James and Melanie Ch. 01

Not me starting two multipart stories at the same time 👀 as always, thoughts and opinions are welcome!

*

Where the fuck is it?

I wander back down the aisle and wonder if I should just go home. The only person here besides the bored cashier is a buff, grumpy man unloading clinking boxes on a dolly from a truck out back, and I don't want to bother him.

Arms crossed, I stare a hole into the selection of tequila before me. All we have at home is a half-empty case of Bud Lite, which Winnie refers to as "what I'd be drinking if I wanted to be sad for a few hours."

"Tryina steal?" a voice loudly announces not five feet from me. The cashier looks up from what sounds like the League of Legends mobile game long enough to see whether I actually am, then turns his attention back to his phone.

"Nah, I'm the distraction," I say, mildly startled, but always ready to play. "My associate is loading the good stuff up in the van right now."

The man, scruffy-looking in a beat-up brown leather jacket, laughs and sidles closer to me. "Of course. What are you pretending to look for?"

My spidey-senses tell me that I should be wary of men who approach others in the liquor store at two in the morning, and I slide my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie, thumb on my switchblade.

"Don Julio," I say, matter-of-factly. "Can't seem to find it."

"That's over by the cash register," the man says. "Walk right up to Sammy there - the guy not doing his job - turn your back to him, and look down. You can't miss it."

Does he work here? My hand relaxes a little in my pocket. "Well, thank you, sir. I was gonna go home and cry fake tears over empty shot glasses."

"That'd be an absolute fake shame," the man laughs. I do as he directs and opt for the second biggest bottle. Fifty bucks - Winnie better pay me back before Friday, or the car isn't getting gassed up until next Sunday. All the more reason to stay in the house.

"Have a good night," I wave to the guy, passing him on my way out. He's got his hands full with a case of coconut rum, but he smiles and says "Come again!"

Did he just clock-in? Third shifts are brutal.

. . .

The Friday morning sunlight graces my windowsill. I crack my eyes open.

Winnie and I ended up chasing shots with water last night, having run out of anything but organic cranberry juice around 4. I remember pulling out the deluxe Scrabble board, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, watching the first half of Free Willy, and not much else. A good night.

But the liquor sits heavy in my stomach, so I resolve to get rid of it before it gets rid of itself. I might still be drunk.

"Heyyyyy, baby girl!" I shout, flouncing into Winnie's room. My little sister is curled up in a ball and snoring loudly at the foot of her own bed, but snorts when I make my entrance.

"Hhh," Winnie rasps. I pull back the cover to make sure she's alright. She is: the right side of her face is covered in drool, and she forgot to put her headscarf on before she crashed, but she's good.

"I think I drank too much; I need to throw up," I explain quickly. "Get up and get ready for Marvin."

Winnie rolls over and stares, eyes wide, up at the ceiling at the mention of her fiancé's name. "Shit," she proclaims.

"Shit is right, chug water with me and then take a cold shower," I instruct. I don't remember her taking as many shots as I did, but she's at least a hundred points lighter. Luckily she bounds out of bed and begins stripping. I fill two 2 liter bottles with tap water and meet her in the bathroom.

"Wanna race?" she gripes. She looks gray and sick, and I remind myself to start the coffeemaker while she's in the shower.

"I'd rather not, kid," I mutter. "This is stupid enough." I lift my bottle to my lips, and she does the same. She gets through half of hers before holding her head over the toilet and vomiting; I get through almost all of mine and step over to the tub, deciding not to crowd one spot. I look over after I'm done, one hand gripping the bar on the shower door and the other braced against the tile. "I'm too old for this shit," I moan, washing out the tub.

"I'm too engaged for this shit," Winnie mutters around her toothbrush. Her hefty rock winks on her finger.

I grunt in agreement before I say: "And Marv's too nice to a washed-up smartass like you." She snarls at me and cups her hand to fling ice cold water across my back and neck with deadly accuracy. "Shit, shit, okay! Only a little brokedown smartass. Here," I amend, leaving the shower head on for her. She shoots me a look and grumbles something before spitting into the sink and stepping past me into the Antarctic temperatures I left the water on. She shrieks, and I try to hold in a devious smile while I brush my own teeth and splash cold water onto my face.

I lean towards my reflection in the mirror and rub the moisture from my hands through my hair, wondering if I can get Winnie to grease my scalp, then remember dimly that she'll be gone for the weekend. A ski trip to the mountain resorts up North sounds fun. And cold. But I'll get the little apartment to myself for three whole days, so I don't even mind having to grease my own hair.

. . .

Marvin loads Winnie and her suitcase into his Ford Escape in record time, teasing my little sister about her pale face and dark eyebags. I want to join in, but she looks too pitiful, so I wait until they're about to pull off.

"Take care of my little panda, Marvin," I warn. "She's one of the last known few left in the wild." Winnie glares out at me from the shadow of the baggie hoodie I wore the night before; it's her favorite, because it smells like my Tom Ford perfume. Seeing her huddled up in it in the passenger seat reminds me that she's my favorite and only little sister.

Marv nods knowingly and salutes. "IHOP it is, ma'am," he says somberly. I shoot him finger guns and hurry back upstairs.

. . .

I take my time with breakfast, dicing peppers and cubing sharp cheddar to make a fat omelette. I'm a little light-headed from this morning, but I power through and sautée the rest of the shitake mushrooms in the fridge. When I finally plate my food and eat, the world turns several shades brighter and my head clears up instantly. I think that's the last time I'm gonna use that old trick. 26-year-old Melanie doesn't party like 22-year-old Melanie used to. 26-year-old Melanie just thinks it's dangerous.

I take my time in a hot, almost boiling shower, and decide immediately after, staring at my curves in the foggy mirror, that I deserve some good loving. I finish oiling up my body and roll my nipples between my fingers, wondering if my first orgasm should be right here in the bathroom. I convince myself to go change the sheets on my bed from cotton to silk and make it a long, leisurely affair.

I start my set-up with scented woodwick candles, watching the flames grow and crackle before I place two vibrators on my bed; treating myself involves a little bit of double penetration. I'm wet enough just getting the scene ready, but I grab the lube from my nightstand to prep my behind. Lastly, I choose some hour-long Pornhub video to provide the sights and sounds I need. Any one will do; I choose an interracial one. A skinny white man with a huge red dick pounds into a thick-thighed black woman.

I lay spread-eagled on the bed and tease myself with my fingertips, rolling my Hershey-brown nipples between my fingers again and trailing my hands across my stomach. It's been a fucking long time since somebody else did it for me.

"Alright," I whisper. "One hole." I grab the smaller vibrating toy and slap it roughly over my pussy a few times, grunting, before I coat it in lubricant. I prod gently at my back hole, taking one last firm shove to pop the head past the tight ring. I proceed to slide the remaining bulbs in, setting it to buzz almost imperceptibly.

The nine inch dragon dildo with vibrating shaft is next. On screen, the black lady is sitting on the thin man's face, juices dripping down around his mouth as he laps frantically at her cum-coated lips. A metal piece is clamped onto her clit, and as he laps at her wet swollen pussy, she rhythmically pinches the clamp tighter and looser.

My own pussy spasms at the sight. I accidentally chose a really hot video. I don't want to get left behind, so I gape my own lips open, my already stuffed asshole puckering and straining, and pump the tip of my dragon vibe in and out of my slick pussy for a few minutes, pinching my own clit, before sliding it in as deep as I can. I get about halfway before my muscles clench around it, and I decide that as worked up as I am, I should deploy a better tactic. I smack the suction cup end onto my headboard and line myself up on my hands and knees. My position coincides perfectly with the couple on the screen now; he's drilling into her from behind, but I can't tell if it's into her ass or pussy. Good thing both of my holes are filled anyway. I take a deep breath before pushing my hips back to sink onto the ridged dick; the protrusions are almost sharp, and I get a little more than halfway in before I tense and let my upper body drop against the mattress, moaning and shaking in orgasm. I feel my wetness squeeze out around the rod, and the vibrations of the one in my other passage seem strong enough to shake the earth for a moment.

I wait until my legs stop shaking to turn the vibrators up two notches, and I cum again before I can get back on my hands and knees. My body is hot and shiny, and there's slickness running down my thighs. I run a finger through it and shove it down my throat as I slam my pelvis against the black pole, imagining that I feel the base of it and its big knot at my entrance. The couple on screen has switched positions again; his dick has disappeared completely down her throat, and he's somehow tall enough to have a fist completely buried in her pussy. He pumps it in and out with surprising force, considering the angle, and I moan with the woman, wishing it was me being fucked into oblivion.

She has clamps on her nipples too. To compensate, I ease off of my dildo, listening to the vulgar sucking noise it makes coming out of my lips, and lay on my back, stuffing it back into myself and setting both vibrators to full force before fiercely pinching my nipples between the fingers of my open hands. I roll and cup the rest of my breast in my damp, groping palms, and set my heels closer to my butt so I can keep the large, black dildo shoved as far into my pussy as possible. The base pushes at my ankles as I spasm repeatedly, watching the man on screen shove one hand in and out of the woman's dark pussy and the other into her asshole. We're moaning in the same pitch, high, whimpering, and breathy.

The vibrator in my ass pops out from the force and rolls away from me, still buzzing and leaving me unexpectedly empty. I grab it and switch it off, and spend the next ten minutes trying my best to pump the entire nine inches of my dragon dildo into my pussy. I'm at seven, I think, when the couple on-screen finally comes, her thighs swallowing his lower body as she rides him to a wailing climax.

I don't wail, but I do bite into one of the closest pillows and cry out. "Mm... MMMMMM... MMMMM!!" I finally come down, but refuse to remove the vibrator, turning it completely off but shoving it in and out like a torturous lover. Everything blurs and goes white, but my hand doesn't stop forcing it in and out until my whole body rings with that hot, pinching sensation I love to feel so much. Then I close out the video and shut down my laptop before flinging my hands up behind my head, falling back asleep with the dildo planted solid and unyielding in my sloppy pussy. I let myself drift.

. . .

I wake up relaxed, and refreshed, and with the remnants of a hangover. It's late afternoon, judging by the sun sitting just on top of the neighboring apartment building, and I check my phone. A text from Winnie saying she and Marvin are on their flight; a picture from Dad he must've found online labeled "The benefits of a Gluten-Free diet"; and a message from Quincy.

Oooh, Quincy.

I open it up: "Hey sweetheart," it says. Thankfully it's not a dick, but it's probably the beginning of a booty call. I wonder if I feel like meeting up; we were good friends, with benefits, before I graduated. Maybe he can be promoted to an Old Faithful?

"What's up, old man?"

He responds almost instantly. "I heard your lil sis is getting married, wanted to know if you already got a date to the wedding." Hmm.

"Nope, but tbh I don't think I'm gonna have one. I'm Maid of Honor." Meeting the family? That's not the position I'm interviewing him for.

"I mean, congratulations... But I miss you." Here we go. "Wanna come see me?" There's the dick pic. A nice-looking one, natural lighting making it glow, but nevertheless... ugh.

"Quincy I done told you about sending me unsolicited nudes," I send back. "One, it's unwelcome. Two, it's unsafe, and three, you don't know where I am or who I'm with." I remember suddenly why he's ineligible for a promotion; an Old Faithful has to be mature. Quincy's the only 35 year old I know with a frat boy mentality.

"Sorry, baby girl, just thought you'd like it for later." I would; just not the digital form. I feel myself heating back up.

"Aiight, Quince. You lucky I like you. Don't pull that shit again."

"Yes, ma'am," he replies. "But... you wanna come see me?" Damn right I do. I'm sore, but I'm still hot inside.

"When?"

. . .

That night, I stop by my favorite seafood boil spot to pick up dinner for Quincy and I. It's a step above a little hole in the wall place, with a few tables scattered around. I used to come here with the people I hung with; business must be picking up, because now they have matching, non foldable chairs. I pay and turn to leave, and the man coming through the door smiles warmly at me.

I'm immediately scandalized because I think he's got x-ray vision and can see through my gray sweats and hoodie to the cherry red lingerie set I'm wearing; that's always been an irrational fear of mine. But then I recognize him and smile back.

"Hey, Don Julio," he smiles. He's looking considerably less disheveled than the first time we met, in a crisp-looking suit and an edge-up I could use as a ruler.

"Hey, how's it going? Hot date?" I ask. He looks down and grins.

"If we're counting Benjamins, yeah. I had a business meeting."

"I get it, go be where the money reside."

He shrugs. "Right now I'm just tryina be where the crab legs reside."

I smile with him, but I think, What's he doing working late nights at a liquor store? None of my business, I tell myself. My phone dings; I know without looking that it's Quincy. "Then, I'll see you next time I see you, man."

"Yep, bye Don."

I grin. "Benjamin."

. . .

Quincy takes the aluminum pan out of my hands as soon as he opens up the door. "Hey, Nini," he grins, barefoot in unbuttoned jeans.

I roll my eyes at the nickname and step past him, immediately stripping off my hoodie and stepping out of my slides. The door slams behind me. "Why you look so predatory, old man?"

"I'm predating, baby," he says, suddenly empty-handed and running his hands down my back from behind.

I jump, and laugh, and he picks me up. "Look at you, all wrapped up for me," he approves. I'm still wearing my sweats, but now my legs are wrapped around his thick waist, and my breasts nearly spill over the lace cups that are pushing them damn near up to my neck.

He pushes his dick against my stomach and the tight g-string under my pants digs into my skin. I groan. "Quince, where's your roomie?"

"Moved out last month," he leers. I giggle and lean forward to nip his earlobe.

"Hmm, you got this big old house all to yourself?" Quincy's a boiler technician, making good money but getting a degree for a higher position in his company. I think about the "promotion" I wanted to give him and giggle. "You should be looking for an old lady next. Why you call me?"

He huffs as he carries me up the stairs. "Well, I got my house to myself for once, I ain't tryina share it for awhile." I hum in agreement as he stops to stand at the foot of his bed. "Okay, ride's over, baby girl."

I let my legs down one at a time and watch him roll his pants down his legs, but consideringly, I trace my hands down to my toes, sweatpants falling away to reveal a brown vision wet and ready for him. "So I can't ride?" I ask from between my legs.

He stares as he eases himself into the middle of the bed. "I'll submit it to the board for review. Come here and tell me a little more."

I climb in at his feet and rest a hand on his knee, cupping the back of it to draw his leg aside and make room for my body. "Well, Executive Powell, I was thinking you'd benefit from a more lax position in the bedroom - boardroom, I mean. Adjusting your position like this could increase your production." I cup his balls, stroking gently. "That'd benefit me and you."

I don't think my speech made sense, but he's already rock hard, so it doesn't matter. Another reason for him to stop sending those fucking surprise dick pics - they never do him justice. His dick rises, curved and proud, over the soft paunch of his stomach. He grunts low in his throat as I tip my head forward to nip the soft skin of his hip. He jumps and rumbles, "Fucking hell, Ni, stop fucking playing!"

"Mkay." I take a second to judge the distance and pool saliva in my mouth. I get half of him down and drool a bit to ease my way, taking him almost to the base.

"Shit, baby, I missed you. Keep going," Quincy growls, hands gripping the thick finger curls at the back of my head. He's going to mess up my hair. I churrup slyly and rise onto my hands and knees. I sink all the way down and squeeze his balls more firmly. He growls again, harshly, as I rise up to breathe, and grabs me by my shoulders.

"Bouta blow my whole load across your beautiful fucking lips, Ni," he pants, "but not those lips."

"Permission to board, then?" I husk. I'm a little disappointed - Quincy's got a long, thin dick that doesn't hurt my jaw to take. I wanted him to cum down my throat, but maybe later.

"Permission granted," he laughs, handing me a condom and stuffing a pillow under his head to watch me. His dick is bobbing, sparkling from my spit, and I've been wet since I walked in. I grab him by the middle of his shaft and slide his foreskin down, listening to him grunt softly as I run my finger over his tip. "Your permission's about to be revoked, Ni," he warns. "Don't make me dick you down."

"Don't make me dick you down," I mimic, finally rolling the condom down on him before running his tip across my slit. "Old men and their empty threats." I wiggle my hips and let his tip stretch me open, hissing from the soreness I caused.

"Mmm, I'mma split you open, Ni," Quincy groans. He tries to grab my hips and press up into me, shallowly pumping while I squat above him. "Fucking move."

I grin and slam my hips down onto him, pinning his hips to the bed, ignoring the strain and ache of a hole already well-used. "Fucking what? Fuck you?" I rise up and slam myself back onto him again several times, listening to him grunt, then winding right back to the top. I hold myself there, muscles bulging on the sides of my thighs. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Melanie."

"What?" I slide down so slowly that his eyebrows knit together. It looks like he's grieving. I'm panting, and my legs start shaking as I wind back up. I lean back and feel him quiver hard inside of me on the way down. I grip my walls like a hydraulic press at the bottom.

"You're fired," he shouts, throwing me off of him. He wraps a meaty hand around each of my ankles and drags me to him, sticking his tongue into my mouth and his dick in my pussy simultaneously. I know the bruises on my hips won't show in the morning, but I'll still feel them with how hard he's holding me.