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                                                  ::

                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls

                                                  ::

Vanessa Cuyahoga is not a small woman, but her heels kicked off,
she only comes up to Marko Lappalainen's collarbone. And even
though she's supporting some of her weight with her bare feet
propped on the counter top, he holds the rest easily enough with
hands the size of soup plates under her thighs. She leans back
against his broad chest and reaches up and back with one hand to
stroke his cheek. Her eyes get wide as he lifts her, a little. Ah
ah, she says. Wait a minute. Wait for Timo.

Timo Lappalainen is three inches shorter and just as blue-eyed
and sandy-haired and naked as his brother. Grinning, he sidles
up, his back to the counter, ducks under one of those amazing
lean legs the flawless color of Danish wood, and stands up,
carefully, between them, facing her, his back to the counter. He
hooks hands only slightly smaller than soup plates under her
knees and pulls and lifts and leans down to swallow her mouth
with his. His cock, glaring purpled cockeye through a milky
membrane of latex, disappears under the hem of her glossy black
microskirt. Mmf, she says, pulling away from his lips. Wait, she
says, licking the dusting of golden stubble on his chin. Wait.
Let's get Marko in first.

She leans back against Marko, high enough now that her head
nestles comfortably between his cheek and shoulder. He hefts her
a little, and she giggles. No, she says. Ooh. Not, uh.

Um, he says.

Help him, she says to Timo. Reach under - there. Spread my -
that's it. That's it. Oh. Right there. Oh boy. Now. In. In. Push,
that's - oh. Oh, boy.

Ranh, says Marko.

Oh, you're in, she says. You're in. You're all the way in.

Hey, says Timo.

Just a, she says. Just a minute. Let me -

Come on, says Timo.

Get in there, says Marko.

Fuck, says Vanessa. Can't I just, just enjoy the moment?

But Timo's hands have already pushed up her skirt and there's her
pussy, the lips parted slightly, glistening in the sunlight. He
runs his fingers lightly along the skin above it, shaved smooth,
bare. Like a little girl's, he says, softly. Like a little
girl's.

Like a stripper's, says Marko.

Vanessa arches her back, the hem of her black satin camisole
riding up her taut belly. She tilts her head back to bite at
Marko's ear. Shut up, she says. She looks at Timo then, fixes his
pale blue gaze with hers, dark and steely. Well? she says. Well?
You wanna fuck this little girl? You gonna? You gonna fuck this
little girl?

He licks his lips.

Your brother's cock is already up my ass. All the way. You'd
better get inside now or this won't be a fair fight - and there's
Timo already grabbing her hips and ducking his knees a little.
She reaches down to spread herself, just enough, and as he slips
inside the most extraordinary look crosses his face. Vanessa
grins, and then the grin slides off as Marko shifts his weight,
as Timo pushes closer, squeezing her between them. Her eyelids
flutter over her eyes. Her lips tremble. Her toes curl, one foot
slipping a little on the slick tile edge of the counter. Oh, she
says, oh, oh boy, so full...

I can, says Timo. I can feel you.

Yes, says Marko. You can.

Okay, says Vanessa. Okay. Slow and easy to start. Lift, and -
work together. Lift, and -

Marko's hands shift, move down Vanessa's thighs a little as
Timo's squeeze the cheeks of her ass, wedged against his
brother's hips. They lift Vanessa a little, Marko grunting, and
she flexes her legs and swings forward a little and down, and
Timo groans. And again. Vanessa's holding onto Timo's shoulders,
squeezes them. And again.

Now, says Vanessa, now, you might think you've got an advantage
over Marko. You might think - oh, boy - you might think because
my ass is so tight that you've got an advantage over Marko. Oh.
That he can't - oh, like that, like that, yes - that he can't
hold out. But. But. Oh, boy, faster, a little faster, because.
Because. Because I can do things with my cunt -

- and a wave passes up Vanessa's body, rolling along her spine,
her tits slithering under the black satin cami as she looks up
past Marko's grimace into the light-washed ceiling and then back
down, down again to Timo, whose eyes have just crossed -

Of course, says Vanessa, of course, oh, it can't help but do
things to my, to my ass, too. It's all connected. It's all
connected. Faster. Faster. Come on, goddammit. Come on. I don't
care, I don't care which of you comes last, but. Oh, boy. Oh, oh
boy. But I'd damn well, damn well better come first...

Vanessa pumps her legs, controlling somewhat the thrusts up and
down, mitigating what the Lappalainen brothers do with their
hands and legs and hips. Her foot slips on the counter. Marko
catches her weight. Timo lifts, grunting. Vanessa plants it
again. Fucking. Fucking in the breakfast nook, a late-morning pot
of coffee steaming on the table beyond them, forgotten, next to
rolled-up plans, a scale model of a house, three or four low,
flat levels staggered down a molded hillside littered with tiny
trees like green spun sugar. Lots of clear plastic standing in
for floor-to-ceiling windows. A broad square pool ending like a
cliff, covered with a sheet of blue saran wrap for water, two
tiny figures as big as the first joint of your thumb lying beside
it in painted-on bikinis, blue and yellow. A Matchbox Audi in the
little driveway at the top of the hill, parked by a long low wall
made of thick white Bristol board.

Oh, says Vanessa with a grimace, oh boy, eyes squeezed shut as
her mouth drops open, panting shallowly, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh,
her legs folding and Marko moving with her squashing Timo,
groaning, against the counter, squashing Vanessa, oh, oh boy,
between them, oh, oh fuck! And Marko holds her, and Timo holds
her, and she shudders between them, her head lying back on
Marko's shoulder, one hand poised, fingers curling, by Timo's
head. Oh. Oh, boy. Fuck. Yeah. Fuck.

Well? says Marko, and he kisses her cheek.

Well? says Vanessa. Well? Well what? What? You tired? You want to
put me down?

No, says Marko, as Timo snorts. No.

Then come on, goddammit. Come on. Come on.

Vanessa kicks her legs against the counter and humps up and back
and down again, grinding between them, down and again, down and
again. Marko plants his legs, his bare ass quivering, thick
muscles taut as they thrust to meet Vanessa. Timo leans back,
butt against the counter, looking up as Vanessa hikes herself
forward to lick his nipple, to bite it as her nails dig red lines
into his shoulder. They fall into a fevered rhythm, panting, all
of them, harsh and noisily. Sweat slicks Vanessa's arms, her
throat, Marko's forehead, his back, Timo wipes it out of his eyes
quickly with a shaking hand and then back into the rhythm of it,
faster now, and faster. Leaning back now Vanessa reaches up for
the back of Marko's head and draws it down, his neck straining,
into a clumsy kiss. Syncopation. Then Marko hunches forward as
Vanessa tilts her head out of the way, looking sidelong down her
nose with a satisfied smile, her face still though her head still
bobs with the rhythm, as Marko's lips open like fingers to grasp
his brother's mouth, as his tongue licks Timo's lips, and Timo's
tongue, as Marko's teeth flash and as he takes his brother's
lower lip between them, pulling, and Timo groans, his fingers
clenching, grinding, his nails leaving red crescent moons along
the flesh of Vanessa's ass, and still Vanessa's smile does not
shift or alter in any way.

But it's Marko breaks the rhythm, it's Marko whose buttocks jerk
sharply, and again, whose knees threaten to buckle. Vanessa's
feet loose their purchase but she can't fall, not now. Borne up
on Marko's thrusts they lurch into Timo, his head back, whooping
even as his breath gets ragged, as some muscle in his throat
jerks, and jerks, and jerks again, like someone's flipping a
switch somewhere, on and off, on and off.

Vanessa's toes are touching the floor. Fingers of one hand spread
across the bare slick plank of Timo's chest, she absently kisses
his throat as he kisses his brother's mouth. Marko has let go her
thighs - it's their pelvises holding her up now, stilled, but
trembling - and one massive hand cups a tit, swallows it. Marko
kisses his brother's forehead and then rests his nose on the back
of Vanessa's head.

We should, says Timo.

Yes, says Marko.

What, ah, says Vanessa, lifting her mouth from Timo's neck. What
time is it?

Eleven thirty, says Marko. Possibly later.

Twenty of, says Timo.

Shit, says Vanessa. I've, uh - Marko ducks his knees a little,
pushes her hips - I've got a thing - there's Marko's condomed
cock, wet and shining, Timo grimaces, ducking, as Vanessa steps
away, and there's his, shining, wet...

The pool? says Marko, shovelling his damp cock into the black
jeans he's just tugged over his hips. The plans? They work for
you?

Vanessa looks up from working one bare foot into a narrow black
squared-off shoe. Settling her heel into it, frowning, she says,
The pool. And then walks across the nook to the table, past Timo,
naked, pouring himself some coffee. The pool, she says, is fine.

But? says Marko.

Vanessa's toying with the little figure just bigger than her
fingertip, the one in the painted-on blue bikini. If, she says,
you, either of you, lay a hand on one of my daughters. She looks
up, eyes cool and dark and clear, her mouth crooked a little at
the corners. You have the contract, she says. But if that
happens, anything like that, I'll see you crucified.

I'm sure, says Marko, we understand each other.

Vanessa hooks her thin black car coat up with one finger and
shrugs into it. It's got six brass buttons. Good, she says.

Your, uh, says Timo. Your panties?

Vanessa looks up from slipping the top button into its
buttonhole. Her eyebrows quirk up. She shoots a floppy cuff to
check her watch. She shakes her head. Keep them, she says.

And she leaves, slotting black Ray Bans over her eyes, sensible
heels clip-clopping on the red tile floor. Didn't even bother to
finishing buttoning her coat.

I'll take some of that coffee, says Marko.

                                                  ::
                                                
                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls
                                             an object lesson.001
                                                 
                                                          --n.
                                                  ::
                                                  
http://www.asstr.org/~nickurfe/
http://www.ruthiesclub.com/
nickurfe@yahoo.com

This story may be freely circulated by anyone, anytime, anywhere.

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