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The brutal cold that brought shrieks of discomfort to four of the women leaving the church late that Saturday afternoon was typical for Calgary in January. After a few polite, but hurried words to each other, bringing into question the true climate of Hell, four of them made their way through the bottle blue dusk to their frozen Corollas and Windstars. The fifth stood and watched, calmly unaffected by the biting northeast wind. She missed this about the prairies; the naked harshness of the landscape, and the extremities of the weather. She somehow felt comforted by the vulnerability she felt, that she, or anyone, could easily perish under such conditions. This was a land for the sharp witted and the strong. After the four other women had pulled out of the parking lot, she walked east, toward McLeod Trail, the snow beneath her feet making that delightful crunching sound of minus thirty degrees. And she realised how much she hated Toronto.
It had been two years since Olivia had been here. It seemed like forever. But she was patient, and knew she had to be. The woman she now appeared to be, and the life she now lived, were worlds and decades apart from who she was, once upon a time. However, every passing day seemed to bring her some subtle reminder that the veneer she so dutifully kept polished was very thin……
“That picture must be retouched, man. No one has eyes that color. That’s just freaky!” Brendan held the picture under a brighter light, not able to quite accept the deep sea green eyes of the woman in the photo.
“Believe it, they are real, just like the rest of her.” Matt took the picture from the other man and looked at the woman in it. Just like every time, every emotion within him boiled up, and he had to look away and focus his thoughts. He thought of the twists of fate and happenstance that had brought them together and kept them apart over the years as Brendan passed him a joint.
“No, thanks, man. I’ll have some later. We’re going to be here for a while, anyway.”
Brendan looked at Matt and nodded, knowing that Matt had been planning this evening for months, then turned around and put on the Fu Manchu vinyl he just picked up.
Olivia walked briskly through the cold, thinking about one of the girls who was at the meeting earlier. She was the real deal. A girl who didn’t buy into the thrill of being at a lecture by ‘Olivia McClaren, Wife of Reverend Bryce McClaren, Founder of The McClaren Ministries’. As always, most of the girls were in awe of this beautiful woman, who they had seen on The Miracle Network beside her handsome husband. But that one girl, the one with the Betty Page haircut, and the faint aroma of Craven Menthol cigarettes, she saw right into Olivia’s soul, and wasn’t having any of this abstinence and purity business. She hadn’t spoken a word or sang a note during the course of the afternoon. At the end of the meeting she looked into Olivia’s eyes and tilted her head slightly as she shook her hand. Neither of them had to say a word; Olivia was busted, and somehow this girl knew exactly what was behind the veneer. As the girl turned and walked away, Olivia felt thrilled that someone had seen her real self.
Matt stared out across the city’s downtown, and grinned to himself as he noticed the reflection in the large sheet of glass; Brendan gyrating and twisting like a tall, cartoonish Iggy Pop to the thick, throbbing groove of his latest vinyl treasure. Matt hadn’t had a friend like him since he was a little kid. Brendan’s mom had moved him and his older brother away from Northern Ireland before they were drawn into the vengeance fuelled maelstrom that had claimed the life of their father. It had been tough for them when they got to Calgary, they didn’t have much, but they loved what little they had, and their mother created two fine men on her own. Brendan was the kind of guy that never asked anything of you but your honesty and company, and whom you could trust without question. He had completely transformed Matt’s jaded opinion of music, and of life, in one insane, thirty seven minute audition, having been called at one a.m. one night by a mutual friend, telling Matt that he knew someone looking for a “guitar whore”. And, at the time, that is exactly what Matthew Cross was, and what his business card proudly stated. He was good. Really good, better than the likes of the big hair clowns of the era, and had spent years on the road, making connections with producers and other musicians while forging a reputation as a consummate professional. And, as a guy who could walk into a studio and nail nearly anything thrown at him on the first take. ‘Wham Bam, Where’s the Cash, Man’, hence the ‘whore’ moniker jokingly laid on him by those happy to work with him. His encyclopaedic interest in music allowed him to pick up live or studio gigs of practically any genre; he listened to everything. He also knew that he could always just go and make a living as a welder, and he actually missed doing it, and was as good at casino oyna welding exotic metals as he was at playing guitar; probably better. And he took that uncompromising, blue collar attitude on stage with him. Every night, he kicked ass. He just never kissed ass, and happily, never would. “matthew cross. welder. guitar whore.”
After the insane roller coaster ride that Brendan, lunatic rhythmatist, and his bass player/wife, Sophie, took Matt through; careening wildly from The Dave Brubeck Quartet’s “Take Five” to “Ace of Spades” by Motorhead and somehow winding up on Pat Metheny’s “Are You Going With Me?”, one thing was certain. Matt would never whore himself out again.
As if she were a child, Olivia suddenly clutched her bag tightly as she stepped onto the C-Train platform, a southbound LRT whooshing by into the suburbs blowing her off balance slightly. As she stood alone on the northbound platform, she thought of a photograph her friend Shawna had taken of her years earlier. The last photograph taken of her in her old life, it would turn out. She had convinced Olivia to strip completely naked, and stand on the Rosedale subway platform in Toronto as she photographed her through the window of a subway car. In the photo, a high contrast black and white shot taken with an ancient Spotmatic, Olivia stood, more beautiful and radiant than she could ever imagine herself actually being, somehow un-noticed by everyone else on the platform. Everyone, except a delighted, wide eyed little boy, holding his mother’s hand while pointing at Olivia, and somehow, looking directly into the lens of Shawna’s camera. That little boy hadn’t been afraid to see the real Olivia. That young woman with the Betty Page haircut hadn’t been afraid either. Olivia could still feel that girl’s strong, sinewey hand in her own, and as the northbound C-Train stopped and it’s doors opened, Olivia felt how moist she had become.
“So, how did things go this afternoon, then?”
“Really well. Actually, better than I expected. I can’t wait to get over there, I’m at the shop right now. I don’t want this stuff cooling down too fast, and these things are worth too fucking much to take any chances with. I should be maybe another hour or so, see you then.”
“That was Sophie. She’ll be here in an hour or so. She’s all freaked about those pieces we poured this morning; doesnt want them cooling down too fast, I guess.”
Brendan clicked off his cell as he stood beside Matt at the window of the apartment. Sophie and Brendan were the perfect couple; they were in the same band, they had their own business, they amused each other constantly, and had mutual contempt for bullshit of any kind. Sophie was a full on art school type, and had been attending her fourth year at the Banff School of Fine Arts when the frustration of dealing with the talentless ass kissers and trust fund poseurs finally became pointless, and she moved back to Calgary and went to work with her uncle in a small, but highly respected fabrication shop. The small foundry that had been long neglected in the rear of the old building, not far from the city bus yards, was up and running within a week of Sophie beginning her work there.
Sophie’s uncle was thrilled by her enthusiasm, and she couldn’t believe she actually had access to a foundry. She had been excelling at brass and aluminum casting work in her sculpture classes at art school. She loved it; to pour molten metal into a real, solid shape, to have this power over matter to master it’s ultimate form, there was something about it she found intoxicating. And lucrative. Within six months, people were spending hundreds, then thosands of dollars on her sometimes violently erotic sculpture, and as much or more on her equally intense sex toys. From there, it went to specialized aluminum and magnesium fifties era hot rod and motorcycle parts; always one off stuff, and very pricey. Two years later, she bought the business from her uncle, who was delighted by his niece’s talent and business sense, regardless of what the end product might be.
As she watched the thermometer on the cooling box drop ever so slowly, she knew that the pieces cooling within would come out perfectly, as always. And that by this time next week, ZZ Top guitar slinger Billy Gibbons would be in possession of the only pair of finned aluminum rocker covers on earth for a Packard V-8, and her bank account would be considerably fatter. As she took care of the day’s e-mail and locked up the shop, she felt the relief of being able to indulge her distraction; now that business was taken care of, it was time for pleasure……
Olivia stepped off of the C-Train at the last stop before it headed across the river into Kensington. It was dark by now, and as she made her way south to the O’Neill Park Tower along the west edge of downtown, she felt the exhilaration within her build. The cold air made her feel even more alive, as she grew closer to Matt with every step, closer to a taste canlı casino of her old………..no, her real self. At the next crosswalk, she turned and looked behind her, almost hoping that Bryce had sent someone to follow her, as he had done early in their marriage, when he had no reason to. They had never seen anything but stirling behavior on Mrs. McClaren’s part. But the spies had always been easy to spot, for a strong, sharp witted woman…………….
Matt could feel her getting closer, and let himself become more excited with an almost guilty zeal. He fell into the relentless groove of the turntable’s latest offering, Soundgarden’s “Jesus Christ Pose”, and found himself madly dancing about the room as if conjuring up some ancient Blackfoot shaman spirit. He let the song’s lyrics ignite his always present, but carefully concealed rage over the fact that Olivia was, as he saw it, very tasty jewellry for a man who had no qualms over manipulating people and profiting big time in the name of that poor bastard, Jesus. Brendan bounded passed him, and this time, Matt took the joint that was passed his way and took a huge hit. As the rush flowed through him, the rage he felt slipped away, and all he could feel was pure joy. Olivia…………………..
The small lobby of the O’Neill was warm, and was almost overwhelmingly so compared to the frigid cold outside. As Olivia removed her gloves and scarf, a couple exited the elevator, smiling with a vague sense of recognition as they passed the striking blond. Some one they’d seen on a commercial or something……, the thought vapourizing as the two stepped into the biting cold. Olivia stepped into the open elevator, exhaling deeply as the door closed. Not pushing the button of any floor, she thought about what she was about to do. Bryce was not a bad man, and she was his wife. And his pretty sidekick on the McClaren Ministries TV and web broadcasts that provided a very, very comfortable living for the two of them. The reality of the matter was, however, that she was in an elevator, nine stories below a man that has been constantly in her thoughts and fantasies for the past eighteen years of her life. A man that had witnessed some of the most perverse and wonderful things she had ever done, and never judged her for it. Who had been her friend and support whenever he was able to, and had expected nothing of her for it, but her friendship. And the best lover she’d ever know. She pushed “9”.
“Pick something, man, I’ve been doing that for the last hour! Besides, your girl is going to be here pretty quick, I’m sure you want to set the moooooooooooood, dude!”
Matt looked at Brendan, realizing how cool it was that this was happening with such good people. Being in the band with Brendan and Sophie was amazing, they were manic psycho geniuses that could brew up the steamiest, most amazing grooves at will, and playing with them was always an epiphanal, or near-death experience at every show. They’d actually been the ones to invite Matt into their love life, after one particularly intense gig where their ‘Portisehead-meets-Reverend Horton Heat’ sound whipped the crowd into an orgasmic frenzy. He placed Pink Floyd’s “Piper at the Gates of Dawn” on the turntable, feeling the deep, organic pulse of “Astronomy Domine” build within the room.
Olivia looked at the slightly shocked expression on the face of the pretty, well dressed woman in her late fifties as the door opened on the seventh floor.
“Going up?” she asked, her warm wide smile immediately putting the woman at ease.
“Twelfth floor, please….”, the woman stated, entering the elevator, as the gorgeous blonde dressed in only a very expensive lace bra and panties pressed the “12” button. She looked at Olivia’s face with a vague, but almost certain recognition. The two shared a few obligatory words about the frigid weather, and the small, but glimmering hope for a chinook. As the elevator stopped on the ninth floor, and Olivia reached down to pick up her bag, the woman in the elevator said to her:
“That is really one hell of a look, honey. You look EXACTLY like that woman on that religious channel! I really hope you are charging someone dearly for your services, God knows what you are doing is more honest than what those scam artists are getting away with!”
Olivia looked back over her shoulder, and gave the woman the huge, sparkling smile that the Miracle Network cameras were so in love with, which completely cracked up the pretty old gal.
Having been mistaken for a high priced whore, masquerading as her television persona, had fuelled her already simmering arousal, and Olivia sauntered, cat-like, down the hall towards room nine one six. Even if all that were to happen was that Matt would invite her in for coffee, it would be enough; her own existance would make a difference for a little while. But it would be more than coffee, it was always far more than she could ever expect. He knew her too well…………
Only kaçak casino a few steps away from the door, she could hear the deep, throbbing rhythm from inside the apartment. She stopped outside the door and waited before knocking. She was ridiculously wet, and the last few steps had brought her perilously close to orgasm. She wondered what awaited her behind that door, what unforgettable experience would be added to the distractions that she fought hard to conceal. She thought about what had happened the last time they’d met; how Matt had procured the services of a San Francisco dominatrix to administer hour after relentless hour of unblinking dicipline and expertly crafted sapphic agony and ecstasy upon her. Or, how in New Orleans, she had been led, naked, in front of a crowd of people, who bid to obtain her services as a cock slave for a twenty four hour period………she rubbed her knees together and came instantly. She looked up to see Matt admiring her, her knees shaking……………
Matt pulled her into the room without saying a word and kissed her deeply, pulling her body tightly against his. She ground herself into him, feeling his strength engulfing her, feeling his cock swelling for her. She reached down into his pants, the gravity of his prick drawing her nails into it’s engorged surface. He moaned aloud and took her right breast into his hand and squeezed it hard as his right arm pulled her even tighter against his body. She wrapped her thighs around his leg and clamped down, squirting herself all down his pants leg as she came.
“I guess that these will have to come off now.”, Matt stated calmly as he released Olivia from his grip, looking down at the huge wet spot on his leg. She stared, fixated as his pants hit the floor, at his throbbing prick. It always seemed bigger than she remembered it. It was thick, as thick as her wrist, with a foreskin that was long enough to encase his bulbous glans, even with a full on erection. It was the most perfect cock she’d ever sucked, and God knows she had performed fellatio on more than just a few occasions. Unfortunately, Bryce was not at all interested in her cocksucking prowess, as it fell into the category of sodomy, as he saw it.
Matt reached out and slipped two fingers into her, bringing her to the edge of yet another orgasm, as Brendan reached around from behind her and grabbed both of her breasts, surprising her, as she hadn’t even noticed him. It hadn’t been the first time that others had been invited to the party, and Olivia fell back into Brendan as Matt pressed against her. Each man took one of her breasts in his hand as Matt kissed her hard and Brendan bit the back of her neck just hard enough to make the hair on the back of her head stand up. The sensation of being held and kissed and crushed between these two men made her head spin. Her breasts were incredibly aroused. The Girls liked it rough; rope bondage, nipple clamps, riding crops, but to have them ravaged by these strong men, pulled and pinched and used in a manner unbecoming a minister’s wife……..if she had not been pinned by the hands and pricks and muscles of these men, she would have fallen to the ground like a rag doll. Indeed, when Matt released his grip on her, she slipped down to her knees like a piece of silk.
Sophie heard the beat of the music as she unlocked the door of the apartment. She got there as quickly as she could, knowing that Brendan and Matt would begin the evening’s activities the moment Matt’s pretty blond friend showed up. She was happy for Matt; he loved his solitude, and had a few nice girls he would see once in a while. But she knew he had a serious thing for this woman, Olivia. She was The One, as Brendan was for her and vice versa. She knew that no matter what path she or Brendan would have taken in life, that they would have wound up together. She hoped that this Olivia felt the same way about Matt, as she spied through the divider between the dining room and the living room, where she saw the beautiful blond on her knees between Brendan and Matt. She held a rock hard cock in each hand, sliding her mouth alternately over the head of each one, taking a little more of each with every mouthful. She savored the contrast between Matt’s muscular, uncut tool, and Brendan’s long, smooth weapon. She was an expert fellatrix, this Olivia, leaving no spot on either man’s genitals unkissed, untasted. Sophie was slick and throbbing, dropping her pants to the floor and reaching into her ripe, warm juiciness. She watched the woman in the other room swallowing the entire length of her husband’s cock, licking his testicles as she squeezed Matt’s prick with a death grip, turning it into a dark, vein swollen monster. As Olivia somehow managed to draw the engorged heads of both men’s pricks into her mouth, Sophie came hard, driving her fingers into herself deeply, quivering as she pressed down hard onto her G-spot and riding wave after wave of sweet release.
As the record on the turntable played out the last few seconds of analog ecstasy, Sophie smiled at the boys’ penchant for that archaic medium. It was time to join the party, and she que’d up an iPod program simply named “fuck”.
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