Chapter #1Premonition: Party of Three by: rugal b.   (With assistance from Seuzz)
It is chilly outside the house, but it is warm inside the car. You shiver and you sweat both.
The night air thumps to a gentle beat like the heart of some great beast, for Kristy Carlson doesn't believe in loud parties, only in fun ones. So there's a pit of cushions and bean bags in the living room, where kids can sprawl over each other with their phones; a cleared-out space in the den where they can dance; a billiards table in the study; three monitors with game players in the upstairs game room; and the deck with pool in back. The latter isn't getting much use on this crisp winter night, but the rest are gently pulsing with life: two score or more of her "friends" from Eastman High School.
And what are you doing in the side yard, alone, huddled in the shadow of a still-slim oak tree? You are watching the roofed bubble of Trevor Schulze's Chevy Cruze, which is parked across the street—one of three-dozen cars lining the shady street of this very exclusive country neighborhood.
And what are you doing in the back seat of Trevor's Chevy Cruze? You are stifling the screams of Tina Branson by pressing her face hard up against yours, and pushing your tongue past her tonsils and down the back of her throat.
* * * * *
"Hey, what're you up to, David?"
There's a hint of laughter in the voice, and sure enough there's a smile on Kelly Trask's face when you turn around to find that she's crept up behind you.
"Just getting some air," you say. "It's kind of warm in there." You wipe your forearm across your forehead by way of illustration. In the back seat of the car, the sweat is dribbling into your brows as you lock the struggling Tina in a tighter, harder embrace.
"You're overdressed," Kelly says.
"You're one to talk," you retort, for even if her burgundy blouse is cut low across the top of her bare breasts, the sleeves are long, and the hem clings to the widest part of her hips. She is dressed in bell-bottom jeans as well.
"This is just a friendly party," she says. "Not like a dance club."
"Someone should have told—" you start to say, then catch a sympathetic breath. In the car, Tina must have caught you just right in the side of the midriff with a lucky brush from her fist. "Beth," you conclude.
"What's wrong with the way, uh, Beth is dressed?" Kelly asks, mocking you gently by sucking in her breath at Beth's name, the way you accidentally did.
"Nothing, I like it. You wanted me to lie?" you add when Kelly makes a face at you.
"Sure," she says. "I mean I know it would have been a lie, but it would have sounded nicer than— What's wrong?"
What's wrong is that things are reaching a climax in the back seat of Trevor's car. Your attention always wavers when that happens.
"Just a little light-headed," you murmur. "It was hot in there, and I guess I—" You sag against the side of the house.
For your guts are roiling and your loins are spasming. It is no sexual climax you are feeling, though. Your cock—both the one here with you in Kristy's side yard and the one here with you in the back seat of the car—are limp. No, it's the flesh within—the spongy flesh inside your cock and your balls, in your asshole and your bowels, and all up and down the core of your body—that is foaming and fizzing and hissing, like a sopping sponge that's been set over a hot flame. Your guts loosen and shift, and you quiver like a bag in a breeze. Inside your chest something turns loose—
And your tongue, like a fat python, detaches from roots down near your heart, and slithers out of your mouth and all the way down Tina's gullet. She writhes and stiffens and snaps her mouth shut, and shakes with a bone-rattling intensity inside your arms.
Kelly puts a palm to your forehead. "I hope you're not getting sick, David," she says.
"I hope not too," you mutter.
"Maybe you better go home?" she suggests.
"No, I— Well, not just yet. Give me a moment."
Your vision had blurred, but it comes back now, and you lock your eyes onto Kelly's concerned face.
She is pretty rather than beautiful—Tina is definitely "beautiful"—but there is a radiance that comes through that transfigures her features when she looks—really looks—at you. It's the sweetness of her personality, you suppose. What's the expression, Beauty is only skin deep? But there is such a thing as inner beauty, and maybe that's what shows when she drops the shallow mask of everyday talk and really shows you how she feels.
"Okay, I'm feeling better now," you say, and wobble back onto your feet. In the car, you release Tina, who sags like a broken doll against the door opposite, her jaw hanging open lopsidedly. You rearrange her sweater and her blouse to more demurely cover her breasts. Then, with a spiteful twist of the lips, you pull the top away to peep down her cleavage at the freckled curves of her breasts.
"Well, if you're feeling this bad," Kelly is saying, "maybe you should go home. The party's not that important."
"And I'm not that important to it."
"Don't be like that, David," she says. "You've got lots of friends here, and you know it."
"Yeah," you dryly drawl. "I'm good at making friends." In the back of the car, Tina abruptly sits up, but her head hangs to the side at an unnatural angle. Her tongue, which is an iridescent blue, hangs from her open mouth, its tip touching the top of one of her breasts.
"You're joking, but it's not as much of a joke as you're pretending." Kelly touches the side of your stomach. "I remember when we weren't so much friends."
You grunt softly. Yes, there was a time when Kelly wouldn't even look at you. Not out of snobbery or meanness, but simply because she had no reason to.
And then one night a couple of weeks ago, you had a real meeting of the minds.
In the car, Tina lifts her head and straightens it into position with a cracking of the vertebrae. Her mouth widens and her tongue, fading to a more natural pink, retracts into it. There's a vacancy to her expression, though, and she seems to watch without seeing as you open the door to get out; and when she moves—humping her way across the seat as she follows you out of the car—she moves not with the lithe and sinuous grace she is known for, but with a jerky yet deliberate motion, as though her limbs were being maneuvered from without by remote control.
Once she's on her feet, you grasp her by the shoulders with strong hands, massaging the muscles and molding her posture into a more natural shape.
"Yeah, I think I'll go now," you tell Kelly. "Walk me out to my car?"
"Sure," she says, and falls in beside you as you cross the front yard toward the street. You pause on the sidewalk, watching Trevor and Tina as they straighten themselves out inside their clothes.
Then you adjust your vision.
"So, I'll catch you later, David," you say. "Hope you feel better!" With a faint smile the friend you found half-fainting by the side of the house nods and shuffles off toward his car. You cross the street to meet the other two. "Are you alright, Tina?" you ask.
"I'm fine," she says, though her voice is distant. Then: "Kelly?"
"That's right, it's me. Let's go show everyone you're okay." You slip an arm around her waist. With a silent command you urge her to put one foot in front of the other and follow you toward the house. "We'll get your jacket and take you home. Tell Trevor you had a good time, Tina."
"I had a good time, Trevor," Tina says without turning around.
"And how about you, Trevor?" you ask, turning to look—to really look—at him. "Was a good time had by all?"
"I had a blast," you reply, and stretch your arms and back, and settle yourself again inside the tight letterman jacket. "Almost as much fun as when it was you and me that time."
Kelly smirks at you—you smirk at Trevor—and at a distance that looks casually accidental you all walk back into Kristy's house.
It's really too bad you don't have it in you for another. But you can settle for a blow job, and after you've seen Tina home you'll give yourself one.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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