Lady Behind The Wall

"AIEEEEHHH!"

The rushing flood of her cum smashed head-on into the penile blast of my cock as I shot my load into her. Where the two waves met, a starburst of ecstasy burst into being and burned itself into our brains. Her arms and legs turned to water and she fell loose-limbed on top of me, shuddering like a woman in the midst of a seizure. We spun together down a whirlpool of sexual pleasure, holding each other as the afterglow took us. When the room came back into focus, I withdrew from her pussy, stroking her with the gentlest of caresses. She was first to speak

"Oh, John. That was heavenly. Almost as good as our first time. I think you could bring me off with just your eyelashes and your voice. But I like this so much more. You're all I could ever ask for in a lover. I've taken your ring as a symbol that I belong to you. For I do belong to you, now and always. I love you so, my darling. I will be yours forever, my dearest love."

I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. Deirdre spoke for me as well as for herself. I simply gathered her to me, my hands brushing feather-light over her smooth skin and raven hair, content that she had accepted my proposal and was willing to be my wife.

*****

After New Year's life continued, but with a much greater sense of permanence. Deirdre formally bought in to Antony's salon as a partner, spending four days a week on the road servicing her elder clientele with the Bus of Beauty and one day at the salon working with her regulars. Its interior had been decorated with advice from Tasha. Jayne Bidermann had designed and airbrushed the logo on the exterior, which featured the Fire Fox from the Camp Jackson patches wearing a stylist's coat with combs and scissors in the pocket and a brush in hand. The Bus was an instant success and drew honks and waves wherever it went. In the end I'd had to cosign on the start-up loan, but the business of beauty was doing so well I had no doubt Deirdre would soon be able to renegotiate the loan solely in her own name. Antony was already talking about a prom-time PR stunt, a charity fundraiser, seeing how many girls they could push through the Bus of Beauty in one day.

We had discussed where to have the wedding. I had half-expected my love would want to hold it on sacred ground somewhere on the Cherokee Reservation. She preferred Fort Worth. She had been a congregant at a nonsectarian church she liked there. That was where she wanted to be wed, but using at least some parts of the Cherokee wedding ceremony, not merely the standard Christian one. I did some reading and concluded I could live with that. The Indian rite seemed to be more reality-based than weddings I'd attended in the past. It was a major improvement over the Vegas wedding chapel idea I had floated as a gag. We began to plan seriously, looking over the various hotels and function halls in Fort Worth online and from Deirdre's memory, reading menus, examining sales packages, searching for her wedding gown, drawing up guest lists and choosing invitations; all the rituals of the Modern American Wedding.

One afternoon I beat her home from work and collected the mail. There was a large envelope from a Texas law firm I didn't recognize in amidst the junk mail and wedding industry dreck addressed to Deirdre. I put it on the kitchen table for her and set about getting dinner going.

She got home a little after six, kissed me in passing and went upstairs for a hasty shower and change of clothes. I was just loading the dishes when she returned, giving me a proper kiss and full body hug Great-Aunt Elizabeth would have considered scandalous bordering on pornographic. We carried our plates to the table and I filled our wine glasses. She saw the letter but following our custom of not talking shop at table ignored it until we had cleared away and tea was poured. She opened and read it.

"John, this is incredible! What am I supposed to do about this?" She handed me the letter. It was from the law firm that handled Elvira Hartney's affairs. There were two official forms, duly signed, sealed and notarized inside.

The first was a formal notice of adoption. Mrs. Hartney apparently had not been joking when she had said she wished Deirdre was her granddaughter. She had executed adoption papers to make her a member of the Hartney family.

The second was a certified copy of her will, along with a cover letter stating the original was on file with the law firm against future need. It was simple enough, given that Mrs. Hartney had mentioned she had no close kin still living. The will gave funeral instructions and dealt with her estate. Each of the great-grandchildren was left $2,000, with the proviso that any who satisfactorily completed a term of military service and either reenlisted or was given an honorable discharge would receive $20,000 instead. Everything after funeral expenses and the bequests to the great-grandkids, cash, property and personal effects, came to Deirdre.

I read it twice. "It seems Miss Elvira is genuinely fond of you, darling. She would not have done this otherwise."

"Yes, but is it legal for her to adopt me and make me her principal heir, or whatever they call it? I can just see the blood relatives contesting something like this!"

"You've no idea what she's worth?"

"That's not the point. It's nice of her, but is this legal or will we wake up some morning to find a process server waiting on the doorstep with a nice, fat lawsuit alleging undue influence or something?"

"I don't see any trouble here. Heaven knows Miss Elvira is completely in her wits and you talk to her on the phone at least once a week; but Richard will know. Let's ask him."

We got Tasha on the phone. After the usual exchange of pleasantries, I asked if I could talk to Richard in his professional capacity. I'd changed my legal representation to him shortly after he married Tasha. He came on the line and I switched to speaker. I read him the letter.

"The bottom line: Are these documents legal and binding, Richard?" I asked.

"Well, I can't be certain about the adoption papers without seeing them. Adopting someone as a son or daughter, sure. That can be done at any age, though of course it's most common for one to adopt a minor and not an adult into the family. I'd have to look up Texas case law before I could say whether this one would stand.

"The will, however, is valid even if the adoption papers aren't. It names Deirdre by her full name and makes no reference to her as an adopted daughter. If the other beneficiaries were to contest the will on grounds that the adoption was specious, a judge would probably say that the adoption papers are irrelevant except to show the testator's intent and obvious affection for Deirdre. They'd have a better chance to break the will by alleging undue influence. Can they make that one stand up, Deirdre?"

"I don't see how. I speak to Elvira on the phone about once a week, just girl-talk. I sent her a birthday card and a present on her birthday last year, and a Christmas present too. I haven't seen her since last May, and I didn't ask her to do this. If the lawyer shows on TV are even halfway accurate, that's not undue influence, is it?"

"No. Is she of sound mind?"

I remembered her ripping Billy Porter a new one with as much artistry as my old drill sergeant in basic training. "Oh, yeah, you can say that. She's old, not senile. I'm sure the lawyer who drew these documents up would say the same."

"If that's the case, the other heirs wouldn't have a leg to stand on if they contested. If you let me have the papers I'll make a couple of phone calls, if you like. But speaking offhand, and subject to there being a later will that supersedes this one, it seems for practical purposes Deirdre is Elvira Hartney's sole heir."

"Thanks, Richard." I hung up the phone. My lady looked distressed. I went to her and gently put my arms around her. After a moment, she hugged me tightly and started to cry. I held her, stroking her hair and her back, until the storm passed. She looked at me with a tear-stained face.

"I don't want to think about her dying, John. I don't need her money. Why would she do it?"

"Because she cares about you, baby. You've been there to listen and talk to her without any expectation of getting something out of it, when from what you've told me and what we saw last year her great-grandkids only visit out of duty, if that. They're just waiting for her to pass on so they can collect a windfall. She doesn't like their vulture sensibilities, and so she wants her boodle to go to someone who's been nice to her without any expectation of gain. It's human nature."

"But how should I handle it?"

"I wouldn't mention it at all unless she brings it up. But I would slip 'Grandmother' into the conversation if an opening presents itself and continue to so address her as appropriate. I think that will convey to her the fact you know about the adoption and the will without your having to say a word about it. It will avoid embarrassment on both sides."

She smiled and kissed me sweetly. "You know, John, for someone who says he can't read people very well, you're doing a pretty good job tonight."

I took her by the hand and led her toward her study, which had become Wedding Planning HQ. I hoped that finalizing the list of people who were getting invitations would take her mind off this unexpected interpersonal development.

On the first day of spring, we sent off the wedding invitations. It wasn't an "immediate family only" list we had finally agreed on, but neither was it an "everybody we'd ever met" kind of list. My brother and sister, my cousins and their kids (all of whom were either about to graduate high school or were in college – and what a depressing thought!), Deirdre's extended family, and some friends of ours had made the final cut. The fact it was to be in Forth Worth obviated the need to invite business acquaintances, lodge members and such, for which I was grateful.

We also began counseling sessions over the phone with Reverend Worthington, Deirdre's pastor. I personally figured we didn't need them, but they too are part of the American Way of Weddings if you want a legitimate clergyman to preside.

I was worried about one invitation in particular. It turned out I had reason to be.

A few days after we had mailed the invitations, we began receiving the RSVPs. Most were acceptances, a few were regrets. As I usually picked up the mail, Deirdre had given me permission to use her computer to keep track of them. I'd open the replies and match them to the entries. This day, I opened one that had her matriarchal grandmother's return address on it and fished out the invitation crammed into the reply envelope. I unfolded it. It had, "Fuck off, slut!" written in black marker across its face. I set it aside.

That evening, I showed it to Deirdre.

"I knew she doesn't think much of you, but I expected her to have at least a modicum of manners. I'll just take her off the guest list, shall I?"

"No, John," Deirdre said, her face set. "You will not. She is supposed to be there, by custom and tradition. I will write a note and you will send her another invitation. Please mail it tomorrow."

Hearing the tone in her voice, I left a blank invitation on her desk and got out. We did not make love that evening, but after a long massage she did want to be cuddled and reassured. I chalked up another minus in her grandmother's bad behavior book. The second invitation went out from the office the next day, in a cover envelope, certified mail with return receipt requested.

A week later, the receipt came back. A day later, so did the invitation, unopened, with the notation "refused" on the front and "Go to hell, assholes!" scribbled on the back. We talked about it over drinks in the living room that evening.

"This is a long way past enough, my love. I'm not sure I'd have her at the wedding even if she wanted to come, now. She'd likely stand up when the minister got to the line about anyone knowing of an impediment to the wedding should speak now or forever hold their peace, make a big scene and ruin it for us."

"Even so, John, we have to try again. Would you take care of it? Please?"

"Of course." Deirdre took her drink and went upstairs. There are some tears it is all right, even desirable, to share. Hers this time weren't among them. I went into my study and got on the phone to Aunt Cloud. She was distressed and angered to hear what her older sister had done.

"Send me another copy of the invitation, John. I'll deliver it by hand the next time I see her, and give her a piece of my mind along with it! No matter what she thinks, Deirdre is part of this family and Damaris will damned well act like it!"

I sent off another invitation. A month later, the reply envelope landed in our mailbox. I opened it. She had scrawled, "Go fuck yourself, you half-breed whore" in red on the reply card. My face became a mask of fury. How dare she!

This card I did not show to my intended. I did not, however, forget about it. Something was going to have to be done to redress this insult to my lady. But before doing something that could cause an irreparable rift in the Little Fox clan and conceivably alienate her from her family, I needed to think the problem through very slowly and very carefully.

With the calendar now at D minus 30 to the wedding and with everything locked in, time seemed to fly by. I cleaned everything out of the Jaguar, had the car detailed, and paid my mechanic to inspect it and replace anything that even looked like it might turn into a problem. He gave me the car back two days before our departure date and I began to pack it with everything we would need for the wedding and the honeymoon and the days preceding them. Our plans called for us to head out a week before the day, including a break in the journey at Aunt Cloud's before going on to Fort Worth.

The night before we were to leave, Deirdre phoned me at work. She caught me on my way out the door.

"Darling, I'm doing Cleo's hair and I've invited her for dinner. Put on an extra steak, okay?"

I knew Cleo was one of Deirdre's two bridesmaids, her unacknowledged daughter Amanda being the other. I figured she just wanted to go over some of the details of the wedding, for the umpteenth time. "Sure, baby, no problem. I'll see you both at dinner. Bye!"

The only difference a guest made to my usual home-from-work routine was setting up to broil three steaks instead of two. Cleo and Deirdre arrived, Cleo with a bottle of respectable Merlot that I opened to breathe while I continued cooking and the girls set the table. As expected, the two of them were more interested in talking about flower arrangements for the reception and whether open or enclosed candles for the tables were more romantic. Eventually the talk got onto the wedding dress.

"You haven't seen it yet, have you? Come and look!" My lady was as giddy as a schoolgirl before the Senior Prom, helped along by the bottle of wine we drank with dinner. The two of them left the kitchen and I cleared the table, grumbling to myself about the violation of our protocol that he who cooks does not have to clean up the mess and wash the dishes, even if all that meant was giving them a quick rinse and loading them into the dishwasher.

"John?" I turned toward the doorway into the hall and my jaw dropped.

Deirdre was standing on the left side of the arch, one arm running up it, wearing the black hourglass corset that exaggerated her figure, three inch black leather stilettos, and her black doeskin opera gloves. The collar she always wore when she wanted to play Dominant/submissive games was around her neck. She had painted her fingernails glossy black.

Cleo mirrored her pose on the right side of the archway. She was wearing red patent leather pumps with red stockings and garter belt, heavy gold bracelets, a gold choker and nothing else. She had painted her nails the same red as her pumps. The duo came over, twining around me, caressing me, fondling the lump tenting my slacks.

"This is my present to you, Master," Deirdre whispered in my ear. "Two hot slave girls, ready to pleasure you and to be pleasured any way you like. We are yours to command. Tonight, anything goes."

I found my voice. "Then by all means, let's adjourn to the bedroom."

They preceded me up the stairs, affording me a delightful view of their firm buttocks and tight, toned legs. In the bedroom I lit a fire while they turned down the bed. The two of them disrobed me, taking their time about it, running their nails over my skin and watching the effect on my penis. I settled Deirdre on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her hands and pointing her huge boobs skyward.

"Spread your legs so I can go down on you. Cleo, please suck my cock."

"Of course, master." She dropped to her knees in front of me, eagerly wrapping a hand around my hardened dick and taking the knob into her mouth. I closed my eyes for a minute, enjoying the feel of her talented tongue and lips before I bent over and ran my tongue over Deirdre's exposed pussy. She moaned as I set to work on her, tickling her pussy lips with my mustache while my tongue slid between them to taste her nectar.

It was hard to concentrate on giving her the quality of cunnilingus she deserved because Cleo was, as I knew very well, a skilled fellatrix. Her head bobbed on my shaft, gradually working it deeper into her mouth, until she was deep-throating me. She began to hum and I moaned, twitching my mustache and brushing it over the tip of Deirdre's clitoris.

"Yes! Yes, Master! Oh, that's good! Please, more! Please!"

I went with it and used my tongue on her twat while wiggling my lips to make my mustache move from side to side. Her pussy danced under my tongue and she thrust against my face, honey-dew trickling out of her slit. She moaned and cried out as I gasped from Cleo's ministrations; both of us were building toward a climax, but I didn't want to cum in Cleo's mouth. I reluctantly pulled away from my slave in red and lifted my face from the crotch of my slave in black.

"Let's get on the bed. Deirdre, I want you to ride me. Cleo, face her so I can go down on you."

I laid down on the bed and they obediently took their positions. I figured that if this was to be my only chance to screw and chew at the same time, I'd take advantage of it. What I hadn't counted on was how pleasurable it would feel.

Deirdre squatted over me and took hold of my cock, rubbing it over her pussy lips and clit, wetting it with her juice before she s-l-o-w-l-y impaled herself on it, moaning loudly as it sank home in her cunt. I heard Cleo gasp with surprise as I set to work on her freshly shaved mound, using every trick she had ever shown me, the pupil teasing the teacher. The odor of her arousal excited me and made me work her vulva over even more thoroughly, which in turn induced more lubrication and mewling, which excited me still more, much as magnetism induces electricity which induces more magnetism, etc., the way a generator works. My fiancée's pleading synergized with my cunnilingus, and as Cleo bent forward to kiss her the effect was more than the squaring of ourménage a trois. It was more like a cubing of our pleasure as my conscious mind concentrated on mutual ecstasy.

We spent a timeless time using each other, my two slave girls cumming on my face and my cock as they used each other and me. Our hands roamed each other's bodies, squeezing buttocks, pinching nipples, tickling clitorises, always seeking yet more sexual energy and reaction. I listened to the girls, using their words to maintain my erection and guide my actions so they continued to orgasm for me and on me.

"Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh, master, like that! Please! Please! Please make me cum! I want it! Please! Please don't stop! Close – close * oh YEEESSS!"