Lady Alene and the Widower
I have a set blog schedule.
On this schedule are free stories for my readers.
Right now, that story is supposed to be Jack the Bodice Ripper.
But as I went in and tried to edit this older story I realized how far I've come in my writing. Long gone are the days that I can be happy starting a story only to let it wander and lead me. The endings come much faster in my mind. It's now the middle that gets muddled.
The start and finish of my stories are now getting a completed structure─aka a written plot. In the mix of ever warring "plotting" vs. pantsers, I find I'm waxing toward the plotting side.
Take in mind, and at the vehement denial of pantsers, plot is what makes a story cohesive. I think what some panters are afraid of is plotting can be formulaic. But if you know how to avoid that, plotting can make a story go faster, gets written efficiently and if you pay attention, plotting is pantsing with organization.
Why am I explaining all this?
Because I went back to Jack the Bodice Ripper and realized─this story was built on the old way I told stories. The meandering. The aimlessness.
Also, I think most of it is lost in scrivener that I no longer have access to. *Mental note* scrivner only transfers over to another computer once. oops.
But I have other stories.
Stories that don't get read often.
Stories that have been forgotten in the green pastures of Amazon.
Stories that deserve to be read but I am unable to market because of time.
Plus, this is a great way to hook you in and read more of S.N.McKibben and support an author!
So, while I'm out fixing Jack the Bodice Ripper, I've got a short 5K story for you! If you like it, have a dollar and want to support me, you can purchase Lady Alene and the Widower on Amazon.
If not, no big. But you'll have to read it on this website. However, it will be available any time. I appreciate your support and am putting it out there for your enjoyment while I get my shit together for the blog. Happy Reading!
Copyright © 2012 S.N. McKibben
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, with the exception of a reviewer who may quote passages in a review, without written prior permission from the publisher.
WARNING: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT
The content below is for people 18 years or older. If you are offended or uncomfortable by mature, sexual content, please STOP reading and find another one of my stories with less material with sexual content. Thank you.
Reluctantly, I resign myself and chalk this moment off to weak will-power.
Footfalls that couldn't be mine, but were, land heavily upon each step. Trying to talk myself out of this "appointment" inflicts cruel tricks. My heart is at the bottom of a cold ocean, but my body responds with erotic need. Arousal betrays my thoughts for any passer-by. They only need look below my belt.
Ascending the stairs extracts a price on my soul. Frustration comes out to emasculate me, so I stop the upward climb and lean against the wall. Both hands hide my shame. I heave a sigh that comes out in shuddering waves. Justifications don’t lighten my heart. The ones that claim I can pretend it's her. This session will be a release. I will solely think of her, not the woman I bought out of desperation. But the lie is an invisible hand crushing my guts.
Fourteen months ago, I buried my soul, my wife of fifteen years. I miss her; she was my life, my only love. The screech of tires and the sickening sound of metal folding in on itself still haunt my dreams. Part of me believes she’ll come back. My beautiful Tasha, with long blond curls and piercing blue eyes.
I force the tears away. She is not coming back. But my young, fit body retains needs only a loving woman can fulfill.
“A loving woman.” My tone and mockery echoes down the cascade of stairs. What was Lady Alene then?
Whore, half of me answered. The other half…didn’t answer. Not with words. I’m not the deceiving type. Taking a bar fly home would relieve certain stresses, but the guilt of using a woman in place of my wife wouldn’t set my morals at ease. Nor would the hypothetical bar fly like to be used as a stand-in.
Funny how morals can get convoluted by desperation. Straightening and breathing a sigh, I continue up the stairs. Lady Alene awaits.
I knock twice on the second door to the right. A mocha beauty greets me in nothing but a black bra, panties and an open silk robe. Air escapes my lips when she smiles at me, the kind of smile a cat gives when it’s about to pounce on cornered prey. Her fiery gaze tells me to come in while she backs away and holds the door.
She is perfect.
She is not my deceased wife and just what I need.
I take one step through the threshold and into an oasis of a penthouse. She closes the door and takes my hand leading me further into the island retreat. An ocean surf breeze tumbles in from the open sliding glass door on the opposite side of the room. Plush leather furniture accent high ceilings and dead artist's paintings.
She bares an expression going from mischievous Goddess to sadness, and then a frown. Exposed, naked in her gaze, I could not look away from her dark eyes. I try to stifle my sigh, but it comes out involuntarily. After undergoing Lady Alene’s scrutiny, she raises a hand and touches my face.
“Would you like something to drink?" Her voice is deep with a breathless accent. A native to some island, I’m sure.
I nod, not trusting my voice to remain steady.
The dark lovely glides over to an alcove and returns with an open brown glass bottle. My favorite. Bass.
I sip the beer and slide fingers through my short brown hair. Her expression is now soft and inviting. Again, I avoid conversation and take a pull from my drink.
She parts her lips as if to say something, but doesn’t. My eyes rake over her dancer’s body.
When our eyes meet again, her expression turns to its original mischievousness. "Some men like to talk before. Some would rather not. Others like to go out. Many prefer to stay in. Every man’s needs are different. What's your pleasure?"
Despite her soothing voice, my thoughts turn dark. I shrug and take another swig from my bass. Lady Alene purses her lips and presses a warm hand to my cheek. Her thumb caresses my chin. "I mean not to offend, but you are the first to come to me in torture."
My heart pounds, screaming for recognition.
"There is no rejection here, come." She takes my hand and pulls me to the balcony while I down the last of the spirit in my hand. Tasha and I spent many a time watching a sunset, such as this one, sinking into the sea horizon.
I feel the need to defend myself. I’m not ugly by any means, and rejection has never been a problem for me. "I don't have issues with that."
"Then, you're here to talk." She laughs.
I give her a sideways look, "No."
This time she gives me a smile with beautiful pearl white teeth that contrast with her skin. Lady Alene could make a man melt. But, her smile fades, and the twinkle in her eyes soften. "I recognize it now, your pain. It is loss."
I look away and set my bottle down on the patio floor.
"I'm sorry," she waves a hand to me, "I don't mean to bring burden. I won't mention it again."
"No, it's all right. I don't want you slapping me for calling out another woman's name."
A one-sided smile steals across her lips. The fading sun casts her skin in a golden hue.
She gives me a sheepish grin and nods her head.
All amusement leaves Lady Alene and is replaced by concern. Pity doesn’t suit me. I don’t need pity. I need my wife back.
"Men tell me different lies." Meeting my body language, she turns to me. "But you are the first one I believe. I see it."
A balled-up tissue forms in my throat, and I do my best to push it down, "Don't feel sorry for me. It's been over a year and..." I can’t finish. Is it embarrassment or something else? Perhaps, if I admit to myself she is gone, I might lose a part of me that has held helplessly onto a raft in a violent sea.
Hands enfold my tear-streaked face, and I look into eyes that hold no sorrow. Deep understanding greets the bottom of my soul. I need this. I couldn't admit it, but I do.
Tasha. Everything I want swept from me. Maybe I can’t do this.
But this woman’s hands firmly hold me, forcing an issue that’s coming to a head.
“How many men came before me today?” Defenses bring out the hurtful question. I knew it. But the fight I expect doesn’t erupt.
Lady Alene laughs. A rich genuine sound that resonates in my chest. “So preoccupied with the conquest.” Still holding my face, her thumbs stroke away cold tears. After my grief is swept away, her hand pinches my chin. “You think you have paid for me, and therefore I am yours, and for tonight this is true. But if you think of me as a tool, you miss the prize.” Her eyes hold mischief and daring. Warm fingers keep me fasten in place.
Sore at her brazen deflection, my hurt pride takes the hit knowing I deserve what I get. “I’ll bite, what’s the prize?” Clenching my jaw, I wait.
“Ah. A shame. You allow anger to shield you still. You would know otherwise.”
“I did not come here to be insulted.” My muscles tense, snapping me upright and severing our contact.
She rests her hands on her hips and laughs again. This time it is a tad annoying. “No? If you think yourself in the right, why did you think of turning around before you got here?” Lady Alene waves at the door.
Why did I come indeed? I back away, rethinking the wisdom in coming here. I had nothing to say. But she did.
“You remind me of men honorable enough to spare an unsuspecting innocent, but immoral enough to justify me as a toy.” Her body remains relaxed, but the fire of conviction scorches her words.
I don’t need this. I go for the door.
“Would your wife have you run from pain?”
I turned back in rage. “Don’t speak to me about pain.” I start back toward her.
She holds up a hand, but not at me. Her hand appears to be holding off someone behind me.
I spin and see a hidden door closing. It is dark, but I catch the edge of a patten-leather shoe retreating behind the darkness.
“You’re angry.” She lets her hand fall to her side. “This is good.”
“I wouldn’t hurt you.” I sag with embarrassment that she thinks I would do so.
“I know. Evan doesn’t. Please excuse him.”
It isn’t comforting to know we aren’t alone, but wise on her part. I didn’t begrudge her security. I swipe my face with a hand.
“Blame yourself for your wife, don’t you?” Her eyes soften to a compassion so profound I almost drop to my knees.
So strange how a sentence can crumble a man. Inward hate assaults my heart.
She opens her arms and waits.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Let another carry your weight. That is what you really want.” She motions to me with open arms.
The lure of her arms. My vulnerabilities exposed. All those nights of frustration.
I go to her.
Enfolded in her arms I can abate my loathing. Here is another person sheltering me from my worst enemy. Myself.
“What’s the prize?” My hands go straight to her resplendent hair.
Head lifted to mine, she brings me closer. I feel her chuckle. “Can you make a woman cum?”
I pull back, searching her eyes. Is she serious?
“Many men pay for what they think will bring them closer to a feeling. I give them the sense of freedom and stability.” That smile, her eyes, and this close to her I can smell her want.
A man wanting to come and go as he pleases feels safe around a woman like Lady Alene. She isn’t a threat to a man’s prowling carnal instinct, and yet she will always be there when called. I understand now. The prize is my humanity. I paid for a companion. The key word being companion not paid. What I got is a psycho analyzer and a message. For a woman she possesses strong hands and works my muscles through my coat jacket.
Proving I understand her intentions I ask, “What do you like?”
She arches her back and presses into me. “Ponies.”
Was I contending with livestock? Wait, are we talking about the same thing here? Or does she like having sex with donkeys?
I give her an incredulous look, and she laughs, and this time I join her.
“I like sunsets on the beach. Good wine. Company that likes to kiss.”
Now we were getting somewhere. My smirk of approval gets her to lean in closer.
“It pleases me knowing you like what I do.” She plucks at my jacket.
It becomes a blotch on her white carpet.
“Women talk too much.” Before any protest, I claim her mouth as mine.
Our tongues dance a fast tango. Nails down the back of my shirt cause an arch to my hips, breaking the only skin on skin contact of lips. My shirt is up and over. Her lacy bra chafes along my chest hairs.
Arousal flares. My body takes control. Lips seek each other in hunger. Charged by taste, driven by exotic warmth, my heart pounds. My dick stirs and firms. Breathing through my nose, I refuse to part from this desperate exploration. She wants to know me. I let her take what she can find.
Kicking off my shoes I unbuckle my belt, unshackle my pants and boxers before she can notice I’d broken off.
Lady Alene heaves for air. Her panting inflames my need. She likes what she sees and appears as eager as I am. She hooks her thumbs around her panties to push them down.
"No," I stand still enjoying her liberal evaluation.
Amused, she takes her thumbs away. Wiggling her shoulders, the silk robe slides off. The duet of jacket and robe frame each other on the floor.
Stepping forward, my intent is to make her gloriously naked. Her mouth and tongue persuade me otherwise, for a little while, but wandering hands prevail. The bra meets the same fate as her robe.
Kneeling, my tongue swirls around a taught belly. Fingers stroke my hair. I want her like this. On top of me while I rock us into bliss. Inhaling musk and perfume I wander down, kissing her hips, her thigh and the fabric separating me from her womanly wiles. Licking below her pantie line in between cloth and skin, she moans. The first indication she’s letting go. My dick twitches at the sound. I will have all of her. When I’m done with her, she will revere me as a sex god, slave to her whims.
I bite at the lace. Her underwear revolts and snaps back. I hear a giggle. She likes the shock of the elastic nip. Giving her that little bit of pain sharpens my need. Kissing away the small ache I gave on her hips, I suppress that darker side and smooth her skin with my hands. Perhaps next time she’ll let me bring my paddle.
Fingers dive under the fabric and grasp her muscled ass. Lord, I didn’t know women could have physique there. Pulling her into my face, I envelope that sweet musk of wanting. Her panties are damp. Knowing this, my penis engorges more. My dick protests the teasing with twitches but tonight I have a partner enjoying my play. Rough lace grates against my tongue while I lick the silk border denying me her nectar. Her grip in my hair tightens and pulls me in.
My hips rock doing what they know brings relief. Having a partner makes this torture bearable. Time for those black lacy panties to come off. Combing my hands up her thighs, wrapping lace around my wrists, I bring the barrier of silk down to her ankles. She leaves them there, shackling her legs. Nose first in between her middle my tongue reaches for salt honey.
But Lady Alene has more control than I think. Her hips tilt away, making my dessert more difficult to fish out. “You will make me cum too soon.”
“Isn’t that the goal.” I grab her behind and shove my face deeper. I taste the curry tang she tries to deny me. I can barely breathe. When I do, my lungs fill with her.
My ego is a balloon growing larger with every moan and cry. She uses my face to manipulate that outside button of nerves while my wild kissing continues along the lips of her vaginal opening.
It’s good to know my beak nose pleases someone.
Air is a scarce commodity. I’d rather suffocate than interrupt this sweet triumph. Proving a lady wrong, in this fashion, is worth the price. Yes, I can make a woman cum.
She cries that final shout of victory. The cry of finishing first over the cross line of orgasm. If my head wasn’t buried between her legs, I’d swear she threw wine in my face. A deluge of cum hits me. I smile at the winning ticket. Lady Alene is mine.
I stand and wipe my face. She takes it as her cue to fall into my arms. Holding the boneless lady, I sweep her up and head to the bedroom. Somewhere between there and the hallway her panties drop free of her ankles.
When we land on a soft down comforter, I pull away. Breathless, with want I am sure, she focuses on me. Yet that soft understanding still remains. Unable to wait any longer, I guide myself in between her legs. My entry is met without resistance to a slick welcome, and I pump like a fevered rabbit.
All thoughts become a vacuum, replaced by the ultimate pleasure of reckless abandon. I moan in frantic breaths. Screams of ecstasy deplete my control as my climax nears.
Bending my knees, I lift her horizontally in the sitting position where her melon tits bounce in my face. Wrapping my arms around her, I keep her in place while I drive in and out with the force of an elephant and the speed of a cheetah.
I feel only the need to please myself and not worry for another. Still, I control myself a little to see if I can gain the satisfaction and added sensation of her second orgasm.
Driving in hard and deep, she wraps her legs around my ass. Letting go of all control, I pound faster, harder. I feel like a lion fucking the land I survey. All of it is mine.
The walls of her vagina clench, and I lose and gain all my senses. Lose them to the outside world. Gain them to hone in on every nerve in my body. I am elemental fire. She is elemental water rushing a tidal wave over me. My balls tingle. The point of no return. My body takes full control, and I relax allowing my gyrating hips to break me over into bliss.
Lady Alene gives me that extra bonus I was looking for, and I return her cries. I can feel the rise of pressure. That moment where a man locks in position by nature’s command and spills cum into whatever vessel he's chosen.
My moan turns into something louder at each pump, and by the end of my orgasm, I scream at the last push of ecstasy.
Floating in my own area of nothingness, all the muscles in my body ache in a pleasure worth the depletion. Exhausted and elated, I look down, expecting a different face than I see. I cover my shock well, but not my crest fallen mood and flop down on top of Lady Alene.
She wraps her smooth arms around me and kisses my ear.
I cling tightly to her, and everything I’d been holding back for nearly over a year rushes forward, overcoming my defenses. Unable to stop, I completely let go and sob into Lady Alene's luxurious hair.
She kisses me on the parts of my face that aren’t buried in her.
I didn't know what to do with my hands and arms, so I keep moving them around. I can't fight the rush of feelings shoved down inside, trying to get out.
All of my frustration and anger gushes out. What's left is the desolation of truth. I'm not holding my wife. Dregs of pleasure sour into guilt. Fucking another woman wouldn't have brought this kind of guilt. I made love to Lady Alene. I gave her my all. The fact turned my wife's death concrete. Wandering hands turn into clutching desperation. I endure in this hell, waiting until the wave passes.
"Brave one, you've been so strong." Her voice is soft against the reality.
I can't stop it. The rush of unexamined emotion flows up my chest, inflames my throat and finds every outlet available. They say tears are the heart's pain in physical form. My heart physically expels everything I’ve tried to hold onto. Frustration, anger,self-loathing. All of it swept in the current of forgiving arms. All the strength holding the bitterness has drained away with my orgasm.
"Fuck..." I blather out.
Here I was, releasing everything in front of a complete stranger. But, I realize she wasn't. She knew me the moment I walked in. She knew I was a Bass drinker. She saw my pain like the light of day. Knowing I sought more than just a physical release, she gave me what I needed. She is either a mind reader or I am just that obvious.
Her warmth keeps me steady. Her arms are the gauze holding me together while I fall apart inside and out. I wail harder, clutching her the same way I want to hold my wife, knowing safety for the first time in months.
It takes me a while to cry all of it out. Both the hurt of letting go and hope of replacing toxin with medicine leave me an empty shell.
Lady Alene continues to stroke the back of my neck during the lowest moment I’d ever felt. This place is a safe haven. A refuge. Deep in my core something starts to heal. Not my heart. Not yet. I will always miss Tasha. But I can go on now. Someday, I might meet another woman. A woman like Lady Alene.
I lift my chest realizing I might be crushing my beautiful savior.
Compassion fills her eyes. She softly brushes the tears from my eyes.
"Better?" Her fingers play through my hair.
Grateful for her strength not to display pity, I give her a slow, lingering kiss.
In my younger days, I could do this all again. Instead, I bring her with me as I roll on my back.
I sleep the rest of the night in peace.
When I started, I noticed a theme occurring in my writing. It was about things I wanted to talk about, but didn't know how. Spreading my short stories out as a whole I realized I was a not "normal" girl trying to work in the confines of a "normal" world. I have now realized the un-normal is me and I'm just fine! I might push the limits of acceptable concepts in my writing, but that's why I write. The Shorts-off series are stories that explore relationships and human behavior. I love reader input so don't be shy about leaving me a message. Contact me here on my blog or my Facebook at:
If you want to know when more of my stories are released, join my exclusive readers group at:
Thank you! I hope you enjoyed Lady Alene and the Widower.
Excerpt for “But For You, Yes”
The Taboo Fiction story you'll receive when joining my readers group!
Copyright © 2012 S.N. McKibben
“Can I ask you a question?” I posed in the bed with my muscled arm flexed holding up my head. Thoughts swam around in my mind about how I should ask my girlfriend of six months my deal breaker question.
She rolled over slowly, staring at me with that oh-so-familiar serious look. Melonie was the intuitive type. She always knew when I wasn’t joking and when my jokes had truth to them. It made her an invaluable companion, along with her olive skin, ebony hair, and eyes with the power of a black hole. That combination of hers never failed to get me to “rise” to any occasion she wanted. Plenty of those occasions were kinky enough to make me have hope that this relationship could go much further than ones in the past and fulfill my sexual perverseness.
“What do think about back-door love?” I thought I was being as suave as possible about the subject but wasn’t reassured by her giggles and shaking head.
She climbed over me, pinned a kiss on my forehead and sauntered out of the bedroom. I lay there wondering what she had implied.
Damn woman, that wasn’t an answer. Again, her intuitive nature deflected my question. A metallic squeak followed by hissing water from the bathtub rang like a mating call. Excited that this may be a “yes” to my real question, I flung the covers over and strode to the shower.
She was already in, bent over adjusting the temperature, when I pushed the curtain aside and hopped in behind her. That friendly pull from my groin started the blood flowing, and I stroked myself in anticipation. Melonie straightened and turned to face me, “No.”
Her tone of finality shocked me. She was always the one to coherece me into nerve-wracking situations when it came to hot monkey sex. And she was telling me “no” for the first time. I caressed her smooth arms, “No to shower sex, or no to the other question?”
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