Kathrine

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Erotic Flash  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group

Featured Review on this writing by g-string


Kathrine

I grew up close to the Atlantic. Saunders Point was a bedroom community with upscale single-family dwellings, the best of which sat on bluffs overlooking the sea.  The road into the Point was an impressive stretch with a deep, hilly forest of oak, elm, and marshes giving way to the ocean.  The road forked, one leg leading to a boatyard, tennis courts, and sprawl of summer homes. The other ran an additional mile to the bluffs. Hemmed by woodland on both sides, Quarry Dock Road was a green tunnel in summer and a high palette of color in fall. Of a winter, its ice-covered branches glimmered over the silent white carpets, stretching deep and away between the trunks.  Seven houses sat on the bluffs, each a spot hewed from the forest, isolated from the neighboring lot by sentinels of trees.

The best of these was the Jenkins’ house. Nicolas Jenkins was a venture capitalist.  His younger wife, Kathrine, was an NCAA pole vaulter before she taught history at the high school I attended. She was tall, austere, and beautiful. A thick black braid ran the length of her back, just long enough to touch the top of her dodgeball backside.  Her hips rolled discreetly as she walked, long-legged with the flawless carriage and the swinging braid. Every boy wanted her to lean over their desk to check their work so her braid would swing down and touch them, and they could catch a whiff of her rosewater bouquet.  She wore tailored dress pants, expensive blouses, and Italian flats.

Of all the classrooms in my high school, hers was primarily quiet. It went without saying that you didn’t waste Kathrine's time. Even the worst of us lived by that creed. And nobody wrote her name on the walls of a bathroom stall. Entering her classroom to find a substitute teacher seated at Kathrine's desk was disappointing in the extreme, but our respect extended to the alternate out of deference for Ms. Jenkins.

Towards the end of my senior year, I received an acceptance letter from Princeton. I toured Europe that summer, preparing myself for the focus it would take to become a Doctor of Medicine. Upon returning to the Point, I had little time for anything beyond preparation for my freshman semester. I packed my belongings and said my goodbyes—not without a bit of sadness.

School went swimmingly, as the saying goes, but I was exhausted from stress and needed a fall break sooner than later. In October, I returned home to much fanfare and put school thoughts out of my mind. I slept for eighteen hours. Two days later, I took breakfast before pulling on a backpack and going for a tramp in the forest. I kept a good pace, weaving my way through birch stands, going down one side of a dank ravine, stepping over a narrow stream, and then climbing the other side. Outcrops of granite sat on ridges where I rested, and then I started down into a lightly wooded valley. Halfway across the valley, I peeled off my backpack and sat on a fallen tree. A moment later, I heard a cacophony of bird chirps. They stopped suddenly. And then I heard a hollow thud, a snort, and then crashing in the underbrush. A deer came blasting out of the thickets, running hard and then tumbling head over heels to the ground where it died. I ducked down just as Kathrine Jenkins stepped from the thicket, dressed in camouflage and carrying a compound bow. She walked quickly to her prey, tested it for life, and then gutted it. She wasted no movement. Up to her elbows in blood, she had smeared cheeks. Finally, she sheathed her knife and hauled the carcass across her shoulders. I dare not follow.

The following day, I returned to the valley. Scavengers had cleared out the gore; nothing left but dried blood. I hiked in the direction I saw Kathrine carrying the deer carcass. The trail led to the bluffs. I slowed my pace as I approached the Jenkin’s backyard. She was lying on a lounge with all the forest as her cover. Her pants were on the ground, and her husband’s face was buried in her pussy.


Submitted: May 13, 2022

© Copyright 2022 Laird. All rights reserved.

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Comments

g-string

really enjoyed - thank you!

Mon, May 16th, 2022 11:29pm

Author
Reply

Thanks, g-string--and thanks to booksie-silk for the venue!

Mon, May 16th, 2022 4:53pm

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