Nails dragged down her back forcing her body upward. Rough skin chaffed the delicateness of her throat as it squeezed the breath from her. She would have gasped had she been able to breathe. Instead it caught in her throat and stifled a moan. Her eyes tried to focus on the pulsing vein crawling up the man’s arm. A veil of fog covered her eyes, blurring everything else together. The pigment of the man’s skin was inked. She couldn’t tell if he was snow white or espresso brown. All she knew for certain was the raging pulse of her heart matched the pulsing against her fupa.
Her aching continued. She could feel the wetness gathering between her legs. The pressure released and the world swam back into focus, the room and all of its contents swaying in motion, a large figure defined against it. His hand trailed down between her breasts, grazing over the softness of her, tracing all the places her thong should have been. She hadn’t worn a thong out tonight. Not that the stranger had to know it wasn’t usual for her to wear panties, let him think Jillian had been waiting just for him. The pressure from his large hand resumed.
There was something animalistic in the way he had approached her at the bar. He had been leaning on the wall next to the ashtray, the one kitchen staff used, behind the bar at the back end of the parking lot. Even in the dim light, she could see his muscles flex as he pushed off from the wall. He didn’t walk, this man took strides toward the ashtray. His eyes bright, the cherry of his butt glowing off them, as they locked into her’s. He shifted and took off toward the parked cars, the cigarette tucked neatly into the ashtray. His dark clothes, even the shine from his hair, disappeared into the darkness.
She had almost screamed when he appeared next to her sedan, appearing out the darkness like a firefly all lit up. Jillian knew she should have screamed or walked away, but even cloaked in danger he seemed familiar. A glint behind the glean of his eyes.
Jillian looked into those eyes now. His pupils were so dilated as black and as big as the void behind him. She tried to remember her safe word, not that it would have mattered. She didn’t know this man, hadn’t even asked him his name, she definitely had not told him a safe word she was incapable of remembering. She tried to lift up her arm, her small fist aching to tap against him, to tap out of his hold. The darkness consumed everything but his eyes.
The darkness pushed back as the world came into focus. Jillian took a deep breath, greedily sucking in as much air as she could. She closed her eyes to steady herself, calm her intake of breath. Too soon it was knocked out of her. She opened her eyes, the fuzzy blanket draped across her foot bench rose to meet her. Jillian propped herself up onto her elbows, her weight pushed back onto her knees. She lifted her chin and tried to steal a glance behind her. More tattoos danced across muscles. The hardness of him twitched as if trying to break out of the material. Jillian’s jaw dropped as he sprung free.
She faced forward lifting her backside up higher. The velvet brushed against her skin as he pushed her dress up. Her skin tingled as the cool breeze from the window grazed her body. The heat from his bare skin was a sharp contrast, one she wanted to lean into.
His voice was wet and ragged as he whispered in her ear, “you like it rough?”
Her breath caught.
“Or do you think you like it rough?”
Before she could answer she felt him making his way inside her. She had been dripping wet and still, his girth pushed against her, opening her up like she had never had sex before. Jillian felt him further, deeper. Already she was close, it was as though he had managed to hit her every sensitive spot, her every button just by being inside her. He pulled back slowly taking with him all the pleasurable sensations she had felt until just the tip was pushing back against her lips. With an urgency he slammed inside her again. He teased her over and over again, giving her pleasuring, taking it back.
He pushed her down further until the fuzzy blanket hugged her face. His hard body pressed against as he leaned forward. His tongue teased the outside of her ear.
“You take it like such a good girl.”
She whimper as she pressed herself back into him, his head nudging against her lips.
He sat back a little, his hand caressing her face, her lips, pushing between them to hook his thumb behind her teeth. Her chin lifted as little as she licked his thumb. Wetness dragged down across her bottom lip, the slight dimple in her chin, down her throat. He pushed himself inside her again, slower this time as if he wanted her to feel every part of him. He moved inside her, the pressure within her matching his tempo. The heat from his hand taunted her. She wanted it wrapped around her throat, and instead it stayed just out of reach.
She was so close, she needed it. She wanted it. “Choke me, Daddy. Choke me until you cum,” she moaned holding herself on the precipice of pleasure, waiting for him to fall with her.
He thrusted deeper, she was certain somewhere inside her he had moved an organ. No one should be that deep in me, she thought. A moan escaped her lips. As she began to topple over the edge his rough hand bore into her throat, pressure enveloped her.
A low snort, similar to the sound between growls started behind her. If she hadn’t known better she would think if was one of her Boerboels whining from being banished outside in the hallway instead. Jillian worked herself against him as he thrusted. He howled as he came, releasing his grip on her neck. She moaned as she gasped for breath. Her whole body pulsed against his, wrapping herself tightly around him. She could feel him throbbing inside her still.
His hands, now freed from her throat and her hip wrapped themselves around her like straps in a roller coaster. Somehow he lifted her against him and placed them on the bed. Still inside her, still reeling in the aftershocks of pleasure she gentled nuzzled against him. He was still so hard against her walls. For a moment she had felt him soften and then, she moaned as he grew. It was like they were locked in place together. Her breath caught and she sighed again closing her eyes, enjoying the soft strokes of his rough hands against her.
The smell of wet dog hung in the air. It wafted toward her as she rolled over to where the stranger had been. It was just her and the smell of dog.
Had he gone downstairs to the basement? Most people when they hear that she keeps her dogs in the basement freak out until she shows them pictures of the custom framed twin sized bunk beds with ramps, the fountain of filtered drinking water, and the snack dispenser that shoot out treats if she was going to be gone for more than two hours during the day. She usually left out how extra treats were dispensed on Saturdays and Sundays so she could sleep in a little. After seeing their bedroom people switched to telling her how spoiled her dogs were. Worse when they made the assumption she was living off her daddy’s money because she could have nice things for them. But she hadn’t shown him any of that, she wasn’t even sure she told him about her Boerboels. Sure, proportionately speaking he was about the size of a Mastif himself. . .
Jillian got a grip on herself. If either of her babies had seen a strange man in the house, especially one as large and tatted as he had been, they would have started barking enough to wake her and the local PD up or give him the hint to scram.
Exhaling a deep sigh Jillian rolled over and hopped off her bed. She was sore in all the right places; she smiled as she stretched. The clock on the nightstand said 8:15 AM. They would be getting antsy, but she had time for a quick shower and to throw on something more Saturday morning and less Friday night. Then she would head downstairs and the three of them, Jillian, Jack, and Caffrey would spend the morning in the backyard. She’d make some coffee and a piece of toast, get them their breakfast before calling Emily for some good old fashion girl talk.
***
He slank into his bedroom, not that there was a point trying to be quiet. His brother would sniff him out in an instant. He always did, but maybe this time. . . his thoughts trailed off. His eyes focused on the large clock in front of him. It had been a gift from their mother ages ago. It didn’t have numbers or flashy lights, just a big circle that moved around as the sun and the moon; for the moon it showed the different phases. His brother didn’t care as much, but that was Jack.
The sun was almost up. Not that he had needed the clock to know that, it had been a long night. His back ached and there was already a tightness pulling through his thighs and upper arms. The kind of night he would remember for a long time to come. The kind that even without the marks she left him would have left an imprint on his body. The sun had started to glow, raising higher on the clock.
He looked over at their empty beds. Jack still wasn’t home yet, probably waiting it out for the bottom bunk. Fire coursed through his body as he made his way up the ramp. It always seemed to happen so fast, so suddenly. Next time Jack could take the hit and have to make his way to the top bunk. Crashing down on to his pillow he heard the creak of the bedroom door. The padding of footsteps down the stairs.
“Caffrey, you still awake?”
He lifted his head over the edge of the bed. At the bottom of the stairs Jack was already on all fours and looking up at him.
“Why are you naked?”
Jack’s silence told a story all by itself.
“Why do you smell like her?” His brother retorted.
“Because she lives here dumbass.”
Caffrey watched as his brother rolled his eyes. He had barely crawled forward before a low guttural sound came from Jack. The same pain tore through him, the same howl, before he could ask his brother if he had properly closed the basement door. Darkness blocked out the room as his head crashed back into a bundle of blankets.
***
Jillian entered the kitchen on her tiptoes. She knew it was ridiculous, both of her sharp-nosed Boerboels would have already known she was heading downstairs long before she got there. But they were well trained, and she desperately needed some coffee the way others might need oxygen. All she had to do was flip one switch, maybe splash some cream in her favorite mug, before she made her way back upstairs for a 5 minute shower.
She felt her shoulders relax with each unnoticed step she took. By the time she had reached the top of the stairs she released a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Like some cruel, taunting magic – probably sent from the ghost of her prudish grandmother – both dogs broke into a symphony of howls. She contemplated skipping the shower and running back down to take them out, but they stopped. There was no scratching at the door, no sounds of four hundred pounds collectively crashing about.
Jillian sighed, relieved to have a few more minutes to at least wash off the remnants of last night. Her shower was too hot and too fast. Jillian thought about the man from last night, the same description could be applied to their evening together as well, too hot and too fast.
Fully dressed she made her way back to the kitchen. The door to the basement was still intact and it didn’t sound like hell had broken loose. Jillian walked by the back door flipping the locks as she headed toward her prized possession, her coffee pot. Outside of her dogs and books this was what brought her the most joy. Filling her mug she breathed in the deep aroma, definitely better than wet dog. She laughed lightly as she and her coffee made their way over to the basement.
The door had barely been opened and blurs of red and black shot by in a whoosh. The tick-tack of paws gripping for purchase against the heated tile filled the kitchen. At her feet was Caffrey, red with brindle and a black mask, looking at her with the most sincere eyes that exuded whatever he was feeling; in this moment, they shone bright with love. Already waiting at the door was Jack, slightly bigger in his build with the most beautiful black coat and eyes that shined with mischief and cunning. Her boys.
Jillian reached down and scratched behind Caffrey’s ear, “who’s a good boy?”
Jack let a low whine out.
“You’re both my good boys,” she giggled. “Come on, let’s get you guys outside.”
Caffrey ran up to the door, sliding into his brother. Jack knocked him back with his head. She wondered what they would be like if they were human children instead of furry ones.
Jillian pulled the door and watched as they ran around the backyard. Her phone vibrated from her back pocket. A text from Emily flashed across the screen: “New moon last night. I’ll read your cards when I come over later. Something tells me you have stories.”
Jillian laughed to herself somehow Emily always knew when there was a story to be told. Sipping her coffee, Jillian settled into the chair on her deck embracing the peacefulness of the morning; the peace of not knowing what happens to her beloved Boerboels on the new moon of each month. . . of not knowing who, or what, the mystery man was from the night before.
