Stories

Pistols & Curls

Vintage Couple 01

He had one job to do; just one: watch the door. It wasn’t a hard job, not really, but, for Mikey, it was the hardest job ever. The door didn’t have the same curves and luscious lips that Bernadette had. The door didn’t beckon him with big brown eyes or legs that went on for miles.  She sang on the stage every other night and served illegal alcohol to swelchin’ dock workers and mobsters the rest of the time. Mikey wanted to take her away from it all, save her from the hell she lived in. Instead, he gave her just a few moments of bliss in the back storage room on top of the crates of pilfered booze.

She moaned for him, head thrown back as he kissed up her neck. His rough hands caressed her smooth ivory skin, dropping the silk dress from around her shoulders or unbuckling the snaps that held her nylons in place. She rode him, legs spread wide around his waist with her cute heels still on her tiny feet, the bow-buckle jingling with every thrust he gave her.

“God, Michael!” she panted. Bernadette was the only person who ever used his full name, the only person that made him feel like more than just a door watcher. He felt her bare down on his long hard shaft, her tiny rose rubbing against his stomach or the flap of his open trousers.

“Marry me, Bernadette,” he whispered into her neck, licking and suckling as he groped and fondled her. “We’ll get outta this place; together.”

She groaned with pleasure but didn’t give an answer. She didn’t need to. Mikey felt the slug hit his heart just as he ejaculated far into Bernadette’s womb. His eyes went wide, ears ringing with the panicked shouts and screams of the people in the pub as it was raided by feds. Bernadette smiled at him, purring as she finished herself off while he bled out all over her pretty ivory dress.

“Not today, sugar,” she cooed, kissing him softly before pushing him back as Mikey’s eyes glazed over staring up at the wood beams above him, cock hanging out of his pants and Bernadette walking back up the steps with perfect curls to a man with a pistol in his hand.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s