Page 65 of Road Refugees

“Ah, woman,” panted my husband. “Woman woman, you are too fucking much. Ah, God. I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come in your—”

Just in the nick of time, I stood ramrod straight. I pointed at what I believed to be the head end of the bed. “Get up,” I commanded, as I stripped my warm merino wool sweater from my torso and squirmed out of my skirt and leggings. I heard him oomphing as he walked his way up to the headboard. But I had something different in mind.

Jumping to the bed, I clung to the headboard and waggled my ass. I was finally over calling it my fanny. Town leapt to the task at hand, promising needlessly, “I’ll be gentle, my angel.”

Waggling my fingers between my thighs, I eagerly sought his big member. “No need, no need,” I said, like a harried shopkeeper.

He placed his big, shiny prepuce against my opening, but he was hesitant. “I don’t want to remind you of . . . ”

We knew he meant the tortures of Orson Ream, but I was so far over that. “It’s you, Town, not Mr. Ream. I know it’s you. It’s you and your giant cock. I’m stretched out enough now to take you.” I blew hair from my eyes. “Take me, god damnit!”

He eased his way inside my passage. My muscles clutched at his meat. It was quite attractive to me how well-endowed my husband was. For the first time ever, I could marvel at it and admire it. Orson had been less endowed, so Town and I had worked tirelessly to stretch me out without pain. “You know,” Town grunted, “taking you like this, like a dog, like a fucking wild bear, it just—”

I slapped my ass with a naked palm. “Take me, Town! I’m not kidding! Just take me and shut up!”

So Town did.

Gyrating and swiveling his muscular hips, he bore down into my core. Ecstasy pooled around my uterus, fingers preparing to clamp down on my innards. Town hungrily plugged me with his mammoth phallus, each stroke more heedless, incautious, just unrestrained lust.

I splayed my fingers and held them between my thighs, a V containing my bulging clit, the muscles of his stiff boner. Town was wider and longer than I’d ever felt him, but I could accommodate him. With my pussy reflexively clutching at him, he stroked into me with short, constant pants. I could tell his inner mind was shutting down, lasering his focus onto my body, then just certain parts of my body, and then just one.

He came with many blasts, loads blowing deep inside my inner cunt. I squeezed and milked his cock with my buff inner muscles. Twitching and jerking inside me, he finally panted again. His puffs of breath rolled up my spine, cooling me down. I massaged the powerful limb with my fingertips between my legs. Now his whole body twitched and jerked.

“Ah, no!”

“Too much?” I teased. I looked over my shoulder as though I could see him.

“A bit,” he panted.

As much as I hated to, I fell away from him, twisting so I landed with my ass on a pillow. Only then did I strip the mask off. Good God in an evil world, Town was ripped. The way the late afternoon sun flowed in the window really hit up the ridges and valleys of his torso. He’d been so much more active since recovering from his surgery. He was like a new man—or the same man I loved more than life itself, if that makes any sense.

He collapsed alongside me, too. “That was amazing,” he panted, “fucking a stranger.”

I took false offense. “What? I’m not good enough for you?”

He took me seriously. “What? Oh, no! That’s not what I meant at all!”

Giggling, I kissed the edge of his mouth. “My gimpy shitbird,” I said, using army lingo, “you are the only one I want to fuck.”

He nuzzled his face in my neck. “Yes,” he agreed. “The only one.”

I put my face against his hot neck and went mindless with bliss. I didn’t have to always orgasm—it was our mutual pleasure that mattered. I pictured Town months ago, busting into that Flagstaff bar with a gun and shooing me away. At stake was his choice and look what that choice turned into. Suffering, such as I had at the hands of Orson, was the consequence of Orson’s choice. It wasn’t until I decided it would be my own choice to shape my future that I walked out.

Our cuddling was short-lived. Slappy flung the bedroom door open, allowing Linus and Mickey entrance. Mickey politely paced up and down, finally settling by the bureau where, ironically, a photo of her was framed. But Linus, oh no. No politeness for him. He came sailing on to the bed like a giant toad, splaying himself right over Town’s torso.

“Slappy, god damnit!” Town yelled, not having a word to say to Linus. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Tracy, that’s what!” Slappy shouted. At least, unlike Wolf, he was polite enough to stalk around Town’s side of the bed and not be too terribly obvious about sneaking a look at my rack. “You never told me Tracy belonged to Tobiah! Ptui! I spit on Tobiah!”

Sticking my legs under the sheet, I said, “Tobiah helped us find Town with his gearhead ways.”

Town raised himself out of bed, and I noted that even Slappy seemed to gaze upon him with admiration. Stepping into his jeans, he said, “I was trying to, buddy. You were under the delusion that Tobiah was just reinstalling her hard drive.”

Slappy spat again. “I’ll give you reinstalling her hard drive.’ What’m I going to do now? I could easily steal her from that Krelboyne.”

I said, “Then you’d have to contend with Wolf Glaser. He’s the other person in the ménage.”

“Wolf Glaser?” yelled Slappy. “What kind of taste does Tracy have in men? Whoa!”