Are you ready? Are you set? Here are the two finalists from Round 10 of the Smut Marathon. By midnight tomorrow night, we really need to choose a winner. (If, for some reason, there is a tie again, I will bring in a surprise, top-secret judge to make the call.) The game this time was to take a short story and expand on the concept. First up is Joss Lockwood. Then Angell Brooks.
Tell your friends. Tell your neighbors. Tell your enemies. Just vote!
Something Like Love
by Joss Lockwood
Look, I'll be honest: when you kiss me, it makes me think about fucking you. Maybe that's wrong, but I can't help it. I don't mean a peck on the cheek or anything, but once your tongue meets mine? Once lips part and there's wetness and part of you sliding into part of me? I mean, forget it. Which is why even the most casual snog out in public - walking to the bagel store Sunday morning, say, or the train home after a night out - can become wildly inappropriate and fast.
Which is why on the train last night I tried to pull away, to break off the kiss, to save it for later. I was getting too worked up too quickly and we both knew it. Fortunately there was hardly anyone on our car, but still. If it weren't for the rattle and hum they all would have been able to hear my breath speeding up, catching, coming out on a sigh that was going to go rogue and turn moan any second now if I wasn't careful. The way your tongue probes, circles, thrusts and withdraws…you've got my nipples hard, my clit throbbing, my whole body yearning for yours. And you hold my face in both hands the same way you do when you shove your cock into my mouth. And that makes me want nothing so much as to be on my knees in front of you, right now, and it's all I can do to stop myself, and then you pinch my nipple, close to the wall where no one can see, and I gasp. I'm trembling, I want you so badly. You start a rhythm with your lips and tongue on mine and I receive you into me greedily, gratefully, and it's silly but I’m actually lightheaded just from this, just from kissing you.
Which is why, when you press the side of your hand edgeways into my crotch, I nearly stop breathing. You just leave it there for me to rub against. You know I won't be able to stop myself, and you're right. I try to move as little as possible but if anyone looks at me for longer than a glance they will see that I am rocking my pelvis against you like an animal in heat. I can feel you smile and I halfway hate you for it. Letting me make a spectacle of myself in a public place like this. Even if it's less obvious than I think it is and probably no one will even notice. It's downright mean is what it is, because you know I tend to get carried away. I can't be counted on to maintain any sort of decorum, so it's up to you to keep us out of trouble, and sometimes you decide to walk that line. Sometimes you tease me and get me all hot and bothered and position your hand just so in front of me, so that I can't help but lean into it.
I realize I'm going to come soon, and I panic just a little, because I don’t come quietly and have no poker face to speak of. If I've stayed undetected up until now, I may be just about to blow my cover.
I mumble something aloud which is supposed to alert you to this fact, but if it's words, I don't know what language they're in. I think maybe I'll bite down on your shoulder, bury my face in your chest.
And you snicker at me, at my lack of restraint and my unwillingness to delay these moments of pleasure. And you say low into my ear, "Can't even wait until we get home? Ten more minutes? Dirty little slut."
And it's as if you've touched me, the words affect me that much. I grit my teeth and groan – not too loudly, I hope. You're only making it worse, cranking up my arousal level another several notches with that one snide remark, the laughter, the label. I feel that prickle of goosebumps that precedes orgasm and shudder. My head tips back just a bit of its own accord, and you lean down to bite my neck, which often pushes me over the edge.
And that's when I feel it. Fingertips.
From behind me. Between my knees, just underneath the hem of my skirt. Gentle, skillful. Short strokes upward. Can't be yours, the direction is all wrong. I freeze, orgasm stopped dead in its tracks, animal lust replaced by animal fear. Who the fuck is that?
In the split second before I turn to look, a hand snakes into my hair, grasps at the roots and holds tight, immobilizing my head in its slightly upturned position. You glance at me for just a second and then fall back to devouring my neck, and that moment, realizing that you're not stopping, that this is okay with you – that it's maybe even part of a plan you've made? That moment makes me lose my mind just the tiniest bit. Without you setting limits, there may *be* no limits. Certainly I'm in no position to make decisions. I'm no longer aware of who else is in the train with us or if any of our behavior can possibly be construed as appropriate anymore. As soon as that other person touched me, crash zoom: my world shrank down to you, me, and him.
His fingers are still caressing the insides of my thighs, above my knees and slowly but steadily heading higher. God, is this total stranger going to start stroking my pussy right here in the middle of the subway? The idea is incredibly arousing but I'm not sure I can do it. I might have to stop this, stop you. It occurs to me that my knees are shaking, from excitement or nervousness, I'm not sure which. Your mouth is on my earlobe now, sucking insistently, and you're flicking my nipple repeatedly, setting up a rhythm that under normal circumstances would propel me straight back toward coming. But I'm jittery. Like an unswaddled newborn afraid of flying apart, I need to be contained, calmed. I realize I've grabbed your wrist, as if I might stop you. You sense my hesitation and murmur in my ear, "Hands behind your head."
And that's all it takes. I fleetingly consider refusing, but the truth is, I don't want this to stop, so I position my arms behind my head and grab my elbows, wincing just a bit at the conspicuousness of the pose but also loving the way it makes my tits jut forward. It makes me feel sexy, and helpless, and there's no more hesitation. I'm right there with you, ready for my fate, St. Sebastian waiting for the sting of the first arrow.
I can't see you with my head tipped back but again I hear the smile in your voice. "Good girl. Now spread your legs just a little for the nice man."
Can one's heart leap and stomach sink at the same time? I gulp. You want me even more obviously wanton, even more defenseless, than I already am? You twist a nipple hard in response, and the message is clear: Yes, you do. I take a breath that's almost a sob and widen my stance, not much, but enough, I think, for the man behind me to do whatever it is he's going to do. His fingers have almost, almost reached my labia, and the anticipation is intense. I desperately want him to touch me there, but think I might pass out if he does…
And he stops. Removes his hands from under my skirt and starts to maul me, grab me, take advantage of my body in its vulnerable state. He wraps one arm around my waist and draws me back to him, slams his crotch against my ass a few times, so perfectly emulating the rough fucking I crave that I almost cry out. He can tell, humps harder, and I push my pelvis back to meet his assault. I think, rather dimly, that everyone must have left the car by now or he wouldn't be acting so brazen, but the fact is that I don't know this guy, what he'd do or not do. He seems kind of crazy. Then again, none of us is indecent, so could we really get in too much trouble? And then all rational thought departs as he, in one swift motion, pushes forward on my shoulder blades, yanks up my skirt and hauls off and spanks me, hard. I fall forward into you, although I manage to keep hold of my elbows. I catch a quick glimpse of the expression on your face and know immediately that this was not part of the plan. You're clearly surprised, and a bit taken aback, but you've also got that gleam in your eyes that I know so well. The one that means I'm in for it.
I lose some of the details at that point in the chemical haze of adrenaline, endorphins, and hormones. He spanks me, not to my absolute limit, but close. You hold me, push your fingers into my mouth at first, then cover my mouth as I get nearer to an out-and-out howl. And then, without warning, the guy abruptly pulls my panties down to mid-thigh, exposing me to anyone who's still nearby, and plunges two fingers into my pussy, which is so ridiculously wet that they slide in without any resistance. And it is so exactly what I have wanted that it's a good thing your hand is still over my mouth because I let out a shriek, and I tense for the inevitable orgasm that always comes with penetration for me…but he pulls out just as suddenly as he thrust in. And I’m left gasping, gaping, empty and clenching around nothing. I whimper. You help me straighten up, and we're back where we started, you and I facing each other with him standing behind me. You look faintly puzzled, but not displeased. I have the distinct feeling again that this wasn't exactly the way it was supposed to go.
But the man behind me says, "Now then," as if we'd been in the middle of a civilized conversation and been rudely interrupted. And he slides his hands back up under my skirt, just as he had before, although with my panties still around my knees I can't open my legs as far as I would like. There's less teasing this time, though, and soon he's got both hands rubbing, kneading, pulling on my pussy lips, spreading me open and teasing my slit, and I'm panting and moaning and writhing and wanting wanting wanting his fingers back in me, god why won't he fuck me, I need something inside me, and you. Your hands, your fingers, join his, but from the front, and now there are four hands on me and I am making noise and there are no extra hands to stifle my voice now and I'm dizzy and on tiptoes and you sink your fingers deep into my cunt and it's like an electric current shoots through my whole body, the hair on the top of my head practically stands on end it's so good and my toes curl and you kiss me hard and sweet, the heel of your other hand grinding against my clit, and the other man is groping my ass, reaching around front to roll and twist my nipples, sinking his teeth into the nape of my neck…and then. And then. With the same hands, obviously, that he thrashed me with earlier, he gently pries apart my ass cheeks (which makes me arch my back, some primal instinct telling my body to open up and get fucked like a good girl, like a bad girl, like no kind of girl at all, like a woman), and begins to circle my asshole with his thumb. So slowly. It makes. Me. Crazy. Goddammit it makes me throw my head back and groan. You still have your fingers in my pussy and you aren't pounding into me, you are probing me the same way your tongue probes me when you kiss me, like there's no part of me you don't want to know, you want to see it all, touch it all, you want me laid open to you as if I was a particularly rare specimen and you were the world's foremost expert, and oh, god, what you do to me, you're doing that thing you do, I don't know if it's my g-spot or something else but I know no one ever found it before you, and I'm coming – and right then, he slides into me the tiniest bit, and one of you must have lube because his finger is wet, and each stroke goes a little bit farther into my ass, and it seems so simple – a finger in my ass, fingers in my pussy – that it's just silly that I've never had this done to me before, but I haven't and I've always wanted to and in and in and in until he can't push any farther, he's got his finger in me to the hilt, and it suddenly occurs to me, of course: You know that this is a fantasy of mine. Why didn't I recognize it earlier?
Now I remember telling you months ago, blushing furiously, that I didn't really have any shame about watching most porn, probably because most of what I watch is pretty "normal." Hardcore, definitely, but nothing all that extreme. But there is one thing I sometimes watch but had never admitted to anyone because it just seemed, well, wrong to be excited by. "It's, um," couldn't even look you in the face when I told you, "this Japanese porn where the girl's getting sort of manhandled by a group of guys." I swallowed, cleared my throat. (Why was I even telling you this? It's not like you had to know every single one of my fantasies, after all. But for some reason I was fessing up.) "It's always public places, mostly on trains. And there are just all these hands, and a lot of groping, and kind of fingers coming from all directions and stuff." I was aware that I was getting wet, but I wasn't sure if it was the fantasies themselves or the fact that I was revealing myself to you that was making me more worked up. "And, I don't know. She pushes the guys off at first, but then she's outnumbered, she can't stop them or get away and they finger her and shove their cocks into her mouth and fuck her, right there on the train car. And she makes a show of resisting, which, you know, is part of why I find it kind of disturbing, but it's also pretty obvious that she's coming by the end, and, I don't know…they turn me on," I finished sheepishly. And you had very casually said you'd have to check them out sometime and that was the last we ever said about it.
And now that his finger's fully buried inside me the two of you really start to work me over, and I am sweating and shaking and trying not to scream and talking about god the way atheists do in the throes of orgasm and I desperately want your cock in my mouth and beg you for it even but you say we have to wait and I want that stranger to fuck me but you say maybe another time and I know you're going to take me home and fuck my ass when we get off the train and then, like the two of you had arranged a signal or something – maybe you did – you each add a finger and I come so hard I see stuff, and that's when I can't make words anymore and the two of you practically have to hold me up because my legs give out. And when my vision clears the first thing I see is the complete delight on your face – it's close to joy, if one can feel joy vicariously, but no, a little less serene; glee, that's the word, like you can't wait to see what I do next, like I'm your own personal source of entertainment, just here for your amusement, wind her up and watch her go – and that's when I know that while you and I may not be monogamous or forever and while we scrupulously avoid making dramatic, hackneyed pronouncements, that's when I know that this is something like love.
I think I like this better.
Fucked to Death
by Angell Brooks
There were a thousand stories in the naked city. Hers was just one.
Cops milled around the penthouse apartment, in the most exclusive residence in the city. Many of the uniformed officers gazed in awe and wonder at the twenty foot high ceilings, forgetting, for just a moment, that they were there to investigate a crime. A fact that Detective Johnson wasn’t about to let them forget.
“Parker!” One of the rookies jumped at the sound of Johnson’s bark, blushing beet red at having been caught studying the artwork that adorned the walls. “Get your rookie ass over here.” He rushed over to stand in front of him, slipping briefly on the glossy wood floors. He righted himself, looking down at what he could have slipped in. Johnson bent down, marking the spot for the CSI team to follow. But a closer glance told him what he needed to know – semen.
He stood, fixing Officer Parker with a pointed stare. “Parker, this is a crime scene. Need I remind you?” Parker vehemently shook his head. “No sir; not at all sir.”
“Well then stop looking like a kid on a field trip and GET MOVING!” Parker scurried off to speak to the nearest guest, and Johnson turned to M.E. Dawson. “Joe, what the hell happened here?” Dawson shrugged.
“Beats me Lou. But I don’t mind saying I wish I’d been invited.” They both stood in silence as the paramedics rolled the body by on the stretcher. Her unseeing eyes lay staring at the ceiling, the events of the night evident on her thighs. Joe spoke again. “T.O.D. is approximately two hours ago. Levitity hasn’t set in yet. No signs of violence on the body. There’s no reason to suspect foul play.”
Johnson almost sighed with relief. Natural causes would mean that he could avoid the publicity and scandal that the murder of a high profile figure would bring. He was breathing normally, glad he could avoid pulling out his ever-present pack of antacids (incredibly cliché he knew but the job was hell). Until, with almost comedic timing, one of the uniforms came rushing up to him, a brandy snifter cradled carefully in his gloved hand.
“Detective! I found this in the study. At first I thought it was no big deal, but take a whiff.” Johnson carefully accepted the glass, sniffing the interior. He almost groaned out loud. Beneath the scent of the very expensive liquor, was a trace of bitter almonds.
“Fuck.” He whispered to himself, passing the glass back to the uniform. “Joe, make sure you do a complete tox panel. Looks like it might have been murder after all.”
Johnson looked around at the scene before him, and shook his head in disbelief. Throughout the room, officers had separated the guests, questioning each one as to the events of the evening.
Faces tear stained, naked bodies cum stained, voices strained with grief – all claimed innocence. But one had to be guilty.
Which one poisoned the naked socialite? And why?
Kathryn DeLong lounged in the entrance way, a slight smile on her ruby lips. Her nipples hardened under the silken folds of her robe. The scene in front of her was one of decadence, of debauchery, of blatant sexual fantasies.
Tonight was going to be her finest party ever.
The invitations had caused quite the stir, just as she’d intended; simple black on white, with the big, bold letters at the bottom – CLOTHING OPTIONAL. She’d left instructions downstairs with the concierge to keep them all waiting in the lobby until the entire guest list had arrived. Then, and only then, were the dozen special friends allowed into the private elevator which brought them up to paradise.
The looks on their faces when they entered the ballroom was priceless to her. The video cameras set up around the penthouse captured everything for her personal entertainment. Her staff, dressed in only silk robes, approached them, removing their outerwear and revealing all of them in their beautiful, naked glory. None were shy – the swingers club they all belonged to had taught them long ago to be comfortable with their bodies.
Two other staff members appeared, armed with Kathryn’s version of kiddies loot bags. She had tailor made each one to fit. The cries and laughter as they were opened were classic. Dildos, vibrators, lubes, restraints, ticklers – it looked like she had bought out the entire sex shop.
Once everyone had a drink in hand, Kat’s husband Roger hit a few buttons on the remote he held. The huge production began – the music started, the three screens on the walls started playing pornography, and the lights dimmed. “Ladies and gentlemen – pick your partners and let the games begin.”
They all stood around, suddenly unsure of themselves. Denise pulled a long deep purple vibrator out of her goodie bag, and moved to the center of the room. “Well, if no one wants to fuck me, I guess I’m going to have to do it myself.” She slouched down on one of the leather couches facing the large screen, where a woman was getting her pussy pounded by another woman in a strap on. “And now, THAT is inspiring.”
Turning the vibrator on low, she lightly ran it over her nipples, moaning at the sensations as they stiffened into tight peaks. Moving it down her body, she slid it up between her lips, teasing her moist hole with the tip. Her audience watched, enraptured by her facial expressions as she slowly inserted it inch by inch, only to withdraw it just as slowly. Tony approached her, kneeling in front of her, massaging her thighs, his faces inches from the action. His head bobbed in closer with every thrust, his tongue flicking out to lick her lips.
Everyone unfroze at that moment. Roger grabbed Kathryn, pulling her into a passionate kiss. His hands roamed her body, pushing the folds of her robe open. She moaned as his fingers made his way down to her mound, gently tapping at her lilt. Her hands found his stiff cock, stroking it in the way that she knew would drive him crazy. She dropped to her knees, licking around his bulbous head, which was slowly turning the same colour as Denise’s vibrator. A drop of pre-cum appeared at the slit and she whisked it away with her tongue. One hand massaged his balls, which were tight against his shaft, and the other moved around to tickle between his ass cheeks.
He bucked, thrusting himself further into her mouth. Her tongue flattened out, licking him in broad strokes from base to head. His fingers tangled into her hair, holding her steady while he fucked her face. Her cheeks caved as she increased the suction. Swirling her tongue as he thrust, she could tell he was ready to explode. When it came to fucking her, he could go for hours, but for some reason, with blow jobs he turned back into a pre-pubescent teenage boy and was quick to come.
Which was fine with Kathryn. As hostess, there was much still to do, and some important details she couldn’t leave to the staff. She would come later. With a strangled cry, he thrust one final time, and she tasted him as the milky stream hit the back of her throat. Without losing a single drop, she drank him all in. He helped her to her feet, kissing her passionately once again, his tongue sweeping the inside of her mouth for remnants of him.
She smiled coyly at him as he sank into the sofa next to Denise, who had abandoned the vibrator for the real thing. She was bent over, her hands resting on the sofa back, as Tony rammed into her from behind. Roger lay beneath her, his fingers ticking her clit, and his mouth fastening to her nipples as her tits swung free.
In another corner, Tony’s wife and her best friend Sarah were engaged in a rather hot soixante-neuf, with their husbands watching, while stroking the other’s hard on. It made for an incredibly erotic tableau, and Kathryn wished she could keep that image with her forever. Then she gave a little laugh. She would.
She sat and watched the debauchery unfolding before her. There were dildos and vibrators strewn all over the room, glistening with juices and lube. She watched with great interest while Maxine got set in her strap on, using a generous amount of lube. She pushed her boyfriend Ken onto all fours, kneeling behind him. Massaging his asshole, she then forced the lubed up cock into his tight tunnel. Kens face contorted in pain for a brief moment. Then, as Maxie developed a slow rhythm, his jaw went slack, and his eyes glazed over in pleasure. Kathryn could hear him grunting as Maxie muttered to him "You like this? You like me fucking you?"
"Yes." He gasped. She reached forward, entangling her hand in his shoulder length hair. Pulling his neck back, she thrust harder. "That's my bitch. Take it you slut." Kathryn giggled.
She beckoned Jasper, her faithful butler and constant sexual companion, over to her side. He had provided many nights of pleasure to both her and Roger over the years, but he held a special place in her heart. In fact, she would say she loved him. But Jasper was British, and extremely proper. Providing services for his employers was in his job description, and yes, perhaps he had grown fond of his lady over time. And although he knew of her feelings for him, he would never, in a million years, admit to loving her back.
But it was there, in his touch, in his eyes, in the way he bowed his head as he said “As you wish” after she would ask him to do something for her. “Jasper.” She whispered into his ear, and led him off by the hand. No one noticed as they slipped out of the room. She brought him into the study, closing the door softly behind them.
The staff watched the scene before them in fascination. The DeLong’s often hosted dinner parties, and once in a while, had others over for a “couple’s party”, but never anything to this extent. Cocks swelled, pussies grew wet, and with raised eyebrows and exchanged looks, the staff sent the message that they planned on partaking of each other in the same fashion once the night was over.
Jenna, in the middle of the floor, humping her way to her fifth self-induced orgasm on the bearskin rug, noticed the silent communication between them, and the tents in the robes of the male staff. She beckoned the two closest to her, one male and one female, and raised herself onto all fours. “Kneel down behind me please.” She asked the male nicely, her voice dripping with honey. She indicated the female to lie in front of her. Looking over her shoulder, she wiggled her ass, and handed him a condom. “Fuck me honey. Use that hard on of yours. No sense letting it go to waste.” She then faced the girl in front of her. “Lie down and spread them for me. I’m dying to eat some pussy.”
They tried not to show their shock as they did as she asked. It was Linda’s first party here, having only been employed for two months, and she would never have expected this. Dante had been around for a while and was a little less shocked. But nevertheless, the help had never been invited to join in before. But it looked like it was to be a night for firsts.
Linda gasped as Jenna’s tongue touched her clit. It wasn’t her first time being eaten, but it had never been by a woman. And she moaned as that talented tongue delved deep into her cunt, fucking her like a mini cock.
Dante was absorbed by the scene that was playing out in front of him, so much so that he almost forgot what he was supposed to do. Almost. His cock head nudged Jenna’s lips open, timidly at first. But when she thrust her perfect ass up against him, he lost all thought and shoved his seven inches full into her. Once sheathed in her moist heat, he began shallow movements, rocking against her without withdrawing. She cried out, the sound lost between Linda’s thighs.
The door to the study opened again, and Jasper, his eyes wet, hurried from the room. Five minutes passed before it opened again. Kathryn stood there,taking in the scene before her. She closed her eyes, lost in the sounds of pleasure and lust. She took a deep breath, and glanced at her watch. Almost midnight. In twenty minutes, it would be Valentine’s Day.
She strode into the dimly lit ballroom, voice carrying as she moved to the centre of the room, stepping over Jenna, Dante and Linda, who were collapsed in a heap of limbs, lips and smiles. “My friends, I hope you are all enjoying yourselves, and …” her scarlet lips turned up in a smile, “each other. I think it’s time the hostess had some attention.” They all laughed. Her pussy dampened again as she observed her husband eagerly licking Kitty Carrington’s shaved mound, his strong hand pumping his cock in rhythm.
She beckoned Jasper, to her. She smiled, stroking his cheek with her hand, kissing him gently on the lips. She removed her robe, sinking down into the middle of the group, thighs spread wide, ready, willing.
Her husband smiled, plunging two thick fingers into her already wet hole. She arched in pleasure, reaching for the nearest cock. Paul Styles volunteered, groaning as her hand encircled his engorged shaft. Her pulse accelerated.
Kathryn’s mouth hung open as her husband’s fingers pounded into her. James, her ex-boyfriend, saw opportunity and fed his ten inches between her lips. Katherine’s heart pounded as she took his meat into her throat, her eyes focused on his. He winked as he held her head, gently fucking her mouth.
Paul’s cock grew under her skilful hand, his breathing becoming laboured as he approached his climax. Her grip tightened, her strokes hurried as he came with a groan, shooting off all over her luscious tits. Shaylene, Katherine’s best friend, was on it in a heartbeat, lapping up the cream, paying close attention to her nipples, which were hard and aching. Katherine’s breathing became laboured.
“Someone please fuck me.” Her voice was strained, and she wondered how much time she had left. Jasper stepped up. “As you wish m’lady” he whispered, sliding his prick into her dripping cunt. He moved tenderly at first, at an angle. His head rubbed her g-spot just perfectly. She gazed into his bright eyes, her mouth still working James' prick. She clenched around him, coming hard.
Jasper quickened the pace, ramming into her, hitting the spots he knew intimately. Jenna laid next to her, her fingers finding Kathryn’s clit, rubbing it hard and fast.
James' cock popped out of Kathryn’s mouth as she cried out at the top of her lungs her orgasm tearing through her like a hurricane. Her heart felt like it exploded, as she stiffened.
Jasper groaned, collapsing on top of his mistress. As he noticed she wasn’t moving, his eyes filled with tears. “Goodbye m’lady.” He whispered into her skin.
Thirty minutes earlier, in the study....
The party had been underway for a few hours. She had spent the last two enjoying Jasper's private ministrations. She was sure that no one had missed her. Cleaned up, and once again in her robe, she stood at the window.
“Kathryn, are you sure?” Jaspers voice was filled with tears as he wrapped his arms around her, the two of them gazing at the city skyline.
“Yes Jasper. I’m exercising my right to choose. And I’m leaving on my terms.” Her hand held a crumpled doctor’s report, and she tossed it into the fireplace, where it joined a set of x-rays. She turned to him. “Three months I’ve been planning this. You promised. Please don’t abandon me now.”
She placed her cheek next to his. “Let me hear it. Just once before it’s over.”
He gazed into her eyes, and kissed her tenderly, with all the passion he could. “I love you Kathryn. I always will. I made you a promise. And I will not abandon you.” With that, he turned to mix her a drink. Handing her the snifter, he kissed her again.
“I’d like to be alone for a minute please Jasper.” Her voice broke, and he longed to hold her, to tell her this wasn’t the way. But her mind was made up.
“As you wish.” And with that, he turned and left her.
She gazed again at the beautiful skyline before her, caressing the snifter. She drained it viciously, resisting the urge to smash it in the fireplace. She had to remember, that this was what she wanted. In the safe were all the documents they’d need. They’d know why.
Yes, her friends would go through hell, at first. Roger would be devastated that she didn’t share this with him.
But they would forgive her, eventually. They’d all be found innocent, eventually. And she’d be beautiful forever.
There were a thousand stories in the naked city. And hers would be one they’d talk about for years to come.
Whew! I know. Hard to choose. Take a minute. Then press the button!