Look Closer: No Safe Words Here 1-4 out of 5. Boxed Set (6 page)

“Okay, Jake…I’m sorry, but what did you say before?”

Jake brightened, and I think his chest puffed out a little with pride.

“Oh, I got your air conditioning unit going again.”  He held his arms out and we listened to the air whirring from the vents overhead.  “Obviously.  You had a frayed wire.  Looked like it burnt out, which has been going on a lot lately because of the heat wave.  It’s overtaxing most units in the area.”

I nodded and smiled.  A wire.  And he’d fixed it in how long?  I suddenly felt embarrassed again.  A stranger was in my house, and I didn’t even know how long he’d been there.

I pushed that thought aside.  “So, Jake, how much do I owe you for your time?”

He blushed.  “Well, It only took me about ten minutes…and a wire…so I’d say, twenty dollars will be good.”

Twenty dollars?  I shook my head.  That wouldn’t even pay for the gas that brought him here.  And I knew well and good the service man I usually went through started at a hundred and fifty dollar minimum just to drive out to Cherry Lane.  It wasn’t exactly a centrally located suburb.

“That’s nonsense, Mr. Thurgood.”

“Jake, please ma’am.  And I didn’t do much.”

I waved him off and went over to my purse.  I took two hundred dollar bills out of my purse and then handed them to him.  “I would have been billed twice this by my regular service company…and you have no idea how…inconvenient having no central air was last night.”

Or how humiliating…

Jake put up his hand and shook his head.  “I can’t take that much for a wire, ma’am.”

I canted my head to the side.  He had excellent manners.  But being called ma’am by a man that was probably my age was getting on my nerves.

“Call me Lila.”

He gulped, and I could see he was mauling it over with the same intensity that most people thought over cheating on their taxes.  “Alright, Lila…but I still can’t take that much.”

I shook my head wearily.  This man’s moral code was just too much.

Then I saw in his eyes that he was thinking something over.

“But there are some shingles loose and missing on your roof.  I saw that right away.  That’s causing a leak somewhere.”  He pointed his oil stained hand up to the corner of the kitchen’s drop-down roof.  There was a water stain about the size of a fist there.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed.  It could have been there for years—we received so little rain.

“I could work on that for a while today…I have some shingles in my truck, and I always have my ladders.  Though it might take me a few hours to find the leak.”

I turned and pointed to the water mark, and noticed the small gray streak running below it down the wall. 

“But isn’t it right there?”

“No, ma’am…” he shook his head.  “I mean, Lila.  Leaks show through the lowest point in the roofing.  But that doesn’t mean that’s where the water is coming through.”

“Oh…” I nodded.  This man knew his business.  Made me wonder what else he knew about?

I held out the two hundreds again, and he waved them off…again.  “Pay me when I’m done with the shingles.  I might have to come back tomorrow to single out the leak…can I look up in your attack?  There could be some water damage there that would help me find the leak quicker.”

“Of course,” I said, and looked up at the clock in the kitchen.  It was nearly eleven already.

“But first, Jake…I’ll fix you a sandwich for your lunch—”

“That’s not necessary, ma…Lila.  I’ve got a PB and J in my truck.”

I shot him through with the look I used at the PTA to get my own way.  He shrank back just a little. 

A big, strong man afraid of little old me…that was a laugh!

Primly I said, “I insist.”  And then I looked him over again and asked, “Do you know about guns?”

Chapter Eight

Lars

I’m not sure what was up with me…maybe all my extra time spent on work had addled my brain pan…who knows. 

I was ahead of schedule on this month’s harvest.  I’d be ready for delivery on Friday, no problem.  Then I’d have the weekend to myself…maybe go out of town for a couple of days…

But right then I knew that my usual morning-fuck was headed my way—Justine.  She was hot, for a suburban house wife.  And the fact that she literally let me do absolutely anything I wanted to her, just made her all the more attractive.

Hell, I’d hog tied her once, I’d used an electro shock collar on her…once I even shrink wrapped her from her neck down to her ankles, and then hung her upside down from a meat hook in the ceiling.  I’d skull fucked her that time until she puked.

But what I had an itch to do to her today was a little pervy…even for me.

I waited for her behind the backdoor in the kitchen, where she came in every morning for our little fuck fests.  I let her get about three feet into the kitchen before I grabbed her from behind.  She screamed and put up one hell of a fight.  It made me hard as a fucking brick…and she smelled even better when she was scared.

Then she figured out that the man holding her arms behind her back was the only man that lived in my house…so she settled down and let me have my way.  That was until I veered to leave the living room. 

There had been a consistency to our little games.  She’d enter, take off her clothes, and then read the directions I’d leave for her.  I’d make her wait, and then come in, fuck, spank, smack, pinch, or bite the shit out of her…depending on my mood, cum up her ass, in her mouth or pussy…sometimes all over her firm, young titties. And then I’d pull out and go take a shower.

But we’d never, ever left the living room.

So it wasn’t surprising when she got nervous at all the changes to our routine.

So I just picked her up under my arm like a human surf board, and carried her into my bedroom.  I tossed her on my unmade bed and started pulling her clothes off her. 

She looked scared, but turned on.  And when I pulled her panties off, I swear the crotch was already soaked.  She wanted whatever I was going to dish out. 

I got out some plastic ties I use to bundle my crop with, at least until it dried properly for packaging.  I used those ties to bind her hands over her head, and to the middle slat of my rod iron bed.  Then I got out two leather belts, ready to festoon her legs to the bottom of the bed…but I thought better for it.  This whole thing was so different than anything I’d ever done before.  I decided that I wanted to fuck Justine in the weirdest way possible.

So I took my six inch switchblade out of the back pocket of my jeans and flicked it around until it glinted menacingly in the dim light coming in through the flimsy drapes.  I had black out screens installed, so that if I wanted I could make the place a freaking cave.  And since I had such hellishly wacked hours, I often did just that.

Justine whimpered when she saw the blade, her legs kicking and her words coming fast and meaningless as a lovely sweat broke out all over her.

But the closer I got, the quieter she became.  Shit, if I had been trying to kill her, she was making it all too easy.  The bitch didn’t have hardly any fight in her.  Just a need to be dominated, subjected to pain and degradation…and a willingness to do anything to make me happy.

Fucking pathetic…really.

But when my blade snicked right on through those plastic ties, she sighed in relief. 

“Oh thank god…” she had moaned.

I looked down on her, ready to slap that prim, pretty face.  But instead I held the switchblade right up to her face until it was almost slicing into her cheek.

“Don’t thank him yet, you dirty whore.”

Her face flushed, but I knew she liked when I talked dirty to her, especially when I degraded her.

I put the knife on the bedside table, then shucked my clothes.  I could see her fear melt away as I got naked.  Women have always liked the way I look.  That’s why I never change anything about myself just to be “fashionable.” 

Shit, I’m not a fucking bulimic supermodel, with my testies in a mason jar under the sink.  No, I’m a freaking predator, a cuntivore,  a fucking monster with a handsome face and a dick big enough to make most any woman crawl on her hands and knees, just begging to get their tightly wound asses fucked good and proper by a man that doesn’t give a fuck what they think, or what their hopes or dreams are. 

All a guy like me wants is for the woman to do what I want, and to make me shoot my load good and hard.

But as I said, I was in a twisted fucking mood.  I crawled up on the bed, and slowly made my way up onto her, our naked bodies skimming against each other as I moved farther and farther up her body.  Finally we were face to face, and I could feel her breath, rapid and warm, against my face.  It was fresh to.  She must brush every day before she comes over.

Her eyes were wide and trembled.  I was really terrifying her.

I shook my head, leaned down and kissed her, long and slow.  Her body immediately went rigid, and she started hyperventilating.  But her lips moved against mine, her mouth opening as her body relaxed, her thighs spreading for me as my hips pushed them apart even further. 

Gently I pushed into her, and you’d think I’d hit the golden G-spot.  She writhed like a fucking snake, her hips undulating beneath me like a belly dancer, and the sounds she was making—shit…I couldn’t have paid a prostitute to make the kinds noises she was making.

The whole time I was slow fucking her, Justine was feasting on my lips like she was fucking starving, and her legs were wrapped around my hips like an anaconda.  At first her arms just stayed pinned to her sides.  But after I’d started really laying my cock into her, she started twining her lovely arms around my neck, deepening our kisses.

I forgot where I was, or who I was with…I didn’t even know when it was anymore.  And suddenly I was with Angeline again, in her bedroom, all those freaking years ago…and I was in love.

I pulled away, not knowing how the hell I got there, and freaking out at the fact I was dick deep in a woman that had been dead for over seven years. 

I pushed her death—the why and how—from my mind, took in her gorgeous face, her lithe, sinuous body writhing under mine, and decided to just go with it.  I’d always said I’d give my left nut to be able to fuck Angeline again…and now I was going to get to do it, I just had to give up some sanity points first.

I remembered the first time she’d said she loved me.  It was while I was making love to her, and we’d just finished our first job together.  The way those words had affected me, making my heart thud dangerously fast, and then I’d come like a catholic school boy—too fast, and with more guilt than is humanly possible to live with.

And just like then, I felt the head of my cock start to tingle…and blam…I shot my load right up inside her, with her kissing me, and mumbling hot and heavy against my lips.

When I opened my eyes, it was just Justine.  Pretty, moist and luminous…and most certainly sated with the rather touchy feely fucking I’d laid on her. 

I gulped as I thought about that last time with Angeline.  I’d practically cried like a baby when I had to pull out of her that night.

I swallowed that grief and forced myself to pull my cock out of Justine’s slick, warm pussy.  She moaned, and tried to hold me inside her with her legs.  But I pulled her off me.

I shook my head and wiped off her feminine juices from my cock with her running shorts.

“You better hurry,” I said as I stumbled towards the bathroom and the shower.  I’d done it all wrong.  I was supposed to feel relaxed and sedated after fucking Justine.  But now I was itchy, and shocky.  And I kept on having little flashing glimpses of Angeline as I walked away.

“We ran overtime.”

Justine’s head shot up and looked at the alarm clock by the bed.  She was a half hour late.  “Shit!” she cried out.

Exactly…

I did make it into the shower, and felt a little less jittery after a hot shower. 

I went down stairs, because I remembered I hadn’t set the last three timers yet.

I really needed to go out and buy a master timer, one that could handle as many separate water apparatuses as I used.  But I’d probably need something computerized.  And automation of that magnitude often led to malfunctions.  And I was far too close, and too deep into this business, to be able to just eat a lost crop.

I got to the bottom of the basement stairs, opened the second metal door, and flicked on the light switch.  The bird-like chirping started immediately, and signaled that my alarm was going to go off if I didn’t deactivate it in ten seconds.  I had it disarmed in five.

I turned and looked around me.  Fourteen hundred square feet of wall-to-wall hydroponic marijuana plants grew green, lush and tall under ultraviolet lamps suspended from the ceiling.

My current crop was all but harvested, but I had over a year’s worth of crops in variant degrees of growth.  I pulled in about a million five every month.   In another year I’d be able to pay off my contract, and then I could start saving for my early retirement…or not.  I could always blow it all off, and start over somewhere new.