Nancy Screw and the Coming of Age (18+) Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Love for Hostage

The man stood stiff. The wind upon his back, had it been but a knot stronger, would have pushed him to his doom; a 100-foot dive to the rain-soaked pavement below.

“Got any last words, snitch?” A mouth hosting a set of jagged, amber teeth and a low, raspy voice bellowed.

“I tell ya, you got the wrong man. The name’s Turner, Charles Turner!” His response was desperate, erratic, and rational. He was about to take the plunge. He counted every second as though they were days, the days he had wasted behind his desk wishing he could just leave it all behind to do something better. And now it was too late.

“Shut yer mouth, you got no way outta this!” This voice was different, more dominant. He must have been the brains of this operation.

“I really don’t know what you guys want!” I’ve told you over and over, I have no idea! I was walking in the park one minute and then the next – ”

Turner was interrupted by a sharp jolt of pain screaming up and down his lower right side. He cried out and then bit his tongue to endure the twist that came soon after. Instinctively, he went to check for severity of his wound, but found that he couldn’t. His hands were restrained, tied. A few more seconds passed. But they felt like minutes, hours, maybe even days. They were almost too much. His eyes were shut and his teeth were clenched. He heard a familiar sound and then that stench followed.

“Open yer eyes, pussy. Open yer eyes and see this.”

In front of his face was a switchblade, the first half an inch painted red with Turner’s blood. The collected parts of which had formed tiny little snakes of red down the length of the blade towards its handle. The blood was prominent, but it could have been worse. The wound throbbed, but he wasn’t fainting fast. He wasn’t bleeding that bad.

“Let us ask again. where’s the money you owe us?”

“Money?” Turner’s voice got higher. He was being tortured, interrogated on the whereabouts of something he knew absolutely nothing about. He wanted to know as much as they did. After all, if it was going to cost him his life, it mind as well be worth it.

“I wish I knew what you guys were talking about,” Turner followed.

“You got some balls and a death wish. At least you’ll die a man,” the one in charge threatened.

“Let me help convince you. You see this blade?” He held the switchblade up to Turner’s face once again. “This is gonna go in another half an inch every time until you pay up.”

Turner was more than scared, he was terrified.

“It don’t take much, pal, to get ya dead. A couple inches more, maybe. I ain’t a surgeon, but if you survive the knife, the fall’ll make up for it.”

Turner was spun around suddenly. The bigger man who was directly behind them was now breathing down onto him, smiling absent-mindedly at him, much like a dog might have in front of his dinner bowl.

“I swear I don’t know a thing, a goddamned thing!” Turner was raising his voice, trying to wave his arms, trying to kick a shoe off or something to signal to anybody else that he was in danger, and that he needed help. But even these didn’t come to his aid.

“Enough of this talk. Mack, give ‘em another scar.”

Mack spun Turner around again with such force that he almost lost him to the street. As he began to feel his heels grow light his suit jacket grew taut and his heels settle on the roof’s surface once again. For the moment, the man that would no doubt end his life had, for the moment, saved it. The air suddenly stank of a sick, satirical irony.

“You really love to bleed, don’t ya pal,” the man in charge shouted out again.

Before Turner could respond, he was interrupted by a pain much worse than the one he had felt before.

Nancy sat the book down and picked up her tea. The first book she had read, really read, had kept her attention one-third of the way through. Nancy had gotten it for her birthday from a boy at school. It was her eighteenth and this was her senior year. The book was called The Wrong Man by Vincent Bernard and, though Nancy wasn’t much interested in reading, this one caught her eye. The cover hosted a man with an eight-year old girl sitting on his shoulders. They were playing in a yard in front of his a lovely home lined with a white picket fence and shrubs. In the background was a black Cadillac accompanied by two men of ill repute leering at the two joyful persons in the foreground. The daughter looked like Nancy when she was that age. That’s what enthralled her the most.

“Maybe she had hobbies like I did when I was a kid,” Nancy said to herself when she first saw the cover. “Maybe she saves the day.”

Nancy took another sip of tea. It helped relax her and allowed her to concentrate on the story. Old people always drank tea when they read; old people and people who wore glasses. Since Nancy had no wrinkles and glasses hurt her head and made her squint, she concluded that it must be the tea. She swallowed the warm mouthful of chamomile and reached for the book. As she opened it to begin the next exciting chapter, the doorbell rang.

“Billy,” Nancy exclaimed. “What a great surprise!”

She opened the front door wider to let him in.

“I missed you at practice today, could’ve used the support.”

Nancy looked down for a moment, almost embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, Billy Bear, I’ve been just so busy and distracted.” She paused for a second to collect her thoughts. “Graduation’s coming at the end of the school year and I’m just so nervous and excited.” Nancy looked up at her Billy Bear with a beaming smile; the kind a mother loves and a father protects.

“I getcha babe,” Billy smiled back. “I just know how much you love to watch me play. I thought you might have been sick or something. I came up here to check on ya.”

Nancy blushed.

“You really know how to make a girl feel special!” Nancy wrapped her arms around him.

“Come on in, it’s cold out here,” Nancy encouraged.

The eve of spring was approaching, but the chill of winter was still very much at home. Bill entered her house and closed the door behind him. He looked around Nancy’s place, which appeared quite empty. In the living room he noticed her sitting once more next to the end table where her tea and book sat. She picked the cup up once more and started to drink from it.

“You hitting the hard stuff this early, babe?”

Nancy almost choked as she swallowed. She began to laugh.

“No!” She giggled and lightly pushed him away. “It’s just tea!”

“Oh yea,” Billy replied. “Where’s your afghan?” He smiled and pushed her just the same. She laughed once more and placed the cup down. Then he noticed the book.

“You reading now too, babe?” Got plastic for the couch yet?” He heckled her further and she just looked at him with a cocked expression on her face.

“Oh come one now, Billy, I’m not that old!”

“Reading’s for geeks and tea’s for old maids,” Billy gleefully scolded.

“What do you mean, Billy?” Nancy’s tone depressed a bit.

“Well, you know, I gotta call ‘em like I see ‘em, babe. I only see geeks reading. And I’m starting to see you cheer and party a little less now.” Bill was still joking, but now Nancy couldn’t tell.

“You making fun of me?” Nancy started to frown. Billy changed his tone to serious and wrapped his arm around her back. He pulled her a bit closer and looked into her eyes.

“You know I’m not. I’m just concerned is all.”

“Concerned about what?” Nancy’s voice grew pouty. She stared at Billy and waited for the next heckle.

“Well, I just don’t want you to be cooped up in the house all day. It’s not right. You should be out partying, babe. It wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t there.”

Nancy thought for a moment and then a smile slowly grew on her face. Sometimes Bill can come across as a jerk, but he really was a sweet guy to come all the way out here and check on her. Even if he didn’t get what she was all about. The thing was he was there.

Nancy finished her tea, brought the empty cup to the sink, and rinsed it off. Nancy then returned to the living room where he found Billy slouching on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table. Nancy sat down in between one temptation and the other; Billy on the left and the book on the right. She placed her hand on Bill’s knee and looked into his eyes. She was glad he was there. However, her mind soon wandered to the book, to Turner standing on the rooftop’s edge, waiting for his sentence to be carried out. She needed to know what happened next. She had been interrupted in the midst of getting one step closer to damning or liberating that poor, poor man on the roof and she needed to know how it would all turn out. She was rooting for him. Just then her daydream was quickly cut off by the smell of a pungent odor, the sound of the movement of liquid and the scraping of metal against metal. Nancy opened her eyes and found Billy inching towards her, lips puckered and ready to strike. Billy’s hand met Nancy’s at the top of his knee where her hand was still placed. He gently squeezed it as the two pressed lips. Nancy could taste what she had heard and smelled. There was now a third guest in her home; Mr. Jack Daniels. She didn’t mind. Billy wasn’t drunk. He was lit just enough to burn for a few minutes more than was necessary. She closed her eyes completely and let her mind recollect as her reception of his taste and touch wrote a new chapter.

Heat rose in her now as his fingers lightly probed along her arms to her shoulders. They squeezed them, reassuring her of his athletic strength. His tongue was gingerly inside her mouth as it teased hers. She preferred lip-to-lip with a light open-mouth reception, but his intrusion was forgivable. Nancy pressed a firm palm on his white beater and lightly gripped the fabric. She moaned faintly as she gently pushed him to where his tongue was once again tickling her lips. He got the message. She flattened the hand that pressed against his chest once more and daintily trickled her fingers down from his pecs, to his naval, and then to where his shirt disappeared under the horizon of his jeans. Her fingers followed the trend of his shirt and tightened as she curled them into the fabric. Nancy leaned in to Billy’s ear and whispered:

“Let’s go upstairs. More private.” Nancy winked and tugged playfully at his shirt.

Billy sat for a second as he watched Nancy stand up, letting her enticing offer sink in. She was dressed for the occasion. She always seemed to be. She had on what she had worn to school. Her knee-high socks were black and thin and tightly wrapped themselves around her ankles and accented her calves. Sensual, milky skin eased the transition from sock to skirt that teased Billy, coaxing him to grow even harder; his member now begging for release from its denim and cotton prisons.

Nancy’s skirt danced in harmony with each wistful step she took. North of this performance was the sexual salute to the inauguration of adulthood that were her perky breasts. Though Bill couldn’t see their debut in her new polyester blouse from the front, they excited him just the same with each turn she took in progress to her room.

Nancy’s hair was strawberry blonde and danced in unison with the rest of her attributes. But Billy wasn’t so much interested in the way her hard curled and fluttered in layers upon layers or the way that certain renegade strands hung vicariously to each other off of each ear. Every so often, however, he did notice Nancy’s rigorous attention to how certain parts would playfully lay on her shoulders, only to tempt her to shoo them away. No doubt Nancy knew that this only served to further excite Billy and, in response to this, he picked up speed and gently squeezed her waist. Nancy squealed in delight, licked her upper lip, and quickened her pace. Billy chased after.

Inside her room, Nancy fell backwards upon her bed, her body briefly leapt in reaction to the mattress’s recoil. Billy closed the bedroom door and jumped onto the bed next to her, giving Nancy a second bounce. This time, she felt light as a feather. Lighter. For a brief moment she didn’t come down. And when she did, she found herself in his arms. Her legs were bent toward him and her torso was supported in his embrace. He was surprisingly gentle this time. Billy brought his lips to hers once more and, as he pressed his tongue against hers, he slid his fingers of his newly freed hand up her blouse to its cut, caressing her left breast in its journey. She moaned again in response, louder this time. It encouraged him and he laid her down upon the bed. Billy tugged dutifully at the buttons on Nancy’s blouse and slid the other hand from underneath her to assist with the other. And with ease the buttons freed themselves from Nancy’s feminine chastity.

Her blouse was tight. But not so much as to reveal the secret that it served to keep from the covetous world Nancy strolled in day-to-day. And so with each give came the reward of the flawless shape and tone of Nancy’s silky, fragrant breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She didn’t like them. Nancy always felt too constricted. And, of course, Billy agreed. They were also a show stopper. He couldn’t work them; a real Rubik’s Cube of second base. Billy smiled at this reassurance and grazed both of Nancy’s nipples with his fingertips, separating the blouse from where it once joined together completely. They were erect. Short and upright, they stood surrounded by rosy pigmentation; a gradual palette of floral pastels that appeared as though they were almost blushing in response to his touch. Before Nancy could protest his tongue once more, he brought it down to her breasts. With each stroke of his tongue, she moaned in whimpered in submissive delight. Her breasts glistened with each release and she found herself arching her back with each wake. Nancy trailed her fingers through Billy’s wavy, chestnut hair and gently massaged his back, occasionally forming fists in response at the peak of each new wave of pleasure.

Billy’s hands were now at the small of her back and moving slowly down to where her zipper awaited. Nancy’s slightly spread legs came together briefly as her skirt relaxed and inched down her slender thighs. She could feel tingling all across them, individually provoking her to throw her cares to a passing breeze. The skirt followed Billy’s fingers. It passed her knees and, soon after, was free of her altogether. Billy went back up to her panties; a petite cut with a blue and white striped pattern lying horizontally along silky fabric. Along its horizon was a small fabric bow, whose tales hung tenderly from the joining knot. Billy playfully tugged at the elastic and let go, causing it to slap against Nancy’s waist. She squealed with delight and tugged up on his shirt. Billy removed it quickly and threw it aside. Nancy ran her fingers up and down him and brought her mouth to his right nipple. She teased it and it grew slightly in response. With her hands free, Nancy unfastened Billy’s jeans’ button and began to unzip them. Billy pulled down Nancy’s remaining garment and threw them to the side of the bed. Billy joined Nancy at his zipper. She sat up and tugged at his jeans until they fell down to his knees. Billy was more than hard, he was desperate. And there was no doubt that what Nancy felt inside his boxers was nothing less than his all. And it seemed to pulse and throb at the anticipation of each stroke of her fingers. Billy pulled down his boxers. Nancy blushed. Though she had seen it many times before, each time felt like the first. Each moment he were to be in her came with it the rush and thrill of a new discovery.

Billy’s legs did the work of shedding unwanted clothing. Nancy had opened her legs enough to let Billy’s fingers venture there. She was wet; a river. And her loins gave off heat like a furnace. Billy’s fingers probed every crevasse of her, and with each touch, a rush of erotic sensation swooned Nancy and left her begging for more. Nancy returned the favor. She reached out and grabbed Billy’s manhood. She ran her fingers along the shaft and all were reunited at the tip. Billy tilted his head back and moaned, swallowing hard. He stroked her harder. Nancy moaned louder and pulled Billy towards her. His member was slick when she put it in her mouth. Billy ran one free hand along her head. Nancy put him further in her mouth, teasing him with her tongue. Billy left her briefly, a trail of saliva and sensual juices strung along her lips from him. She brought him back to her again. Billy moaned and cupped her breast. And Nancy licked him more generously.

“My god,” Billy cried out. “You’re gonna slay me, babe.”

Nancy pulled away, laid flat on the bed, and spread her legs. Billy got on top of her and slid gently in.