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Ava's Honey

by john e


erotic fictionIt must be bad news, Ava thought, ‘cause he put on Shostakovich. That boring sadness from which he feeds.

“Honey, what happened?” This is the warpiest sitcom. A rejection, probably. The same type of problem as a blown lawnmower or an exploding coffee maker would be in suburbia. Why do I not get weary of these depths? “Is it bad news?”

Honey walked into the room. He began undressing quickly, and disrobed completely. In silence he stared at Ava as she slid down and under the covers. She flipped onto her tummy, then yawned a musical phrase.

“Fucking Strange Bedclothes nixed my poem. Marco didn’t even bother sending me a note; someone else did the deed.” He rubbed hands over opposite arms as if he felt a chill, and Ava saw a scared man approach the bed. She waited a beat before speaking, and by the time she began, his fingers had hooked under the cover’s edge and were pulling it from her.

“Which poem was that, Honey? That new one? That long poem?” He’s looking at my ass. He’s pissed off - what an artist! ‘Nixed’ his poem. How fucking refined.

“Yeah, the one that’s too long, yeah right. I fucking hate that - all those dicks saying it could be cut up, rearranged, and that the character was not worth knowing - all that shit. Our Lady of Perpetual Motion, yeah that one.”

His hands ran over her buttocks, and Ava felt humming electrical trails pressed into her flesh. Poor baby Honey, she thought, maternally, sincerely. She wiggled her ass slightly, waited, and wiggled again slower in a larger arc. C’mon Honey, mmm mmm good; a spanking would make both of us feel good. Are you looking at my ass? It’s talking to you: ‘Spank me, please, c’mon, you know you want to.’

“Spank me? You know you want to. Look at my ass.” She turned her head to look back at him. “Oh. You are looking. I like that. Forget the poem. You obsess so easily, Honey.”

His hands began to move quicker over her cheeks. They moved in little circles, and his fingertips began to press into her. “Forget it? Forget it? I - I - I don’t know if I can. I mean, forget about this one like it wasn’t important, and then what about the next one? And the previous ones? I-I-I mean, where do you draw the line? Someday it might all be unimportant. I’d hate to think that. Then who would I be? I mean - who could I be?”

His hands moved quicker still, and fingers pressed harder as he continued to ramble and fret. The Shostakovich entered a long stretch of violins, slight and mournful. Honey’s hands seem to absorb the sadness and resignation of the music. Ava felt her ass cheeks being spread apart. Her sex was warm now. She moved her left leg to open herself to his sight. Cunt, ass: she was exposed to him. She was warmer still now, and wet. Her wiggle turned to an undulation, a slow rotation of bared flesh for Honey.

Takes so little to calm Honey down, Ava reflected, but I’d give him my freedom and life if that’s what he needed. She felt one hand leave her skin, and raised her behind into the air, towards its retreat. Look at how much I want you. How much I want to feel you guide my sensations. And I know it gets you to see me like this, so vulnerable, so giving, so needing.

The first was little more than a slap across a cheek. Once more she raised herself toward him. The second stinging caress happened quickly after the first, and was unforgettable. Honey came down on her hard and fast. The sound she made was a combination of ‘oooo’ and ‘uhhh’. It was subtle, yet deep. Ava felt tears begin as she rotated her ass in the air for him. His hand slowly caressed her cheek as he explored it for warmth. Her skin there already was marked: juicy against cream.

Honey lowered his lips close to her ass and blew his breath upon it. Ava shivered, lowered herself, stopped moving and waited. His lips touched her cheek and he kissed it. He kissed her ass repeatedly, alternating the kisses with puffs of soothing breath, his tongue straying every so often between the cheeks in homage to her, and for the special sensations of intimacy he found. He forgot all else, and wanted her to always remember that he would bury his face in her ass - that no matter what else happened to them that he had done this thing they both enjoyed.

Oh that is delicious, mmm. Spank me again, please. I can’t bring myself to say it, but please. Then you can kiss me and lick me once more.

As his tongue pressed into her she lifted herself to it. She pushed into his face as she felt his hand slip between her legs. He brought it to her face, and she saw herself glisten upon his fingers. She pushed once more, while licking those fingers.

His other hand moved slowly across her butt a while, and finally rose and slapped down hard once again. And again. Again.

Ava began sucking Honey’s fingers as this went on. He slapped her ass eight times before beginning his homage and soothing of her new rouge, as he stroked himself. She turned her head to see; she felt the slight, regular rocking.

The phone rang. Neither one of them wanted to answer it, lost in the tenderness, the rawness, the intimacy. But as Honey continued to love her with his face in her ass and his fingers playing over her cheeks, Ava reached towards the night stand for the receiver. She picked it up and spoke a breathy hullo.

“A? A, don’t tell me you’re over there again!” It was Larry. “Fuckin’ shit A, you’re supposed to be here with me, your fuckin’ husband! Put that Honey son-of-a-bitch on the line!”

Ava moved her ass sideways, away from Honey’s mouth. He lifted his head and hand from her, but continued stroking himself.

“It’s for you,” Ava announced. “It’s Larry.” Wonder what’s on the tube, this call might take a while. She held the receiver in the air between them, without looking back. Honey took it slowly, and covered the mouthpiece with his wet hand.

“Oh geez, here we go - Mr. Morals. Ava, why did you have to answer the phone? I’m gonna hear a half hour of shit before he even gets to why he called.” Honey slapped her ass once more, this time in a noticeably weak and distracted manner. Ava told him to go fuck himself, got up slowly, and walked unconcerned from the room.

He makes a big deal out of every stupid little thing. Poems, ass, Larry. Honey doesn’t care what Larry thinks. I’ve known my Honey longer than I’ve known my other hack writer. It’s all good among us - so what if Larry pouts once in a while. At least Honey will put up with his shit. Those two should be married, I swear. He deals with Larry better than I could.

Ava hit the remote and the sound of the early news hid the sorrow of Russian strings. As she got comfy on the floor, tummy down, ass up, she heard Honey’s voice over the music and the TV. Here we go again.

“Fuck her? Fuck her? No, I didn’t fuck her. But you know what? I spanked her, yeah that’s right, I spanked her and she loved it. Yeah, that’s right? Oh no, no: she’s been here all day. Oh yeah? Well, fuck you too, Larry, you doggerel dog, you wuss versifier. A pox! on you and your rhymes! What? No I didn’t fuck her - not yet. What? Hey Ava, tell this dipshit I didn’t fuck you!”

“He didn’t fuck me Larry,” she yelled towards the bedroom door. “He just gave me a spanking, a little one, that’s all. Poor guy got rejected again by Bedclothes, least I could do.” Ava marveled at her own honesty, regardless of how ugly it was. She also felt a streak of something towards Larry suddenly too. “Just a little spanking.”

Honey came running out of the bedroom towards Ava, the mouthpiece covered once more. His speech was agitated and low.

“Why the fuck did you say that? About the poem I mean. Shit, I had a bet going with him. Was going to say they never got the e-mail. There goes twenty bucks! Damn it!”

Ava pictured his face where it was just a few minutes ago, and the mental image made her tingle all over. “Sorry, Mr. Poet. So spank me, why don’t you.” She raised her ass a few inches into the air. Honey watched this with great interest, and uncovered the mouthpiece.

“Yeah, yeah Larry, I’ll drop off the twenty. Betting on poetry - geez, what fuckin’ losers we are. What? No, don’t count on that, I’ll drop it off myself. Ava might be spending the night. What? Alright, I’ll give the twenty to her and she’ll get it to you whenever she goes home. Oh fuck you, that poem was shit. I mean, do you expect you can just pour out your heart with a bunch of fancy words and some rhymes and call it a fuckin’ poem? What? Yeah, does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it, but that’s where it’s at with you. Yeah yeah, they didn’t take Our Lady. Yeah yeah, twenty bucks, with Ava. Fuck you very much, goodnight.” He threw the phone into the bedroom.

“Life is strange, isn’t it?” He exhaled quietly as his hand began rubbing Ava’s ass cheeks once more.

“No,” she whispered, “we are. Larry is probably the strangest. He’s probably the happiest one.”

“Yeah, I always wanted to tell you I saw him like that, but it just seemed so far out. You’ve noticed too?”

“Of course, Honey. There isn’t much he strives for, much that confuses him. He’s pretty content, for a cuckolded poetaster.”

“Geez Ava, that sounds horrible.” He began to slip a finger into her, and she clenched it.

“Actually it sounded good to me. That’s why I said it. Don’t really believe it. He really is happy. He’s stranger than we are.”

But you’re right: life is strange. So what? The better for love, the better for sex, the better even for poetry. Wish I could just say Spank me. I’m just not a verbal person. Spank me. Please spank me. Spank. Spank. Spank.

“Spank me, Honey, please.” Where did that come from?

Honey’s hand came down with a crack. Ava squeaked and squealed, and spoke.

“Please. Spank. Me.”

His face pressed between her cheeks once more, cheeks he had slapped just minutes earlier. Her life was sure strange - and good, for sure. She loved them both. For all their differences they were three of a kind, bohemian cowards whose lives might shock a great deal of the world. But the world only saw them as ineffectual effete poets who would never be able to do them any harm. Ultimately, they were irrelevant.

Honey caressed her now cherry-red ass and wondered where he would get the twenty dollars. He kissed it with great love, and anticipation. The sadness played softly on.

© 2013 john e.  All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.


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