tagGroup SexTen Years Later

Ten Years Later


Author's note: this story includes marijuana use, brief threesome action including girl-on-girl contact, minor dominance and submission, and multiple orgasms. All characters are at least 18 years of age, remain at least 18 in any role they may play. If any of those bother you in a fictional context, please: take this opportunity to find another story to read. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy.


Saint Valentine, if saints are real and do intercede on behalf of those who beseech you, grant me a boon. Just one. Just once.

On this day named to honor you, from a petitioner named after you, conceived on this very date, please hear my plea. I don't need love, not yet, not now; but I could sure use some lovin'.


My eyes went wide when the doorbell rang precisely as my beseechment ended. I shook my head, smiling. There was no St. Valentine, prayers don't get answered, and there would be no sweet, simple lovin' for me in this small town today. Even on the birthday I shared with the Saint of Love.

My smile faded as I wondered again why I had agreed to take over my parents' small business, necessitating that I move back to Unity, Ohio, to the home town I had fled at a sophomoric 18. I hadn't belonged here then and I didn't look forward to trying to belong now, ten years later. Sucking in a slow, steadying breath, I reminded myself that this was a new start, on my terms, and a positive attitude couldn't hurt. And it's not like I had felt I belonged in Boston, after five years of school and another five of work.

Slipping the door chain free - a habit I had acquired living in a much bigger city - I twisted the knob and swung the door open. Silence.

My silence. And her wry smile growing into a broader grin at my reaction. I had expected a delivery driver, or perhaps the building manager who had turned the small apartment over to me yesterday.

I had not expected a tall, slim beauty, red-blond hair brushed down over her shoulders in soft waves. A beauty in a fitted skirt that showed toned legs from just above the knee to where three narrow buckled straps held on matching pointed-toe heels. A long-sleeved silk shirt, unbuttoned enough to drag my attention away from the rest of her, showed only the smallest swelling hints of her breasts.

"Well?" She broke the silence and my paralysis. "May I come in?"

"I'm so sorry, of course." I stepped back, swinging the door wider. The faint splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks reminded me of yesterday. A tall girl in a ball cap and sweats, holding the door as I hauled a load of boxes into the building, an awkward four-plex carved out of a once-grand Victorian house.

"Thank you." She almost sang it. I noticed the rounded curves of her from behind, in contrast to her chest, as she passed me. She had been pretty yesterday, in a casual way. Today she was head-turning striking. The hint of a scent I caught in her passing wasn't perfume, or floral, but it had a noticeably tantalizing effect. I suddenly wanted to sniff along her path until I could bury my face in her hair and neck, inhale deep.

"Could I ask you something, and maybe offer some advice?"

"Sure." I was puzzled by my unexpected visitor and curious. And very attracted.

"This is a small town, and people talk, and are curious about anyone new or different."

"This much I know." I knew it too well. The gossip was what had driven me from Unity, when my 'affair' with a single mother had become public knowledge.

"Smart Aleck. Do you also know the smell of pot is pretty obvious when it suddenly wafts in the window on the same day the new guy moves into the apartment next door?"

"Ohh. Gotcha. I am so sor..."

"Sorry? Say thank you for the reminder."

"Thank you..." It was time to get a name, so I stuck out my hand. "I'm Val, by the way."

"The only reason you would need to be sorry is if you continue to be such a hesitant host." She crossed her arms, which pushed the open placket of her shirt wider. A second dusting of freckles showed there. "You don't recognize me, do you?"

"Sure I do. You held the door for me yesterday. And you must be my neighbor since you smelled the smoke."

"Wrong and wrong. Well mostly wrong and wrong. I'm not your neighbor, I was visiting a friend who lives here. And I didn't mean recognize me from yesterday. I meant from longer ago."

Longer ago? I hadn't set foot in Unity for ten years and this tall young redhead couldn't have been more than..."Oh. My."

Her grin stretched a yard wide, a smile I had seen brighten a lanky, wise-cracking freckled little girl's face - my adult life ago. "Ingy!?"

Ingrid, the daughter of the divorcée who had found an eager plaything in an eighteen-year old me, squealed. "Nobody calls me that! Not in years."

Then she was reaching out, stepping close, and my arms wrapped around her. My own height in her heels, Ingy's hair found my nose and cheek. Silken softness stroked my face as that scent drew me in, like the Sirens' song calling poor sailors to their oblivious doom.

Spicy, musky, crisp, and fresh, like clary sage the smell made me feel almost giddy. I risked snuffling in close for more. She giggled and the action pressed her chest against mine; finally, I received confirmation of her breasts as two small but definite pressures that gave at the contact. My fingers stroked down her spine, enjoying the fine, smooth fabric while confirming no trace of a bra strap.

"You remember me." It was a sigh of profound relief, heightened by wonder. Long arms, thin but strong, pulled her in closer. I inhaled again, near her ear, before answering.

"Of course I remember you." My lips brushed her ear at the last word. I felt her shiver against me. I called up a memory of helping a coltish, freckled third grader with math homework her mother had no interest in. "I wondered what ever happened to that smart, argumentative, head-strong young beanpole, growing up in a very...interesting household."

She laughed, unentangled herself from me. I resisted the urge to cling to the slim beauty, to hold those small soft breasts to my chest, to take one more deep breath of scent.

"Interesting: nice word choice. It got worse after you left. She was never as polite or complimentary to any of her man-toys after you bailed. And they were never as decent to her." She looked thoughtful, eyes angling up. "Smart move, by the way. You got off before the runaway train really started rolling."

Her lips were tight, holding back a smile, or trying, before she continued. "Got off quite a few times. Sorry. Just couldn't resist. I know you were thinking it too."

I nodded with a shrug. "Guilty. But you'd call her complimentary? And polite?"

"Fuckin' A!" It was a spot-on version of her mother's hoarse voice. I held back a shiver. "You're still hard? Well then, shove that big, beautiful cock back in, moron! Where? Wherever it'll goddam fit!"

"My god. That is truly scary. I got goose bumps." I tried to laugh, but felt more disturbed. "I think I missed the polite part of that."

"She complimented you - not something Mommy Dear was know for: 'Big. Beautiful. Cock.' She said, more than once."

I stuttered, feeling a burn on my cheeks. "Well, I guess that is a..compliment. She... said a lot of things..while we were...uh..."

"My god, you are so cute." Ingy stepped close, bringing one open palm up to my face, to one reddened cheek. "Yeah. She yelled and screamed and cried out a lot of things whenever she dragged you back to her bedroom. Things an impressionable young girl like myself probably shouldn't have heard from her mother."

"Though for the sake of honesty, she didn't have to drag me very much. I was willing enough."

"True. From what I remember, you didn't take much convincing."

I shrugged, managing a grin. She stayed close, her eyes on mine, studying, her thumb now stroking lightly over my cheek as she palmed it. "I was eighteen, and an attractive woman was offering sex..."

"Lots of sex. Some of it pretty kinky." She added.

"Exactly. What kid my age would refuse?"

"But you left."

"Her demands...changed." And embarrassing details started spreading around town.

"I know." It was her turn to blush red, her eyes dropping away from mine. "I heard them too often. And worse ones after you left."

She had wanted sex rough, then rougher. First, it was just pounding, thrusting, hard into her, holding her down. Then spanking. I liked it in that it got her off, hard. And getting my partner off had always been my primary goal in sex: seeing them let go, lose control, give in to wave after wave of ecstasy. Bringing women to orgasms was the closest thing I had to an addiction.

Then she'd started demanding I hit her, and she started hitting me when I wouldn't. Any 'compliments' dried up, replaced with more cursing insults and more public ones, trying to anger me into lashing out, giving her what she thought she wanted. I fled.

Ingrid seemed nervous at my silence, remembering.

Her long-fingered hand left my face, drifted down her front, toying with her collar, the open placket showing scattered freckles, before dropping down to her side. I saw one finger, the pinky, catch for an instant at the slight peak marking one breast. It left a point more distinct than before, my eyes drawn and held to the spot where one nipple now pushed out against the clinging fabric.

Her face was down. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have brought it up."

I reached out, used a thumb and finger to raise her face by her chin. Her eyes were damp, bright. "No worries. It's a long time ago. I'm just sorry you had to hear all that."

She grinned, quick flash. "I'll let you make it up to me."

I wasn't sure what that meant. "How?"

The smile was wide, her eyes twinkling. "First off, back to your failed hosting duties."

"Huh? I invited you in."

"Did you offer your guest refreshments? Or a hit of that green bud I had to smell?"

"Ohh. Would you like something to drink?"

What do ya have?"

"Uh...water. I just moved in and haven't been to the store yet."

"Mmm...thanks but no."

"Okay then. Would you like a hit?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

"Is that a yes?"

"That is definitely a yes." She laughed. "And Max doesn't get any."


"Max's my friend, the one whose window so kindly wafted your weed smoke our way."

Max? I was surprised at the force of the green simmer of envy that I felt gurgling in my gut, hearing that the lovely Ingy - Ingy with that intoxicatingly scent I was already missing - had a 'friend' named Max. Internally, spectral hands crumpled up a sheet of imaginary paper, a paper freshly scribbled with Ingy's initials and mine, separated by a plus sign, fueled by the coincidental timing of her knock on my door and my ironic prayer to my namesake St. Valentine.

"Well?" One arched eyebrow was raised as she looked at me.

I shook off the cobwebs of dashed hope, slid a hand-painted 'antique' keepsake box toward me on the small kitchen table. "Coming right up."

The sticky green buds, procured from a friend in southern Ohio, near Athens, filled a small glass jar that had originally held capers. The hand-blown glass pipe, swirled with metallic blue, had been a present. I packed the bowl, handed pipe and a Bic lighter to Ingy. "Fresh hit goes to the guest."

"Thank you, Sir." Her eyes flashed bright at mine. I watched her lips wrap around the swollen tip of the pipe after she completed a deep exhale, trying not to think of those lips wrapping around anything else. I noted the way she emphasized the 'Sir,' more as though she addressed a senior officer rather than a mere polite nicety.

"There's a carb." I pointed to the hole in the pipe to one side of the weed-filled bowl; it allowed fresh air to fill the pipe's chamber, clearing out the intoxicating smoke at the end of each hit. I watched her fumble, trying to cover the carb with one fingertip, hold the pipe to her lips, and light the bowl.

"Let me help." Her smile was meek. I took the lighter from her, flicking the flame on and holding it above the bowl as she drew in.

"Whoa." I pulled the lighter away when her ginger bangs swung over the flame, just missing singeing her hair.

"Sorry." She looked embarrassed at her second failure, eyes down, which I found way more attractive than I should have. "Maybe. Could you...blow the smoke...into my mouth?"

"A 'second-hand' hit? Sure, I can do that." I took the paraphernalia from her, embarrassed at myself for the flutter of excitement I felt when our hands touched. I would have been more thrilled at the possibilities surrounding her suggestion if she hadn't mentioned the boy-friend next door, Max. I covered my disappointment with teasing tone. "But don't be sneaky and turn it into a kiss or anything, okay?"

I couldn't translate the brief set to her face, before she laughed. "I'll try not to."

I sucked the flame down into the bowl, let my chest expand as I filled my lungs with the smoke. Ingrid watched me closely, intent. I saw her eyes flit twice down from my face to my chest where it stretched out against my shirt.

When I lowered the pipe and lighter, holding in the smoke, Ingy stepped close. Her eyes shifted, nervous. Setting the pipe and lighter down, I slipped one hand behind her head to hold her steady before leaning closer, my lips parted.

Ingy's parted to match, leaned in as though to kiss me. I stopped my mouth a fraction of an inch from hers and began a slow, steady exhale. She breathed in the smoke as soon as it left me. Her slow, steady inhale was deep - unexpected in someone who had trouble lighting her own pipe. When the smoke trailed off, I felt the lightest brushing of her lips over mine, brief, feather-delicate.

"Oops. My mistake." A slim hand covered her mouth when smoke escaped. She exhaled a small swirling cloud to one side of us. Her teeth bit into her lower lip. "That wasn't a kiss, was it?"

I shrugged. "Not unless you say it was. Otherwise, it was just your admirable diligence in making sure no THC was going to waste."

"Good, 'cause kissing you would prolly not be a good idea. Admirable diligence. I like that." She looked down at the pipe on the table. "More please."

"Coming right up."

She stepped close again as I lit the bowl. This time I felt her hand come to rest on my hip when mine settled back behind her head. Intimate. She breathed in my smokey breath, filling her lungs as mine emptied.

Again, as I felt my lungs spend their last, her lips brushed mine. I thought I heard a soft sound escape Ingy. Her tongue flit out, over my upper lip for a too brief tempting. Then her head dipped, face down. It brought a wave of her hair and scent close.

"That a kiss?" She whispered it.

"Hmm." I found my arms had moved to embrace her slim form to me, anticipating my commands. I inhaled, enjoying the closeness. "There's room for interpretation. One could argue for not a kiss at all, but then again, others might call it Frenching. I think I would need more samples, more time and attention to be sure. You know, research."

"Yeah, research. Sure ya do." She kissed my cheek and pulled back, smiling. Her hand was back toying with her open collar. Her eyes dropped in sudden thought, came up twinkling. "Dang. That's some good stuff."

"Da kine. Another hit?" The host should offer, after all. Especially if it would bring her back against me.

I couldn't help but watch as her fingers tugged her placket wider, nervous and fiddling. Damn. Her thumb brushed, returned and circled around the slight peak of her breast. I thought I saw the peak rise, more defined through the the fine silk. "I better not. I get...pot makes me...we shouldn't..."

My chuckle cut her off. "Come here. It's okay."

I eased my arms around her, pulling her to me. Her smells, her presence, inspired my confidence. Fuck Max; I wanted this girl.

She cooperated, wrapped long arms around my back, leaned her head close. "Was I babbling?"

"Starting to."

She snorted a laugh. "Brat."

"Definitely." I agreed. I let my words vibrate, low beside her ear. "Would I be crossing any lines if I said you smell absolutely wonderful?"

She snuffled in under my own ear in answer, sending a shiver through me. "All kinds of lines."

Her lips stayed teasing on my lobe as she continued, voice low. "I was thinking the same thing. You smell really, really good. For a man."

She laughed when I tensed in mock protest. "What? Men stink. Scientific fact."

"Okay. I'll give you that one." I eased back enough to see her face. "Speaking of science, are you ready to resume our research project?"

"Dirty man. Tempting a young girl with drugs, are you?"

"No drugs needed. We could do a dry run."

"Dry? I haven't been close to dry since we..." Her eyes went wide, cheeks blushing. "Sorry. Pot makes me...think about sex. I talk too much. Sorry."

Her hands came up between us, pushing at my chest. I let her slip back out of my arms. "I should go."

She strode toward the door.

"Hey. Ingy. It's okay. This is pretty strong stuff." I reached past her and grabbed the doorknob, but didn't pull it open for her. I didn't want her to rush away in her current state. I stroked a hand down her back and she turned to look at me.

"I'm sorry."

"No need. You're just a little higher than you expected."

"I'll say." She blew out a slow breath. "I'm okay now."

She leaned back against the wall beside the door. I followed, encouraged her chin higher with a thumb and finger, and kissed her. It surprised both of us.

The kiss was soft, gentle, exploring. Lips met, parted, met again. Tongue tips reached out, tentative and slow, accompanied by small, murmured appreciations. I pulled back after a few timeless seconds.

Ingy sounded breathless. "Was that a..."


"You're sure?"


"So, you don't need any more samples?"

I shook my head. "No."

She looked surprised.

"No more samples." I continued. "Now I need the real thing."

I almost thought I could see her irises contract, her pupils dilate. "The real thing?"

"Yes." I settled my hands on the slim swellings of her hips. For the third time, her fingers began their dance at the opening of her top. It brought my attention down, split between the exposed freckle-flecked skin and the hinting peak pushing again the thin top where her thumb had twice already teased. "A sample's not enough anymore, beautiful Ingy. I've tasted a hint of your kisses now and I want more."

Something drove me to my boldness; I was surprised at my own confident manner. Perhaps it was a flashback to ten years earlier, and her mother's insistent demands to be dominated. Part of it was her scent, the animal attraction it conjured. When her toying fingers increased their pace, I felt as though I had expected it. Still, my next action shocked both of us.

Ingrid's lips parted, rose toward mine in a silent acquiescence to my need. At the same time, her hand dropped once more from her placket. My hand slid up off her hip, entirely without my consent, and cupped over her small, soft breast. Before her thumb could again reach her nipple, mine found it, flicking over the risen, hard-soft bulge underneath the silk.

My mouth silenced her squealing cry and were we kissing, frantic, urgent, a mutual dam burst. I pinned her back to the wall. A hand scrambled fingers through the hair at the base of my skull. Quick breaths panted in and out her nose and gaps in our lips as we devoured each other.

Her chest arched into my hand. I found only the slightest raised center in the swollen mound of her nipple. Instead it formed a small near-dome at her petite breast's center. I felt her own hand on top of mine, squeezing, stroking. I noticed my breaths increasing in pace, mirroring hers. In quick stolen gasps now, we shared our air, carrying eager hunger instead of smoke.

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