Work Out Come Back

We choke on each other's noises. Hers is high and forced and corked. Mine is low and deep and purring. She swallows mine and I swallow hers. They sit so well together. I'm right in her, just past the lip, and that is enough to start the grander motion. I still have to turn up my neck to kiss her and she still has to turn down. We both like this rather novel arrangement. Then she slips down a little more and I am not so important right now. What she is doing to me is much more apparent.

Louise takes me slowly. All the practice, all the work, all the familiarity has given her the indisputable fact that I need patience in order to properly express my physicality. That same familiarity also screams at her to drop her full strength into it as soon as she is able. But slow, we are taking it slow, and thus we can be reasonable in our act. For the moment. It helps her be quiet. It helps her keep her promise.

A third, or a fourth, definitely not half of me is taken and she has to take a break. I am not helping. If I was, then I would be down to the base already, but she'd be screaming and thrashing and terribly excited. We promised each other that this would be slow and calm and patient. Silent as the night. Calm as the stars. She takes me slowly, so slowly. She is back to panting and huffing, slowly easing herself. Louise keeps a steady pace.

"You're doing so well," I whisper, "So quiet for me."

And then she isn't. Nowhere near loud or audible, but just a little hitch and a choke and she keeps moving. More, she takes more. I give her more. She is taking me slowly and I feel the milestones fall away. Past half, and then a bit more, and then a bit more, and then a pass, just outside the final stretch. This one is just to tease me because she can. Any breath she catches at this moment is merely a byproduct, a happenstance, a mere coincidence. She's down to eye level with me and I think this is my favorite so far.

I shove her hips down right when she wasn't ready. Louise takes that final vast stretch of me. I watch the rapturous scream form in her chest, only for the mind and the throat to close it down. She pants and that's enough. That's enough for her to adjust and hold and come back to me. Her eyes are still shut tight, as if that will suddenly make all of this so much better.

"I'm proud of you," I whisper.

"Shut the fuck up," she whines, "You don't get to play supporting parent. You have the least control out of all of us."

"I have three of you to take care of. I don't have the luxury of holding back most of the time."

"Bullshit. You could fuck us all into an early grave and then break all the sex toys we have."

"You keep getting me those flimsy hole things on purpose. You just like watching me break them."

I kiss her nose and she relaxes a bit. I wish she wouldn't. There's slightly less tight on me, but there is motion. So, I guess it balances out.

"You know what? I think you like though," I murmur, "I think you like not breaking. You like taking me. You like pushing yourself like this."

She nods, like the good little slut she is. She nods because she likes pushing herself to the brink and that's where I am. She meets me and now she is calm and riding the edge and riding me. She is right there with me. She is holding me and I am holding her and now we sit in our shared teetering dance.

"There's another weird thing with the toys," she mutters, "I like being better than them."

I chuckle a little bit and she's a bit embarrassed and now we're somewhat even. She is better than the toys. They don't talk and whine and have an ass that works so well with pinches and spanks. The toys don't' have toys of their own that can go in holes. The toys don't wear fun pencil skirts and tight slacks and low blouses. They toys don't kiss me and tell me they love me.

I kiss her and tell her I love her. She scrunches up again and I start moving.

Slowly, we have a slow moment where she still adjusts to me. She had my presence and now she deals with my absence. Both are terrible and wonderful and she has both. I roll back out of her. She whines. She liked me in her. And now she doesn't have that. She has the forlorn hollowness of her body and how desolate I make her. Then I start pushing back in and everything is alight. She is full and warm and perfect. Then I draw out again and that leaves her as nothing.

She chases me down with her body and am finally looking down on her again. She rolls her stomach and flexes her thighs and she is so tight over me. I keep the motion slow and even. I keep the motion steady. The bed does not squeak. Louise does, small and sharp, little crystals shattering over and over again under the blanket of my body. Her hands scramble and skitter over my body. They seem to like my breasts tonight, squeezing and rolling and kneading the soft flesh of my body. I'm not Saoirse and I have no claims to be, but I am more forgiving than Troy can be. At least at this part. I still think I can go harder than him. I don't know if he breaks toys as often as I do. Then again, I want to see him try. A fun little game for when we get back.

I keep moving. I keep moving through her. I have my pace that works under the veil and the dark and quiet. No one knows. No one but us and our ever-growing lust. That same cap keeps us together. I can't have the full range of my motion on such a small stage. I can't spread her open and lay into the desolation. I have my small little kingdom of rampage. I want her to be quiet and I don't think she could be when I am like that.

She kisses me and that helps her be quiet. She grips me and has something to break against. I can feel my shape bulge through her stomach. All that hard muscle still parts and swells with me. I move and I pump, softly and shallowly. The bed creaks and groans, but it could just be the wind. Louise just had to turn over. Her shoulder was falling asleep. My leg was a little cramped. I am in no way hilted in her and hitting her sternum with my indominable length.

She starts shivering again as a little motion comes through her. I find that spot again and put as much pressure as I can on it. It's a good spot. She makes fun noises only for me. She keeps fighting me and trying to do the opposite. She wants me in when I am out. She wants me out when I am in. She wants the full range of motion I can give, and all she has is the small thrusts I can steal from the still night.

She almost screams. She almost breaks down as everything in her breaks. Her release hits my stomach and her hands finally give me something painful. She pinches and pulls and grips and steadies herself on me.

It's too much. I'm too much. She's going to break through the rule we've set and I can't have that. I tilt her chin and hold her still. My lips silence her and I hear everything vibrate through me. It is her. Her eyes are unfocused and crazy. Her motions are erratic and uncontrolled. I am the only thing to keep her still, keep her good. She appreciates it. I move my tongue and play with her lips. She mewls and cries and everything is still nice and quiet. Everything is still shared between us. I grin through her. She grabs me tight and moves her hips, fighting every second of her rapture.

Mine comes as a surprise, really. My guard was down and she was so enrapturing. There's that familiar pull in my core, that wonderful urge to flex and tense and it works so well to hold her close. It works so well to stifle my own cries. It works so well together and her legs refuse to let me go. They pull me in as deep as I can go. Filling her completely. There's a glint in her rolled back eyes as she claims this small victory. I see no reason to challenge the game.

I can almost hear her body respond to mine as the first shot comes free. I can hear it ricochet in her body and settle in her core. I can hear my own muscles and veins respond in kind for the next step. She's back to rolling her hips and clenching her core. She's regained enough reason to milk me, to pull the shots from me just as I tease her own release from her. Its give and take, give and take, hers winding down as I am in my stride. More and more and more and more of me is slowly flowing out. I fill her with warmth and heat and terrible need. She keeps kissing me, biting my lip and trying to do it all as quietly as possible. I've stopped caring if it actually is. I believe we are quiet and Mr. Fangy has not reported any intruders. She's laughing. Softly. She's whispering something dirty and sweet in my ear. Softly. She's moaning in my ear, making sure that I know what I do to her. Softly. My release is not soft or quiet or contained, but there is enough to keep it muffled. It is all there. It is all between us.

I feel my given heat roll off her body and back into mine. I feel it shift and move and flow back out as I keep replacing. I am deep in the motion, rocking my hips, deeply. Little motions down in her as far as I can go and that is just as good as the full range of my body. I have the miniscule moments to savor and ride and they are just as overwhelming.

My release slows into a dull warm glow tracing my nerves. It settles in my brain stem and I can't seem to think of anything. There's Louise, stroking my back and kissing my neck. I reach blindly for Troy or Saoirse or anyone really, but I only come back with empty air. Then the hands find Louise and I start to run my fingers through her hair. She likes the way my nails dig into her scalp. That's more than plenty.

"That's a good little slut," she purrs.

"No," I say, "It sounds weird coming from you."

"Yeah, yeah, it kind of does. Can you blame me, though? Does stud work better?"

I tilt my head back and forth, letting the word rattle around between my ears.

"Sort of," I conclude, "But not like this. I feel like stud needs a two body count minimum for it to fit right."

Louise agrees with my logic. She also agrees with the endless fatigue. She agrees with the final suggestion that we should probably go to sleep. We were loud and fun and now we need sleep. We have a full day's drive back tomorrow and I imagine breakfast will see me put through another ringer of embarrassment. I just hope my parents never find my diary.

---

They did not find my diary. Once more, I am secured and locked and everything safe. I will burn it if it ever shows its face again. They did send Louise several digital versions of the photos so she can show all the others just how awkward I was. And one of my temporal doppelganger. I'm not sure how I feel about that and Louise's new interest in long heavy coats, but it is the lesser of two evils.

The trunk of our car is heavier now. It has mom dumplings in a dad cooler, Mr. Fangy, now laid down to rest, and one of dad's little project's sitting safely in a leather sheath. I'm just glad it's not compost.

Louise breaks from his hug and she seems to be doing much better with it. It's a shock the first time around, but it's an easy love to fall into. I get mine and it's wonderful. He kisses my head three times.

"Did you strip the bed this morning," he whispers. I no longer wish to hug him, but I am trapped.

"Yes," I hiss back, "We put the sheets in the washing machine."

"Good girl."

And I am back to wanting to die. Mom and Louise are talking and that's terrible. I assume they're doing everything in their power to further strip me of what scant ego I have remaining. I have already taken the pill that will make me not sick, but Dad still refuses to let me go. He likes hugging me and I like hugging him. It's not all so bad.

But he breaks because time is a bastard like that. I have a work to go to sometime tomorrow or the day after. Louise has the same. Mom and dad sort of do, but not really. Consulting is basically a paid retirement. I hug mom and she pecks my cheek and I squeeze her tight and I don't want to let go. I think they can fit in the back, if we move some stuff around. But then again, she has her own home to tend to. We say goodbye and I promise we'll have more people with us next time. That seems to appease her.

I get in the car and wave from the window. Louise waves too and then the cornstalks and the soybeans and the odd sunflower field start waving in the wind. The radio plays and the road rolls underneath us and I'm feeling more or less ok. Definitely not nauseas.

My phone goes off and it's Troy wishing us safe travels again. Then it buzzes from Saoirse who is holding her tits up in a mirror. They look nice and oiled. Then Troy has the bright idea to show the afterglow of their last night and I have to put the phone down. I am in a car. I am in control. It is fine and nice and I turn up the AC a bit just to keep me focused. Louise doesn't notice. She is thinking about something very important.

"Ok," Louise says, "I need to confirm something. Is your dad an actual Viking or something? Because he gave us a sword. And that phot really messed with my sense of time."

I chuckle.

"No," I say, "Well, in spirit, maybe a little. He likes making stuff. One year it's woodworking. One year it's masonry. One year it's knitting. And now, he somehow found the time to make swords. We can return it if you want."

"Hell no. I have a sword now. You will have to pry that out of my cold dead hands."

I laugh again. I have not touched the blade, but I imagine it will work its way into many more photos with and without clothes. Troy would look good with a sword. Saoirse would look good with a sword. Everyone looks good with a sword.

"I'm glad you like my family," I say. It's a weight off my chest, I didn't really know was there. It's another little piece of me and her that just sit so well together.

"Me too," says Louise as she takes a turn, "Like I said, I was worried. I've had some bad experiences with families. And now I have a good one."

I want to reach over and smother her in one more of those overwhelming hugs, but I hold steady. We are driving along and we don't want to crash. We will not apologize if we do, but we will ask if everyone is alright.

"You really liked the photos?" I ask.

"Yeah," she said, "My dad never did stuff like that, and I don't know why. I'm sure we have a few, but nowhere near that many. I just think its cool that you have that."

"They're kind of yours now, too, in a way."

"Rachel, what are you saying?"

I take a moment and line up the words. They mean more or less what I want them too, but I just want to make sure.

"I've just been thinking long term and all," I say, "And you're a part of that."

"Rachel, if you pull out a ring, I will start crying. And then I will have to pull over and do some things to you and then we'll have to spend the night in a hotel again and I kind of don't want to do that."

And now I have to back pedal like a coward, but I don't have any of the logistics actually in place to make good on my words.

"There are two more people to consider," I concede, "So that's a bit more complicated. And I don't have a ring. I'm sorry. But, I don't know, I guess I just want my version of what my parents have. And that's you. And that's Troy and Saoirse too."

"So, no ring?" she sighs.

"No ring right now."

"Good. I don't want to cry right now. Besides, we already have those onesies."

We do have those onesies. They're not my favorite, but they go together and they're comfortable. They have easy access to all the fun things beyond a handful of big buttons. Rings hang there and choke poor fingers. Louise needs all her fingers. Mostly so I can hold her hand as we drive home.