Maggie 4.5 (Patreon)

As he followed her his hands formed fists, let them go, formed fists again. His heart pumped blood through him like jet fuel. There was so much he wanted to do to her. Not hurt her. Never hurt her. Be rough, yes. Passionate, yes. Transfer the hurt she applied to him? No. Not transfer. Translate. That was better. Make her understand.

She walked alone, only a dozen paces ahead of him. Her regularly demure walk had been transformed to some sultry sway he’d never seen from her. Her lover really set her on fire. Jay made her a woman. Walking like she was on cloud nine. Supposed to be headed home to select her wedding dress, supposed to be traveling back to be at home with her family. Instead, this little whore made a detour. Thought he wouldn’t figure her out. Bus is in Brattleboro. Jay is in Brattleboro. Followed her. Witnessed that horror. He adjusted his erection. It hid under the jacket, but it stuck upright and aggressive right now.

After Jay and Maggie had fucked...more accurately, made love...they had lingered with each other. Stroking and caressing, speaking unheard words, the nature of them evident by the sweetness in their faces; the smiles...

Both of them fully clothed, Maggie with her skirt hiked up, no panties, Jay with his horse cock stuck out of his fly. When it had softened he’d sat next to her on the rock, and she’d watched his hands tuck it away and zip it back up, her hand draped on his thigh. They sat on the rock in the fall sun and talked a bit longer, then Maggie checked her phone, read the time, kissed his lips and they walked out of the woods together.

They parted ways at the café, Jay going left, Maggie continuing on to the right, retracing the route that had brought her here. He knew where she headed so he followed from a safe distance. Followed and watched. And admired.

Her bare legs strutting under her skirt. God, knowing she was completely bare under there. Then, the intoxicating thought that she dribbled another man’s semen from that tight, pink slit he loved so much. His cock throbbed harder.

Soon they crossed Drillfield, out past the tall building where the exhibition had been held, the mats cleared away and no evidence left that anything had transpired here an hour ago. Crossing Drillfield they came to a wide walkway, then a busy narrow one that wound them to the edge of the campus.

The crowd thinned at the parking lot, everyone splitting up to head to their individual vehicles, some going in larger clumps headed for the public transport on the main thoroughfare beyond the university parking. Now it was just him and her. Two figures alone, passing an aisle of parked cars, sunlight gleaming off windshields. If she turned she would see him, there was nowhere to hide. He closed the gap.

She stopped at Cole’s lifted Jeep. Paused there, standing and waiting, her legs together, looking out towards the main road, biting her lip. He slipped behind her, opened the passenger door to Cole’s Jeep with a shaky hand, struggling to slip the key into the lock. Got it, opened it, held the door for her. When her feet were in he closed the door for her. He couldn't look her in the eye.

He made quick steps to the driver's side, she’d reached across and opened it for him. He climbed in and started the Jeep, his foot pushed on the clutch. His gaze wandered to her side, saw her bare legs held together. His heart raced. He put the Jeep in reverse, backed out, breath trembling, arms still shaky, working through the gears to get them out of the parking. Maggie scratched her neck, looked out the window. The radio hadn't been fixed, and it was quiet in the cabin. He could smell her. Smell her perfume. God, he could smell her sweat. Smell that lovely Maggie smell she produced when she engaged in heated activity; warm and musky, distinct, not like any other woman he had smelled. Sweat had accumulated on his upper lip and he wiped it.

They made their way out of the parking lot, jabbing his credit card in the machine, anxious for the arm to lift. Now she touched the hem of her skirt, driving him crazy. She had his attention. Her polished fingernails dragged on her own soft skin, pulling the hem up, lightly fanning herself by wafting the material of her skirt. Like she was hot under there, or she wanted him to smell her.

His eyes snapped back to the road. Traffic was mild, and they made their way from the main lot, through the one-way, narrow, University Lane, past more hundred-year-old red brick buildings with slate spires. It was only a three-minute drive, but it was the longest three minutes of his life. Each heartbeat an aching eternity.

The Megabus pickup was a steel and glass enclosure out front of the Royal Morris Theater, a university-owned building run by the Arts department. He and Maggie had been here once, maybe two years ago, to attend an adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. As they neared, her quiet tense voice broke the silence.

“Did you see?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“See it all?”

God, her words drove him mad. He could feel precum leaking from him, soaking a circle in his pants.

She said, “Max, he came inside me.” The hem of her skirt rose and his gaze turned down, desperate to see what she wanted to show him. High up her thigh, almost at her pussy, he could see a dull, hazy patch spread on the insides of her thighs. Jay’s semen had leaked from her, spread thin on that sweet skin of hers and turned to a glaze.

“You cheated on me,” he said, wanting to drop everything and take her right now but knew he couldn’t, knew they should save this talk for when they were safe. His eyes darted back to the road. Cole’s Jeep had wandered, and he yanked it back between the lines.

“Tell me I’m bad,” she sighed.

“I watched my whore girlfriend have sex with another man. I watched her sneak around. I watched her break my heart.”

Without her seatbelt fastened, she shuffled herself to the edge of her seat. Now she watched him, and if he turned, if his eyes met hers, he knew he would lose it. So he kept his eyes on the road. Her hand rested on his chest.

“I love you, Max,” she whispered.

“Don’t,” he warned her.

The hand on his chest slipped lower, down his stomach, came to rest between his legs. That was better.

She said, “I can’t help myself, Max. You know how bad I am.”

A smile peeled his cheeks back, and a tremor passed through him with such force his eyes fluttered. He shivered. She gave his balls a careful squeeze. More precum surged from him.

The Jeep bounced the edge of the curb as he careened into the entrance of the theater. They were in a circular drive at the footstep of the red brick theater looming over them. He went around in the drive and wound back up at the one-way University Lane.

“How do I? . . . How...”

“I don’t know,” Maggie said, her voice tilting up with a frustrated whine. “I don’t remember...”

Her head snapped left and right, trying to understand where they were. The hand she had comforting his throbbing genitals left, a cold dampness seeping through his seams in its absence.

He signaled the Jeep left, continued along the road, took the next left, and it curled around the building adjacent to the old theater. Glancing left he saw the black slate roof of the theater disappear behind another building.

“Shit,” he whispered.

“Up ahead,” Maggie said, wagging a finger at another driveway that slipped down a hill on the left side.

Traffic came toward them and they had to wait for the cars to pass. They sat uncomfortably, Max ready to explode. Car after car slowly passed. The keys for Cole’s Jeep jiggled against the steering column, the indicator gave it steady, maddening ticka-ticka-ticka.

“Holy shit, I can’t take this,” Maggie whined, both her hands stroking up and down her bare thighs. She dug her heels into the carpet and shoved her back into the seat. Traffic bunched up, crawling at a snail’s pace, but finally, someone flashed their high beams indicating for him to cut across. They both waved though their faces were frozen in blank, unsmiling anxiousness. The big tires chirped as he let the clutch out late and the Jeep shot across the lane, into the turn, down the slope and in behind the buildings.

It delivered them to a cramped, tree-sheltered parking lot behind the theater. On the right, above them, near the edge of a retaining wall, a tractor with a claw worked away at excavating, men in yellow hard hats watched from the side; one man’s eyes following along, no doubt attracted to the hot Asian girl in the Jeep with the short skirt. On the left was the staff and administration entrance to the theater. The Royal Morris was a hundred-years-old or more, in soft, red brick, blank and windowless (reminding him of a Masonic Lodge or something), a sharply peaked roof, concrete steps that climbed to a single black door.

There was only one empty spot, and he reeled at the thought of the calamity had there been no available parking. What would they have done?

Maggie rifled through her purse already, pulling out her key chain. They both jumped out and slammed the doors behind them, headed quickly across the lot and to that single door.

“Shit, Max, hurry, hurry,” Maggie said, her legs scissoring in short, rapid strokes, her head turned down to the screen of her phone. “Oh Max, we’ve only got ten minutes.”

His mouth struggled to say something, but his jaw had frozen. His eyes were locked on target. That single door up those concrete steps. Ahead of her, he grabbed the yellow hand railing and launched himself up three steps at a time. At the top, he spun and watched her quick-step all the way to him, her hand fumbling for the right key.

Maggie's roommate Jess had a partner in some theatrical/performance piece they were working on for credit, though it was being hosted off-campus at a private gallery in Burlington. The partner attended VSU, gave Jess a key to the Royal Morris, Jess had asked Maggie to ask Max to pick up a prop when he dropped her off to the bus. They borrowed Cole’s Jeep.

One twist of the key in Maggie’s hand and the black door opened, and they were speeding down a narrow brick-walled hall. Maggie was ahead of him, and she darted through an archway to the left, down a flight of stairs and then they were crossing behind the stage of the theater. It was vacant and quiet. The set was dressed for a play, and they walked past a full-scale reproduction of a suburban backyard; some split-level home in beige vinyl siding. He ran over patio stones and Astroturf, almost knocked over a Weber grill. On the left, the stage dropped away and empty seating for two-hundred-and-fifty looked blankly at him from the dark, and as he hustled to keep up with Maggie he fantasized about watching her getting fucked here by Jay, all the seats filled. Jay and Maggie giving all these salivating people a real live sex show, his Maggie with her legs spread on some boulder recreated in papier mâché, surrounded by Astroturf, and a big oak tree overhead, crafted by students in the props department. Jay stroked his cock as Maggie eagerly waited. The audience licked its lips. Jay lowered himself, forced his weapon into her tight wetness. Maggie squealed. The crowd sighed. It was all theater.

Catching up to her in another hall, he loomed over her shoulder as she struggled a key into another lock. A sign on the steel door read PROPS. He was breathing heavy, her breaths coming in excited whines. The lock turned, and she kicked the bottom of the door with her loafer, they stumbled through, and she slammed the heavy metal door behind them. It locked. They were in pitch blackness, her hands scattered around the wall, found a switch and then the room they were in was lit in flickering fluorescence.

He grabbed her roughly, put his arms around her, her nails were under his jacket, scratching his back over his shirt. He kissed her, took her lips by force and she surrendered them, opened her mouth like she’d opened her legs for Jay. He stabbed into her with his tongue, sucked hers into his mouth. Breath scored through their nostrils. His eyes clenched tight, and tears streamed his cheeks. They broke the kiss simultaneously, each taking a step back and regarding one another lustily.

He pulled his jacket off. She threw the poncho over her head. They stared at one another, her hair was a tangled mess. Her makeup practically gone. His hair stuck up in clumps, his mouth hung open, and his chest heaved with his breaths.