Heart Like a Lion

The sight of that cock packing her friend's tight little pussy from behind, the knowledge of how torrid and sinful and satisfying it must feel, drove Cami over the edge. Her pussy clenched and clenched and her juices flooded around Arran's pumping fingers as she threw her head back in abandon, her body arching and shuddering with the intense sensations as his fingers kept on squelching in and out of her and drew her mewling cries of pleasure out: "AHHHH-HHHAhhh-HHHaaahhh-HHHaahhhh-HHHaahhh..."

As she finished cumming all over the hipster's fingers with his cock still pulsing in her hand, as she watched Lennie luxuriate in getting fucked like a bitch in heat on the ground in front of her, as she listened to Ty's hips slapping against her gorgeous friend's flesh and watched her soft ass ripple and her big titties sway with his thrusts, a realization broke over Cami's mind with the clarity of panic. I want a hard cock inside me, too. And another: I'm about to let Arran lay me out on the ground and fuck me stupid. And another, throwing cold water on all the rest: I've got to stop. This is wrong. I can't betray Eoin. I've got to stop.

The blonde's mind reeled through these facts rapidly before coming to a conclusion: the brass knucks still sleeping in her pocket. It was time to put her original plan into action, if she could just find the will and the space to do it. Even as she was trying, though, the rush of desire still had a momentum of its own. Her hand was still absent-mindedly pumping Arran's prick, and he was bringing his fingers dripping with her sweet juices up to her mouth, and she was moaning and licking and sucking them clean and her resolve was starting to scatter.

But then an idea broke across her brain with the electric force of inspiration, and as Arran's fingers popped out of her mouth she grinned salaciously up at him, looked into his lust-bright eyes and said: "See how fuckin' slutty my little friend's being?" He looked over and back, nodded like a man hypnotized, absorbing the suggestion without fully being conscious of it, his actions still on their original set of rails. He was coming in for another kiss as she said: "I think she's so slutty she could use a second cock. What do you think, babe?"

That stopped him abruptly. Looking at the flushed, sweaty form of Lennie braced on her forearms with her head down, taking a vigorous doggie-style pounding like a champ, his brain laboriously switched gears and served up the image of that gorgeous bitch taking it at both ends. The thought clearly pleased him; she felt his cock throb in her hand as a little growl of lust escaped from between his teeth.

"Well, if that's what she needs," he said, the idea taking hold of him: "Who am I to disappoint? You don't... mind, huh?"

He wasn't even looking at Cami as he asked the last question, probably didn't even hear her say: "Don't worry about me..."

In a moment he was standing away from the tree, coming around from behind Cami as his cock -- stiffened to powerful turgidity by her ministrations -- swung free in front of him. She watched as Lennie's head came up, her eyes glazed and her mouth agape with pleasure as Ty's cock powered into her fuckhole with strong, deep strokes... and as she saw Arran going to his knees in front of her and his tumescent tool presenting itself to her mouth, the brunette's eyes went wide in a Christmas-just-came-early kind of way.

She wasted no time in reaching for it, pulling back the foreskin from its blunt purple head, running her tongue around it and then engulfing it in her warm, wet mouth -- and just like that Lennie was getting spit-roasted like a true "fuck pig," as the pornos the boys were fond of watching would put it, the cocks of the two bearded hipsters matching rhythms as they sawed into her, pleasure clearly arcing through her writhing, shapely young body from where Arran's balls were slapping her dripping chin to where Ty's nuts were rhythmically tickling her clit, the double helping of prick driving her into a well-deserved Nirvana. Cami felt a twinge of sharp regret as she brought her breathing under a shaky species of control and fumbled in her pocket for the brass knuckles. Her clit was still pulsating with the after-effects of orgasm, her wet pussy still yearning for more, and she could see a very clear mental picture of herself lying prone on the grass with her legs splayed, wearing nothing but her docs and her knee-highs, as Arran took her tight teen pussy thrust by thrust up the stairway to Heaven with his hot dick. She knew to a certainty that she could still have that, even now, if she really wanted it.

She really wanted it. She could admit it to herself now. Ohhh, she really wanted it.

But not at any price. She remembered her first kiss with Eoin, the kiss that stole her soul. And her soul still belonged to him, whatever her traitorous body wanted, however low life might have brought him in this moment. He deserved better. There were certain lines she just wouldn't cross.

Her resolve hardened, but she wasn't totally without compassion. She watched the three of them writhe and thrust together like pieces of a well-oiled fuck machine, watched as Lennie's eyes rolled back in her head and her tight pussy squirted all over Ty's pistoning tool -- always a squirter, that little tart, she thought fondly -- watched as the waves of orgasm caught her bestie up in their whiplash power and sent her over the edge into the depths of ecstasy. Watched as the dudes' thrusts started to quicken to that telltale frantic pace, the moment of their crisis drawing nearer... and nearer...

And then she thought: Nahhh, fuck them. Lennie got her jollies -- and that's all these bozos are fucking good for. That... and those sweet, sweet bikes. This was the best moment, they were as distracted as they'd get. She pulled out and gripped the brass knuckles, centred her attention on the task at hand, and stepped forward to get it done.

Their little sortie had already furnished out Lennie's hopes for adventure and then some. She gave a silent inward prayer of gratitude for the brassy, fuck-the-world attitude of her best friend as the wild fuck that handsome young college dude Tyler was throwing into her greedy little cunt turned suddenly into a double helping of hot cock, with Arran's glans playing over her tongue and leaving behind seaweedy hints of pre-cum as her first climax rocked her and squirted out around his friend's ruthlessly pumping prick.

She'd needed this, she realized, even more than she imagined. Needed the release, needed to feel beautiful and wanted and the centre of attention, needed to be the belle of the ball in every sense. Eddy's neglect had put a wound inside her that only this could heal.

Her heart pounded in anticipation of the finale. She knew she was going to let both of them come off inside her, knew that the next orgasm that would come with their hot seed spurting into her clutching cunt and all over her pretty face would be the real business, sealing the deal, making this a truly perfect moment. She could feel the next blow building up, hard upon the last and promising to be a squirt that would do King Canute proud as the cocks at either end of her quickened their pace, as the hot young hipster dudes prepared to give the ultimate tribute to her beauty, the ultimate validation. She closed her eyes in anticipation, breathing through her nose as her willing mouth and quivering quim were pounded and pounded and pounded by those diamond-hard, throbbingly beautiful just-perfect pricks, as she got ready to savour the afterglow of real completion...

... and then she opened her watering eyes to look up at Arran in front of her, trying to capture that blissful moment of release for her masturbation Rolodex, when it all came to a crashing halt.

Cami seemed to come out of nowhere, her breasts bare and her eyes bright, her fist flashing in the sunlight as she caught the dark-haired hipster square across the jaw. Blood and teeth sprayed out from the impact as Lennie's mind suddenly babbled nononoNO FUCK NO couldn't you have waited FIVE FUCKING SECONDS but the glassy look in his eyes told all as his prick popped out of her mouth and he slumped backward, all the bones in his skeleton abruptly transmuted into putty. Out like a light.

"Wha... what the fffuhh--"

Tyler's rhythm checked, but he didn't have time either to pull free or to get the full exclamation out as Cami's torso torqued around, her baby blues glinting bloody murder as her fist swung again. Those brass knucks had gotten the two of them out of many a nasty scrape before, but right now Lennie found herself cursing them as they flashed through the air and a meaty thunk send Tyler careering back and away, the delicious friction of his cock suddenly gone from inside her as the Blossomville Slammerskins' number one blonde bombshell found her mark with perfect accuracy.

Just like that, it was over. Lennie was left shuddering on her hands and knees, dripping with sweat and trying to wrap her head around losing that wonderful full feeling as her every nerve ending keened in frustration, her mind reeling as she realized she wasn't getting that perfect moment after all. The courtyard was quiet for a long moment as she shook herself, trying to gather her wits, looking up at Cami's blood-spattered and smugly-satisfied grin... a grin that only faltered slightly as she caught the lack of complete gratitude in her friend's expression.

"The fuck you do that for?" Lennie finally managed as she sat back on her haunches, looked backwards and forwards at the unconscious forms of her erstwhile paramours. "Goddammit, I was almost there again, fucking goddammit..."

"Greedy little 'byrd," Cami taunted her as she gave the bloodied knucks a little thank-you kiss. "I already seen you squirting on him, slut, you got your payment and you knew the deal. We both get what we want." Her eyes were already moving on, questing after the afternoon's real booty, and she was striding over to claim Tyler's masterless BMX. "And I want a fucking joyride on this sweet shit. Oh yeah..."

As Lennie's reeling mind came under control, she could see she wouldn't be getting anything in the way of an apology. And she could see Cami's mercurial mind was already scampering ahead to the next caper. There was nothing for it but to either tell her to fuck off or to catch up. She hesitated for a long moment. The coin flipped in her head, teetered on its edge...

... and came down tails. Catch up.

She got up on rubbery legs, saw Arran's bright-blue bike shining in the grass. She walked over to it, contemplating. Joyride, she thought. Why the hell not.

"Okay, fine." She resurrected the abandoned BMX from its slumber and started adjusting the seat as she asked: "Which way are we going?"

"Which way you think?" Cami said from behind her. "Straight the fuck out through Blossomville's first World Naked Bike Ride."

Lennie looked around in amazement and saw her friend peeling out of her braces and shirt, shucking off her shorts and panties, working to adjust the seat on Tyler's bike and realized that she was planning on taking it out stark naked. Even more naked than the collection of hipsters out in the parking lot. Disbelievingly, she said: "You serious?"

"Why not?" Cami said. She was down to socks and docs now and looked at her brass knuckles uncertainly for a second before tucking them inside her left boot. "Let's show 'em how bootgirls do a naked fuckin' bike ride, none of this candy-assed liberal 'I've got my permits and I'm wearing my panties' bullshit."

The brunette felt her guts churn. This was another of those moments when caution reared its ugly head, and this time it had a point. "Cami, think about it. They see us come out on these bikes, we'll get clothes-lined inside of ten yards."

"Never gonna happen," Cami predicted. "Ain't a one of those hippies got the guts." As she mounted up on Tyler's bike, a bona fide working-class Lady Godiva for the twenty-first century, she grinned. "Least I don't think they do. You chicken?"

Cami's nuclear weapon. She knew Lennie couldn't help but respond to that phrase. Grimacing, the brunette doffed her skirt and badly-stretched remnant of her panties, finished adjusting the seat and finally climbed aboard, feeling the smooth vinyl finish sun-warmed against the lips of her naked puss.

"I don't know from chickens," she said. "Or 'byrds, apparently. Lead the way, Warrior Queen, but you better be right."

"Of course I'm fucking right," Cami scoffed. She was leaning into her pedals even as she said it, correcting a slight wobble as she embarked for the northern path toward that thronging parking lot. "I'm also fun and you know it. Now come on, we've got hippies to fuck with. Let's do it."

Lennie watched her friend's creamy rump and the rearward glimpses of her glistening pussy as she started to pull out of the courtyard. Sure, let's do it, she repeated to herself as she gave a last look to the still stone-prone forms of the bikes' former owners. She felt a stab of guilt... and also a sense of wild abandon, rooted in the residual frustration of that brutally interrupted fuck. That pent-up energy fuelled her as she picked up speed and got ready to roll out into the world wearing nothing but her trainers and a bit of attitude. Let's do it, she thought: And let the chips fall where they may.

If there was anything Sonny had learned about his brother during the years they'd lived together, it was that throwing a temper tantrum was not Marcus' way.

He had a vivid memory, for instance, of one time back in Junior High when a classmate had decided that Marcus had been rude to his girlfriend. (The charge, given Marcus' awkward relationship with girls even then, not being entirely outlandish.) And so the boy and his friends had lured Marcus into a neighbourhood pathway in the dead of winter one day and subjected him to the closest thing Blossomville in the Eighties got to a drive-by: they ambushed him with snowballs, pasting him so thoroughly that he came away with welts, and stuffed snow down the front of his pants so that it would look like he'd pissed himself on the walk home. Classic rough justice on the wild frontier of Midwestern adolescence.

Marcus had come home and said nothing. He never cried or complained, never threw anything or acted out, never talked to anyone in the house about what had happened; indeed, Sonny had to hear the story at second hand in the hallways some days later. No, Marcus had simply sat in his room, silent, staring at the wall like a toy whose battery had run down, his eyes as blank as black ice. He'd sat that way for hours at a stretch, day after day, until finally he left the house, tracked down the boy who'd ambushed him, knocked him out with a right cross and tied him to a tree in his underwear. At night. In twelve degree weather.

That was how they'd discovered that the toy's battery hadn't just run down; it had leaked a corrosion straight into his guts, an acidic fury that couldn't be appeased but with violent judgement. Luckily the boy had been found before any real harm could come to him, and their father's standing as a respected preacher had helped smooth things over; Marcus had gotten off with a week's suspension and a stern warning against irresponsible horseplay... but Sonny had never forgotten that blank look in his eyes, never shaken the sense of something more serious behind what had followed. In some ways, he could say that the unravelling of his relationship with his brother had started there.

Sitting in his office after they'd opened the envelope from their mother together, Marcus was wearing that very same blank look right now. A man ambushed by the unjust snowballs of life, his brain temporarily shut down by an excess of fury and the search for some explanation of the frigid meltwater in his pants.

Sonny wasn't sure he wanted to find out what came next. He couldn't bring himself to just walk out, though, and he knew better than to try to prompt Marcus into talking. He just paced, nursed the terrible coffee they'd given him, looked around the office -- the walls sported a painting of George W. Bush (that hideous "Praying for Peace" number that featured him flanked by the ghosts of Lincoln and Washington, although small mercies, it wasn't a painting by him), several elegiac paintings of American soldiers, and a Bible verse about "discipline" from Proverbs superimposed on an image of clouds -- and more than once found himself looking out through the office's window into the small common room where the rest of the R.A.M.S. squad were taking lunch.

Marcus had three squad mates: a two-for-one package of identical twin Mormon kids named Kyson and Teyson, who from what he could tell were fairly standard-issue twenty-year-old meatheads with fantasies about being Jack Bauer; and then a woman... and what a woman. She'd introduced herself as Max, a pale-skinned beauty with her brown hair tied back in a severe law enforcement bun, her green eyes intense and her compact frame well-muscled. But her most inescapable feature was the pair of massive, gravity-defying tits that pressed at the front of her uniform as if intent on escape, breasts so prodigious that she'd clearly long since given up the prospect of closing the top three buttons on her uniform. Those whoppers all on their own would have told against her in any police academy, Sonny guessed, which would partly explain what she was doing here.

But there was more than that. She had that same creepy fervour in her eyes that Marcus had, and of the three squaddies, it was she who kept looking in at the James brothers as if her gaze were a compass seeking magnetic north. Sonny could sense the taut, invisible filament of a connection between her and Marcus, a kindredship of spirit... or maybe something more. He caught Max's eyes again now; she held his for a moment before looking away, almost guiltily, and trying to seem more interested in the barely-touched salad in front of her.

Marcus said something behind him.

This development surprised Sonny so much that he almost spilled his coffee as he turned back to where the big man was seated at his desk, contemplating the offending letter. The phrase had been spoken too low to catch, so after a moment he prompted: "Come again?"

"You knew." Marcus said it clearly this time. "The contents of this letter didn't surprise you. You already knew."

His brain experimented for a moment with a lie, but finally Sonny nodded. "Yeah."

"She's been in touch with you. How often?"

"On and off over the years," Sonny shrugged. "About this power-of-attorney thing... about a year ago."

"A year ago." Marcus' voice was heavy as a tombstone. "You've known for a year that she was going to sign power-of-attorney over to you instead of me. And you said nothing."

"This was how she wanted to break the news," said Sonny. "It wasn't my call." Marcus looked up at that, met his eyes. Buried in the depths of the black ice was a question that could wait years before a thaw set it free, so Sonny asked it for him. "If you're wondering why... well, she kind of mentioned being worried about your state of mind. That there had been some legal drama here at the mall."

"Legal drama. You mean the false accusation," Marcus grated. "Of which I was cleared. By the police." When Sonny shrugged uncomfortably, his brother's hands curled into fists. "And you have the nerve to doubt me. You who do what you do."

"I never said I doubted you."