Word fic
Today's random-word fic comes courtesy of erynn999, who asked for the word "plump." Thank you, my dear. This wee story turned out better than I thought it would.
Also, I've included a nod to my Jeeves & Wooster friends. You'll probably find it right away, and it will be our little secret.
Fic is for Donald Strachey Mysteries, bookverse this time.
plump
As we pulled up to the La-Z-Boy Showcase Shoppe (quaint spelling, that), I released the annoyed groan I’d been holding back since we left the house that morning.
“This is the fifth store today,” I said to Timmy, just in case he wasn’t keeping track.
“It’s the last one. I promise.”
We got out of the car, Timmy as excited as a squirrel in a peanut factory and me as enthusiastic as a death-row felon in a Texas prison. I followed him inside and was dismayed to see four square acres of chairs, couches, tables, lamps and assorted whatnots.
“It’s back here,” Timmy said, leading the way through a maze of tasteful furniture groupings. He would have made an excellent lab rat. “It’s the only one in the store I like, so all you have to do is tell me whether you like it or not.”
“I like it.”
Timmy didn’t bother to answer as we wended our way through the store before fetching up before a brown leather sofa large enough to seat a good Catholic family. It took me two seconds to decide I hated it. It was fat and overstuffed and reminded me of the hideous furniture my grandmother kept in her parlor. I’d once spilled milk on one of her horsehair gems, and I truly did not sit for a week after defiling “The Chesterfield.”
“What do you think?” Timmy was practically bouncing. “It’s comfortable and well-made. We wouldn’t need another sofa for decades.”
Yes, we would because I’d chop it up for firewood the minute Timmy turned his back.
“It’s too fat.”
“What do you mean, fat?”
I waved my hand at the monstrosity. “The cushions are huge. Sit on that thing and it’ll eat you alive.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Timmy sat down and patted the cushion next to him. “Try it.”
I didn’t budge. “What about the one over at Frost’s? At least that one’s a little more streamlined.”
“I’m surprised you remember it. You were walking through the store with your eyes closed.” Timmy smoothed his palm on the cushion. “Just sit here for a minute. Please.”
Timmy had only ever asked me for two things - my loyalty and to put my dirty socks in the sock-and-undershorts hamper. I supposed I could test drive his sofa for ten seconds.
I sat down on the far cushion and sank right into it. The back of the sofa molded itself to the back of my neck, pushing me forward at an odd angle.
“This sofa is too soft,” I said.
Timmy scooted over so that we were sitting thigh to thigh. “I was thinking it was just right.”
I glanced at his face and saw the sparkle in his blue eyes. “Just picture us curled up together, eating popcorn and watching ‘I Love Lucy’ reruns,” he said. “Wouldn’t that be romantic?”
I shrugged. I did like eating popcorn on the sofa. “Maybe.”
Tim reached across me to press his fingers into the cushy armrest. “That’s just like a pillow. So if you get tired, you can lean back against it and go to sleep.” He rested his arm on my lap and grinned like a Cheshire cat when he felt my cock twitch.
“Leather is cold,” I said in a half-hearted attempt to make him see sense. “If I nap on this thing all alone, I’ll freeze to death.”
Timmy glanced around and then pressed his lips against my ear. “If you get cold, just say the word. I’ll cover you up.”
The scent of Aqua Velva wafted from the open neck of his shirt. Between that and the pressure of his forearm against my dick, he was driving me crazy. And he knew it. My evil and manipulative partner of two enchanting decades had planned this couch seduction, and I hadn’t even seen it coming. He'd waited until I was exhausted, frustrated and vulnerable to spring this sofa on me, and, to my surprise, I didn’t care. We would buy this sofa. Today. Now.
I prolonged the torture for another minute. “Are you sure it’s not too big?”
“It’s not just big,” he whispered. “It’s deep. Very … very … deep.”
A disapproving voice halted the dirty reply I intended to make.
“May I help you gentleman?”
A salesman dressed in funereal black was staring down at us, his lips pursed and his eyebrows raised almost to his widow’s peak. Timmy didn’t move his arm, and in any case, I wouldn’t have let him. My hard-on had grown to uncomfortable proportions, and I needed every inch of Timmy’s bony arm to cover it.
“You certainly may help us,” Timmy said. “We’d like to buy this big, fat monstrosity of a sofa.”
The man’s expression changed to one of obsequious delight. “Of course, sir. I’ll just get the paperwork-”
“But we don’t want to buy it from you,” Timmy continued. He pointed at the other side of the store. “Send that young woman over here. We’ll buy it from her.”
“But sir, I am certainly able to help you with this purchase.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost.
“I’m sure you can,” I said, “but my lover wants to buy it from someone else. And what he wants, he gets.” I patted Timmy’s knee. “I’m sure you understand.”
Given the bum’s rush, the guy had no choice but to retreat. Within seconds, a young woman hurried over to us, sales pad in hand. She plopped down beside Timmy and began scribbling in it.
“We have a coffee table that would go beautifully with this sofa, if you’d care to see it,” she said. “Or maybe a chair? Every sofa needs a complementary chair.”
Timmy laughed. “Maybe another time. Could we have it delivered today?”
She glanced at her watch. “If we hurry, we can get it in the evening shipment.”
I looked at Timmy. The sparkle in his eyes had turned to blue fire.
“That’s good,” I said. “I could really use a nap.”
Also, I've included a nod to my Jeeves & Wooster friends. You'll probably find it right away, and it will be our little secret.
Fic is for Donald Strachey Mysteries, bookverse this time.
plump
As we pulled up to the La-Z-Boy Showcase Shoppe (quaint spelling, that), I released the annoyed groan I’d been holding back since we left the house that morning.
“This is the fifth store today,” I said to Timmy, just in case he wasn’t keeping track.
“It’s the last one. I promise.”
We got out of the car, Timmy as excited as a squirrel in a peanut factory and me as enthusiastic as a death-row felon in a Texas prison. I followed him inside and was dismayed to see four square acres of chairs, couches, tables, lamps and assorted whatnots.
“It’s back here,” Timmy said, leading the way through a maze of tasteful furniture groupings. He would have made an excellent lab rat. “It’s the only one in the store I like, so all you have to do is tell me whether you like it or not.”
“I like it.”
Timmy didn’t bother to answer as we wended our way through the store before fetching up before a brown leather sofa large enough to seat a good Catholic family. It took me two seconds to decide I hated it. It was fat and overstuffed and reminded me of the hideous furniture my grandmother kept in her parlor. I’d once spilled milk on one of her horsehair gems, and I truly did not sit for a week after defiling “The Chesterfield.”
“What do you think?” Timmy was practically bouncing. “It’s comfortable and well-made. We wouldn’t need another sofa for decades.”
Yes, we would because I’d chop it up for firewood the minute Timmy turned his back.
“It’s too fat.”
“What do you mean, fat?”
I waved my hand at the monstrosity. “The cushions are huge. Sit on that thing and it’ll eat you alive.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Timmy sat down and patted the cushion next to him. “Try it.”
I didn’t budge. “What about the one over at Frost’s? At least that one’s a little more streamlined.”
“I’m surprised you remember it. You were walking through the store with your eyes closed.” Timmy smoothed his palm on the cushion. “Just sit here for a minute. Please.”
Timmy had only ever asked me for two things - my loyalty and to put my dirty socks in the sock-and-undershorts hamper. I supposed I could test drive his sofa for ten seconds.
I sat down on the far cushion and sank right into it. The back of the sofa molded itself to the back of my neck, pushing me forward at an odd angle.
“This sofa is too soft,” I said.
Timmy scooted over so that we were sitting thigh to thigh. “I was thinking it was just right.”
I glanced at his face and saw the sparkle in his blue eyes. “Just picture us curled up together, eating popcorn and watching ‘I Love Lucy’ reruns,” he said. “Wouldn’t that be romantic?”
I shrugged. I did like eating popcorn on the sofa. “Maybe.”
Tim reached across me to press his fingers into the cushy armrest. “That’s just like a pillow. So if you get tired, you can lean back against it and go to sleep.” He rested his arm on my lap and grinned like a Cheshire cat when he felt my cock twitch.
“Leather is cold,” I said in a half-hearted attempt to make him see sense. “If I nap on this thing all alone, I’ll freeze to death.”
Timmy glanced around and then pressed his lips against my ear. “If you get cold, just say the word. I’ll cover you up.”
The scent of Aqua Velva wafted from the open neck of his shirt. Between that and the pressure of his forearm against my dick, he was driving me crazy. And he knew it. My evil and manipulative partner of two enchanting decades had planned this couch seduction, and I hadn’t even seen it coming. He'd waited until I was exhausted, frustrated and vulnerable to spring this sofa on me, and, to my surprise, I didn’t care. We would buy this sofa. Today. Now.
I prolonged the torture for another minute. “Are you sure it’s not too big?”
“It’s not just big,” he whispered. “It’s deep. Very … very … deep.”
A disapproving voice halted the dirty reply I intended to make.
“May I help you gentleman?”
A salesman dressed in funereal black was staring down at us, his lips pursed and his eyebrows raised almost to his widow’s peak. Timmy didn’t move his arm, and in any case, I wouldn’t have let him. My hard-on had grown to uncomfortable proportions, and I needed every inch of Timmy’s bony arm to cover it.
“You certainly may help us,” Timmy said. “We’d like to buy this big, fat monstrosity of a sofa.”
The man’s expression changed to one of obsequious delight. “Of course, sir. I’ll just get the paperwork-”
“But we don’t want to buy it from you,” Timmy continued. He pointed at the other side of the store. “Send that young woman over here. We’ll buy it from her.”
“But sir, I am certainly able to help you with this purchase.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. I almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost.
“I’m sure you can,” I said, “but my lover wants to buy it from someone else. And what he wants, he gets.” I patted Timmy’s knee. “I’m sure you understand.”
Given the bum’s rush, the guy had no choice but to retreat. Within seconds, a young woman hurried over to us, sales pad in hand. She plopped down beside Timmy and began scribbling in it.
“We have a coffee table that would go beautifully with this sofa, if you’d care to see it,” she said. “Or maybe a chair? Every sofa needs a complementary chair.”
Timmy laughed. “Maybe another time. Could we have it delivered today?”
She glanced at her watch. “If we hurry, we can get it in the evening shipment.”
I looked at Timmy. The sparkle in his eyes had turned to blue fire.
“That’s good,” I said. “I could really use a nap.”