Casey (story)

Warning - contains scenes of adult nature

Ep1.

Casey. You wouldn't look at her twice until you really looked at her. After that, you'd be looking at her every chance you got.


Casey has eyes that sparkle like champagne on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Her eyes are small and round and brown and would be entirely forgettable if it weren't for their constant twinkle. They are mesmerizing. John thinks so.

After you notice Casey's eyes, you tend to notice the curvy shape of her body; her large, soft, pale breasts -  always a sliver away from showing too much and her wide hips and plump thighs - she is all undulating softness. Except her lips. Her lips are thin and pale from pressing too tightly against one another. When she parts them in a smile, a rare thing, they disappear completely, obscured by two rows of tiny teeth fighting for show in her small, tight mouth.


Sometimes, John thinks Casey is a doll come to life.


John first met Casey one shadowy afternoon when he didn't get to the lunch van in time and was in need of someone to go and get him a sandwich. He would have asked his secretary, but she had been taken ill with one of those stomach bugs that was doing the rounds that autumn, so he went to his boss's secretary instead. He was shocked to see Casey behind Miranda's desk. Miranda, his boss's usual secretary, had retired last week.  John didn't know. He never paid attention to people such as secretaries - they were more like animated machines to him - not really people - not really worth his time or attention.


He was just about to throw a casual demand in passing, but Casey had twinkled her eyes at John and he was lost. She had to ask him three times what it was he wanted before he remembered how to speak. And when he did, the jumble that came out of him weren't words, but some guttural rumble that may or may not have contained a word 'sandwich'. Casey didn't smile. She considered him gravely. John felt small and light and full of holes through which light motes danced. He didn't notice her breasts or her soft shapely thighs that time. He didn't notice anything except the twinkle of her eyes. It followed him all the way back to his desk and afterwards to his home and to bed. He woke up thinking about those eyes. He jumped out of bed, eager to get the day started, to get back to work, seek out those twinkly eyes again. His alarm clock said it was Saturday. His wife too - she had turned sleepily on her side of the bed and mumbled, 'what are you doing,' before sleep pulled her back under.

John set on the side of the bed, his bare feet resting mournfully on the carpet. He wiggled his toes for something to do.


'Saturday.' He sighed.


Ep 2.

John spent that weekend in a daze, sleep walking through all the activities his wife had planned for them and through all the jovial, predictable dinner party conversations and through all his chores and through all the talk from his wife about Mrs Sandman, their new neigbour and through everything else. He felt like a deep sea diver, crawling along the sandy sea bed, listening out for far away sounds while the immensity of the ocean pressed on his thin lanky body.

He cheered up just before going to bed on Sunday evening. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet but he was in his pajamas, sliding under the fresh sheets. He loved that his wife changed the sheets every Sunday.  Starting the week in fresh linen felt like a good massage. Suddenly, his mind filled with the image of Casey’s small, pale hands digging into his back and his groin flushed with heat.

“You are already in bed?” Nicola regarded him suspiciously. “Are you sick?”

“No, just felt like an early night, lots to do tomorrow.” John’s mind was still half filled with Casey and her hands wandering over his body in a way he never experienced before. He would have been surprised at his imagination had he stopped to think about it. “Would you like to join me?” he flashed a half hearted smile at his wife, expecting a short rebuke. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love or, if it came to it, how it felt to make love to her.

Nicola paused, startled. “Give me a minute,” she said, heading for the bathroom. At the door of the en-suite she paused, “what’s brought this on?”

“Um,” John faltered, unsure what the safe answer was. He hadn’t planned on having sex with his wife but now that the possibility presented itself, he’d felt keen to exploit it. “It’s been a nice, relaxing weekend, I guess,” he said eventually, and held his breath, waiting for her to change her mind.
She didn’t. Instead, she threw him a coquettish smile he’d never seen on her before and closed the bathroom door behind her.

Less than ten minutes later they were both naked, she on top of him, grinding her hips against his. He didn’t have time to think about this sudden passion coming at him or why she didn’t even waste time on foreplay. His mind was full of Casey and he clutched at his wife’s small breasts which, in his imagination, filled up to three times their size and he kneaded them enthusiastically, occasionally letting his hands fall down to her buttocks, squeezing her tight, as if trying to seal their connection, help set the runny glue of their lovemaking.  He kept his eyes shut and in his mind’s eye saw Casey’s soft, curvaceous body on top of him, saw her big, soft breast falling heavily on his chest, saw her crush him with her heavy, wide hips. He wanted to hold on to her, get his long, thin arms all the way around her curves; she’d fill his arms, he was sure, not be lost in them like Nicola, who’d he’d grown afraid of touching lately, she seemed too fragile.  Not now, she wasn’t fragile at all now, she was a mad beast on top of him, rising and falling, wrapping tightly around his erection, pulsating, live, like fire.
He felt electric currents run through his body, draining all life towards his groin. He grew bigger inside his wife. Cold sweat run alongside his back, but he didn’t have time or presence of mind to notice it. Instead, he let his body slump into the mattress, flinging his arms wide and his head back, and let the two women, merged into one, use him, suck the life out of him and into their warm, wet insides.

In the morning, he couldn’t remember if they’d cuddled afterwards or if he’d fallen asleep. He was naked when he awoke and his wife’s juices were still on him. He washed himself carefully in the shower, wondering why he felt so delicate.

Nicola had left for work extra early, he couldn’t ask her how she felt, or what she thought or if she had enjoyed herself. It confused him that he wasn’t sure if he’d enjoyed himself although he supposed he must have done. He tried to recall the warm glow he had felt imagining Casey on top of him, but felt nothing, just a curious emptiness, as if someone had hollowed out all his limbs and insides and placed a helium gas where once were bones and muscle.

He dressed himself into a darker suit than he would have normally picked for this time of year and set off for work.

Ep 3.


It was a busy day for John. He was either attending meetings or preparing for meetings he had to attend. All too soon, it was the end of the day. Before he left for the day, he took a detour via his boss’s office. The desk where Casey sat was empty. His heart sunk.
“How’s it going, John?” Jeremy Parker, John’s boss, took a small pile of papers off his desk and made his way around to John.
“Busy, mad busy Jeremy.”
“Mondays, eh? While you are here, the quarterly projections were in, but the data doesn’t stack up, I need you to look over this tonight,” he handed John the papers.
“Right.” John groaned inwardly but took the papers without comment. “You have a new secretary?”
“Oh yes, Casey, have you met her?” Jeremy’s sallow face lit up. “Miranda’s retired, Casey is filling in until we get someone permanent.”
John nodded, “met her last week, when Stella was on leave.” John hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Is she part-time?” he said, indicating Casey’s empty desk.
“No, no, full time, but she had an appointment, for something or other. I’m sure she told me, but you know how it is.”
They both laughed.
“All right then, I’ll see what I can do with this tonight,” John waved the stack of papers in his hand at Jeremy and added, “see you tomorrow,” before turning and heading out.
“Good man,” Jeremy said waving back.

On the way home John wondered what Nicola would say, if anything, about last night. He felt oddly uneasy about the whole thing, although he was sure he didn’t say anything incriminating, anything that would give away that he was thinking of someone else while they were making love. Still, women could sense these things, it paid to thread carefully.
He needn’t have worried. Nicola behaved as nothing unusual happened between them. She gave him a perfunctory peck on the cheek and didn’t complain when he said he had to work that evening. She was going to see their new neighbour for a chat, his dinner was on the stove, ready to eat.
John dimly recalled Nicola going on about this new neighbour over the weekend, but couldn’t recall the specifics, he hadn’t been paying attention. It wasn’t like Nicola to want to mix with the neighbours and he was curious. He made a mental note to ask Nicola about this when she got back before getting stuck into the paperwork Jeremy gave him. It was going to be a long, and unpleasant evening.

That evening Nicola didn’t come back. John had fallen asleep with his nose in the papers and woke up around 2am with a stiff neck and massive, painful erection. Upstairs, the bed was untouched and his wife was nowhere to be found. He called her mobile but there was no answer. He wondered about calling the police but changed his mind, not wishing to seem hysterical. Nicola probably got drunk at the neighbour’s and fell asleep.

In the morning, she was still not there. He called the police. They told him there was nothing they could do until she was missing for at least 48 hours. He thought about calling her parents but didn’t want to worry them. Instead, he decided to try and find out which neighbour Nicola had gone to see - it will be embarrassing knocking on all the doors but he had no choice.

Four doors down, he noticed a For Sale sign in the front garden. “This must be it,” he muttered out loud, “Nicola did say it was a new neighbour.” He walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. There was no sound. Bell was broken. He knocked, hard.
He heard the lock go from inside and the door creaked as it opened a few inches.
“Excuse me,” John squinted into the dark hallway, “this may sound daft, but my wife said she was going to see a neighbour last night and never came back. I am worried.”
The door opened wider and Casey Sandman filled up the doorway, her small, brown eyes sparkling like fireworks. “Of course!” she smiled, easily. “She was here, but left about ten, come in, have a cup of tea.”
John stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.

“You are in shock Mr Jones,” Casey whispered, taking him by the hand, “come in.”
Casey led John into the kitchen and made him sit down on one of the bar stools. He continued to stare at her, wordlessly, his body feeling like soap bubbles, about to be burst.
He’d forgotten about Nicola. He’d forgotten he had a wife. He’d forgotten his name and his age and who he was and why he was.

Casey poured the hot water from the kettle onto loose leaves in the tea pot and gave the pot a good swirl before pouring the concoction into a mug. “Here,” she said, pushing the mug into John’s limp hands, “this will make you feel better.”
She sat next to him, holding his free hand gently with her small, child-like fingers. “Drink,” she commanded.  Her eyes blazed and he found himself lifting the mug towards his mouth. “Drink up,” she insisted.
He drank up.

Casey pulled him off the chair and led him down the corridor to her bedroom. In the centre of the room was a large, velvet clad bed where Nicola lay motionless, her skin waxen, her lips pale. John sat next to her and caressed her hair absentmindedly. “There, there,” he murmured, not really knowing why.




Ep 4.

“Nicola.” His wife’s name tasted of candles and ash. “Nicola, wake up,” he murmured without conviction.

“Now then, John,” Casey sat on the low armchair in the corner and crossed her chubby legs, “tell me, do you love your wife?”
John moved his head slowly, as if underwater, seeing Casey in triplicate, although he could hear her quite clearly.
“Of course.”
“And yet,” Casey smiled coquettishly, “I could have sworn you were fantasising about me last night, when you were making love to your wife. Whom you love, as you say.” She smiled again, a tiny, self satisfied smile and relaxed further into the chair, letting one of her kitten heel shoes drop onto the thick yellow carpet. She lifted her leg up and pointed the toes of her naked foot at his face, “is that not so, John?”
“No.”
Casey flinched. “What do you mean, No?”
“No.” John replied dully, still stroking his insensible wife’s arm. “No. No. No.”

“Hm,” Casey said, “I may have given you rather too much tea.” She sprung up from the chair in one fluid movement.
John would have wondered, had he been thinking clearly, how someone of Casey’s soft, generously proportioned flash could move with such speed and elegance. John wasn’t thinking clearly. John was not thinking. At all.
“No.” John said.
Casey tutted disapprovingly. “Suit yourself,” she whispered closing the bedroom door behind her.
John might have listened for a sound of the lock turning, had he been able to listen. There was no sound.
The room was quiet except for a soft rustle of fabric as John’s hand continued to stroke Nicola’s arm.

Minutes passed. Then the hours. It got dark, then light again. After it got dark again, John collapsed next to Nicola. Over time, his skin grew waxy and cold.



The next morning, newspapers were full of articles about an old couple found dead in the boarded up house in a quiet, well to do cul-de-sac. Nobody knew who they were or where they’d come from, and how they’d got in; the house had stood empty for decades. What they did know was that the old pair appeared to be in their nineties when they most likely died of old age.  The police efforts to establish the identity of the couple came to nothing. After a while, they had to give up.







It was just one of those things.