The Trap Door

The Trap Door
by David Cain

I had been dating Brenda for seven months, fairly seriously and more so every day. I slept over at her place as often as three times a week, while Brenda spent almost as many nights wrapped in the warm embrace of my green down comforter. Tooth brushes, razors and other sundry personal items had taken up lodging in the romantic embassies of foreign bathrooms. As a couple, we still only talked about the future in vague, shadowy terms that welcomed without requiring an enduring relationship, but we easily recognized what a promising future we could enjoy together. Brenda constantly struck me as beautiful, considerate and fun. I don’t know what more I could have wanted.

It was a Saturday in November. I had spent the early part of the afternoon doing some catch up work from the office and taking care of my weekly house chores. I remember I stopped to watch the gusty north air whip through the bare branches of the oak wind break from my dining room window. The sun shone with crystalline brilliance, making the browned field look almost balmy, although the crisp cold air clearly lacked the haziness a hot summer day would require.

The phone rang. I picked it up the receiver.

“Hello,” I said, my voice rich with the jovial tones of weekend.

“Ted, my friend,” a deep male voice said.

“Hey, Ivan,” I said, recognizing Ivan’s distinctive greeting.

“You are well?”

“It’s Saturday and the office is closed. I can’t do much better.”

“Yes,” said Ivan, “you finished with the Sander’s file?”

“Gratis Deo,” I said, crossing myself. “I dotted the last eye on my report just before lunch.”

“Good,” said Ivan. “There is much to do before Wednesday, still.”

“I’ll give you the file back on Monday, unless you want me to drop it by your place.”

“It would be better to work on the report, but no trouble is necessary for you. I can come to get the papers.”

“No,” I said, “I’m on my way out and I probably won’t be home again before tomorrow night.”

“Your girl?”

“Yeah,” I said, “Brenda and I are going up to Lennory this evening to see her aunt or something.”


“Brenda is very beautiful,” Ivan counseled. They had met at the Labor Day picnic a few months before. Whenever Brenda’s name came up, Ivan reminded me of her beauty.

“You live down by the office, don’t you?” I asked.

“Yes, but it would be better if you would give the file to Shelley. She needs to get started on the May schedule. You could also go over the figures Hank gave you with her. I think that would make her work go much smoother.”

“Sure,” I said, counting hours before Brenda and I were supposed to be dining in rural Virginia. “I’ve got enough time. Is Shelley still over on Dresden Court?”

“Yes, she gets the apartment very cheaply. She won’t move until she gets married, I think. Shelley said she would be home this afternoon and is expecting the file.”

“Well, all right Ivan. I’ll drop the report off on my way to Brenda’s place.”

“Thank you, Ted. Enjoy your visit to Brenda’s family.”

“Thanks, Ivan. See you Monday.”

The file sat on my planter, the glow of the buzzing grow light making the stained pine surface almost mystical as it held the Sander’s papers. I tossed a load of clothes in the circular dryer door and pressed the start button, starting a whining whir marked by the intermittent clang of a damp basketball shoe as it fell hard against the rotating aluminum drum. Going into my bedroom, I pulled out a gym bag and shoved some shorts and socks for the morning into the limp depths of the empty nylon pack. I found a clean t-shirt and tossed it over to my bed. I picked up Brenda’s brush from the bathroom sink and shoved it, with the shirt, into the bag.

Throwing the strap of the overnight over my shoulder, I stole my keys and wallet from my dresser top. I picked up the telephone and without a thought for the numbers, I dialed Brenda.

“Bren,” I said as the receiver clicked.

“Hey, Ted,” she answered in a playful, seductive voice. I had been looking forward to this weekend since Monday. Hearing Brenda tease me gave me goose bumps.

“All packed?” I asked.

“Almost,” said Brenda. “I need to drop by the mall and get some hose. I wanted to stop by L’Amours and see if I can’t get a manicure, if I have time.”

“No problem,”I said. “Ivan wants me to drop this file off at Shelley’s so she can waste her weekend working on it.”


“But you’re finished, right?” Brenda had been concerned that I would try to cancel this trip to see her aunt. To be honest, I didn’t care much for talking to her aging relatives, but we were going to stop off at the Piccolo Inn and spend the night with a hot tub and a large king sized bed. I would endure a dozen hours of biscuits and old stories to get to that melodic paradise.

“I just need to sit down with Shelley for half an hour and explain some of the figures. Then I’m clear and away.”

“Great,” said Brenda. “So how long?”

“I should be over in an hour to pick you up. How will that work?”

“I’ll go to the mall now, get my nails done and I should finish packing just as you get here.”

“What are you going to wear?” I asked, anxious to start the recreation.

“Me? I don’t know. Jeans and a sweater, I guess.”

“It’s a long drive. You could wear your skirt.”

“Yeah, I suppose I could,” Brenda said.

“You remember when we went to the beach and you wore a skirt and I told you naughty stories while we drove and you . . . .” Brenda had pulled off her panties and masturbated while I talked dirty. My prick ached and I kept sneaking peeks at her trim little bush and the pink bulge of her clitoris. I had never seen Brenda play with herself before and my stories grew nastier. When I told her about the night when one of my friends had spanked his girlfriend while we all watched until she came, Brenda put her foot up on the dash, spreading her wet swollen pussy lips gaping wide with busy fingers. I described squeals of the big assed sorority girl as Rick told her she was bad while we all sat watching and Brenda shoved two fingers into her gleaming hole. I nearly drove off the road as I listened to her ecstatic screams.

“Mmm,” said Brenda, “I didn’t realize you were in such a good mood today. Maybe I will adjust my wardrobe. You’ll have to promise to keep your eyes on the road this time.”

“I wish it were summer,” I said, still lost in memories of our last excursion.

“I don’t know,” said Brenda. “Winter can be sexy, too.”

“Oh, well,” I sighed. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Bye, lover,” she cooed. I rubbed the bulge in my jeans as I hung up the phone, my thoughts fixated on Brenda’s sweet little cunt spread wide while the miles rolled away.

“She should suck me while I drive,” I said to no one in particular.


I took the file from the pine altar, grabbed my nylon bag and picked up my shades and in a simple deft motion, I opened, closed and locked my front door. Then I thought to grab my water bottle and unlocked, opened, dashed to the faucet and in an evaporated minute, I locked the front door again. I started my car and hit the road.

The Dresden Court Apartments stand tall above the Elizabeth River in the heart of Danville. I had known a few people who lived in those luxurious units. Rent control keeps them unbelievably inexpensive, but the location and view makes them doubly impossible to acquire, absent lottery luck and the timely death of some close relative who happened to live there. Frank took his place at the Dresden when his mother’s cousin died. I never heard Shelley’s story. I should have asked her. Every door at the Dresden has a story behind it.

I knocked on Shelley’s door, not so much in search of a story, but to drop off the file, explain a few digits and get started on a bawdy tale of love on the road. No one answered. I knocked again, trying to figure out my next step if Shelley wasn’t home. I looked down the dim hallway, wondering if it would be safe to leave the stack of papers by the door. Shelley wouldn’t get my insights into Hank’s numbers, but that seemed better than the alternatives. I couldn’t afford to waste much time playing with the file and still make it to Lennory by dinner time. Ivan was twenty minutes away from Shelley’s and another fifty from Brenda’s. I rapped hard on the door, wondering if I could leave the file at the desk.

“Ted?” said Shelley as she opened her door a crack. I smiled and held up the Sander’s file. Rolling her eyes, she closed the door to draw the chain and then invited me inside. Shelley wore a white terry-cloth robe. The apartment reeked of sex.

I’d known Shelley for a few years at that point. She’d been working in our department since spring, and had accomplished a few miracles when our company went through a major crisis in July. Once, she’d pretty much saved our jobs by finding the source of our problems at four in the morning, six hours before we were due to present the finished product at CanCon. Shelley didn’t usually smile much at the office and had an evil stare that sometimes really frightened me, usually because I was to blame for something big, but even standing over my desk, rapping the wood with the edge of a thick stack of reports, looming over me in her dull tailored suits, frowning with her dark hair tied back tight, I liked Shelley.

I had seen Shelley in a t-shirt and shorts at the Labor Day Picnic. Her boyfriend from Allendale had come down for the holiday. I

remembering being shocked at my first glimpse of Ms. Warring’s lean legs and firm little bottom. An ordinary Victorian fellow, they say, would get a rise from glimpsing a woman’s calf. I understood that antiquated excitement as I eyed Shelley’s creamy thighs and the straps of her bra through the thin veil of her blouse. I’d watched women masturbate on the highway, but seeing Shelley out of uniform struck me as being almost on the same level. Ray, the boyfriend, quickly stole her away from our bar-b-que shenanigans so they could make out in the forest. Inspired, I had taken Brenda for a walk and rolled with her in the bushes.

So, I’m standing in Shelley’s apartment holding a blue file folder over my stomach, cautiously stealing glances of the creamy spots of flesh between the thick folds of her robe, aware that Shelley was watching me try not to ogle her, and also aware that her dark eyes had a sultry gleam.

“I’m sorry,” I said as Shelley clutched the edges of the terry-cloth, trying to wrap the fabric closer. “Ivan asked me to give you this.”

“I told him I wouldn’t be able to do anything before tomorrow,” Shelley said.

“I’m on my way out of town,” I explained. “He wanted me to explain Hank’s numbers before I left. They’re kind of tricky.” Shelley frowned, an expression I am used to seeing, strangely making me feel more comfortable.

“All right,” she said. “Can you give me ten minutes? I’m on the phone. Fix yourself a drink.” Shelley pointed into her kitchen as I nodded my assent. “Ten minutes,” she said, dashing off to a room in the back. I checked my watch. I still had plenty of time.

Opening her refrigerator, I learned a few new things about Shelley Warring. She doesn’t drink beer or soda, but only sparkling water and skim milk. An almost finished carton of grapefruit juice sat lonely in the rack of the door. I untwisted the cap of a transparent bottle of water and wondered why I hadn’t just found a glass and took my water from the tap, like I did at home. I drank a swig. Water was water. I returned to the front room and sat down.

Shelley’s place showed more character than her office does, but given how little she expresses herself at work, it would necessarily follow. A small statue of a orange and white cat played with an imagined butterfly atop a glass shelf. A pair of peacock feathers rising out of a tall vase stood sentry by the window. A romance novel with a torn cover nestled on the coffee table. I picked it up and noticed the gleam in the eye of the buxom wind-swept lassie as she prepared to

kiss her rugged hero. I smiled. Shelley had opened the door with exactly that same look on her face.

I gently caressed the blue eye of a huge bird feather and looked at the tugs slowly gliding up river, the lines of their wake spreading from shore to shore. I checked my watch. Time was running out.

I drifted back to the kitchen, where I took a peek into a cupboard filled with dry goods and kept moving until I reached the hallway Shelley had dashed along. I looked at my watch again. I thought about calling out that I had to be leaving, that I would be back Sunday evening and I could tell her about Hank’s numbers then. I took another step. Then I heard Shelley speak.

“Mmm,” she began, “I could. He’s still out in the front room. You wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I work with him.”

I spied the bathroom ahead and decided to justify my approach with a natural duty. “You don’t buy water, you rent it,” I imagined telling Shelley and took another step forward.

“I’m going crazy, Ray,” Shelley said with a squeal. I took another step. “Oh, fuck, you bastard. You would like that, wouldn’t you?” I advanced. The doors at the end of the hallway were a crack open. “Here he comes,” she said. I froze. “He’s taking off his pants, Ray. Mmm, look at that thick cock.” And although I stood well out of sight, my prick throbbed large within the tight confines of my jeans.

“Absolutely,” said Shelley. “He’s here right now, grinning like a son of a bitch. You like my pussy, Ted? You hear that? Oh, I’d love to have you lick me.”

Trusting the shadows, I slid along the far wall until I could see into Shelley’s room. She lay across her bed, her white robe spread open beneath her. Shelley rested her head on her backboard, dangling a bare foot off each side. A thick black snatch of curls rested above her feverish pussy while a long finger turned a slow circle around her bright pink clitoris. Big lazy breasts lounged against her chest. I had never thought much about Shelley’s tits. Usually they were heavily shrouded and kept well out of mind.

“What a strong tongue you have,” she cooed. Shelley raised her bottom off the terry-cloth and frantically teased her button. I slipped slightly and bumped the wall. Shelley looked through the doorway and into the shadows. A wicked smile crept over her lips and Shelley stuck out her tongue while she continued to rub at her lifted pussy.

“Lick my cunt,” she said. My eyes opened wide. “Please,” she moaned, spreading her creamy legs wider, staring hard into my eyes.


I took the last step into Shelley’s bedroom door. I yanked my jeans down and knelt at the foot board of her bed. I pressed my tongue deep into the dank pit of her pussy. Shelley squealed and shuddered wildly at my touch.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she moaned into the phone. I licked the furry length of her swollen lips and teased her stiff clit. “Oh Ray, he’s got his tongue in my cunt. I’m going to come on his face.” I looked up and smiled, squeezing Shelley’s firm butt in my hands.

“Yeah, the picnic guy. Fucking his girlfriend in the bushes. I told you he was cool. Shit, he’s got a mean tongue, Ray. He’s sucking my clitty. Fuck, I’m going to come. He’s sucking my clitty deep.” I was, rather mercilessly. Brenda wouldn’t let me tease her too intensely when I eat her. I saw no reason to be so coy with Shelley.

“Teddy, Teddy, Teddy,” she said, pushing my face into her wet crotch. I pinched her fleshy behind hard and slowly let a finger slide up her asshole while my tongue lashed strong down her slick lips. Shelley flinched and screamed. “Oh, God, Ray,” she said as she tried to cool down. “He’s fucking my ass.” I responded by driving my finger deep into her, licking madly as I did. Shelley arched her back.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said, her lusty dark eyes staring, catching and holding mine. “Fuck me, Ted.” The fire in her voice made my cock pulsate with eager anticipation. I withdrew my finger and sat up. Shelley rolled at once, inverting her pussy and lifting her ass high. I took my place behind her carefully and slowly slid my throbbing shaft into her dripping pussy.

“Fuck, Ray, a big hard dick in my cunt, so hard, so deep, yes.” I rocked a steady pace into Shelley, holding onto her firm ass to pull her back against me.

“What a hot bitch,” I yelled, fucking Shelley hard.

“Cock. Stud. Bastard. Fuck.”

“C’mon Shelley,” I said, reaching down to squeeze her big hanging tit. “Tell him you want my prick.”

“Oh, I want his prick.”

“Hot fuck.” I pushed Shelley onto her side and as she spewed a string of filthy words into the telephone, I sprayed my prick’s potion over her blushed chest. “Fuck,” I moaned as I fell back onto the bed.

I don’t remember the next few minutes at all, although I think it safe to assume that Shelley hung up the phone and put her robe back on. My consciousness had drifted into a peaceful slumber.

“C’mon soldier,” a more serious Shelley said, shaking me by the arm. “Time to get dressed and go home.” I pulled myself up, fixed my jeans and checked my watch.


“Shit,” I said. “I have to get Brenda.”

“All right,” said Shelley, following me toward the door. “Leave the file with me and we’ll go over Hank’s numbers when we get a chance.”

“Tomorrow night?” I said.

“Sure, lover,” said Shelley with a shy smile and quick kiss. I pulled on my jacket and ran out the door.

I don’t know what I was thinking. I drove to Brenda’s place and knocked on the door. Brenda took one look at me, still smiling and threw her arms around me. The pleasure of that final embrace lasted all of three seconds.

“Bastard,” she screamed, slamming her door shut. In a sudden still moment, I caught a whiff of the musky scent that had sent Brenda into such an immediate rage. I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen. I still wonder if I could have made her understand. That it wasn’t my fault. I was trapped.

About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, erotica, fiction, literature, literotica, personal, short stories, swinging, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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