This short story contains language and material that some readers may find challenging and/or offensive. You have been warned.
Letters, Read Just One Last Time
Letter #2: Penny for Rita
I rolled to one side on the ground and despite my pain and fear of you I yelled “Bastard!” at your back as you stormed off down the path.
There was a sharp intake of breath behind me and a quiet voice, her voice. “Oh No! Joe, I’m so terribly sorry!”
I got up. My knees were like jelly from the low punch, but she helped me back into the house and sat me on a chair by the kitchen table. She filled the kettle for some tea, then sat opposite me.
She nodded sadly “We had a row. I called him a pig.”
Her dark eyes flickered anxiously over my face, seeing my pain, and her red lips were slightly open, giving a glimpse of her small white teeth. She softly bit her lip as she looked at me, and I had sight of her small pink tongue. I slowly worked my way through the biscuit.
She helped me up the stairs and into my room, pulling my shoes off and lifting my legs onto the bed.
I felt her move forward, and could feel her gentle breath on my face. I opened my eyes and looked straight into hers, inches away. She kissed me. A gentle fluttering on my lips and a tantalising probe of her sweet tongue in my mouth, then she moved her face back a few inches again and spoke, her hand still gently caressing my stomach.
She climbed gently on top of me and guided me inside her, then slowly began to move over me. It was the first time for me, and the feel of her silky vagina firmly around me, her so-smooth thighs either side of me, and the touch of her nipples on my chest as she leaned forward and kissed me, was almost to much. Waves of ecstasy gripped me, and threatened to end things swiftly, so I concentrated on trying to give her pleasure. I ran my hands down her sides and up, over her buttocks before continuing on and up her back. She moaned softly.
She thrust her tongue deep inside my mouth as her movements became more urgent. I opened my eyes to see hers open too, very close to me. Her pupils were dilated almost fully, and her eyes were blacker then I’d ever seen them before.
Suddenly she pushed herself upright on me and I felt her grip me even tighter as the first contractions of her orgasm took her over. Her head went back and the soft moans became louder until she started screaming. I held her waist with both hands and concentrated on penetrating her as deep as I could. She moaned my name. “Joe. Joe. More, please. More.”
I thrust my hips up and into her and she screamed again. “Yes. Yes. I love you.” Then suddenly she was quiet. Then a rattle in her throat followed by a deafening roar and she fell forward onto me smothering my face with kisses. I kept moving and let the pleasure take me over, burying my face in her neck as I screamed in painful ecstasy.
We both became still and she carefully rolled off me and lay beside me, her arm and leg covering me, her mouth close to my ear.
We were sat at the kitchen table drinking tea when you came back.
I stood and she reached across my front and lifted my shirt, exposing the large suffused bruising.
She was relentless. “Well? Nothing to say big man? Is that how you take care of your little brother? Beating him, because you were angry with me?”
With that, she turned and embraced me, whispering “Tomorrow teatime please.” in my ear. I nodded and she left, not giving you a second glance.
I sat down and poured myself another mug of tea, then looked across at you. Tears were pouring down your face. In all of the 14 years I had known you, I had never seen you cry, lately, that was usually me. I found it strangely moving and I actually felt sorry for you and wanted to comfort you. I didn’t. Instead I got up and brought another mug, then poured some tea, and placed it in front of you.
I half-expected an angry side-swipe of your arm to knock the mug flying, but you reached out and lifted it to your lips and sipped the hot tea. We sat in silence, and you finally put the mug down. Only then did you look at me.
I fought back the tears welling in my own eyes, and also the compassion I felt for you, and said quietly. “Don’t be sorry Terry. Just never do it again.”
You shook your head. “Joe. What am I going to do?”
You reached out your hand palm up across the table and I took it, gripping it firmly with my own. “I’ll see what I can do” you said.
She opened the door and recognition flashed across her face, together with a delighted grin.
“Joe! Hello stranger! What can I do for you?”
“Who the Hell are you?”
Letter #2: Penny for Rita is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between characters in the story, and real persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.