Fly Girl Ch. 03

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Relationship trouble & investigation mystery.
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Part 3 of the 5 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 07/01/2010
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PygmyCoho
PygmyCoho
382 Followers

Chapter 03: Moderate Turbulence

The beat of water played across her skin. Her nipples had hardened at the first touch of spray, but now they ached. Stephanie tingled as she directed the pulsing steam between her legs. She shivered before her hands fumbled the showerhead back into its cradle.

Damn, that Steven, she thought. It had been more than a week since the meeting with FBI Agent Al Scott, and Stephanie was on edge.

The razor slid over her lathered mons. In a couple of minutes the last stubble spiraled down the drain, leaving her smooth and bare. She removed the showerhead from its holder and rinsed herself. Then the rinsing turned into playing, and the playing turned into pleasuring. The probing needles of hot water found her labia and the folds around her clit.

She missed Steven's touch, and could not understand his lack of interest. She longed to lose herself in their lovemaking but was left to this. Masturbation cooled her physical desire even as it left her empty. She pressed on the soft skin above her slit and the tip of her clitoris jutted from her cleft. Her fingertips circled several times as she fantasized about his tongue.

Stephanie leaned back against the cool tile, closed her eyes and used her free hand on her full breasts. She pulled on her nipples. "Oh, Steven . . . ." Stephanie braced one foot on the edge of the tub. The showerhead sent tingling sensations through her pelvis. "I . . . need . . . you!" The water enveloped her pussy and lights flickered behind her eyelids. The orgasm left her gasping.

She stepped out of the shower with the bathroom door still wide. Steve walked past and she called to him. Stephanie stood, hair dripping wet, her thick nipples hard and her pussy absolutely nude. Steve's eyes lingered on her. His stare felt hot on her skin. His mouth worked a couple of times. Then he retreated.

Stephanie threw on a t-shirt and jeans then found him leaning against the kitchen counter. Before she could say anything, he told her, "I have to go. I've got a lesson. Call you later, okay?"

"Sure, Steve. Whatever."

In the months they had been together this was the first time he could remember her calling him Steve, not Steven. He gave her an unreadable look, pecked her on the cheek and left in a rush. Stephanie half expected any loose papers to trail in the vacuum of his wake.

She needed him right now, needed him to be strong for her, to desire her, to help her forget the world in a cocoon of lovemaking. Instead he bolted. Even more confusing was that he got hard when he saw her naked. She noticed. She was certain. One phrase kept repeating in her mind.

What the fuck?

* * * * * * *

Despite his need for sleep, Al parked and strolled into the midst of the family barbeque. Kids chased each other, imperiling those balancing full plates and drinks. An occasional shout or scolding could be heard, but they appeared ineffective.

He found Patsy, saw her glance at him and they waded through the milling bodies towards one another.

"Hey, cous," she called.

"Hey, Pats." They hugged. As they parted she peered into his face.

"Jeez, Al, you look like shit! When was the last time you slept?"

"I grabbed a nap a couple o' hours ago—"

"No, I mean really slept?"

"Um," he stalled, thinking. "Dunno, last week, maybe?"

"Damn, then we better feed ya. Beer?"

"Better not. Coffee?"

"Nah, but the sweet tea's real good." They drifted to the tables heaped with food. "You gotta try the pulled pork. And the potato salad—Stella out-did herself this time."

As they piled their plates, Al lowered his voice. "I got some news."

Patsy turned to face him. "About—you know?" she breathed.

He nodded once.

"Do tell," she encouraged.

Al shot furtive glances over both shoulders then jerked his head towards an empty picnic table. On the way he scooped up a sweating plastic tumbler of tea. Patsy dug into a cooler and came up with a can of beer.

They had always been close, as close as siblings. Al and Patsy confided in one another and, for Al especially, it provided an anchor. They had an unspoken pact to withhold judgment, keep each other's secrets, and provide support. Al also appreciated the fact that Patsy never shied from telling him when he was wrong or out-of-line. He counted on her for that.

They sat across from one another and Al started talking. "We went to the landing strip—Oh, an' keep this to yourself, okay?"

"Tom?" she asked.

Al nodded. "He's okay, but not too many details. Just give 'im the 'quick version.' I'll tell Steve and Steph myself when it's time, okay? Shouldn't be talking too loosely. But to you . . . ." He shrugged.

"Okay," she answered, cracking open her beer. She slurped at the can and stared into Al's lined face.

"So, yeah, we found the landing strip, no problem." He shoveled a forkful of pulled pork into his mouth, closed his eyes and sighed, "Mmm, mmm, mmm." He focused on his cousin and spoke around his food, "You're right, this's great! God, I needed food. Okay, so we get there and find bodies." He attacked his potato salad next.

"Bodies? More than one?"

He held his cup and wiggled two fingers against the side facing Patsy. "One had a single GSW to the back of the head." He tapped once behind his ear. "We think he was the shooter, the one shooting at the plane, I mean." He talked as he enjoyed the potato salad and his tongue showed white. "But the second's messin' with my mind."

Patsy tried to keep patient as he ate. She failed. "Whadda ya mean?"

"Well, it was a kid, maybe fourteen or fifteen. And he, well, he was hidden in the bushes. The other guy was left in the open as though they—"

"They didn't care?" Patsy interrupted.

Al shook his head. "Were making a point, more'n likely. But the kid was hidden, and there weren't any drag marks that we could see. So I think he hid himself. And he looked bad. Puke on his shirt and pain in his face."

"That is a little weird—"

"No, the weird part was from the autopsy. There were a couple of tubes in his gut."

"Tubes? Like condoms? A 'mule'?"

"Like sheep intestines," Al hissed. "But, yeah, drugs. Serious."

"What ki—"

"Let's just say 'a controlled substance' and leave it at that. But one came open and he OD'ed. And the weirdest part, whoever it was that gave him the stuff left it all in the kid." Al chomped at a yellow cob of corn.

"What? I don't—"

"Yeah, well, if his supplier, or receiver, or whoever knew what he was carrying and was anywhere close to him when he died, or if they even knew where he was after, they woulda carved him up like a Christmas turkey to get the stuff. But they left him. I mean, somebody shoulda been expecting him, right?"

The blonde sipped her beer. "Y'all get there too soon?"

"I thought of that. But we didn't arrive on site until two days after the shooting, right? Plenty o' time if you're a motivated bad guy."

"Huh," Patsy replied. She was as puzzled as Al.

Then Patsy felt a swell of worry for Stephanie and Steve.

"Hey guys! What's up?"

She jumped. "Oh, shit, Tom—"

"Sorry," he grinned.

"Scairt the crap outta me, ya stinker." She slapped him on the arm as he sat next to her. He pecked her cheek and looked at Al.

"Hey, G-man. Oh, man, you look like crap. Are ya sleeping?"

"Yeah, I mean, no. She already told me I look like 'shit'," he repeated, eying Patsy. "But I'm not sleepin' enough."

"All that crap at the—you-know-where, huh?"

Al nodded as he filled his fork.

"Anything you can share?"

"I'll tell y'all 'bout it later, babe," Patsy promised.

"Oh, um, okay." Tom took a long pull from a dripping can of beer. Al watched him with envy.

They made small talk as Al finished his meal. Then he rose, hugged Patsy as she sat, and shook Tom's hand. He shuffled to his car, his mind still wondering about the boy's body.

"Poor guy's dragging his ass." Tom sympathized. "What's goin' on?"

Patsy ran through the quick version.

He whistled. "Not good. Guys like that, that'd do that, well . . . not good," he repeated.

They sat without talking. The children were starting to wind down from their exertions and a light breeze cooled the air. Tom felt a hand running along his thigh. Leave it to Patsy to still be horny, he thought. But he knew their shared insatiability strengthened their relationship.

"You know," she began.

"I bet I do," he chuckled.

"Well, if you know already, I could give you a zippered hand-job right here . . ."

"Or?"

"Or—where'd ya park?"

"'Neath the live oak. By the dumpster."

"How romantic." Her comment oozed sarcasm.

"Hey, don't judge. It's private."

"Hmm, well, if it's private." They finished their beers and cleared the picnic table.

Tom dropped the paper plates and empty cans in the trash. When they reached his truck, the blonde admitted, "This is private."

"Told ya." He grinned for an instant before she hugged his neck and pressed her lips to his. Tom grabbed her behind and ground his half-hard cock against her. She whimpered and suckled his tongue.

"Inside," she ordered, her voice husky and breathless.

He fumbled with his keys. As he worked the lock her hand stroked him through his jeans.

"I wanna suck this, real bad."

The door opened and she pushed him into the seat. "Make room." She followed and went for his zipper. Her mouth surrounded his erection and he groaned. They had not even bothered to close the door.

The blonde's head bobbed up and down his length. His hands tangled in her hair, guiding her. But she needed no encouragement. She slurped and licked, moaned at the first droplet of his pre-cum, and fisted his shaft as her tongue swirled around the swollen tip.

"Oh, fuck, Babe. I'm gonna . . . ungh . . . oh, damn, that's so, oh, oh, oooh!"

Patsy drove his thick member deep into her mouth as it danced and spasmed. Thick spurts of cum erupted. Tom groaned and panted his release. She kept him imprisoned until she felt him shrink and soften. One final tightening of her mouth squeezed a last drop that she relished. She smiled to herself when he shuddered.

Patsy smacked her lips and purred, "How was that, babe?"

"Damn . . . ." He lay motionless, slumped in the seat with his eyes closed.

"You taste damned fine, but now I'm all wet," she pouted. "What're we gonna do about that?"

"Hmm," Tom sighed. His eyes opened with effort, and he said, "Come here."

She slid along the seat and one of his hands grabbed her behind the neck. He pulled her into a wanton kiss. He could taste himself in her mouth. His free hand went straight for her breasts, pinching and kneading the tips through her top. She whimpered. A tiny rush seeped from her and soaked into her undies.

Tom touched her wet vulva and pressed into her with two thick fingers. The thin fabric of her panties and the swollen heat of her parting lips yielded to the onslaught. Tom ran up and down the length of Patsy's slit, pushing in a little deeper each time he reach her opening. His fingers circled and rolled her glistening pearl until she trembled.

When he pinched her clit she gasped, "Oooh, fuuuck."

Tom pulled at the crotch of her undies and they ripped. He plunged two wet fingers into her. Patsy clenched on him and more of her juices streamed down his hand.

"Mmm! Umpf!" Her hips thrust and jerked as Tom went deep.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight!" He ravaged her mouth again. Patsy's hands twisted and pulled and tweaked her nipples. She closed in on her climax very quickly.

"Ooo-oooh fuck!" The blonde went rigid and grasped her chest. Tom held his thick fingers deep inside and scissored them back-and-forth. He thumbed her full clitoris with hard circles, bent down and bit on her left nipple with his lips.

"Oh, God, yes! Shit, tha— There! So goo-oo-ood!" Heat boiled from her, warming his palm. Her body shook for long seconds before the ebbing waves melted into rhythmic shivers.

Tom knew to be gentle with her, but any touch was too much right now. She jerked his hand from between her legs, sighed and smiled at him.

"Damn, you're good." She brought his fingers to her face and inhaled her aroma. Her tongue slithered out to savor her essence. As Patsy fellated Tom's fingers, his cock gave a sympathetic twitch.

"So how long before you're ready to go again?" She ran her tongue along his middle finger for emphasis. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes. It was a challenge.

"Damn, Girl, you keep that up and we'll be good to go right now."

"Then take me home so I can make some noise if I feel like it."

"What about your car?"

"Later," Patsy said as she got settled.

Tom went for his zipper but she told him, "Don't bother."

He turned to her with a wolfish grin, cranked the motor and drove off in a rush.

* * * * * * *

Steve's lesson went poorly. Neither his head nor his heart was in it, and he cut it short out of deference to his student.

"I'm sorry," he told the pilot. "I'm just not thinking too well today. We have to be the brain of our airplane—our 'bird'—and if we're not right it's like our bird has brain-damage."

The pilot smiled in understanding before he teased, "So, we're bird brains, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess," Steve laughed.

"It's okay. Really. The wife wanted me home early anyway."

"Thanks, Mark. Let's go land."

"What kind?"

"Soft field," Steven answered without thought.

Mark put the Cessna back on the runway with a delicate touch. Fifteen minutes later Steve arrived at Stephanie's house. He parked on the street. His mind lingered a million miles away as he stared at the front door. It took another ten minutes for him to make up his mind.

He climbed from the Honda. Its door slammed shut with a rusty squeak. The walk to her porch seemed to take forever. He knocked.

She answered, surprised.

"Why didn't you use your key?"

"Thought you were mad at me."

"Yeah, well, don't neglect a woman's needs, Steven. It can piss us off—big time!"

"Yeah, about that. Can we talk?"

She fixed him with a blue-eyed stare and he felt his heart skip. Stephanie stood aside and let him pass.

Dammit! she thought. I wish he'd . . . . Shit—how can I be mad at him and want him to sex me up, too?

Steve walked to the kitchen and pulled a beer from the fridge. He turned to her as the door swung closed. He decapitated the bottle with a flick of his wrist and tossed the cap onto the counter. Taking a long pull, he looked deep into her face and spoke.

"I . . . I have been, um . . . . Oh, shit! Steph, I've been trying to keep from maulin' you—"

She interrupted, "I didn't ask you to."

"I, I know. But I, well, I just thought that you were so scared about being shot at, and I, well I kinda thought you needed some time."

"Christ, Steven, I've sooo been needing you!

"But—"

"No, please, let me finish."

Stephanie's visible resolve caused his mouth to snap shut.

"Steven." She moved towards him and took one of his hands in her palm. "Steven, I want you. I need you. I need you to be strong when I'm not, and I need you to desire me when I'm scared." He peered into her face. All he saw were Stephanie's limpid eyes.

"I needed you to make love to me after we got back from that flight. Remember?"

Steve recalled how she had taken him, standing in the airport terminal lobby right after they had landed with the fresh bullet hole in the Cessna. He stirred at the memory.

"I use sex to cope sometimes, and I needed you this past week. I wanted to get lost in great sex with you and forget that other shit."

"I didn't— Sorry, baby."

"Oh, Steven, it's . . ." She sighed. Her arms went around his waist and she buried her face in his chest. When she spoke, he had to listen hard to hear her.

"I never told you about my Dad, did I?"

He set down his beer and wrapped her in a warm embrace. Steve wanted her to feel safe. And cherished. "Only a little. I know he's a priest—"

"Minister. But the 'hellfire' kind." She took a deep breath. He thought she trembled against his chest.

"'Spare the rod and spoil the child.' That was him, all right. My mom left when I was about eight. She tried to take me with her, but he wouldn't let her . . . ." He heard her sniffle.

Stephanie controlled herself, but it was taking all her will. "So the day I turned seventeen I left. I haven't looked back yet, but I have been making up for lost time."

She paused again, and Steve simply held her and waited. She cried softly into his chest. He tightened his embrace and her body softened.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay," he told her.

"One of the things I missed so much was—" She stifled a sob. "Was this. Holding someone, touching someone. Feeling wanted." Her body hardened, as did her voice. "So a couple of months after I left I found sex, and I . . . I found that I . . . had to . . . have it. It was good by myself. Better with someone else. But it was my escape. It made me feel good. Helped me forget how bad I was, how damaged I was, how I was unrepentant and 'doomed to hell for all eternity.' It made me forget him. And I thought it was a way to hurt him, too, if he ever found out. But her never did. I never talked to him again."

She pulled from the safety of his arms and turned away. Stephanie would not meet Steve's eyes. She could not see the pain and the questions in them.

"It's okay," he said.

"No, it's not so okay, Steven. I tried to contact my mom, but . . . she was . . . gone." She braced her arms on the counter and hung her head. Steven saw the muscles in her back tense, saw the sobs quaking her frame. He stepped towards her.

"No—please. Just wait. Please."

"Okay, but I'm right here, okay?"

"O—kay." Her voice quavered, and sounded so small.

After a few minutes, Stephanie continued. "She died just after I turned sixteen. She knew I'd never be allowed to take any money from her—from her estate—as long as I was with dad. But she put it away for me in a trust fund. Some of it was mine when I turned eighteen, but if I waited until I was twenty-one I could have it all. The way she invested it, well, it would be a lot more. So I waited. That was the most disciplined I had ever been. At least the most I had been by myself."

Stephanie turned, faced him, and wiped her eyes with both hands. Her expression seemed hollow, almost lifeless.

"But one of my 'things' is when I get stressed, when I can't handle any more shit, I just want to get lost in sex. It still feels like my safe place," she told him wistfully. "But," her voice became more brittle, "we stopped having sex just when I really needed it. I mean—shit!" She grinned, but another tear ran down her cheek. "The timing sucked!"

"Sorry," he grinned back. He dried her face with his hand. She grabbed his wrist and kissed his wet fingertip.

"Thank you," she whispered. She moved towards him and he wrapped her up once more. She sighed.

"Steph?"

"Hmm."

"You know I love making love with you, right?"

"Me, too," she mumbled into his shirt. "You want to? Right now?"

He kissed the top of her head. "No, I think I should go home."

She leaned back to see his face. "What?"

"Yeah."

"But—why?"

"Well, I want to be more to you than just your next 'fix'. Or just your next 'fuck'."

"But—"

"Shhh," he touched a finger to her lips. Then he bent to her. It was a soft kiss, so tender that Stephanie felt her chest melt deep inside. She swabbed his lips with her tongue, trying to arouse him, but the tactic backfired. Her melting sensation moved much lower.

Steven drew away from her. "Steph, I'll call you tonight, okay?"

"No, Steven, please stay—"

"—But right now I'm gonna go."

"But—"

He held on to her hands. "I want more from you. More of you. Shit, Steph, I think I want all of you. But you need to take some time and think about it, okay?"

PygmyCoho
PygmyCoho
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