Wet Ride

Chapter 3: The aftermath

Author's note: In every story there is a high and a low, a dark chapter where everything seems to go to hell and nothing is certain, this is my dark chapter.

Jennifer was aghast, humiliated, disappointed, and utterly and completely aroused. Somehow, maybe it was the shock of being betrayed so blatantly, she removed herself from the actions she viewed and what she saw was like nothing she had seen before. Kat was hunched over, what looked like half her hand pushed into the crotch of this woman. Mouth firmly attached to her chest through what she assumed was her shirt, if in fact she had been wearing one at all. Her (wet?) jacket obscuring half of Kat's face, but what she could see of it was enough to realize that she had a tight grip on the woman's nipple.

Kat was oblivious. She was too busy trying to get Diane to swallow her whole, absorb her and create one perfectly hot cunt. She had already come once and was on her way to a shattering second. Kat was not far behind, the grinding of her pelvis against some invisible cock and the slippery friction of her abnormally swollen nether-lips all combined to create a flash fire in her cleft. She had no idea how far she had her hand up Diane's puss, her arm was so wet from tow forms of lubrication that she couldn't distinguish where she ended and Diane began.

Catcalls horn honks and the occasional sound of someone yelling "fucking dykes..." could not break her trance she was on her way to becoming one, that would solve everything, her mind flashed, she could reside in this body and still have the other separate piece of her life intact. She was again possessed by that intangible entity, the elusive one she wasn't...yet.

Dianne was on the verge of coming hard her whole body liquefied engulfing the hand and the body and soul attached to it. She could feel the pulse, the supernova of white cold/heat forcing its way from her center, she wanted it and it frightened her. Like everything so intense and overpowering she was concurrently and alternatively frightened to the core and begging for its bright release. No sound can escape in the space between fear and desire, but there was a roar. Back on the train...her legs splayed, laying on the tracks...waiting for the train to charge inside her. Her aching gaping hole a tunnel waiting to accept......

Gunnnnhhhhhhhhh Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!! The cry could be heard from blocks away. Dogs and cats cried, families in the middle of dinner paused. Even in this city that has ignored the wails of orphans, and the screams of those about to have the candle of their lives snuffed out, for a split second...there was absolute silence.

Unknown to the two now slumped together against the post, part of the cry came from the bottom of the steps, there sitting on the last one, was Jennifer. Her legs splayed, panties down hanging on her left ankle torn asunder from her left, a puddle of her essence sprayed to the edge of the sidewalk. Her orgasmic cry was the wattage that pushed the sounds of Kat and Dianne off into the city, pulsing through windows and penetrating flesh. Now in the waste of the blast, she sat, stunned, mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted, drained of all blood, sweat and urine. She was a shell.

The rest of the night was a blur, once regaining her composure (hours, days it seemed) the three retreated into the house robotically. None were ashamed, all were afraid.

Uncharacteristically in this type of situation (if one had ever existed, yet a close approximation might be the walking in of a partner in the act of betrayal, or worse yet murder) the "other" spoke first.

"My name is Dianne," she said simply, barely able to choke out the words.

Embarrassment set in, as did a seething hatred and betrayal on Jennifer's part. She, with every measure of energy left in her, seethed; the boiling of her blood causing the dampness of her sweat to steam off her skin, rising into the heavy air-conditioned room.

Without a word she turned on her heels and stormed off , slamming the door of the bedroom behind her, the guest bedroom. Aside from the weight of the betrayal, the palpable feeling of dread, there was exhaustion. In the absence of buoyancy in the air, nothing could keep them from sinking into the depths of sleep.

Four weeks had passed since "the incident" and life had certainly changed. After missing work in the morning and sleeping through the early afternoon Kat awakened to an empty home. The haze of the last 20 hours was slow to clear, the deafening roar of what felt like a hangover crowded her ears. Stumbling to the bathroom, Kat's recall kicked in. She felt fucked, on many levels, and it was no surprise that hanging on the bathroom mirror there was a note. The note, written in a hasty shaking hand, read simply, "goodbye."

To be continued...