I haven’t submitted anything in a long time, but this idea has been kicking around for a while. This is my first attempt at writing from a female point of view, and I hope I didn’t do too badly; I’ll freely admit, Kady’s not a normal girl. Please comment if you enjoy the story; Kady has a loud and distinctive voice, and if you enjoy this tale, I’ll gladly share others. – ericthebard
My name is Arkadia Glimmer Mist.
I know. It’s like someone’s idea of a joke, but it was my hippy parents’ idea of a name. Mist is actually the family name, which I can’t imagine either of my illustrious and perpetually stoned parents were born with, but then, my grandma’s name is Moonlight, so…
Anyway, you get the idea. My family’s kind of weird. My brother, Justice Diligence Mist (could you just die?), and I are pretty close; our parents kept the basics, you know, food, clothing, a roof over our head, but when it came to raising us, well, it was mostly public school, mainstream culture, and the Internet.
Yeah. Kinda surprising we didn’t turn out worse, really.
Fact of the matter was, we managed all right, thanks to some good influences circling our parent’s drug and alcohol hazed orbit. I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. They weren’t junkies. It’s just that I don’t think it ever occurred to them that they didn’t live in a commune anymore. The only reason I kept my virginity until I was eighteen was because no one older would take me seriously and no one younger appealed to me.
If Mom and Dad were good about anything, it was teaching us about our bodies and what would come. Sex was never treated as anything other than natural, and while we weren’t nudists – Mom loved clothes, and some of her notions about what constituted “fashion” were pretty entertaining in a horrifying kind of way – nakedness was never really remarked on. Good genes ran in our family too, and both Mom and Dad did yoga and we all were on a pretty good diet – Dad was a nutritionist. So, yeah, I’m not going to pretend modesty – we were a pretty good-looking bunch.
So when I decided to start having sex, I did exactly that, and didn’t get weighed down with all the relationship bullshit that came with it. I mean, all it ever did, as far as I saw, was leave my girlfriends crying in the locker room. Fuck that. It felt good – and I knew from Just that that was pretty much a teenage boy’s dream – or so they claimed. Thing was, I didn’t want a teenage boy. I wanted something more, something memorable. And I knew, if I wanted it, I’d have to go out and get it, because something else our parents taught us – not much in this world was really worth wanting, but if you did want something, no one was going to hand it to you.
Our house was back in the woods a ways. I think Mom and Dad did everything they could to be isolated from the rest of the world without cutting us off too much from it; In any case, our nearest neighbor was Mr. Dodd. His wife had died some four years ago, and he’d become a bit of a recluse. I know Dad visited him sometimes, and Mom; he’d been over to our place once or twice. He was a nice man, and attractive for an older man – well built, salt and pepper hair, with a nice face, despite its saddened cast.
I had an idea or three how I might cheer him up.
The trick was going to be making him bite. I dressed in light cotton sundress for the warm humid day (not that you have many other kinds in southern Mississippi) and sandals, and decided to forego the underwear. It would only get in the way, and I liked it better without anyway. My breasts rubbed against the soft fabric, making my nipples stick out. Excellent. I was tallish – five eight – long-limbed and well toned, because I did a lot of yoga with my parents and tried to stay active in other ways too, swimming in the pool in our backyard and playing basketball with my brother Just. The dress fit very well, the skirt coming to just above my knees and flaring if I turned too quickly, emphasizing my hips and generous bust. My hair – I can’t decide if I love it or hate it – is this wild red mane, not quite curly and more than wavy, almost frizzy but not really that either. While I can’t really do much with it, it gives me a wild, untamed look combined with my elfin features and green eyes.
I take a basket with me – some fruit, some sandwiches, and a bottle of wine, and a thermos of hot chocolate if he didn’t want the wine. I had turned eighteen two months ago.
It was time.
He looks a little startled when he opens the door to find me, and I just give him a grin and hold up the basket. “Kady…?” he asks, confused.
“You haven’t been by in a while,” I tell him innocently, “so I thought I’d see how you were doing. I brought lunch. Can I come in?”
“I…sure, sure,” Mr. Dodd says, stepping aside so I could sashay past him. I make sure to brush lightly against him, letting him smell the light perfume I’m wearing. A sweet scent, flowery, jasmine, I think. Mr. Dodd’s sultanbeyli escort house is nice, open, and he led me to the main room and sat us both down in separate chairs. I plop the basket down on the coffee table, pull out the bottle of wine, and set it on the table.
“You’re a little young to be drinking wine,” he tells me, but his tone is more amused than anything else. He knows my parents. Permissive is only the beginning.
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” I wink at him, and he laughs and, just as I’d hoped, gets us a pair of glasses. I let him pour – good strong hands – and then settle back in the chair with my wine, a sweet red. He settles back in his chair and looks at me. “So,” I say, trying to read his blue eyes and failing. “How have you been, Mr. Dodd?”
“I’ve been…all right,” he says in what might be the most unconvincing tone ever, and his eyes skate off of mine.
I set the glass on the coffee table and stand up, crossing the space to perch on the arm of his chair. Not coincidentally, this causes my skirt to ride quite a distance up my smooth, pale thigh. I have good Irish skin, but I did find out you CAN tan if you’re like, really, REALLY careful. You just have to tolerate a lot of freckles first. I was working on it. His eyes flick to my leg, and then to my face as I lean over him, put the fingers of my hand to his chin, and make him look at me, our faces only inches apart. Hey, if you’re gonna go for it, might as well go for broke.
“Do you want to tell me how you’re really doing, Mr. Dodd?” I ask him softly. “Because you don’t look all right to me. You look lonely.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, and he jerks free of my hand. “Arkadia Glimmer Mist, I might very well be lonely, but I don’t need pity. Or you thinking to make me feel better by throwing yourself at me like a dockside whore.”
…well, I couldn’t very well get angry about that; it HAD been Plan A. Plan B was, more or less, honesty. I cross my arms over my chest and watch as he gets up out of the chair, too much the gentleman to displace me from my perch on its arm.
“It’s not pity,” I tell him. “I just didn’t think you’d take me seriously if I told you up front.”
That makes him pause. Like literally, a midstep hesitation, as he’s pacing away from me, and he looks over his shoulder at me as I’m sitting sidesaddle on the arm of his leather easy chair, my arms crossed under my breasts (which is a good place for them, apparently, as his eyes keep straying to my cleavage). “What do you mean,” he asks slowly, though it lacks the usual rise at the end making it a question.
“I mean,” I tell him, “you are a fit, attractive, older, experienced gentleman whom I know and trust, and I am eighteen years old and ready to start exploring sex.” I’ve always been blunt, especially when annoyed. I guess I’m not really cut out for seduction, but games bore me. “You know me well enough to know I won’t be after your money or anything but a good time. I know you enough to know you aren’t going to hurt me or kidnap me or force me to do anything I don’t want to.”
He blinks at me, just staring. I sigh and get up, crossing to him again. “Mr. D, really. I think you’re handsome. I do think you’re attractive.” I don’t think it would help him to hear, just now, that I’d rubbed myself to glory a few times with his face in mind. “It’s not pity. It might be hormones,” I admit with a little smirk, “but it isn’t pity. If you aren’t comfortable with taking my virginity yourself, I guess you could just give me adv -”
That was as far as I get before those strong hands grab my arms and his lips cover mine.
I’d kissed a few boys. I’d wanted to save my virginity for a time and place of my choosing; that didn’t mean I didn’t play around a little. Kissing, some light touching, I’d even sucked a boy’s cock once or twice, though I never let them near me. Didn’t want to take chances they’d take advantage while I was distracted. It led to some pretty heavy frustration, but I’m a stubborn girl and I know what I want.
This is a man kissing me, and the difference was clear. There is no hesitation and no playing around; his lips meet mine, warm and somehow both soft and forceful, his tongue invading my mouth, tasting of wine and whiskey. I make a sound into his mouth, my hands finding the front of his shirt and fisting in the material, pulling him closer, and one of his arms slides around my back, a hard bar supporting me, which is good, because my knees have somehow forgotten how. He breaks the kiss, and I yearn after a moment before I blink eyes I hadn’t realized I’d closed, his concerned face looking down on me.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “Are you -”
I reach up, grab the hair on both sides of his head, and forcibly pull him back down to fucking finish what he goddam started. Warmth pools in my belly, and lower, a slow heat that throbs between my thighs, as I push up on my tiptoes, making little mewling sounds tuzla escort of wanting. I might be embarrassed if I had any shame at all. He chuckles in the kiss, and I let go his hair and wind my arms around his neck.
Clothes are in the way though. I can’t feel him. The shirt has buttons, and I don’t have the patience; just as I pull my arms back to try and tear it off him, he grabs my wrists, and I stare at him, wild green eyes hot and hazed with lust and want.
“Slow,” he tells me. He’s amused; the bastard is laughing at me, and if his voice weren’t so damned sexy I’d kick him in the balls for it. And he smells so good.
I know what you’re thinking at this point, reader, and I’ll take a minute to explain it, because it’s kind of important for like, the rest of my life. I’m pretty in control most of the time. I’m not a slave to my hungers or my hormones. I have passions like anyone, but my parents were like, gurus. They taught both Just and I to be the ones behind the wheel, so to speak. Rational mind and animal mind; both are wise in their ways and both have their turns to speak. Thing is, it’s like any beast on a chain. When you let go, deliberately let go of restraint? That son of a bitch runs wild. And it will not go back on that chain until it’s run itself out.
So until I got what I came here to get, since I’d let the beast of its chain, I was pretty much focused on one thing. I don’t do things halfway.
Mr. Dodd leads me back to his bedroom, and I’m treading on his heels the whole way, burning with hunger and need. He gives me another of those mindspinning kisses, somehow managing the buttons on his shirt while he does so – it’s like magic – and then I’m helping with his belt, his slacks, and I still have my dress on, though I did lose the sandals somewhere. Then, he’s pulling the soft cotton up my skin, over me, and his hands are on me everywhere, sliding over smooth skin, and everywhere he touches, fire blooms in my flesh.
Still, he didn’t take me. I’m nearly crying, my body on fire, and he lays me back on the bed, and I try to pull him to me, but instead he presses more kisses – how can his lips be so warm when I’m already burning – down my flesh, nuzzling between my breasts. He captures my nipple in his lips and teases it with his tongue, and I keen joyfully at the feeling. His lips travel further down, across my belly where muscles flutter and jump, tracing the slow wet heat that’s been pooling down there for what feels like ages now, and then his lips find my mound, neatly trimmed patch of copper hair, and lower, and when his tongue flicks over my clit, my world explodes.
Power and pleasure course through me, drawing my muscles taut and my brain just stops, stuttering to an awestruck halt at the sensations driving through me. I can’t breathe, the force barreling through me is so massive, and when finally, the tension releases, I howl like a banshee, screaming and weeping from joy and relief.
There is a brief flash of pain, barely registered in the sea of sensations, the tingling of my limbs, as I slowly return to sanity, and I realize I’m clutching him, and he is inside me, and there’s a flash of disappointment that I didn’t get to feel that first time, every inch moving into me, and then his eyes find mine.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Holy fuck,” I manage weakly. “Is..I…wow.”
He laughs then, a deep little rumble, and his cock twitches in me in a way that makes me twitch under him. He moves then, and I’m afraid he’ll pull out of me, terrified, and I wrap my arms and legs tightly around him, enjoying his warmth, his firmness, his weight over me, pressing me into the bed. He still smells delicious, and I stretch my tongue out to lick his lips.
“I take it you’re good,” he says, smiling.
“I…had no fucking idea,” I tell him.
“You were pretty riled up,” he says, his tone soft and quiet. “Can’t guarantee you’ll explode like that every time.”
“Good,” I tell him fervently. “I did kinda want to live past this night.”
That gets another laugh out of him, and he moves, and I can’t tell if it hurts or feels good. He’s watching my face, and sees my expression. “You ready for more?”
“I think so?” I say, and catch my breath as he moves again. It comes out as a long, slow groan as he eases out of me, and then slowly, slowly, presses himself back in, and I get that sensation I’d wanted, the one I had always imagined and never come close to getting right, I now find – that feeling of being slowly filled, parted, of a hard rod of hot desire dividing soft walls of velvet hunger. I discovered something in me then. Mr. Dodd’s cock in me did not scratch an itch or satisfy a craving.
It fulfilled a need.
He starts slow, but soon, as the pain fades (very quickly) and the pleasure mounts, I urge him on with my body, driving back against him, my hips rocking in a motion I feel I’ve known since birth – since before. My legs squeeze his hips, and ümraniye escort my hands curl on his back; it’s a good thing I keep my nails short or I might have hurt him. I might have anyway. It goes on in dreamtime – forever in a moment and never long enough in memory, as he rocks above me and within me, those twin sensations of power and pleasure coursing through me and building, building, always building, until again, there is a moment of unbearable tension followed by a release so intense it leaves me gasping. He’s right – it isn’t as intense this time, but tiny gods, it is intense enough.
“I’m going to -” he gasps, and I cling to him tighter, pulling him deeper into me, finding his lips again and taking one of those brainbreaking kisses from him. I won’t get pregnant, and I’m not worried about disease from a man who hasn’t dated for four years. He groans, stiffening above me and below me, and I feel it, more heat within me, pulses of it, slowing, and we slowly relax, slowing, together.
I’m limp as a dishrag, and he rolls off of me, breathing heavily, sweat covering both our skins. I’m not ready to forgo his warmth yet, so I curl up with him, and he gives me an odd look. I poke his nose with a finger.
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” I tell him as my breathing slowly returns to its natural not-bellows rhythm. “You’re warm, and you smell nice.”
He sighs and wraps an arm around me. “I’m not so arrogant I think I can make a girl fall in love with me with sex, Kady,” he says. “You got what you wanted, I get it.”
“Good,” I tell him, yawning. That was exhausting. I rest my head on his chest and play with the curly little hairs there. “Because I hope to get it again, you know.”
Silence. Long enough that I look up at him, and he’s staring at me. I give him a little smirk. He licks his lips. “So…”
GUess I’m not going to sleep yet. I have to explain things to the big dumb man whose bed I’m in. I scootch up until I can kiss him lightly on the lips. God, he’s got nice lips. “I wasn’t kidding about liking you, Mr. Dodd. If you can handle a friends-with-benefits kind of thing, without getting jealous if I decide to find other playmates…”
He lets his head fall back on the pillow and gives a sort of helpless little laugh. “Christ, Kady. Yeah, I think I can handle being the hot young woman’s sidebar.” His tone is dry, but not offended. “For the record, if I can say it without being sappy…I’m honored that you chose me.”
“Well,” I tell him philosophically, “it was you or Dad…”
I let him laugh, thinking I was joking. I hadn’t been. The idea of having sex with my family hadn’t ever bothered me…but I didn’t think he’d want to know that. Instead, it triggered something else.
“Shit, your parents,” he groans, covering his face with his hand, and I laugh and pull the hand away from his eyes.
“Relax, dummy,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t do that to either of you. I mean, I didn’t like, get their permission or anything before doing this, but they’ve always been real serious about our bodies, our choice. What I do, and who with, is my business. Long as I don’t get arrested or anything, I guess.”
He seems a bit skeptical, but lets it pass. Since the sleepy has passed, I decide I’ll explore a little and peer down at the wonderful tool he so recently used to set my world on fire. It’s starting to come around again, the tube of skin flexing a bit. I reach down and take it in my hand, running my fingers over it; it’s sticky with our juices and I see a little bit of blood, though not much. I look down at the sheets. Just a few spots.
“Sorry,” I tell him, looking up. “Don’t think you can save the sheets.”
Mr. Dodd makes a face. “Worth it,” he assures me. “And by the way? Call me Neil. Listen. You might be getting worked up again, and I know I am, but you’re going to be sore in the morning. We should take a shower and get cleaned up.”
“Ugh,” I groan, flopping back on the bed, “getting uuuuup.” I make a blah sound and then blow a raspberry, pulling a warm, rich laugh from Neil Dodd.
“You’ll thank me!” he assures me, and I try to drag myself out of bed, and immediately wince. He’s at my side in a second – I think he literally vaulted the bed – supporting me, one hand on my shoulder and the other around my waist. “Are you okay?”
“Guess I’m not going to have to wait till morning to be sore,” I mutter.
“Let’s get you in the shower,” he tells me, “and we’ll see about making you feel better.”
The shower is heavenly. The hot water seems to soak away the pain of abused muscles and tissues, though I expect the soreness between my legs will be a day or so in retreating. That’s what Neil tells me anyway. Maybe as long as a few days, maybe only one. It varied. He soaps me, his big hands kneading along my back and butt and thighs, and sore or not, it gets my temperature rising again, but I am way too sore for anything but a pleasant tingle. I soap him up as well, and rinse him off, and by the end he’s hard as a rock, his cock standing out between us, and he’s been so good to me, he deserves a reward. I kneel down there, stroking his cock in my hand, its strange contrast of soft and hard, its warmth and smell and as I lick the underside, slow and teasing, its taste.