A word of warning: This story isn't meant to stand on its own, using characters that have quite a bit of history in my continuous private universe.
In the late spring of the year 2088, somewhere between Rotterdale, NC and Springfield, OH,
"Fuck that shit." Tristan has been known for better trains of thought in his life. This one time he stopped doubting for a change and went about doing something he knew he wanted, and to damn with the consequences. We all have to deal with anxiety at once or a second, right?
In this instance fucking that shit meant passing up on some mundane social arrangement or another and cavorting himself north a ways to a place he was somewhat afraid to go to. He got there and he didn't hesitate to knock. If he had hesitated, he would have been lost in his thoughts.
"It's open!"
Easy enough. Even to stop to catch his breath may have slowed him down just enough to stop his steam and that's not something he could afford. He opened the door and beheld what was there waiting beyond. "Good evening, Misses McClure," he said to the woman sitting upon the couch with her eyes glued to the Wavevision because the woman gets attention first, "Mister McClure."
"That him?" the mister asked the misses. Like his wife he didn't spare much more than a glance away from the Wavey to see what was whatting.
"Pretty sure," answered the misses.
"You don't
sound
sure."
"This is a really interesting show."
"Beatrix home?" That was Tristan speaking there.
"Had to lock her in her bedroom," the misses answered.
"?"
"She was getting gloomy."
"What're you fixing on doing with my daughter with that length of rope?" the mister asked.
Tristan took a glance at his hands as though seeing what he'd brought into the home for the first time. "Uhh... kidnapping her?"
The misses looked as well. Like her husband, the concept was rather dubious. "We have church in the morning."
Tristan deflated.
"Can you make it quick?"
"Umm... no."
"Yep, it's him," the misses said to her husband.
"Look young man," the mister said with an uncomfortable shift in his seat, "you seem like a nice feller but we can't just go advocating letting you spirit my daughter around town willy-nilly. What kind of example would we be setting for the boys?"
"What if we just locked you in there with her?" the misses suggested. "It's technically kidnapping."
"Yeah but only if
I
do it," Tristan said. "Also..."
"What?"
"...She can be a little... loud."
The mister and misses consulted with each other by means of knowing glances. The mister picked up a roll of duck tape, which just so happened to be gracing the end-table by his left hand, and tossed it to his guest.
"Like,
really
loud."
The mister, having already considered the conversation over, kept his eyes on the Wavevision and simply turned it up louder.
Tristan shrugged and headed off down the hall, cracking open a length of tape on his way. He took his shoes off first of course; no need to be rude.
*
The door clicked open and Beatrix lifted her running eyes with hope lighting in them. "I'm sorry Mom, I didn't mean to be so... Tris? What're
you
doing he... what're you planning on doing with that duck tape?"
"Where're your shoelaces, Tristan?" Tristan answered in mocking echo, "Why are you so tired all the time, Tristan? Why is the shower so slippery after you use it, Tristan? What's that smell, Tristan? You'd think people would've learned something in five decades of being alive, the number of stupid questions they can come up with. I'm tired of answering stupid questions." Tristan shut the door behind him, the door being locked from the outside, and took meaningful steps toward the bed and the young lady held captive within it.
"Umm... Tris? You're being all spooky. Did something happen?"
"No, nothing
happened
. That would be the problem. I'm about to make something happen is what."
"Umm... okay, sit down and we can talk about stuff."
"I don't think I'll be doing anymore talking tonight. You too."
"...What's that in your pocket? That wouldn't happen to be a cucumber, would it? What's a cucumber doing in your pocket?"
Tristan sprung like a dog and Beatrix leaped straight up like a cat. Much chaos ensued.
Many hours later
,
Beatrix's tongue fell slack from her mouth. With each of Tristan's powerful thrusts it was dragged through the wet spot she'd left on her bed, be it from coming too hard for the gajilionth time or from when she'd peed herself seeing the bulge in Tristan's shorts once he'd got his pants off. She'd actually thought he'd stuffed a cucumber in there just to spook her and instead she learned he'd done some growing since she'd last seen him.
Tristan gave a mighty roar and came for the last time. With that, the last of his strength left him and he fell flat onto the bed. More of a swamp than a bed at that point, the way Beatrix leaked everywhere from what he'd been doing to her all night. Too sore of muscle to care anymore.
Beatrix was the next few minutes catching her breath, perhaps she was waiting for the focus to return to her eyes. Perhaps the feeling in her tongue was returning and she needed to suck it back into her mouth and swallow a few times. Minutes later she remained untouched, the longest she'd gone so since her territory was encroached upon. She struggled and squirmed yet the rope binding her arms behind her back stayed true. She at least could scrunch herself up to get her chin between her knees and with them catch the dangly end of the tape that had come loose and with a few tries pull it off.
"Ow." Perhaps the first word to be spoken in several hours. Maybe there's a certain magic in sex that can be broken with a single word. Nevermind. Beatrix did the three-point turn between her knees and her chin to come face-to-face with Tristan who was still wiped out with his head comfy against her fluffy pink pillows. That is, her face was more at level with his groin but you get what I'm trying to say. She scooched herself forward, got her head in his lap, and sucked his dick.
*
"Mrp."
