I chuckled again and said, “Google,” with a Groucho Marx eyebrow waggle.
“Jesus,” she said, and kissed me.
“Wanna do it again?” I asked, allowing my hand to trace lightly up her back.
She shuddered and said, “Yes, but I don’t think we should. Christ, I think I’m already addicted.”
“I think you’re right,” I said and used my hand to guide her with gentle pressure to roll into her belly.
It took my breath away.
I very lightly traced each of the dark red rectangles where the belt had strapped her and left the marks on the ridges of her back muscles and then the pink welt across her ass.
She shivered.
“Does that hurt?” I asked, the monster inside hoping the answer was “Yes.”
“Yes,” she said, “but it feels good too. Oh, Jesus, I am crazy.”
I laughed and said, “Okay, enough for now.”
I rolled quickly out of bed, pulled on my shorts and jeans, and went downstairs.
I grabbed the broom and dustpan and went over the floor to get the broken glass up and make the floor safe to walk on.
Then I got a glass of iced tea from the refrigerator, picked up my little Google Chromebook, and went into the front room, and turned on the television to check on Fox News and see who we were at war with today.
I checked my Gmail account and ran through the normal bullshit. I glanced at my regular Day by Day cartoon by Chris Muir, a couple of emails notifying me that someone had liked my recent comment on The Daily Caller, announcements for extended car warranties, and an announcement from the local Lowe’s that I could get 25 percent off any purchase over $500.
And then I saw it. The email address was [email protected] and the subject line was “Ideas.”
I was grinning as I opened the email and then started smiling as I looked at the images she sent.
The first was Mom’s right breast. I recognized it, the shape of the breast and nipple. Launching off of the nipple was a Monarch butterfly that looked so damn realistic you expected it to take off. It was beautiful.
The next half dozen images expanded on the theme. The next one showed a plant, Google Lens told me it was a milkweed plant, with what I assumed was a chrysalis on it. The plant ran around the outside of her breast. In the third one, the plant, the milkweed, ran around from the bottom of her breast where a caterpillar in green and brown stripes looked to be chewing on a leaf. The fourth had the milkweed wrapping completely around her breast. The end of the plant, with something suggesting roots, started just below her nipple. If you looked closely you could see tiny white dots that I presumed were eggs and as you followed the plant around you could see tiny caterpillars and the the larger one from the previous picture to the chrysalis to the butterfly.
It was fucking gorgeous.
I was admiring it when I heard Mom in the kitchen, presumably getting a cup of coffee. I met her as she was coming into the living room and said, “Come with me.”
In the bathroom, I said, “Flash me your right tit.”
She giggled and lifted the long T-shirt she sometimes wore as a sort of housedress.
I held the image I had printed out in front of her breast and watched her reaction in the mirror.
Her eyes got big and then her smile got big.
“Oh. My. God,” she said, doing her best Valley Girl voice, making each word a separate sentence.
“I think I have to have it,” I said.
“Ummmm,” she said, “I’ll be the one getting it.”
“And it’ll hurt,” I said, chuckling.
“When can we start?” she asked.
“I’ll call Valerie,” I said.
Leave a Reply