Roseann Discovers Dominance Pt 15

I stared out the window as the bus pulled away, going east on Addison Street. Panic tried to nibble away at the edges of my confidence. Without a job, what did I have to fall back on? Sure, I could lean on Candy. She'd support me for a little while, perhaps until I got another job. But she was as poor as I was. It wouldn't be fair.

I could move back to Bitumen and my old bedroom in my folks' house, but that was strictly out of the question. I loved my parents, but to slink home in humiliation was the worst thing I could imagine. Already, I could see Mike looking on, smirking at my defeat. I feared my own reaction, too. What if I weakened and rushed back to him? He'd make me grovel and beg for forgiveness. I'd rather stand with the hippies and bums outside Union Station, asking for spare change.

That left Craig as my most sensible option, but I wanted a love affair, not 'sensible'. Sensible is what old maids and nuns did. I'd be dependent on him for everything, including food and shelter. I could live with him if it was voluntary. But the prospect of being forced to, simply because I was hungry, made me claustrophobic. I needed a place to land if it didn't work out, and at the moment, I didn't have one.

But back at Craig's apartment, sipping wine and watching Craig at work in the kitchen, I took two deep breaths and restarted my thought processes. If I focused on the positives, I could soon grow to love the comfort of a home and companion. The future would take care of itself.

One benefit of joblessness paid off immediately. The next day was Saturday, and Craig and I lay in bed until late afternoon. Mostly we dozed, and once in a while I'd have him go down on me. Knowing how much he seemed to need it, I asked for it. But soon I discovered that if I

demanded

that he lick me, affecting an imperious tone, it doubled his enthusiasm. Sometimes I'd play with his cock to get him excited, and then snuggle back under the covers again, leaving him hard and frustrated. I think I had five, maybe six, orgasms altogether. There was nowhere I had to be, except right here, holding Craig in my arms, inhaling his male aromas.

After Craig made spaghetti for supper, we went to see a performance at the Biograph Theater, but not until we made a pilgrimage to the spot in a nearby alleyway where John Dillinger had been pursued and shot, some thirty-five years before.

"It's a little spooky," I said. "The city must have been a dangerous place then."

Craig shook his head. "It wasn't all that dangerous, unless the mob or the FBI was gunning for you. A single killing made the front pages, and the city went nuts over the St. Valentine's Day massacre. And it was only seven men. These days, people are jaded. Sometimes at night, I'll drive past a body with a sheet over it and police everywhere, and there's nothing in the paper at all next day. Nothing at all. That's what a life is worth these days."

As short as he was, I leaned against him and clutched his arm as we strolled back out of the alley. "You did that just to scare me, didn't you?"

He chuckled. "Don't you feel safer with me?"

I had to admit I did.

When we returned after the play, he wanted to lick me again. He tried, but I was too sore from our day-long cunnilingus marathon.

"Go get that dish towel with the hole in it. I think we'd better let some pressure off you before we go see my folks. I don't need you sitting there with a beer in your hand and a hard-on in your shorts."

With the dish towel in place, I lay down beside him. His cock was half erect. But it had been fully hard when he'd attempted to go down on me. I flipped it a couple of times with my finger, but it barely tried to re-inflate.

"Is something wrong?" I flipped it a couple of times with my finger, but it wilted like last week's petunia. I didn't know whether to be amused or angry.

"I'm sorry," he said. "The thought of your taste and the sounds you make when I'm licking you excite me like nothing else can."

"We'll see about that," I said. I reached down between my legs and brought back a wet finger. I spread some on his upper lip and pushed the fingertip into his mouth. He sucked and licked at my finger, and my pussy quivered all over again.

I turned my attention to his cock. As I'd hoped, it was coming to life again. I touched it with my finger and stroked the underside very slowly, while he moaned and gasped and writhed his hips. In a few seconds, his limpness problem was resolved. On impulse, I leaned over him and licked at the tip. He gasped at each stroke of my tongue-tip.

I backed off. "No cheating, now. You warn me if you're going to come."

"Yes, yes. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

I giggled and resumed licking his cock all over. There was no doubt he was hard now. "Wouldn't you like to have this inside me?"

"Yes, yes...stop!"

I backed off and watched his cock twitch and dance wildly about. I expected semen to erupt, but he calmed down after a moment. I resumed stroking his cock again with the tip of my finger, so that he started moaning and crying out again.

Only a few seconds passed before he once more gasped, "Stop!"

I kept stroking. "You're too far gone. We're going for it." I stroked him and laughed as his back arched from the bed.

"Oh-h-h." His hips began to thrust rhythmically. A white gout shot into the air, landing on the towel.

"Ride 'em, cowboy!" I cheered him on and continued to pump. Four more spurts landed on my hand, the towel, and his belly. It was over sooner than I expected. He lay looking at me, a goofy smile on his face.

"My, you are a messy person," I said, feigning annoyance. I took a clutch of Kleenex from the box to clean my hand and his belly, and gathered up the towel around his cock to corral the mess. The pungent chemical smell reminded me why I wouldn't take it in my mouth, even though I knew it would have given him a spectacular orgasm. Perhaps someday, but not until I'd forgotten what Mike did to me.

* * *

Sunday morning traffic on the Stevenson Expressway was light, considering the holiday weekend. The morning was cool, and we cranked down the windows of the rusting Studebaker. The window on my side would only go halfway down.

"Remind me to check the oil when we stop for gas," said Craig. "Seems I need more oil than gasoline to run this thing."

"Have you thought of getting another car?" The wind was blowing my hair in my face, but I liked the cool blast from the window with its familiar smell of farmland and the first hints of approaching autumn.

"To use in the city?" he said. "Not really. It's easier to get around other ways. I bought this car just before the divorce. It was about the only thing I came away with, and I've kept it for nine years. She said it was too old and dirty, but she had herself a boyfriend who gave her the car she felt entitled to." He laughed bitterly, mostly to himself. "Anyway, if I get rid of this car, I could save enough money to rent one when I needed it. And it would be new, too."

"Someday, I'm going to make you tell me more about your ex."

"It's not a subject that excites me." The smile was gone now.

We turned off the Stevenson onto I-80, heading west.

I had Craig make the side trip into downtown Morris. At the Phillips 66, Craig stood around stretching his legs while the kid gassed up the car, washed the windshield, and put in two quarts of oil. I slipped across the road to Walgreen's and came back a few minutes later with a three-month supply of birth control pills stuffed in my purse.

The pharmacist had tried to shame me when he noticed the ring still on my finger. "A young lady like you should be starting a family while you can," he muttered sourly.

"Lucky for me it's not your decision." I surprised myself. Just six months in the big city had given me an assertiveness I hadn't felt before. I guess I'd learned it from every customer who made crude remarks or pinched my ass in Bernie's.

Even so, I realized that I'd better take the ring off before we arrived at my parent's home. God knows what gossip it would set off, not to mention how Mike might react. I stuffed it into a corner of my purse.

From Morris, we drove south for a half-hour on increasingly deteriorated roads, finally entering Bitumen and passing the few grand limestone buildings that made up its little downtown. They were reminiscent of better days of the strip-mining industry. About half the shops were boarded up, as they'd been for as long as I could remember. Even so, I couldn't avoid a little tear on my cheek as we passed places that were fixed in my childhood memories.

The downtown was surrounded by a rectangular grid of streets lined with frame houses. Many were well kept, but most were in need of a coat of paint or otherwise in the early stages of dilapidation. A few were even abandoned. The main street ended at a vast trailer park, which occupied the left side of the street for blocks. I'd lived there with Mike for four years, yet it already seemed unfamiliar and foreign. Before we reached the trailer park entrance, I had Craig turn right onto a side street. We parked in front of my childhood home, a well-kept bungalow with a tidy lawn and pretty garden.

My mother was first out the door, wiping her hands on her apron. "Oh, RoseAnn, it's so nice to see you!" She was a foot shorter than me, and hugged me around the waist while I clutched her shoulders.

She ignored Craig until I took him by the arm and forced them to face each other. "Mom, this is Craig Warburton. Craig, my Mom, Violet Grady."

Craig began to lean toward her to give a formal kiss on the cheek, but she perfunctorily shook his hand and looked at me. "Mike's been around wanting to know where you were living now."

I ignored her and turned to my Dad, who was coming around the house from the backyard. His hands were caked with dirt. Craig insisted on shaking hands with him anyway.

"I'm Harry," he said. "So you're Rosie's new boyfriend?"

Craig avoided answering. "Been doing some gardening?"

"Oh, yes, getting the roses cut back for the winter. They finished early this year. Do you garden?"

Craig shook his head. "I'm a city boy, a high-rise dweller. If I wanted to grow something, I'd have to use a little clay pot in the window."

The two men disappeared around the back of the house. I could count on Dad lecturing Craig about tractors and diesel engines for the next hour.

"What do you see in

him

?" My mother wasted no time launching into her favorite subject. She jerked her thumb in the direction the men had gone. "He looks like some kind of schoolteacher."

"He's a nice man and he treats me well."

"Mike was a nice man, too. I still don't know why you divorced him. It made no sense."

"He hit me."

"You provoked him, didn't you?"

I tightened my jaw. "You don't need to know the details. Something happened, not my fault. He didn't stop to think. He hit me hard enough to bruise me up and break some furniture. He was building up to it for a long time. We've been over all this before, Mom."

"He brought home a paycheck every two weeks, when most of the men around here are on welfare. He's even safe from the draft because of his job, and he won't be going to Viet Nam. What more can you ask of a man than that? You owe some loyalty in return."

I looked her in the eye. It wasn't easy, because of our relative heights. "You invited him over for tomorrow, didn't you? You told him I had my new boyfriend with me, right?"

It was her turn to tighten her jaw. She turned away and preceded me into the house. I got my overnight bag from the car and took it into my old room, which she'd kept ready for me for the past five years. I fussed around, unpacking my stuff, to avoid confronting her again until I heard the men come into the house.

My mother was quiet during supper, and deliberately spoke to Craig as little as possible without being outright rude. Afterward, we watched Sunday night TV until around ten, when my mother and father went to bed. I made up Craig's bed on the couch. He could have fit into my bed easily, but this was not the time or place for that. I left him on the couch and got into my own bed.

I didn't sleep. I lay there in the room where I grew up. I should have felt at home and ready to drift off. Instead, the magnetic attraction of Craig's body pulled at me from the other side of the wall. I thought about the wonderful things his did with his tongue, and the joy he took in doing them. I resisted for about an hour--surely, I could go without for one night--but my pussy was soon sopping wet. I got out of bed, removed my pajamas, and wrapped myself in a loose terrycloth robe.

It was difficult moving quietly in the old house. The door squealed, and the floors creaked. I didn't remember them being that noisy. The windup clock on the mantle ticked like a blacksmith's hammer. My father's snoring probably drowned out most of the sound, but I was pretty sure my mother would be able to hear if she was still awake. Finally, I stood beside the couch where Craig lay. In the faint streetlight, I could see the glitter of his eyes.

I bent over him. "On the floor," I whispered. He didn't question. He slipped out of the covers onto the carpet in his striped pajamas. Those he could leave on. The part of him that interested me at the moment wasn't hidden in his PJs.

I stood astride his head and settled down to my knees, desperate for the feel of his lovely tongue. I'd never taken him like this before, but it seemed the easiest thing to do. He knew instinctively what to do. I couldn't suppress a satisfied sigh as his tongue reached deep into my vagina, stroking and licking. My hips began to rock in time with his tongue.

Oh, this was heavenly! Wonderful!

I wished it could go on forever. I thrust my hips harder, luxuriating in the delight of his magic tongue.

Suddenly, a door latch clicked. We both froze as dim light flooded the living room and picked out the outlines of furniture and bric-a-brac. I crouched down as low as I could, partly hidden by the coffee table. I looked over my shoulder and saw my mother's back as she walked down the hall to the bathroom.

"Quick! Back in bed!" Craig climbed back onto the couch and I tucked the covers around him. For me, the least noisy option was to walk on the carpet to a dark corner of the room. I waited, and in a few minutes, my mother returned, stood for a moment looking towards Craig on the couch, and at my open bedroom door, before going into her bedroom.

I waited in rigid silence a couple of minutes before creeping back over to Craig. He was already sliding from the couch to the floor. I lay on him and kissed him, surprised to taste myself on his lips. We giggled in each other's ears before I moved up and straddled his face once again. His tongue was more urgent than ever, and I gasped aloud and sighed noisily as my orgasm overtook me.

After I rested a minute, I had him get back on the couch, where I fumbled for the fly of his pajamas. I gently stroked his lovely hard cock, and felt very wicked as I took its whole length into my mouth, right there in my parents' living room. I mouthed him and licked at the beautiful thing, until I heard his harsh breathing turned into a low moan. Fearing an accident and the resulting mess, I pulled back, kissed his penis on the tip, and pulled the covers over him.

"Good night, lover," I whispered, and went back to my room.