You Choose

Next to the far wall, a swing hung on chains from the ceiling. Leather and rubber things lay about that I could not name.

"You should try this," Alyssa said.

I turned to face her. One hand rubbed the saddle, her fingers toying with the base of the fake cock, her eyes on mine as she wiggled it. The flesh-colored implement waved at me like the real thing.

A heated shiver went through me. "No thanks. I prefer the real thing."

"But when it's not available, this is the next best thing," Alyssa said. Her voice so soft and understated the intonation.

"I'll take your word."

Dumb bitch, to think I would ever use such a thing, after her pussy clutched that damn thing.

"I'll try some of the real thing myself," she said. "You can look around, join us later." I made a face, but she didn't see.

Alyssa took Rod's pants off in a hurry, and went to work.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Rod said, his voice rising.

Shit, caught. His face looked accusing.

"Folding your pants so they don't become wrinkled," I said, allowing his key chain to drift into my hand unnoticed.

"Just, put them down and leave them be," Rod said.

"Okay, okay, just trying to help, no need to get frantic about it."

I placed the folded pants where I could get to them again. Glancing over at the McDonald's, they were in a place all their own. Turning my back and pretending to be interested in the mechanized dildo, I took a picture of the key to the sex room making sure at least one fingernail was in the picture. Measuring the size of my fingernail would give me a scale to gauge the exact size of the key. The flash drive didn't want to behave, and a nail broke trying to spread the ring-clip to remove the drive.

"Fuck," I whispered, but Rod heard.

"What's going on over there now?"

"Nothing, just broke a nail on this thing."

I grimaced. Cheap false nails almost caught me. Tried again. This time the drive came off and the new one slipped on in its place.

I swung back to the two naked partners who continued to satisfy each other. My hand slipped under Rod's folded pants, where I abandoned the key chain.

"Get those clothes off, and get over here," Alyssa said, and I did as directed. Heaven help me . . . tried not to enjoy myself, but the impossibility of that made me feel even worse. Don't know how many climaxes that afternoon, but my body was bathed in sweat by the time I dressed. The clothes sticking to my skin made it difficult, and the walk home wasn't long enough to dry everything.

I opened the door, stepped inside and heard Allen drive up. I waited for him to get from the car. He smiled coming up the walk, and it was difficult smiling back, but managed a weak welcoming grin. I was pleased that all the ingredients for stew had been put into a crock-pot that morning.

"You're glowing," he said, after hugging me.

"Yeah, sorry about that," I lied, "Just ran across the street from Alyssa's. I'll take a quick shower."

Right after, the school bus dropped off the McDonald children, and knew I was lucky twice in one day.

After dinner, I asked Allen to show me how to use the scanner/printer, which he willingly did.

"What are you going to be using it for?"

It was a casual question, but stopped me.

"Naked pictures," I said, giving him my biggest smile.

He laughed, but I could tell he didn't believe a word.

"Okay then."

To silence any other questions I said, "What would you like tonight?"

His eyebrows went up. He doesn't read between the lines well. I hoped what was in my mind he was thinking too.

"You talking desert?"

"Maybe," I said, and ran from the room, heard the computer chair slide across the floor and his footfalls coming in a rush. He caught me at the bedroom door, swept me up and deposited me on the bed, none too gentle for I bounced. The dress went over my head, and not wearing anything underneath I was ready, watching as he undressed in a rush. I marveled at the hardened muscles, that man-ass, even the calves of his legs were sexy. When he stood at the foot of the bed, I rolled to my stomach.

"Ummmm," he said, in Allen's characteristic growl, and knew I was in for the best of the day.

Later that night, I looked at the contents of the Flash Drive, and there they were. I compared them, recalling each position. Ohh, don't remember . . . how in the hell did we manage that? We resembled an upside down Octopus. Erasing the pictures with some regret, because they were erotically beautiful, the key was next on my bucket list.

Importing the picture I brought the key into a picture program, and made it as to scale as was possible and printed it. It took several times to get correct. In the final picture, all the edges were clear, and I cut the image a little over-sized using a pair of small scissors.

In the garbage, I found an empty metal soup container, happy that I'm one of those people who rinse all the recycling. A pair of tin-snips was used to cut the can into two simple rectangle's of metal. Then, the paper cutout was place over the metal and I drew around the edges with a pencil. Next was to cut the drawing out. Then super gluing two strips of the metal together to produce a double-layered unit. I hoped the Internet article on making quick keys was correct. Using Allen's small model files I shaped and trimmed. It took several hours before the key even looked like something that might work.

Finally it was complete. Looked like a key. Just hoped it was going to act like one tomorrow. I had only the afternoon while Alyssa and her husband attended their boy's first football practice to search that basement for hard copies.

The McDonald's car slipped from of the garage, the electric garage door whined down, and that black vehicle made a near silent retreat from the house. Several long minutes of waiting passed, just in case they'd forgotten something and had to return. When they didn't, sneaking across the street was easy.

Alyssa never locked her back door, foolish girl. Everything was as remembered from this morning, and hurrying downstairs, the lock hung from the hasp in brilliant defiance as if challenging anyone's key-making skills. Turning it in my hand, the makeshift key went into the slot with little pushing. The key started to bend right away, not turning a single tumbler. Pulling it back out, I studied the teeth. The small file made slight work of taking off more metal from the offending tooth. Into the slot once more it went. No go. Back out. File some more. This time wiggling the key as I turned, the lock popped open with a horrendous thick snap. I froze. That was stupid, no one is around to hear.

Stepping into the room, I switched the light on. My heart gave a tiny jump seeing all the sex-toys as if set for some grand erotic adventure. They watched with, I thought, a certain mute sadness as I searched, rather than using them for what they were intended, or perhaps they considered me an intruder.

I searched everywhere, and didn't find any photos, so the only ones in existence had to be the ones that were deleted. I'd also been looking for cameras that might be set up, but nothing down here. Which was interesting. Looked at my watch, not yet halftime, another hour free and clear. I walked the room, the carpeting soft underfoot, fascinated with everything now that I was by myself. The machine that made my fantasy bark, was the Sybian. Three axis control, speed, rate of vibration, and circular movement. I threw one leg over.

Ohh, soft and flexible, and if it were warmed, would feel almost real. It went in easily as I sat on the faux-prick. I turned it on. Nothing happened, disappointment filled my brain, then memory of the speed control hit me.

I jumped . . . whoa, now that was interesting, and once used to the motion, my fingers turned other controls. My body sprang to life as this thing found happy places I didn't even know I had places to make happy. My legs twitched, vibration ran the length of my spine, my pussy went crazy. Spittle ran down my chin, and I wiped it off with the back of my hand. Seconds later an orgasm hit so fast I wasn't ready for it, but the second one built until I was gasping for breath, then another. I fell forward, dropped the control box; sensations ran through my body faster than a Hummingbird searching for food. My G-spot exploded, and I couldn't reach the controls. The machine was at maximum, doing things inside I couldn't control, and another climax struck. If this continued, I'd be a blubbering idiot soon. I'd never had this many orgasms. Three had always been a high point, and I was already building to six. I had to get off, but my pleasure center would not allow it. One part of my brain fought another; I'm going crazy, and this fucking machine's going to rip me apart.

"Ohh, damn, damn . . . this is so good."

Get off, you stupid bitch, my common sense self yelled.

"Who the hell is doing all that fucking moaning?"

You, you idiot, now get off the machine before it kills you.

"Nothing that feels this good can possibility be bad," I said.

One leg lifted as if by itself, and the false-penis slipped out.

"Damn it, I'm not finished."

Then I was on the floor, dress gathered around my thighs, and I had the control box in-hand, turning the machine off.

Whew, but this thing was wonderful torture. Never felt anything that intense. Going to have to get one of these things.

Closing the door and making sure the lock clicked, I turned to leave before the McDonalds arrived. My knees were water and I had feet that didn't want to leave, as if stuck in mud. I tingled down there like something was still taking place. Was I going to have trouble motivating the stairs? My head rose to survey them. What?

Who's there?

The longhaired figure on the stairs didn't move. Back-lit by light from the kitchen, I couldn't tell who watched. A thousand pictures flashed through my mind.

The dark, graven image hadn't budged, face in shadow like some female Frederica Kruger. Something she held glinted. A knife? Before I could say anything the image pivoted up the stairs. Recognition.

"Cynthia wait. . ." was all I could manage before the door slammed shut, leaving me with a sinking heart, and guilt open to the world.

How much had the McDonald's daughter seen? A lot evidently, from her quick departure.

The ten steps to ground level took forever, felt as if I'd been running miles, and almost wished that the door was locked, but it opened without a sound. I picked up something that wasn't on the floor when I'd went down.

Glancing around, I didn't see Cynthia anywhere . . . probably in her room. She shouldn't have been home. Why hadn't she gone with her parents? Damn, damn.

What could I say to her? "Hey, I just stopped by to use your mother's toys, and what were you doing home, young lady?"

Oh yeah, talk about a difficult rock and foolish hard place.

Once more, the walk home took less time than it took to think about it.

What was I going to do now? Each idea came back twice twisted. I'd didn't find any photos. I could handle a teenage girl, but with pictures? Allen would never believe my word against evidence he could see. Hell, I wouldn't either, nor would his boss. I was right back where I started, however, if the McDonald's had more photos they would have to show me.

The following morning, when I went out to see Allen off for work, Rod McDonald's big car zipped passed the drive. All I wanted to do was give him the finger. With him leaving, his sex-starved wife would phone any second.

Right on-call.

"Your cell's ringing," Allen said. "Aren't you going to answer it?"

"It's just Alyssa."

During our kiss goodbye, anger, fear and guilt zipped to the forefront, and I almost blurted out everything. Instead, I answered the phone as Allen drove away.

"What is it?"

"Can you come over?" she said.

There was something in her voice. Some little inflection I couldn't figure out, something wasn't correct.

"In a bit," I said, testing her. "I've clothes in the washer."

"Please, Cynthia's home too."

Oh, ohh. Normally, she demanded that I come right then, and she made it a point that her daughter was there. Did Alyssa know I had broken in yesterday, that her daughter had seen me? I went thinking the worst.

Alyssa sat at the kitchen table.

"Look, I'm sorry . . ." I began to explain being in her house without permission, but her voice overrode mine.

'Thank you, for coming so quickly."

This wasn't like her.

"What's wrong?"

"This," she said, looking around.

I gasped.

"Rod did that?"

"I was in a particular mood last night, but didn't want to be dominated this much."

"Looks like he took your invitation a little too far." She jumped when I touched the huge black and blue spot.

"Way too far."

We both jumped at the voice.

"Cynthia. I'm so sorry you shouldn't hear this. Please go to your room."

"I will not . . . you need help. The asshole."

"Cynthia," Alyssa said, and turned to me. "She saw this morning when I was dressing. I didn't know what or how much to tell her, so I kept her home from school."

"Sorry," I said. "We have to call the police."

"Oh, no, no. We can't do that."

"You certainly can't continue like this."

"It wasn't his fault entirely. I instigated it. I just need to have you put something on it."

"You might have a broken rib or two. You need x-rays."

"Hospital's out of the question . . . can't you just wrap it, or something?"

I shook my head, and looking into those beautiful, pain-filled eyes, I wanted to kill the simple bastard.

"Has this happened before?"

"Never, and I know he didn't mean it."

Shit, he didn't. Too much in one spot, like he plummeted her over and over, and what the hell did he use?

Alyssa's arms slid across the table. A groan emitted from those beautiful lips, and her head sank to her arms. Her shoulders shook with a sadness I'd never seen before. I would not have thought Rod could do such a thing, but then one doesn't know . . .

"You can't stay here," I said.

"Yes, I can . . . it's only loosing the pictures that made him angry."

"The ones of you and I," she whispered.

"He blamed me for them disappearing."

"So, you don't have them?"

A sick grin came to those generous lips. "Serves him right for not backing them up."

My heart all of a sudden became a lot lighter. Sometimes it's better to be lucky than good. Alyssa's problem wasn't mine, still I felt for her. And . . . crap, that's what got me into problems in the first place, thinking I could help her with that first supposed difficulty.

"You have to help me."

"No, I don't," I said at once.

She looked at me with such pleading eyes, and how could I refuse? I'd always been a sucker for people in trouble.

"Oh, all right," I said, "Get your clothes off."

She looked at me like I was crazy, like I'd forgotten Cynthia was in the room. "I have to get to the damage spots, don't I?"

"Cynthia, put some ice cubes in a zip-lock bag, and do you have any anti-inflammatory over-the-counter drugs. Get some of those too. That will help with the pain. No, wait I'll get those, you just take care of the ice."

I was back at the sink in a few minutes, filling a glass with water. I gave her two pills.

"Take both of these, it'll get into your system quicker. Now, Cynthia, gently hold the bag of ice to the bruise. Twenty minutes on and twenty off. Your mother should feel better by afternoon."

Alyssa grabbed my hand, held it tight, her eyes slammed shut when Cynthia applied ice to the bruise.

"Thank you, so much," she whispered, "I owe you."

"Yes, you do," I said, nodding my head in agreement.

As I left the house to attend to my own chores, Cynthia caught up with me on the sidewalk.

"Mrs. Blanchard, may I talk with you?"

Turning to face her, I wondered if she was going to bring up yesterday's visit. I noticed for the first time how much she looked like her mother. Same color eyes, round face, small nose, and blossoming already into a nice little shape, but her face seemed older than I remembered.

"Yes?"

"I just want to thank you for helping mother . . . and to tell you that I never said anything, and won't."

"Then we're even," I said, "and thank you for that."

"I should get back, help mother . . ."

She then spun on her heels and ran up the steps.

"Cynthia, wait," and I crossed to the steps. "You dropped this yesterday," I said, and put the key I'd picked up on the steps, into her hand.

"Oh." That sexy young mouth formed a tiny circle, I thought in surprise, but a quick grin flashed across the full lips. "Thank you," she whispered. Her eyes meeting mine danced with a shared secret. Some man, I thought, was going to be very happy one day.

I waited until the door closed behind her before I headed home.

My secrets were hidden forever. I laughed, fairly skipping across the drive, and if anyone could see and hear, probably thought there goes that crazy Blanchard woman again.

The three of us were now conspirators of a different sort, and Cynthia realized that I would never reveal her very special secret. A hot-blooded teenager, time alone, and a basement full of choices. What would I have done?

The End