disturbance at the hobbit house.
Tap
LOTR RPS - extended version
Ali McKinnon/Hannah Wood/assorted hobbits
hard R
Beta smooches to my lovelies, Charlie and Shannon.
Tap
Ali was getting used to being the third wheel... fourth wheel, fifth wheel. She did not feel like the Yoko Ono to the hobbits' Beatles. But she did feel like the little girl pressed against the outside of the shop window, whose fingertips dragged against the thick glass, aching to claw through. If only she could tear it down and get that brand new color tv on the other side-just like all the rich kids at school had: the latest, brightest, loudest one. Only the hobbits were not tv (however entertaining) nor rich kids. Well, a bit rich. Somewhat childlike at times. (But they are men-childishness being a standard amenity on that particular model, she reckoned.)
Their dynamic was not that of a clique, but unbreakable brotherhood. All post-LOTR relationships, please check your bags at the gate. No trespassing. Violators will be prosecuted. Obey the traffic signals. Green light, yellow light, red light. Go.
Ali learned not to question. Just go.
Then she realized it was not just her. Other girlfriends, boyfriends, "just friends," more-than-one-night-stand-type fucks and one wife each met a similar doorless wall known as the Great Barrier Hobbit. Great Hobbit Barrier. Fucking obstruction. No one was exempt. And what went on inside locked doors? Thoughts of secret Freemason meetings with big wooden paddles weren't too far off. Neither were the rumors.
Franka left because of it. Christine pretended not to know. Dom's girls didn't stick around long enough to care. And Shox-well, Shox only committed to fucking everything that moved. (So he fucked Dom the most because Dom moved the most.)
Family and friends were either blissfully ignorant (the lucky ones) or conveniently amnesiac. Don't mess with the hobbits, outdoor voice (let the hobbits mess with each other, indoor voice). They can, however, mess with you. (And they will.)
But every rule has its break-the-fucking-wall-down exception.
~
When Ali first met Hannah, the girl skipped straight past "hi" and randomly noted their similar hairstyles. Pixie hair, Hannah called it, gently reaching around and patting the soft spikes at the back of Ali's head. Sprightly, Billy had said. Ali reciprocated the intimate greeting, showing Hannah how she would style Billy's hair in thorny patches. Ali flitted her hands through Hannah's short fluff, tugging and stroking until the ends stood out wildly all over her scalp. All the while, Hannah stared directly into Ali's eyes with a smug smile growing deeper and longer, snaking into the apples of her cheeks.
That night when Dom knocked on Billy's and Ali's bedroom door, Hannah was with him.
Just as Ali had found herself in the tangle of four hobbits at play, Hannah found her way into four hobbits plus a pixie. An Ali. A new plaything. A way in and a way back out. Every combination had been cast before: Dom with Billy with Elijah with Sean with every coupling and trio and foursome plus guest stars and tag-alongs de l'amour. The latter pairing up while in the presence of any or all hobbits equaled good orgy fun. The latter pairing up outside of the hobbit quartet was a breaking of the mold.
That suited Hannah just fine; she fancied herself a sculptor. Piece no. 1: The Dancer.
Hannah had an obsession with Ali's tits, liked to play with them clothed and naked, even if the two women did nothing else. She commented on their smallness, how her own tiny hands could cover them easily. Cupping Ali’s breasts simultaneously, Hannah would then flatten them down, rolling the squashed nubs against her palm until the tickling would make her giggle lightly. Then her laughter would cut off as quickly as it bubbled up, her eyes would narrow, and she would push in one nipple and pull at the other until Ali moaned openmouthed. That is when, and always then, Hannah would shove her down-onto the bed or, more often, the floor-and lick her upside down from mouth to clit, pushing and pulling and pulling and pushing until Ali moaned low and gurgling in the back of her sobbing throat.
Ali learned all sorts of things from the hobbits, things from Hannah, most of which no one ever told her.
She discovered that Billy came the quickest when she bit his nipple; Dom when she sloppily tongue-fucked his ear; Sean and Elijah when she stuck a thumb up their arses, respectively. (Although... she made a mental note to try them at the same time, should the opportunity present itself.) Hannah seemed to come whenever she damn well pleased, and as often as she preferred.
Hannah smelled like Dom and Elijah, but tasted like neither.
Hannah bottomed like Sean, relinquishing all control from the top position.
Hannah did her hair like Billy when she wanted Ali alone. And Ali was losing memory of the last time she saw Hannah with her hair unspiked.
But then, it was hard to see someone who lived thousands of kilometers away. Even faces you had seen mere millimeters from your own (sweaty and hot and, oh) began to fade after months spent apart.
Elijah became a blur of watery blue, like watercolors mixed in a white china cup.
Sean became a tortoiseshell swirl of speckled brown and gold, like rain smudging the sunlight and warmth from the surface of a sandy beach.
Dom became a quick-flash of chameleon flickering. His face was never the same from photograph to photograph, holiday to holiday, fuck to fuck.
Billy could see through her until she could not see at all. And they felt the same thing.
Soon only smell and the remembrance of touch remained. And they would have to refresh again. Fly back.
Five thousand, one hundred and eighty-four kilometers from Glasgow to New York. Three thousand, nine hundred and sixty-one kilometers from New York to L.A.
Los Angeles to Wellington? New Zealand was not Ali's. Never would be her home.
Hannah and Ali saw each other when they saw each other; and fucked when they did. Even if it was just fingers under the dinner table, wiping come on deliberately short skirts. Hannah liked to order foods with shells, hard-boiled eggs and crab legs, tapping them with her fork until they cracked. She would work at these while Ali worked at her, or make Ali tend to her food (like her mum) while Hannah took care of her. One time Ali's fork flew out of her slippery grip, clamoring on the tiled floor. Dom asked her why she was so nervous, her hands sweaty and face blushing. Her breath wheezed out in a shaky laugh. Elijah bent over to pick up the fork. Hannah never stopped.
Going home again, four hobbits crammed luggage into the boot of a four door car. Two girls squeezed into the back seat, slammed shut against each other's mouths, sharing kisses that were no longer stolen in secret.
LOTR RPS - extended version
Ali McKinnon/Hannah Wood/assorted hobbits
hard R
Beta smooches to my lovelies, Charlie and Shannon.
Tap
Ali was getting used to being the third wheel... fourth wheel, fifth wheel. She did not feel like the Yoko Ono to the hobbits' Beatles. But she did feel like the little girl pressed against the outside of the shop window, whose fingertips dragged against the thick glass, aching to claw through. If only she could tear it down and get that brand new color tv on the other side-just like all the rich kids at school had: the latest, brightest, loudest one. Only the hobbits were not tv (however entertaining) nor rich kids. Well, a bit rich. Somewhat childlike at times. (But they are men-childishness being a standard amenity on that particular model, she reckoned.)
Their dynamic was not that of a clique, but unbreakable brotherhood. All post-LOTR relationships, please check your bags at the gate. No trespassing. Violators will be prosecuted. Obey the traffic signals. Green light, yellow light, red light. Go.
Ali learned not to question. Just go.
Then she realized it was not just her. Other girlfriends, boyfriends, "just friends," more-than-one-night-stand-type fucks and one wife each met a similar doorless wall known as the Great Barrier Hobbit. Great Hobbit Barrier. Fucking obstruction. No one was exempt. And what went on inside locked doors? Thoughts of secret Freemason meetings with big wooden paddles weren't too far off. Neither were the rumors.
Franka left because of it. Christine pretended not to know. Dom's girls didn't stick around long enough to care. And Shox-well, Shox only committed to fucking everything that moved. (So he fucked Dom the most because Dom moved the most.)
Family and friends were either blissfully ignorant (the lucky ones) or conveniently amnesiac. Don't mess with the hobbits, outdoor voice (let the hobbits mess with each other, indoor voice). They can, however, mess with you. (And they will.)
But every rule has its break-the-fucking-wall-down exception.
~
When Ali first met Hannah, the girl skipped straight past "hi" and randomly noted their similar hairstyles. Pixie hair, Hannah called it, gently reaching around and patting the soft spikes at the back of Ali's head. Sprightly, Billy had said. Ali reciprocated the intimate greeting, showing Hannah how she would style Billy's hair in thorny patches. Ali flitted her hands through Hannah's short fluff, tugging and stroking until the ends stood out wildly all over her scalp. All the while, Hannah stared directly into Ali's eyes with a smug smile growing deeper and longer, snaking into the apples of her cheeks.
That night when Dom knocked on Billy's and Ali's bedroom door, Hannah was with him.
Just as Ali had found herself in the tangle of four hobbits at play, Hannah found her way into four hobbits plus a pixie. An Ali. A new plaything. A way in and a way back out. Every combination had been cast before: Dom with Billy with Elijah with Sean with every coupling and trio and foursome plus guest stars and tag-alongs de l'amour. The latter pairing up while in the presence of any or all hobbits equaled good orgy fun. The latter pairing up outside of the hobbit quartet was a breaking of the mold.
That suited Hannah just fine; she fancied herself a sculptor. Piece no. 1: The Dancer.
Hannah had an obsession with Ali's tits, liked to play with them clothed and naked, even if the two women did nothing else. She commented on their smallness, how her own tiny hands could cover them easily. Cupping Ali’s breasts simultaneously, Hannah would then flatten them down, rolling the squashed nubs against her palm until the tickling would make her giggle lightly. Then her laughter would cut off as quickly as it bubbled up, her eyes would narrow, and she would push in one nipple and pull at the other until Ali moaned openmouthed. That is when, and always then, Hannah would shove her down-onto the bed or, more often, the floor-and lick her upside down from mouth to clit, pushing and pulling and pulling and pushing until Ali moaned low and gurgling in the back of her sobbing throat.
Ali learned all sorts of things from the hobbits, things from Hannah, most of which no one ever told her.
She discovered that Billy came the quickest when she bit his nipple; Dom when she sloppily tongue-fucked his ear; Sean and Elijah when she stuck a thumb up their arses, respectively. (Although... she made a mental note to try them at the same time, should the opportunity present itself.) Hannah seemed to come whenever she damn well pleased, and as often as she preferred.
Hannah smelled like Dom and Elijah, but tasted like neither.
Hannah bottomed like Sean, relinquishing all control from the top position.
Hannah did her hair like Billy when she wanted Ali alone. And Ali was losing memory of the last time she saw Hannah with her hair unspiked.
But then, it was hard to see someone who lived thousands of kilometers away. Even faces you had seen mere millimeters from your own (sweaty and hot and, oh) began to fade after months spent apart.
Elijah became a blur of watery blue, like watercolors mixed in a white china cup.
Sean became a tortoiseshell swirl of speckled brown and gold, like rain smudging the sunlight and warmth from the surface of a sandy beach.
Dom became a quick-flash of chameleon flickering. His face was never the same from photograph to photograph, holiday to holiday, fuck to fuck.
Billy could see through her until she could not see at all. And they felt the same thing.
Soon only smell and the remembrance of touch remained. And they would have to refresh again. Fly back.
Five thousand, one hundred and eighty-four kilometers from Glasgow to New York. Three thousand, nine hundred and sixty-one kilometers from New York to L.A.
Los Angeles to Wellington? New Zealand was not Ali's. Never would be her home.
Hannah and Ali saw each other when they saw each other; and fucked when they did. Even if it was just fingers under the dinner table, wiping come on deliberately short skirts. Hannah liked to order foods with shells, hard-boiled eggs and crab legs, tapping them with her fork until they cracked. She would work at these while Ali worked at her, or make Ali tend to her food (like her mum) while Hannah took care of her. One time Ali's fork flew out of her slippery grip, clamoring on the tiled floor. Dom asked her why she was so nervous, her hands sweaty and face blushing. Her breath wheezed out in a shaky laugh. Elijah bent over to pick up the fork. Hannah never stopped.
Going home again, four hobbits crammed luggage into the boot of a four door car. Two girls squeezed into the back seat, slammed shut against each other's mouths, sharing kisses that were no longer stolen in secret.