In Places on the Run Ch. 03

I'm a moth to her flame now, caught in helpless attraction, unable to look away without violating the precepts of thousands of cycles of instinct. I feel the power of her lash in my groin, and with every flick of her wrist my cock twitches, begging for release. She grabs the blond's hair and savagely pulls her to the sofa, then she spreads the blond's legs and falls onto her, the black phallus penetrating like a spear. White fishnets ensnare jade corset, blond hair and red entangle within grasping hands, flailing arms – they are fucking, kissing, licking and kicking their was to massive orgasms when – a man walks onto the stage.

His cock is massive. Massive. More than a foot long and almost as big around as his muscled wrist. He pulls the redhead away from the blond and drives his cock into red pubic hair; the redhead drives her tongue into a blond pubic glade now dripping with lust, and the three are now linked in blind faith. Faith in the certainty of their need, faith in the certainly that watching eyes feel what they feel, need what they need.

The man roughly pushes the redhead off his cock and slides it down the blond's throat; the redhead joins the blond, and soon they are taking turns, licking, deep-throating, jacking in their place until we can see all the signs building. The man's thighs tremble, then he's on his toes – penis in hand as he guides a thick tidal rush into the redheads open mouth. She seems unprepared for the sheer volume of his semen and struggles to contain it all within her waiting mouth, but soon it is running out the margins of her lips, running down her neck and between her breasts. When at last he stops the redhead hovers above the blond's waiting mouth and lets his semen run slowly onto the waiting tongue, and then downward into her mouth. When the redhead finishes she mounts the blonds face, and we are all watching as the man's cum now runs down the redhead's black stockings. The blond has the final say in this act, and she begins licking semen off the redhead's legs.

I am emotionally spent after this, wide-eyed and hammer-pulsed. I look at Sam; his face is downcast but he looks up reluctantly, expectantly at the actors as they take a bow and walk off the stage. Applause breaks out, the few women in the audience I can see appear stunned. Horny, but stunned. Men are wiping brows, rearranging their slacks, signaling waitresses to bring fresh rounds of drinks, while Sam appears to be hesitating on the crest of a wave, waiting for the fall, afraid of the darkness below.

I have watched the redhead during all this. Watched as from time to time she made quick, covert glances Sam's way. Our next round of drinks arrives; there is a third, for her – I assume – and she arrives a few minutes later, scrubbed, perfumed, her lips still full, her face still flush, and Sam stands when she joins us. As do I, but I am for once quite speechless. What does one say, I wonder, to an 'actress' after such a performance? 'Well done?' 'That was amazing!' 'May I fuck you up the ass now? Please?'

She made to kiss Sam on the cheek but pulled up short and backed-off, but she stood aside when he pulled out her chair. She spoke now, and I was shocked at the accent. Irish, if I wasn't mistaken, all fiery and suspicious. And small talk wasn't her thing, apparently.

"What are you doing here?" she said to my best friend, my friend of forty years.

"Excuse me," I said. "My name's John. What's yours?"

"None of your fuckin' business, John. Sam? What are you doing here?"

"I want to take you to Vegas. I want John to come along. To witness. Like I said yesterday, I want to marry you. I'll never be happy without you."

Well, okay, I was almost speechless, but then again, knowing Sam I wasn't all that surprised.

"Sam," she said, her voice dripping with, sarcasm, "I told you to fuck off yesterday, and I'm going to tell you to fuck off again, okay. If I'm not getting through to you, I think there are some boys back stage who can...get through to you..."

"Uh, Miss None of My Fucking Business," I said, throwing all the charm I could her way, "but I'm a stranger here myself and haven't the slightest idea what's going on. Think you could get me up to speed?"

"John? What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a pilot, why?"

"Well John, why don't you fly your friend right out of here before something really bad happens to him."

"Sure, I can do that, but could I ask you one question first?"

She glared at me, but didn't get up to leave.

"You see, I've known Sam a long time and he's never, not even once made a fool of himself quite like this. I'm curious. Do you, or did you ever have any feelings for Sam, or is this just an unwarranted infatuation on Sam's part?"

She looked pensively down at the table, looked at the drink there. "Is this mine?" she asked.

"Yup," I said, "all yours," and she took a long pull from the martini, then relaxed, leaned back in her chair.

"Well you see, John, a couple of months ago we, well, I thought we fell in love. Yeah, I loved him. Then a month ago he just disappears. Nothin'. He's just gone like, ya know?"

I looked at Sam, could only imagine what had happened. Things got too heavy, he picked up that nineteen year old and ran. Kind of like I was, getting ready to run, I mean. I looked at the girl's eyes again. She was mad, she'd been hurt, and I'm not blind. She still had feelings for Sam.

Yeah, this is where friends come in. It's a give and take world, isn't it?

"Look, what's your name?"

"Brigit. And your name is really John?"

"Wanna see my driver's license?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I would!"

I fished my wallet out of my windbreaker, showed her a bunch of stuff.

"You're really a pilot?" she said, looking up at me with soft green eyes.

"Yup. Listen, Brigit, I'm afraid this is all my fault." Sam was looking down, lost, hoping against hope... "I was in Europe on a motorcycle tour and I got in trouble." I briefly described my GI issues, the trouble in Croatia. "The docs there said I needed to get home fast and, well, Sam is the only person I know that will always come through in a pinch. I called him, he came and got me back to UCLA. He's been taking care of me for the past few weeks..."

Her eyes were growing softer, more understanding with each passing lie.

"You're not bullshitting me, are you?"

I pulled up my shirt, exposed all my neat new laparoscopic scars and she came unglued, flew into Sam's arms, smothered him with kisses as she cried, and while Sam was hugging her he looked over her shoulder at me, then he shot me that 'thumb's up' that told me all I needed to know.

I was probably going to roast in Hell for this one, I thought, not knowing if I'd just done a 'really good thing' or set the girl up for an even harder fall. If history was any guide, I could see a long trip to Hell in my future.

Then Brigit turned to me, her eyes full of happy tears, and she hit me with a really hard kiss on the lips, and she hugged me too.

"So," I said when she peeled herself loose, as I contemplated the hereafter down yonder, "we heading to Vegas, or what?"

Brigit turned to Sam, looked at him hard for a few moments. "Did you mean it, Sam? You want to get married?"

"Sure do, babydoll. Right now, right this read hot minute!"

They were hugging and kissing like they were serious about all this nonsense, and I told Sam I'd get a taxi home and they were off to the races like a herd of turtles, rolling down Lover's Lane headed for all kinds of trouble, but that's life, ain't it?

It's just grand, until the bill comes due.

(C) 2015 Adrian Leverkühn | ABW