The Thread That Binds Pt. 02

Chapter 5:

"Go on, open it." Shona passed the envelope to Mark. "It must be good news. Nobody uses snail mail any more except for special occasions."

Mark and Shona were squashed together in Mark's single bed. Both sets of parents had gone away for the weekend, and the couple had taken advantage of their freedom with an all day sex session, finally falling to sleep, clutched in each others' embrace at midnight the previous night.

Now the sun was streaming through the window from a clear sky, promising the first really warm day of summer. Mark had his hand resting on Shona's pussy, his favourite spot. Even when he was sated, his cock dangling like a desiccated earthworm, he could raise a groan or two by a little finger waggling. He massaged Shona's mound as he took the envelope with his other hand. Then he dragged his finger through the warm slit, causing Shona to wriggle and grimace, before taking it out, wet and glistening, and letting Shona suck the juices off it.

Mark took the envelope and opened it. As he read, his smile broadened, and finally he gave a whoop.

"I've got into medical school in Auckland!" He thrust the letter in front of Shona. Shona gave a squeal of delight as she read the letter, wrapping her legs around Mark's naked body.

"Great news!" she said. "So what do you want to do to celebrate?"

Shona rolled round on top of Mark, her breasts tickling his nipples, then sat down on his thighs, her wet pussy hairs grinding against his crotch. It was quite obvious what sort of celebration Shona had in mind. Mark felt himself getting hard again. He grabbed at Shona's well proportioned breasts, admiring her dusky body with its ample curves, tapering down to her long thighs. His mind drifted to thoughts of the plumper woman he had seen in church.

"Mmm, nice," said Shona, adjusting Mark's rapidly thickening cock, and then easing herself down on it, giving little grunts of pleasure. Mark gasped and groaned, squeezing Shona's breasts as she squirmed on top of him, grinding into him, ensuring the build up of tension was gradual. Mark tried to move but Shona had him pinned down. He moaned and sighed, running his thumbs around Shona's nipple.

Mark squirted his liquid, and gave a sigh of relieved pressure. So glad I persuaded Shona to go on the pill, he thought. Much better than fiddling round with condoms.

Shona got up off Mark and the semen inside her trickled onto his leg, mixed in with her own vaginal juices. The sex smell wafted into the air.

"Finish me off," said Shona, bending down in front of Mark, raising her backside, showing the moist pink opening underneath, a foamy mass of cum just visible inside it. Mark reached his hand between Shona's thighs and slipped his fingers inside. Shona groaned, wriggled, and returned her arse to the upright position. Mark grabbed it, knelt behind Shona and rammed in his own cock, only half stiff, but enough to excite Shona as he started thrusting hard. The bed creaked and groaned, almost as loud as Shona's own shrieks.

Mark's cock started to sag again. He looked at Shona's behind, the muscles twitching, and imagined the plumper one of the girl in church.

Shona gasped as Marks' penis swelled like a blossoming flower, and she almost fell off the bed with the strength of his thrusts. Then Shona shuddered, and more liquid dripped from her hole.

The two naked bodies were soaked with sexual juices, which Shona spread around them by rubbing their bodies together.

"That was wonderful," said Shona, as her long blonde hair nestled against Mark's armpit, their sweaty body odour mingling with the sexual juice smells. Mark held onto Shona, feeling relaxed and happy, knowing he had kept her contented for the next little while.

Eventually Shona asked Mark what they wanted to do for the rest of the day. Mark tensed beside her. He had undergone three orgasms that morning, and four the previous night. Though he had a firm appreciation of Shona's soft body, at the same time he felt totally drained. Maybe Shona would just let him rest his hand on her pussy, and stroke gently. He started to shift his hand.

"I don't mean just sex, Mark. Our relationship must have something more than that. What do you want to do today? How shall we celebrate your good news?"

"We can go to church later," said Mark. That would fill up part of the day.

"I thought maybe we could give church a miss for once," said Shona. "After all, this is the first time we have been able to spend the whole weekend together. We should take advantage of it."

"So what do you want to do, Shones," asked Mark.

"I don't know. I thought we could maybe go ice skating. Would you like that?"

Mark was not a bad ice skater, and normally would have agreed readily enough, but somehow the thought of Shona accompanying him through the day, just the two of them, gave him a feeling of unease. He loved Shona well enough, but all day, with just his girlfriend seemed too much to cope with at the moment. After all, it's not as if they were married or anything.

"I'd like to go to church," said Mark. "I know that's what my mum and dad would want."

Shona laughed. "Bit hypocritical, isn't it. After what we've been doing."

That thought had occurred to Mark as well, so it was with increasing irritation that he replied. "No I don't think so. Christians are not perfect, just forgiven. My folks would like me to go, and people will just talk about us if we're not there,"

"Yeah, that's true," said Shona. She got up, and started gathering up her clothes. "I'll have a shower. Do you want to come in with me?" The previous evening they had undressed each other in the bathroom, soaped their private parts, and with much thrashing, bruised elbows and grunting, had made love standing up in the shower, the warm water cascading down on them, the semen trickling out of Shona, to be washed down the plughole. A preliminary to their all night session.

"No, no time," said Mark. "You go first, and I'll follow."

Mark waited until he heard the shower water gushing before gathering his own clothes and towel. When Shona came out, now dressed for church, he slipped inside. As the warm water coursed down his body he thought of his relationship. They had been a couple for six months now, and while their relationship had been punctuated with a great many clandestine sex encounters like their first one in the church toilets, this was the first time they had been given the opportunity for a more open sex session, with both sets of parents away at the same time.

Mark enjoyed the sex; Shona's body was always there for him, and her mouth work was like nothing he had ever experienced. But Shona liked him to go out with her to various places including walks up Mount Victoria and restaurants; places that forced them to be in close proximity and talk to each other without groping.

Mark got out of the shower and the two of them climbed into Mark's parents' BMW for the drive to the church. The two of them greeted the ushers and were guided to an empty seat, Mark looking around for a familiar freckled face, as he had done for the last six months, but not finding it.

Shona snuggled up beside him and started talking about his move to Auckland to medical school next year. "You'll have to keep in touch," she said. "I can visit you in Auckland. You can show me the sights." Mark replied in a distracted fashion to Shona's attempts at conversation until with some relief the singing-like noise of the first hymn gave him an excuse to concentrate on something else.

Shona's parents would be returning in the afternoon, so after church, Mark dropped Shona back to her place, and then lay back on his bed, thinking of sex, until his own parents arrived. As predicted both were pleased for Mark. His mother hugged him, and his father shook his hand.

"We will have to go out to celebrate," said Tasi. "This is a rare achievement. My son, the famous surgeon."

"Our son, Tasi," put in Marge. "Where would you like to go? Shona and her family can come with us. We could go to somewhere really nice."

Mark remembered the French restaurant he and Shona had seen on the way to Mount Victoria one warm spring weekend, and Shona had dragged him to the menu outside the door to see what was on offer. "Mmm, foie gras," she had said. "Decadent, but nice,"

"What's foie gras?" asked Mark.

"Don't you know? Its goose liver. Prepared by force feeding the geese. Nowadays most places use duck liver, but this is a traditional restaurant and still uses geese. She pointed to the sign above the door. "L'oie means the goose."

"It sounds gross," said Mark. "Can't be much fun for the goose, either."

"Oh, it doesn't hurt them much," said Shona. My French teacher last year, M. Pascal, told me. He loves foie gras. He thinks Kiwis are heathen because they banned its production here."

Mark gave a grimace. "What gives that arrogant frog the right to come here and criticise our country? Why doesn't he go back where he came from, if he doesn't like it?"

Shona had grabbed onto Mark's arm and kissed his ear. "Don't be cross, darling," she said. "We should go out there one day. It's a new place."

"Too expensive for us," said Mark, glancing at the prices on the menu. "It would take me more than a week working for my dad to pay for a meal there."

"Maybe we could go on a special occasion," said Shona.

Remembering this, Mark suggested l'oie to his parents. Tasi hummed and hawed, expensive French muck, what's wrong with good Samoan food, but Marge agreed readily. So on the following Friday, two BMW's pulled up outside l'oie in Mount Victoria. Both families could have walked, but not in the fashionable high heels the women were wearing.

Mark's family were the first to walk up to the front door of the restaurant, tastefully decorated with container plants. Two well dressed woman and a middle aged man approached the family and handed out a leaflet. Marge shrunk away. She was always embarrassed by unplanned social encounters, even with the extremely polite and friendly Jehovah's Witnesses. They were far too passionate and ... intense for her taste. These people seemed to be promoting something with the same intensity as the Witnesses promoted everlasting life, and she shrank from them.

"No, thank you," she said, scuttling into the restaurant.

Tasi was less polite, angrily brushing aside the man, who had approached him with an ingratiating smile. "You coming, Mark?" he demanded, holding open the door for his son.

Mark had been about to engage with the young woman handing out the leaflet. When he heard his father he grabbed a leaflet from her and hurried into the restaurant.

A young man in evening dress with a French accent glided to their side and after checking their reservation, guided the family to their table overlooking the street. Mark could see the three leaflet wielders talking among themselves. He surreptitiously looked at the leaflet the young woman had given him, as the French-sounding waiter helped Marge into her seat and poured out water for her.

The leaflet showed a picture of a goose, its neck extended and hugging a huge metal tube, while a woman dressed in peasant garb pushed a bright blue bulging bag down its gullet. It looked like the kind of contraption his mother sometimes used to force icing through an aperture onto a cake, only it was a living creature it was being forced into. The caption read "Don't buy foie gras," and underneath was a description of the foie gras industry in France, and summaries of scientific studies on goose suffering written by veterinarians. Mark stopped reading. He was hungry and didn't want to spoil his appetite.

The waiter, who Mark had taken a dislike to, ushered in Shona and her parents. The four older adults immediately began talking about their days and work. Mark kissed Shona lightly on the cheek and brushed the waiter aside, moving Shona's chair for her himself.

"I'm starving," said Shona. "I'm looking forward to this. Thank you, Mr and Mrs Wiseman, for inviting me.

"That's quite all right, Shona," said Marge. "After all, you encouraged Mark with his studies and helped him with some of his homework, so you are quite entitled to share with his triumph." Shona looked down, remembering what really went on in some of those 'homework' sessions with Mark.

"I'm having the foie gras," said Campbell. "I don't care what these layabouts think." He gazed with scorn at the protesters outside. The original three well-dressed distributors had been joined by four younger protesters; three young men, and a scantily dressed young woman. They were holding placards, "Say no to animal abuse," "L'oie abuses animals," and "honk if you like geese".

"It's disgusting the way they are allowed to disturb decent folk," said Marge. "They should be removed."

"Looks like someone else has the same idea," said Tasi, as a blue flashing light reflected itself in the window. A police officer had walked up to the group, and was arguing and gesticulating with the placard holders. Mark's heart missed a beat. The young lady, the one arguing most vociferously with the policeman, was the freckled woman from church.

She was wearing short shorts and thigh length boots, accentuating her best features, and a loose T shirt with some slogan on it. She didn't seem to be wearing a bra. At least, when she turned around to gesture angrily at the restaurant, Mark clearly saw the outline of her nipples through her shirt.

"Why don't they get jobs?" muttered Shona to Mark. Mark was too distracted to reply.

The older, better dressed protesters had elbowed the placard wielders aside, and were now having a quiet conversation with the policeman, and a pleasant looking police woman who had joined him. The placard wielders positioned themselves outside each of the windows fronting the street, and held up their placards so they were visible to the customers inside.

The three well-dressed protesters shook hands with the police officers, handed each officer a leaflet, and the officers walked away. Soon the blue flashing light was no longer reflected in the window, and the protesters with the leaflets went back to their post by the front door.

"Well!" exclaimed Marge. "That's typical. The police do nothing. I'd have arrested the lot of them, and thrown them into the cells for a night. That will teach them to spoil our evening."

"We can go somewhere else if you want, Marge," said Tasi.

"No, Tasi, that's just what they want," said Marge. "I'm staying here, and what's more I'll be ordering the foie gras. Shona likes it too. What about you, Mark, it's your evening after all."

Mark glanced out of the window. The girl from church was stationed outside it, placard held up for everyone in the restaurant to see, her nipples wiggling under her shirt as she breathed in and out.

"I'd like to stay, dad," he said. "I won't have the foie gras though. It seems cruel."

"Come on Mark, they're only geese. Foie gras tastes divine," said Campbell. "Have you ever tried it?"

Mark shook his head.

"Don't pressure him, dad," said Shona, laying her hand on Mark's knee. "You can have some of mine if you want to try it," she said to Mark.

The waiter had come by and was taking orders. Mark never liked this part of eating out. His parents would always fluff around, order something, then ask the waiter if the mushrooms were really fresh, or how well cooked the steak would be, change their mind and argue, then change it again. Mark waited while they got on with it, watching the woman with the placard and giving Shona a grope under the table.

Mark was just wondering whether he and Shona might have time for a quickie in the toilets, when his parents finished making their choices and the waiter turned to him and Shona. Mark skipped on the entree, but Shona ordered the foie gras. Mark read through the French menu, something that was a struggle for him, never having been taught a foreign language.

Shona, who came near the top of her class in French last year, was pleased to translate for him, and the French-looking waiter also chimed in with helpful comments. Mark felt that these two linguistic experts were showing him up, especially after Shona started exchanging a few words in French with the waiter, who was gazing at Shona's cleavage rather more intently than his job description required.

"You decide for me," Mark said eventually, and went back to staring at the placard-wielding freckled woman outside the window. She and the other three younger protesters had started chanting, an original chant to the tune of Pink Floyd's 'The wall'.

We don't want no geese in cages

We don't want no force fed birds

No dark and painful Hell for poultry,

Pascal leave those birds alone.

Hey! Pascal! Leave those birds alone!

The waiters started scurrying around, closing the windows near the street. "So sorry, Mesdames and Messieurs," one of them announced. As the windows closed, the chanting died to a murmur, and the heat started to climb. There was a faint hiss as the air conditioning was turned on, further drowning out the remnants of the chanting. The only noise from outside was the occasional honk of a car horn. Presumably from a driver who 'liked geese.'

"Nous aimerions deux plaques de l'oie rôtie, avec des frites et légumes" said Shona. The waiter bowed and went back to the kitchen with the table's orders. The protester outside still moved her lips up and down, "Hey! Pascal! Leave those birds alone!" but no sound penetrated into the peaceful atmosphere of the restaurant.

"Pascal. That's the name of my French teacher. I wonder if he is related to the chef," said Shona. Mark grunted. He wasn't really interested.

"Let's have a toast, to Mark," said Tasi as the waiter poured wine into each glass. "Mark has been accepted to medical school in Auckland next year. To our son, the doctor."

Mark looked down, embarrassed.

"And let's not forget Shona," put in Marge. "An encouragement to my boy, and a delightful future daughter in law." This time is was Shona who stared downwards. Mark caught her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Speech, speech!" yelled Campbell, waving his glass. A few of the patrons looked around.

"Keep your voice down, Campbell," whispered Paula. "You're starting to sound like those losers outside."

The entrees arrived; Shona's little dab of foie gras on a home-made cracker with a single olive looking incongruously tiny on a large platter. Shona spread some of the creamy brown pate on her cracker and offered it to Mark. Mark shook his head. Shona took a bite and wriggled with pleasure. "Mmm, that is so good," she said. "You don't know what you're missing, Mark."

When the mains arrived, Mark tucked into his own roast goose with enthusiasm. He was hungry now, and what with the trip to the restaurant and the waiting, he was eating a lot later than he normally did. The hot sun had gone down, and Mark noticed the girl outside had donned a fleecy hoodie. Her legs were now a deeper shade of pinky purple, taut and hard against the cold. Mark thought again about a quickie with Shona, but his stomach was clamouring louder than his dick.

The roast goose wasn't bad, but the sauces were very heavy, and Mark would have just as soon have eaten boil up. As for the pommes frites, again not a bad taste, but when you came down to it a high price to pay for what were essentially just chips; the sort he could get from any takeaway.

During the meal, Mark's parents, his girlfriend and her parents plied him with questions about his plans and prospects. What did he want to do after medical school? What speciality did he want to go in for? Mark had no ideas about the future, not having much enthusiasm for medicine, and instead steered the conversation towards Shona and her prospects in her first professional year at law school next March.