Omg I Love You Mom You Rock 8211 Part 3
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“Faster, faster…”
Denise careens through the night, slicing through the darkness and the traffic. Speed feeds her hunger for thrills and it defies the rattling frame of her nerdy-cute commuter bike. It was built for a leisurely ride through the park or errands to the market. At this moment, however, in Denise’s mind, it’s a sleek and sexy racer. Although it had required a bit more effort to get the thing moving at a steady clip, Denise definitely has “oomph” tonight.
As she whips around corners and hurtles down the road she feels a rush like a stiff splash of ice water in her face. She’d holler with unbridled joy if she wasn’t muted by both exhilaration and fright.
“What are you trying to prove?”
It’s unlike her to find kicks in such aggressive recklessness. Yet, tonight she surrenders to the momentum and embraces the accompanying sense of danger. An insatiable pang swells within her and she has no intention of quelling it.
“Come on. You can do better than that.”
With her butt raised from the seat, she spins her legs till she feels a sumptuous burn, cranking the pedals at a brisk clip. Taking a curb at a harrowing angle, she propels herself down yet another steep incline.
“What do you want?”
She's a woman in full release, the wind stealing the breath from her mouth. The fenders tremble as she approaches full warp. Eyes wide, fingers strapped like vices around the handlebar, she thinks for a moment about applying the brakes… “Are you crazy? You shouldn’t be doing this…” then buries the restrictive thought behind her clenched teeth. A grin of pure exhilaration cracks her lips.
It’s breathtaking. It’s frightening. It seeds a tantalizing tremble in her belly. She presses against the seat, squeezing her thighs, feeling the rub of tough, worn leather through her denim shorts, the nose of the seat nuzzling explicitly along her crotch; it’s not an unpleasant feeling, not by a longshot.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Oh, yes. My god, yes.”
The sensation of bewildering velocity drives the allure. Moving cars barely pass her, she’s going so, so fast. The ones parked along the side of the road are a wind-swept blur.
Suddenly, the door of a parked car just meters ahead of her swings open. It doesn’t even give her enough time to wipe the smile off her face, but her eyes widen to the size of quarters filled with a singular realization that this was not going to end well.
Impulse, instincts, and pure luck kick in. She hears a scream; she’s not sure if it’s her.
Someone yells, “Watch out!”
She crushes her brakes and twists the handlebars. There’s a skid and then a screech -- which is the sound of her tires and which are those of the car behind her? She doesn’t know. A car horn blares. Her leg kicks out. Her foot scrapes off the ground, then kicks off the door of another car. It feels like the wheels of her bike are sliding out from under her, the rear clipping something, fishtailing.
She's certain she's lost control. For the breadth of a micro-second, she accepts that fact. An impossible giggle escapes her.
Then…
Denise is stopped and staring back at the car that nearly ended her thrill ride in abrupt disaster. Her eyes are the size of dollar coins, two black pupils piercing the night air. She’s breathing hard, swearing that her throat is clogged with her trembling heart. Shaking, her whole body is clenched, the bike handles crushed in her grip. A cold sweat envelopes her and a tingly river of ice water flows through her veins.
Most telling, though, is the smile on her face that has no right to be there. It’s a defiant, near-manic pronouncement of glee from a person who just went through a tunnel of fire and emerged hot and singed… and yearning for more.
She almost slammed into that car… hard.
“Holyshitholyshitholyshit. Fucking. Incredible.”
“Holy fuck!” says the guy whose car door she nearly plastered with her face and body. He’s relieved and flabbergasted at the same time. “Where the hell did you come from? I didn’t see you coming at all! I swear!”
A thin veil of dampness swells in that tight, narrow space between her thighs.
“Are you alright?” the guy asks.
He doesn’t register, nothing around Denise does. She only acknowledges her racing pulse and the butterflies in her gut. She’s probably aged her heart by about fifty years.
“Was it worth it?”
The wicked grin is embedded on her face. She nods. Yes. Yes, it was.
“Give me more.”
She wants more of that in a bad, bad way.
She turns her bike and heads on her way, unrepentantly seeking that thrill.
-0-
Denise arrives in front of a large brownstone house, her family home. Evidence of a house party in its infancy is exposed by the sound of heavy beats and clamor of chatter escaping through the windows. There are a couple of guys standing on the stairs lighting up some joints, preparing for a long night.
She locks up her bike, grabs her bags from the basket and skips up the stairs. The guys don’t notice her.
The door opens even as she reaches for the knob. Patsy, a rusty blonde who fills out a strapless mini as if it were spray-painted onto her stands in her way, hand firmly on her hip and a frown entrenched on her face.
“Where the fuck were you?” she demands of Denise with love and scorn. “You were supposed to help set up.”
Denise apologizes to her with two bottles of her favorite wine and an excuse. “I had something to take care of after work.”
She's still sporting that sly grin on her lips, like a criminal relishing the excitement of eluding the authorities. Patsy takes the bait. “What? What?”
Denise is too anxious to stop and explain. Her mind is still riding that high, chasing that thrill. She even can't be bothered to remind Patsy that their parents would kill her if they came home from their trip and found the house in a wreck. It was her older step-sister’s idea to hold the party, so she’ll own any ensuing collateral damage. Besides, Denise had moved out her own a year ago.
Primal instincts and action will define Denise’s night. It’s no longer just a feeling, it’s a revelation, and no one is going to steal her off this wave of irresponsible nirvana. She barely brushes Patsy off before diving into the fray.
First stop is the powder room where she quickly tosses aside her glasses in exchange for contacts. From her tote bag, she pulls out a bundled piece of black fabric stuffed at the bottom. She strips off her frumpy jersey top and drops her jean shorts before peeling off her bra and undies that cling to her skin. She rolls a pair of black stockings up her legs, then she slides and stretches the black dress onto her body. The small piece of fabric melds to her skin, her toned curves and lines ironing it out taut. Half a week’s pay got her this dress, riding around the city on her bike every day earned her this body.
“All I can say is… bang!”
It feels like she’s wearing a layer of black gauze, the material of the strapless dress is so thin. She wiggles her hips and the tight hem of the skirt hikes up another inch revealing more of the lace fishnet stockings pouring down from her thighs to her toes. A dainty pair of three-inch heels just seems like overkill at this point. She’s a tempting weapon of seduction.
After a rough drag of her fingers through her jet black hair and a swash of gloss on her lips, she hits a pose in the mirror. She wears the look of scandal like a second skin.
“Good.”
For a “quirky, hipster nerd” she’s transformed herself into bait like no one’s business.
She stares at the mirror, into the eyes of a stranger, a wanton woman. She suddenly feels the twinge of hesitancy, biting her lower lip. “Who are you?”
She takes deep breaths --“Three. Two. One.”-- and banishes that unwanted feeling to the pit of her stomach. The stranger is now her.
“Damn good.”
She throws open the door and strides into the party to hunt for her pleasures. The guys she passed on the steps earlier now turn their heads unapologetically with obvious, appreciative leers.
“Holy fuck!” Patsy greets her again. “Is that my little sister under that layer of hotness? What did you do with the bookworm? You’re going to look pretty good riding your nerd bike back to your apartment dressed like that.”
“Who said anything about going back to my apartment?” Denise replies. Ha! Even her talking was getting into it.
Patsy holds it in for a second, glaring at her, then explodes with a burst of sputtering laughter. She didn’t see that coming from Denise at all. She makes it obvious that she doesn’t believe a word of it, but says, “Holy shit! Just what the fuck happened at work today?”
Denise shakes her head and asks instead, “Where’s that boy?”
“Our dear little brother?”
Denise rolls her eyes. Her step-brother is exactly two months “younger” than her. She quips, “Your little brother. My pain in the ass.”
“Donal is running fashionably late,” Patsy says. “He’ll be here, though. Donal never misses a good party.”
Denise cocks a brow. “No, he never does,” she muses to herself. She, however, has missed far too many. Time to catch up.
She snatches the little plastic shot glass Patsy is toting and downs whatever is in it with one gulp. She purses her lips and turns her head aside as she winces, the noxious concoction burning her throat. It’s disgusting.
“More!” she shouts and shoves the cup back at her step-sister, laughing.
Patsy is keen to oblige and leads her to the kitchen where a makeshift bar has been set up. More shot glasses filled with crude mash-ups of alcohol and other glistening liquids dot the island counter. Denise and Patsy each take hold of a shot, offer a toast and toss it back into their mouths.
“Another?” enthuses Patsy, ecstatic her step-sister is finally letting go.
Denise has her eyes closed, she can feel herself swaying in her heels. A warm smile melts onto her glossy lips. She shakes her head. “Later,” she says with a grin. With the two stiff shots, she has enough gas in her tank to rev her engine. It’s the music that calls to her now, luring her to the scrum of people dancing in the living room.
She quickly succumbs to the heavy beats and cajoling rhythms. As if the music were a key, it unlocks her, frees her body and mind, and she takes full advantage of the release. She sways her hips, rolling her belly, curving her back. She owns the circle of floor she carves out with her tantalizing gyrations which demand attention. The women around her smile and nod, cheering her on. The men lock narrowed gazes upon her and offer bare-faced appreciation of her beguiling presence through hungry grins.
Once again this evening, she throws herself to the whims of the moment and is carried away like she has never been before. A guy slides up to her a finger’s length apart and gyrates along with her motions in a ritualistic mating dance. She matches his lusty leer, offering him a provocative grin, and allows him to indulge in a touch of her waist, just above her hips. She taunts him with a curl of her finger, then brazenly pushes his sweaty face away as he leans in for a kiss.
Before he can speak, she spins away from him and into the space of another alluring nymph whose ample breasts are bursting at the seams of her sleek, auburn dress. The blonde welcomes Denise with a whistling hoot as she backs into her, nuzzling her round butt against her crotch. More space clears around her, more eyes are upon her as she melds against the bombshell with mesmerizing gyrations of her slender body. She closes her eyes, soaking in every sensation: the music, the smell of alcohol and sweat, the touch of a warm body and firm breasts curving against her back.
She could feel the eyes set upon her. There’s more than a few of them wondering who she is and those who know won’t dare to believe it. Whatever side they’re on, they all feed into her exuberance. This night, Denise takes hold of all the attention offered her.
She continues to dance, every seductive swirl of her hips charging, energizing her. She almost has to slap herself for denying herself this unbelievable pleasure of release all these years. As she moves along the floor she bumps her back against another body and turns. It’s him.
“Hey, Donal,” she says grinning and without missing a step.
Her step-brother smirks, unimpressed. “Hey, Noodle.”
Unfazed, Denise doesn’t go for his bait. She just wags a finger in his face, all the while still grinding and bumping her body to the beats. “Last one to the party, again,” she says.
“First in everything else, though,” he replies. Always the cocky bastard, Donal. He crosses his arms and frowns. “So, what are you trying to prove?”
The familiar question bounces around in her head, but she doesn’t want to think about it for too long. “Just enjoying myself,” she says. She spikes her brow and adds, “And you’re falling behind, little brother.”
Donal shakes his head at the floor. “You’re telling me to try to keep up?” he teases, but she simply turns away from him, grabbing another guy by the arm and pulling him against her body for a seductive dance. She glimpses Donal standing there amongst the dancers, trying to hide the dumbfounded expression seeping into his meticulously sculpted cool demeanor.
The intensity of the night quickens by the minute: the frenzy of the guests, the sucking down of drink after drink, the endless rhythms and vibes of techno music. At the center of it all is Denise yelling at herself, “Faster! More!”
She’s a blur that no one can keep up with, yet she revels in the feeling that she’s in control of it, in control of this mayhem of delight she is allowing to happen around her. Patsy is done being astonished and impressed by her actions and, like everyone else, joins in, swept away amongst the undertow of Denise’s verve, caught in her momentum.
There’s something else in the air that ignites Denise’s senses. The heady feeling of lust and desire. Many eyes are upon her, many thoughts involve her in intimate and illicit ways. She’s a beacon tonight and many are eager to call. She casts a focused eye upon all the guests, men and women, measuring, judging, imagining, fantasizing. She suddenly catches the eye of one particular person.
“What do you want?”
A pang of hesitation suddenly sinks in her gut. There’s the briefest pause in her step, in her swagger, and she skips a breath.
“What do you WANT?”
Too many questions. Denise stops dancing and turns away. She pushes herself through the crowd, shuts out the lustful looks and sly whispers in her ear encouraging her to stay, encouraging her to come. She rushes up the stairs and down the hallway. Slipping into her old bedroom she finds two guests making out on the bed.
“Get out,” she says.
“Hey! We were here… “
“Get the fuck out of my room!” she demands.
She’s not challenged again, and five seconds later she shuts the door, alone in her room.
Leaning back, she shuts her eyes and brushes her palms back against her temple. She breaths deep through her nose, trying to quell the pounding in her heart in vain.
“Holyshitholyshitholyshit. Fucking incredible.”
Her thoughts and feelings are in overdrive, burning her up. She’s unsure if she wants to douse them or deal with them.
She opens her eyes. She doesn’t recognize the room. It hasn’t changed since she moved out of it a year ago, but she doesn’t recognize it. Something’s changed. The furniture, the bedding, the books and decor on the shelves, they are all there as she left them.
But something’s changed.
She peels her back off from the door and walks across the room, each step pulling her further away from the clawing demands of the party outside and downstairs. She steps out of her painful heels, and her feet welcome the touch of the plush carpet with a sigh. Leaning over her desk, she looks carefully into the mirror at the person reflected back at her.
Reaching into a drawer, she retrieves one of her old pair of glasses and slips it on, curling her long, black hair behind her ears. She smiles a pretty, gentle smile and suddenly a vague familiarity washes over her. The smile fades.
“Who are you?”
“Hey, Noodle.”
Denise’s fingers stiffen against the edge of the desk. Peering at the mirror through her glasses, her eyes narrow a touch.
“Finally taking a breather?” the familiar voice of Donal asks her.
She’s still leaning over her desk. She realizes she’s calmer than she expected she would be, her breath steadying, her mind focusing.
She listens to Donal close the door and walk into and around her room behind her.
“Quite the little show you were putting on downstairs. Didn’t think you had that in you,” he chuckles. “Figured you’d prefer to be in the study holding a lecture or something.”
Her back remains to him. After a deliberate pause, she replies, “I’m surprised to see you taking a break. I didn’t notice you getting much action.”
“Is that what you call what you were doing? Action?” he sniggers sharply as he continues to pace around her room. He used to do this when the two of them lived in the house, entering her room uninvited while she was studying and reading, just to try to get under her skin and annoy the crap out of her. He would always succeed, leaving her fuming by herself unable to concentrate, when she should have just told him to get the fuck out of her room.
“I call it having fun, Donal,” she replies. Her eyes shift aside. As she pretends to show interest in the random items on her shelves and on her night table, she catches him glancing more than a few times at her, his gaze trained on her backside, the thin layer of black material stretched taut around it, which she shifts left and right ever so slightly.
He shrugs. She can hear him roll his eyes as he speaks. “Okay, Noodle. Whatever you say.”
“Noodle”. He’d been calling her that since their parents married and they moved in together when they were both sixteen. At first, it was an immature and mildly racial slur about her Asian heritage and preference for noodle dishes. It quickly took on another meaning: Stiff when dry, limp when wet. Almost seven years later, he’s still calling her that. Nothing changes.
Yet, something has changed.
Once more, Denise sees the ring dangling before her, tempting, tantalizing. The thrilling, sensuous, churning in her body and spirit the fired her up on the bike ride to the house and at the party below. She closes her eyes, concentrates and seizes it.
“What do you want?”
“What’s that?” Donal asks.
Denise opens her eyes, suddenly aware she had spoken out loud. It had slipped out as a long warm breath she had been holding.
She turns and leans back against the desk, black stocking clad legs crossed at the feet, arms folded. She peers at Donal over the point of her nose. “What,” she speaks deliberately as she removes her glasses, “do you want?”
Donal is uncharacteristically taken aback, frozen with his hands in his pockets. His eyes twitch and narrow upon her. His mouth hangs open for a moment before he feigns a meager grin and finally says, “I… was just checking on you, seeing if you’re okay and needed anything.”
Denise tilts her chin and shrugs. “I’m okay,” she replies as if it were obvious. “But Donal, what do you want?”
As she steps forward from the desk towards him, she could see his confident, cocky, pretty boy veneer crack. He shifts his head, shaking it, slightly agitated. “What… “ he scoffs, “what are you talking about?”
She continues her slow steps towards him, buoyed by a tingling that starts at her toes and runs through the ends of each strand of her silky hair. “You want to poke my back while I try to study?” she asks.
He smirks. “No.”
“You want to make fun of the plain, boring clothes I have in my closet?”
“Look, Denise… “
“You want to brag about all the girls you’re fucking every weekend?”
“Hey! That’s enough,” Donal snaps, holding up his finger as if that’s enough to stall her steady advance.
The momentum that carried her during her bike ride and on the dance floor at the party returns with a vengeance, and she is a smoldering fire ready to consume. She backs her step-brother up against the door and leans into his flushed, pink face.
“The funny thing is, Donal?” she asks, eyeing him sharply, “I don’t even care what you want.”
She grants him barely a moment to pinch his brows towards each other over his skittish green eyes before surging her lips forward, sealing his gaping mouth. She leans hard and presses into him, curving her trim belly against his, her lithe frame pinning his hard body against the door. Her hands clasp at his face and seize his soft, auburn hair as she churns her head, smearing her lipstick upon and around his lips.She feels him clutch at the curve of her hips, trying to grab hold of her writhing torso, but he can’t get a grip on her. Her tongue is just as slippery and nimble, sliding upon his, lashing and clashing together.
Her mind is screaming as if she was on a rollercoaster, the unadulterated thrill and surge of nerve-wracking speed sending wave after wave of ecstasy through her body. Unlike a roller coaster, though, she controls the energy, tames it and drives it forward.
By sheer luck, Donal manages to hold her back for a second… but he doesn’t push her away completely. Denise recognizes the question the expression on his face is asking: “Who ARE you?”
He’s breathing hard, his face glowing with blood and perspiration, as a fragmented grin breaks upon his shocked expression. He’s at an utter loss. Mouth quivering, he gasps, “Are you crazy? We shouldn’t be doing… “
Her hand clamps against his crotch, shutting him up. He’s already hard.
Denise tips her nose down flashing her hungry, almond-shaped eyes. “Try to keep up, ‘little brother’,” she breathes as she forcefully massages his stiff shaft, “or get the fuck out of my room.”
The look on his face changes instantly, triggered and ensnared by the fiery desire that Denise wields like a torch. His fingers dig into her arms and spin her around, shoving her hard against the door. His strong grip pins her wrists above her head as he shoves his mouth against hers.
Denise doesn’t flinch at his harsh motions. She rolls with them like the tide, grooving her body as she did on the dancefloor as she feels Donal scope her breasts and belly and crotch with his free hand. She feels the heavy beats of the music outside up and down her back. She senses the tremble within him, barely in control of himself, as he mashes her lips with one long, desperate, kiss. He yanks at the top of her dress, pulling it down past her belly button, exposing her glossy, pale-peach breasts. Breathing steadily through clenched teeth, she looks down, watching him indulge in hard sucks of her small, pert nipples and painting every inch of her chest and belly with his tongue.
Denise moistens her lips. She grabs him by the hair and pulls his head back to look up at her. She sneers at him and says, “Come on. You can do better than that.” She pushes him to his knees.
Within another second, the bottom of her little black dress is hiked up over her butt till it’s simply bunched up around her slender waist. The thin crotch of her panties is tugged aside by a rough finger and Donal swiftly plants his mouth against her tingling slit.
Denise tugs and pulls at his hair roughly, painfully, making him work to stay close to her delicate lips. He digs his fingers into her supple, round ass for support. As his tongue motors and swipes feverishly at her pulsing petals, she chews her bottom lip, pushing her head back against the door as she releases a growling groan from her throat.
Donal is good. Tonight she demands better.
Once again she gives his hair a sharp tug back, eliciting a pained grunt from her bedeviled lover. She makes him look at her.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asks him.
“Oh yeah, Den,” he gasps as he nods, his lips glossy with her wetness, “Oh, God, yeah.”
She grins and narrows her eyes at him. “Give me more.”
Instantly, Donal is on his feet, pressing his body into her again as they resume a torrid locking of mouths. As she listens to him unbutton his shirt, unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly, a tiny light sparks in the back of Denise’s mind. She closes her eyes and listens to it. It’s familiar. It’s secure. It’s safe.
Denise opens her eyes and grabs Donal’s hard cock in her hand. “Fuck me,” she commands.
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Mhairi
- 14.04.2022
- 16
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- Category:
- Taboo
