I always enjoyed stories by pigwiz, and her famous (to a few of us) unfinished fic Red Picket Fence. I messaged pigwiz in May of 2020. I didn't receive a reply until January of 2021. My question was if she was going to finish the fic. She said no, she wasn't. We communicated sporadically throughout the Winter about the story until I worked up enough nerve to ask if she minded if I finished it. To my surprise, she said she didn't mind at all, and sent copies of her notes and a flowchart of the fic. The ending she had planned was pretty much a surprise to me. I asked if she minded if I changed the ending if I finished the story. I thought I'd lost her there. She didn't reply for about a month, but in her next reply she agreed to whatever I wanted to do with the story. So, based on her notes and flowchart, with changes where I felt them necessary, I'm going to try to wrap this up. I thought about it on and off for a bit, then decided to do it. To make sense of the story, I'm reposting her original chapters with no changes. My take on her fic start at chapter 18. Beth (pigwiz) hasn't replied to my messages since May of '21, so whatever I come up with, hopefully, will have her blessing. So, without further explanations, enjoy the great unfinished pigwiz fic of 'A Red Picket Fence' and my humble attempts to finish it.

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A Red Picket Fence

She parked behind the motel, and walked around toward the front. Freddie was waiting for her in front of his room. He

saw her, turned and walked into the room leaving the door open. Sam paused, took a deep breath in an attempt to

calm herself, and followed him inside.

Chapter 15

Sam

Hillside Motel

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Sam was far too volatile. He didn't feel like fending off a pissed of Sam. Not that he couldn't, but Sam would bring an

equalizer... Something like a sawed off baseball bat or... Something. Something he didn't feel like facing at any rate.

He slid his key card through the lock, it's light turned green, he turned the handle and walked in. Placing his half full

cup of coffee on the table next to the chair... The only chair. Sam would have to either sit on the floor, or on the bed.

This morning was turning into a royal pain in the ass...

All he wanted to do was fuck her, not fight her.

He stepped back out onto the sidewalk in front of his motel room door and watched as she pulled into the parking

area from the frontage road. She drove around behind the motel where there would be space to park her truck and

short trailer.

He waited, a bit nervous, but confidant.

She came around the corner bereft of any noticeable weapons. He felt slightly more at ease. She saw him, he

nodded to her as he walked into his room and left the door open. Sam followed, and closed the door behind her. She

blinked for a moment, adjusting her sight to the near gloom of the room, and noticed Freddie was standing next to the

lone table, and in front of the only chair. She stepped further into the room, and placed her cup on the nearest

bedside table. She turned back to him, smiled, held her arms out and took the few steps toward him as if she wanted

a hug.

Fred watched her right hand, expecting the worst. He easily blocked her slap with his left forearm, and punched her

hard with the heal of his right hand just above her waistline. Her breath hitched as she crumpled over, and collapsed

to the floor, sitting on her ass, leaning against the bed. Arms, limp at her side, her head drooped forward as she

puked down the front of her white, button down service style shirt and loose, charcoal colored men's work pants. The

vomit pooled around the pants zipper.

Fred calmly walked the short distance into the bathroom, and returned with a bath towel. He tossed it onto her lap.

Sam stared up at him, partly in fury, the rest in fear. Her mouth open - spitting bits of undigested bagel out. She

glared as she began cleaning herself up.

"I'm sorry Sam - I really am. You just can't pull any of your old crap with me anymore. Nice - guy - Freddie is pretty

much dead and buried. Now, you smell. Take a shower, wash your clothes out in the tub after you've showered. I

knew you'd throw up if I hit you there, but you won't be sore, and it won't bruise. You can, or actually can't feel it, you

know I'm telling you the truth. I'll make us some toast and more coffee... We need to talk, and we're going to do it as

soon as you get cleaned up." He said from across the room. Just because she was down at the moment, didn't mean

she'd stay down.

Sam continued to stare at Freddie. Now not in fear or rage. Now it was more of a surprised bewilderment. She'd tried

to attack him, and he'd not only fended her off, he'd kicked her ass... Figuratively speaking. And he was right, no pain.

Her stomach was a bit tender, but she could tell she wouldn't have a bruise...

Actually, she was a bit... impressed.

Fred knelt down in front of her, and began unlacing her work boots. She'd flinched a bit as he drew closer. His

response had been to look her in the eye and say; 'Oh shush... I'm not going to hurt you. We need to get your boots

off, and you into the shower. Your boots are clean, no reason to soak 'em.'

She let him pull her boots and socks off. He scooted around to her side, cradled her under her knees and upper back,

picked her up and carried her into the bathroom, setting her in the tub.

"Your shirt and pants caught almost all of the vomit. We didn't spill a thing getting in here. Now, strip off, wash off,

rinse off, and I'll find you something to wear. We can dry your clothes over the heater." He said as he left the faded

orange bathroom and closed the mirror backed yellow door.

She was mesmerized. She wanted to explore this 'new' Freddie. He could obviously fend her off... What did he do?

Where's he been? If this wasn't Nice - Guy - Freddie... She shook her head slowly, clearing her thoughts. She could

investigate things further later. Right now, he was right. She smelled. She turned on the water and stepped back until

the water warmed. Pulling the shower curtain closed, she diverted the water to the shower head and followed his

instructions. As she took off and rinsed out her clothes, she began to consider just what Freddie thought he knew.

The Annie 'thing' at the coffee shop would be easy to surmise... Annie reeked of pure lesbo. Lonely lesbo at that. And

he'd been right. She had been with Annie quite a number of times.

But what was it that he supposedly 'knew'?

Fred started the coffee in the antique percolator and then cleaned up the small amount of puke on the floor. He then

looked in his duffle bag for something Sam could wear while her clothes dried. He pulled out a sweatshirt he'd never

worn, and a pair of sweat pants that he had worn, but were clean. Then he had a thought. Why cover her up in cloth?

He rummaged around a moment more and came up with some new dark blue boxers, and a great old - nearly

threadbare wife beater light gray tee shirt. Heck, it was see through it was so old... Perfect!

She heard the bathroom door open.

"Sam, I'm in the bathroom. Don't freak. I'm putting some clothes on the towel rack for you. Are you finished rinsing

yours?" Freddie called.

She gathered her sopping wet, but at least clean clothes from the back of the tub, wrung them out a bit, opened the

curtain and handed them to him.

He stared...

"Like what you see, Benson? You did before..." Sam half yelled over the shower noise, then pulled the curtain closed.

She hadn't been smiling, but then she wasn't frowning either.

He wrung the pants, shirt and the bitty boxers out some more over the sink. He did as good as he could with her bra

without ruining it before hanging them all over the old fashioned hot water radiator heater. He was buttering the toast

and thinking about Sam's bald pussy when he heard the shower shut off and the curtain slide back. The coffee was

done, toast nearly. There were no plates, but plenty of napkins. That would have to do...

"Really Freddie? This is the best you can do for clothes?" Sam yelled, then laughed from behind the closed door.

Fred grinned as she opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom. She smiled back, and shook her head. She'd

rolled the boxers enough to keep them on, but the tee shirt was performing just as Freddie had hoped it would. It was

so worn it seemed more like fine gossamer cobwebs than a shirt... It hid nothing.

They both knew it.

"You always were a boob guy..." Sam said as she looked down at her self. Fred nodded, and smirked.

Fred pulled the table over toward the bed, and sat down, giving Sam the chair. Sam sat, took a bite of toast and a sip

of her coffee. She was nervous, what the hell did this guy know? He couldn't know much... Could he? It would be a

wonder he came back at all if he did. She wasn't sure just how to approach whatever it was he thought he knew. She

needed time. Time to talk to her sister and Carly... Or at least warn them. She decided to use the age old male

distraction method.

She was going to seduce him.

They ate in relative silence, one or the other making a complimentary observation about the coffee, toast... Or each

other. They finished eating. Sam jumped up, and grabbed their soiled napkins, slid the crumbs into her hand, took

their coffee cups in her other and disposed and refilled. All the while making her boobs and ass bounce and sway as

much as she possibly could without starting to actually dance. She bent far over as she placed Freddie's coffee in

front of him, giving him a great look... And then resumed her seat. Deciding to go bold, she pulled up the front of her

tee shirt, flopped her boobs on the table top and grinned...

"Offers on the table, buddy..." She brightly purred.

"Looks like tits are on the table." Freddie replied, grinning.

"These are just a part of the offer. There's other bits and pieces offered as well." Sam said, smiling.

"I'm thinking you're trying to distract me... And it's working." Fred said admiringly.

Sam stood, pulled the table back out of the way, took the few steps necessary to stand directly in front of him, pulled

up her tee shirt and slipped the front of her tee shirt over his head. Freddie was the bacon in the Sam - boob - wich.

"Got your attention yet, lover?" She whispered and then groaned slightly as she felt his tongue on her right nipple. A

moment later she felt the expected tug at her hips as the thin fabric was pulled enough to cause the loose, over sized

boxers to collapse in an elastic rimmed blue pool around her feet. His tongue licked it's way from one breast to the

other as she kicked the boxers away. One hand began kneading a breast while the other began a two fingered slide

along her pussy. He hummed around her other nipple, she whimpered her delight. Lifting her leg up on the bed gave

him better access, and he took immediate advantage.

He knew Sam now... He knew what she liked. Her girl bits worked best when worked together. Sam was NPN, like

those old transistors from way back - except in her case it was Nipple Pussy Nipple. If you stayed attentive to all three

she turned into a type of semi-cum-ductor. Or athletically, a triathacum. She was huffing and grunting like an old

steam engine climbing a hill... One foot on the bed, one on the floor, she began rocking her pelvis, humping his hand,

like a swing set in a wind storm. He had one hand and his head still in her tee shirt, his other working her slit... She

leaned into him to keep from falling over and began chanting 'FUCK THERE FUCK THERE FUCK THERE' nearly

suffocating him by shoving his head into her tit, and then grinding her gushing twat over Fred's cum soaked fingers.

He grabbed her hips and neatly tossed her on the bed, stood, and began stripping. Sam snaked herself up to the

bolted - to - the - wall imitation carved wood headboard. Now naked, Fred crawled between her legs, stuck two

fingers up her kootch, pumped her slowly, and asked; "Ready for me to fuckit, Pucket?" Sam spread her legs and

moaned as her eyes rolled back.

"I'll take that as an 'do me now', yes..." Fred said as he slid just the head of his rock hard cock into her and began

ravishing her clit.

"Drill baby, drill!" Sam huffed out.

Fred looked at her for a moment, wondering where that particular metaphor came from.

"Just call me Mr. Makita" He said as he grabbed a boob with each hand, flicked a nipple with each thumb, and

slammed into her slippery cunt as far up as he could. Now groin to groin, he began grinding her. Sam shivered as she

expelled a loud, ragged sigh. He grabbed her hips and push - pulled, fucking himself with her pussy... His rhythm

getting faster and faster as he slammed into her harder and harder. The lustful grunts and groans they made as their

crotches collided driving them both into a fucking frenzy, a trantic haze. Her tits seemed to have a life of their own as

they bounded and bounced, flopped and swayed in time with his crotch cannon yanking out, then slamming home.

She raised herself up on her elbows, and watched as his dick disappeared and reappeared for a few cycles... Until

her head lolled as she wailed a loud, tattered; "OH GOD... YES!"

A phone began ringing... One of his phones inside his duffle bag - not his phone on the chest of drawers. Then her's

began chiming. They were far too preoccupied to hear, or even acknowledge the noise. He continued plowing her like

a field, while she made tractor noises.

Soon after, there was a light knocking on the door. "House Keepin'..." A girl called as the door opened. "Oh! Hey...

Well don't let me stop ya from yer fun, there folks... I'll jest tidy up a bit and leave ya to yer biz... Just don't mind me a

bit." Said the very pasty pale and emaciatedly thin looking gal with orange and green hair, a stained red striped apron

and very worn olive drab combat boots as she walked in the room.

Fred was far too intense on spelunking Sam's honey hole to even notice. Sam was so immersed in the depths of her

trantic ocean she wouldn't have noticed a volcano erupting.

"Wowsers... You two are, ah... Energetic ain't 'cha. So... Them vitermins ya got on the table help with that? I'll jest put

some fresh towels in the bath room fer ya... 'fact I'll leave a couple sets and some fresh bed linens ta boot. It's gonna

be 'clean up on isle nine' after ya finish doin' it like that..." The housekeeper said as she walked through the room with

the towels and sheets.

Sam and Fred's orgasmic symphony had reached a guttural, howling crescendo - and the band played on, oblivious

to the intrusion...

"Ah... I'm jest gonna jot down these vitermin pill names here. My ole man gits outa jail next week... And I'm thinkin',

well ya know, I jest got an idear'. Lemee jest git this garbage can here an dumper out fer ya folks." She said as she

dumped the can into the garbage bag on her cart.

"Da-yam... I keep thinkin' his little heads gonna be right behind yer eyeballs the way he's hittin' yer thang, sister... Call

the office n' ask fer me, Lizzie, if yer thinkin' ya might need crutches or a wheel chair after this..."

Lizzie dusted some furniture for a moment, turned back to the oblivious humpsters and watched for a little while

longer before saying; "Well, I really do need to skedaddle. More rooms ta do ya know... Listen blondie, if it's okay with

you I'd like ta borrow yer fella fer a couple hours tomorra or the next lay... Er, day. Like I said, Ewell gits out next

week, but it's been a lonely three months... An, well, I'm sure ya get it... Sweet pa-tat-er pie, yer sure gittin somethin'

right now! Da - yam he's puttin' it to ya... 'cept I've gotta use a love glove ya know. I'm jest fertile as all git out. I

already have five kids n jest turned nineteen. Get it from moma's side - I got eleven brothers an sisters. I'll be happy

ta cover yer gas money an throw in a beer too. I'll jest jot my number down on the paper and leave it here. Shoot, I

best git outa here, I could git knocked up jest bein' in the same room with you two. Specially with the wad he's workin'

up. When he shoots the beaver it's gonna squirt outa yer nose, girlie. Ah... Cummin outa yer nose. Git it? No? Well,

nice chattin'." She said as she left her note on the chest of drawers and closed the door after herself.

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Huh? what?

Yes, it's not the end.

A few more.