Murder most fowl
By Jed -  JedVenturer@yahoo.com
Two strong young men learn the ultimate lesson -- don't piss off the beach bunnies


"Men are whores."

"No. Not whores. Whores get paid for providing a service. Men want everything
for free, and as far as I can tell, they provide no service whatever."

"I sit corrected. Men are hounds."

"Which describes what Kenneth was doing this morning perfectly. Sniffing
around and slobbering all over me."

Maggie and Sharon looked at each other and nodded. Then they turned in unison
and looked out over the still waters of the lake through their identical
Ray-Bans, letting the sun soak into the majority of their skin not covered by
their bathing suits.

"We should have known they wouldn’t be good for much when the best idea they
could come up with was playing ‘chicken’".

"Right. Sure sign. We don’t know anything about them, and they think we’re
gonna just let them stick their big fat heads between our legs and jump
around?"

"So – why did we?"

"We were bored. Like now. They were cute. We thought maybe they would be
different. But mostly, ‘cause we’re stupid."

"Right. That creep Kenneth had his hands all over my legs as soon as I was on
his shoulders."

"I know. And, did you notice how Devon fell so easily? As soon as we hit the
water, he was turning around, sticking his nose in my crotch. Every time."

"Guys like that are only good for one thing."

"Killin’.

"Right." And they laughed.

Maggie turned toward her friend, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial
whisper. "It’s do-able, you know."

Sharon smiled, looking up at the sky and luxuriating in the sun’s rays on her
shoulders and legs. She regretted not having worn a bikini, as her friend had.
She was going home on Sunday with a fishbelly-white stomach. "Suuure it is,"
she said condescendingly.

"It’s do-able, I’ve done it – and it’s kind of a rush," Maggie insisted.
"Definitely not something you’ll forget in a hurry."

Sharon looked at her small, brunet friend appraisingly. And smiled.

Devon and Kenneth walked along the beach – no, sauntered – no, strutted,
Maggie thought with an inward superior smile. They were pretty boys, with
regular and utterly forgettable features, feathered hair worn long, and
straight limbs made uselessly muscular through working out. If ever a couple
of boys needed killing, just to spare the world the embarrassment of their
presence, these were the ones.

Then with an inward start of surprise, she realized her heart was pounding
with excitement for the first time in a long time. She smiled again, this time
at herself. "I think I like this a little too much," she thought.

Devon came right up to Maggie and stood at her feet, his legs apart, hands on
hips. He had marked the small, curvy brunet as "his" as soon as he and Kenneth
had spotted the two girls earlier that day. Kenneth had been happy to settle
for the taller, broad- shouldered blond (Sharon? Karen? Devon couldn’t
remember). While Maggie was a sweetly luscious bundle of curves, Sharon was
long and lean, with fit, toned legs and a broad back. Kenneth liked athletic
girls; Devon liked ‘em more on the feminine side.

Devon nudged Maggie’s foot. "Hey."

The girl lifted her shades, giving him an appraising look. "Hey yourself. You
all done with your mommy?"

"Yeah. She has a fit if we don’t show up for meals on time. Drives me nuts."
Devon was annoyed that Maggie had so easily pricked his cocksure bubble. "What
about you?"

"We’re at liberty until tonight. My folks drove into the city for some
shopping, so it’s just Sharon and me, the beach . . . " Maggie shrugged,
perfectly aware that what she had left unsaid was ". . . and the cottage", the
three-room structure set back in the trees, devoid of parental supervision for
at least the next couple of hours.

"So. . . what do you wanna do now," Kenneth asked, the direction of his gaze
making perfectly clear what was on his mind. Sharon crossed her legs daintily,
much to Kenneth’s annoyance. "How about another game of ‘chicken’," she
suggested. "We had so much damned fun the last time we played it."

The two boys exchanged glances that clearly said ‘jackpot!’. "Okay," Devon
said. "Then maybe . . . something different." With a pointed glance up at the
tree-shaded cottage.

"Maybe." Maggie rose to her feet, swiping the sand off her bottom, purely for
Devon’s benefit. Devon was definitely an ass man, and Maggie knew that hers
met with his approval. She thought her chest was getting short shrift in his
assessment, but in the long run it didn’t matter. "In the long run, we’re all
dead," she thought. "And in the short run, some of us are dead."

Fixing her muscular young puppy with a meaningful look, Maggie sauntered into
the water, knowing without looking that he would be right behind her.

Waste deep in the murky water, Maggie and Sharon exchanged excited looks as
the boys positioned themselves behind them. Devon’s hands grasped Maggie
around her waist, lifting her up over his head. Devon struggled with the lift,
smashing Maggie’s bottom into his face, then almost sitting her square on top
of his head, so that she had to slide back to settle around his shoulders.
Kenneth shot Devon a congratulatory look at his facial exploration of Maggie’s
ass; Sharon favored Maggie with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic smile.

The Kenneth lifted Sharon, his hands low on her hips, his grip inexplicably
slipping as he lifted her. By the time he settled his passenger on his
shoulders, his hands had slipped up her hips and inside her swimsuit.
Momentarily trapped against her skin by the tightness of her suit as she
assumed a sitting position, Kenneth struggled to extricate his hands. Another
look; and another look.

Then the game began, the girls grasping at each other’s hands and shoulders,
the boys bellowing, charging and bumping each other, all the time keeping firm
grips on their passengers knees and thighs.

Suddenly Devon staggered backward and fell headlong. "Here we go again,"
Maggie thought as the cool water closed over her. Sure enough, under the
surface Devon wriggled around as if confused, shoving his face deeply into her
crotch before surfacing. They stood facing each other, dripping, and without
volition, Maggie’s hand came up to slap him.

Devon blocked the slap with a cursory movement of his hand. "Don’t get
excited," he advised. "It was just an accident. Jeez."

"The slap wasn’t for copping a feel," she said, standing close and pressing
her thigh into his crotch. "The slap was for giving up so easy. I hate to
lose. When I lose I get bitchy. When I win, I get real . . . happy." She
accentuated the last word with a gentle thigh-nudge that had a galvanic effect
on him.

"Then let’s go beat these guys," he husked, turning toward the victorious
chicken-fighters, his hand dropping to Maggie’s ass. "You guys are meat!" he
bellowed to Kenneth and Sharon.

Maggie remounted, and the battle commenced in earnest. Devon fought like a boy
possessed sure now that victory would be rewarded richly. Maggie settled
herself firmly on the back of his neck, her hands clutching the top of his
head. She and Sharon cast meaningful looks at each other . . .

. . . Maggie’s feet came out from under Devon’s arms, as if she had suddenly
lost her hold. With a gasp she locked her ankles together, teetering
theatrically on her perch. Devon grabbed her knees to steady her, still
charging and bellowing. Sharon, watching Maggie, followed her lead, and
Kenneth was all too happy to help her balance with both hands on her thighs.
The boys charged, collided, backed up and charged again.

Devon was surprised at the conditioning of Maggies thighs, the solid muscle he
felt under his hands and against the sides of his neck. "She must be a
gymnast", he thought, and the accompanying thought, of what flexibility she
must have, crowded out any concern that her leg-lock around his neck was
constricting, tightening even. . .

There may have come a time when Devon wondered what had happened to the
physical conditioning of which he was so justifiably proud. Suddenly he found
himself light-headed, long before he should have. He steeled himself, thinking
about, and feeling, the sweet soft package on his shoulders. No way would he
let Kenneth win this one. His ears ringing, Devon charged.

Kenneth staggered, surprised at how short of breath he had become. It didn’t
help that Sharon was holding on for dear life, her legs clamped around his
neck; but there was no way he would let her know he couldn’t take it, and no
way he would let Devon get him down. He turned his cheek into the ineffable
softness of Sharon’s inner thigh for inspiration, noting with surprise how
solid were the muscles beneath the velvety skin.

Devon’s ears were buzzing and his lips were numb; his pulse pounded in his
head like a drum, almost drowning out the screams of the girls and the
splashing of the water. Still he soldiered on, spurred on by Maggie’s shrill
cheers and the pressure of her legs around his neck. He had a hard-on that
felt as if it would rip through his suit, but a still small part of his mind
wondered at the weakness in his knees and the spots dancing before his eyes. .
. he knew there was something he should be concerned about, but his
lightheadedness, and the maddening pressure of Maggie’s strong, silky legs
locked around his neck, kept intruding on his consciousness.

Kenneth stopped for a moment, trying to adjust Sharon’s position on his
shoulders; but her legs were crossed at the knees, and he couldn’t seem to pry
them apart. His lungs were screaming now, and he realized his fatigue was
jeopardizing his chances for victory. "Pull Maggie off Devon," he wanted to
instruct Sharon, but her legs, locked tight around him in her excitement, kept
him from drawing enough air to voice the command. Sharon shifted her weight on
his shoulders, her legs crossing even further, and he realized he would soon
be in danger of strangling if she tightened her hold on his throat much more.
His hands pried at her thighs, but he could not maintain a grip on their
solidly curved surface, and he ended up batting ineffectually at her legs. He
tried to inhale and found he could not, and the last lucid part of his mind
understood that he was past danger of strangulation and had become a victim
even as utter blackness rushed in on him from all directions. He closed his
eyes . . .

Everything kept fading out for Devon. He stood rooted in the sandy bottom of
the lake, watching in dull disbelief as Kenneth sank to his knees, his eyes
closed. "Get him! Get him!" Maggie cried, pounding on his head, and he took
one step as Kenneth toppled to the side and disappeared beneath the surface..

"We won. We really won," he said through the roaring buzz that filled his
head, and then the world went dark and he felt himself toppling, felt the
water receive their bodies, his and his partner’s, Maggie who stupidly did not
release her hold on him even as they fell. He tried to grasp her legs and
found his hands would no longer obey, and all he could do was to stare into
the murk- filled water and listen to the roar in his head.

"How long do we need to stay like this?" Sharon asked. They knelt face-to-face
in the lake, with the water up around their mouths.

Maggie felt a tentative squirming between her thighs and twisted her hips,
tightening her hold a bit. "Not long," she answered. "Look for the bubbles."

"I thought Devon’s head was going to pop," Sharon said with a giggle. "You
must have had an awesome blood-choke going."

"And I love the way Kenneth’s tongue was hanging out just before he went
over," Maggie said in admiration. "I though his chest was going to cave in."

Two great gouts of bubbles rose up around the girls, and they laughed – "bath
farts!" Maggie cried. Then Sharon became very still; then shuddered deeply;
and sighed, a beatific smile on her face.

"Did you just. . . " Maggie asked.

"Yeah," Sharon answered, wonder in her voice. "And it was better than any I’ve
ever had before!"

Maggie smiled, rising at last to her feet, leaving the refuse of their recent
adventure in the dark water. "Men," she observed. "Whores or hounds . . . "

" . . . they do have their uses after all."