Haiku On A Sunday
I sit at the long, rectangular table in my brother’s house where I have sat every Sunday evening for the past three years. Tonight there are fifteen of us, sharing our masterpieces in between sips of Merlot.
On a warm, Spring day
Flustered mother and ducklings
Cross the busy road.
I read my offering for this evening, quietly and importantly, eyes firmly fixed on the page, despite the fact that I have committed every word to heart. The gathering claps politely, and I flush a little as I close my notebook.
“Very nice symmetry there Jen,” murmurs Darryl my big brother by three years. He always makes an encouraging comment about my efforts. He winks at me and fills my glass.
Darryl and Linda are thirty-two and have a child. The child is Linda’s excuse for not allowing my mentally challenged sister to live in their sprawling, heritage house. Instead, she lives with me in my tiny apartment which could fit into Linda and Darryl’s living room. On Sunday nights, Linda’s parents baby-sit the child and my sister while they hold their avant-garde little gathering. It seems to work for them. Gives them a common purpose. The need to preserve an ancient art form as Linda so passionately espouses on nights when the Merlot has flowed too freely. Darryl always looks slightly irritated on these occasions. I think he just likes the excuse to tipple a little before facing the office on Monday mornings.
I love Haiku. They have a simplicity and grace which is normally missing in my life. I like the rules. I often try to think in Haiku. My real life is lonely and chaotic. Once a week at our Haiku meeting I have structure and peace.
“So Mister…” Linda pauses.
“Mr. Mason. Mr. Delaney Mason from Texas. Just call me Delaney, Ma’am.”
I look sideways at the large man on my right. What strikes me most about him is his unkempt, ginger beard and his white, wide-brimmed hat. He reeks seriously of tobacco and something that certainly isn’t Merlot. He shifts in the chair that is too small for his stature, scratches his beard, tips his hat and then recites in a gravely drawl.
Her breast was white
Her nipple was hard
As my teeth sank into the ample flesh.
Silence.
Silence finally broken by a gasp from Linda who purses her thin lips so tightly together they form a straight line.
“Mr. Mason!” she says.
She sips her Merlot. Puts one hand to her chest. Pauses for dramatic effect. I look at my brother. His face is grave but his eyes seem to be smiling.
“Mr. Mason,” Linda continues. “This is a serious Haiku society. We follow the traditions of the masters. We pay homage to Basho. We don’t allow modern haiku here like they do in Sydney.” As she spits the word Sydney, she starts shaking a little. Darryl puts a comforting hand on the back of her neck.
“Who-who brought you here Mr. Mason? Did you come with somebody?” she inquires.
“I was invited by this chaaaarming, young lady beside me. I was invited here by the beeeeautiful Jennifer,” he states, glancing at the name on the front of my notebook.
Linda looks doubtful but just gives me a you’ll-explain-later stare and continues to chair the meeting. I open my mouth to attest to the lie but at the front of my brain the words charming and beautiful are spinning wildly. He had called me charming and beautiful, of which I am neither. I’m not totally unattractive but I have annoying childbearing hips which interfere with the whole proportion of my body. I certainly don’t exude the lightness and simplicity of a well structured Haiku. My body is more like Delaney Mason’s Haiku, rather heavy and lacking in subtlety.
I am still basking in the glow of Delaney Mason’s words when I become aware of a firm grip around my shoulders. Delaney from Texas has edged his chair closer to mine and is actually laying claim to me.
I gulp. It has been five years since anyone has touched me in a remotely sexual way and Delaney is quite clear in his intent. His fingers find their way under my armpit. His thumb traces light circles on the side of my breast. I am appalled at his audacity. I am even more appalled to find my breathing sharpen and my mind wishing that his thumb could find its way a little further down my body.
I look at the gathering. They notice nothing. They are absorbed in discussion about the joint meeting with the Canberra Haiku Explorers. Apparently, the C.H.E. go on long bushwalks and recite Haiku under waterfalls. Some fool is trying to propose the piddling, muddy Yarra River as a suitable venue.
My nipples pulse and harden against my light cotton shirt as Delaney applies more pressure. I am tantalised and outraged.
“I-I think I should take Delaney outside and explain the finer points of traditional Haiku,” I say.
“Good idea,” murmurs Linda. Her lips are now so tightly pressed that they are in danger of disappearing altogether.
I move through the house until I reach the deck and turn on the light. I can hear Delaney’s boots tramping obediently behind me. I am about to offer him a seat but he continues down the steps and into the darkness. I hesitate, then follow, into the crisp, night air.
“Haiku,” I begin as I pant along behind him. “Haiku should have seventeen syllables. Five on the first line. Seven on the second. Five on the third.”
He eventually straddles the long, wooden swing which has been built for my nephew. I can barely see his outline in the faint light that reaches us from the deck. I stand beside the swing and continue.
“H-haiku should have season words and be about nature. They should have openness and depth. They sh-should…”
He reaches out with his hands. Powerful, warm, rough-skinned hands that urge me down onto the swing to face him. They momentarily clasp my waist and he pulls me forward so that I am merely centimetres from his face. He reaches inside his shirt and produces a flask from which he sips. He lifts it to my mouth and I splutter as the vile substance sears the back of my throat. Delaney laughs. A big, delighted, bellyroll laugh.
Delaney gently moves the swing back and forth beneath us. He slides forward so that our knees are touching. Then, he pushes his hat back and leans into me so that my face is smothered by his beard. My lips bristle and tingle as he licks them with his tongue. Swift, deliberate, demanding licks and then I am lost in the pressure of his mouth that moulds and contorts my lips like mere plasticine. His potent breath intoxicates me and I am vaguely aware of my fingernails sinking deep into his shoulders. I desperately try to fathom whether this is an attempt to fend him off or whether I want to meld with him so completely that no part of me is left. Charming and beautiful. Beautiful and charming. I search for a season word. Try to form a Haiku. It doesn’t eventuate.
My body trembles, partly from the breeze, partly from fear of this stranger who controls me. He lifts his head to take another swig from the flask. He offers it again and this time when I swallow the potion it starts a fire in my stomach but I do not choke. I feel a fiery shiver that starts at the tips of my toenails and soars up my legs to my snatch. From there, it emanates throughout my whole body, basking me in a hazy glow.
“You need ol’ Jack Daniels more often darlin’,” Delaney growls into my ear and I am only vaguely aware of my shirt and bra being roughly discarded. I don’t remember being so unrestrained with Billy, my only lover who had wanted to marry me but didn’t want the responsibility of my sister. Cautious, careful Billy who made love as though I were a porcelain doll. Delaney isn’t being careful or cautious. His teeth ravage my nipples. I stifle a squeal. The swing squeaks irritatingly on its metal hinges. A voice comes from the porch. One of Linda’s friends.
“Can you stop that dreadful sound? We are trying to concentrate in here.”
I stiffen even though she cannot see us in the darkness. Delaney however, continues his assault on the bare flesh of my breasts. He is biting so hard that I am afraid he will draw blood, yet my body strains forth, willing him to be even crueller in his taunts on my delicate skin. I can hear him fumbling. The clicking of a belt buckle. The zipper on his Wranglers being ripped open. I fling my head back and moan inwardly. Cool air. Warm tongue. Harsh teeth. Smooth lips. My pubic bone presses into the swing, rocking ever so slightly in attempts to assuage the desire.
With a shock, I find my right hand being placed on Delaney’s exposed crotch. At first, I am only aware of a burst of wiry hair that tangles in my fingers, then I feel the turgid, throbbing expanse that is Delaney’s cock. Even with my inexperience, I know that this is a fine specimen. I bash my pubic bone down on the plank that forms the swing. It hurts but the pain is only mild compared to the yearning that now courses through my body. I thrust forward, close my eyes, prepare for the pain as I slam my snug, unfulfilled snatch over Delaney’s cock.
Delaney holds me back, casually stretching his body out along the plank. He manoeuvres me until I am standing above his face with skirt raised, panties around my thighs and my snatch is part of his beard, his lips, his tongue. He gnaws at my clit with the same brutality as he assailed my nipples, setting my body ablaze. There are no rules. No structure. No peace. I grip the brim of his hat, mashing my pelvis against his mouth, desperate to cool the heat. The fiery shiver starts again. It forms an ever expanding bubble around my entire body. I reach into the centre of the bubble. I want to move my snatch away from Delaney’s mouth, teeth, tongue, beard, afraid of the blinding force that seeks me. He grips me until in a single, quivering, explosive mass of agony and joy the bubble bursts. I sob like a child.
“Damn that tasted good darlin’. Almost better than ol’ Jack Daniels.”
When I recover, I move my body so that I can rest on his chest. He raises his head to kiss me. Just tender lips barely touching mine till there is only cool, spring air.
“I want you inside me,” I murmur into his beard.
Delaney simply responds by collecting the slickness from my snatch and rubbing it along the crack of my ass in an almost leisurely movement. I tense immediately but he continues undeterred. I clench my teeth to control the quivers that wrench through my body.
“You are a bit retentive darlin’,” observes Delaney. “I’m going to loosen your sweet, li’l ass.”
A promise. A threat. My body turns into a tightrope and I can neither protest nor escape. Excitement and terror boil in the pit of my stomach.
Delaney lifts me from his chest and sits up. He turns me around, forces me to kneel on the plank, my hands gripping the very edge of the swing. Delaney takes his hat and places it on my head.
“Now darlin’ you look after my hat reeeeal good,” he says with that big, delighted, bellyroll laugh.
Slowly, slowly, I feel my skirt being eased upwards. Delaney shuffles and I feel his monster cock barely touching my tiny, unclaimed rim. I cannot hear anything but my urgent, laboured breathing and Delaney’s little grunts of anticipation.
“Why are you so neglected darlin’ Jennifer?” Delaney’s voice seems almost kind.
“I-I live with my sister. She’s brain damaged. I’m her full-time carer.” I can’t control the words as they pour from me.
“That’s no reason to neglect you. You are chaaaarming and beeeautiful.”
The words drape the air. I relax for a second. At that moment, I feel my ass being punctured by the incredible, writhing, seething length of Delaney’s cock. It scorches as he passes through my virgin walls and his balls finally pound against me. There are pins and needles in my fingers, so tightly have I clasped the end of the swing.
I can hear Delaney’s deep, reassuring voice but only fragments of his words penetrate my brain.
“Sweetest, li’l ass in Southern Hemisphere…beggin’ for it…trust me…”
I want to feel angry and sorry for myself. Reduced to this humiliation. Fucked in the ass by a stranger on my nephew’s swing. Yet, the bubble that surrounded me before has now formed hundreds of tiny bubbles, soft and delicate and weightless as they bounce against my skin.
Delaney pushes the swing back and forth, his cock gliding in and out with its momentum. I dread the painful surge as each upstroke tears against my fragile walls. I resent the emptiness until he pushes back inside me with ever increasing vigour. He thrusts two fingers in and out of my snatch, timing their invasion with the head of his cock splintering the thin membrane deep in my ass.
I am hundreds of bubbles waiting to explode. I hear myself beg as though from a distant corner.
“Come in my ass. Please. Do it now.”
Delaney pulls back. His cock rests on my torn, little rim. He is silent. Still. My ragged breathing. His quiet groans.
In the cool, night air…
My mind struggles for words. And then it is done. His cock rips through my ass, savagely shoving me forward, driving home a sticky wetness into my darkest places. The bubbles detonate with an intensity that turns me into a statue. Unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to hear.
When I recover, I am alone. I collect my underwear, walk gingerly to the outdoor tap. I rub my finger across my violated hole. There is no pain, just a messy glue that seeps from my ass. I splash my face and legs, surprised that the evidence of such wantonness is so easily dismissed. Delaney’s hat is still on my head.
Inside, the meeting is just finishing. No-one makes eye contact as I slip back into my seat. Delaney is gone. I place his hat down carefully on the table as tears almost surface. Suddenly, I see a slip of paper peering from the top of my notebook. I casually open it. He had been listening, I acknowledge with a smile. The right number of syllables and a season word. The haiku isn’t about nature but for some reason I don’t seem to mind.
In the cool, Spring air
Your charming, beautiful ass
I’ll be back next week.