Too Loose for Terror

Thunder rumbled a distinct purr in the distance, and the heavy smell of rain snuffed a corner of the sun before it emerged again.

"Promise I won't be scared?" Charlotte implored around the grind of her heel into the dying summer grass. Her white sneakers flashed a blinding reflective blue over the spindly yellow like pulsating alien landing lights coaxing it to grow.

"Would *I* lead you into something scary?" Tom protested, patting his girlfriend's meaty cocoa-hued forearm.

Her mouth opened.

"...err don't answer that," he interrupted.

The sun withered over Evan, (pronounced Ee-von), Iowa's garden park, forfeiting its characteristic gold to the sky. -Breathtaking gold, the color of a baby Jesus halo resting on the puffy softness of blanket white clouds or hot popcorn in a red basket. Still higher, the blue of His Father's eyes flitted over the stoic face of the crumbling Sunnyville Rehabilitation Home and watched as chubby fingers nudged a spiral of silvery-blonde bangs from his girlfriend's eyes. Blonde. Red. Brown. Black. Red. Blonde. Black. The girl had more colors than the panoramic exhibits themselves.

"Where's everyone else?" she cooed, nudging her white canvas skirt and belt down tight around her wide hips. Childbearing hips.

He licked his lips and looked back at the sky. A sickle moon peeked like an obscured needle through cerulean eyes. "John and Jerry will be here soon. Nothin' starts til it's dark anyways."

"Dark huh?" she purred, glancing at the tree-laden fringes around the open green field.

His attention snapped back and audibly sighed as her hand covered his thigh then squeezed. Tom draped his full six-foot frame against the electrical box, hording its warmth in the treeless area as the last rays of summer sun beat on his red-stubbled skull. Her form slid like a bulky stream of misdirected water, and Charlotte's fingers made fast work of his loose jeans, wriggling them open enough to access his boxers. Her hot tongue plastered them to his pale muscular thighs, tongue flicking the comfort button back and forth before opening it.

They had hours, he realized with a low groan as her skilled mouth bobbed quickly over the soft head of his prick.

He spread his thighs a little wider, and her first two fingers worked between his balls, pressing up and in. Her mouth was a soaking wet vacuum of molten velvet around his head. He stared into the tree line, the heavily veined flesh of his cock inflating at the woody scent of decay, the tower of black rocks that interrupted the distant view of the trees, and the secrets hidden among the worms and maggots beneath: secrets of death, corrosion, eternal life...

Charlotte's hand whipped his hip forward and back, and he glanced down at her, watching it fill her mouth with pride, his ass wriggling back against the buzzing box behind him.

His eyes slammed shut, and his toes curled as she sucked him like a lollypop to the cavernous roof of her slick mouth. A heady exhilaration overwhelmed him, reminiscent of his first buck. He relived soaring as he watched it twitch and bleed, watched its eyes stare glazed into the distance. His breath annihilated the rumbling heavens. The crickets evaporated as his slit pulsed, yielding his sticky precum. It coated her silky vibrating throat, and his thrusts came faster.

Like a gun, the pure need of the fuck killed everything else, and in his mind, it wasn't Charlotte sucking Tom. It was Tom gingerly sliding his hot hard prick into that first empty eye socket. It was the smooth feeling of cold bone around his bone. It was the nudge of the back of a skull against his head. It would happen tonight. It *had* to happen tonight.

"You know...," he gasped between panting groans, "they say ... there's a secret room inside wh... where they piled all the bodies... once the feds came?"

Her head pulled away, and she stared up at him, zipping his jeans up without another lick.

His prick withered, but that was nothing new lately. Quiet and subdued, he gazed at his fidgeting girlfriend and murmured, "Sorry, I shouldn't tell you things like that. It...it was a bad time."

He knew better. She had a faint heart, delicate like the flutter of a small brown barn owl in a hollow night. He pulled her close when she pressed her large chest to his side and felt that beat aflutter. His lips whispered through her multicolored hair, interrupted by a pair of shouts from the wide black asphalt snake above and her nervous wriggle-squirm toward the disturbance.

A heaving sigh was his only recognition of her scampering departure toward the twin albinos dwarfing shadows that stretched from hilltop to glen. In their dark cover, the shaky trace of one long finger scraped the box's lettering ruefully.