Chapter Twenty Three
Scherri
I have no bones. No skin. I am weightless and floating on the sensations rushing at the lining of my skin. As soon as Jacket withdraws from my pussy, leaving a different sort of vacancy than Stick does, I flop onto the spread of clothes they laid out to protect me from the ground. I'm certain I'll never have strength in my body again after the force of the orgasms that ripped through me.
Having two men inside me at once is so much different than one. Different than just double the pleasure. With every sensitive point being touched and pulled at the same time, the overload of sensations is like a tornado whipping though your body. Having both gorgeous hunks completely focused on my needs made me feel worshiped like an angel, which both men have told me I am. Although of course I know that isn't true. But it's still nice to hear.
They settle in beside me on the blanket of our clothes. Stick commandeers the spot behind me as always. He wraps me into his embrace, his ridged torso lining my back. Jacket, completely unfazed by what just happened, like he does this most days of the week, takes my front. He props himself up on one elbow and looking down on Stick and I with his dimpled grin.
“You're so beautiful, Scherri,” he says, gently rolling my nipple in his fingers. “So perfect. An absolute queen.”
Stick tightens his grasp around me, possessively and I wonder if he's okay with what happened. It may be alright to intellectually decide you're man enough to share your woman so she has the experience of a lifetime. But when it comes to reality, maybe he hated every second of watching Jacket spread my pussy and lick the entire length like he was starved for ice cream on a hot day.
“She is,” Stick grits out. And I'm sure I hear the unspoken words “and she belongs to me,” repressed on his tongue.
“You two are made for each other,” Jacket says.
He gets up to pull his jeans on, sliding them out from under my knees. His cock really is amazing. Smooth and perfectly formed, it hangs at half mast even when he's soft, as though ready to perform again at a moment's notice. And greedy little me can't help but want another moment with them both. It was the most divinely decadent sensation I've ever felt, being completely filled in both holes. And before Jacket disappears into the dust, I'm pining for one more taste of two men riding me together.
He tugs his tee over his broad shoulders then plunks down, cross-legged in front of my tummy, trailing one finger along the swell of my hip. He's so laid back, he could be a throwback to another war, one I've only seen in photos. Of those 'sixties veterans that joined the hippie movement and fought for freedom. Small quivers rocket through my thighs, knowing his gaze is glued to my bare naked pussy, covered with the juices he drew from me. To pretend I wasn't hankering for his fingers pinching my clit and his perfect dick stretching at my walls just one more time, would be a lie.
“I suppose I should be getting back,” I half moan, wishing I could stay here with my two men for the rest of the day.
Just to savor this wild fantasy a little while longer. But my mother will be wanting something from me, I'm sure. I just hope it isn't the mall, where she'll compare her body to that of every woman that walks past.
“Is my butt that big?” she asks, insisting on a response, when I try to demur and say I don't judge other women's shapes.
Stick immediately leaps to his feet to help me rise. And Jacket seated on the ground, hands me my panties which are still soaked through from the swimming and my flowing desire. He looks up at me, catching my eyeline and holing it trapped with a cheeky look. A spark of a firework lights in my core but I have to ignore it. I had the bucket list dream fulfilled. It would be overkill to crave more of the same.
I tug my eyes away from his and decide not to battle with soggy swimwear. Instead I simply drop my dress over my head and wriggle it down my body while both men watch me with lusty stares. Good, let them walk beside me back to the house, with their heads full of knowing I'm butt naked underneath. They aren't the only ones entitled to go commando.
Stick has my hand tightly in his grip as we walk home. Jacket takes my other side, occasionally brushing against my arm which feels just as intimate. Luckily we all remember to move apart as we approach Stick's house, leaving ample space between ourselves on the sidewalk. Because my mom is huffing up and down in the open doorway like she's waiting on an hour-late taxi.
“There you are,” she says, then immediately adjusts her tone when she sees Jacket is with us. “Oh you're still here, Mr Ettsy.”
“Please, Ma'am, won't you call me Jacket?”
“You boys do like your strange names. Really Scheherazade, you know I invited you here to visit your grandmother.”
“And I have, I will,” I immediately snap back.
“Well,” my mother snips, as though I just slapped her face. “I've been waiting to let you know that the doctor called this morning and he doesn't think your grandmother will last much longer.”
“Really?” I say, filled with doubt. “Because you said the exact same thing a couple of weeks ago.”
“Okay, I can see someone is in one of her moods. I waited to tell you and now I'm going to bid my own mother adieu in her final hours.”
My mother flounces down the path toward her car and I look up at Stick stricken.
“Go,” he tells me.
So I run after her and eat enough craw that she finally deigns to let me climb into the passenger seat. As we pull away, I look back to see both gorgeous men still standing on the porch, watching us and I wonder whether I'll see both at the same time ever again. There seems so much left unsaid still. So much we have yet to share before this magical time passes into our shared secret history.
When we arrive at the hospital, the doctor confirms what I assumed was more of my mom's dramatics.
“I'd say she has a few hours at most.”
“But she was fine yesterday,” I cry and cover my mouth to muffle the shock.
“Really Scheherazade, she was not fine. I told you that. Not everyone needs to make a scene to get attention.”
The doctor wants to speak to Mom, so I go in and have a few precious moments alone with Gran.
“My lovely girl,” she says, her eyes fluttering open when I close the door.
“Oh Gran. I love you so much.” I babble.
“And I love you darling. You mustn't mind your mother. She also loves you but she has a hard time showing it.”
“I know.” I guess.
“When it comes to love, remember to take very good care of it and not put up useless walls against it out of fear of being hurt. Or of what anyone else might say about you.”
Then as if she can read directly from my body she carries on.
“It's the best thing in life to share love – celebrate every second of that whenever you get the chance. Make it count and make it big.”
“I'll try to do that,” I whimper. “Gran, do you remember your first love? Was it Pops?”
“An Italian boy named Dante was my first, my last, my everything. I guess a lot of girls feel that way about the first boy they kiss. You never forget him. It's forever vivid for being special. Unique. The first one. There's only ever one first time.”
With that Gran closes her eyes again, as though she's uttered all the words she wants me to live by. I sit beside her, with her tiny hand in mine, until my mother joins us.