Jan’s boyfriend is in town for a week, so I haven’t seen her lately. I am sure that she’s compiling ways to tease me about her brother. I have to admit that he fascinates me. It is not just the fact that he is a burly piece of eye candy. He is easy going, we share many of the same interests, and I just love his family.
His card lies on my desk. So many times, I’ve thought of calling him. I hope I get invited to a Livingston family dinner soon. However, now, I am on my way to Ripley, WV, for my family’s cookout.
My brother, Tim, greets me with a hug that feels forced, at best. I say hello to his three little children who would rather watch television than acknowledge me. However, Tim makes them greet me.
“Why don’t you help me water the garden,” asks Brittany, Tim’s wife. I put my phone on the counter, and I follow her outside. The garden is neat. There are no weeds to be seen. The rows are perfectly straight, and marigolds line the perimeter.
“I’ve missed you,” Brittany says. “I just want you to know that you will always be my friend. Tim and I don’t always share opinions, you know.” She turns on the sprinkler.
Wow. This must be hard for such a submissive wife to say to me. Quite frankly, it never occurred to me that she had opinions, much less differing ones.
“I appreciate that. I know that I’m seen as a rebel. Really, I lead such a monotonous life. It’s ironic, really.”
“I get it. I really do. Call me any time. Of course, when Tim is not around would be ideal. You know how he is.”
I nod. We walk the garden, admiring my mother’s handiwork. Dad yells that dinner is ready.
“We’re having steak, baked potatoes, and salad,” Brittany tells me.
“They slaughtered the fatted calf for me, huh?”
Brittany bends over laughing. She catches her breath. “You may not be a rebel, but you certainly were not cut out of the same cloth.”
“True enough,” I agree.
My mother and father stiffly hug me. I sit next to the children. I grab one of their plates and start to cut their steak into tiny pieces. Brittany works on the other two plates.
“Dad, this is great,” I declare. It is fork-tender as only my dad can cook a steak. I never have figured out his marinade, but it is perfectly complimentary to the buttery flavor of the New York cut.
“Well, thank you, dear. You know I love a good steak.”
Tim interrupts our conversation. “So, Sophie. Are you still living off of your dead lover’s life insurance?”
My fork drops noisily on the plate. The kids have no idea what is going on, according to the looks on their faces, but they know something is wrong.
I wait for my parents to step in and come to my defense. “I have not touched a dime of that money. It is invested for me. Right now, I am living off the savings I already had until my homestead becomes self-sufficient.” Why do I feel the need to explain my financial situation?
“Your savings? You only have savings, because he paid you monthly after you got knocked up. He gave you a house.” My heart sinks. I feel so vulnerable. Nobody comes to my defense. I look over at Brittany, who has a death grip on Tim’s hand and is giving him the “stop it now” look. He keeps going. My parents are pretending to mind their food. “You are a whore. You cannot be a Christian and be a whore. You will burn in Hell for helping him commit adultery! Adultery—one of the Big 10. Don’t you remember ‘Thou Shall Not Commit Adultery’?”
“First of all, he gave me a total of four houses, a cabin, and about a hundred acres. If you must criticize me, get it right. Secondly, I also remember that the Bible says that you need to clean your own yard before judging someone else’s.”
“That is not in the Bible.” He shakes his head in disgust.
“In Matthew, it says you should not look at the sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye. If you are going to call yourself a Christian, crack open the Bible from time to time and see what Christ actually said. Christ also ate with drunks and whores. He rode a mule, the lowest form of transportation, through town. He hung with thieves, and He ministered to them. Jesus was not a snob. You seem to have forgotten that.”
I grab my phone and head for the door. I see sadness in Brittany’s eyes, but I also see that she’s proud of me. “Tim, by the way, stealing is also one of the Big 10. I’m pretty sure that stealing is what you’re doing when you leave work early, but still get paid for it. I also think that is what you’re doing when you take home batteries, office supplies, and the occasional tool.”
I look over to my parents who are looking anywhere but at me. “Mom, Dad, you have always hated me. I will never know why. However, I do know that I no longer give a damn. This is for you both.” I hold up both middle fingers.
“Mommy, those are her bad fingers,” announces Tim’s oldest child. I slam the door, walk to my car, and cry the entire drive home.
“I think I’m going to quit referring to you as a hermit. I think I’m just going to start calling you my mountain man.”
“You know, mountain men like to rough it.” His insinuation hangs in the air.
“I like men who rough it.” I grin at him. We cannot finish our meal fast enough.
He smiles, ready to one-up me. “They also like to keep their women in line. They like their women submissive. You think you can handle that?”
I retort, “In bed, I can handle anything you throw at me.”
“We can warm this up later.” He stands up. “Let me show you how mountain men do it.”
Those words cause my pussy to contract. He bends me over the kitchen table and spanks my ass through my jeans. I scream out in need. He is definitely not shy about being dominant. I had no idea how much I would like this.
“Your room upstairs?”
He effortlessly lifts me over his shoulder, smacking my ass a few times for good measure. I do believe I have found my soul mate.
Once in my room, he lets me down. He sits on the bed. “Strip,” he demands. The lust in his voice is obvious.
I have never given a striptease. Is that what he is asking for? I muster up all my confidence. I begin to unbutton my shirt. He gasps. I slide my jeans down over my hips, aware of the fact that I am not stripping in that sexy, movie way. I feel very awkward.
I reach behind me to unclasp my bra. My breasts are small, but they are firm. My nipples are large, and I am a bit self-conscious about them. I slowly push my panties down to my ankles and step out of them.
Billy falls to his knees. He begins to kiss my mound with obvious desire. He stands and palms my tits. “You are gorgeous,” he declares.
“My tits are small with huge nipples,” I argue.
As quickly as I say it, he turns me around, bends me over the bed, and smacks my ass twice—hard. This time, he did not mean it as playful, sexual fun. This is discipline.
“You will not be a woman who thinks it is okay to criticize her body.” I do not have the heart to tell him that every woman has body parts she criticizes. I just nod. After all, my ass still stings.
He takes off his shirt. His chest is what fantasies are made of. It is rock solid, covered lightly with dark hair, I note as I run my hands over it.
“Everything about you is just so…manly.” I kiss his chest and his stubble-covered jaw. “The way you feel, the way you talk, and even the way you smell. You are 100 percent man.”
“I am about to show you how much of a man I am.”
Those words send my already heightened senses into overdrive. He unbuckles his jeans, slides them down, and slides down his boxer briefs. His cock stands out hard, making it very clear that he, too, is ready.
I instantly fall to my knees. I lick the pre-cum off the head of his ample dick. I wrap my hand around the base, because I know there is no way that I can deep throat his entire cock. However, I give it all my effort. My mouth is wide, full of cock. I concentrate on keeping my teeth covered with my lips.
Having lubed his cock up fairly well, I stand, look him in the eye, and lead him to the bed. “I need that inside me. Now.”
He pushes me back. “You know I’m not the gentle type. Are you sure? Honey, I don’t make love. I fuck. I fuck hard and rough.”
His words are killing me. I rub my clit with abandon. “Fuck me now!” I beg.
He sheaths his cock with a condom he had in his pocket, lines his cock up with my entrance, and pushes inside me ruthlessly. He does not give me time to adjust to the intrusion. He simply fucks me. He fucks me without regard to how long it has been since I’ve been with a man. I love it. This animalistic fucking feels amazing.
His cock is wide, and I feel every inch of him. I grab his ass, egging him on. I tilt my hips up and meet every thrust. My clit is rubbing the base of his cock. His cock is rubbing my G-spot. It feels unbelievable. I feel the pressure build. I know I’m so close.
“Fuck me! Harder!” I encourage. My head falls back against the pillow, my mouth opens, and a guttural moan comes out. “Coming! Oh my God! Yes! Still coming!” I yell. I just keep coming. It does not let up. Without warning, he grabs my arms roughly. He thrusts deeply three times, moaning my name each time.
He rolls over and pulls me to him. I’m spent. I relive every moment in my head while I fall asleep next to him.