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From: Malinov <malinov@mindless.com>
Subject: {ASS} Burning Letters by Lord Malinov
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Burning Letters
by Lord Malinov
~~~
Jean pushed the screen door open with a thrust of her behind. The
aluminum frame rattled in the night's strong breeze, crashing back
against the house as Jean stepped aside and cringed in anticipation
of the bang. Pressing the box she carried hard against her belly,
Jean carefully descended from the old wood porch.
She sat the cardboard box on the grass, beside the bar-b-que grill.
A faint orange glow shuddered in the wind, shrouded in thick layers
of white ash. Jean picked up a large set of tongs and pushed the
blades between the black bars of the grate. Globs of brown fat fell
into the coals as she lifted the round mesh, sizzling with yellow
bursts of quick flame. Jean dropped it on the ground and sighed.
"I guess it's right," she said.
The sun had fallen low in the west leaving the last remnants of the
fiery day in a wide splash of darkened orange and deepening blue.
A north wind whipped hard through the leaves of the trees beyond the
yard, a swelling rustle of disturbed order that made Jean nervous.
Taking a few steps over the well-manicured lawn, she cast an
expectant glance through a break in the trees. A hard black line of
storm clouds moved in steadily.
"I'd better get this done," she said.
Picking up a can of lighter fluid from the railroad tie that kept the
grass and the flowers parted, she squeezed a steady stream over the
orange shimmers in the grill basin. A quick hiss extinguished the
glow.
Jean pulled a red lighter from her pocket and in a thoughtless
continuation of an old habit, took out a cigarette. A flicker
of flame led to a deep breath of smoke and Jean coughed.
"I've got to quit these things," she said. "That'd really make him
happy."
Jean kneeled before the cardboard box and pulled open the flaps. The
white creases of the envelopes shone in the porch light.
"Jean Anderson," she read aloud. "I guess she's gone."
Jean flicked the lighter and held it to the corner of the envelope.
Blue flame stole up the side of the white letter. A slowly ascending
line of black consumed the thin paper as a yellow light burst forth.
Jean held the burning letter in her hand a moment and then tossed it
into the grill. The flammable vapors burst in an explosion of light.
Jean took the second letter and tossed it into the fire. She picked
up a handful of the things and threw them in. The clutter of thick
paper doused the light for a moment and then caught fire. Bright
yellow light stroked Jean's frowning face.
"They don't mean anything to me. I don't see what harm they do him,
but I guess it's right. He's given me so much, I can do this for
him."
Jean picked up another letter, a thick one. She took the pages
out, discarding the envelope in the flames. Reading the words
scrawled over the white surface, Jean began to smile.
"Jeezus, Danny, you were a so full of shit." She tossed the first
page into the fire. "I guess Frank has good reason to get mad about
these, even seven years gone." Jean laughed.
"I couldn't sleep last night, thinking of you, stroking my cock while
I laid in bed, thinking of you, teasing my cock with wanting your
tongue, imagining your smile as I came. I'm so crazy about you,
Jean. I wish I could have come to see you today. I don't know how
I'll make it until Tuesday."
Jean pushed the page into the fire, watching the flames lick over the
surface, drowning the ink in cinders. White smoke rose slightly and
then dashed away in the wind.
"I'm sorry, Danny. She wouldn't like them either, I'll bet." Jean
knelt down to pick up the next letter, turning it over in her hands.
She started to flip it casually into the fire, but stopped. She
opened the envelope and cast the wrapping into perdition.
"I still can't believe you, Jean. I can't believe how incredibly
naughty you were. My prick is still throbbing, remembering your
mischievous smile as you sucked me out there. Anyone could have
caught us. You are so wild."
A flicker of light exposed Jean's blush as she dropped the
reminder of their day at the family picnic into the fire. A touch of
warmth tickled her nerves as she remembered the smooth slip of
Danny's thick cock into her mouth, and pushing it back into his pants
as his sister came toward them, calling Danny's name. Jean twisted a
hardening nipple.
Frank had told her to "act decently," when she teased him in the
park. Jean frowned, and took up another letter.
"Serving you dinner naked, pouring your wine, standing attentive
while you ate. You fondled my prick, squeezed my bare ass, but gave
me a pinch because the meat was too rare." Jean laughed. "Now,
Danny, I don't remember that."
The wind picked up, beginning to howl through the trees, sending
flutters of sparks out of the fiery bowl. Jean sighed and looked at
the half-empty box.
"It seems such a shame to lose so many memories," she said.
"Especially such hot ones. Oh, Frank, why can't you let me keep a
bit of my past?" She looked at the big house, as if it could speak
for the man who owned them both. The neatly creased building stood
silent, cool, steadily insistent before her. A crash of thunder
rolled in the distance. Jean picked up another handful of letters
and tossed them into the fire.
Jean sat down on the grass as the wind grew fierce, scattering a
whirl of sparks. She picked up another letter and opened it.
"You breathe life into my soul, my heart, my love, I am made alive
because of your beauty, your kindness, your fire. I want to fuck you
Jean, fuck the raging inferno of your cunt, to lose myself in your
stormy ride, to take you, love you, surrender and conquer and love
you. I lose all my reason in your warm embrace. Last night you
fucked me with such madness, with such heat, dripping in the sweat of
our passion, we were burning like we were burning alive."
Jean screamed all her self into the darkness. Lightning struck a
distant tree and Jean screamed in savage rebellion, warring against
the thunder. Wind lifted a pillar of sparks before her impassioned
eyes and Jean paused to watch the letters burn.
"NO!" she yelled, wild, and kicked the black altar with an angry
foot, spilling the fiery sacrifice onto the lawn, over the flowers,
under the porch. Flames licked the old, dry wood and Jean sat on the
grass and sobbed.
Four letters remained in the box. Jean clutched the thin papers to
her breast as she watched the fire burn and grow. Backing away
slowly, she wondered who she was, and where she was going. Jean
smiled wickedly to see the rages of light consuming the house she
left behind.
"He'll know what to do," she said, laughing madly. "Frank's good at
dousing flames."
~~~
Malinov
--
Power belongs to those who dare. . . Sapere Aude
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