STEVE'S MONKEY'S PAW by Neale Sourna

  Steve’s Monkey’s Paw

  (or Steve’s Poe Paw) & MORE

  Adult Fiction [Explicit]

  Cost: Free!!!

  Copyright © 2004 by Neale Sourna

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Registered US Library of Congress

  Steve’s Monkey’s Paw Cover © Neale Sourna

  March 2004

  Published by

  PIE: Perception Is Everything™

  12600 Rockside RD Box 192

  Cleveland OH 44125

  www.PIE-PerceptionIsEverything.com

  www.PIE.Percept.com

  www.Neale-Sourna.com

  Published in the United States of America as an AUTHORIZED BOOKLEG

  not for sale or republication by anyone other than PIE: Perception Is Everything/Neale Sourna

  Steve’s Monkey’s Paw

  (aka: Steve’s Poe Paw)

  [The Complete Short Story]

  by Neale Sourna

  Whoever came up with “guys don’t make passes at girls, who wear glasses” was seriously stupid. Alex’s Managing Executive, Kara, wore horn-rimmed eyeglasses, conservatively classy office dress casual, and her dark hair smoothed back in a no frills chignon; all to no avail. She was “definitely, definitely”—I felt as half-witted and out of my depth, as that idiot “Rainman” around her.

  A wholesome, yet unassumingly sultry brown goddess, who, in my exceedingly learned opinion, was entirely failing to hide her mischievously bouncy breasts and ass under that crisply bland professional façade, which I couldn’t believe was deterring Alex. The biggest, most successful and unrelenting sex­hound I’d ever known.

  It’d been a long while since he’d seen me, so, I’d decided to come out of hiding. I was visiting him at his office and catching up on the last few years and all that kind of thing. He was installing a new piece of phone equipment and software himself.

  Not good.

  Alex likes to do things himself, that’s why he’d opened his own successful business. The man’s a true god working with people, female or male, especially female; but, he’s all left thumbs with anything with cables.

  “Um, excuse me, Kara. Alex needs you.” She immediately got that look smart women get of “I knew Mr. Know ‑ It ‑ All would need me”.

  Alex had changed.

  When her incredibly fine ass accidentally brushed against his well-educated crotch, as she entered his personal desk space, he didn’t even smirk, let alone attempt to spoon her, as I’ve often seen him do to those with less obviously well-endowed charms.

  The man was not the same.

  Kara is a deliciously big girl in all the good ways, yet he actually backed away, as she leaned on his desk, took the cables of the new hardware and deftly switched the end connections, which we two smart, former frat men hadn’t figured out. Why study instructions, which are so often badly and confusingly done these days, anyway. Besides, Ms. Know ‑ It ‑ All hadn’t looked either.

  However, she did look at Alex. A lot. Which he, of course, would never notice, since he always gets looked at a lot. The thick, Black Scot-Hispanic hair, the perfect skin, teeth, and musculature, the clear blue eyes, with “all that abundant charm glossing over all that reckless danger”, or so states my kid sister, repeatedly.

  Lucky Alex.

  For myself, women of Kara’s quality, never look at me that way.

  I’m “not hideous”, as my small-brained sister once gushingly pointed out, but “well, Alex is well Alex”. Me, I’m just a generic looking Polack, who doesn’t turn heads or get the hot cream liquefying and rushing down the insides of welcoming thighs, just because I’m in their proximity.

  Silently, we’d both watched her return to her office, which was across from and in full sight of his.

  “She so wants you, Alex.” I got a blank, unfathomable stare from those all too perfect eyes of his.

  “What?”

  “Kara wants you.”

  On reading faces.

  When you go on cat crawls and bar hops, also know as “pussy prowls” and “bunny hops or skips”, with Alex, you become a genius at reading faces. You, also, hate it. At first. Later, you get addicted, watching those all too eager faces that are too afraid to approach the godling himself, but who ask me tips about how best to approach him.

  Oh, yeah. Put out, then I’ll inform you that I may take Alex’ leftovers; but, he never takes mine.

  Reading faces.

  Alex had always had very subtle, neutral expressions to hide his true feelings—pro and con—for people constantly falling all over him. He’d gotten some newer ones though, since last we’d faced off, making him even harder to read now. But, for a man known for his genial casualness, he was proving with Kara to be unmistakably too concise about nearly every movement and tone of voice of his that could be construed as sexual.

  Which is very odd, since he has utter command of whatever the rest of us will never have; including never having to worry about being taken to task for sexual harassment—except perhaps as a plaintiff not a defendant, with the constant offers and innuendo that can gravitate to the man.

  And, here he is tipping around on rice paper and eggshells with a bombshell in his sights.

  Just look at her. Just listen to her, with that voice, as smooth as hot cum sliding down chilled crystal. She had to be at the extreme top of his “to do” list; but, he wasn’t acting like it at all.

  He most definitely had changed.

  Reading faces.

  Kara’s open and expressive face is a true joy to read; especially, her very dark, old soul eyes, which, I absolutely swear, sparkle when interacting with Alex. How could he not—?!

  “I repeat, again, Mr. Selectively ‑ Hearing ‑ Impaired. The lovely Ms. Kara wants you.”

  “Nice thought; but, she’s my exec, Steve . . . employee technically, though I’m asking her to go partners because she’s brought in so much lucrative business with her innovations.” He shook his head, in my complete disbelief. “Kara’s . . . a friend. Very smart, exceptionally capable, absolutely indispensable, a brilliant researcher and innovator. Did I say smart? And—.”

  “Stunningly beautiful. Seductively gorgeous.”

  He was silent, while scratching his ear [a sure little sign of his keeping something to himself], then he shrugged, as if all that didn’t matter.

  My god! Was this still Alexander “The Horn”, who’d always received comprehensive BJs, handjobs, or fucks in any aperture he preferred, from practically anyone he ever chose for the blessed opportunity? He really couldn’t see Kara’s obvious but reserved interest? Her seductive . . . every­thing?

  “So, you’re not dating her?”

  “N-no.” Nice; but, how to get her to notice me, beyond basic, common civility because I was in the room, let alone go out with her, was another matter.

  A glaring, bright light bulb came on over my head.

  Our minds can forget a billion gazillion things, then, at the most crucial, Lucifer-illuminated moment . . . it’s there. The number of that cute, dumb girl, who’ll do anything for very little coaxing. Or Grand­ma’s monkey’s paw. Damn hideous thing! Gave me nightmares, as a child. Inherited it with a box of other “memorabilia”, better known as old lady crap. Gran’d sworn someone in the family’d gotten it directly from Poe, who’d written THE story. You know, The Edgar Allen Poe and “The Monkey’s Paw”.

  Oh, yeah, I believed that.

  Although, it is
amazing how much we don’t believe . . . until an intense desire makes it all longingly believable.

  Alex and I watched his new tech toy give number, name, time of call, and tons of other profound data; “even from voicemail”. He was proud. It was so exciting. Oh, joy. Neato. Yawn. He was completely fascinated by his new plaything. Myself, I watched Kara moving around interacting with the others outside his office, envisioning her strong and well-toned, shapely legs vised around me. And at their center, her dark, humid, triangular arrow of musky lust pointing and directing me . . . .

  I’ll hit that target, if he won’t.

  “Hm? What, Alex? ‘What am I thinking?’ Nothing, really. Let’s eat.”

  Long lunch. Catch up. Here and there pick info about Kara. More catch up. It’s been great seeing you, Alex. See yah again, soon. No, I won’t be a stranger and wait so long next time.

  The usual, insincere bullshit.

  Fast car.

  Home.

  “Where’s that damned box of yours, Gran?” Monkey’s paw, monkey’s paw—.

  Ugh! Still goddamned hideous!

  I grabbed the brightly furred, bony, blackskinned thing, then put it back; dropped it really, as if it were a flaming, taboo object. I thought hard and long. I needed to be unambiguously correct, and not mess up, like the silly, pathetic, old geezer couple in the story.

  Heart pounding, I held that cursed thing and silently wished the precise words of power I felt would work most perfectly. Remember, “in the beginning was The Word”.

  Of course, typically, it picked then to storm and rage overhead, complete with lighting flashes and tons of rain.

  I waited. And, waited. Nothing. Nothing. For the better part of an hour.

  Fuck it.

  I went outside to watch bitchy Mother Nature’s little I’m God show, and my own vaporizing breath in the chilly, wet suburban night.

  One minute later, a sports car pulled up in the wrong direction and jerked to an abrupt, screechingly haphazard stop at my curb, as if it’d been turned off while still geared in drive. Eventually, Kara stumbled out, and hesitatingly walked across the expanse of my yard. No umbrella. No shoes. What I’d mistaken for a trenchcoat was a thick bathrobe getting soaked heavily with rain.

  Disbelieving my eyes, I breathlessly jumped off the porch to meet her. She came straight to me, and I removed her rainstreaked hornrims.

  Her magnificent eyes were scared, confused, and . . . obstinate.

  You get ten novena, Gran. Thanks.

  “Come inside, Kara.”

  * * * *Authorized Bootleg* * * *

  I locked the door, then walked around her. Beautiful, simply stunning—even drenched, pissed, and trembling violently. I reached for her robe; she tried to stop me.

  “No, Kara.”

  She . . . let me, against the hard and futile resolve in her burning, dark eyes.

  I opened her robe. Mother goddamn. She must’ve just stepped out of her bath. Completely naked; fresh, clean. Mine. I peeled the sopping garment off her, letting it drop heavily at our feet, then walked around again for the full, juicy inspection.

  This was all much better than that hormone-induced, mind-crippling notion of her I had had to excuse myself for, when at lunch with Alex . . . to lock myself, like an unrestrained pervert, in a men’s room stall, so I could jerk her off my mind.

  Which plainly hadn’t worked.

  I’d imagined Alex oblivious in his office and the others going about their business, while I did my business with Kara. Bending her over Alex’ big, hard wood desk, with my enthusiastic, swollen cock tightly filling her—back, front, and on her begging knees.

  That’d only been . . . a waking wet dream, though. Here was the real, warm deal, in her peerless, naked flesh. My heart beat faster, my nads ached vengefully, as I hardened like pure Carnegie steel for her.

  How could Alex resist this?

  I stood behind her, removing the hair combs, before smoothing her thick, wet tresses. A trickle of rain coursed from her hair down her perfect shade of tan spine into the delightful valley between her very round buttocks. I studied them and handled them, as I unzipped. I heard her tense, small, fearful sigh, which made me want her more, as I took my expanding heavy rod in hand and dragged him across those two superb mounds. She took two halting steps away from me.

  “No, Kara. Stay.”

  Gran had said, “Strongly willful people can resist”, but only as far as my will AND the paw would allow. She said I should be “very careful with it” and with what I wanted, because prolonged exposure could weaken a person completely and enslave them to me.

  She’d also patted me on the cheek and proudly said she knew I didn’t want to do that to anyone.

  Gran never ever understood the real me, and she’d certainly wouldn’t get . . . that I really wanted this.

  Kara stayed put, as I kicked the robe out my way, to stoop and caress the underside of her sweet ass with my cock, before resting him along her crevice. Thick, hot, swollen kielbasa on cool, toasty brown buns.

  She exhaled another displeased sigh, as I pressed against her, to look down the front of her extraordinary body. I squeezed her breasts, scratching her chestnut nipples erect and hard as No. 2 eraserheads with my fingertips and nails. My lips and tongue skimmed along the velvety line of her soft cheek and jaw, stopping on the hot, pounding throb in her honeysuckle scented throat.

  I listened to her breathing alter with her unwanted, responsive arousal because of my touch.

  I continued kneading one of her doughy breasts, as I looked farther down her, then gently entangling my fingers in her softly curled, dark bush and grabbed a handful. Snatching snatch. I tugged hard enough for a peek, at the dark, pouting lips between her dimpled thighs.

  “Come.”

  I lead her to my bedroom. If I hadn’t had full control of her, the harsh glimpse she gave my uncut, bobbing dong would’ve pissed me off. I turned on the indirect lighting; because otherwise it’d be a sin to take and enjoy something this gorgeous and not look at it.

  “Undress me.”

  That stubborn little bitch didn’t move. When I repeated my order, she still didn’t. I thought to change my approach, to physically force her or, fleetingly . . . to maybe let her go?

  Shut the fuck up, Gran! You’re not my conscience! No way I don’t get exactly what I want out of this one, not out of one of Alex’ most special women.

  Especially, when I realized, right then, at that moment, looking at her unfettered beauty and resolute spirit, in replaying how they’d so tediously chicken danced around each other earlier—she was “The One”. Y’know. “The One” you change your worse behavior for. “The One” you “forsake all others for”. “The One” you carefully woo and hopefully win, with enduring respect, because “The One” and only “One” is that nauseatingly precious to you.

  And, he hadn’t had her yet. Jackpot.

  I grabbed the paw from my nightstand.

  “Kara, undress me.”

  Before I’d put it down, she was reaching for me, undoing my shirt, stripping it from me. I watched her eyes. She didn’t want to look in mine, nor did she want to look at me, so she closed them.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She glanced up, full of sadness and anger, then stared forward at my hairy chest. I was especially pleased, when there was no coaxing needed nor hesitant fumbling while unhooking my pants, though she did manage to pull them and my underwear down without directly focusing on the eager, angry dusk rose pink cock inches from her face. I’ll fix that.

  “Kiss me.”

  That was an intentionally loaded request, as she immediately began where she was, on my hairy thigh. When she tried to bypass my best buddy, I seized her by the hair and brought that exquisite face to my musky, aching crotch. I felt her neck stiffen, refusing me, as she pushed back against my hand, which vised her in place. The phone rang and the ancient machine picked up.

  “Steve. It’s Alex.” She whimpered. I liked the sound. Th
ere was a considerable pause, then Alex simply stated, “You always could read people. I do . . . . I . . . love . . . Kara. I want her, really want her, desperately; but, I don’t want to fuck it up, like . . . well, y’know. That’s all, good buddy. No, wait! Call me, leave a message. We should talk. Okay? See yah.”

  She sobbed, “Alex,” almost inaudibly. Futilely. I shoved her beautiful face to my groin.

  “You’re kissing me.” Her moment of hesitation was extremely brief. I love that hideous monkey. Her soft, full lips gently touched my sacs then proceeded up the underside of my rigid, thick cock. I momentarily considered having her suck my fat man off; but, I wanted to be inside her, and see what Alex’ queen elect was like.

  “Bed. Now.”

  She, finally, haltingly clambered onto my creaking antique brass bed—the very same one old Gran died in. Kara stared at the far wall, until I twisted her around to face me, which she plainly hadn’t wanted to do. Her eyes. The fear was gone. No. It was suppressed, under her total contempt for me.

  I kissed her, softly at first, then the lust kicked in, as I forced my tongue into her mouth. When I looked again, she had the same hate filled gaze for me.

  Didn’t matter.

  “Lie back, open your legs.” Her brow wrinkled with disapproval at my order, but she complied readily.

  I moved between her thighs, and felt my erect and straining-to-play cock fall naturally against her cunt, and as it did so, I relished seeing her fear resurface. I didn’t care if she didn’t want me, she was getting me, as I slipped my dick’s hard head between her musky, hairy lips. My balls cramped sharply with desire, as my glans met her slick cunt.

  Oh yes, her mind and heart weren’t in the game but her slippery cunt was. She stopped breathing awhile, as I slid past the defiant constriction of her inexperienced entrance and into her sweltering hole.

  Mmm. Mmm. Good. Tight fit.

  I pushed, and that snug, fallow length of pussy took me; until deep inside her, I met definite resistance.

  Too damn good. “The One.” And, a virgin.

  Part of me wanted to viciously ram and rip the hell out of her, pound and batter the Mighty Alex’ property to whimpering pieces like shattered wedding crystal; but, instead, I steeled myself, restrained myself, by using . . . Prince Alex’ own trick, in his own words—“for deflowering and multiple usage”. I pulled nearly all the way out, then gently slipped back in, putting tender pressure on her “veil of purity”, Gran called it, on the barrier of flesh and muscle constraining by access and protecting her physical virginity.