Basically, the recommended treatment for anything involving "thing on the neck" is to remove it and see what it is afterward. Well, that's if "thing on the neck" changes (gets bigger, changes color, loses hair, ruptures). If it had stayed the same, the recommendation would've been "leave well enough alone."

With the lump getting removed, I figure Angel will either be losing two freckles, or having two merged into one.

Have a mandatory birthday thing at work in a few, so I'll get on with the flirt update.

Sara and I have been driving each other nuts. I've been getting up 20 minutes earlier in the mornings so that she can come sneak in the house and we can have a smooch before the workday begins. I'm also using it as an excuse to practice holding off on the first cigarette of the day. I get up at 5:40, brush my teeth, walk Angel, wait for Sara, have some coffee, see Sara, and then I can have a smoke.

Now back to your regularly scheduled steamy story.

Badsnake wrote:

Fog had come up all around the cabin, thickening the woods and field around the cabin. Remy, on the front porch with a bourbon and a cigarette, looked up to see just a dull glow where the full moon should be. It reminded him of a night long ago.

It was a similar night when his Auntie Anise had showed him another of her tricks, things she said would help him get out and get ahead. It ain't black if you don't do it that way, she'd said. Just don't ever do it to wish hurt on no one.

He wondered if what he was thinking would count as wishing hurt. He tossed the rest of his bourbon over the rail, crushed his cigarette under his boot and went back inside. Sure enough, on one of the pillows, was a hair from Claire's head. He kept it pressed tightly between his thumb and forefinger as he pulled one of the candles Auntie Anise had made for him out of the bedside table drawer.

Anise was a beautiful woman, still was, and to Remy it seemed she'd only aged a few years as long as he'd known her, which was all his life. Her tea colored skin with toffee highlights always had the same crow's feet and laugh lines, never deepening, never getting new additions, even when her hair started to turn more gray.

He'd already used one of her tricks on Claire. Smoothing her brow and whispering the soft words to ease her into his way of thinking. Anise had done the same thing to calm Remy down after he'd gotten his hide tanned on more occasions than he cared to remember. She'd whisper, "You're stronger now."

Remy held the candle between his knees to light the candle. He awkwardly struck a match one-handed on the box. "Don't use no lighter. Don't put nothing under the candle. And you gotta get it right the first time. No use trying again."

He slid off the bed to sit cross-legged on the floor, let one drop of wax fall and set the candle on it to stand. By the dim light, he carefully tied three knots in the thin brown hair, only about as long as his pinkie.

He carefully positioned the hair near the flame, but not in its heat.

"You must blow out the flame right as the last bit disappear. Must be nothing left. And you must think hard on the person you send it to," Anise said.

He'd been thinking hard about Claire all right. Hell, he couldn't think about her without getting hard. He leaned close, whispered, "avec moi � soir," and began to blow the flame gently as he lowered the knotted hair into it. He blew harder just as the last bit

of hair disintegrated, and his breath extinguished the flame. Then he thought very hard about Claire, what he'd like to do with her.

"The smoke carries it, so think hard on the smoke," Anise told him.

When the smoke had dissipated, Remy returned the candle to its drawer and started to take his clothes off. Boots, jeans, shirt, socks. He hesitated with his undershorts. Usually he liked to keep something on in case of emergency, but he was certainly praying he wouldn't be disturbed tonight. He took off the shorts and slipped between the sheets of the bed. He could smell her.

He wrapped a hand around his cock and started to stroke, tossing the covers to one side. She'd lied about faking it. He wondered why she even tried to lie about it. He was there. He'd gotten to her, inside her, and now with the safety of distance she was trying to deny it. But he knew he could teach the same lesson in many different ways.

She would ride him again, he thought, as he pictured her on top, pumping up and down on his cock. I'll find a way to make her volunteer to do it. With his free hand he stroked a nipple. And she'll kiss me here. I'll bring her head down, but I won't have to tell her what to do. He imagined the feel of her lips and tongue, and he came hard.

Back in town, Jimmy was listening to the conversations around him. He picked out his most likely candidate, sauntered up to the bars and said casually, "Hey, is it okay if I go home now?" He was a slick talker when he wanted to be, and he knew how to play it. He explained calmly that he wasn't charged with anything, that there wasn't even any paperwork on him. He'd just been sleeping off a drunk but he was fine now and it would be good if he could go home.

The young deputy on nightshift, unable to find anything on paper that gave a reason for holding the young man, unlocked the cell and let him go.

Sara wrote:

She was in the cabin, over the bolster again, wrists and ankles cuffed and tied. She was stretched taut over the cushion. She wasn't angry or scared like before. It just felt...right.

She couldn't see him, but she could feel his hands. Big, slightly roughened hands, stroking lightly over her ass. He was talking to her, she couldn't make out the words but she could hear the tone. Soothing, low, just a little hoarse.

The hand went away, came down hard. No pain. Just warmth, spreading through her slowly, like syrup. Again and again. Warmth, then heat, then finally tingling faint pain. But it was okay. She could take it, she could take anything as long as that voice kept talking to her.

Now his weight against her. Pressing, pushing, insistent. She was rolled forward, toes pointed down but not even brushing the floor. Suspended, but comfortable.

Pressing inside her. Craving him, welcoming him, wanting him. She didn't fight, except to open her pinned legs even wider to take him. Deeper, she wanted to beg, but realized that her mouth was covered. His hand resting firmly over it; she could smell the faint tang of tobacco and smoke on it.

She closed her eyes and floated away on the sensations as the length of him slid in, out, harder and fiercer with each stroke. He was close, she could feel it. She was too, right on the edge.

His hand slipped off her mouth and she felt his breath against her ear. She knew what he wanted before she heard the words in her ear.

"Say it..."

The words tumbled out of their own accord.

"Now daddy please now daddy..."

She started awake, to find her back arched and the last throbs of her orgasm ebbing away. She was panting harshly in the dark of her bedroom. She started to sag back on the matress when the phone shrilled, making her start.

She grabbed it without stopping to think, her mouth open and shaping his name before the receiver touched her ear.

"Bitch..." Slur thickened by beer and maybe more.

She shook her head, switched gears. "Jimmy."

"I don't know what deal you cut with the sheriff but you and he need to mind your own goddamn business. I'm an adult and I can do what I want, goddammit."

"What's happened? Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm f--" She heard him stumble and a distant crash. "Fine. I'm fine. Just leave me the hell alone!"

The slam of the receiver crashed in her ear and she put her own phone down with a sigh. She glanced at the clock. 3 AM. Lovely.

No more sleep tonight, she figured.

She thought about what might be involved in tracking down the sheriff's number, getting him to earn what she was paying so dearly for by looking in on Jimmy and seeing what was going on.

No. The dream was too recent, too close, too real. No.

Instead she rolled out of bed, shrugged on her robe, and went to the kitchen to make tea and wait for sunrise.