Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #23
…Ferrell’s Folly – The Tail Wagging the Dog…
“Go into the bedroom and turn down the bed.” A spell has come over him, all of his senses vacating the premises. “I will towel off.”
He grabs a robe, which just so happens to be Martha’s, but it could well have been burlap instead of silk, for all he knows. Turning the corner into the bedroom, he sees Laura waiting nervously, seated with back facing him.
“Please stand up. I want to see you.”
Laura stands, slowly turning like a model at a Paris fashion show.
“You look absolutely lovely, Laura.” Amazingly, he is still picturing Martha in the dress. It will indeed fit and she will be just as beautiful in it.
“I think we should redo the bed,” she says, a last gasp at reversing this trend.
“Let me help you out of that dress.” He lights up at the chance. “There must be twenty of these pearls. How did you ever get them all fastened?” A girls’ secret.
One by one, slowly savoring each, John makes his way to the very small of her back, lightly kissing her soft shoulders, the skin of a servant never stepping into the toughening sun of the laborers’ field. From the clavicle to the crevasse of her young spine, he gently attends to every square inch.
She is relaxed to that fabled melting point threshold. He has adroitly reached around her front to cup her delighted breasts, drawing her bottom against the extent of his manhood. For new sensations, she reacts with Mother Nature as her guide.
Laura’s ecstasy is so pure, untainted by previous pathetic partners of varying talent and enthusiasm; she reaches orgasm easily, while urging her boss to synchronize their pleasure. Together they erupt, Laura thrashing about with his mouth suctioning blood to the surface of her neck.
“Oooooooooooo……..ooohhh…………aaaaaaaaaahhhh,” she moans. Afterglow will soon set in, when she will take the memory of the experience and file it away, not wanting to let go of it.
John Ferrell’s “feeling” is best described as after-guilt. By stealing love in a moment of weakness, he has sacrificed pride and character for a filthy secret he now has to protect at all costs. He does, however, also protect this princess’ emotional well-being. There is no reason for her to suffer anguish at such a delicate time.
Princess Olla also spares John Ferrell his anguish, first by not clinging to that which she knows is not hers and secondly proceeding from this point in a professional manner. “I’ll be cleanin’ the beddin’, Joh__, I mean Master Ferrell.”
“You can call me John, Laura, but only we are alone,” he urges. “But not this alone, if you catch my drift.”
“I do, gracious master. And I want to thank you for your wonderful gift of love. I pray that I be meetin’ a man just like you. I always been thinkin’ that Miss Martha was the luckiest woman in the South… now I know.” She touches his cheek tenderly. “And the answer is yes.”
“I believe that dress will fit Miss Martha just fine,” she concludes, “but it’s most likely to BE a skinch tighter about her hips.”
That is what is called a zinger, but John takes it in the proper context; tush and touché.
Life goes on.
Alpha Omega M.D.