Associations Read online

  Just as I was about to blow sky-high, she suddenly pulled back, dropping me dripping out of her glorious mouth.

  She jumped to her feet, up onto the counter. And I shoved her back, unthinking, just doing, yanking off her skirt and panties and exposing her dewy blonde need.

  ‘Fuck me, Frank!’ she exhorted, crushing her bare breasts in her hands.

  I shouldered her legs and recklessly steered my cockhead into her bush, through slick petals and deep into hot, wet, tight pussy. She rolled around in the flour, moaning. I churned my hips as I fucked her.

  The counter creaked and the flour flew as I pumped the writhing woman, the smoke from our puffing voyeur hazing the kitchen but not quite muffling the tangy, desperate smell of sweat and sex. I gritted my teeth and flung my hips at Cora, pistoning granite dong into gripping cunt. I was on fire, out-of-control, body and balls tingling way past the point of no return.

  ‘Yeah, Cora, yeah!’ I hollered, fucking the blonde in a frenzy.

  Then I was jolted by orgasm, my thrusting pipe exploding inside her sucking pussy, filling her with white-hot ecstasy. She screamed her own joy, legs shaking against my chest and body shuddering, fiery orgasm engulfing the both of us.

  I stayed longer than my budgeted one hour for dinner in Sioux City.

  I soon came to realize why I’d never met anyone like Cora before: most people who thought and acted like she did were locked up somewhere, safely away from square johns like myself. The woman had some serious delusions – about movies. Not girlish crushes on matinee idols like Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise, or displaced dreams of being the next Scarlett Johansson or Catherine Zeta-Jones. No, this offbeat babe had a living, breathing, all-encompassing Film Noir fetish.

  She told me all about it, gushing it out with the same intensity she’d gushed earlier. All about the black and white shadowy lighting, the furtive characters and seedy locations, the sexy, sinister themes, the motion pictures and movie actors and studios; an alternative rain and tear-streaked chiaroscuro world of brooding heavies and smouldering femmes fatales, doomed lovers and desperate loners. A strange, exciting, flickering world that was her escape from a shabby Sioux City existence, I supposed.

  Sinjin indulged her fantasy role-playing, as she indulged his fisted voyeurism. And now I’d become the third pointy-head in the whole crazy lust triangle. I’d been caught between the nutty dame’s legs and she wasn’t about to let go.

  We hooked-up again the following evening, the setting: an abandoned warehouse overlooking the misty banks of the Missouri River. I was costumed in a flimsy trench coat and a wrinkled fedora, playing the rogue cop, ‘Bannion’. Chrissie/Cora was now Debbie, the bad-girl gangster’s moll desperate to redeem herself. Sinjin held down his usual supporting role as the peeping, puffing tom in the shadows.

  Pipes dripped unknown liquids and tiny feet scurried about, towers of crates creaking ominous warnings, as Debbie set the scene of dangerous love by scrambling out of her little, black moll gown and up onto a pile of coiled ropes. She wagged her bare, tan and white, bottom at me. I moved in behind, gripping the glowing orbs of her bum and sinking my shaft into her pussy. Her desperate cries and my urgent grunts echoed in the gloomy, cavernous confines, Sinjin’s cigarettes burning bright orange behind a rusted metal pillar.

  The next night, the scene shifted to a dank alley that ran into oblivion alongside a sleazy bar. I was the hardboiled private dick, ‘Sam’, who plastered soft, willing, manipulating ‘Brigid’ up against a grimy brick wall and tried to hose some truth out of her. Sinjin was third garbage can on the right, watching and puffing and pulling in the dark.

  Night after rainy night it went on and on, through the dog-eared celluloid catalogue of con-men and suckers, vulnerable good girls and brassy broads. It all became way too much for me. I’m a Kung Fu genre fan, myself, and not much of a ham. Not to mention the fact that my boss back home was really wondering why it was taking so long to ‘get my car fixed’ in Sioux City.

  ‘It’s been a lot of, um, fun…’

  ‘Phyllis.’

  ‘Phyllis,’ I broke it to the blonde hottie, as she drove us to a seedy downtown hotel through another liquid night. ‘But I’ve got to get back to work. I can’t afford to lose my–’

  ‘No one’s pulling out!’ she sneered, strangling the steering wheel. ‘We went into this together, and we’re coming out at the end together. It’s straight down the line for both of us.’

  We skidded to a stop in front of the glowering hotel and rented Room 1313 from a nebbish desk clerk wearing a leer the size of all Iowa. Phyllis unlocked the door to the ratty room, unloaded a bottle of rye from a paper sack. She filled a pair of dirty water glasses, and drank from both.

  ‘I’m crazy about you, Walter,’ she breathed, standing on tip-toes and smothering my mouth, drawing blood with her teeth.

  I was the hapless stooge trapped in the erotic clutches of the calculating femme fatale; playing a hopeless game in which I didn’t even know the rules or the players.

  Phyllis shoved me down to my knees on the threadbare carpet, ordered me to polish the four-inch black stilettos she had strapped to her feet – with my tongue.

  I looked up the smirking woman’s slim, stockinged legs, up and under the knee-high black skirt she was wearing without the benefit of panties. She gestured impatiently, and I hung my head, licked the rounded tip of her shoe.

  A gold anklet encircled her left ankle, glittering in the light. I coiled my trembling fingers around it and lifted her foot, ran my tongue all along the high-polish leather of her shoe, tasting the rich, smooth texture. Then I lapped at her other high heel, licking the shimmering bridge of her foot where it humped out of her shoe.

  Phyllis stripped off her pink sweater, baring her breasts. She cupped and fondled her handful tits, rolling engorged nipples between her fingers. She stuck a spike heel in my face and I dutifully snaked my tongue around it, then sucked on it, desperate to please.

  When I’d worshipped at her feet long enough, she unhooked her skirt and slid onto the bed. She spread her legs and beckoned, and I crawled across the floor, in between her silken stems. I stuck my tongue into the damp, blonde fur of her pussy without hesitation.

  ‘Yes!’ she moaned, clawing at my hair. ‘Eat me, Walter!’

  I gripped her taut thighs and lapped at her slit, anxiously tonguing her from bum hole to mound-top, over and over. She was wetter than night. Her spicy juices and musky scent made my addled brain spin even faster.

  ‘Enough!’ she commanded at last. She gestured at me to stand up, strip off my clothes.

  I wiped off my mouth and stood, stripped, shooting a quick glance around the dingy room for that tell-tale smoke. Phyllis pointed at the cracked mirror on the wall, which I took to be of the two-way variety. Then she grabbed me and spread me out on the bed, herself on top.

  She grasped my cock and speared it between her slickened lips, sitting down on it. ‘Mmmm, that feels good, Walter,’ she exhaled, digging her scarlet fingertips into the hair on my chest and moving her bum.

  I gripped her hanging tits, tried to meet her urgent bouncing with my own upward thrusting. But I didn’t have the strength, or the stamina. Phyllis vigorously shifted her ass up and down, riding my achingly hard cock, fucking me with her pussy.

  The sagging bed squealed in agony, the blonde picking the tempo up to frenzy-mode. The headboard cracked against the ragged wallpaper until the whole room shook with the ferocity of her passion. I lay there in a pool of our sweat, body limp, cock surging with sexual electricity.

  ‘Yes, Walter, yes!’ Phyllis screamed.

  She tore at my chest, bouncing around like a madwoman, until her dewy body spasmed with the wicked orgasm she pulled from my cock. Her joyous shrieking overpowered my breathless whimpering, as I spurted semen inside her in an orgasm long and loose and full of juice, but utterly lacking in feeling.

  Then the door burst open. A man stood there, a huge, angry bear of a man. ‘I knew you was cheatin’ on
me!’ he roared at Phyllis. ‘You’re gonna die, asshole!’ he roared at me.

  Phyllis sunk her fingernails into my flesh, pinning me down.

  She slow-rode my cock, eyeing the brute crowding the doorway with total contempt. ‘So, you finally caught on, huh, Nick?’

  The big man gaped at her, big, hairy hands clenching into big, hard fists.

  ‘Walter, meet my husband, Nick,’ Phyllis/Brigid/ Debbie/Cora/Chrissie said to me.

  Then kissed me deadly.

  I woke up screaming, pushing the black angel away with a superhuman effort. I jumped to my feet, cock and balls flapping on empty. I didn’t know for sure what the hell was going on, but I knew one thing: I was being cast for the real-life part of patsy, pushover, and fall guy all rolled into one, the clay pigeon. The big knife was out and the big heat was on; this was the breaking point, the set-up. I was going to be the accused, abandoned, beyond a reasonable doubt.

  The man filling the doorframe suddenly started shaking, spluttering, body and soul, his beefy face burning purple.

  ‘Remember your heart condition, dear,’ his wife jeered, with more than a touch of evil. ‘Keel over from a coronary, or tear my lover limb-from-limb and go to jail – either way, Sinjin and I get the diner, and each other.’

  I shot a look of despair at the born-to-be-bad piece of blonde ice. But it was too late for tears. I barrelled straight into the third man, sending him slamming backwards into the hall clutching his chest.

  I raced down the stairs and out into the dark city, the asphalt jungle, between midnight and dawn; the night runner shooting through a nightmare alley and across a street with no name. I scrambled up a grading and by a narrow margin hooked on to the side of a thundering boxcar, swinging inside, railroaded out of town.

  A poor sap on the run now, on dangerous ground, in a lonely place. A guy who’d taken a detour into a roadhouse, a dark passage, and was DOA as soon as he’d stepped through the door. Was there ever a shadow of a doubt?

  Blue Pommes in Killybegs

  by Thom Gautier

  B&E,&B

  by Lynn Lake When Melissa slipped her key in the lock and opened the door, she knew instantly that something was wrong.

  Her nostrils flared, scenting the faint, foreign smell of tangerine. Her pupils narrowed, sighting the slightly-open drawer in her cubby-hole desk against the wall. Her ears pricked, sensing the far-off squeak of something moving somewhere in the apartment. All that, and the fact there was light streaming from underneath the cracked-open bedroom door, clued Melissa into the probability that there was an intruder in her home.

  She thought about phoning for the police, then dismissed the idea. This was her house (since moving out of the parental home two months earlier, at twenty-two years old). If anyone other than the snoopy landlord thought they could violate the sanctuary of her home and get away with it, well, they had another think coming. Although shy by nature, independence had steeled the girl. And having her Smart car and mountain bike stolen in the course of the past two weeks, her identity briefly thieved, had left her growling like a crime dog.

  She eased the door shut, lowered her pink canvas gym bag to the carpet. Fresh from Tae Bo, she was still wearing her pink exercise shorts and lavender tank-top, long, blonde hair pulled back and tied with a violet ribbon, lean body oiled with sweat, primed for action. She ducked into a fighting crouch, narrowed blue eyes piercing the darkness, hairs on the back of her long neck standing up and taking notice as another squeak sounded – in the bedroom. Her bedroom.

  She glided across the living room carpet, slid up against the wall next to the bedroom door. She considered a weapon – a bread knife, a pair of scissors, that Jesus-on-the-cross letter-opener her mother had given her – then dismissed that idea, as well. Her hands and body were her weapons. Far from lethal, but certainly slightly dangerous, at least. And who wants a weapon taken away and used against them?

  More squeaking. Closer now, Melissa recognized the sound: a drawer in her childhood bunny-decorated chest of drawers being pulled open. She kept her underwear in that particular stick of furniture, and other, even less-mentionable, things.

  Coiled body buzzing with high-tension adrenaline, she reached out a shaking hand and used four trembling fingers to sliver the bedroom door further open. Holding her breath, she peeked inside.

  Someone, a small figure dressed entirely in black – black shirt and jeans and toque – was rifling through her drawers.

  You don’t send a midget to do a man’s job, the blonde thought grimly to herself, mentally sizing the break & enterer up at five-foot-two to her five-foot-eight, ninety-five pounds to her one-twenty-five.

  The sneak thief plucked a pair of tiger-striped panties out of the drawer and casually sniffed them, the trigger point for Melissa’s pent-up rage. She burst the door wide open and barrelled into the room, squalling, ‘Grab wall, dirtbag!’

  She was all over the perp’s back in an instant, shoving the undersized intruder up against the wall, spreading arms and legs, pushing his face into the winking moon and grinning stars wallpaper. This was putting her Citizen Awareness Day activities at the local police precinct to good use.

  ‘Make love to that wall!’ Melissa bawled. She kept the cat burglar kissing wallpaper with her left hand, as she yanked a pair of black stockings out of the open drawer with her right. She jerked the robber’s arms down, quickly winding the stocking around tiny wrists and knotting them together. ‘There,’ she rasped a rodeo eight seconds later, spinning the one-in-custody around. ‘Let’s get a good look at you, scumbag.’

  A woman’s face greeted Melissa, shocking some of the toughness out of her. A pretty, fine-featured face featuring a pair of brown eyes and red-glossed lips, a thin, haughty nose. The woman looked to be around thirty, and she grinned at the bewildered blonde, displaying teeth as white as Melissa’s knuckles.

  ‘Guess you got me,’ she commented, leaning back against the wall.

  Melissa blinked her eyes, recovering some of her confrontation at the other’s insolence. She yanked the toque off the woman’s head. Midnight hair tumbled free, collecting in a shimmering curtain around the woman’s small shoulders.

  ‘You’re going down – lady,’ Melissa stated firmly.

  ‘If you’re lucky – Melissa,’ the woman replied easily.

  Melissa snapped her hands onto her hips. ‘Just how do you happen to know my name?’

  The woman grinned some more, glancing at the animal print panties crowning the bunny-dappled chest of drawers. ‘It’s sewn into all your underwear. My name’s Gabriela, by the way.’

  Melissa chewed her lip, sniffed, ‘Well, I don’t want to lose anything. There’s a lot of crime in this area.’

  ‘Copy down all your vibrator serial numbers, too, huh?’

  Melissa’s eyes dove down to the bottom drawer, her face flooding crimson. ‘I’ll teach you to go digging around in other people’s private things.’ She flung her head back and marched over to the SpongeBob SquarePants phone on the bedside nightstand, punched in 9-1-1.

  She had her back turned to her prisoner for only a moment, just long enough to be put on hold by the overburdened police department, when she heard Gabriela say, ‘Maybe you should use these?’

  Melissa whirled around. Gabriela was holding up a pair of fur-lined handcuffs, her wrists free and clear.

  ‘Hey! How’d you get–’

  ‘I’m really up to no good tonight,’ Gabriela teased.

  Melissa dropped the yellow sponge receiver and grabbed on to Gabriela’s shoulders, pushing her down into the padded chair in front of the bureau mirror. She hastily pulled the woman’s wrists back and cuffed her. Then she snatched up a pair of sheer blue stockings and fastened Gabriela’s slim ankles to the metal chair legs.

  ‘Better tie me up around the waist, too,’ Gabriela suggested. ‘I’m pretty slippery – when wet.’

  Melissa had noticed that the otherwise cool and collected woman was perspiring almost as much as she wa
s. So she dug around some more in her dainties drawer and pulled out a pair of black nylon pantyhose, kneeled back down in front of Gabriela.

  ‘Pull my shirt out of my pants,’ the woman instructed, ‘so you can tie it tight around my bare skin – like you did with my ankles.’

  Melissa glanced up from the tangled hose. Gabriela’s face was glowing, her bronze skin shining, moist, red lips parted and liquid-brown eyes half-hooded by long, black lashes. Like she was excited, almost, anything but fearful. Melissa dropped the pantyhose in Gabriela’s lap and anxiously cinched the stockings around the woman’s ankles even tighter.

  And, as she did so, Gabriela moaned. Her eyes fluttered shut and she bit into her plush lower lip. Melissa quickly reached behind the hard-breathing woman to check on the boudoir handcuffs. Their faces almost touching, Gabriela’s eyes suddenly popped open. And she kissed Melissa, soft and wet and urgent, right on the lips.

  Melissa recoiled, stunned, staring into Gabriela’s sparkling eyes. She wondered if the woman had just committed another chargeable offence and just what she was up to; wondering, as well, if the soft, sweet impression left on her tingling lips would ever go away.

  Her hands moved on their own, pulling Gabriela’s shirt out of her jeans. Gabriela shuddered, full-body jumping against her restraints when Melissa’s fingers brushed her bare stomach. ‘Tie me up – tight!’ the raven-haired beauty hissed.

  She rapidly threaded the legs of the pantyhose around Gabriela’s tiny waist, the woman gasping encouragement, her breath coming hot and humid in Melissa’s burning face. Melissa knotted the pantyhose legs together and cinched them tight around Gabriela’s middle, the silky fabric digging into the caramel-coloured skin.

  Gabriela groaned, then desperately sought out Melissa’s lips and found them, pressing mouth against mouth.

  Melissa just knelt there and took it, her whole body flaming as hot as her face now, Gabriela’s wet lips moving against her lips, tangerine-scented body spray clouding her mind, flooding her good senses, the woman’s intoxicating lips and fiery heat setting Melissa’s head to spinning.