Favorite Chair

Favorite Chair By Jet Mykles

©2008 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

“There you are!” Patrick looked up from the toolbox, distracted from his search for his favorite socket wrench. There, in the open front of his workshop stood Linnie, his insane next-door neighbor. Okay, maybe she wasn’t insane, but she was one of those people who wasn’t far from it. She sure was pretty to look at, though, especially when, as currently, she was wearing tight little cut-off shorts and one of those stretchy, shiny tank tops in vivid orange. The tank hugged her gorgeous little breasts just perfectly and the cheerleader legs extending from those shorts had starred in more than one of his late night fantasies. Tossing back her loose wealth of nearly crimson curls, she hurried toward him, her flip-flops slapping on the cement floor. Her little hands reached out to grab his arm, heedless of the sawdust that coated the hair on his arm. “I need your help.” Her big green eyes were wide with concern. Unthinking, he grabbed her elbow. “What’s wrong?” She tugged his arm. “Come with me.” He hurried after her, so caught up that he barely paused to enjoy the sway of her rounded ass as she led him through the break in the hedges between their houses and into her side door. Evidently, no one else was home, which wasn’t odd for a Saturday afternoon. Her sister, with whom she lived, worked down near the beach and frequently didn’t get home until after sundown on the weekends. “Linnie, what’s wrong?” he asked as she hurried through the kitchen to the hall and the green carpeted stairs that led up to the bedrooms. Although he’d been in the house many times, he hadn’t ventured into the upper regions of the house for many years. Not since they were kids. That had been no man’s land since he’d hit puberty, a rule laid down by Linnie and Debbie’s father.

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*2* “Come,” she insisted, beckoning him from halfway up the staircase before she disappeared completely. Helpless, he grabbed the banister, took a deep breath, and followed. Mr. Tanner didn’t live in the house anymore but the ominous parental presence lingered in Patrick’s mind. But, he’d never been able to deny Linnie when she needed his help. When he reached the top, he was assaulted with the smells of an all female household. Competing floral scents poured out of the open door of the pink bathroom to his left and a pall of vanilla clouded his senses from a potpourri dish on a delicate glass table on the landing. “In here,” her voice came from an open door through which he only saw cream colored carpeting and the dark orange corner of a frilly bed. Her bedroom. He knew that. He’d been in it before, when they were kids, when the walls had been wallpapered with pink bunnies. Her window was also directly across from the guest bedroom of his house. He’d never admit to it aloud, but during high school he’d had occasion to creep into the dark room at night with hopes of glimpsing her. He’d occasionally been rewarded and those images had fueled fantasies for years. Steeling himself, he took the steps that brought him to the threshold of heaven. The sight before him was odd enough that it took him a confused moment to figure it out. Linnie sat cross-legged in the middle of her carpet, her back to the window that poured bright sunlight down on her hair, making the curls bloody red as they spilled over her bare shoulders. She had a mass of hot pink, see-through plastic in her hands that looked like one of those blow-up toys, half inflated. The pouting look she gave him would have rivaled any two year old’s. “I popped it. Can you fix it for me?” Like a moth to the flame of those curls, he carefully stepped toward her, conscious of the dusty state of his workboots and the sweaty smell of himself. Seemed downright sacrilegious to be walking in her bedroom in such a state, but her helpless entreaty drew him. Easing down on his knees, he held out his hand. “What is it?” She shoved the plastic into his grasp. “My chair.” Curious, he turned over the plastic. “What’re you doing with a kid’s blow-up chair?” “It’s not a kid’s chair,” she muttered. A lot of the pink stuff remained in her lap as he studied it. A section of it seemed heavier than the rest, but he figured that was a lump of the plastic all stuck together. “Do you know where it burst?” She grappled the plastic, turning it over some more until she found the spot. “There.” Along one of the seams, a tear had started. “Can you fix it?”

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*3* He reached up to scratch his skull, stopping when he saw the dust scattering from his short blond hair. “I think we’ve got some of those patches out back. The kind that come with pool rafts.” Eagerly, she nodded. “Will that work?” He shrugged. “It should. Won’t be the same color, tho.” “That’s okay. Oh, can we go check?” “Sure.” Gathering the plastic to her chest and cradling like a darling pet, she stood. Unless he wanted to sit there and ogle her smooth, bare legs–which he did, but he shouldn’t–he had no choice but to stand and walk out of heaven with the prettiest of angels following at his heels. He had her wait for him in the den while he want to the small shack out back to one corner of the pool. Took him a bit, but he found a dusty patch kit, still sealed in its own plastic, and brought it back to the sunny room that faced the pool. She again sat on the floor with the plastic in her lap, idly flipping through channels on the television. When he got back, she promptly turned it off. “Evelyn’s not here?” she asked, thrusting the plastic into his lap when he sat on the rug before her. “She’s staying with Ma this weekend,” he said, setting the patch down on the rug beside him as he turned over the plastic to look for the hole. “She…” His world froze. He finally figured out why one part of the chair was oddly heavy. Not all of it was the inflatable plastic. One part of it was cylindrical, about seven inches long and an inch and a half around, made of hard plastic. Rounded at the end. Shape was familiar. It couldn’t be what he was thinking. He heard her giggle but couldn’t tear his eyes from the thing in his lap. “Now you know why I couldn’t get anyone else to help me with this.” He swallowed. “Is that…?” “A dildo. Yeah.” A dildo. A big, hard, pink dildo, complete with molded veins, stuck to what looked like the seat of her chair. “What…?” Another giggle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her rock back, hands gripping her knees so that she rolled back forward like a weeble. “It’s my favorite-ist chair in the world. Please fix it for me.”

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*4* Stunned, he raised his gaze to look at her. She beamed at him. He’d known Linnie most of his life. She was one of his sister Evelyn’s best friends and their parents were as close as people could be. She and her sister had lived next door to them for years. Like he and his sister, they had continued to live in their parents’ house when both sets of parents had decided to live in one of those swanky old folks’ communities. He had always harbored a crush for Linnie. He knew. She knew. Everyone knew. But he kept it to himself and she never teased him about it. Until now. He frowned and looked back down at the plastic. Fine. Tamping his anger, he turned over the plastic, hiding the dildo from view. He knew she wasn’t a virgin. Lost it to that prick Howard Parks on prom night her senior year of high school. In the following two years, she’d hardly been a saint. He knew this even though he’d only recently moved back home to stay after living away during his four years of college. He wasn’t a virgin either and he could handle this. Making no further comment, he found the rent in the plastic. He tore open the patch kit with his teeth and dumped the contents onto the rug while holding the pink mess in his lap. The dildo poked at his thigh, mocking him. “Patrick?” “Yeah?” He didn’t look at her, busy peeling the protective paper from the adhesive blue patch. “You mad at me?” “No. Why’d I be mad?” “I dunno.” Her voice was soft. “You seem mad.” “’M not.” She watched in silence as he carefully spread the patch over the hole. “Patrick?” “It’s done.” Without meeting her eyes, he held the plastic out to her. Pause. He glanced up to see her chewing on one corner of her plump bottom lip, a habit he’d always found heartbreakingly endearing. Her eyes were on his face, not on her toy, green irises darting back and forth as she studied him. He shook the plastic at her. “Here.” “Blow it up for me?”

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*5* “God damn it!” He threw the deflated chair to the rug and shoved to his feet. “Don’t tease me like this, Linnie.” She scrambled up beside him, grabbing his arm. “Patrick, wait!” “No.” He pulled his arm but she hung on like a kitten with its claws in his mother’s curtains. “I’ll put up with a lot from you but not this.” “Wait!” Knowing he wouldn’t hurt her, she clung, winding both arms around his bicep to press it between her soft little breasts. “You’re getting this all wrong.” “Let go, Linnie, I’m all sweaty and dirty.” “I know.” Her breathy tone and half-closed eyes gave him pause. With a helpless little mewl, she dropped her forehead against his shoulder, which was as high up as she went when they were both standing. “God, I messed this all up.” She squeezed harder. “Patrick, I wasn’t meaning to tease you.” “Coulda fooled me.” “Okay, okay, I meant to tease you a little, but…” She hung on when he tried to pry away again, her head coming up so those amazing green eyes again held him spellbound. “Only at first. I want you, Patrick, I just…” she lost some of her nerve and ducked her head again, pressing her cheek to his bare arm, “I just wasn’t sure how to let you know.” His thoughts just plain stopped, crashed into a wall like he’d seen in car testing videos. “What?” She wiggled against him, making him aware that she’d managed to get her hips near his thigh. He wasn’t sure when she’d wrapped one slim ankle around his shin, but there it was. “I want you.” She inhaled deeply, moaning a little, “sweaty, dusty and all.” A lock of her hair brushed the front of his tank top. “But…?” His gaze landed on the abandoned pink lump on the floor. “The chair?” “A joke. Kinda. It is my favorite chair and I did burst it.” She wiggled again. “I was riding it, pretending it was you.” His knees actually wobbled, nearly toppling them both over. Anxious, he reached out to grip the end of the couch to regain his balance. “What?” One small, short nailed hand unwound from his arm and reached up to stroke the left side of his chest. The hair matted between tank and skin seemed to come alive at her touch, teasing him with sweet, soft warmth. “It’s true. I won it at Veronica’s bachelorette party last month. I’ve been riding it a lot, thinking it was you.” He shook his head, reaching up to grip her wrist before she found his nipple. “You never told me.”

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*6* “’Course not, silly. I was too embarrassed. But this afternoon, with everyone else gone, when it popped, I just…” She nuzzled his arm. “I’m sick of pretending it’s you. I want the real thing.” “Linnie, if this is a joke, I’ll never forgive you.” She finally let go of his arm and unwound her ankle so she could step around in front of him. “It’s not a joke.” He knew her serious face and that was the one she wore. Linnie had a joking streak in her, but she wasn’t cruel and he couldn’t believe that she’d hurt him that bad. He still held her slim wrist. Without conscious thought, he used the hold to draw her in. Bending his neck, he brought his lips close to hers. His heart nearly burst to see her willingly tilt her head back, offering her mouth to his. “Linnie,” he breathed, closing the small distance to his soft destination. Plush and warm, her lips parted beneath his, her tongue darting out to meet his. She tasted of strawberry lemonade and sweet woman. A delicious moan bled from her throat as she pressed into him, her free hand spanning over his heart as she tipped her head to the side to allow him better access. He took it, unconsciously wrapping a hand around her waist to pull her flush up against him. Her warm body felt oh so good against his, but the contact reminded him of the state of his own skin. He pulled away and had to pry her hands from him when she whimpered and tried to stay in the kiss. “Linnie, stop. I’m filthy.” She strained against the hands he had binding her wrists, a heavy fall of crimson hair falling over half her face as she struggled. “I don’t care.” “I do.” With a huff that sent the hair flying from her face, she stopped struggling. For a moment, she looked up at him, lust darkening her endless, emerald eyes. “I want you, Patrick. Now.” He had to smile. “I want you too. But I want to be clean when we do this the first time.” She actually shivered, grinning happily. “’Kay. Can I watch you shower?” “No.” She pouted. “Why not?” He felt the heated flush on his neck and cheeks and ducked his head. “Just… no.” Releasing her wrists, he stepped back.

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*7* Incorrigible, she stepped forward, pressing herself against him. This time one of those hot little hands pressed his cock through his jeans. “Mmmm, but you’re so sexy when you’re all dirty and sweaty.” Hastily, he stumbled back. “Hey, stop that.” Wearing an evil grin, she stalked him as he backed toward the hallway and the stairs. “Not a chance. I’m gonna eat you up.” His eyes went wide. In all his imaginings of the many different ways she might eventually come to want him, this particular scenario wasn’t even close to matching them. Backed up against the bannister, he held out a hand, palm toward her. “Stop.” She did, but looked ready to pounce. Her gaze raked him up and down, pausing significantly just below his belt buckle. He swallowed in a dry throat. “I’m gonna go take a quick shower.” She cocked and eyebrow, some wicked thought occurring to her. Seemingly obedient, she stood up, crossing her arms across her chest. “Okay. But make it fast.” He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” Hurriedly, he spun and took the stairs three at a time. Stupid! He riled at himself as he grabbed a cleanish pair of jeans from the dresser drawer in his room and sped into the bathroom. She’ll be gone by the time you get out. But he meant what he said. Much as he wanted to take her before she changed her mind, he didn’t want to take her covered in cedar dust. He washed as fast as he was able, but he’d been cutting wood for hours and was coated in a fine layer of dust and grime. He had to wash his short hair twice before it rinsed clean and he wouldn’t leave the shower stall until the water swishing down the drain at his feet was clear. At last he was done and he toweled off quickly. His skin was still damp when he jumped into his jeans, carefully tucking his raging hard on behind his button fly before he finally went to open the door. All the blood rushed from his head into his cock at the sight he saw. “Jesus Christ!” There she sat, naked, in the middle of his queen-sized bed. Her knees were bent, her back arched, her hands braced on the green and blue bedspread behind her feet. The pink chair, half inflated, was trapped between taut thighs. Her head was thrown back, crimson hair brushing her shins, as she rocked her hips. Mesmerized, he stepped toward her to get a better look at what little was visible of the pink dildo that was embedded within the prettier pink folds of her sex. Her head came up and she regarded him through half closed eyes. “I couldn’t wait.” Speechless, he took in the sight of her. He’d always known that his little angel was much more of a mischievous devil, but she was proving it to him now. Her pert little

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*8* breasts swayed as she rocked, the surprisingly large rose-colored nipples swollen at the hard peaks. A fine sheen of sweat made her skin shine in the light from the window, sweet caramel where she was tanned and vanilla warm where her bikini had protected her more private parts. Private parts she now eagerly displayed for him. Bracing her weight on one hand, she brought the other up and reached for him. “Patrick, help me.” Swallowing, he knelt on the edge of the bed, hands hovering, unsure. “Help you what?” She grinned. “Help me come.” Delighted, he matched her grin. He made so bold as to reach out to take her hips in his hands, feeling the rock of her bones underneath his palms. “How do you want me to help you?” Her hand latched onto his bare shoulder, fingers digging in. It was quickly followed by the other hand on his other shoulder so that he was now supporting most of her negligible weight. “Any way you want,” she gasped, jerking her hips hard. “Touch me.” So many choices on where to start! He thought fast, then leaned into her. “Lay back.” She let him lower her to her back, her head coming to rest in a cloud of crimson curls on his pillow. How many times had he wanted to see this? “Patrick!” she groaned when he hesitated too long. “Sorry.” He braced over her, breathing softly over her lips. “You’re too beautiful. I have to look at you.” She groaned, digging her fingernails into his shoulders. “Look later. Touch now!” He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” He kissed her, but realized right off the bat that while she liked it, that’s not what she wanted. It was actually really easy to read her. At least, he hoped he was reading her right. No way to tell but to do. She sure as hell would stop him if he went astray. He trailed wet kisses down her throat, tonging her fluttering pulse. He let his hands slide down her sides, back to her still rocking hips. Her knees were fully bent, her heels up by her butt, but she was clearly comfortable. It reminded him of her cheerleader days, which just made him harder. He was really touching her! He was tasting the hollow of her throat. She was letting him nibble at the swell of one sweetly fragrant breast and she moaned, grabbing his head when he finally reached a nipple. Linnie’s nipple. In his mouth. Linnie’s little body, writing beneath him. Linnie’s hips, riding a pink dildo. Okay, he had to fix that part.

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*9* In a second. First, the other nipple, a little candied nub between his teeth. Who knew she’d shake like that if he batted at it with his tongue? Would she do that when he sucked on her clit? Only one way to find out. Eager, he tried to contain himself as he left her breast and licked a path down her softly rounded belly to the neatly trimmed curls above her sex. Much darker here, a few shades lighter than her natural brown. Not that he didn’t like the red, but he ached with pleasure to nuzzle her here, inhaling her scent over the smell of the plastic and latex. Nose buried in curls, he lapped down with his tongue, nudging the hood that protected her clit. Her hips jerked, a moan tearing from her throat. Smiling, he spread his palms on her thighs and pressed them farther open. He took a moment to watch the thick pink invader slip a little from her folds, bringing with it a wash of fragrant wet. Her clit burst forth from his protective hood, shiny and swollen and begging for his kiss. Who was he to deprive it? Savoring the moment, he pursed his lips and slowly sucked her in. Small, strong fingers combed through his hair. “Paaaatriiiick!” Now that was music for his soul. He thanked her for it by lapping at her swollen nub, drinking in her juices. “Oh, God, yes! Patrick, yes!” She writhed underneath him but the position of her legs kept her mostly trapped. He kept his hands on her thighs and angled his head, making a meal of her. After a moment of tasting, he growled and reached down to pull out the dildo. “Ungh!” she protested. He tossed the plastic aside, heedless of her cry. With demanding hands, he moved her legs, bending her knees properly so he could settle between her thighs and angle her hips in order to get his whole mouth over her weeping sex. “Oh, yes!” Her thighs pressed his cheeks, her heels digging into the middle of his back. Desperate hands shoved in his hair. He was aware of all this on the outskirts of his thoughts but his attention was centered on the delicacy in his mouth and the sweet, swollen tissues he explored with his tongue. “Patrick, God! Patrick, yes!” A flood of warmth bathed his tongue as he wormed it as far as he could into her clutching center. He had to hold her hips had as she thrashed beneath him, crying out and scratching the back of his neck. The barely suppressed screams of her orgasm spurred him on and he was determined that he was going to devour her until she made him stop.

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* 10 * Which she eventually did. After two shaking climaxes, she clutched his hair, yanking. “Stop.” Her breathless plea made his heart pound. No, his heart had been pounding, supplying blood to the neglected erection he pressed into the mattress. Looking up, he was mesmerized by the haphazard fall of red curls over one side of her face, the one green eye he could see simmering with lust. She sat up, forcing him to his knees. Cupping his jaw, she wiped at her juices covering his skin and guided his lips to hers. He groaned when she lapped at his lips, tasting herself. “Fuck me,” she whispered. Licking him, kissing him, she drew away to demand it again. “Fuck me, Patrick.” Hearing the growl in his own throat, he pulled away. “God, I hope I have a condom.” As he stood, hands at the waistband of his jeans, she rolled over toward the edge of the bed. He shucked his jeans and she snatched up her shorts. Quick fingers dug a packet our of one of her pockets. “I’ve got condoms,” she announced triumphantly, sitting up. Her gaze dropped to his cock. “Oh man!” Pride swelled his dick further, making it twitch and stand just a little bit more. “Oh man,” she continued to stare, dropping the condoms on the bed beside her. “Have I been missing that all this time?” “Yep.” Grinning, he knelt on the bed and picked up one of the packets. She reached out to wrap a hand around his cock, making him pause. “How stupid am I?” He had no answer for her other than a sigh of appreciation as she stroked him. “I’m sorry, Patrick,” she whispered, lips brushing the hair over his right nipple. “I’m sorry I made you wait.” She lapped at his nipple. “I promise to make it up to you.” Heart swelling to match his cock, he wrapped his arms around her, needing to hold her close, not quite believing she was real. She held him back, nuzzling his chest, stroking his cock. Not until he felt the coolness of latex at the tip of his cock did he realize that she’d picked up the other condom and was smoothing it on him. When he looked down at her, she smiled, nipped his chin, then leaned back out of his embrace. He let her go, watching her sink back into his pillows. She held out her arms. “I want you inside me.” Eager to comply, he lowered himself over her, settling into the cradle of her hips. Reaching down, he settled his cock at her entrance. In his fantasies, he’d never been quite sure that her tiny body could accommodate him. After seeing her with the dildo, he

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* 11 * knew she’d have no problem. Watching her face, watching her watch him, he eased into her in one, slow push. Pleasure flushed her cheeks and shuttered her eyes, but she kept them open, matching his smile as they finally became one. “You feel so good,” she sighed, wrapping her legs around his waist. “So do you.” She wound her arms around his neck, drawing him in. “Make me fly, Patrick.” Groaning, he had to force aside many memories of when they were kids and he’d swung her around by the arms. That was certainly not what she meant now! He pulled back and thrust in again, swallowing her squeal and topping it with a groan of his own. Her hands cupped the back of his head, her breasts crushed beneath his chest. He cradled her back with his hands, holding her firmly while pushing his cock to the hilt in her warmth. She met him thrust for thrust, proving all over again that she was stronger and more sturdy than she looked. She growled and clawed, spitting like a cat and throwing her head back when he evidently hit a good spot. “More!” she demanded and he gave her all he could, bracing his legs so he could slam into her like he always wanted. He was grunting like an animal but that was okay because she was growling like one. When she came, she clutched at him with arms, legs and pussy, swallowing him as best her little body could. It was plenty to force his poor helpless cock to burst and spill its load into the condom’s reservoir tip. He collapsed, panting, atop her, holding himself on his elbows as best he could to avoid smothering her. She made it difficult, though, pulling him down, whimpering until he finally gave in and let her have his weight. Grunting like a happy little piglet, she wiggled and wrapped him in warmth, smoothing her hands over his back. “Patrick.” “Huh?” She giggled. “You’re better than my favorite chair.”

*~*~* THE END *~*~*

http://pinkchairdiaries.com/2008/04/26/favorite-chair/

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