Feedback me, Seymore
I think this one might kick ass, if I do it right. I'd love to get help cleaning up the goofs, and am always open to suggestions.
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"State your name for the record, please."
"Julie Crenshaw."
"How do you know the defendant in this case?"
"Our husbands were co-founders of Polytech Corp."
"You were at the home of the victim and Mrs. Wesson on the evening of February 12th. Could you describe the circumstances?"
"Our husbands were supposed to meet us in D.C. to shmooze some clients. Something more important came up and they flew off to England instead."
Pat Wesson watched Julie from the defendant's table. From her hairstyle, to her makeup, to the cut of her new ensemble, Julie had spared no expense in recreating herself. She looked nothing like the girl who had hung up the phone at her house that fateful evening. So much of Pat's life had changed, but that raw night in February was where it had all started. It had all seemed so innocent at the time, but she remembered every word as though it had happened yesterday.
“They won't be home tonight.” Julie had said, hanging up Pat's phone.
“What?”
“They're catching a flight to Heathrow, it might take as long as a week.”
Pat stood in her bra and panties, hands balled into fists. Her new gown covered half the bed.
“What are we supposed to do?” she asked.
“We go anyway, make apologies, and they mend the fences when they get back,” Julie said.
“This is going to be a nightmare,” Pat said. She had no idea how prophetic her words would be.
“Stay at my place,” Pat said four hours later. The night had been a disaster, and she was afraid she'd start breaking things if left alone.
“I'd love to,” Julie said, “The thought of going back to that empty house gives me the creeps.”
“Let's hit the hot tub before we turn in. I've got to unwind,” Pat said.
“You're a genius,” Julie said, “Do you have a suit I can borrow?”
“Yes, but you don't need one. No one can see.”
The cold knifed thru their naked bodies as they got the cover off.
“Is it supposed to smell like that?” Julie asked.
“No,” Pat said, wrinkling her nose at the stench.
They were both shivering by the time they got the cover back on and got back in the house.
“A warm shower is my last hope of salvation,” Pat said.
“I have a better idea. Lay down.”
“Say what?”
Without answering, Julie stepped behind Pat and forcefully rotated her thumbs at the juncture of Pat's neck and shoulders.
“Oh,” was all Pat could say as her shoulders slumped.
Julie marched her to the bed, got her to lie down, and plopped her naked butt on Pat's.
“Oh, god,” Pat said as Julie's fingers dug into her. Julie's strong fingers were untying the knots in her neck and shoulders, and it felt so good, it hurt.
“How's that?”
“I'll pay you a million dollars not to stop,” Pat said as the tension melted away.
“I'll settle for dinner at the Olive Garden.”
“Deal,” Pat said, drooling.
Pat's moans sounded nearly orgasmic as Julie's hands went rhythmically up and down her back. Instead of running out of steam, Julie seemed to get stronger as she turned Pat's entire body into Jell-O. She was putting so much into it that Pat could hear her getting winded.
“That was wonderful,” Pat said.
“You want me to stop?”
“No,” Pat said, “but anything more and I'd have to buy the whole damn restaurant for you.”
Julie pulled the sheet over Pat's ass as she slid off. She rubbed the sheet on her before she flopped down beside her.
“You really wore yourself out one me, didn't you?” Pat said, noticing that Julie was out of breath.
“I'm out of shape,” Julie said, “I'll have to make that my daily workout.”
“You're on. I won't even charge you those outrageous health spa fees,” Pat said, laughing. She was still laughing as she rolled to her side and drifted off to sleep.
Pat had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and was taken aback when she realized she'd been spooned against Julie's back. She was drifting back to sleep when Julie rolled over and returned the favor. Her eyes popped open as Julie's breasts pressed into her back, but she didn't push her away.
Spooning was the most underrated part of not sleeping alone, and the warmth of her friend's body pressed up against her back felt every bit as good as that of her absent husband. She snuggled back into her, and went back to sleep. Within moments, she was dreaming that Jim was kissing her neck and gently touching her breast.
“Rise and shine,” Pat said.
“Go away,” Julie said.
“Coffee's on, and breakfast will be ready in a sec., come on,” Pat said, pulling the covers off Julie.
“No,” Julie whined in a childlike voice.
Pat swallowed hard, and the covers slipped from her hand.
“Hurry up,” Pat said, clapping her hands and running out of the room.
She was staring into her untouched mug of coffee when Julie sat down across from her.
“Earth to Pat, where's my coffee?” Julie said.
Pat jumped up and poured her a mug, and then had to tear her eyes away as Julie reached for it. One of Julie's breasts had popped into view as she reached for the mug, and Pat was shaken for the second time that morning when she saw it.
They had both been naked when they went to sleep last night, so Pat shouldn't have been surprised that Julie still wasn't wearing anything. What did surprise her was her reaction to her friend's nudity.
She had been sleeping on her tummy, with her arms up under her, and her hands between her legs. Pat had seen the tips of her fingers between her legs, and Julie had flexed her ass when she cried “no.”
The covers had slipped from her grasp when she caught herself about to slide her hand up between those legs to coax her friend to get up. She had fled to the kitchen and was now afraid to look at Julie.
“You okay, hon?” Julie said.
“Yeh,” Pat said, staring into her untouched coffee again, “Yes,” she said with more conviction, “I'm going to call someone to get that hot tub fixed. I can't keep imposing on you every time I get up tight.”
“Don't be silly. I didn't mind a bit,” Julie said, patting Pat's hand, “You still owe me that dinner, though.”
The man who came to fix the tub had a bad attitude. After scolding Pat about not changing the water six months ago, he had the nerve to suggest that they clean themselves once in a wile before using it. His implications would have been clear even without his facial expressions.
His rudeness ruined the beginning of their meal at the Olive Garden, but the service and food got them turned around by the end. An extra carafe of wine after the meal might give the water back in the hot tub more time to warm up, and they wound up finishing a third just because they were having so much fun.
The water was warm when they got back, but not quite hot enough for the cold February night.
“Looks like you're stuck with me, again,” Julie said.
“It'll be warm in no time,” Pat said.
Instead of answering, Julie stood with her hands up by her shoulders and wiggled her fingers like small claws. Pat grinned and lay down on the floor.
Although they were both fully dressed this time, it felt more sensual when Julie's weight pressed down on Pat's bottom. The fingers were just as magical, but they stoked an undercurrent of tension beneath the relaxation.
“Your turn,” Julie said, swatting Pat on the ass.
“Me? I don't know how…”
“Learn,” Julie said, laying down next to Pat.
As Pat took her position, she saw Julie's ass go up and down in anticipation of her shoulder massage. Her mind could see the flesh dimpling beneath the slacks, just the way they had that morning.
She sat down on Julie's ass, but lifted right up again. Her teeth nipped at her lower lip as she settled back down again. It was disconcerting how nice it felt to press down on Julie's tight, round bottom.
“Oh, you're a natural,” Julie said as Pat kneaded her flesh.
Pat was trying to concentrate on what her hands were doing, but the feel of Julie's ass between her legs kept distracting her. She started rubbing her hands up and down Julie's back in a slow rhythm, but stopped when she realized her hips were echoing the movement.
“Don't stop,” Julie said.
“Cramp,” Pat said, shaking her hand. She started to get up, and then quickly sat back down. There was a wet spot on Julie's slacks where Pat's panties had been rubbing. The cold spot Julie would feel if she got up had her trapped.
“Let's give the tub another try,” Pat said.
“No. Do me first. Do me, do me,” Julie said, kicking her feet on the carpet like a child having a temper tantrum.
“I've created a monster,” Pat said, “You're going to try my hot tub if I have to drag you in.”
With that, Pat slid down Julie's legs and jerked down her slacks.
“Stop,” Julie squealed, trying to save them.
“Hot tub?” Pat said, keeping a death grip on the tell tale slacks.
“Okay,” Julie said, “but you still owe me a back rub.”
The temperature was marginal by the time they got in, and comfortably warm by the time they got out. Pat took a break to run in and take a pee, and came back with a bottle of Southern Comfort. Julie only took a sip, making a face afterwards, so Pat took slugs strait from the bottle like a lush as Julie made fun of her.
“You still owe me that back rub,” Julie said as they dashed to the bathroom.
“I have some massage oil here somewhere,” Pat said once they were dry.
“Oh, there's some,” Julie said, “This is good stuff, and it's not even opened.”
“We got is as a gift a long time ago, and never got around to using it.”
“Lay down,” Julie said, cracking the seal and pouring some in her hand, “You're going to owe me big time after this.”
Pat got on the bed, head spinning from the booze, and waited for the warmth of Julie's naked butt on her own. She sighed when it happened, and surrendered to a world of sensual pleasure as the soft hands slid up and down her back.
Once again, Julie proved her strength and endurance; she attacked the muscles in Pat's back and subdued them with rising intensity.
“I'm dead,” Pat slurred, barely able to move her lips.
Julie did the same thing with the sheet when she got off as she had the night before. The sheet sliding over her butt under pressure instantly replaced the warmth of her lifting crotch. Pat understood now, that Julie had just wiped her moisture from the cheeks of Pat's ass. If she'd known why Julie had done that last night, she would have been upset. Tonight, however, she didn't find it offensive.
That night she dreamed it was Julie's lips kissing her neck, and soft, feminine hands caressing her breasts. She dreamed that Julie was making love to her, sucking her breast, and caressing her ass. She could almost feel the soft hand slide up between her legs, and a gentle finger searching for the opening. Part of her dream mind wanted her to stop, but another part said it was only a dream, and it felt so good.
She had never come in her sleep before. She'd heard that men do it all the time, but she'd never heard of a woman doing so. She was mortified that her cries of passion not only tore her from sleep, but woke Julie as well.
“I was having a nightmare,” she lied quickly, “go back to sleep.”
Pat ran to the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. What was happening to her? Her hand slid down between her legs and into the slickness that shouldn't be there. She tried to picture Jim's beautiful body as she took a shuddering breath.
Jim's face wouldn't form in her mind. Instead, she saw the lithe body of Julie and could smell her sex. She pulled her hand from her pussy and sat on the toilet, dropping her chin in her hands. The smell of her own sex filled her nose, and she watched in amazement as the woman in the mirror sniffed the smelly finger, and put it in her mouth.
The phone woke them up at 5AM.
“Hello?” Pat said after god knew how many rings.
“She's right here,” Pat, said, looking at Julie, “She's been keeping me company while you two traipse around the world. Let me see if she's up.”
“Dave,” Pat silently mouthed the name.
Julie just looked at the phone for the longest time. Finally, she seemed to snap out of it and took the phone.
“Hello?” she said.
“Okay, okay, wait, let me get a pencil,” Julie said.
“They'll be arriving at Dulles at 6:47 tonight,” Julie said in a monotone.
“Oh, good,” Pat said, quietly, without conviction.
The two of them sat on the bed, each lost in their own thoughts.
"Did Ms. Wesson try to seduce you during the two days you spent at her home?"
"It wasn't like that at all," Julie said.
"Really. Did you try to seduce her?"
"Objection, your Honor."
"I'll allow it," Judge Katherine Pool said.
"We didn't have sex, and neither of us tried to seduce the other," Julie said.
"Did you sleep in the same bed both nights?"
"Yes."
"Did you both sleep in the nude?"
"Yes."
"Isn't it true that there are eight bedrooms in the Wesson home?"
"Yes."
The prosecutor let the silence drag on as he shuffled his papers.
"It had been a terrible day. We both needed company. That was all."
"Move to strike as unresponsive, your honor," the prosecutor said.
"The prosecutor's theatrical pause asked the question, your Honor."
"I'll let the statement stand. Are you ready to continue?"
"Yes, your honor," he said, flipping thru his notes.
"The defendant claims that at the time the bomb was planted on Mr. Wesson's piper cub aircraft, the hours between six and nine on the evening of November 12th, the two of you were engaged in a lesbian tryst at a beach house over sixty miles away. Do you still maintain that this is true?"
"Yes, I do," Julie said.
"I remind you that you are under oath."
"Objection."
"Sustained."
"I have here the police interview from November 13th, one day after Mr. Wesson's plane exploded and plunged him to his death. Would you read the section I've highlighted?"
Officer Brooks: "How is it that you remember the time Ms. Wesson left?"
Ms. Crenshaw: "I watch reruns of "Tip of the Iceberg" on Cable 27 every chance it get.
“Pat hates that show, and she had to leave anyway."
Officer Brooks: "Which one was it?"
Ms. Crenshaw: "The one where the old Oriental woman wouldn't press charges against
the young hooligans."
Officer Brooks: "Yeh, that was a tricky one."
"Thank you Ms. Crenshaw. Would you now read the item I circled in this issue of TV Guide?"
"9:00 PM, Ch. 27, Tip of the Iceberg
Bart and Jen find a Chinese shopkeeper has more to hide than the youth gang
that terrorizes her.
"Thank you. Would you read the date at the top of that page for me?"
"November 11th," Julie said.
"Could you speak up, please? What date is at the top of that page?”
"That can't be right," Julie said.
"What was the date at the top of that page, Ms. Crenshaw?"
"November 11th," Julie said.
"So the show you remember the very next day actually played two days earlier, is that right?"
"No. That was the show that night."
"Could you have watched it a day earlier and gotten confused?"
"You know that isn't possible," Julie said.
"Yes, but the Jury doesn't. Please explain why you couldn't have watched it the night before, when it actually aired."
"We were out," Julie said.
"Isn't it true that you were seen by several people dancing at a gay and lesbian bar in Alexandria until well after midnight on November 11th?"
"Yes."
"Did they have "Tip of the Iceberg" on the TV at that bar?"
"No," Julie said.
Maniacal laughter erupted from the back of the courtroom. All heads turned to the scrawny figure that stood and filled the court with his booming voice.
"Your sins have made you blind. You must accept the truth, ask forgiveness and grant it, or you'll face eternal damnation."
Pat stared in shock as they dragged Bobby Thompson from the court. He was a homeless man that she and Julie had befriended nearly a year ago, and had been doing odd jobs for them ever since. They called him Bobby the Preacher, because he always had an appropriate quote from the Bible for every situation, but she'd never known him to rant and rave like a lunatic before.
"Eternal damnation," his voice echoed from the hall.
Pat's blood ran cold. Some of the odd jobs he'd done for them would look very bad in her murder trial. What was he doing here? What had he told the police? Was he somehow involved in this nightmare?
Dave and Julie Crenshaw waited across the street from the courthouse as the news media massed for their daily assault on Pat.
Dave had found the Lawyer for Pat, and was paying most of the bills. Pat's assets were tied up in litigation, and she'd have a public defender if it weren't for Dave.
“She thinks I've abandoned her,” Julie said, as the throng converged on her hapless lover, “I have to talk to her.”
“We stick to the plan,” Dave said.
“I have to talk to her; she thinks I've betrayed her,” Julie said.
“You can't talk to her. You can't be seen near each other,” Dave said, “She knows what we've agreed on as well as you do: It was just a fling. You were just two neglected wives seeking comfort in each other's arms.”
“I know,” Julie said, “She's almost as upset about the “man hating dyke” label as the murder charge. But you have to find a way for me to talk to her.”
“Are you in love with her?” Dave asked.
“I love you. Don't you forget that. If you ever let doubts into our marriage, you'll destroy us,” Julie said, grimly.
“I didn't mean it, honey. This whole thing is making me crazy,” Dave said, hugging her, “I'll find a way for you to talk to Pat.”
Bobby the Preacher was still struggling when they dragged him out the side door. He was demanding to talk to “God's fist” when one of his own fists connected with a bailiffs jaw.
“That's it. Book this ass hole.”
"Blind! You're all blind! The truth shall set you free!" He raved as he was dragged out the door.
Bobby was thrown in the drunk tank. All the voices in his head argued over the significance of this. He silenced them and sat, drained by the effort.
"What are you in for?" A fat, black man asked.
"Shining the light of truth. Saving the lost from damnation," Bobby said in his booming voice.
The yellowed whites of the black man's eyes rolled and he went to the far corner of the cell, “Amen, brother,” he said softly, a sardonic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Good luck.”
"The truth will set you free," he mumbled, "Hellfire and damnation without forgiveness."
If only the voices would stop. If only they'd let him think. They hadn't been so bad that night in February.
It had been bitter cold, and Bobby could feel it clear down to his bones. He went to the big house, the one where the rich lady lived. The one with the hot tub.
The hot tub had saved him that winter. They were seldom home, and the tub was hidden from view. His sense of smell had gone with his old life after the accident, but he could tell when he smelled bad by the reaction of people he tried to get money from. They didn't wrinkle their noses for days after he soaked in the tub, and it's warmth penetrated to his very soul.
He needed the tub that night, but the woman was home. He worked his way up into his Angel tree, the one that overlooked her bedroom. She had another woman with her. They were putting on evening gowns. They were going out. He was sliding into the life-giving warmth before their car got up to speed on the highway.
He had just got the cover back on when he heard the car. He was able to get to the Angel tree before they went out to the deck.
He had his bedroll out on the makeshift platform when the woman and her friend came into the bedroom.
Bobby was Pat's guardian angel. What good was a guardian angel if he didn't watch over her?
The voices started as soon as the other woman, Julie, rested her nakedness on the flesh of Pat. She might be fooling Pat, but Bobby could see the lust on her face as she rubbed her nastiness on Pat's innocent back. The voices were telling him to warn them, but the evil one had taken possession of his loins and held him motionless.
The evil one lost his grip when they drifted off to sleep, but roused again, with a vengeance, when Julie started committing her foul acts on the sleeping form of Pat.
The voices were crying out with urgency that he must do something, and he thought he was, as he shimmied out the tree's branch. The evil one, however, was in full control of his body. His voice was still, and his eyes were forced wide as he clung to the branch scant inches from her bedroom window.
Julie looked like a spider, hovering over her prey. Her head dipped down, and the gap between lips and neck disappeared. She was holding her hair so it wouldn't tickle the sleeping woman, and her feather light kisses only caused the slightest of stirs.
Pain grew in Bobby's loins as the evil one forced blood into the devils wand. Even the bitter cold couldn't damp the fever that was gripping him.
Pat rolled to her back, and Julie froze above her. She waited motionless, hovering, waiting. Her head started to lower. Below the predator lips, Pat's nipple lay in ignorant repose. Slowly, painfully slowly, the lips drew nearer. A sigh froze the stalker for a moment, and then the descent resumed.
Tree bark suffered silently as Bobby's claws dug into it. The evil one obviously possessed the one called Julie. No normal human could descend that slowly, take the nipple into its mouth that gently, or suckle that long without waking the victim.
Bobby saw the glint of white fingers in the shadow between Julie's legs. They were moving in a blur as she sucked Pat's breast.
It ended an eternity later, and panic gripped Bobby when he tried to move. He couldn't move the fingers that gripped the branch, couldn't move the legs that scissored it.
His head could still move, and his eyes returned to their bed. Julie was curled up behind Pat, with one hand lifted high in the air. All but one finger curled in, and she brought the single finger to Pat's face. She never touched the befouled finger to Pat's face; she simply held it under her nose. Bobby knew her evil design. She was imprinting her scent on the sleeping woman; preparing her for the day she brought her face to the source of that smell.
Control of his body returned to Bobby after that. Had the powers of good wanted him to see that, or the powers of evil? He didn't know, but he knew that the next night would find him at the same window, watching over his charge like the guardian angel that he was.
Pat set the cruse control at sixty-five. She had finally left the congestion of Baltimore behind, and she couldn't afford to be stopped for speeding. She wasn't supposed to be out of Virginia, but she had to check out the old man's story. A great deal of money was missing from Polytech, and if Jim had been stealing to cover gambling debts, like the old man said, then some very dangerous people might have had a reason to kill him.
She checked her speedometer when the blue lights started flashing behind her. She wasn't speeding. She slowed and pulled to the right; the police car stayed right behind her. She stopped in the disabled lane and started hunting for her registration.
“License and registration, please,” the officer said. A second officer had walked up on the passenger side.
“I wasn't speeding,” she said, handing her license and registration over.
“Wait here,” he said, walking back to his car. The other officer told her to turn the engine off.
“You'll have to come with us, Mrs. Wesson,” the first officer said, “Please step out of the car.”
“What did I do?” Pat said.
“We stopped you because you don't have a rear license plate,” he said, “and you appear to be in violation of a court order not to leave Northern Virginia. Please step back to our police unit and place your hands on the roof.”
“Are you carrying any weapons?” the second officer asked as she started to frisk Pat.
“No,” Pat said as the policewoman ran her hands up between Pat's legs.
“Watch your head,” she said as she forced Pat into the back of the cruiser.
Pat followed the guard down the row of cells the next day with a blanket over her arm. The judge had revoked her bail, and she would be staying in jail until the trial was over. The cell was empty when she went in, but the other bunk was made.
“Marge,” a tough looking girl said as she joined Pat in her cell. Pat took the offered hand.
“What 'cha in for?”
“Murder,” Pat said.
The girl's eyes got big, “You're that woman that's on the news, aren't you?”
“I didn't do it,” Pat said.
“The guy on the radio say's you did,” Marge said.
“He's wrong.”
“I always thought he was full of shit,” she said, getting undressed, “Are you a lesbian, like they say?”
“I don't know,” Pat said.
“I've done it with girls, a couple of times,” she said, running her thumbs back and forth under the waistband of her panties, “They're a lot nicer than most of the men I do it with. You look real nice, want to share my bunk with me?”
It all started to hit her. Her perfect life had turned to complete shit. She felt the tears starting to well up, and couldn't stop her hands from shaking. She had gone from being the envy of the upper crust to this, the plaything of some hooker.
“Baby, baby, don't cry,” Marge said, rushing to the bunk and putting her arm around Pat.
Pat stiffened.
Marge let her go like a hot potato, “I wasn't trying to force you, or anything. I just thought you needed a friend.”
Pat looked up as Marge went to the other bunk. She was clearly hurt.
“I'm sorry,” Pat said.
“No problem,” Marge said, stretching out on her bunk.
“I mean it, I… I've…” the girls eyes looked wise beyond her years as she watched Pat struggle for words.
“Been having a rough time, I guess,” she said, “I understand.”
“I'd love to share a bunk with you,” Pat said. She stood, and walked bravely over to Marge's bunk.
“Don't do me any favors, sweetie. You aren't that hot.”
Pat sank to the bed, totally deflated, “I really do need a friend,” she said, “Oh, god, how I need a friend.”
Marge jumped up and wrapped her arms around Pat as she fell apart. She held her close, patting and rocking as Pat blubbered like a baby. They slept together on the narrow bunk, but Marge never tried to give Pat anything more than comfort.
Pat sat, lost in her own thoughts, as the state called witness after witness. They had become an endless line of accusing finger, one blurring into the next, until her lawyer started objecting vehemently.
“Sidebar,” the judge said as the two lawyers argued.
“That's him,” Pat said when she saw who was on the stand, “That's the man who knows about Jim's gambling debts and the mob and everything.”
Her lawyer tried to pry her fingers off his arm, “He's a prosecution witness. I can't let him testify until I've interviewed him.”
“He knows. He can save me. Ask him about the gambling. Ask him about the man in New Jersey. Ask him about the Mob,” Pat pleaded.
Her lawyer glanced back a couple of times as he went hesitantly to the sidebar.
Pat listened with rapt attention as the prosecutor established that he was a homeless man, and had been given food and money by Pat several times over the last year or so. Pat only remembered giving him money once, when Dave was driving her to court, before her bail was revoked.
She was ashamed that she only remembered his face now, because he could help her. How many of the dregs that she had helped, were nothing more than their grubby hands in her memory?
“You were the victim of a robbery attempt last night. Could you explain, for the court, what happened?”
“One of her buddies tried to take her money back,” he said, pointing at Pat.
“Objection, your honor.”
“Sustained.”
“How much money did you have at the time of this robbery attempt?”
“Two thousand dollars.”
“Where did a homeless man get two thousand dollars?”
“She gave it to me,” he again pointed to Pat.
“Did you give him any money?” her lawyer asked.
“Yes. He said he needed two thousand dollars to get out of town. He said he could get killed for telling me about the man in New Jersey,” Pat said.
“What was this money for?” the prosecutor said.
“I was supposed to tell a story about some gang wanting to bump off her husband. She gave me this stuff to prove it,” he said.
“He's lying,” Pat screamed as she tried to climb over the table and get at him.
They broke for an early lunch after Pat was dragged kicking and screaming from the courtroom.
That afternoon, she sat in stunned silence as the old man painted a picture of a murderess trying to buy a false witness. Her lawyer's inept cross-examination strengthened the old man's lies.
“I heard,” Marge said as Pat came back to her cell.
“Why? Why are they all lying about me?” Pat said.
Marge folded Pat in her arms and let her cry.
“Are you still awake?” Pat said softly, an hour after lights out.
“Yeh,” Marge said.
“Can I come over there?”
“Sure, honey, cuddle up,” Marge said, holding up the sheet.
Pat ignored the invitation of the raised sheet, and placed her hands on either side of Marge's head. She lowered her face so their lips almost touched, and waited.
Marge tilted her head up and their lips touched.
The fever that gripped Pat was like nothing she'd felt before. Her only friend in the world was pinned under her writhing body, and she desperately needed to posses every part of her.
She tried to break away, catch her breath, but Pat couldn't let those sweet lips escape. She recaptured them with her mouth, sought out the tongue hiding deep inside, and sucked it into her own mouth.
“Easy, baby, easy,” Marge said when the brutal kiss ended.
“I need you Marge. I need you more than anything I've ever needed in my life. I love you,” Pat said, kissing her neck, “I love your heart, your soul, and every inch of your body.”
Marge's fingers turned into claws at the back of Pat's head as her mouth and hands tormented the breasts of the young prostitute. She fucked men every night when she was on the streets, but never felt anything but pain and disgust when she was with them.
She'd never made love to a woman, regardless of what she'd told Pat, but she had wanted Pat from the day she walked into her cell. She'd dreamed of a million ways it might happen, but never like this.
This rich, beautiful woman was in love with her, crazy about her, wanted to treat her like a queen and please her. Her lips were tracing down her belly, hungry, searching, seeking out her sex to give her pleasure.
Marge opened her legs, and for the first time wanted what was moving between them. Pat's lips hungrily sucked the soft flesh of her leg, so close to her pussy, but she didn't need further arousal. She'd been waiting for this too long. She'd been waiting for this all her life. It was her turn. Someone wanted to please her. Someone loved her so much they wanted nothing but to give her what she'd always been forced to give others.
A tongue went in were a million cruel cocks had gone, and the small, living thing started a fire that no grunting man could touch.
The filth of the world never touched Marge. She had a special wall. Whenever they touched her, down there, her wall came up and protected her. It didn't matter what they did down there; she couldn't feel a thing. Her wall protected her.
The wall wasn't there with Pat. Everything rushed up and strangled a cry in her throat. Pat's tongue was alive inside her, and every movement sent jolts thru Marge.
Pat's mouth closed on Marge's clit, and sucked the little button up for her tongue to pummel. Rippling waves of pleasure spread out from that nexus, and jolted every muscle in Marge's body.
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This is well over half, and I've got the ending nailed. Tell me where my screw-ups are, or anything that clunks.
I think this one might kick ass, if I do it right. I'd love to get help cleaning up the goofs, and am always open to suggestions.
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"State your name for the record, please."
"Julie Crenshaw."
"How do you know the defendant in this case?"
"Our husbands were co-founders of Polytech Corp."
"You were at the home of the victim and Mrs. Wesson on the evening of February 12th. Could you describe the circumstances?"
"Our husbands were supposed to meet us in D.C. to shmooze some clients. Something more important came up and they flew off to England instead."
Pat Wesson watched Julie from the defendant's table. From her hairstyle, to her makeup, to the cut of her new ensemble, Julie had spared no expense in recreating herself. She looked nothing like the girl who had hung up the phone at her house that fateful evening. So much of Pat's life had changed, but that raw night in February was where it had all started. It had all seemed so innocent at the time, but she remembered every word as though it had happened yesterday.
“They won't be home tonight.” Julie had said, hanging up Pat's phone.
“What?”
“They're catching a flight to Heathrow, it might take as long as a week.”
Pat stood in her bra and panties, hands balled into fists. Her new gown covered half the bed.
“What are we supposed to do?” she asked.
“We go anyway, make apologies, and they mend the fences when they get back,” Julie said.
“This is going to be a nightmare,” Pat said. She had no idea how prophetic her words would be.
“Stay at my place,” Pat said four hours later. The night had been a disaster, and she was afraid she'd start breaking things if left alone.
“I'd love to,” Julie said, “The thought of going back to that empty house gives me the creeps.”
“Let's hit the hot tub before we turn in. I've got to unwind,” Pat said.
“You're a genius,” Julie said, “Do you have a suit I can borrow?”
“Yes, but you don't need one. No one can see.”
The cold knifed thru their naked bodies as they got the cover off.
“Is it supposed to smell like that?” Julie asked.
“No,” Pat said, wrinkling her nose at the stench.
They were both shivering by the time they got the cover back on and got back in the house.
“A warm shower is my last hope of salvation,” Pat said.
“I have a better idea. Lay down.”
“Say what?”
Without answering, Julie stepped behind Pat and forcefully rotated her thumbs at the juncture of Pat's neck and shoulders.
“Oh,” was all Pat could say as her shoulders slumped.
Julie marched her to the bed, got her to lie down, and plopped her naked butt on Pat's.
“Oh, god,” Pat said as Julie's fingers dug into her. Julie's strong fingers were untying the knots in her neck and shoulders, and it felt so good, it hurt.
“How's that?”
“I'll pay you a million dollars not to stop,” Pat said as the tension melted away.
“I'll settle for dinner at the Olive Garden.”
“Deal,” Pat said, drooling.
Pat's moans sounded nearly orgasmic as Julie's hands went rhythmically up and down her back. Instead of running out of steam, Julie seemed to get stronger as she turned Pat's entire body into Jell-O. She was putting so much into it that Pat could hear her getting winded.
“That was wonderful,” Pat said.
“You want me to stop?”
“No,” Pat said, “but anything more and I'd have to buy the whole damn restaurant for you.”
Julie pulled the sheet over Pat's ass as she slid off. She rubbed the sheet on her before she flopped down beside her.
“You really wore yourself out one me, didn't you?” Pat said, noticing that Julie was out of breath.
“I'm out of shape,” Julie said, “I'll have to make that my daily workout.”
“You're on. I won't even charge you those outrageous health spa fees,” Pat said, laughing. She was still laughing as she rolled to her side and drifted off to sleep.
Pat had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and was taken aback when she realized she'd been spooned against Julie's back. She was drifting back to sleep when Julie rolled over and returned the favor. Her eyes popped open as Julie's breasts pressed into her back, but she didn't push her away.
Spooning was the most underrated part of not sleeping alone, and the warmth of her friend's body pressed up against her back felt every bit as good as that of her absent husband. She snuggled back into her, and went back to sleep. Within moments, she was dreaming that Jim was kissing her neck and gently touching her breast.
“Rise and shine,” Pat said.
“Go away,” Julie said.
“Coffee's on, and breakfast will be ready in a sec., come on,” Pat said, pulling the covers off Julie.
“No,” Julie whined in a childlike voice.
Pat swallowed hard, and the covers slipped from her hand.
“Hurry up,” Pat said, clapping her hands and running out of the room.
She was staring into her untouched mug of coffee when Julie sat down across from her.
“Earth to Pat, where's my coffee?” Julie said.
Pat jumped up and poured her a mug, and then had to tear her eyes away as Julie reached for it. One of Julie's breasts had popped into view as she reached for the mug, and Pat was shaken for the second time that morning when she saw it.
They had both been naked when they went to sleep last night, so Pat shouldn't have been surprised that Julie still wasn't wearing anything. What did surprise her was her reaction to her friend's nudity.
She had been sleeping on her tummy, with her arms up under her, and her hands between her legs. Pat had seen the tips of her fingers between her legs, and Julie had flexed her ass when she cried “no.”
The covers had slipped from her grasp when she caught herself about to slide her hand up between those legs to coax her friend to get up. She had fled to the kitchen and was now afraid to look at Julie.
“You okay, hon?” Julie said.
“Yeh,” Pat said, staring into her untouched coffee again, “Yes,” she said with more conviction, “I'm going to call someone to get that hot tub fixed. I can't keep imposing on you every time I get up tight.”
“Don't be silly. I didn't mind a bit,” Julie said, patting Pat's hand, “You still owe me that dinner, though.”
The man who came to fix the tub had a bad attitude. After scolding Pat about not changing the water six months ago, he had the nerve to suggest that they clean themselves once in a wile before using it. His implications would have been clear even without his facial expressions.
His rudeness ruined the beginning of their meal at the Olive Garden, but the service and food got them turned around by the end. An extra carafe of wine after the meal might give the water back in the hot tub more time to warm up, and they wound up finishing a third just because they were having so much fun.
The water was warm when they got back, but not quite hot enough for the cold February night.
“Looks like you're stuck with me, again,” Julie said.
“It'll be warm in no time,” Pat said.
Instead of answering, Julie stood with her hands up by her shoulders and wiggled her fingers like small claws. Pat grinned and lay down on the floor.
Although they were both fully dressed this time, it felt more sensual when Julie's weight pressed down on Pat's bottom. The fingers were just as magical, but they stoked an undercurrent of tension beneath the relaxation.
“Your turn,” Julie said, swatting Pat on the ass.
“Me? I don't know how…”
“Learn,” Julie said, laying down next to Pat.
As Pat took her position, she saw Julie's ass go up and down in anticipation of her shoulder massage. Her mind could see the flesh dimpling beneath the slacks, just the way they had that morning.
She sat down on Julie's ass, but lifted right up again. Her teeth nipped at her lower lip as she settled back down again. It was disconcerting how nice it felt to press down on Julie's tight, round bottom.
“Oh, you're a natural,” Julie said as Pat kneaded her flesh.
Pat was trying to concentrate on what her hands were doing, but the feel of Julie's ass between her legs kept distracting her. She started rubbing her hands up and down Julie's back in a slow rhythm, but stopped when she realized her hips were echoing the movement.
“Don't stop,” Julie said.
“Cramp,” Pat said, shaking her hand. She started to get up, and then quickly sat back down. There was a wet spot on Julie's slacks where Pat's panties had been rubbing. The cold spot Julie would feel if she got up had her trapped.
“Let's give the tub another try,” Pat said.
“No. Do me first. Do me, do me,” Julie said, kicking her feet on the carpet like a child having a temper tantrum.
“I've created a monster,” Pat said, “You're going to try my hot tub if I have to drag you in.”
With that, Pat slid down Julie's legs and jerked down her slacks.
“Stop,” Julie squealed, trying to save them.
“Hot tub?” Pat said, keeping a death grip on the tell tale slacks.
“Okay,” Julie said, “but you still owe me a back rub.”
The temperature was marginal by the time they got in, and comfortably warm by the time they got out. Pat took a break to run in and take a pee, and came back with a bottle of Southern Comfort. Julie only took a sip, making a face afterwards, so Pat took slugs strait from the bottle like a lush as Julie made fun of her.
“You still owe me that back rub,” Julie said as they dashed to the bathroom.
“I have some massage oil here somewhere,” Pat said once they were dry.
“Oh, there's some,” Julie said, “This is good stuff, and it's not even opened.”
“We got is as a gift a long time ago, and never got around to using it.”
“Lay down,” Julie said, cracking the seal and pouring some in her hand, “You're going to owe me big time after this.”
Pat got on the bed, head spinning from the booze, and waited for the warmth of Julie's naked butt on her own. She sighed when it happened, and surrendered to a world of sensual pleasure as the soft hands slid up and down her back.
Once again, Julie proved her strength and endurance; she attacked the muscles in Pat's back and subdued them with rising intensity.
“I'm dead,” Pat slurred, barely able to move her lips.
Julie did the same thing with the sheet when she got off as she had the night before. The sheet sliding over her butt under pressure instantly replaced the warmth of her lifting crotch. Pat understood now, that Julie had just wiped her moisture from the cheeks of Pat's ass. If she'd known why Julie had done that last night, she would have been upset. Tonight, however, she didn't find it offensive.
That night she dreamed it was Julie's lips kissing her neck, and soft, feminine hands caressing her breasts. She dreamed that Julie was making love to her, sucking her breast, and caressing her ass. She could almost feel the soft hand slide up between her legs, and a gentle finger searching for the opening. Part of her dream mind wanted her to stop, but another part said it was only a dream, and it felt so good.
She had never come in her sleep before. She'd heard that men do it all the time, but she'd never heard of a woman doing so. She was mortified that her cries of passion not only tore her from sleep, but woke Julie as well.
“I was having a nightmare,” she lied quickly, “go back to sleep.”
Pat ran to the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. What was happening to her? Her hand slid down between her legs and into the slickness that shouldn't be there. She tried to picture Jim's beautiful body as she took a shuddering breath.
Jim's face wouldn't form in her mind. Instead, she saw the lithe body of Julie and could smell her sex. She pulled her hand from her pussy and sat on the toilet, dropping her chin in her hands. The smell of her own sex filled her nose, and she watched in amazement as the woman in the mirror sniffed the smelly finger, and put it in her mouth.
The phone woke them up at 5AM.
“Hello?” Pat said after god knew how many rings.
“She's right here,” Pat, said, looking at Julie, “She's been keeping me company while you two traipse around the world. Let me see if she's up.”
“Dave,” Pat silently mouthed the name.
Julie just looked at the phone for the longest time. Finally, she seemed to snap out of it and took the phone.
“Hello?” she said.
“Okay, okay, wait, let me get a pencil,” Julie said.
“They'll be arriving at Dulles at 6:47 tonight,” Julie said in a monotone.
“Oh, good,” Pat said, quietly, without conviction.
The two of them sat on the bed, each lost in their own thoughts.
"Did Ms. Wesson try to seduce you during the two days you spent at her home?"
"It wasn't like that at all," Julie said.
"Really. Did you try to seduce her?"
"Objection, your Honor."
"I'll allow it," Judge Katherine Pool said.
"We didn't have sex, and neither of us tried to seduce the other," Julie said.
"Did you sleep in the same bed both nights?"
"Yes."
"Did you both sleep in the nude?"
"Yes."
"Isn't it true that there are eight bedrooms in the Wesson home?"
"Yes."
The prosecutor let the silence drag on as he shuffled his papers.
"It had been a terrible day. We both needed company. That was all."
"Move to strike as unresponsive, your honor," the prosecutor said.
"The prosecutor's theatrical pause asked the question, your Honor."
"I'll let the statement stand. Are you ready to continue?"
"Yes, your honor," he said, flipping thru his notes.
"The defendant claims that at the time the bomb was planted on Mr. Wesson's piper cub aircraft, the hours between six and nine on the evening of November 12th, the two of you were engaged in a lesbian tryst at a beach house over sixty miles away. Do you still maintain that this is true?"
"Yes, I do," Julie said.
"I remind you that you are under oath."
"Objection."
"Sustained."
"I have here the police interview from November 13th, one day after Mr. Wesson's plane exploded and plunged him to his death. Would you read the section I've highlighted?"
Officer Brooks: "How is it that you remember the time Ms. Wesson left?"
Ms. Crenshaw: "I watch reruns of "Tip of the Iceberg" on Cable 27 every chance it get.
“Pat hates that show, and she had to leave anyway."
Officer Brooks: "Which one was it?"
Ms. Crenshaw: "The one where the old Oriental woman wouldn't press charges against
the young hooligans."
Officer Brooks: "Yeh, that was a tricky one."
"Thank you Ms. Crenshaw. Would you now read the item I circled in this issue of TV Guide?"
"9:00 PM, Ch. 27, Tip of the Iceberg
Bart and Jen find a Chinese shopkeeper has more to hide than the youth gang
that terrorizes her.
"Thank you. Would you read the date at the top of that page for me?"
"November 11th," Julie said.
"Could you speak up, please? What date is at the top of that page?”
"That can't be right," Julie said.
"What was the date at the top of that page, Ms. Crenshaw?"
"November 11th," Julie said.
"So the show you remember the very next day actually played two days earlier, is that right?"
"No. That was the show that night."
"Could you have watched it a day earlier and gotten confused?"
"You know that isn't possible," Julie said.
"Yes, but the Jury doesn't. Please explain why you couldn't have watched it the night before, when it actually aired."
"We were out," Julie said.
"Isn't it true that you were seen by several people dancing at a gay and lesbian bar in Alexandria until well after midnight on November 11th?"
"Yes."
"Did they have "Tip of the Iceberg" on the TV at that bar?"
"No," Julie said.
Maniacal laughter erupted from the back of the courtroom. All heads turned to the scrawny figure that stood and filled the court with his booming voice.
"Your sins have made you blind. You must accept the truth, ask forgiveness and grant it, or you'll face eternal damnation."
Pat stared in shock as they dragged Bobby Thompson from the court. He was a homeless man that she and Julie had befriended nearly a year ago, and had been doing odd jobs for them ever since. They called him Bobby the Preacher, because he always had an appropriate quote from the Bible for every situation, but she'd never known him to rant and rave like a lunatic before.
"Eternal damnation," his voice echoed from the hall.
Pat's blood ran cold. Some of the odd jobs he'd done for them would look very bad in her murder trial. What was he doing here? What had he told the police? Was he somehow involved in this nightmare?
Dave and Julie Crenshaw waited across the street from the courthouse as the news media massed for their daily assault on Pat.
Dave had found the Lawyer for Pat, and was paying most of the bills. Pat's assets were tied up in litigation, and she'd have a public defender if it weren't for Dave.
“She thinks I've abandoned her,” Julie said, as the throng converged on her hapless lover, “I have to talk to her.”
“We stick to the plan,” Dave said.
“I have to talk to her; she thinks I've betrayed her,” Julie said.
“You can't talk to her. You can't be seen near each other,” Dave said, “She knows what we've agreed on as well as you do: It was just a fling. You were just two neglected wives seeking comfort in each other's arms.”
“I know,” Julie said, “She's almost as upset about the “man hating dyke” label as the murder charge. But you have to find a way for me to talk to her.”
“Are you in love with her?” Dave asked.
“I love you. Don't you forget that. If you ever let doubts into our marriage, you'll destroy us,” Julie said, grimly.
“I didn't mean it, honey. This whole thing is making me crazy,” Dave said, hugging her, “I'll find a way for you to talk to Pat.”
Bobby the Preacher was still struggling when they dragged him out the side door. He was demanding to talk to “God's fist” when one of his own fists connected with a bailiffs jaw.
“That's it. Book this ass hole.”
"Blind! You're all blind! The truth shall set you free!" He raved as he was dragged out the door.
Bobby was thrown in the drunk tank. All the voices in his head argued over the significance of this. He silenced them and sat, drained by the effort.
"What are you in for?" A fat, black man asked.
"Shining the light of truth. Saving the lost from damnation," Bobby said in his booming voice.
The yellowed whites of the black man's eyes rolled and he went to the far corner of the cell, “Amen, brother,” he said softly, a sardonic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Good luck.”
"The truth will set you free," he mumbled, "Hellfire and damnation without forgiveness."
If only the voices would stop. If only they'd let him think. They hadn't been so bad that night in February.
It had been bitter cold, and Bobby could feel it clear down to his bones. He went to the big house, the one where the rich lady lived. The one with the hot tub.
The hot tub had saved him that winter. They were seldom home, and the tub was hidden from view. His sense of smell had gone with his old life after the accident, but he could tell when he smelled bad by the reaction of people he tried to get money from. They didn't wrinkle their noses for days after he soaked in the tub, and it's warmth penetrated to his very soul.
He needed the tub that night, but the woman was home. He worked his way up into his Angel tree, the one that overlooked her bedroom. She had another woman with her. They were putting on evening gowns. They were going out. He was sliding into the life-giving warmth before their car got up to speed on the highway.
He had just got the cover back on when he heard the car. He was able to get to the Angel tree before they went out to the deck.
He had his bedroll out on the makeshift platform when the woman and her friend came into the bedroom.
Bobby was Pat's guardian angel. What good was a guardian angel if he didn't watch over her?
The voices started as soon as the other woman, Julie, rested her nakedness on the flesh of Pat. She might be fooling Pat, but Bobby could see the lust on her face as she rubbed her nastiness on Pat's innocent back. The voices were telling him to warn them, but the evil one had taken possession of his loins and held him motionless.
The evil one lost his grip when they drifted off to sleep, but roused again, with a vengeance, when Julie started committing her foul acts on the sleeping form of Pat.
The voices were crying out with urgency that he must do something, and he thought he was, as he shimmied out the tree's branch. The evil one, however, was in full control of his body. His voice was still, and his eyes were forced wide as he clung to the branch scant inches from her bedroom window.
Julie looked like a spider, hovering over her prey. Her head dipped down, and the gap between lips and neck disappeared. She was holding her hair so it wouldn't tickle the sleeping woman, and her feather light kisses only caused the slightest of stirs.
Pain grew in Bobby's loins as the evil one forced blood into the devils wand. Even the bitter cold couldn't damp the fever that was gripping him.
Pat rolled to her back, and Julie froze above her. She waited motionless, hovering, waiting. Her head started to lower. Below the predator lips, Pat's nipple lay in ignorant repose. Slowly, painfully slowly, the lips drew nearer. A sigh froze the stalker for a moment, and then the descent resumed.
Tree bark suffered silently as Bobby's claws dug into it. The evil one obviously possessed the one called Julie. No normal human could descend that slowly, take the nipple into its mouth that gently, or suckle that long without waking the victim.
Bobby saw the glint of white fingers in the shadow between Julie's legs. They were moving in a blur as she sucked Pat's breast.
It ended an eternity later, and panic gripped Bobby when he tried to move. He couldn't move the fingers that gripped the branch, couldn't move the legs that scissored it.
His head could still move, and his eyes returned to their bed. Julie was curled up behind Pat, with one hand lifted high in the air. All but one finger curled in, and she brought the single finger to Pat's face. She never touched the befouled finger to Pat's face; she simply held it under her nose. Bobby knew her evil design. She was imprinting her scent on the sleeping woman; preparing her for the day she brought her face to the source of that smell.
Control of his body returned to Bobby after that. Had the powers of good wanted him to see that, or the powers of evil? He didn't know, but he knew that the next night would find him at the same window, watching over his charge like the guardian angel that he was.
Pat set the cruse control at sixty-five. She had finally left the congestion of Baltimore behind, and she couldn't afford to be stopped for speeding. She wasn't supposed to be out of Virginia, but she had to check out the old man's story. A great deal of money was missing from Polytech, and if Jim had been stealing to cover gambling debts, like the old man said, then some very dangerous people might have had a reason to kill him.
She checked her speedometer when the blue lights started flashing behind her. She wasn't speeding. She slowed and pulled to the right; the police car stayed right behind her. She stopped in the disabled lane and started hunting for her registration.
“License and registration, please,” the officer said. A second officer had walked up on the passenger side.
“I wasn't speeding,” she said, handing her license and registration over.
“Wait here,” he said, walking back to his car. The other officer told her to turn the engine off.
“You'll have to come with us, Mrs. Wesson,” the first officer said, “Please step out of the car.”
“What did I do?” Pat said.
“We stopped you because you don't have a rear license plate,” he said, “and you appear to be in violation of a court order not to leave Northern Virginia. Please step back to our police unit and place your hands on the roof.”
“Are you carrying any weapons?” the second officer asked as she started to frisk Pat.
“No,” Pat said as the policewoman ran her hands up between Pat's legs.
“Watch your head,” she said as she forced Pat into the back of the cruiser.
Pat followed the guard down the row of cells the next day with a blanket over her arm. The judge had revoked her bail, and she would be staying in jail until the trial was over. The cell was empty when she went in, but the other bunk was made.
“Marge,” a tough looking girl said as she joined Pat in her cell. Pat took the offered hand.
“What 'cha in for?”
“Murder,” Pat said.
The girl's eyes got big, “You're that woman that's on the news, aren't you?”
“I didn't do it,” Pat said.
“The guy on the radio say's you did,” Marge said.
“He's wrong.”
“I always thought he was full of shit,” she said, getting undressed, “Are you a lesbian, like they say?”
“I don't know,” Pat said.
“I've done it with girls, a couple of times,” she said, running her thumbs back and forth under the waistband of her panties, “They're a lot nicer than most of the men I do it with. You look real nice, want to share my bunk with me?”
It all started to hit her. Her perfect life had turned to complete shit. She felt the tears starting to well up, and couldn't stop her hands from shaking. She had gone from being the envy of the upper crust to this, the plaything of some hooker.
“Baby, baby, don't cry,” Marge said, rushing to the bunk and putting her arm around Pat.
Pat stiffened.
Marge let her go like a hot potato, “I wasn't trying to force you, or anything. I just thought you needed a friend.”
Pat looked up as Marge went to the other bunk. She was clearly hurt.
“I'm sorry,” Pat said.
“No problem,” Marge said, stretching out on her bunk.
“I mean it, I… I've…” the girls eyes looked wise beyond her years as she watched Pat struggle for words.
“Been having a rough time, I guess,” she said, “I understand.”
“I'd love to share a bunk with you,” Pat said. She stood, and walked bravely over to Marge's bunk.
“Don't do me any favors, sweetie. You aren't that hot.”
Pat sank to the bed, totally deflated, “I really do need a friend,” she said, “Oh, god, how I need a friend.”
Marge jumped up and wrapped her arms around Pat as she fell apart. She held her close, patting and rocking as Pat blubbered like a baby. They slept together on the narrow bunk, but Marge never tried to give Pat anything more than comfort.
Pat sat, lost in her own thoughts, as the state called witness after witness. They had become an endless line of accusing finger, one blurring into the next, until her lawyer started objecting vehemently.
“Sidebar,” the judge said as the two lawyers argued.
“That's him,” Pat said when she saw who was on the stand, “That's the man who knows about Jim's gambling debts and the mob and everything.”
Her lawyer tried to pry her fingers off his arm, “He's a prosecution witness. I can't let him testify until I've interviewed him.”
“He knows. He can save me. Ask him about the gambling. Ask him about the man in New Jersey. Ask him about the Mob,” Pat pleaded.
Her lawyer glanced back a couple of times as he went hesitantly to the sidebar.
Pat listened with rapt attention as the prosecutor established that he was a homeless man, and had been given food and money by Pat several times over the last year or so. Pat only remembered giving him money once, when Dave was driving her to court, before her bail was revoked.
She was ashamed that she only remembered his face now, because he could help her. How many of the dregs that she had helped, were nothing more than their grubby hands in her memory?
“You were the victim of a robbery attempt last night. Could you explain, for the court, what happened?”
“One of her buddies tried to take her money back,” he said, pointing at Pat.
“Objection, your honor.”
“Sustained.”
“How much money did you have at the time of this robbery attempt?”
“Two thousand dollars.”
“Where did a homeless man get two thousand dollars?”
“She gave it to me,” he again pointed to Pat.
“Did you give him any money?” her lawyer asked.
“Yes. He said he needed two thousand dollars to get out of town. He said he could get killed for telling me about the man in New Jersey,” Pat said.
“What was this money for?” the prosecutor said.
“I was supposed to tell a story about some gang wanting to bump off her husband. She gave me this stuff to prove it,” he said.
“He's lying,” Pat screamed as she tried to climb over the table and get at him.
They broke for an early lunch after Pat was dragged kicking and screaming from the courtroom.
That afternoon, she sat in stunned silence as the old man painted a picture of a murderess trying to buy a false witness. Her lawyer's inept cross-examination strengthened the old man's lies.
“I heard,” Marge said as Pat came back to her cell.
“Why? Why are they all lying about me?” Pat said.
Marge folded Pat in her arms and let her cry.
“Are you still awake?” Pat said softly, an hour after lights out.
“Yeh,” Marge said.
“Can I come over there?”
“Sure, honey, cuddle up,” Marge said, holding up the sheet.
Pat ignored the invitation of the raised sheet, and placed her hands on either side of Marge's head. She lowered her face so their lips almost touched, and waited.
Marge tilted her head up and their lips touched.
The fever that gripped Pat was like nothing she'd felt before. Her only friend in the world was pinned under her writhing body, and she desperately needed to posses every part of her.
She tried to break away, catch her breath, but Pat couldn't let those sweet lips escape. She recaptured them with her mouth, sought out the tongue hiding deep inside, and sucked it into her own mouth.
“Easy, baby, easy,” Marge said when the brutal kiss ended.
“I need you Marge. I need you more than anything I've ever needed in my life. I love you,” Pat said, kissing her neck, “I love your heart, your soul, and every inch of your body.”
Marge's fingers turned into claws at the back of Pat's head as her mouth and hands tormented the breasts of the young prostitute. She fucked men every night when she was on the streets, but never felt anything but pain and disgust when she was with them.
She'd never made love to a woman, regardless of what she'd told Pat, but she had wanted Pat from the day she walked into her cell. She'd dreamed of a million ways it might happen, but never like this.
This rich, beautiful woman was in love with her, crazy about her, wanted to treat her like a queen and please her. Her lips were tracing down her belly, hungry, searching, seeking out her sex to give her pleasure.
Marge opened her legs, and for the first time wanted what was moving between them. Pat's lips hungrily sucked the soft flesh of her leg, so close to her pussy, but she didn't need further arousal. She'd been waiting for this too long. She'd been waiting for this all her life. It was her turn. Someone wanted to please her. Someone loved her so much they wanted nothing but to give her what she'd always been forced to give others.
A tongue went in were a million cruel cocks had gone, and the small, living thing started a fire that no grunting man could touch.
The filth of the world never touched Marge. She had a special wall. Whenever they touched her, down there, her wall came up and protected her. It didn't matter what they did down there; she couldn't feel a thing. Her wall protected her.
The wall wasn't there with Pat. Everything rushed up and strangled a cry in her throat. Pat's tongue was alive inside her, and every movement sent jolts thru Marge.
Pat's mouth closed on Marge's clit, and sucked the little button up for her tongue to pummel. Rippling waves of pleasure spread out from that nexus, and jolted every muscle in Marge's body.
*******************************
This is well over half, and I've got the ending nailed. Tell me where my screw-ups are, or anything that clunks.
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