Pygmalion in Granite

[soliloquy]

Abigail sat at the table, winding the linguini around her fork absentmindedly as the conversation wafted around her like a heavy fragrance that was familiar, but unappealing. She looked over the table at her friends and sighed. They all looked like carbon copies of Abigail in some way. The women were dressed as she was, in linen suits with silk scarves. Their dark hair, pulled back in severe updos, did little to accentuate their femininity. Their carefully chosen glasses perched on their noses in the same manner. The men were stuffily dressed in business casual or whatever the term was these days.

The conversation was always the same. They spoke of art and literature, and anything else that could make them feel superior to those who knew nothing of the culture they so prided themselves on. Even their names rang of proper breeding and ettiquette. It was so incredibly boring.

She grew restless listening to Carter speak in Rilke quotes while Denise countered him with Anais Nin. Her mind began to wander, wondering what these people were like when stripped of their name brand armor at night. Was their skin as stiffly starched as their clothing?

She couldn't imagine any of them having sex, or masturbating for that matter. They seemed like the types who would couple only to breed. Abigail took a sip of her wine and smiled at an overused reference to Dostoyevski.

There was just something missing from Abigail's life. She had worked so hard to become a professor of literature. She had spent all of her twenties learning five languages and reading anything the general populace would think of as dry and boring. She had sought a higher level of understanding in the world, but all this effort, all this studying, had turned her into the very books she read. She was dry and boring, just like her cookie-cutter friends.

Lately the little things had been jumping to her attention. No one in her crowd spoke of passion, laughed without restraint, or even talked of love in their own personal lives. They were a joyless crew.

It was two weeks ago when Abigail had realized she was not even content as she was, let alone happy. She was the youngest of the group at 32, and she just didn't want to imagine the next twenty years being so unfulfilling.

In the last two weeks, she had begun to daydream of doing outrageous things. She would think of showing up to their dinner parties dressed in jeans and a tank top, or sitting in one of the men's laps. She thought of inviting them to go hiking or camping rather than discussing the Brontes and Jane Austen.

"Abigail," she heard through the din of thoughts racing through her head, "what do you think of that?"

She smiled and made an automatic response, "well, you know what Shakespeare always said..." This was a safe response, considering the millions of topics the playwright had covered in his time. True to form, a shallow chorus of laughter rang out as if to say, "yes, yes, very true."

Abigail begged out of dessert claiming an early meeting the next day. She kissed each member of the group on the cheek, silently saying goodbye in her head. She would not return to these parties, this group of friends. The saddest part of this was that she wasn't going to miss any of them. Not one bit.

The next two months for Abigail was a whirlwind of change. She quit her job at the university and managed to get an interview as a script reader for an agent in Hollywood. Had she not been so fastidious about saving and investing in her youth, she would have been worried about making it on such a drastic pay cut, but she had no worries.

She put her gargantuan house on the market and began looking for a new place to live. She couldn't decide what she wanted. She just wanted something opposite from what she had. She wanted small, and sparse, and in need of work.

The market was good this time of year, and her house was what every pretentious businessman or professor wanted. Therefore, her house was sold in no time, and she was packing her bags.

It took her a little searching, but she found a small two bedroom house in the heart of Los Angeles. It was old and in need of work, but it had character. The place even had an attic room that wasn't advertised, but she had managed to find with a little prodding. The realtor had finally allowed her to take a look, and she found that it was a magnificent place for an office if she wanted. Or even better, her bedroom.

Satisfied with her purchase, Abigail began moving as soon as possible. She found that she had to sell much of her things, as there was no storage space equal to what she had at her previous house. She giddily began getting rid of things. She even began leaving things as gifts for her new neighbors.

The neighborhood was a breath of fresh air to her. There were all types of people here, but none of them looked like they would start a conversation with, "It is not inertia alone..." She found her knowledge of spanish to be very useful, and she tried not to flaunt it, but use it with as much modesty as possible.

It was hard to fit in, at first. Her clothing seemed as ridiculous in this community as a clown suit would seem at the university. She quickly began shopping at thrift stores and second hand stores for clothing that would help her fit in a bit better. She began to wear her hair around her face instead of tied back. It made her feel better.

But there was something in Anna's carriage and manner that she couldn't quite rid herself of. She could see that people were talking about the strange neighbor with the strange ways. They weren't scared of her, and they didn't dislike her; they just didn't understand her.

She supposed this was all right. Behavior, afterall, was something one adapted in time. She was here to learn a new way of life, leaving the linen suits and sensible shoes behind her. Along with her friends.

For the first time in her life, Abigail Warren was completely alone in the world. And for the first time in her life, Abigail Warren felt completely free.

******************

OOC: This is an open thread. I'm looking for someone to help immerse Abigail in a way of life she knows nothing about. I would like it to be a romantic relationship, but one filled with laughter as well as obstacles. Please PM me with an idea for a character, and then we can go on and create this story. My only thoughts about the character is that it should be someone very opposite of Abigail...rough where she is smooth, rounded where she is angled.

The title comes from the myth of Pygmalion who fashioned a statue of a woman out of ivory, fixing all the imperfections he saw in women, and fell in love with it. Aphrodite turned that statue into a woman, and gave him the perfect woman he so desired. In this story, however, the woman being created would be of a coarser stone. Hence, Pygmalion in Granite.

 

[Poganin]

Roger "Cassidy" Kerrigan

OOC: Roger Kerrigan is a vagabond and a troublemaker, or rather trouble seems to follow in his wake. He is 6’2’’ and slim, if not thin. His eyes are brown, just like his shoulder-length wavy hair he likes to wear loose. He looks like Sam Eliott’s younger brother. He used to be a musician, a bouncer, a bodyguard and a bartender before luck abandoned him and he came in contact with the Italian mafia. Then he was sentenced to 5 years in prison but he was never sure what he had been charged with. Now he’s free again but just can’t keep out of trouble.

IC:
„If you’re out there all alone and you don’t know where to go to,
Come and take your trip with me – to future world.”

Tell that to Roger Kerrigan. He certainly was out there in the streets not knowing where to go to and was on a trip, running like there’s no tomorrow or as if he actually wanted to meet it a bit earlier than most. The three gang boys chasing him were bent on sending him on a permanent trip to the future and he could do nothing about this but run. He had no gun to mow them down with and wanted to avoid trouble rather than be right in the middle of it. He knew they were gaining on him, the fist in the nose and kick in the groin slowed them down only for a while, and running away with a guitar on his back and a guitar-case filled with odds and ends in one hand was not the best way of escape. He didn’t want to part with his things though… they were all his belongings apart from a pair of jeans, a Led Zeppelin t-shirt (curious thing because for all their glory he hated Led Zeppelin) and brown sneakers he was wearing. And he had already torn his jeans when he tried to jump over a stack of planks and a rusted nail tore a hole in his calf. No problem, Kerrigan weathered worse pinches and had scars to prove it.

How did it come to this? Oh, it’s quite easy and if he had time and wasn’t busy running like hell he would tell his story. He had fallen into deep trouble in his own time and turned for help to the Italians who had given him a few easy and not-so-legal jobs to carry out to help a guy down on his luck. He had been all the more useful because he knew his way around a gun and his fists also packed a punch. When they had had him deliver a package of heroin he had decided he would make a better deal selling it himself. Having hidden the package for better times he had decided to lay low for a while but one day he had woken up to see a muzzle of a police .38 pointed in his face and had quickly been sent to serve 5 years with some of the worst scum on the earth. And he wasn’t even sure what the charges had been. It wouldn’t have all been so bad if it hadn’t been for the Irishman he had been sharing his cell with. All said, Kerrigan left the prison a bit crazier than he had been before and with a vocabulary of Irish curses to boot.

First he checked if the Italians weren’t tailing him but after a week he decided they must have forgotten about him or thought he was still in prison. Then he got to know that the Italians had been all driven off by Russians. Oh well, all the better for him, nobody would be interested in his past. It was then that Kerrigan decided to unearth the package of heroin that had been waiting for him to sell it. Problem was it was on the Russians’ turf and they had some strange property issues. He wandered the block for a week, squatting here and there and watching the place by day, passing for a street peddler of oddities he was carrying in his guitar-case or a street musician, earning some change by playing 80s’ rock to passers-by. He had learned to play when he was 10… in the orphanage he had been brought up in. The priest there had been trying to interest the kids in arts and Kerrigan always liked the sound the guitar was making. He could still play the psalms he had learned but he preferred pieces more catchy. He would leave it for his old age… if it ever came.

Well, finally the Russians must have smelled the rat and decided to sic a gang to chase him away from their turf. But not before he asked them all nice and kind to get the fuck off his case and stop separating the people from throwing nickels to his guitar-case. When one of them kicked the case Kerrigan smashed his nose in and when another opened a switchblade he kicked him in the privates, grabbed his stuff and started running.

And so he was escaping, without the pack of heroin to cash somewhere safe and only a few dollars in his pocket plus whatever change jiggled inside the guitar-case. He didn’t hear the gunshot, but suddenly his right cheek became warm with blood and a bullet ricocheted off the nearest lamppost to hit the wall ten inches from a child’s head. God, if you’re watching this, please make them slip – Kerrigan begged.

But he knew they were closer. A minute more and they would catch him and beat the living hell out of him or send him to kingdom come! He didn’t have time to think and there were no taxis in sight he could catch and make his runaway in.

Then he noticed the woman who was entering her car and thinking little he opened the door as she slammed her own close.

He threw the guitar-case on the backseat as she started the engine and turned to see what was happening behind.

He closed the door, crying “Drive if you want to live!” as another bullet ricocheted off the pavement with a wild scream.

“I said, drive!”

He thought the woman was too panicked to listen to him and in a moment both of them would have third eyes but curiously enough she entered the traffic with a screech and drove away.

 

[soliloquy]

Abigail gripped the steering wheel with whitened knuckles as she stole fearful glances at her hijacker. She drove with haste, just following his command. She had methodically assessed the situation and realized that her only choice was to do as he said.

He was dirty, bleeding, and quite intimidating. Abigail's mouth was dry with terror. Somehow she managed to find her tongue.

"Where?" she almost whispered, her voice raspy.

"Lady, I don't care where, just get us out of here!" He was looking in the rearview mirror as if searching for something.

"Wh...what are you going to do to me?" Abigail had a theory that she would be able to handle anything, as long as she knew what was coming.

"It's not what I will do to you, lady. It's what they will do to us. Just get us out of here, and fast!"

She pushed on the gas pedal of her Mercedes, and the car lurched forward. Skillfully, and as if she had been dodging trouble all of her life, she zigzagged around cars until she had made it onto the freeway. She heard him sigh in relief.

"Are we safe?" She had a general distaste for speeding, and it was making her nervous. The thought had crossed her mind, however, that if she was picked up for speeding, she might be saved.

"Safer," he said, still glancing in the mirror periodically.

She drove in silence, getting further and further from her home. Abigail remained as cool as possible, though she wanted to scream or cry at the moment. She had moved here to simplify her life, not to steep her life in cloak and dagger routines.

After ten minutes of silence, Abigail was unsure of what to do. He had just told her to drive. He hadn't touched her, nor had she seen a weapon of any kind. She couldn't be too careful, though. He seemed to be running from someone, but that could be a ruse.

"Excuse me," she said politely.

He looked at her, a faint expression of surprise crossing his face. "Yeah?"

"What do you want me to do?" She was terrified of what the answer might be.

 

[Poganin]

Kerrigan

What to do? Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you? Hell if he knew. It's not like he had a master plan for semi-hijack situations. Kerrigan had no intention of keeping the woman hostage, she helped him out of that mess and it was enough excitement for her probably.

"For starters you can tell me your name. That's standard procedure in hijack situations so that the assailant no longer perceives the hostages as nameless victims. Supposedly makes it harder for him to harm them but it's a load of wash, if you ask me."

"A-Abigail," was the answer and he saw her glance at him in the rear view mirror. When their eyes met she looked back to the road in front of them.

"Great, A-Abigail. Well, this ain't no hijacking so you needn't have told me that but I'm glad. You can call me Kerrigan if you want, or Cassidy if you prefer, or 'you fucking bastard why did you enter my car' if you feel daring... Anyway, whatever you decide to call me, you can drop me at the nearest gas station and forget we ever met. You got me out of that friggin' mess and that's as much as I needed from you... And, Jaysis, relax, will ya?! I'm not gonna hurt you."

And he really did not intend to, it was more than enough that she saved his ass from that pinch. He felt a little bad about scaring Abigail but in a day or two she would forget all about this event and carry on living whatever life she led. Looking through the side window he impatiently drummed his fingers on the guitar-case. He was pissed that he couldn't get his package and now the damn Russians would look out for him. He looked around, the car was neat and clean and bright and comfortable. Kerrigan was tempted to ask Abigail to drive him to Arizona and chuckled, drawing her gaze to him again but he paid her no attention.

He touched his cheek and hissed as his fingers met raw flesh, sticky with congealing blood, the wound mere half an inch from his right eye. It was only a scratch but it was long and nasty and hurt now that he had touched it. Add yet another scar to his evergrowing collection.

"You wouldn't have a tissue on you, lady?"

 

[soliloquy]

Abigail, relieved to find out that she was not in peril, reached over him and opened the glove compartment. He grabbed a tissue with a nod of thanks, and began to wipe at his bloodstained cheek.

"You're hurt," she said, stating the obvious. "Do you need to see a doctor?"

"It's just a scratch," he said gruffly.

Abigail murmured, "'tis but a scratch," thinking automatically of Mercutio.

Cassidy looked at her inquisitively. "Huh?"

"Oh, nothing. Sorry." She blushed deep red.

Embarrassed of her own behavior, she pulled off the freeway and into a gas station. She needed gas, anyway, and got out of the car. She was watching him, though, as she pumped the gas into her car. He was climbing out of the car, and the first thing she noticed beyond his scruffy appearance, was his arms. They were strong and muscular. Not overly so, but enough to know that this was not a man who sat behind a desk forty hours a week.

He had a ruggedly handsome quality that Abigail could see now that the panic was over. She smiled at him as he hefted his bag over his shoulder.

"Thanks for the ride A-Abigail," his eyes sparkled with amusement.

She couldn't help but laugh softly. "You're welcome."

She placed the nozzle back on the pump as he walked away. Who knows what came over her, but she called out after him. "Cassidy?"

He turned, surprised to hear his name. "Yeah?"

"You have somewhere to go, don't you?"

 

[Poganin]

Kerrigan

Kerrigan nonchalantly nodded his goodbyes and shrugged, started walking away in the direction of the toilets. He needed a bigger mirror to check the damage on his face and whether it needed sewing or not.

"Cassidy?" she called after him, she had a nice, gentle voice, he decided. But her manner of speaking was strange and he couldn't quite put his finger to it.

"Yeah?" he turned, a bit shocked she called after him. What the hell she still wanted from him? Not enough trouble for her in one day?

"You have somewhere to go, don't you?" Abigail asked. Was that curiosity or concern in her voice?

Kerrigan smiled a bit but trying not irritate his hurt face in the process. He looked down the freeway in both directions and made a 360.

"Sure I do. Arizona, Idaho, Boston, Paris, Moscow and quite a few places more I still ain't been to." Then, imitating Metallica's James Hetfield's voice, he intoned, "Where I lay my head is home." And returning to his own, Kerrigan continued, "You're not worried about me, are you? I kidnapped you, threated to bleed all over your nice clean car, not to mention exposing you to danger of being killed by a Russian gang. Most people would consider this enough excitement for half their lives..."

He returned to the mercedes and put the guitar-case on the roof of Abigail's car, opened it and looked at the stunning variety of oddities he collected, stole or shop-lifted. He found the switchblade that belonged to the Russian with smashed balls and closing it put it in his back pocket.

"Let's see... So that you don't consider me an ingrate... hmm... oh! Here," Kerrigan said and unhooked a masterfully crafted wind chime made of glass and crystal, on the end of the string an ivory sea horse dangled. "Thanks for saving my arse, Abigail."

Kerrigan handed her the wind chime and brushed her fingers as she took it, she had a nice, delicate skin. "Well, I'll be seein' ya."

He left her standing next to her car and taking his stuff with him went towards the toilets. Now he also needed to pee.

 

[soliloquy]

Abigail had driven home in silence, not even listening to NPR as she drove. Her mind was cluttered with random thoughts about recent events. This Cassidy or Kerrigan was trouble for her. She had the maternal instinct to bring him home and clean him up, give him a place to stay. But one does not invite strangers home, especially when that stranger had hijacked you and your car, and had put you in mortal danger, she thought. But her conscience would not let go of the fact that he might still be in danger and she had just left him there.

Upon arriving at home, Abigail put her groceries away and then sat down with her first screenplay to read. She grimaced at the title, Hearts of the Carribean, and circled it as her first of many suggestions for the script.

It wasn't long before Abigail had decided to recommend that this film not be made. The cliches were too dense, the dialogue too formulaic, and the love scenes were terribly unrealistic.

She set the screenplay down as she began to nod off. She fell asleep on her couch, and dreams came instantly to her.

She was running, but from what she did not know, nor did she know to what she was running. She was desperate to get somewhere and kept checking behind her to see if danger was lurking behind her. Suddenly, she bumped into something. Turning, she saw him standing above her, smiling. His arms folding around her to keep her from falling, were strong. She sagged against him. Without warning, her body was hoisted against his and their lips met in a hungry, wild kiss. She ripped at his shirt and let it fall down to his arms. Her lips made their way down his neck and over his chest.

Abigail woke with a start. Her heart was racing, her mouth had gone dry, but she was definitely moist. The face in her dream had seemed familiar, but she wasn't able to regain the image of him in her mind now that she was awake.

She shook the dream off as best as she could, and slipped into the bathtub. Her hand ran over her breasts and between her legs, and she sighed.

The next day was an unending chore day, it seemed. She finished the script, typed up a recommendation against the script and drove to submit it, bringing back with her a stack of more scripts to peruse. Then she had gone hunting for a washer and dryer, and had settled on a small set of front loaders. The rest of the day was much like that: bookstore, shoestore, lunch at a local mexican diner.

After lunch she had been on her way to the post office, but had seen a flea market on the way. She had never been to one, and was curious. She parked and went in. The flea market was incredibly big and Abigail lost herself in booth after booth. Antiques intrigued her, and she found her fingers tracing along the wood and fabric of each piece.

As she turned the corner of one of the booths, her eye was captured by an old cello standing upright, the bow leaning next to it. Abigail had played the cello when she was younger, and this one seemed a fine specimen. She picked up the bow and examined it. This was quality workmanship, she knew. She flipped the tag up and nearly hurled the bow away when she saw the price.

It was too bad. She would have liked this instrument, she thought.

 

[Poganin]

Kerrigan

Kerrigan relieved himself in the gas station toilet whistling the Rage cover of Rolling Stones' "Paint it black". Looking at his face in the mirror as he was washing his hands he sighed, the wound was two inches long, making a nasty cut under his eye but he needn't go to a doctor. Carefully, Cassidy washed it with water, hissing as needles of pain pierced his cheek. Lugging his stuff with him he entered a small restaurant and ordered a cheeseburger and coke, wolfed it down and left, deciding to go back to the city, hitch-hiking a ride with a merry truck driver who was an avid Led Zeppelin fan.

He spent his evening as usual, drumming for Panzer Kunst in a small heavy metal club and then getting sloshed with the band. He woke up in a bed and not his usual bedroll in the penthouse of an unused art gallery. His head was drumming with the yesterday's rhythm of music and beer he'd downed. Next to him lay a girl, underage from the looks of her naked body. He noticed he was fully dressed so he probably hadn't screwed her. I've enough trouble as it is...

Kerrigan silently used the bathroom to take a shower, put on a clean t-shirt with an image of a burning angel hurled from the sky and made for the door. A woman's voice calling, "Lisa, honey, are you up yet?" stopped him dead in his tracks and he left the house through the window and over the roof of the garage. On the veranda of the house on the opposite side of the street he noticed a wind chime identical to the one he'd given Abigail. Nah, impossible.

Cassidy spent his morning playing his guitar in a park, trying to earn some change for lunch. Business was slow, though, and he only go $10 from an elderly gentleman who handed him the bill and asked him not to play there anymore. Kerrigan gladly obliged, promising himself to visit the place again. The lunch was as boring as they come, his orange juice warm and his sandwich with tuna fish and cheese not really fresh. He left the bar without leaving a tip and shambled in the midday heat for the flea market where he usually peddled his trinkets and oddities for even more trinkets and oddities. You never know what you can exchange two silver candlesticks for.

He set himself in his usual place, opposite the musical instruments and kitchen knives. The kitchen knives was nervous today and kind of shaky so his trade suffered. And musical instruments' trade suffered as usual from prices that were way too high for this kind of marketplace. He had tried to buy Kerrigan's guitar on several occasions, claiming it was a very rare specimen of the Russian "Struna" series. Cassidy could care less, his guitar was probably the only thing he with him that had been bought and not stolen or bought from a fencer.

He had few clients and almost fell asleep twice but managed to sell the switchblade from yesterday and two boxes of matches from the early 60s. Then he saw, or at least thought so, Abigail walking into the aisle and looking at the musical instruments' stall. Now that's one friggin' chance meetin' for yeh, Kerr, he could almost hear Paddy's, the mick he'd been sharing his cell with, voice in his head. Cassidy whistled to himself as she bent to pick up somehting and he was treated to the undeniably nice sight of her round bottom.

He saw her walk away, annoyed (prices to high, told ya so), but not before a boy of maybe 17 passed her, dipping his hand into her bag, lifting a purse. Kerrigan smashed his guitar-case closed and taking his things with him followed the boy.

"You nicked my sister, shithead!" he said when he caught up with the pickpocket.

"I dunno what you're talking about, mister," the boy replied a bit shaken.

"I can refresh your memory, you wanker!" Kerrigan threatened, grabbing the boy's shirt and lifting him up. "I saw it clear as day. Cough it up, dude, I don't want to break your nose."

The young pickpocket fumbled in his pockets and produced the purse. "Let me go?"

"Wait a moment. I want what was inside as well."

"Didn't take anything, honest!"

Kerrigan slapped him in the face. "And now?" He took $60 dollars from the shaking hand and let the boy go. He put the money back into the purse and chased after Abigail who surely must have left into the street by now.

 

[soliloquy]

Abigail reached her car and dug in her bag for her keys. It felt lighter. Strange, she thought. She looked inside and panic overcame her. Her pocketbook was gone! Had she dropped it? She had to go back in to the flea market.

Abigail began walking across the street at a fast pace, but was stopped dead in her tracks. Coming towards her, barreling forth, was her hijacker. Instinct made her cower back as he shouted to her.

"Abigail!"

She tensed, but remained stoically aloof. "Are you following me?"

He was apparently taken aback by her question. "What? No. I-I. Here!" He thrust her pocketbook at her and she regarded it suspiciously. Carefully, she took it from his hand and opened itk, searching for anything missing. Everything was there.

"You took my pocketbook?" She was the confused one.

"No, some punk in there lifted it from your purse and I saw it happen. I got it back for you." He smiled as if to say, "All in a day's work, Ma'am."

Abigail remained quiet for some time. "So you are following me."

"Look, lady, I sell some things at the flea market to make a little extra cash. I was there when you were looking at that bow, and just happened to see it happen. Call it coincidence, or just damned lucky. Anyway. Sorry for the mix up." He turned to walk away.

"Cassidy?" He turned to look at her. "Thank you." She thrust forty dollars out at him.

He spied it like a snake about to strike. "I can't take that."

"Why on earth not? You saved my purse for me. You deserve it."

"Hey, I didn't do this for the money."

She pondered this for a bit. "Well, I have to do something to repay you." She looked him over and decided she liked what she saw. He was gritty and grimy, but he had a rough sexiness about him that was very appealing. She wondered if he had even gotten to eat.

"Would you let me buy you dinner?" She asked the question meekly.

He looked like he was about to balk, but her eyes softened in a silent plea to let her do this for him.

"Yeah, sure, I'll go to dinner with you."

It was only one in the afternoon. There was time to kill. "What if I pick you up here around six?"

He smiled and she noticed a dimple in his right cheek. "Sure, that'll work. I'll be waiting, A-Abigail," he teased with a wink.

And so it was that at six in the evening, Abigail pulled up to the flea market in her Audrey-esque little black dress. Her dark hair was worn down, hitting just below her shoulders. She had put on a pair of casual black sandals to dress the outfit down.

"It is not inertia alone..." she muttered. It seemed like inertia was playing a big part in this strange event in her life.

 

[Poganin]

Roger "Cassidy" Kerrigan

Kerrigan was already 10 minutes late for the meeting with Abigail when he left the market area...

When they parted their ways at noon he had returned to see if he could still sell something and he managed to earn some measly twenty dollars. Damn, maybe I should have taken that forty she was offering me, he mused as he plucked the strings of his guitar, playing Richard Marx's "Hazard" and humming to the melody. He was real glad when a man approached him and offered a beautiful harmonica in exchange for the two silver candlesticks. The small instrument was in great shape, it was clean and fairly new. It would make a nice addition to the guitar, he decided. The only thing he needed now was to learn to play it.

At 4:30 he packed his stuff and went "home" to put on something more presentable. He mounted the stairs to the penthouse and from a big, green rucksack he took a clean black t-shirt and an unused pair of jeans. He looked at his reflection in a large sheet of metal that served as his mirror. Everything would have been fine if not for that wound under his eye. Leaving the guitar and the case "at home" he left a little earlier so as not to get late. After all, it wasn't everyday that a real lady invited him to dinner.

When he neared the flea market area someone patted him on the shoulder and as he turned a fist rushed to meet his face. Kerrigan was so shocked he couldn't even block the punch that caught him straight in the wound, ripping it open and making blood flow freely. With black and red spots flying in front of his eyes he saw the young pickpocket from before and another guy.

"That him?" asked the other man.

"Yeah, he's the one slapped me. Do him nice, Jack!"

"Yeah, Jack, do me nice!" Kerrigan growled. "You have about ten seconds before I regain my senses.

Cassidy caughed Jack's fist as it made to strike his face and twisted the man's arm outside, spinning him around and drawing his wrist up, making him scream in pain. He hit his shoulder with his elbow, breaking Jack's arm and pushing him on the pavement.

"Now you, shithead," Roger called as the pickpocket started running.

He caught up to him in a narrow alley as the boy was trying to scale a fence. Kerringan grabbed him by the belt and pulled on the ground. Falling, the boy caught his t-shirt, ripping the collar.

"Shit, my new shirt. You wanker!" He pulled the boy up and punched him in the face, hard. Something cracked and a bolt of pain rushed through Kerrigan's hand. "Nice watch," he groaned and took it from the pickpocket. "Oh, 6:10. I guess I'm late. Come on, you have an apology to make."

Cassidy pulled the boy with him into the street and towards Abigail who stood by her car, waiting for him. She paled when she saw him, his face bloodied again, his shirt opened showing the left side of his chest and the ugly stab wound that scarred his skin.

"Sorry for being late, Abigail" he sighed. "This is the lad who nicked you purse. He came to apologise... haven't you, boy?"

"Yesh, yesh, I'm sorry I stole from your sister."

"Well, good. I never want to see you here again, you hear?!" He let the boy go and winced as pain slashed through his hand.

"What happened to you?!" Abigail finally recovered her voice.

"That shi... that boy had his friend talk to me," Roger began, sitting on the hood. "Damn, it hurts!" He looked at his hand and gasped, his middle finger was dislocated. "You wouldn't have a tissue on you, lady?" He joked and winked, trying to smile although tears of pain were already forming in his eyes.

"Sure," she answered coldly and reached inside the car.

The moment she lost him from her eyes he grit his teeth and pulled hard on his finger, snapping it back into place and uttering a tormented cry.

"Here," Abigail handed him a kleenex.

"Thanks," he delicately washed blood from his cheek and noticed her looking at the scar on his chest. He covered it with his hand. "Look, I'm sorry. Guess I'll have to change back into my old rags again. My best shirt is torn and my new pants bloodied. Can you give me a ride to my apartment?" He sneered.

He wasn't sure how she would answer. Wouldn't be surprised if she just left him. On the other hand, he was curious how she would react to his "home" -- a penthouse over the art gallery where he had only a mattress, a bedroll, two chairs, a desk and tons of dust. At least the view of the park was nice. That was his "somewhere to go."

 

[soliloquy]

Abigail had waited by the car for nearly an hour. She didn't know what the protocol was for this kind of thing. She was repaying a good deed, and the good deed did not even bother to show up for payment. She was growing testy as her stomach grew hungrier with each moment. This was not exactly a highly anticipated event in Abigail's life. Who takes their carjacker out for dinner, anyway?

She was beginning to grab her keys out of her purse when he showed up, a kid in tow. Now, Abigail was one to show compassion to people, but the idea of paying for dinner for two people after waiting so long was irritating at best.

But then the truth had come out, and Abigail was left wondering who this man really was. He seemed so plebian and coarse, and yet he had not only saved her pocketbook, but he had also hunted down her pickpocket and had made him apologize, like a schoolteacher teaching a student a lesson in responsibility and morality.

She had nodded rather curtly at his request for her to drive him to his home. They had jumped in the car and began on their way. She was reminded of the previous day's events, and panic almost overtook her again. She remembered, however, that he was not out to hurt her. She didn't suppose he was, at least.

Cassidy had given her directions, and as they neared, she became wary. He seemed to be leading her to her own home. She grew anxious, and therefore silent. Abigail began plotting how to get the mace out of her purse quickly enough to avert his intentions.

Though he directed her to a house across the street from her own, she was still wary. There would be enough coincidence in these events to stump an Ayn Rand fan. Nervously she followed him up to the "penthouse" that housed him. It was grimy and old, and bare. She wondered how much he paid for this place, or if he did pay.

Allowing her to keep her distance, Cassidy had gone and changed in the bathroom as she waited outside, trying not to touch anything. What she wouldn't give to get out of this.

"Thanks so much, lady," he said, startling her out of her reverie.

"You're very welcome," she said, tightly.

Suddenly Cassidy grabbed her around the waist and pressed her to him so that they were hip to hip. She shreiked.

"You need to loosen up, Abby." He snorted as he laughed and let her go.

She had almost corrected him, had almost told him that she was not Abby, but Abigail. However, it seemed like a good change for her. Abigail was so formal and stuffy. These were the changes she needed to make. And he was partly right, anyway.

"I'll try," she said as lightheartedly as she could manage.

"So, Abby," the name seemed to be punctuated as if to push her buttons, but it was growing on her, "where are we going to eat?"

She smiled at him, "I think you will have to choose as we have lost our reservations."

"Shit," he looked very repentent. "I'm sorry."

"No need to worry," Abigail said sincerely, "in fact, why don't you take me somewhere that you like. I'm new to this area, and would like to go somewhere..." She didn't know how to finish the sentence.

"Somewhere people like me would go?" He sounded irritated.

"No!" Abigail found herself racked with guilt. Of course that was part of it, but she hadn't really thought of it in those terms. "I didn't mean that at all. I guess the word I was looking for was fun."

He smiled slowly, taking in her sincerity. "Fun I can do. You like music?"

She assumed he wasn't talking of Bach or the tenors. A thrill of excitement rushed through her.

"I adore music."

 

[Poganin]

Roger "Cassidy" Kerrigan

"Well, that's great," Kerrigan tried to be enthusiastic but was almost sure Abigail wouldn't like the place he was about to take her to. He looked her over from head to toe and decided her dress would pass. "Yeah, I guess your dress will do. You'd probably fit in better in leather pants and jeans jacket but black is good as well. But I guess proper ladies like yourself don't have such stuff in their wardrobes, eh?" He half smiled and winked jokingly, wincing as pain in his hand manifested through painkillers he'd taken in the bathroom. The finger became swollen and had to tie it to adjacent ones with a handkerchief to stop it from moving too much.

Kerrigan gave Abby directions to Hell on Earth, the club he frequented to play with Panzer Kunst or simply drink some beer and listen to music. He wasn't sure if she'd like it but it never hurt to try and besides, she wanted it herself, can't blame it on him. Throughout the way he caught himself looking at her from time to time, observing her change gears, or how she put her hands on the wheel, or how her legs moved. Nice chick, Cassidy thought to himself, a bit stiff, though. And her accent, high education no doubt. Well hell, as long as she didn't try to bore him with some wise talk it would do. Not that Roger didn't like literature - he wrote a few poems in prison and even composed music to them but the only person who ever heard them was Paddy, his Irish cell-mate.

"It's over there, you can park here," Kerrigan muttered, seeing as they neared the club. "Hell on Earth." He tilted the rear view mirror to check his face and sighed seeing the red slash on his cheek.

Even here, some fifty yards from the entrance the loud music could be heard, the heavy, low drumming of percussion and long, screeching guitar riffs. Cassidy smiled involuntarily, the place's magic already working on him.

"What kind of music is that?" Abigail asked, looking at him questioningly, her pose stiff as she was locking the car.

"The only one worthy to be called such. Come on, it's better inside. Maybe you'll even get to like it if you don't already," Roger said and waited for Abby to join him. Together they crossed the street and Kerrigan ignored the queue of guests to approach the bouncer directly. The big man looked at them, his pose hostile and threatening but once he recognised Roger he smiled and nodded, letting them inside.

"... o that?" Abigail said something he couldn't hear because of the rumble.

"What!?" he cried.

"How did you do that!?" she shouted back at him.

"Oh, the magic of my rough charms," he laughed and pulled her elbow with his left hand to get inside.

Instantly they were enveloped by the smell of cigarettes and pot, a thick cloud of smoke hovering under the high ceiling, crossed by flashes of light and lasers. The bar was on the left a a bit higher than the dancefloor with the stage to the right. There was a band preparing to play and he recognised Enchanted Symphony with their cute, though slightly plump singer, Alicia. She had great tits and great voice she probably got in the same set. They began with an ecological song about birds and butterflies. They were good, but the topics they liked to touch upon were so mushy, Roger sometimes felt like puking.

He lead Abigail to the bar and leaned in to her ear, shouting over the music, "Don't order anything! In here the bartender serves you what he deems you need today!" In a moment a large, bald man with tattooed head approached them, nodding to Kerrigan and giving Abby a flat stare. He was poured a shot of tequila, which Roger abhorred but couldn't say no. Cassidy took bewildered Abigail's hand, gave her the lemon to hold and spread some salt on her skin. Winking at her he leaned over her palm and kissed the salt from her hand, giving it a lick, downed tequila with a shiver and raised her hand still holding the lemon to his lips and bit on it with a growl that made her let go of the lemon.

"Don't worry, Abby, I don't bite! Unless..." he smiled as charmingly as he could and choked as someone slapped him on the back.

"Cassidy, you motherfuckerrr, we've been wondering if you were going to show up tonight!" a skinny 20 year old guy approached them, noticed Abigail and smiled. "Oh! I'm sorry, you're here for entertainment tonight. I see!"

"Abby, this is, Chuck! Panzer Kunst's lead guitar player! Chuck, this is Abby, she saved my ass from certain death yesterday!"

"Thanks for saving him, Abby. Anyway, you gonna play for us?"

"Play?" Abigail interrupted.

"Yeah, I drum for them from time to time..." and turning to Chuck "Not today, buddy. Almost broke my finger."

"Maybe you'd sing at least!? Marty's throat's giving up!"

"I dunno, Chuck. I'm with the lady here and... you know. If I leave her alone she's bound to attract someone and leave me." He turned and smiled to Abigail who answered with a weak smile herself.

"Hey, Abby! Do you mind if I borrow Roger for a song?"

"No, go ahead! I'd love to see it!"

Was that irony? Kerrigan wondered.

"I'll be back, Abby!" he shouted and followed Chuck, looking behind to see if she stayed or left. She waved at him and sipped from her glass.

Roger mounted the stairs to the stage and waved at the whistling crowd.

"Roger can't drum for us tonight so he's gonna sing! Yeah!" Chuck shouted to the microphone and a cheer rose from the crowd.

Cassidy approached the other microphone and coughed. It's been some time since he'd sung for an audience and he felt embarrassed. His hands felt sweaty and his stomach churned from anxiety and hunger. He took the microphone in his left hand.

"This one's DIO's Don't talk to strangers - dedicated to Abby, who saved my life yesterday. Let's hear a cheer to Abby!" He cried and pointed at the bar. "Come on!" A roar and thunderous clapping filled the hall.

The calm guitar music began playing and Kerrigan whispered:

"Don't talk to strangers... hmmmmmmm"

And accompanied by the guitar he sang slowly, his voice higher than usual but warm and soft, sensual, even a bit sad. Some people produced lighters and lonely flames flickered over the heads. With his apprehension suddenly gone he could put more expression into his singing, more emotion. The fear of failure was no more.

"Don't talk to strangers
'Cause they're only there to do you harm
Don't write in starlight
'Cause the words may come out real

Don't hide in doorways
You may find the key that opens up your soul
Don't go to heaven
'Cause it's really only hell

Don't smell the flowers
They're an evil drug to make you lose your mind
Don't dream of women
'Cause they'll only bring you dooooooooooooooown!"

He broke into a long vowel as the guitars started a deadly tone and the percussion behind him started drumming. He changed his voice, now it was rough, full of evil, anger and violence. Fixing his eyes upon distant Abby he continued as if intending the next passages for her.

"Hey you, you know me, you've touched me, I'm real
I'm forever the one that lets you look and see and
Feel me
I'm danger - I'm the stranger

And I, I'm darkness, I'm anger, I'm pain
I am master
The evil song you sing inside your brain
Drive you insane

Don't talk
Don't let them inside your mind, yeah
Run away, run away, go!"

A long guitar solo by Chuck followed and Kerrigan stomped to the rhythm and nodded his head. The crowd was crazy, jumping, stage-diving and singing along with him.

"No - no

Don't let them in your mind
Protect your soul..."

The music calmed down, returning to the initial silent, calm tones but Kerrigan's voice remained angry although taking on a note of longing. He moved closer to the microphone and sang with his eyes closed.

"Don't dance in darkness
You may stumble and you're sure to fall
Don't write in starlight
'Cause the words may come out real

Don't talk to strangers
'Cause they're only there to make you sad
Don't dream of women
'Cause they'll only bring you doooooooooooooooown
Yeah

Run, run, run, run away!"

The music died and the drums played a final stacatto and the crowd cheered, whistling and hollering. Roger smiled at them and waved at no-one in particular. He nodded at the band buddies and returned to the bar. He sat on his stool, sighed and smiled at Abigail who regarded him with level gaze.

"Well? How did you like it?"

 

[soliloquy]

Abigail had regarded the music he performed in three phases: she had flushed with embarrassment as he had mentioned her name, flinched with discomfort as the music began to assail her ears, and finally she had managed to feel the beat inside her and smile at the joy everyone else was expressing. It wasn't her type of music...yet. But by the end, she felt as if it might grow on her in time. Or was it Cassidy that would grow on her in time?

"Well? How did you like it?" He smiled uncertainly.

She chose her words too carefully. "You were very good."

He contemplated this with a quizzical look in his eye. "You didn't like it." He frowned. She felt as if she had run over his puppy.

Instinctively, her hand covered his. "No, that isn't it, Cassidy. I have to get used to that kind of music, but by the end I could really feel the music, if you know what I mean." There was silence. Cassidy wasn't looking at her. She followed his gaze downward to their hands. It was a simple touch she had offered him, but visually it was quite intimate. One hand covering another as if to claim it would speak volumes to the unknowing. Perhaps it was speaking volumes to him.

Quickly she snatched her hand back and flushed red for about the tenth time since she had met this reckless stranger. "I apologize," she said softly, "I didn't realize..." She let the sentence hang in the air.

He had barely heard her if he had. But he got the gist, nonetheless. He laughed heartily. "You think too much, Abby, girl." He took her hand in his and placed it under his. "And I know what you mean about the music." His hand began to beat a rhythm over her hand. "At first it might feel weird, but soon, the beat travels through you and becomes a part of you, here." He placed his hand on her heart, just above her breast.

Abigail gasped imperceptibly at the intimate contact. "Y-yes, it does."

He smiled and took his hand away from her heart, but left his other hand on hers. Instinctively she wanted to pull back, but something about the contact was strangely exciting. There was something electric about his touch. She began to shiver slightly.

 

[Poganin]

Roger Kerrigan

Kerrigan looked at Abby with his head tilted slightly to the side, looking her in the eyes, nice, big, wide-open eyes. His gaze slid on her slightly parted lips and the shiny lipstick she had put on. He wondered if she wasn't forcing herself and staying in the club out of kindness. She didn't pull away the hand he was holding though and moreover, she didn't push him away when he touched her just an inch over her breast. A moment of uncomfortable silence hung between them and Abigail turned her gaze away. It was too dark to see and when a song ended a complete darkness fell over the club but Roger thought he could see a blush on Abby's cheeks.

He coiled his fingers around her warm, soft hand and smiled widely as he heard the first three beats of the next song. Helloween's "If I knew" - a sad ballad of a lonely man who blew his one in a lifetime chance for great love. He started for the dancefloor pulling Abby with him.

"I don't think it's the best idea..." she began but he cut her off pulling her closer and winding his arm around her waist and leading her a bit deeper into the crowd. He noticed some people were dancing while most were simply enjoying the show.

Not responding to her weak opposition, Kerrigan pulled Abigail closer and put his hands on her waist, enjoying the way she moved under his hands. He began rocking looking her in the eyes and smiling at her and she put her hands on his shoulders, falling into the rhythm, the soothing tunes of music all around them.

Cassidy spun Abby around but caught her waist again when she did a 180 and could feel her stiffen, unsure of his intentions. He resumed their movement, guiding her through his hands only. Kerrigan moved closer, his nose almost buried in her hair, and wound his right hand around Abby's body, pressing it flat to her belly and moving to the left, clearly liking the shape of her body. At the same time his left hand began gliding higher, following the natural curve of her waist, his fingers barely grazing the side of her left breast and retreating toward her scapula and higher, finally resting on her shoulder, his thumb delicately stroking naked skin at the base of her neck. He held his hand like that for a moment and then moved it left along her shoulder and down her arm and forearm to grasp her hand and interlock their fingers.

His right hand pressed harder to the left side of her belly, pulling her closer so that her bottom touched his pelvis.

Then he let go of Abigail's hand and spun her back to face him and pulled her very close, holding and supporting her, looking into her eyes as the final words and tunes of the song were washing over them.

 

[soliloquy]

His hands were on her body, wandering, inching ever so close to those most intimate of areas. Abigail stiffened and thought to draw back. Abby, on the other hand, softened, and thought to melt into his hands. Before the devil/angel squabble had even started, he had spun her around with such surprise that she gasped, her breasts heaving with her labored breath. He looked deeply into her eyes, and if she was right, she read lust in them.

It took Abigail a while for this possibility to register. It had been ages since she had been touched like this. Even longer since she had engaged in sex. Gotten laid, Abby corrected the too uptight Abigail. Five years, almost, since she had felt her naked skin up against a man's. And it hadn't even been very good. It had been Bryce, who put more effort into quoting sonnets than to please her body.

Cassidy wasn't gentle with her, nor was he rough. He was communicating with her without words, and she was loving it. She was scared, but she loved it. All the questions about this man seemed to be a moot point at this juncture. He was a wild adventure, and she needed to throw herself into it. This was what she wanted: everything the exact opposite of what she had been living.

The music stopped, but he didn't stop looking into her eyes. She tried not to blush. She tried not to look away. But Abigail was too much of a driving force within her to be totally vanquished by Abby in so little time. And so she blushed. And so she looked away. His hand landed under her chin and brought her face back to his.

"What?" she croaked a little too loudly, as the club was surprisingly quiet at that moment.

"Let's get out of here," he growled.

Excitement surged through Abby's body, while Abigail was still pondering what was going on. He grabbed her by the wrist and nearly took off with only her arm. She stumbled behind him, clumsily grabbing her purse from the table as they passed.

The night air hit her like a sucker-punch, and she felt she had no air. "Cassidy, what--" She was cut off as he whirled her around to the side of the building and pinned her to the wall, his mouth descending on hers hungrily.

She gasped and his tongue invaded. She was instantly wet.

 

[Poganin]

Roger Kerrigan

Cassidy wasn't wasting any time on gentle words or courting, instead he pulled Abigail into a narrow, shaded alley and pushed her against the brick wall of the club, pressing his body into hers and kissing her hard and deep. His left hand was pressed flat to the wall next to Abby's ear and his right wound around her, resting on the small of her back, drawing her hips closer to him. As his tongue explored her mouth trying to coax her own into action he felt her try to squirm away for a moment, her arms flailing, weakly hitting his sides and shoulders. Not letting Abigail get away he pressed harder into her and felt her give up, submit to his urgent passion.

Abigail moaned and shivered as he sucked on her lip and slid his left hand up her thigh, under the rim of her dress. Kerrigan squeezed her leg and raised it, having her put her foot on a stack of wooden pallets. His hand travelled deeper, grasped her bottom and squeezed it. He liked what he felt, the soft, warm buttock clinging to his hungry palm. Roger pressed his thigh between her parted legs making Abby jump in surprise as his thigh pressed into her mons.

He broke their kiss and looked at her flushed face and burning eyes, opened his mouth to say something but wasn't given such chance when Abigail grabbed his face and buried her tongue deep in his mouth forcing a low growl of appreciation from his throat. He hadn't been with a woman ever since he had been imprisoned, which was a considerable period of time and all his hunger was suddenly unleashed upon this woman whom he had met by pure accident. He felt his body heat up as she showed her own initiative. A moment ago Abby had been hesitating but now she was putting on quite a presentation of her own passion. Roger didn't mind.

His right hand reached lower to grasp her left buttock and crouching a bit Kerrigan raised Abbigail in the air, pinning her to the wall with his body, feeling her breasts press into his chest. After a moment of hesitation she raised her legs and hugged his hips, holding hard onto his shoulders and exploring his mouth with her slick tongue.

 

[soliloquy]

Abigail was overwhelmed by sensations: the brick against her back, the tongue sliding into her mouth and battling her own for possession, the hands on her ass, the erection between her legs...Abigail could no longer hear the good girl/bad girl argument that had been so present. It was drowned out by the roaring volume of lust. In the back of her mind, she entertained thoughts of stopping. She barely knew this man. Now, she had slept with men she didn't love, but had never slept with one she didn't know, and certainly not one she didn't trust. And there was no reason for her to trust Roger "Cassidy" Kerrigan.

None of that mattered as he had her pinned to the wall. Suddenly, Abigail was fearless. She didn't even think about the possibility of someone seeing them. Nor did she think about the consequences of this. She simply surrendered. No, surrender was too passive a word to use for the situation. She had willingly plunged into boiling waters after just the slightest nudge of encouragement. Her heels dug into his buttocks as she unconsciously ground her mons against his erection.

She panted into his mouth and he responded by biting down on her lower lip. He was ravaging her. It was a fantasy she had entertained, but never lived.

She heard footsteps, but it did not register that someone would see them. She felt Cassidy pull away a bit, but she lunged after him, catching his bottom lip between her teeth and she growled.

It was then that she heard the chuckle. "Lucky bastard, Kerrigan!" Cassidy lowered her gently into a standing position and wrestled away from her eager mouth. With a dazed expression, they both looked to the source of laughter. Abigail vaguely recognized him as the man who had gotten Cassidy to sing. Was his name Chuck? She blushed, but did not feel all that ashamed. She was too busy trying to figure out how to get rid of the nuisance and return to...well, to whatever it was that they had been doing.

Cassidy and Chuck chatted for a bit, and finally Chuck turned to leave, but not before winking at Abby salaciously. Cassidy growled like a territorial wolf, and Abby had to supress a giggle. Abigail had indeed almost giggled, something she had done maybe twice since she was very young. A smile warmed her face with that realization. Cassidy looked at her as if he could eat her up with just his eyes. Obviously she was having an effect on him as potent as his was on her.

He leaned in close to her mouth. "Jaysus!" he croaked, "wouldn't have thought you had it in you..."

She could have questioned this statement. She could have pondered why he had even tried if he didn't think she would be up for it. But instead she merely replied, "I wouldn't have, either."

 

[Poganin]

Kerrigan

The final 'r' in her 'either' was prolonged into a deep purr as Cassidy kissed her deep again and drew her close... but magic of the place was lost. He was still hard and panted with desire, he was more than ready to go and fuck Abigail crazy and from the way she melted into him again and rubbed her body against his he recognised that she wouldn't mind that either. Damn, if it hadn't been for Chuck he would probably be fucking her against that brick wall, buried deep inside her hot flesh. Hell, he had so much steam to let go off he would have probably fucked her right into this wall! It wasn't the possibility of being seen by someone else that killed the charm of this side alley, it was the possibility that someone might interrupt them again that made him draw away from the kiss with an angry snarl.

He didn't let go of Abigail though. This woman amazed him, one moment a proper, well-groomed lady and another a horny woman hungry for kisses and much more. His lips felt tender and a bit swollen, she was such an active kisser, sucking, nibbling, biting, almost trying to do all this at once. Not that he didn't intend to the same with her. He wanted Abby to be his, he wanted to spend the night with her and go to sleep only when his cock wouldn't obey him anymore or his stamina ran out.

"Let's get out of here, Abby. If someone else stumbles upon us I will probably kill them for interrupting. God, I thought you were gonna bit my lips off! Where did you learn to kiss like that, hmmm?" he asked running his thumb along her lower lip and grasping her hand pulled back towards the car. "Gimme the keys. I'll take us someplace where no one will see us. Well?"

 

[soliloquy]

Daring overtook Abby as they climbed in the car together. She barely knew this man, but she knew she wanted him. He began peeling out onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other on her thigh. With such brazenness, Abby urged his hand higher on her thigh, her skirt riding up as his fingers probed.

Abby had only allowed herself a moment to question what she was doing. In the end she knew that this was exactly what she wanted: a little daring, a lot of adventure, and his body pressed against her urgently as before.

His hand was removed and Abby whimpered in protest.

"Damn, woman, you're driving me so crazy I will end up crashing your car!" He grinned at her, his eyes heavy with lust.

Abby smiled back at him.

"Where are we going?" Her voice was breathy with desire. Her thigh was still burning from his touch.

She scooted closer to him and began to nibble on his neck and ear.

His answer was a groan of pure frustration and his hand came back down on her thigh, edging closer to her core. Her hips thrust forward wantonly and a finger slipped across the silky fabric of her panties. She sighed and the finger pressed harder against the material and her lips.

"Either to paradise or hell, baby," he muttered as his finger hooked around the edge of her panties and pulled them deftly to the side.

Abby couldn't have cared less where they were going once his finger was sliding through her wet pussy lips.

 

[Poganin]

Roger Kerrigan

One hand on the wheel and the other eagerly exploring Abby's sex Kerrigan drove through the light evening traffic, clearly enjoying the power he had over this woman now. He was driving her expensive car and his fingers were sliding along her hot wetness. When he first touched her panties he was delighted to see how wet and ready Abigail was, she must have been as hungry for sex as himself. As his fingers worked their rough magic he began speeding up. Her breath next to his ear came in gasps as he stimulated the entrace of her burning pussy, her hips bucking each time he put his finger a bit inside her. Kerrigan shifted in his seat, his pulsing erection was making it uncomfortable for him.

Abigail moaned and bit him on the ear as his fingers brushed her clit, he felt her shudder and her fingernails bit into his thigh. His whole hand was coated with her wetness and he lifted it to lick the juices from his fingers but before he could do that Abby brushed her pussy herself and purring in frustration directed his hand back to her steaming womanhood. Kerrigan eagerly licked and sucked on her fingers, clearly enjoying her reactions.

"Jaysis, Abby, you're so damn wet one would you haven't fucked in five years. Or is this the smell of adventure arousing you, hmm?" Roger asked and laughed.

Turning into a freeway he increased the car's speed even more and dipped a finger inside Abigail's throbbing pussy, the base of his hand brushing her clit. A powerful shiver rocked her body and she moaned holding on to him hard. He worked another finger inside her and now her body was rocking to the rhythm of his hand's movements. He was going as fast as he dared while holding the wheel with one hand and noticed that Abby looked at the road from time to time as if unsure.

"S-slow down a bit, we're g-gonna crash... ooooooh..." she moaned into his ear and massaged his cock through his pants.

"Okay," Cassidy grinned and significantly slowed down the movement of his fingers inside her making her shift. Her body was rocking of its own volition now, striving to get as much pleasure from his probing fingers as possible. Laughing throatily he increased the tempo again, drawing moans and gasps from her.

"Are we there yet?" Abigail asked in a husky voice almost standing in the car as he worked his fingers faster and faster.

"Why? You want to fucked so much? So eager for a piece of cock inside this hot, wet pussy?" Kerrigan teased pressing his fingers as deep as he could.