Free I Can Barely Breathe by August Verona Page A

his
strong shoulders, as her pelvis maneuvered him inside her, a neat
trick she’d picked up from two years’ worth of fucking. She moaned
when his manhood spread her open.
    They both knew sex after having a baby was a
luxury and fully intended to take advantage of their son’s deep
sleep.
    Tom’s lips sucked his wife’s nipple, and he
immediately felt her milk rush into his mouth. He drank from her
body, taking small mouthfuls, then switched to her other breast and
drank more. She rocked on his penis, while he swallowed, and, as
his hands squeezed her ass cheeks, his cum squirted into her. Her
tongue went in his mouth, and she most assuredly tasted her milk.
Tom absolutely loved the taste; it was sweet, like coconut water,
and he found it unbelievably erotic.
    Using his shoulders as supports, she pulled
off of him, and his load of semen slipped from her cunt and dripped
all over the tip of his dick, then ran down the shaft. Obediently
the young wife got down on her knees and sucked the hot liquid from
his cock and balls. She didn’t stop sucking until her husband blew
another load in her mouth, which she happily swallowed as well.
    He kissed her lips, then stood carefully and
limped his way to the bathroom. As Tom stood in front of the
mirror, he examined himself, finding the scar from the bullet wound
was back above his right knee. He hobbled into the shower and
soaked in the hot water.
    ***
    It was a relief when Tom looked out the
front door and found that the redwood trees that had appeared in
his yard a few days earlier were gone. He then understood that,
whatever comes back to haunt the town, didn’t stay for long, though
the aftereffects did. That was apparent from the giant
tree-trunk-shaped hole in his neighbor’s house across the
street.
    Steam rose from his coffee cup, as he made
his way to his Buick. Tom opened his trunk and grabbed the shotgun,
checked to make sure it was loaded and then opened his passenger
side door. The Buick was customized for the job; it had to be. Tom
needed things to be set up a certain way. He snapped the gun barrel
into a dashboard locking mechanism that held the weapon in place,
the aim focused on the roof of the car. Before he closed the door,
he checked the safety one more time.
    On his way to the station he saw children in
the park, older couples on their porches doing the morning
crossword and a few people out mowing their lawns. It was a
beautiful Friday. Road crews were out filling in the giant holes
left from the mysterious trees. The town felt still, peaceful even.
It was as if nothing could ruin such a sunny day.
    Tom pulled into the station’s parking lot
and found an empty slot next to another detective’s car. He tried
at all costs to avoid parking where the cruisers parked. He thought
himself too important to blend in with everyone else.
    “Hey, Tom,” Chevez said, on his way out the
station doors. “Your leg acting up again?”
    “Yes. I probably slept wrong. Stay safe out
there.”
    Tom walked the halls of the old building.
The stiffness in his leg was stronger than usual, and his pain
level felt like a five rather than the usual three. He walked past
his framed picture on the wall with three other detectives. Above
them, a larger picture of his father, the chief, hung alone. Tom
ducked into his office and clicked on the metal-framed desk fan to
counter the heat the department always had pumping through the
halls this time of year. He sat down in the comfortable swivel
chair and organized the loose papers scattered on his desktop, then
put them in a drawer.
    The detective thought for a moment about his
agenda for the day. The night before he had stayed in the office
until 10:00 p.m., catching up on paperwork; it was a schedule he
didn’t want to make a habit of. He turned to toss an empty
disposable cup in his trash, when a pale blonde girl, standing in
his doorway, startled him so much that he tossed it in the air.
    “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare