Many thanks to Literotica author 'englander1961' for her help, editorial services, encouragement and a title much better than my original, which has elevated her to the status of House Goddess of Sexy Story Titles. Effusive thanks to Holly, the beloved and erotic Sister Decadence for her encouragement, editorial review and kind words. Thanks to Literotica author 'KY ridgerunner' for the stories that planted the idea in my head months ago.
After you've read this, if you have any inclination at all to comment, please do so, either by email or on the comment board... The best way for me to grow and improve as an author is to hear from the people who read my work.
I welcome constructive critiques and non-abusive comments. I will answer, in at least a semi-prompt manner, any email that comes with an email address.
If you feel you must respond in a hateful or angry fashion, you may put your head down upon your desk and do so, quietly to yourself, for as long as you feel it necessary. This story may not be copied to other sites without my permission.
If you have not read the earlier installment(s) of this tale, it would probably help you to make sense of this one if you did so.
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His S-80 was careening down the wet road on the edge of 'out-of-control'. In the darkness outside the windows trees and boulders and bridge supports and buildings nestled themselves up snugly to the very side of the highway, flashing past almost too fast for recognition.
His eyes went to the speedometer and he watched the needle climb past '120'. He'd been here before, many times over the past months and when it had begun the terror had overwhelmed him. But as time had gone by and the emptiness inside had grown more pronounced, had grown more inescapable, there'd been nothing left there to birth any terror.
He'd grown very comfortable with the speed and the slick road, the sudden death so close to him. Comfortable enough to enjoy slaloming the car back and forth, testing his luck, seeing just how close he could come.
After all, what was the worst that could happen? What more did he have to lose?
But now, now something had changed and the terror was back. It roared up out of his depths and washed over him like a great wave, choking him, blinding him. He felt the car veering to the right and he knew he had seconds to correct his course or he'd never see her again and the emptiness would return and his love would be ashes in his mouth and where the light from her eyes used to warm him there'd be nothing but cold desolation and the pain and fear within him found a voice and that voice clawed its way up his throat, raping his vocal cords as it tore through and it was the sound a soul made when banished from the sight of God and his hands grabbed the wheel and tried to turn the car away from the danger but the wheel wouldn't turn as he felt his nails shatter and the tips of his fingers shred as the bone underneath pushed through from the force of his grip and there was nothing he could do and he'd never even be able to tell her 'goodbye' or how much he loved her-
"HARRY!"
-and she'd think he'd left because he didn't love her, she'd think he'd left because he never loved her and the front corner of the car hit something and time slowed so every second of his damnation could be enjoyed and the police report would say he'd run his car into 'whatever' and they'd all 'know' it was suicide and he could only cringe away from the thought of what that would do to her and now the passenger-side dash arrived like a herald announcing the nearness of the engine to come and-
"HARRY GODDAMNIT!"
-he felt his shoulders dislocate as he used all he was to turn the fucking wheel and the car was shaking back and forth in a rhythm new to the cataclysm and he wasn't going to fucking die here but he knew that was bullshit because he really was and there was nothing he could do to stop it as the dash continued its inexorable drive towards him, pinning his right hand to the wheel as it bent and began its voyage to mate with his chest and the measured shaking continued, back and forth and he'd never see her beautiful smile again and that was Hell, no matter what you'd been taught in any fucking Sunday School, that was Hell and he was going there-
As a sharp stinging pain inflamed the side of his face and his eyes shot open. Her face, as beautiful as the dawn and full of concern, floated before him.
His terror propelled his mouth into overdrive.
"Baby Girl it wasn't suicide and don't you ever think I don't love you because I do and I didn't mean to leave you I tried so hard so goddamn hard but there was nothing I could do and when they tell you it was suicide it wasn't because there's no reason for me to want to leave you ever and if I never saw your smile again I'd be in Hell and I'm so sorry I won't be here to take care of you-"
"HARRY," she shouted, "you were having a dream baby, you were having a nightmare, its ok, you're not going anywhere, you're safe, you're right here and I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
His chest gave birth to deep wracking sobs as he continued to mouth his dream's overflow. Carol drew him to her, placed his head between her breasts and stroked his hair, rocking him gently.
"Harry, baby, you're fine, it's ok, you're not leaving me. You're not going anywhere, baby, you're staying right here."
As he slowly calmed, she reached to the bedside table and retrieved great wads of tissue, helped him to wipe his face and blow his nose.
There, safe in the arms of his girl, he told her of the dream, and the history of the dream, and how tonight had been different.
When he was through, when he had wound down, she gently led his mouth to her breast.
"Harry, baby, there you go, there sweetie, that's good, yes, I like that... that's good, suck your Baby Girl's tit."
"Now Harry, you just keep sucking and let me talk for a bit." Her voice was soft and calm, implacable. "If I ever meet Angie, I'm going to put her in the hospital. If you don't want me to, you're going to have to give me express and clear orders to the contrary because otherwise, I'm gonna kick that cunt to the curb and curb stomp her till it stops feeling good to me. And that, my dear sweet Harry, could take a long time."
"Now, roll over on your back and let me please you, help to wash that horrible dream out of your mind and fill it with happier thoughts, ok?"
Continuing to nurse at her breast like a man possessed, Harry slowly and carefully rolled over, scooting backwards on the bed into a sitting position.
She reached down and behind her to find his cock, fully erect, straining to meet her hand. Throwing a leg over him, she guided him in.
His dick penetrated her wet heat effortlessly as she lowered herself onto him, her eyes locked on his face. As her hips began their dance, tears flowed down her cheeks as she reflected that if every bad experience of her life had been necessary to bring her to this room, this time, this man, then they were worth it. They were all worth it. She'd found her place in the world.
It would be wise for those who might hurt Harry to reflect that pets will fiercely defend their Masters.
Harry's mind, still unsettled from the nightmare, found solace in the act of sucking his Baby Girl's tit. It was if he was nursing at the breast of tranquility, calm running down his throat in a never-ending stream. Oh, his dick might be anything but at peace at the moment, and his body might be yearning to join it in its rigor, in its vigor, but his mind and his soul, those were finding that quiet center of nirvana. He knew without thinking that Carol was meant to be a part of his life. It was not a rational thought, it was an acknowledgement of what was; true, irrefutable and carved into the granite of his being.
Together they found their pace and moved as one, gently surging in unison, an act of love that was not a race to an orgasmic finish line, but rather a laying-on-of-hands, a holy healing of two people that life had had its rough way with.
"Harry," she gasped, "I want you not to think, don't think of anything at all. Don't even think about what I'm saying, just let it flow into you and then flow out of you. Everything you sense, however you sense it, is not to be thought about, it's to be felt. I'm not speaking words, I'm making pretty sounds. What you see with your eyes is not a woman riding her love, it is shapes and colors and pretty designs, floating before you solely to delight your senses. All your nerves, all your senses tie into your cock, Harry. They all feed into your beautiful cock. They don't feed information to the brain; they feed sensation to your dick."
Harry's mind, relaxed, tranquil and safe, found it easy to follow her instructions. He identified, quantified, qualified nothing; he merely experienced it and all the experienced sensations were good and they all began to trickle through his body like the beginnings of mountain streams and the streams grew and all the streams led to his cock, buried deep within the source of his peace and as he let go of the rational, she left words behind and began to sing to him, pleasant notes without meaning, it was as if a circuit was completed and it ran from his extremities to his cock and from there to her cunt and then out to her extremities and back across to his. Their bodies were fused and jolted as if from a great surge of electricity and they sang together as the seconds stretched to infinity.
