The Path of the Righteous Man...(closed)

[Swashbuckler]

This is a closed thread for HoneyB and myself. All are welcome to read, thank you.


Jack McMurphy


I couldn't beleive it. I had been there for seven years, I drove the trucks for a great company, did everything they asked of me, just to keep Margret as close to the lap of luxury as an average Joe could do. But to day it happened. To day they boarded up the fence to the yard, I watched dumbfounded as the snow swirled around the empty yard, burrying the rusting trucks.

There was just no freight, there was nothing. But that was the times I guess. They were beginning to call it a depresion, whatever that meant. All knew was that it was Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day 1930, and Margret had hinted for months that she had wanted a diamond ring. So here I am. Walking down the snowy streets of Kansas City, my thread bare overcoat with its collar upturned and my muscular shoulders hunched against the wind as I look at the ring in the window of the jewlwer's shop.

My hand fingered the last few dollars I had to the world, just enough to pay the rent. But, but Margret really wanted a diamond ring. I heave a heavy sigh, thinking that it might be easier to convince Margret that they needed to accept my mother's invitation to move back to the family farm if she could have at least one last Valentine before we lose the house. So shaking the snow from my shoulders, I reach a holely fingered glove out to the door handle of the shop.

The man with the glasses was interested in showing me lots of rings, all truely beautiful, but all far too expensive for the $27 dollars I had in my pocket. He must have seen the sadness written on my winter wind rosey cheeks, when he stopped talkign for a moment and reached behind him for a small box and set down a new ring. It looked spectacular. Just like all the ones that were nearly a hundred bones, or more. It was gorgeous. It looked perfect to me, and then he spoke, "Freind, this is a paste ring, its only fourteen dollars, but you look like a man who needs something in these dark days for his lady.

"Thank you, brother," I said, my voice cracking with near tears at his kindness, "you have no idea how much this means to me. I.., I would do anything for her, you know." The old man pushed his glasses back up his nose and reached out his hand, placing the small box in my palm adn shaking my hand with it. He did not say anythign as I laid out the crumpled green backs on the glass topped counter, just kept shaking my hand, like the crumpled bills I was paying him meant as much to him as Margret's gift meant to me.

"Thanks, friend, you may have saved my life," I said softly as I turned to push open the door. He tried to speak, but just couldn't form words and nodded profusely. We both understood.

Out on the streets I started weaving my way from downtown shops towards my little love nest, Margret had always been a little disappointed with it, but until today, I had had a good job driving trucks for Derringer and Sons. Poor ol' Derringer had nearly shot himself, they said when the bank closed his doors.

But now I had to figure out what I was going to say to Margret, how I was going to convince her that it was going to be fine to move back to my family's farm like my mother had sugested long ago. Even after her initial shock of the wedding. That was seven years ago, maybe it was time for the two of them to come to terms with the fact that I loved them both, and set aside their personal differences.

At least for a while until President hoover can figure out how to get things rolling again and I can find me a new job, maybe even move back into town. Things have to get better. They have to.

Then somehow there I was, over an hour late and soaking wet. I must have looked a sight as I stepped up the creaking porch and reached a tenative glove for the door, and took a deep breath.

Then, with a surge of confidence and just plain old fashioned hope, I leapt through the door and called out, "Margret, honey, I'm home." I shut the door and my mouth got away from me trying to prevent her from jumping me about being so late, sometimes my mouth would never shut up, "I got you a paste, I mean a present, oh and I got fired today, we need to move back to mom's place for a while, I think we have enough money for gas to get there." Suddenly as I heard myself saying what I had said, knowing it was totally the wrong things to say, just like me. I could feel those gorgeous blue eyes burning into the back of my wet overcoat as I faced the hall tree and hung up my tattered red scarf.

 

[Honey_B]

Margaret McMurphy

Margaret opened the door to the oven and pulled out a pan of Parkerhouse rolls. She closed the door with her foot and flipped the steaming buns over on the kitchen counter. Margaret McMurphy was a petite woman, standing just a shade over five foot two inches tall. Inevitably she wore her red hair in an elegant French twist and her housedress was always impeccably starched. As she moved about the kitchen, her movements were graceful as if set to music. In fact, there was music in Margaret's McMurphy’s kitchen. A scratchy recording of Giuseppe Anselmi turned on an ancient victrolla. Something by Verdi or Donizetti, Margaret could never remember. She really didn't like opera, but she was attracted to the sophisticated air of the genre.

She glanced at the chipped china clock on the wall. Jack was late. Fifteen minutes late by the look of it. She untied her apron and carefully folded it on the counter. This behavior would not stand. Only one possibility countered her ire. Perhaps Jack was finally buying her the diamond ring she had always wanted. She held up her left hand and looked at the plain gold band with distaste. Pathetic.

Thank God, Jack was finally doing well at Derringer. Just last week, he had told her he might be in line for a promotion. She had rewarded him with a special night that had made him late for work the next day. The memory made her smile. Jack could be such a child sometimes.

“Margaret, honey, I'm home.”

She hurried into the parlor in time to hear him say,

“I got you a paste, I mean a present. Oh, and I got fired today. We need to move back to Mom's place for a while. I think we have enough money for gas to get there.”

Margaret didn’t say anything, just stared at her big hulk of a husband. When he turned around, she had her hand out, palm up. The lout didn’t even look her in the eye. He just dug into his pocket and pulled out a small box, which he placed in her outstretched hand. Margaret opened the box and pulled out the very pretty ring. She didn’t trust him for a second, not after what he had just told her. Without a word to her husband, she walked over to the mirror hanging above the fireplace and scraped the stone across the glossy surface. The paste crumbled. Margaret whirled around and threw the cheap ring at her husband, aiming for his head.

“What the fuck as I supposed to do with this?”

Anger always stripped away the thin veneer of sophistication the Margaret showed the world.

“Happy Bloody Valentine’s Day, you bastard.”

She rushed past him, back into the kitchen. In icy silence, she set about putting the rest of the dinner on the table, refusing to look at her husband when he followed her into the room. All she could think about were those words, “moving back to Mom’s place”. The very idea revolted her. She had invested too much time cutting those apron strings to let Jack go crawling back to Mommy. Something would have to be done.

Margaret sat down at their small kitchen table and picked up a roll, not bothering to wait for Jack to join her.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Jack

It was still cold. But I couldn't have felt it, I could only feel the avoiance of those blue eyes. The ice cold sheen of that one left cheek, puncuated perfectly with a tiny glacier cheekbone that ground away at the roll, a few beans, whatever.

I sat there, my stomache growled and churned; but there was nothign I could do but roll the fork between my fingers on the red and white checkered edge of the fading table cloth that covered the faded and slightly warped table top. At least Margret had not noticed that I had glued on leg together since it was cracked. I almost half smiled my cold cracked lips at the memory of how we had cracked it. That was the dinner I told her that I got the promotion. God damn, that seemed like a thousand years ago now in the infinite silence, only the meter of the clock she thought was not fancy enough counting out the emptiness between us.

It must have been actually only the thirteen minutes that the clock said it was, but it had felt like weeks. I hate things to be silent. Quiet was alright, but this silence was unbearable. I could feel my soft blue eyes beginning to grow humid and squeezed them tight to flutter away the welling tears.

Then it started again, it was out of my hands, I really should have not started but I just could not shut my mouth when I should, "Mar-marget," I started haltedly, "it is this whole damned depression thing that is all goin' on. Deringer's is just like every other trucking company. You ought to see the roads, there are no trucks rolling. Well, except..," I finaly stopped myself, I finaly came to my sense with the fear of her hearing my next words that were too frightful for her delicate ears to test.

 

[Honey_B]

Margaret McMurphy

"You ought to see the roads, there are no trucks rolling. Well, except..."

A possibility? Despite her outward appearance, Margaret had been listening to her husband and she wondered what Jack could possibly be talking about. Whatever it was, it would have to be dealt with later. Much had yet to be resolved between them and Margaret had spent the better part of the meal dealing with the issue of how to make him suffer. Her Valentine's dinner was ruined and all because Jack had lied to her. He had been leading her on, deliberating telling her that he was doing well at Derringer. It was the story of their marriage. Each time Margaret dreamed of a time when she could elevate her station in life, Jack pulled her back down again. She glared at him out of the corner of her eye, and noticed the unshed tears. Jack turned his head as she snorted in disgust. Honestly! It would be too much to ask that he act like a real man.

"Are you finished?"

Margaret snatched the plate from Jack's place without so much as waiting for an answer, scraping the food into the waste bin. It was a slap in the face to the man who had worked hard to get it. Margaret meant it to be so. She turned to look at him and wasn't surprised to see that anger was beginning to contort his features.

"Don’t' be angry with me, Jackie."

Margaret's voice had taken on that vulnerable quality, her husband's Achilles' heel. She added a subtle sway to her hips as she walked back to Jack and ran her hand through his thick hair.

"I'm hungry for something else anyway."

Her hands pressed his head to her, feeling his warmth on her breasts.

 

[Swashbuckler]

Jack

I watched in silence as Magret took away the less than half finished palte. I tried to ignore it and reached into a pocket for a crumpled packette of slightly crushed cigarettes. By the time I fumbled the first smoke from the pack it dropped to the floor and rolled under the table as I felt those small hands running through my hair and pulling my head to the heat of her flesh. I am hungery for something else anyway..

The words resounded in my head. I was caught off guard, she had just been acting so cold that I was stunned. "B-bu-but," I stammered as I felt my desperately starving sex spark to life uncomfortably beneathe my pants. "Of course you are, honey," I sighed as I leaned my head back to the soft and comforting heat behind my head. As I lifted my empty hand to softly caress the thin forearm above my head, my fingers brushing the suspended cloth of the dress around her breast before soflty encircling the arm of love that was holding my head.

Dropping the work-worn pack of cigarrettes to the table, I reach up with my left hand to wrap around her waist, pulling her closer to me and slipping a finger up the zipper of her dress in one motion. Taking the zipper I slowly slide the zip open, as I roll my head back adn kiss at the two breasts behind my head as the dress grows limp over my lips.

Her fingers slide from my hair as she steps back, I push the chair from the table quickly and stand, her blue eyes flicked directly from my own to the throbing need below my belt and then back to my eyes. She smiled a thin lipped smile, but said nothing. I lunged forward, and surrounded her in my arms. My lips bending down to crush against her smile, molding our lips into one impassioned kiss as I slipped my arm down her back, hauling the zipper the rest of the way down. If not for my closeness the dress would have pooled to the kitchen floor around her feet. As it was her shoulders fell open to the air and her creamy sweet skin all but sparkled before my eyes.

I gripped those beautiful shoulders to me tightly as I dipped my other arm lower, scooping her ass in the sling of my other arm. Sweeping her off the kitchen floor in my powerful arms, I watched as her eyes flared in the kiss that I would not let up as she was swept off her feet. I knew Margret loved it when I acted all strong like Rudy Valentino. I would have grined if my lips and tongue were not engaged so fully.

I took the first of several wieghted strides towards the bedroom door, I could feel the dress limply flopping from her body as I carried her past the faded photographs on the peeling wallpapered hall towards the cracked and peeling off white paint of the door. Pushing the door open with my toe, I swung Margret through it and strode intowards the bed.

The old feather matress sagged and the rutsing boxsprings creaked with its charmingly familiar creak as Margret's wieght was lowered and dropped to the old tattered quilt that mother had given Margret as a wedding present. I finaly broke the kiss as she fell from my arms, just far enough to excite her and make the bed sound. I stood up and flexed the strained muscles of my back and let her look at me before I leaned over to help slide the dress from underneath Margret's body.

I felt my maleness surge at the sight of her all, but bared flesh. Her legs surounded in stockings, the mesh of thin garters olding them in place. The lace and satin of her unmentionables. It was times like these that I truely apreciated her demands for the highest priced items of these garments. She did it all for me, she loved me so much, it was so clear when I could see her like this.

I exhaled deeply at the beauty before me and could not wait any longer, I started quickly frustrating my large fingers with the tiny buttons of my shirt. I could not help but watch her unmoving eyes as she stared at me, while I struggled ou of my shirt and pulled the white sleeveless undershirt over my head. Then driven by the rising heat adn pressure of my near ready to explode broiler I ripped at the tattered leather belt until I could drop the pants around my ankles. Then I stood and stomped trying to rid my feet of my encumbersome boots.

Finaly, kicking my feet free, I slid onto the bed next to Margret. Instantly, my lips found her neck and began kissing her in quickly placed small kisses, as I wrapped my arms aound her plucking at the stap that held the cups over her breasts. At last, I flung the elasticky piece of modesty across the room and covered both her nipples, one with my hand the other with my heated and desperate lips.

Sliding my free hand down her bared body, I crossed her stomache and my thick, working man's figners slid beneath the lace that covered her nethers. The feel of the taught lace and the soft curls of her down sent lightneing through my fingers, up my arm, and directly to the throb between my thighs.

Passing over the sensitive bud that crowned her gates, I tread softly, not wanting to hurt her femininity, as I sought lower to enter her body. Two of my fingers slid in slowly to the hot wetness of her love for me. I could feel her readiness, she was such a warm and ofering woman to my male needs. I wish I had a way to thank her for all she gave me. It made me feel guilty of not being able to treat her like the refined lady she was.

But right now, I could not think of that. All thought was lost to my mind as my body called for the act of love. I pulled my fingers from her softness as I forced the last barrier of her modesty from her body. Liftign up her long legs to slide the frilly panties from them and open her body to my unwanton lusts. The crumpled lace flung from the bed off the tip of her toes and then I rose up pullng my own plain shorts from my body revealing to her eyes the effect she was having on my body.

Margret, wetted her lips with her tongue and then whispered in a husky all knowing voice, "Lay down Jack." Crekign the bed I rolled to the center adn laid on my back as she slung her leg ovr my body. Her eyes blazed as she stared at me.and then lowered her heat upon my throbbign sex.

 

[Honey_B]

Margaret McMurphy

Margaret steadied herself, placing a hand – fingers spread wide on the broad expanse of Jack’s chest. She began her descent. Never taking her eyes from Jack’s, she moved her hips, using the engorged bulb of his glans to splay the outer lips of her labia, the pulsing head opening the humid furrow of her sex. Lower and lower she slid, controlling her descent with the muscles of the thighs, slowly slipping down the swollen length of his erect cock. Deeper, she allowed him to invade her velvet passage. Margaret heard him sigh as the liquid heat of her body surrounded and caressed the aching length of his shaft.

Relaxing her legs completely, Margaret allowed the last three inches of Jack’s cock to shoot up into her body in one driving rush. It was she who groaned as the head of his cock mashed her cervix. A dreamy little smile played across Jack’s mouth. Inwardly Margaret seethed. He actually thought she had moaned from ecstasy, not pain and Margaret had to restrain herself. Her pleasure would come later. Instead, she tensed her muscles, so he could feel the gripping strength of her vagina, embracing her body around his.

Jack ran his big hands up her thighs just as she wrenched her pelvis upwards. Margaret squeezed at him all the way, dragging his cock from the hot core of her cunt. He seemed to tense, waiting in desperate anticipation for her to descend once more. For a moment, she was still, poised, with only his aching glans inside her. Then she was gone, climbing off the bed.

She heard Jack’s sob of frustration and felt his big hands on her upper arms. Margaret allowed herself a small smile before she turned around, her face a mask of sorrow. Emotion tore at her voice as she spoke.

“I can’t, Jackie. I just can’t. Not with all that hangs over us, not when I face a descent into the degradation of poverty.”

It was difficult not to laugh at the dumbfounded expression on his face. Margaret wrenched herself free and stood up. Willing tears into her eyes, she covered her body with a demure flannel robe and turned back to Jack. He started to speak and she covered his mouth with her fingers.

“Don’t speak. I think it’s best that we have some time alone tonight, Jack. Maybe in the morning, one of us will have thought of some options. I shall make up the sofa for you, darling.”

Margaret reached over and picked up his pillow. Without a backward glance, she walked into the hall and took several blankets from the hall closet. She knew Jack would do as she requested. Guilt was the sharp edged weapon she wielded that night and with it, she would make him do as she asked. She spread out the blankets on the sofa and set down Jack’s pillow. Margaret brushed past Jack in the hallway, and she could see the unshed tears shining in his eyes. Still she went into the bedroom and closed the door, locking it behind her. It was only then that she smiled. Vindication felt so very good. She landed on the bed with a whush, her hands between her legs. Parting her thighs, her fingers delved into her damp slit. Margaret called up the image of Jack’s expression, and her juices ran, soaking her fingers at the memory of his pain.