The Bridge -- Chapter Twelve -- Part Two - Poor Holly II
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This work is copy written by the author. All characters in all of my writing written in a sexual way are over the age of eighteen at the time of portrayal.
This work will, at times, contain instances of pregnancy, interracial sex, lesbian sex, romance and affection. There is also non-consensual sex, some Dominance and submission, and a fair amount of heroism and family love.
This chapter, given its contents, is in the NonConsent/Reluctance category. This story has been in the Romance category, the Lesbian Sex and Interracial (where this chapter could have gone) categories and will probably move around if it progresses. Which it will do if enough people like it.
There is plenty of sex in this chapter, both raw and hard. In, time, there will be more orgasms, and some pretty rough sex. And there's some pretty loving sex too.
Please comment so I know how I'm doing. Thanks.
Poor Holly - II
When I awoke Saturday morning, it was about nine-thirty, and all three kids were lying around on my bed reading their tablets, waiting for me to wake up. They are such polite children. Another reason I love them so. "Scoot children. Go downstairs. I'll be down in a minute. Go."
My two ran out and down the stairs as quickly as all that. But Celeste stayed behind. "Did you talk to mommy? Have you seen her?"
Poor Celeste. I will do my best, but compared to the relationship she has with Holly, I am way back in second place. And I'm going to have to lie to her, for her own good. I have indeed seen her mommy, but she could never learn under what circumstances. That's a secret I will guard with my life.
"No, honey. I haven't seen or spoken to mommy." Well, at least that's a half truth, we haven't spoken. "C'mon, let's go downstairs. What is Bertha cooking up for breakfast?"
"I already had mine. It was a scone and some fruit salad. Bertha makes them so yummy."
"Yes, she does, Celeste. Bertha is amazing, isn't she?"
"Yes, she is. The most amazing. Next to mommy."
This operation of Duane's can't come to a close fast enough. I've got to get her mother out of this man's clutches. For the sake of both her and this little girl. Today she needs a distraction.
Lizzie, Bertha and Aggie, along with Alec and two of the new guys will be taking the kids out to a couple of farms out in Lancaster. Real farms, with cows and chickens and pigs and corn as high as the sky. And farm implements as big as a house. A couple of the farms that Bertha does business with are Amish and they do things the old- fashioned way, like they did a hundred, even two hundred years ago. She thought the kids should see that. The way things can be handmade. And the pies they made. Even Bertha couldn't figure out how to replicate them, so whenever she went out for her Lancaster excursions, she brought home pies. It was expected.
She recommended we take them to visit when she goes out to do her monthly visit out to Lancaster County. And now is the perfect time. It's fall harvest season, and everything is just right for picking and eating. They'd bring home squashes of every variety, the ones we can't grow, and bananas that were greenhouse grown. Tropical fruits and things like avocados were being grown nearly year-round in Lancaster and Berks Counties, in large, lush, tropical greenhouses. They were a treat for all the senses and a sight to be seen. I totally approved, because I needed the time away from the kids to work. It was time to check on Holly.
It was going on ten, and Bertha was trying to hurry everyone who was going out the door.
"Come on, children, we're running late. Got lots of farms to see. Come on now."
They took two vehicles. One had a driver, Alec, with Lizzie riding shotgun, and the kids in the back. The other car carrying Bertha, Aggie and the two other bodyguards followed behind, driven by Domingo. Close behind. The drivers of each vehicle were linked to the other with a comm-link, so they could freely speak to one another on an ongoing basis. In a crisis, this can be invaluable. And these guys all have faced crises. After many hugs and kisses, they were on the road.
Bertha left the fruit salad, which she mixes up herself, on the island table in the kitchen. The scones were under cover on the counter. And, thankfully, there was a half pot of coffee still hot and ready to drink. With everybody gone, it was virtually just me and Duane, except for a couple of bodyguards. I tossed a couple of scones in the toaster oven, Duane poured us a couple of cups of Joe, and I scooped out a couple of fruit salads.
"Anything in your coffee?"
"No, I like it like I like my men."
"Oh. And how is that?"
"Hot, black, and spicy."
"Oh, my."
"I say that, and this is what I get?"
He looked around, and I knew it was in the general vicinity of the cameras.
"Blushing? I can't tell."
"Cute."
"Yes, I am. Whatcha gonna do about it?"
"Let's just have a nice casual breakfast before we have to dip our toes into the gates of hell."
We brought the coffee and scones, which I'd buttered, to the island table and sat down. When I reached down to pick up my fork, he grabbed my hand. Gently. "Hannah, besides the fact that everyone knows about us, I'd still like to keep our relationship, at least trying to look professional. For business purposes, if nothing else. But I will tell you for a fact that as soon as we get into that video conference room, I am going to tear you up. Do you understand what I'm talking about?"
"Mmmmmm." I purred. "Loud and clear." Needless to say, breakfast went down fast. But Duane had one more thing he wanted to do before we went upstairs. Even with everyone gone, he wanted to do a perimeter walk to make sure everything was secure. I proposed we turn it into a run.
I adjourned to my room and changed into my fall running outfit. Woolen from head to toe. Heavy, but light. Perfect for running through Pennsylvania in November. Down by 'The Farm,' attached to the storage shed, is a room, a fairly good-sized locker room. Each of our regular guards has a locker. For those who come in and out, not so big, but enough to make do. There are also two bunks on the one wall, in case we need to have troops on hand to rotate in times like now when we need many hands. It is here where Duane adjourned, with me in tow. The gentleman that he is excused himself and went into the locker room. I walked around the garden, checking the status of our crops, watching as many were dying.
Five minutes after he went in, out came Duane. In a very plain pair of gray sweats. The only thing that set them aside from any other gray sweats were the four letters across the chest: N-A-V-Y. Duane's old outfit. Even in baggy old sweats, he looked so handsome. We started off for the property line at an easy pace. We kept that up for about ten minutes as we ran the perimeter. Then, without mentioning it, Duane picked up the pace. I met his pace and stayed even. I rarely talk when I run, but he had no problem with it. "Hannah, how many miles do you usually do?"
"I try to do five if I can. I've done as many as ten."
"What's your time for five miles?"
