30 Days or Bust: Day 16byl8bloom©
All characters in this story are age 18 or older.
Mark was so relieved to see me, he actually teared up. I gave him a tissue.
"Thanks." Otherwise he did not say a word until we were in my car.
"They think I did it. They think I killed Doris." He looked terrified.
"You didn't..." I wanted some kind of assurance but didn't know how to ask, exactly. It isn't like asking someone if they ate the last cooky.
"Of course I didn't!"
The next question was obvious, so he answered it before I could ask: Why do they think you did?
"My fingerprints were on her purse. The last time I saw her, she -- " here he paused and drew a breath, seeing something in his mind's eye -- "She dropped her purse and I picked it up for her. They found my fingerprints on her purse. They think I did it," he repeated.
Then he looked me in the eye, his expression wild: "Lisa, you've got to believe me, I never hurt her. I'm not a violent person!"
"I believe you," I told him. "Come on, let's get out of here." I put the car in gear and headed for home.
On the way back to my house, Mark's phone rang. A look of relief crossed his face when he saw the number.
"My lawyer," he told me. He spoke into the phone: "Yeah. Yes. How soon? No, not at Wish. Can I come to your office? Okay. I'll be there. Thank God," he muttered when he hung up. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "What a nightmare."
I've never experienced legal trouble beyond a speeding ticket, but yes, it probably would be a nightmare. It was partly that realization which had prompted me to get my ass down to the police station. I had quit thinking about my poor little rich girl self and started thinking about what Mark might need. A ride home would be nice. A friend would be even better.
It humbled me, and made me angry with myself, to have been so self-centered for so long. Maybe if I'd given more thought to others' feelings, I wouldn't be aging into a cranky, very single, old professor.
"I'm sorry," I told him. "It must have been an incredible ordeal."
"It was," he agreed. "They brought in her purse, it was in a plastic bag, they asked me if I recognized it ..."
We turned in to my driveway.
"You want some tea, or something? Are you hungry at all?"
"No, I need to go get cleaned up. My lawyer has time to see me at one o'clock."
I turned off the car. At first he twisted his body as if to leave immediately. Then he turned back around.
"Lisa, I'm so sorry about all this. I'd understand if you never want to see me again. I guess I am just a whore."
I took a deep breath, shaking my head no. "I'm not interested in judging you. How about let's talk when you feel ready?"
"Thanks." His eyes were full of gratitude. With some care, he leaned over and put his arms around me. When he pulled away, he seemed to hesitate over his next words.
"What is it?"
"Nothing. Just -- thanks." With a clumsy wave, he stepped out of the car and left.
For the second time that day, all I could do was sit there.
* * *
Several hours later, the phone rang. It was Mark.
"Can I come over?"
He didn't sound so good, and when he arrived, the look on his face suggested things were indeed pretty bad.
Without bothering to ask, I put a hot mug of chamomile in his hands.
"Tell me. What's going on?"
"Let's, uh, let's go sit down."
We sat on the couch. My eyes were wide with worry. Mark rubbed his face.
"Lisa, I don't know how to tell you this."
I held my tongue. He took a gulp of tea.
"My lawyer said he was trying to find me anyway. There's a reading on Monday."
"A reading, as in, of a will. Apparently Doris, ah, left me money in her will."
One would not think a man would be so glum upon winning the lottery. One would think wrong.
"So the police must think..."
"Yeah." He met my eyes, his face a mask of despair. "It goes 'motive, means, opportunity,' right? Or something like that."
My expression mirrored his. "This looks pretty damning."
The formal reading of the will was slated for Monday. It was Saturday night, so we'd have Sunday to cool our heels. The police had warned Mark not to leave town. Though not yet formally charged, he was definitely under the "umbrella of suspicion."
We talked about the situation for a while. In the movies, we would have gone out and solved the mystery ourselves, but neither of us was really up for that. If Doris had had scaly bark and a dripline, I might have lent some insight. She didn't. And Mark's talent did not extend to necrophilia, even if the dead could be persuaded to kiss and tell.
He told me about the fateful night she had dropped her purse. They had been fooling around in a back room at an art gallery. The circumstances didn't exactly cheer me, but strangely, neither did they depress me. Maybe when all this was over, I would feel differently ... maybe not. I had been honest with Mark: judging his past held no interest for me.
"She kept talking about how they were all vultures. Something like that," he remembered.
"Did she mention anyone specifically?"
"No ... she did say one thing, though. She said something like, 'All of them but you.' At the time I had no idea what she meant. I thought she was just rambling."
We looked at each other. Suddenly I started to laugh.
"What? What's so funny?!"
I couldn't stop chuckling. "She paid you to screw her, because you were the only one not trying to screw her!"
Mark started to laugh, too. We practically laughed until we choked, releasing some of the terrible tension. Finally I had to go blow my nose.
In the bathroom I saw that my shirt was wet. One of my nipples was leaking.
Mesmerized, I stared at my wet nipple. Slowly I circled the tip. The fabric was saturated. The hard little bump stood out. Gently I squeezed, milking myself. Between my legs, my sexual engine began to throb.
Mark appeared behind me. Our eyes met in the mirror. We watched as his hand drifted to my other breast and began to massage it also. I could feel his erection growing against my ass. The twitching of his member aroused me more.
I lifted my shoulders and lolled back my head, watching as Mark increased his attack. Now he was using both hands, squeezing my tits and rolling them around. "Ummmm..." I moaned.
"Feel good?" His voice was a near whisper.
"Yes," I lifted my chest to push against his hands. "You know it does."
He started in on my neck, where I am very sensitive. His lips made love to the humming blood in my veins, nibbling, nipping, murmuring words of desire.
I turned and embraced him tightly. Suddenly we were wearing far too many clothes. I tugged at his t-shirt and even as he lifted it over his head, I was reaching inside the waistband of his pants. His eyes closed when I wrapped my hand around him. "Ah."
I wanted to get on my knees and take him in my mouth, and at the same time wanted to drag him down the hall to my bedroom. Urgency won out. I knelt and put my face in his groin, rubbing my cheek against his stiffness. Through the fabric of his low-cut briefs, I touched the head of his cock to my eyes, my nose, my chin.
It took little effort to get his pants down, and his cock popped out as if spring-loaded. I breathed in the wonderful scent of his skin, his sweat, the musky aroma of a cloudburst of sex getting ready to pour. "Mmmmm," I nuzzled him all over, lipping him at first, then tracing his masculine contours with my tongue.
He had the most pronounced, beautiful ridge I had ever seen. The smooth skin of his head tantalized me. With a wide, open tongue, I licked it in broad strokes, then gobbled him up. A drop of pre-cum greeted my taste buds.
My hands weren't idle. I held his hips, guiding his motion back and forth, rocking him on an invisible swingset, fucking him with my mouth. My body sang a song of tenderness and lust to his. I caressed his balls and gently slid a finger toward his anus.
He pushed me away. No explanation was needed. We were of the same mind. Together we stumbled out into the hallway, where we lay on the carpet. Instead of lifting my t-shirt, he simply tore it open, exposing my leaking bosom.
Immediately he began to suckle, and at the same time, thrust two fingers between my labia. I shuddered and nearly came. The relentless finger-fuck he gave me, combined with his nursing of my breast, drove me to pleasured agony.
"Fuck me, please!" I wailed. "Mark...!"
He grunted and fed the tip of his cock into my anxious, soaking pussy. I wiggled my hips to bring us closer together. It wasn't long before he gave me the hard banging I desperately needed, pausing once or twice to play with my lactating breasts. He milked me with his mouth and with his fingers. I shook with pleasure as his balls spanked my ass. Increasingly I lusted for his orgasm, wanting his pleasure, and wanting to feel him erupt inside me. I squeezed my thighs together, tightening the ride.
"Naught girl," he grunted, and then his eyes closed as the dark bell rang. His chin lifted. I thumbed his hard nipples and he jerked, groaning at the unexpected touch. His seed spilled in me to overflowing; the warm, sticky liquid ran down my ass and dribbled onto the carpet.
We lay together, breathing hard and rematerializing. Our flight landed gradually, drifting out of the warm air current to the stillness of reality.
We cuddled until we grew too cold, then put ourselves to bed.