What Are You Doing to Me

I Didn't Know You Could Do That!

Setting: a small Mississippi Delta town. ( the State of Mississippi delta, not the river delta. ) ie, Oh Brother Where Art Thou...

"What are you doing?!" she exclaimed; shouted almost.

She had been, the blink of an eye earlier, on her back, eyes closed tight; her legs spread. Expecting, anticipating, him thrusting his cock into her wet and eager pussy.

She had already urged him, pleaded with him, "... fuck me! Oh-h, god, fuck me! Hurry -- fuck me!"

Him having already brought her to climax, made her come with his fingers. God! he had such fingers: good fingers, long and strong fingers, educated fingers, magic fingers.

He had undressed her, stroked her. Tweaked her nipples, rolled them between thumb and forefinger.

"Your other two pussies," he had said. "I want all your pussies; all three of your pussies."

Then he had licked them, her nipples; sucked them between his lips. Nipped them between his teeth. Made her moan.

Then he made her scream, "... fuck me! Oh, shit!" Shatter the quiet of the hot summer afternoon. "Fuck me, hurry and fuck me!"

Sweat dripped down from his torso; down onto her tits, her heaving belly.

He just laughed. "Not yet," he told her.

She cursed him. "You are a hard hearted son-of-a-bitch!... Fuck me, I need you to fuck me!"

She sucked in a whole room full of air; hot mid-summer air. Her body rose and fell; her twin mounds moved just below his face. He squeezed, pinched one; took a whole mouth full on the other, bit the nipple.

"Get off me!"she screamed; "... out of here. Get out of here!"

But, she wrapped her arms around him; pulled his body down onto hers.

"... Oh, god-damn-shit-mother-fucker!... Fuck me! Fuck me-e-e-e!"

She, Zee, had brought him home from church. He had been the 'special music' earlier that Sunday. An aspiring opera tenor, having come down over from Oxford. A damned singer; he would go places.

She had played the piano; he picked the strings of the vintage Martin -- sang the words...

.......................... Let's go down to the rive to pray............................

...................... Oh, sister, let's go down to the river pray...................................

She had practiced all week.

.............................. Down to the river to pray............................................

....................... Studying about them good old ways.............................................

While playing she had watched him; the way the stood, moved his hands on the guitar strings. Him in profile from her position, from her point of view. She watched his mouth.

They transitioned:

................................... I am just a poor wayfaring stranger.....................................

......................................... I am crossing over Jordan..............................................

............................................ I am going over home................................................

The congregation, especially the older ones, mouthed the words. He put down the guitar; switched to mandolin.

.................................. Wade-e-e in the water, children................................

................................. God's gonna trouble these waters....................................

An athlete of some sort, she had learned. Not a football player athlete; a long slender type athlete: maybe a swimmer or a tennis player. She didn't care which; she had, however, noticed, then studied, his fingers.

"Oh, my god,"

she thought.

"He must have a notable prick, cock!"

Nearing the end, he switched again.

...................................... Down by the river side...............................

............................... I ain't gonna study war no more..........................

..................................... Down by the river side...................................

They, the gathered church goers, nodded their heads. Keep time with their mouths.

.................................. I went down to the river to pray............................

Zee ambushed him after services, in the choir room.

"You have lunch plans?" she asked; her hanging up her blue and gold robe; Chaz gathering his belongings..

"Uh-h... I'll stop and get something in Grenada," he said.

"Follow me," she told him. "Lunch is on me. I hate to eat alone."

He had expected the local mom-n-pop café. Instead they exited the four stop-light town; drove through cotton fields, pasted soy beans, corn. Them, the fields, stretching in endless rows toward distant tree lines. Past cat-fish ponds, rice fields.

The house, when they pulled in through the allee' of 80 foot tall pecan trees, was surrounded by wide wrap around verandas. There was a scattering of barns, out-buildings. The ceilings, once inside the house, were high,

'... 10 feet',

Chaz thought. Wide bladed fans turned, moved,the already warm air. The table, the food, had been laid, all covered with a cream colored linen cloth.

"Miss Lucy does it all early," she told him. "... before she goes off to her own church."

"Maybe next time maybe I'll sing at her church," he said. "Get some dancing in the aisles, some shouted

Amens!

"

It was the 'standard' Sunday 'dinner': fried chicken, potato salad, different kinds of peas, beans. There was, of course, oven roasted okra. Iced tea, which they both eschewed; choosing instead wine: white for her, red for him.

They discussed trivia. Chaz steered the subject matter in her direction.

"How did you learn to play," he wanted to know.

"I could always 'bang out' church music," she said. "Grandpa was a country preacher; grandma played an out-of-tune piano.... I just tagged along. Worried Big Mama until she let me try my hand; gave me some pointers.... The rest just came naturally."

"You didn't learn to play like that in a country church," he said; grinned. "... I know. I grew up in one of those churches."

"Oh... " Zee sounded; her expression asking for more information.

"South Mississippi," he said. "... almost on the coast. "Mama had me singing before I started school. Five years old; thought I was hot-stuff."...

' I bet you were.'

she thought;

'hot stuff.'... I bet you still are!

Then he asked, "... and later? After the country churches?"

"By eighth grade, high school, I was slipping into black churches. Learning how to do those spirituals; then Memphis; Memphis was the beginning of learning how to really play.... Learning from an older gentleman. Big Band veteran, professor at Rhodes."

Zee lay down her fork, excused herself. "We need ice cream," she said. "With cobbler, one has to have ice cream.

Chaz stood up, wandered the room while she was in the kitchen. Studied the photographs on the buffet. Picked up one; a picture of Zee and an large, and somewhat older man.

"There is a Mr. Dockery?" he asked, hearing her enter the room. He turned, looked at her.

"There is," she said. "He's in Memphis; a cotton grower's gathering.... He doesn't look good naked anymore."

She touched the corner of her mouth with her tongue.

He looked into her eyes; she held his gaze.

"Take off you panties," he told her. "Give me you panties."

Zee took in a deep breath of air. Raised her skirt, pushed down her panties. They were not church lady panties; handed them to him. He thrust them down the front of his trousers.

"We have ice-cream?... We won't want it to melt, would we?" he said.

They didn't finish the cobbler and ice-cream.

He took her hand, dipped her finger into the cold stuff.

"Touch your pussy,' he said. "I bet ice-cream and pussy go good together."

She reached her hand underneath her dress.

"You always talk so dirty?" she asked.

"My grandma, New Orleans creole lady,taught me.... Said the girls like it when you talk dirty."

She extended her hand across the table. He sucked the offered finger into his mouth.

"I was right," he said, "... pussy and ice-cream."

"What else did 'grandma' teach you?" she asked.

"

Hesitate and you're lost

," he said. Then: "... your skirt; take your skirt off."

Zee started to unbutton her blouse; he stopped her.

"No... leave that on. The skirt; take the skirt off.... I want to see you."

She stood, reached behind to unbutton the waist.

"The window... stand in from of the window."

She moved to the window, turned to face him; stood in the early afternoon rays of sun coming through. Dropped the skirt on to the hardwood floor. The light silhouetting the nakedness hiding behind the silk half-slip.

"The slip," he said. "... God! I'm gonna enjoy this!"

She eased the translucent garment down: first past her belly button, her flat mid-riff; down to the top of her ginger colored pubic hair. She took a half step to the side with her right foot, eased the slip down an inch, two inches. Knowing that the sunlight was peaking through between her parted thighs; highlighting the ends of the soft red curls, her pussy hair. Then... pushed the slip down, off her legs, stepped out of the circle of fallen silk.

"You have a bed?" he asked. "Your bed?"

"You are gonna take me on my bed?... I've never done that.... Fucked anybody else in my bed."

"Well," he told her; "... it's time. Most likely won't be the last time.

Zee was already leading him to the door, up the wide stairs.

The room was as large as the entire house he had grown up in. The bed out from the wall, facing the east window; a fan turning slowly just over the center. Zee threw a 600 count cotton coverlet over the duvet. Started, again, to unbutton her blouse.

He grasped her wrist. "I'll do that part," he said.

He unbuttoned, from bottom to top -- saving the best for last. Opened her up; unclasped the front snap bra. Took them of her shoulders together, dropped them on the floor.

He laid her down; spread her legs. With the tip of a finger he touched her.

She screamed. The first of many screams that warm, hot even, summer afternoon.

"Fuck me!... I'm so horny. Ah-h-h, hurry! Fuck me!"

He laughed, "... not yet,"

He pinched her nipples; licked them, nipped them with his teeth. He stroked her, feeling all of her; plied her flesh with his long and strong fingers.

"You are a heartless bastard," she cursed him. "Just a heartless son-of-a-bitch.... FUCK ME!"

"And just think," he said, "I thought you were a good upstanding church lady."

She hit him, scraped his shoulders, his flanks with her nails. "Fuck church! Fuck Jesus!... Fuck the preacher, all the deacons!" She left marks on his skin.

She clamped her legs tight against the hand, the finger invading her pussy.

Chaz reached a middle finger deep into her, curved it forward; found her g-spot; with the other hand he pressed down at the top of her pubic mound, trapping the 'spot' between hand and finger. Worked the forward and back. He watched her mouth, her eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing to me?!" she screamed. Clawed him with her nails.

Zee came and came and came. Cum running out of her open pussy; down between the halves of her ass. Down onto the cotton coverlet.

He eased her down. Kept a finger deep inside her, rolled her clit with his thumb. He lay partly on top of her; kissed her deeply, his tongue inside her mouth.

"Oh, shit," she, finally having caught her breath, said. "How do you do that? Nobody ever did that to me.... Grandma taught you that?"

He laughed. "Not exactly.... She just told me how."

Ten minutes: "... now, fuck me," she said.

"Not yet," he told her.

He spread he legs wide. Moved his face down between her thighs.

Touched her clit, her open pussy with his tongue.

"What are you doing?!" she exclaimed; shouted almost. Raising herself up on her elbows, looking, wide eyed, down at him.

"Licking your pussy." He held her open with thumb and forefinger.

He licked her, a long stroke, bottom to top; caught her clit between his lips.

"What are you doing?!... I didn't know you could do that!... Nobody ever did that to me!... Oh-h-oh-h!... Shit! Nobody ever did that!... Oh, god! Oh, shit-mother-fucker-son-of-a bitch!... Oh, god! Don't stop!!

She grabbed the back of his head, pulled his mouth, his face tight against her. His lips on her vulva, his tongue in her pussy.

Chez stayed there, licked her.

"What are you doing?" she kept asking. "Nobody ever did that to me.... I didn't know you could do that!"

She came. Her secretions filling his mouth; flowing down her thighs, her ass.

Later: "Now, I'm gonna fuck you," he said.

He mounted her; she wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back. He raised up onto the palms of his hands, arms extended down past her into the mattress. Sweat dripped from his body down onto her chest, her tits, her midriff. She took one hand, smeared it into her skin.

"How do you do it so long?" she asked, Chaz rolling his pelvic bone on her clit, it trapped between the two of them. She had cum twice already since he had entered her; was building toward number three.

"A distance runner," he answered. "Endless stamina; I'm a distance runner."

Dark coming on, Zee was dressing again; a different outfit. She had to be back at church, play piano for the evening service.

Then: " I want to do that again..." she said. "Nobody ever did that to me before.... Licked my pussy. I want to do that a lot! Every time. Lick me every time; lick my pussy!... And, next time, I'm gonna do you!... Lick your cock -- take your balls in my mouth."

She kissed him; the taste of her still on his mouth.

"I can feel some trips to Oxford... on a regular basis," she said. Them getting into their respective vehicles.

Chaz drove out the long driveway, between the 80 pecan trees. Headed east, the delta sunset in his review mirror.

Zee did not wear panties to church that Sunday night. Still feeling the glow between her legs.