lights. The street became darker, barely lit by the streetlights on each corner. The first thing Cynthia noticed was the breeze, the cool night breeze blowing across her skin, raising light goosebumps on her arms and the exposed tops of her breasts. The second thing she noticed was the officer getting out of the car and walking toward her.
He was tall, about six three, and well built. His shoulders were wide, his hips narrow, his forearms muscular. She saw thick light brown hair peeking out from beneath his hat, and a wide grin across his face denting his cheeks with dimples. He was late twenties, maybe seven or eight years younger than her. And his walk told her that tonight he meant business. She sucked in her breath.
"May I please see your license and registration?" She handed them to him. He gave them a cursory glance before speaking again. "Do you know why I pulled you over, Ma'am?"
She smiled. "No. Was I doing something wrong?"
He smiled, revealing a perfect row of white teeth and, again, those dimples in his cheeks. "I had you clocked at 47 in a 35," he said. He raised an eyebrow.
She said nothing, only smiled in return.
"Ms. . . uh," he looked at the driver's license and continued. "Ms. Holloway, have you been drinking this evening?"
She shook her head. "No, just one or two."
He nodded. "Ms. Holloway, I'm going to ask you to pull your car into the parking lot over there." He pointed behind the school. "I'm going to ask you to go over there, stop the car, and exit the car. Do you understand these instructions?"
"Because," he said, tucking her license and registration into his pocket, "I'm going to have to ask you to submit to a sobriety test. And I don't want to do it on this dark street in the middle of the night."
She nodded, started her car, and did as she was told. He followed behind in the police cruiser.
She was already out of her car before he came to a stop and killed the engine on his cruiser. She was leaning against the cool metal of her BMW, waiting, anticipating, lightly rubbing her ass through the thin materials of her skirt and panties against the cool metal of the car door.
"I'm going to ask you again," he said as he approached her, "how much did your drink?"
She shrugged in response.
"That's what I thought," he said, unfastening his gunbelt and throwing it across the trunk of her car. "I'm going to have to give you a breathalyzer test," he continued, unzipping his fly and tugging his cock out of his pants.
"I sure hope I pass this time," she said, standing up to kiss him deeply while reaching down to tug at him with her hands.
She felt him grow hard in her hands, and he groaned around his tongue into her mouth. His hips began to sway, helping her. His left hand went behind her and grabbed her ass, squeezing it and pulling her into him, his right hand massaging her breast roughly.
Her kisses became more frantic, more deep, her tongue darting around his mouth intertwining with his tongue. She took her hands away and reached around him, grabbing his ass and grinding herself yet harder against him. She felt his cock, now hard as a rock, pushing into her belly. She groaned and started kissing his neck, her tongue darting at his earlobe and around the collar of his shirt.
After a moment, she felt him grab her ponytail and pull her head back. "I said a breathalyzer," he hissed, pulling her head down by the ponytail.
She complied and knelt before him. Her hands never left his ass, and she kneaded them as she drew level with his exposed cock. "What's this?" she said, licking up the underside. She felt the ridges with her tongue, the pulsing of the veins throbbing against her lips as she reached the base. She reached one of her hands around and undid his belt buckle and button, opening his pants and pulling them, and his boxers with them, down to the middle of this thighs.
"I think we need to be more thorough, don't you?" she said, looking up. He nodded through half-closed eyelids, and she started stroking and squeezing his balls while her tongue went back to work. She traced her lips up and down, slowly, flicking her tongue the whole length until she got to the top. Her tongue then stayed out, tracing a slow circle around the rim of the head of his cock, then over the whole head, then back to the rim.
She heard his breathing, shallow but steady, and she knew he was watching her. Her brown hair, tied up in a ponytail, moving back and forth. Her hand, stroking his balls. Her pert ass, pooched out as she knelt before him. Oh yeah, he's getting quite a view, she thought. I may be thirty-six, she though, but I have the body of a college cheerleader.
She heard his breathing pick up as her hand left his balls and wrapped firmly around the base of his cock. She started stroking him, long and slow, and opened her mouth and took him in. He gasped, and she started moving her mouth up and down in time with her hand. She started shallow, just the head, but soon her mouth was following the top of her fingers as they traveled in synch up and down the length of his cock.
She started sucking, too, gobbling him in with her tongue, trying to get him further and further. To the back of her throat, then into her throat. He was gasping now, saying Oh yeah over and over, a few Oh Gods thrown in for good measure. He reached down and took her wrist, prying her hand off his cock with one hand and grabbing the back of her head with the other, pushing her further down, keeping her there.
She took him in as deeply as she could and held it there, feeling him pulsing and throbbing, his head lodged in the back of her throat, her tongue now going crazy against the length of him. Just as the lack of air caused her to choke, he slid out for a moment. She sucked in air, the cook night air, looking up at him. "I don't know," he said, "can't tell if you're drunk or not." He pushed his cock back at her lips and she took him back in. He started moving his hips back and forth, sliding back and forth into her mouth.
She reached down with her now free hand, snaking her finger into her panties. She was soaking, her panties soaking, her lips hot and swollen. She traced the length of her slit, concentrating on the cock in her mouth as she pulled her finger back against the hard nub of her clit. She heard more moaning now, and she knew it was herself, moaning around his cock as it started picking up speed in her mouth. Her finger started rubbing more frantically, circling her clit repeatedly before sliding into her wet folds. She held her finger there and pressed back with the side of her hand against her clit, the hard tendon of flesh running from her clit deep into her folds, her other hand now clawing at his ass as he thrust into her.
She felt it building from deep within her pelvis. The warm glow, tingles, her nerve endings dancing with sensations, all starting at her clit and spreading deep into her. Her moaning around his cock was getting more insistent.
"C'mon, baby," he said, holding her head still as he pistoned his cock back and forth in her mouth. "C'mon, I can feel it."
Then it crashed, engulfing her whole body, her limbs shaking. She pulled him deep into her mouth, nearly passing out from the lack of oxygen. Her hand was soaked by her juices, and she pressed them harder and harder into her, against her clit, trying to make it last longer.
"Oh yeah, baby," he said. "C'mon, keep going."
She did, pulling her mouth from his cock, hugging his legs tight, her body shaking, gasping as her orgasm ripped through her.
When her breathing returned to normal, she looked up at him and smiled. "Did I pass?"
He grinned and reached down to lift her up. "Not yet you haven't," he said. He spun her around and pushed her over the hood of the car. She felt her skirt go up and her panties were torn down to her ankles. "My turn now," he said.
She felt his hand in the middle of her back, keeping her down on the hood of the car. She tried to turn and look back at him, but he was pressing her down too hard. Then she felt it, the head of his cock, rubbing up and down the length of her slit, spreading her juices.
"Is this what you want?" he said.
"Yes," she gasped. She tried to push out against the intruder, but his hand on her back kept her from impaling herself.
"How about this?" he said. She felt the head travel upwards and rest against the knot of her asshole, pushing in lightly.
She said nothing, biting her lip in response.
"How about it?" he said, increasing the pressure a little more. "You want me to tear into your ass?" She raised up, onto tiptoes, trying to realign it with her pussy, but his height put her at a disadvantage.
"Please no," she said, trying to lift her legs. "Please fuck my pussy. Please."
She felt him lower his cock and rub it again up and down the length of her slit. "This?" he said. And before she could answer, she felt him thrust into her as hard as he could, filling her to the hilt and knocking her breath out. He pulled back out and thrust in again, back out and in again.
She grunted with each thrust, the force hurting the back of her thighs. And she loved it. Her back arched, her head lifted, and she moaned to the night sky. "Yes, just like that. Fuck me, punish me. Of fuck yes."
He said nothing, but she could hear his breathing going shallow as he tried to keep up the pace. She felt his fingers between her legs, gathering up her juices and sliding them upwards. She felt them brush against her asshole before returning for more, again and again, covering her in a sea of her own excitement. This was peripheral, though. All she really felt was the invasion deep within her followed by emptiness, invasion then emptiness. He was going his entire length every time, hard and fast, and she felt another orgasm building.
She closed her eyes and moaned, concentrating in the tightening of her muscles. Somewhere in the back of her mind she felt a pressure against her rosebud, an insistent pushing into the crinkly knot of her asshole. She couldn't concentrate on it, though, because the slamming in her pussy was causing sensory overload.
"Oh God yes," she cried, lowering her cheek back to the now cool metal of the hood and moaning into the crook of her arm. Her legs were spasming, her stomach tightening, her nerve endings again aglow. She felt a piercing in her ass and gasped with the unexpected suddenness of his thumb plunging in, filling her to the brink. She was full, so full, and she tried to thrust back against him. But she couldn't. Her legs were all wobbly now, the muscles twitching with the force of the orgasm that began rocketing through her.
She was overwhelmed, on fire everywhere. She felt her pussy throbbing, her asshole clenching and unclenching around its invader, and waves of pleasure wash from her core through her abdomen and out to the ends of her rock hard nipples and the roots of her scalp. She heard screaming–yes, yes, yes–and felt a hand clamp over her mouth, muffling her cries. And then, over her own muffled screaming, she heard him. "Just. Like. This." With the final word came the final thrust and she was filled with his throbbing cock, buried deep within her, convulsing with each spurt. Six, seven times she felt it convulse as her orgasm continued. Six or seven times she felt the spurts of molten lava shoot deep into her. And six or seven times she felt brief, almost illusory peaks in her own orgasm.
He stood there when he was done, catching his breath, beginning to grow soft inside her as her body turned to jelly and melted into the hood of the car.
"Holy shit, Cynthia," he said, pulling his thumb from her ass. She felt it close up and seal around the tip.
She only nodded, her cheek still against the hood.
"Holy shit," he repeated, and she heard him start giggling. "Fuck, you must've woke up the whole neighborhood.
"Fuck 'em, Tim," she murmured. She felt him pulling her panties back up, and she pushed her hips away from the car to allow him to get them the rest of the way up. Then he flipped her skirt down and rubbed her ass through the material.
"Someday," he said. He kept rubbing, kneading her cheeks. It felt good, relaxed her even more, almost putting her to sleep. She could only murmur her appreciation. "Yep," he continued, "someday I'm gonna fuck this ass." He gave her a final squeeze before stepping back and pulling his own pants up.
She lay there for a minute until she knew he was done buckling up. Then she slowly turned around and pushed herself up from the hood, leaning back and supporting herself with her arms. "Why the fascination with my ass?" she said.
He leaned forward and nibbled her hear. "Because it's so tight," he whispered into her ear.
She hugged him to her. "Then maybe someday," she said.
He pulled away and reached into his pocket. "Best not forget these," he said, handing over her license and registration.
She took them and watched him walk back to the car, start it, and slowly pull away. He didn't turn on the headlights until he hit the entrance to the parking lot.
She looked around herself, taking in the dark cornfields at one edge of the lot and the darkened building at the other. In the distance she heard traffic from the highway, saw the occasional pair of headlights flicker through the trees and corn. It was silent, even the crickets were quiet. All she heard were the leaves rustling in the trees, the flag flapping in the breeze.