The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)

The Cherry, Hung with Snow

Previously: "The Driver's Seat" 

David Kirkham grips your lower lip between his teeth. He pushes you backward. You bump into the bed and tumbled backwards onto it in a heap. When you finish bouncing, he is straddling you—your hips pinned between his knees and his hands pressing on your shoulders. His face hovers only a foot or so above your own.

His naked except for his shades, and his smile is cruel and impudent. "It's perfect, you know, us doing the thing in a motel room," he gloats. "We can do what this place was meant for."

"Ss-Sydney?" you squeak.

"Don't be a pussy, Will," he says as he gives your right breast a hard caress. "Just let me inside Amanda's."

"Sydney!"

"Role-play, God damn it," he mutters. "Don't tell me this girl isn't into guys like—"

He dives in to bite the side of your neck. The bed seems to lift up under you.

Role play? Is she serious? Her as David Kirkham? And you as—?

"Trust me, Will," Kirkham says as he sits up his knees. He clasps your breasts. "Go along with me. It's going to be— Nnngh! Good!"

You close your eyes, gulp, and give a short nod. Just make it quick, you silently plead.

* * * * *

He makes it very long.

He starts by prying your legs apart. You're wearing a dress with a short skirt, but he pushes it up and out of the way as he works dry, hot hands over your inner thighs, rubbing and caressing and tweaking. Then he pushes the hem of your dress up and over your belly so he can get his hands onto your frillies.

After he's decided you're warmed up, he unhooks the belt from around your hips, and pushes your dress up over your boobs. You squirm as he slides his hands under you, and hoists you to a sitting position so he can unbutton your dress at the back. While you're sitting up, he pushes his mouth to yours, and forces his tongue inside for a long, slow, sucking kiss.

It's so intense that you don't even notice—until it falls off—that he was unhooking your bra.

After pulling your dress off over your head, he drops you onto your back again and lays over you, crotch to crotch, and fondles a bare breast, flicking the nipple with a horny thumb. After he's massaged your nipples erect, he puts his mouth to them to suck and nibble and nip at them.

Then he's up, bouncing to his feet. He stares down at you with that same mask-like stare and lets you drink in his lean, muscled nakedness for a long moment. He is still brown from the summer, from the waist up, but white around his pelvis, save for the dark penis that is straining at you like a hungry python.

Then he leans over you, and jams his fingers up your pussy.

He works you and works you, and you grunt and groan as he loosens and lubricates you, but he doesn't stop, even after you're arching your back and trying to pull his hand inside you. He climbs onto the bed next to you, and bites you up and down your neck and jaw. Not until you have begun to squeak, and your back and shoulder muscles are spasming, does he climb between your legs and guides his cock into you.

Oh, God! Now you try to squirm away as that hard, rigid shaft slides in, like a steel cylinder into a too-tight sleeve. It hurts, like it's tearing away tissues as it pushes deeper in, and you bite back tears. Kirkham slides a hand under your lower back and supports you as he pushes rhythmically inside you, sinking deeper and deeper with each thrust.

Then he's coming, hard and fast, and you have to stifle a cry.

* * * * *

"God damn it, but these things are powerful," Kirkham grunts to himself. He's laying beside you, staring up at the ceiling, fondling his flaccid penis. "No wonder—"

He almost passed out atop you, crushing the air from your lungs, and you had to shove and thrash beneath him before he raised up, rolled over, and fell off. His glasses went askew, and his mouth hung open. The back of his throat buzzed.

You let him doze there while you winced and tried to will the pain away.

Yes, it hurt. But there was something wonderful about the hurt, too. You needed to be hurt, Amanda, you told her. You deserved a good reaming.

And don't pretend you didn't enjoy it at some level.

Still, it was very tender down there after he was done, and after gently touching yourself with your fingers, you pulled put your knees together and tried to relax, the better to douse the burning tissues. Long minutes passed with neither of you moving or speaking, until with a snort Kirkham rubbed his nose and made that brag about the power of the penis.

"No wonder what?" you prompt him. You expect the answer to be something like, No wonder guys are always thinking of their cocks or No wonder guys can't control themselves.

But instead he says, "No wonder that's the shape they use for the wands."

The wands? Oh yeah. She means that magical dildo you're supposed to use to open a portal for Baphomet.

You get a slight chill. Would Baphomet be worse than David Kirkham?

"Nnnggghhhhnnnnnn," he groans as he flaps his penis some more. "You're gonna have to give me a few minutes before we do it again."

"We don't have to."

He turns his head. "Why not? Don't tell me you came."

"No, but—"

"I aim to satisfy, girl. I'm not surprised you—" With a grunt he heaves himself onto his side to look at you, and slides a palm over your thigh to touch your bush with his fingertips. "I'm gonna get you off, girl, even if we have to spend the next twenty-four hours trying. Be fun for me, anyway, trying to make it fun for—" He leans in to kiss the side of your breast. "In fact, how about you try not to—"

"Sydney."

"Yes?"

"Sydney!"

"What?"

"Try looking at it from my point of view."

"I am." He cuddles closer. "And what I see is that—" He kisses you on the side of the mouth. "David Kirkham." He kisses you again. "Is fucking." Kiss. "You blind." Kiss. "Because David Kirkham." Kiss. "Is now your love slave." He covers your mouth with his and pinches your pussy.

"Sure, but—" you say when he lets up.

"Him and us are on the same side now, sweetie." He pushes his fingers back inside you. "We're on the same side, inside and out, and I—"

"But I'm in here." You tap your chest. "Inside ... Amanda. And it's not as comfortable as you seem to think it is."

He frowns, then pulls his hand free and examines his fingertips.

"Jesus," he says. "You're a mess."

"What?" You half sit up.

But he pushes you down. "Just relax. Don't go exploring. I'll clean you up." He heaves himself off the bed and pads into the bathroom, where he runs some water into the sink. He emerges a minute later with a wet washcloth, and climbs between your legs again to dab and massage the it into you. It's not nearly as soothing as he seems to think it is, but you say nothing.

"Yeah, alright, I get it," he says as he works. "But Jesus! This asshole is, like, perfect for us. Perfect for the Brotherhood. Poster art for them. Knows what he wants, goes for it with both hands, is all about unlocking all his potential, and making the rest of the fucking world acknowledge it by fucking it until it screams."

You lift your head. "Is that what it's about?"

He shrugs. "Sure. So that's what make shim perfect for it. Kelsey too. She'd run over someone with her car if there was, like, a Stanford scholarship in it for her. I felt her soul, man, after I'd been in her awhile. I can feel this fucker's soul, too." His eyebrows go up. "Can't you feel Amanda's soul?"

You answer with a shrug.

"This is who we want," he goes on. "Guys like this. Guys who like this. Guys who will—" He jabs a finger up inside you, and you flinch hard. "Fuck whatever they fucking want."

You grimace. "So you want to be him now?"

"Well. No." But he doesn't sound sincere. "But I don't want him house-trained, neither. I don't wanna turn him into a pussy, Will, just 'cos he bugs you."

He tosses the washcloth away and climbs between your legs again.

"I want him to bug you, Will," he murmurs as he puts his lips close to yours. "I want him to bug the fuck, and fuck the bug, out of you. And I want you to love it, because he's one of us now. One of our finger-banging finger-puppets."

But it's not a finger that he bangs you with again.

* * * * *

"We gonna make this a semi-regular thing?" he murmurs in between nuzzling your shoulder. He is standing behind you, in his jeans again but shirtless, as you study your put-together-self in the mirror that sits over the dresser. You are both flushed and pale, and look like you've been ridden hard. Because you have been. Four times.

You cradle the side of his head with a palm while holding your own gaze in the mirror. "You mean in secret, like Kelsey and Karl?"

"Why'z it hafta be secret?"

"Because Amanda has a boyfriend."

"You could break up. Or we could add Ricky. Doesn't matter to me. So long as we do this a couple of times a week, here, with these bodies. Or, I dunno, equivalents."

That could get very expensive. Earlier you were talking about adding Kim to the Brotherhood. But maybe you should add one of Kirkham's friends, to put you on the same level as him. Or ... Blake? The strategy that handled Kirkham could handle him.

Next: "Fantasies, Plausible or Not" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 4)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 4)"