The Christmas Gift

My jaw dropped as the wrapping paper fell to the ground.  It was framed in a simple cherry wood frame.  Funny, it went perfect with her messy auburn hair.  I felt the blush rise to my cheeks just as the heat rushed between my legs.  I looked up at her, shock still registering on my face.

"How... when..."

She slapped my knee with a laugh.

"You remember when.  I set the camera on the dresser on automatic just for shits and giggles.  But then I saw you there on your back, legs perfectly spread, perky nipples waiting for my tongue..."

"How did you develop it?"

"Home print job, goofball."

I watched the insecurity flicker across her face.  A serious edge crept in.

"Do you... do you like it?  We don't have much money this year.  I wanted to give you something special, and..."

I pressed my finger to her lips.  I remembered.

I remembered laughing as she set up the camera, teasing her with my lewd pose.  I remembered her crawling up my body and my longing as I looked into her grey eyes.  Her lips wrapped around one nipple and I groaned, her tongue teasing the taut bud.  I heard the whir of the shutter snapping away, but I didn't care.  I wrapped my legs around her waist and my hands around her thighs.  I've never wanted her so much.  She was perfection.  She lowered her pelvis to mine and ground against me.  Both of us filled the silence with our moans, lost in the delicious pressure.  She fucked me and I remembered only for a moment what it used to feel like to be full but it didn't matter anymore.  He was gone and she was here.  The way she would grind.  The tiny thrusts of her hips.  Her whimper.  Her hand sliding between us, two fingers sliding into my greedy pussy.  I cried out and forgot everything but her.  The way she fucked me.  The way she came above me.  The way I loved her.

I smiled then, my fingers still resting on her lips.  I dropped them, trailing her collarbone.  She sighed and closed her eyes.

"It's perfect, just like you."

I leaned in, pressing my lips to her full mouth.  She tasted like peppermint and memories.  I reached down and grabbed the hem of her top, whisking it up over her head.  I palmed her full breasts and looked back at the picture.

"Merry Christmas, baby.  This time I'll be on top."

Her smile against my mouth, that was the best Christmas gift of all.

Waiting

She snaps the shot and then quickly attaches the word "waiting" to the text.  It feels like she's been waiting forever.  It took them a month to find one night when they could be together.  Being a single mom doesn't afford her many opportunities for a romantic getaway.  Neither does his being married.  Vicky is quick to justify that they've already discussed divorce and she is not the reason, thankfully.  She couldn't deal with the guilt.  But now, like this, she can't stay away.  He's just wicked enough to make her feel more like a woman and less like Mom.  She throws her phone on the bed and looks at the clock.  Another hour.

Still wet hair falls in waves around her shoulders.  She examines herself in the mirror. Some spots too lean, some spots too soft.  She smiles, knowing he'd say she was perfect.  Him... he is perfect.  Broad shoulders.  Trim waist.  A little gray at the temples and dimples to boot.  And that dick!  He works miracles with that thing.  Heat rushes over her as she remembers their last time.  His lunchbreak.  Her minivan.  Perfection.

Her hand dips down and brushes her thigh as she thinks about him.  The heat spreads.  She thinks of that soft growl in her ear.  The way he pulls her hair.  His hard cock nestled against her ass.  The sweet burn when he begins to push himself inside her.  She makes her way to the bed and the towel drops to the floor.  Another glance at the clock before a wicked grin flashes across her face.  A myriad of images flutter through her mind.  Their first kiss.  The first time she said no.  The first time she said yes.  The way his mouth sets her on fire.

Her hands brush across her breasts, her nipples hardening to tight peaks.  A hand strays down her belly, seeking her own wet warmth.  She sits on the edge of the bed where she can still see the mirror.  She likes the way she looks when she thinks of him, so wild and free.  And this... this is what he sees when she is beneath him.  Her fingers swirl around her swollen clit.  She gasps, unable to tear her eyes from her reflection.  Cheeks flushed.  Lips parted.  Fingers moving faster, harder, as she imagines they're his.  His are like lightning.  like magic.

The build is fast, desire peaking, though nothing she can do is enough.  Pinch her nipples.  Slide her fingers deep inside her hungry sex.  Think more of his sweat dripping over her as he thrusts deep and hard.  She whimpers and get phone rings.  A smile flickers as she sees his face on the screen.  One hand continues to play as she picks up the phone, gasping his name.

"Started without me I hear."

Sure replies with a frustrated moan.  "But I can't... I need you."

She hears the amusement in his voice.

"You started.  You'll finish right now with me on the phone.  And you'll damn sure be ready for more when I get there.  Now move your fingers in a tight circle over your clit.  You know how good that feels, don't you?"

She moans.

"Answer me."

"Yes... yes, it feels so.... oh, God, yes... yes...oh, fuck..."

He laughs as she cums, loving that all she needed was him.  She tries to talk, but nothing comes out.

"That's my girl.  Now open this door.  It's time for round two."

She lays the phone down with a smile and goes to the door, relieved that, at least for tonight, her wait is over.

Welcome Home

She was waiting.  She'd been waiting.  It'd been months since he'd touched her, since she felt his lips on her skin.  Sure, he kissed her goodnight or goodbye.  He greeted her with a brusque brush of his lips when he got home from work.  But had he really kissed her?  Not in what felt like ages.  She'd dropped hints.  She told him she missed him, which he dismissed as silliness since he saw her everyday.  But she missed him.  The fire of his touch.  The rough scrape of his calloused hands.  Being stretched tight around him as he filled her body and soul.

She heard the car door.  His steady gait on the walkway.  His key in the lock.  He came in and she saw the shadows from a long day play in his eyes.  She watched him toss his keys and wallet in the bowl on the table and set his satchel on the floor.  Her eyes softened, knowing that next he'd loosen his tie and unbutton his top button.  He'd look in the kitchen for her then cross to the stairs.  He'd sigh as he climbed them, his day escaping his lungs in a slow exhale.  She knew he'd do it all as she knew him.  But today was different.  Her stomach flutters and danced with insecurity.  Today she was waiting.  Today she hoped he'd understand.

He was nearly to the top of the stairs when he saw her.  His eyes registered his shock, then lit with pleasure.  He loosened his tie, slid it from his collar and dropped it on the top step.  He crossed to her with words on his lips.

"You look lovely," he said.

He reached for her, a warm smile touching his lips.  She sighed her relief.

He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it to the floor.  Shoes.  Socks.  Belt.  Pants.  boxers.  She watched in amusement, certain he would have led her to the bedroom instead of kneeling on the landing, his erection straining to reach for her.  He leaned forward, brushing his lips over her forehead before fitting them to her mouth.  His kiss.  His taste, uniquely him on her tongue.  She moaned into him as they found each other both foreign and familiar.  His lips left hers and found the shell of her ear.

"I've missed you, too," he whispered.

She smiled against his shoulder.

He understood.

The Visit

I was surrounded by their past, love letters strewn around me in a whirlwind.  It was a condition of my mother's will.  I had to spend a night in their lighthouse.  I had to read his letters.  I had to learn.  I didn't need the inheritance; I was perfectly fine without the money.  I was also fine without a lighthouse that I'd never known existed.  But there I was, caught up in a torrid romance that wasn't mine, mourning a woman I barely knew.

More light than I'd expected streaked through the windows, though now it was tinged with dusk.  I'd been reading for hours.  She was the good girl from a prominent family.  He was the boy from the wrong side of the tracks, her Anthony.  He wrote with such passion.  It was almost a comfort to know someone loved her once, before she married my bastard of a father.  I blushed when he wrote of her flawless skin.  The lure of her ruby mouth.  The innocence of her untouched flesh.  It wasn't untouched by him.  She came to him here at the lighthouse.  He was it's keeper.  Though I blushed as I read of his memories of their first night as lovers, it stirred me in a way I couldn't deny.  I had never been viewed with such desire or touched with such passion.  I desperately longed to be.

The sun had long since set.  I'd fixed a modest meal in the tiny, utilitarian kitchen and settled in with my pile of letters.  This one.  This last one brought color to my cheeks.  I had to forget that it was my mother he kissed.  Held.  Fucked.  It was just a woman he compared to white silk, that brought him more passion than he could contain.  My mind drifted and I wondered what it would be like, what his hands would feel like on my skin.  His mouth.  His dick.  His body planked over mine as he filled me.  The letters drifted from my hands.  My hands drifted over my body.

I felt him here in his long ago home, his presence fresh like pine needles beneath my feet.  I felt his big hands cradle mine as they slid over my stomach and dipped beneath my silky blue pajamas.  With my eyes closed I felt his lips press to mine, his tounge sweeping between them like a memory.  I closed my eyes tighter, shutting out the wrongness.  I let our hands wander over my breasts, teasing my nipples to stiff peaks, bringing a moan from my lips only to be captured by his.  Trembling fingertips trailed over my smooth flesh, doing into my own moisture.  I heard him.  I heard him moan.  I felt his breath against my shoulder.  His weightless touch.  I opened my eyes to his shadow, to my mother's memory.  My breath caught, but he stole it.  My fingers were no longer mine.  My hips bucked when he touched me.  Feather light, imaginary strokes made me shudder.  Whispers I couldn't understand left me straining to hear him in the darkness.  I want bare enough.  Blue fabric spilled to the floor as my naked body called him, thighs spread to the chilled air.  I wanted him, his phantom touch.  His passion.  My fingers worked, two sliding inside me as I bucked and screamed his name.  Lips brushed my cheek.  The air grew warmer.  I was left gasping, alone.

The morning brought the sounds of waves crashing.  I lay naked beneath a sheet, my pajamas in a heap on the floor amongst my mother's sacred past.  Nothing had changed.  Everything had changed.   I knew her now.

I smiled and melted into my new home.

There Were Two

She slipped from our makeshift bed the moment the door closed behind him.  I licked my lips, still savoring her exquisite taste, but she was already miles away from me, watching him stroll down the path to his car.   He had what he wanted. He'd had me.  He had Michelle.  He had everything he'd wanted.  But she... she wanted him.  I only wanted her.

It had been my idea.  We'd been together for years.  Happily, I might add.  After a couple drinks we fell into our comfortable haze of one another's skin.  She looked away.  I'd noticed it lately, the faraway gaze.  I only wanted her.  She wanted something else.  

I'd heard his name a few times.  A casual work lunch here.  A happy hour drink there.  Finally, dinner at our place.  Drinks.  I watched the subtle smiles, the flirtation.  I'd always known she was bisexual, but I guess I'd assumed we were enough.  Finally, she told me we weren't.  I pulled her close, her perfect curves molding to my more angular body, and asked her if she wanted him.  She closed her eyes and said she did.

Another dinner.  More drinks.  Boundaries were set and I thought we'd be safe.  Neutral location.  Evenly divided attention.  And, God the moment I watched him sink his cock in her open mouth I thought I'd cum.  I was so jealous, but it was so hot.  I've watched her suck me off a dozen times, but I could never feel it.  With me she sucked silicone.  He was flesh and blood.  I listened to her moan around him.  I watched his jaw go slack as he thrust his hips forward, forcing her to take him deeper.  His hands nested in her hair.  His eyes rolled back.  My heart seized in my chest.  I tried.  I reached out and touched her face, traced her cheek.  She wasn't there.

I watched.  I watched their bodies.  Watched her give him what she hadn't given me.  He watched us the way he wanted to, but she came for him.  Beneath my fingers, beneath my tongue, but for him.  I was hollow.

She slipped from our makeshift bed the moment the door closed behind him.  I licked my lips, still savoring her exquisite taste, but she was already miles away from me, watching him stroll down the path to his car.  I suggested it.  I wanted her happy.  I wanted her whole, the way she made me.  I watched her watch him leave.

I'd never be whole again.

___________________________________________________

So this is incredibly late, like by a week.  I hope that my lovely writing friend doesn't kick me to the curb.  I can't wait to read his when he has the chance.  Thanks for being with me on the sexy sad thing.  This one actually touched a little close to home.

First Kiss

The air felt different.  The dust danced in the air.  The world itself had tilted at a different angle.  Joan cried herself to sleep in her best friend's arms and  when she woke everything changed.  

They spent the day as they intended, painting side by side in Kristen's studio.  Joan wasn't looking at the juxtaposition of light and shadow.  She was looking at the full slope of her bottom lip.  The swell of her breast.  Her sultry gaze.  A hundred things she hadn't noticed before.  She shook her head.  It wasn't like anything had happened the night before.  There was no kiss.  There was no touch, no guilty confession.  All there was was vulnerability and connection.  It was enough.  Today the world was different.

Shadows deepened as their natural light be3gan to fade.  They were winding down.  Joan chuckled as Kristen scratched her cheek and spread yet another streak of acrylic across her face.  Kristen smiled at the rare laughter and rubbed her nose.  Joan looked at her own hands, finding them covered with more paint than her canvas.  She suddenly wondered what it would be like to see her handprint on Kristen's stomach.  A blush rose to her face.  Kristen put down her brush and walked across the wooden floor, nearing her nervous friend.

"It's OK," she said.  "It's different for me too."

With a self-assured fingertip, Kristen brushed Joan's golden hair from her face.  Each breathed the other's breath and the two felt everything change again. Align. One second.  Two seconds.  Three seconds stretched between their parted lips.

It wasn't a jolt of electricity.  It wasn't a shock.  Kristen's lips brushed over hers with the delicacy of a feather.  It was a flow, a rush, a warmth over her mouth.  It was clarity.  It was the answer to questions she'd never dared ask aloud.

A hand brushed a smooth cheek.  Arms entangled.  A tongue flickered along the swell of a lip.  It sought out it's partner.  Paint smudged on pale skin and Joan wondered of handprints again, .  A smile tugged at the corners of Kristen's mouth.

"I feel it," she said.  "All of it."

And everything changed for the better.

-------------------------

Thank you, Advizor, for the encouragement this week. I truly needed it.  

Echo

I remember

when everything I bared to you

was precious:

          my want, 

          my pussy; 

          my soul

You were the salvation in my darkness,

the one who finally gave...

But now take is all you have

and I have nothing left to give

but a pair of red heels

and a broken string of

tomorrows.

----------------------------

I really loved this picture and wanted to write something sexy and hot.  I'm sorry to say that when I began writing, this is what I found instead.

Just Once

She waited in the hallway, her old battered raincoat skirting the tops of her knees.  She checked her watch.  If this didn't take long, she might be able to fit in a second "date" tonight.  She rapped on the door again.  It opened before the third knock.  Water dripped on his open collar.

"Sorry," he said with a grin. "I didn't expect you to be so prompt.  I was in the shower."

She brushed aside her irritation.  Just because she was a prostitute didn't make her rude.  She was still a good girl.  She raised an eyebrow, but swallowed any comment.  Frankly, she was surprised.  This wasn't the kid of guy that usually called for a date.  Tall.  Dark.  Incredibly handsome.  Bare feet peeked out beneath we'll-tailored slacks.  An open dress shirt gave her a glimpse at an excellent physique.  She found herself curious about why this guy was paying for it.  His smile broadened as though he read her mind.  She walked through the door into an immaculate apartment.

"What should I call you," he asked.

"Rebecca," she answered, immediately taken aback.  She never gave her real name.

"Rebecca."  He tried it out, as if he didn't doubt her at all.  The way he said it poured over her like honey.  Her body responded in a way she didn't think possible anymore.  "I'm Jim, Rebecca.  May I take your coat?"

He had specified what she was to wear.  There was no illusion, yet, she was unashamed.

"Yes, please.  Thank you, Jim."

He slipped it from her bare shoulders and watched it slide past her slender waist.  His eyes traced the curve of her full hips and caressed her lush, bare ass.  She stood in his entryway in nothing but her garters, stockings, and heels and he devoured every inch of her perfect alabaster skin.  She heard his bare feet pad over to hang her coat by the door.

"Follow me, Rebecca."

Her name poured over her again.  She rarely heard it anymore, except for a few close friends at the agency.  Certainly not from a man's lips.  He led her to the doorway of a bedroom, then stopped.

"Crawl.  I want to watch you crawl to the bed."

She tossed her hair indignantly over her shoulder.

"I won't crawl for anyone."

A single finger traced the sweep of her spine.  The full curve of her ass.  He popped her sharply, getting her attention with a quick rush of moisture between her thighs.

"You'll crawl for me and you'll like it."

Something about his voice made her want to obey.  She rationalized.  He was paying her.  It wasn't the strangest request she'd had.  She looked back over her shoulder at him and then sank to her knees.

He watched.  See didn't crawl so much as prowl.  He watched the sway of her perfect ass.  The glint of moisture on her bare pussy lips.  Her full breasts hanging between her sculpted arms.  She reached the bed and raised herself up, dragging her body over the edge.

"Did that please you... Jim?"

He heard it in his head.  The inflection.  The reverence.  The eagerness.

"Say what you wanted to say," he whispered.

She drew a shaky breath and spoke again.

"Did that please you...Sir?"

She heard a sharp exhalation behind her.

"Very much, Rebecca.  Very much."

She listened to him shed his clothes.  She stared forward, afraid to watch as his shirt dropped to the floor.  His slacks followed.

"Take off your watch, Rebecca.  You have nowhere else to be tonight, do you?"

The words "Nowhere but with you" left her lips before she could stop them.  He took her watch and laid it on the nightstand, returning to run his hand through her luscious curls.  She moaned and rested her head in his palm.  A fingertip beneath her chin turned her to face him, his hard cock brushing her lips.  She peered up beneath dark lashes, taking his tip on her tongue.  Now it was him that moaned.

"Good girl, Rebecca.  Good girl."

She smiled at his praise, remembering how much she liked this game.  The give.  The take. The surrender.  It has been so long.  and now this, with him...

He slid deep into her mouth and she moaned around him, trembling on her knees.  This isn't what she was used to anymore, but he gave her everything.  The love and devotion she'd forgotten.  The reverence and respect she'd sacrificed.  A perfect moment of need and fulfilled desire.

He pulled from her lips and bent her over the bed.  She heard a rustle and tear of a foil packet and wondered, if he was hers, what it would feel like to fuck him flesh to flesh. He slid into her with another whisper of her name and for one strange, perfect moment, she remembered the word home.

A Most Unusual Gift

At his command she shimmied out of her panties and handed them to him.  Her cheeks flushed as he crumpled them in a ball, held them to his lips, and inhaled.  His eyes closed like he was enjoying a rose.  To him, her perfume was better and she loved knowing that.  She settled in, flinching at the cold vinyl against her bare ass.  He flicked on the headlights, lighting her way.  When she promised him anything he wanted for their anniversary, she didn't expect this.

"Get out," he said. She heard the excitement in his voice.

She tried to suppress her smile, knowing he was trying to be all big and bad, but it wasn't working.  She knew him too well; it'd been too many years.  She stepped out of the car, hiking her skirt as she sauntered towards the wall, her hips swaying the way they did when he first saw her.  The old car.  The stockings.  It was like she was a teenager again.  She felt the familiar warmth in the pit of her belly as he set up his phone on the dash.  She felt the moisture gather between her thighs as she pulled her skirt higher and leaned towards the wall, unsure what was next until she heard the car door.  Excitement speared her.  She tried to sneak a peak as his dress shoes clicked across the pavement, echoing through the alley.  His hands found her hips and he grabbed hard, digging in his fingers.  Claiming her in a way he hadn't in a while.

"Mine," he growled into her ear.  "I've never seen a finer ass.  And it's mine."

He reached down and ran a hand over her stocking clad calf then traced her garter with his rough fingertips.  A tiny moan rushed from between her lips and he smiled.  He knew they couldn't have very long, someone would stumble upon them.  He thought of his phone, of the evidence they could enjoy later as he unbuckled his belt.  He was so hard for her still after twenty years.

"Hands on the wall.  Feet apart."

He popped her ass with a sharp smack, making her gasp.  He reached around, dragging his fingers over her slit, brushing her clit until she whimpered.  Without preamble, he sunk deep into her pussy.  The moan he'd heard a thousand times sounded new.  Alive.

"Oh, God, yes," she muttered.  He smiled as they found their rhythm, her squeezing him tight in the glow of the headlights.  His hand on the small of her back pushed her  over further.  the damp chill air licked around their sweaty bodies.  Her cries echoed off the walls, like each grunt that sounded off with every thrust.  He was new.  She was new.  It was everything.

She tossed her head back the way she did when she came and he bit her ear lobe the way that made her crazy as he gave her all he had.  Slumped across her back he whispered private promises of more to come.

He was her gentleman again, lowering her skirt and escorting her to the car, thanking her with a searing kiss that curled her toes and made her want him all over again.  She climbed in and he placed a blanket over her legs, remembering now she wasn't just his lover but his best friend, the mother of his children.  She smiled at her gentle man, remembering the same.

"Happy Anniversary, baby." she whispered.

He said the same as their old car roared to life and they went back to their lives, video safely tucked away, her panties in his pocket.

They Always Come Back

I stumbled out of the sun onto the weather beaten porch.  There's no way this place should be standing after so long.  The parking lot was riddled with tumbleweeds instead of stacked with sedans.  The "Free Lunch Buffet" sign had faded from red to pink and hung by one chain from the eaves.  She'd been gone for years, of that I was sure.  And if she wasn't gone that picture sure wouldn't be the same.  I shook my head with a sad laugh and shoved open the door.  I had to see.

Haphazard Christmas lights were strung along  piles of nostalgic junk.  A silent jukebox winked at me from the back wall.  Vinyl chairs with torn seats gathered around stained tables.  At the back stood a bar with a woman behind it.  A smile warmed her pleasant face.

"Drink?"

I ran my hand over my face, trying to ditch the road-weariness.  I'd been on the road for hours before I saw the battered tin sign.  It was the same sign I saw fifteen years ago, the first time I saw the beautiful girl she was, not the exquisite woman behind the bar that she'd become.

"You were a Heineken guy if I recall."

"There's no way you could remember me."

"A girl always remembers her first."

He gripped the cold bottle in his hand and went back in his mind.  His buddies had kidnapped him for an impromptu bachelor party and brought him here.  The club was hopping back then.  Girls danced on a stage that seemed rickety even then.  The serving girls wore high heels and cowboy hats, not a stitch else.  He laughed and said he'd have a few beers and be out the door.  But then he saw her by the jukebox.  Dark curls framed her angelic face.  Her lush mouth begged for his cock.  Her body was perfection.  He had to have her.  He did, in the back of the bar on a beat up old sofa she gave him everything.  He'd never forgotten her.  Through countless rounds of self pleasure in the shower and the flaming destruction of his marriage, this girl never left his mind.  And she was here.

"I own the place now.  Not that it's much of a place.  Some of the girls still dance on Fridays.  I leave my clothes on these days."

"Sad shame," I said with a smirk.

She smiles and sets me up with another beer as I drain the first.

I remembered the first night.  The way she felt beneath me.  Her sweet taste.  The sound of her voice.  The music thumping in the bar as I pounded into her in the back room.  The reality that never lived up to her.

I shook my head and did what I came to do.  I took off my ring and left it on the bar, there in the place I'd lost so much else.  I never had a chance.  I wanted a repeat, a second shot, but her faraway look told me I'd never get it.  I tipped my bottle in her direction and threw a handful of bills on the bar.  it was the ring she grabbed.  I watched her pull a glass jar from the bar and toss it. It disappeared among so many others.  How many, I wondered.  How many like me had she ruined?

I stumbled back out into the sun, somehow finding peace.  At least she'd remembered me for a moment.  At least I hadn't faded in asking the masses.  I may have been her first. I sure as Hell wasn't her last.

Not like she was for me.

----

A day late and way too long.  Forgive me this one, it's a bit tablet.  More of a concept than a story.

Trading Places

She waited for me.  Well, almost.  Her black panties dangled from one delicate foot. Her strap slid off one perfectly curved shoulder.  This is what I'd prayed for when I'd given her the room key, but I never thought she'd come.

She was the aggressor.  She didn't do soft and delicate.  But this one time, because I'd asked her to, because of what was at stake.

She remained quiet as I took off my watch and lay it on the cheap, hotel table, then unbuttoned my cuffs and my shirt.  Finally divesting myself of my slacks, shoes and socks until I stood before her in my boy briefs and simple cotton bra.  She tensed as I knelt at her feet, my hands resting on her taut thighs.  I nudged them open, my eyes focussed on the fine wisps of downy soft hair that covered her mound.  She fought against me for a moment, but I raised an eyebrow.  It was my turn. And she was exquisite.  I nudged her thighs apart and pressed my lips to her sweet flesh. Her fragrance assaulted me like it did every time.  Nothing made me want her more.  I swallowed hard.  This time I would taste her.  I would give her what she gives me.

I could feel her uncertainty.  Her vulnerability.  I glanced to the costume of her clothes that I had worn and understood.  Her watch.  Her slacks.  And now she lay bare to me the way I have a hundred times to her... but to me it comes easy.  She was the aggressor.  She didn't do vulnerable.

I traced my tongue along the seam of her pussy, gathering droplets of her nectar like honey.  She squirmed beneath my kiss.  Gasped.  Moaned.  I splayed my fingers across her soft white belly and held her down, deepening my kiss.

"Stop," she says.  "I can't do this.  I can't take it."

"Hush," I whisper.  "Be me. Just once, let me make you feel good."

A whimper. A twist.  Her head rocked back as I explored.  Tasted.  My hands rose to her full breasts and she thrust them against me.  Once.  Just this one time.  A tear slipped down my cheek as a flood of moisture hit my lips.  She said my name as she came.

She came for me.  She actually came.

"Stop," she said, curling on her side. 

Tears flowed freely down her face.  In ten years I'd never seen her cry.  Ten years and I'd never tasted her.  Seen pleasure twist her face..  Seen so much pain.

"I'm not you.  I'm me."

I took a deep breath, her taste still on my tongue.  The first time in ten years and it had to be the last.  If I loved her, I had to love her for who she was and nothing more.  Quietly I slid the boy shorts from my hips and handed them to my wife.  My lover.  My all.  I laid down beside her and told her the only thing she needed to hear.

I'd never ask again.

In Case of Emergency

She was in the tub, as expected.  What I didn't expect was being rendered breathless.  Incapable of taking action. This should have been easy.  I slip in while she is relaxing in the tub.  I quickly slip the cloth over her mouth and control her brief struggles.  I gently push her under the water and watch for air bubbles.  Pay day.  Yet this... her dark hair spilling over the rolled rim of the claw foot tub. Her small, high breasts peeking through the white bubbly foam.  I didn't expect that it was her.

"It's only fitting," she said.

:"I swear. I didn't realize it was you."

She smiled a sad, wise smile and I was uncertain that she believed me.  I was uncertain that I believed myself.  I pulled my gun out of the inside pocket of my jacket and laid it on the back of the toilet tank.  Her eyes opened wide.  It wasn't my usual style.

"Emergancies only," I explained.

I didn't want to ask my question.  I didn't want her answer.  Yet, I couldn't help it.  I moved to sit on the edge of the tub, removed one glove, and reached beneath the water to trace a single fingertip down her arm.  Her entire body tensed.  I can't say that I blamed her.  Mine did too.

"What... what did you do?"

She closed her eyes and whispered, "I slept with another man."

The pang in my chest was that it wasn't me.  Not anymore.  I waited, knowing that there was more.  They'd both cheated.  I half expected that the boss knew about she and I.  Maybe he did.  Maybe this job was his justice.

"His brother," she continued.  "I fucked Johnny.  That was the end.  I've been waiting for you ever since."

My cuff dipped into the water as I traced her breast.  I tugged on her nipple the way that always used to make her whimper.  Her eyes closed and her breath escaped in a rush.

"You're here to kill me," she says.

My mouth opens, but the words hang on my tongue.  I can"t lie to her.  I never could; that was the problem.

"Get out of the tub."

"If you don't kill me, he'll kill you."

I know this deep into my bones.

"Get out of the tub.  Please.  Let me touch you.  Let me kiss you.   Please... one more time."

She does.  Her small, wet body was in my arms.  Her tongue slid along mine, sparring and dancing.  I palmed her small breasts and took her nipples in my mouth.  I did everything that she loved.  And for that moment, I loved her the way I used to.  I loved her until she moaned around my cock.  Until she whispered my name as she came.  Then I loved her again.

I collected myself, tugging my glove on, knowing I'd still smell her on my fingertips when I took it off again.  I picked up my gun.  She didn't flinch this time.

We walked to the hallway, where she lifted on her tiptoes and kissed me again.  She saw it.  I gave myself away.  I single tear fell down my cheek.  She wiped it away.

"I'm glad that it was you," she said.

"Me too."

I stepped back, leveled the gun, and pulled the trigger.  There was no moment of shocked outrage on her face.  No false hope.  Only a tear to match my own.

I stepped over her body and out of their lives, tucking away my gun and locking the door behind me.  I shook my head.

"Emergencies only."

Glory Days

He held the bong between his naked thighs.  I loved to watch his dick twitch as I fit my mouth to the blown glass tube.  I'd pull the bowl and take a hit and he would pull my mouth up to his.  He loved a good shotgun.  I wrapped my hand around the glass and pulled it from between his thighs.  My knuckles grazed his cock and he flinched.  My mouth curled into a slow smile.

"I know what I'd like to wrap my lips around."

I leaned in as he reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.  That's when I knew that I loved him.  Unfortunately, I had loved someone else first.  So had he.  None of that mattered that first night.  I took him between my lips and the world fell away.  It rained that night.  We lay wrapped tight in each other in the back of his old bus.  The roof took a good pounding and so did I.  But then I cried.  I laid in his arms and wept of the thought of losing him.  There was nothing we could do.  

His body moved over mine and eased my sorrow.  His touch was a symphony that drowned out the rain.  He brought me over and over.  In the morning I left his bus and returned to my world with the promise of next year.  It happened.  It happened each year for four years.  I left my life, he left his, and we met at the music festival.

I waited in our spot the fifth year.  I squealed and clapped as his bus pulled in.  He kept driving.  He wrapped around and parked a little ways down. He wasn't alone.  She slid from the cab and grabbed the baby.  I sat and watched until he saw me.  All he did was shake his head, but I saw it.  I saw that it hurt him, ending things that way. 

I came back the following year.  Even the year after that.  He didn't.

Now here I am, waiting for him again.  A chance meeting fifteen years later.  I was buying concert tickets.  He was buying a CD.  Same band.  He wasn't wearing a ring and mine was long gone.  I hear a familiar sound and laugh as the old bus rattles into the parking lot.  I felt it again when I saw him, that old spark.  The one that still made me blush when I recalled that first night.  He walks in and a I smile.  I always thought those were our glory days.  He smiles back.  I was wrong.  I think these will be.

The Hunger

His eyes may be different, but the hunger is the same.  He watches from a distance.  It's the other him that she watches for.  This, this flimsy handsome body is harmless.  As harmless as hers.

She made her way through the desolate woods.  It was time to take her basket to Grandma's.  She was warned.  Her step father warned her with his own wolfish leer to avoid strangers.  Stay pure.  Fear the wolf.  She did.  She feared him every night.  These woods, they were barren.  Creepy.  But the wolf she feared the most wasn't in them.  The wolf in the woods was a great shaggy beast with powerful fast claws and sharp flesh-tearing teeth.  He snarled and howled.  She would know him by the hunger in his gaze.  She laughed to herself.  No, she knew real predators.  This mythic beast instilled no fear in her.

He skulked behind the trees, watching.  Waiting.  She slowed.  With a furtive glance, she removed her cloak with a flourish and spread it out on the ground.  Grandma wouldn't miss just one currant roll.  She sat on her cloak for a nibble.

He wore simple clothes.  Modern.  Unobtrusive.  It was part of the magic.  Whenever he turned, he kept his clothing with him.  He was just a young man.  His eyes maybe different, but the hunger was the same.  Not the same.  As fierce, but not the same.

She pulled out a second bun.  She saw him watching, this handsome young man.  He must be hungry.  Starving, really.  She held out the roll and he crept close, forgetting his form.  She thought him odd.  Isolated. Handsome.  He took the food from her hand with a smile.  She's done this before.

She shook her head.  Handsome.  Beautiful.  Hunger.  she kissed him.  He tried to walk away, but there was no way now.  Not when she bared her her ripe ivory breasts with nipples like juicy cherries.  Not when he could sink his teeth into her plump ass.  She was warned.  But it was her that howled as he took her on the red cloak.  Her touch on his human skin.  Her wet heat around him.  A tangle of frail human flesh.  a mess of hunger and need.  But only she was warned.

The knife was quick.  A flash of silver.  His warm blood on her hands.  Shock and pain twisted his face.  At least she'd let him cum, she thought.  She pushed him off her to watch him change.  His nose elongated into a grey muzzle.  His skin covered with thick, grey-black fur.  His beautifully powerful limbs curled into a silent leap.  She wiped the blade on the ground and fixed her clothes.  She gathered Grandma's basket.

She shook off a brief sting of sadness.  No, she wasn't afraid.  She knew real predators

The Canvas

Something had to give.  She'd grown so weary of her dispassionate gaze and her insidious perfection.  It wasn't always like this.  They'd been something to one another once.  She slipped her own blouse down over her arms, mirroring the black coat of her former lover.  While she continued and let her blouse slip to the floor, she left the other woman's arms trapped at her sides.

"You will not be placed on a canvas today," she said.  "You will be the canvas."

The artist grabbed a soft sable brush and dipped it into a glob of cerulean paint that matched the model's heavy-lidded eyes.  She began a long line from the hollow of her flawless collarbone and extended between her breasts.  Her expression was unwavering.  Her own hands trembled as she gripped the brush.  She remembered when the brush was her fingertips, when the paint was the tip of her greedy tongue.  She swirled her brush around the globe of one breast, then the other.  Her model remained as still as an actual canvas, though goosebumps bloomed across her ivory skin.  She took a deep breath and dipped her fingertips in another pool of paint before sweeping them in an arc across her abdomen. A deep ache registered in her gut as she recalled the silken flesh below.  How it felt beneath her fingers.  Her sweet, smoky taste.  She was trying so hard to pull out something in her former lover, but there was nothing.  Stroke after stroke across her skin, and nothing came at all.  Finally, she uttered her name.

"Annabelle..."

With a barely perceptible shudder, the model replied, "Are we done?"

"Yes.  We're done."

The brush clattered to the floor.  Tears filled the artist's eyes.

The model slowly walked away.

Strange Ties

She bent over the ledge in front of the window.  When she heard the door, she leaned over even farther.  This had to work.  It was the last night of their vacation and he hadn't touched her; not once.   A hand slid over her hip and she smiled.  His other hand fisted her hair, bracing her for his cock.  He slid inside her, deep and hard.  She cried out over his silence.  He'd never fucked her like this... just FUCKED her.  It's what she wanted.  Needed.  Wild.  Unrestrained.  Until she heard the door again.  Until his voice whispered "honey" from the doorway.  A backward glance showed the tan legs and sandals of the boy she'd flirted with by the pool.  They froze.

A moment of panic took her before she heard her husband cross the floor.  She began to stammer the words, "I thought he was you," but he silenced her with a fingertip.  Then he saw her.  He truly saw her, the woman he married, wanted, and desired.  His hand slid through her hair as the other man's hand fell away, yet the two men looked at each other and the husband nodded.  She braced herself and moaned as he plunged back inside her.  Her husband pressed his lips to her, murmuring "beautiful" as a tear slid down her cheek.  His mouth molded to hers with fresh heat.  His tongue slipped between her lips and danced in a way it hadn't in what felt like forever.  Strange hands found her shoulders and pulled her deep as she came, but it was her husband's kiss.  His kiss was her satisfaction.

Quiet Now

One graceful finger perched on his nose, the other on her own lips.  She'd thought it was such an odd gift.  But when she'd told her husband, he'd said It only made sense. She'd be staying in her old room while she visited her folks.  It was only appropriate. But her thoughts weren't appropriate.  She hated being away from him, away from his touch.  His kiss.  Her fingertips traced the edge of her black bra and brushed over her stomach.  The moment they brushed the smooth flesh between her thighs, she moaned.

"Shhh."

She nearly threw the bear across the room.

"You have to be quiet, baby."

Her voice came out in a shaky whisper as she recognized the bear's voice.

"Mike?"

She heard her husband laugh.  Leave it to him to put his sneaky spy shit in a stuffed toy.

"Sound activated.  It let's me know when there's a peep to be heard.  I liked that peep."  His voice got that husky edge that turned her all molten inside.  "I want to hear more.  Tell me what you were doing."

"I was thinking of you."

She sat up just enough to take off her bra.  The soft fur brushed against the taut peaks of her nipples and she moaned again.  It all seemed so deliciously naughty.  She reached back between her legs and slid her fingers across slick flesh.  Her breath caught in her throat.

"More,"  he said.  His own breath grew deeper, ragged, and she pictured him palming his hard cock.  "You know I want more."

So did she.  She closed her eyes and listened to his disembodied breath.  Pictured his mouth tasting her, his tongue teasing her.  She pictured him entering her as her own fingers explored her depths.  He heard every whimper.  Every moan.  Every gasp.  In her childhood bedroom she told him all the dirty things she wanted him to do to her.

And then they came.

"I miss you," she said.

"I miss you, too," he said.  "Until tomorrow."

She heard the mic click and rolled contentedly to her side, clutching tight to the memory of his voice.

The Stairwell

This is the way he said he wanted her: natural, raw, and wild.  Wild bush.  Natural pits. The tattoo that snaked across her ribcage and writhed beneath his tongue.  This is the last place he fucked her while his wife slept upstairs.  He didn't care then.  Why should she now?  She wouldn't put her wild away.

She ground her palms into her swollen eyes while the stone steps dug into her ass and her back.  He would see her and stop.  He would see the words "fuck me" on the wall and he would obey.  It was his turn to obey.

The door opened.  She knew his gait as well as his schedule; knew it was him that climbed the stairs.  She said nothing as he approached.  Nothing when she knew he saw her.  Nothing when the heel of his shoe scuffed her hard nipple as he stepped up over her body.

She knew his gait.  It didn't slow until he unlocked his apartment, opened the door, stepped through it to his his safe world and locked it behind him.

She said nothing today.

There is always tomorrow.

FFF - 3/5 - Episode Quickie

I truly hope this isn't the last we see of FFF.  It's too much fun!   OK,  this week's kinky prompt:

This week's Flash Fiction Challenge is a little bit different.

Your goal - Describe what happens in the next 5 minutes.

Star Wars references optional

Word Limit: 200

----------------------------

His cock twitched as the girls took their final bow.  The one on the right, sweet Jedi, she was hot.  A touch of the dark side. That had always been his thing. And that ass! The perfect canvas for his handprint. He watched her turn and scan the audience; passing him over alwaysas always. The other girls left their Storm Trooper helmets on the stage.  He grinned as she grabbed hers and hit the hallway. He chugged his drink and followed. 

She bent over the back of the couch; heels, garters, stockings and crotchless panties still in place.  She heard the door. His belt. His zipper. Heard his breathing change within the confines of the mask.She smiled.

His hand fell hard across her ass. As soon as she gasped, he was balls deep inside her.  She felt the clunky helmet over her shoulder.. His perfect hands. His cock hard and deep. Divine.

She moaned on the first stroke and came on the second, milking him dry with her tight box. One more thrust and he got off, pulled out, and hit the door. Her mystery man. Her nerdy wet dream.

He always came on Star Wars night.


So did she.

----------------------------

(200 on the nose! Fun challenge.)

FFF 2/27 - I did?

Key Words - Relief
Word Limit - 239
Forbidden words - unbeknownst, twitterpated. scullery
Bonus words - 25 points if there is a crowd cheering outside the room
Extra Credit - have you, would could you, in a stall?

______________________________

"You don't think I can."

She glanced back over her shoulder, irritated at his amusement.

"You could wait, you know..."  His voice was overflowing with mirth at her expense.

She pushed her panties down to her thighs.

"Did you see the line for the ladies?  Fuck that.  I need relief.  Now."

She leaned forward, freeing her stream into the urinal.  She was shocked it worked, but she'd never let on.  Outside the door she heard a rise of cat calls and applause. Someone else must have taken the stage.  She smiled at their unconventional beginning.

She felt him behind her. He leaned in, his large hands wrapping around her wrists.
"You know," he murmured against her ear.  "That was pretty fucking hot.  And I could use a little relief myself."

She heard the tick of a button; the promise of a zipper.

"Here," she asked.

 He laughed against her neck, rubbing his cock against her ass.

"Ma'am, I just fucked you on stage in front of a hundred of our closest friends."

She felt him slide between her thighs just as the door flew open.

He stood abruptly, tucking himself back into his .jeans.  He grinned at his best man. She laughed, her face flushing scarlet.

"We can't toast the newlyweds without the newlyweds."

He turned and left as her new husband wrapped around her, pulling her panties back over her hips.

"Shall we," he asked.

"We shall."  She replied, shaking her head as they walked towards the bathroom door.

Really, she thought to herself.  Who the fuck gets married at a sex club?

-----------------------------------

Sorry so late, and such on odd story! I hope it was at least a little entertaining.


In a stall? I've done worse.

FFF - Sorry, Wrong Number

Thank you,  Advizor.  I do love this picture.   Though,  I'm surprised at the direction I took.   I hope it works for someone out there.

The details...

FFF Prompt - Devastated
Key Word:  Devastated
Word Limit:  Short week, low limit, 180 words
Forbidden Word:  Phone, Carpet, Nipple
Extra Words:  20 Extra if her mom or dad finds her or is on the phone.
Extra Credit:  Tell me a story about your worst phone call.

---------

She could still hear his voice.  

"Bella. Answer me, Bella."

She dropped the receiver after he came; after he said a name that wasn't hers.  Yet, it was a name she knew...

She lay on the floor, devastated, listening to him buzzing away like an anxious mosquito. She wanted to swat away his feeble excuses and end this horrid call.  He was her fucking fiancé.

"Stop," she whispered. "Please stop..."

She clutched at her dress, covering herself as she rose to a seated position..  In seconds, she'd gone from hovering on the edge of orgasm to total humiliation.  Sure, he'd been different tonight.   It wasn't the way he normally talked to her.  It was... dirtier.  And, yes, she was surprised that he'd called her here, but it was a pleasant surprise.   One that made her feel wanted and a little naughty.  But then he came and called her Anna. The only Anna she knew was...

"Bella, darling.  Who was it that called?"

She grasped the receiver and stretched out her trembling hand.

"Sorry, Mother," she whispered.  "It was for you."

-------

Extra credit, though I didn't take the words.

My worst phone call is yet to come.  I dread it.   However,  I did have one a year or so ago that was awful for me.   Many years ago,  I spent a year in an affair with my best friend.   She had a girlfriend.   I wasn't proud,  but it's where I was.  I adored her.   The year was torture,  but I loved her so I endured.  I was 1000 percent sure that she knew that.   I'd believed she felt the same way.   About a year or so ago we are on the phone and she tells me she never loved anyone before her current girl.   Gut punch. Yet, somehow,  I ended up telling her I'd been in love with her back then.   She said she'd never known.   Shed though it was just for fun.   Even now,  happily married,  it broke my heart.   It made me feel like she'd never known me;  that the entire year had been a figment of my imagination.

Satisfaction

He wants
the broken girl
from beneath the rubble;
the one that cries each time she begs
for more.

------------------- ------------------- ------------------- ------------------- -------------------

My favorite poetic form, cinquain.  I haven't written one in ages.  This one seems to have written itself.

FFF - Fifty Shades of Crazy

Required Phrase - "And then my Crazy Ex......."
Word Limit - 2 short chapters of 230 each
Forbidden Phrase - Burned
Bonus Words if someone ends up dead.
Extra Credit if you fictionalize a real world story

Part I

This is the only way it could end.  She was fucking crazy.  That's what drew me to her in the first place.   We had mind-blowing sex.  Adrenaline junkie shit, you know? Fucking everywhere we could; daring ourselves to get caught.  Fingering her while we drove 90 on the highway.  If I wanted it, she was down. And Em got it at first.  She knew I had my girl; this was just a fling. Then she caught feelings.  They always do.   The midnight hang ups, showing up at my job, at Starbucks, outside my girlfriend's house...but it was when she torched her tongue with a fucking lighter that she scared me shitless.  What the fuck was she trying to prove?

We met at a Valentine's Charity auction.  I was supposed to go with my regular girl. We were in search of a third.  Just for fun, you know?  Instead, we had a huge fight, she backed out, and I went stag.  Em was on a pedestal in the middle of the room in nothing but 6-inch stilettos  and a patent leather teddy, all curves and burgundy curls.  Someone else won her, but I was the one fucking her at the end of the night.  I know it was wrong, but I was hooked.  Now?  Yeah, this is the only way it could end.  I just need to get away with it.

Part II

Flashing lights.  No sirens.  Incoherent babbling.  A cop furiously scribbling on his note pad.  "And then my crazy ex..."    I have to admit it.  She's selling this shit.  I watch as they wheel out the gurney.  I stay behind the caution tape remembering the rules she'd set in the beginning.  Yeah, those rules went right out the window.    I mean, shit.  Love?  She wanted to give me up for love?  No, what she wants are my stiletto heels digging into her bare ass.  She wants to bury her face in my juicy pussy.  She wants to call me insane, fine.  But she's the one that just offed her girlfriend. I fight to stifle my grin as the last cops pull away.  The coroner is long gone.  That bitch's body? Gone.  I watch her face, seeing remorse flicker in her eyes.  I toss my burgundy hair over my shoulder and walk to her.  I won't comfort her.  It's not in me.  Instead, I lower my mouth to hers.  I want to make sure she knows that I won.  She thought she would kick me to the curb.  She thought she was done with me.  But what we have?  No fucking way.  I drag my tongue piercing across the swell of her bottom lip, swallowing her ragged sigh. Yeah, this is the only way it could end.

Crazy wins every fucking time.

_______________________________

230/230.  Yep, one dead body.  No true story.  Definitely no hearts and flowers this Valentine's Day.

FFF - How long?

I'm late to the party, but I'd still like to join.  Very nice pic, Advizor.  Here goes...

Key Word - Waiting
Word Limit -250 exactly

No extra words

Forbidden Words - boredom, enui

Ridiculous,.  She'd been waiting for hours.  It was meant to be a joke.  He always made cracks about those stupid "no shirt, no shoes, no service" signs, so here she sat... shirt, shoes, and waiting to be serviced.  He never showed, not that it was a shock.  Maybe he was doing some servicing on the side now.  Fuck, he didn't even get her off last time they were together.  

She reached over and grabbed her phone.  No texts, no missed calls.  This was the last time.  A bright, devious glimmer shot through her grey.  She lay the phone down beside her and spread her legs wide, letting her fingers trail through that thick bush he loved so much.  She turned, positioning her legs so that she could prop up her phone for the perfect shot.  After getting nice and worked up, she hit record... watching herself.  Watching her fingers work her slick, hard clit.  Watching what he didn't want anymore.  Watching what he'd never get again.

She came hard, her juices splashing the screen of her smartphone, the sound from her throat a broken cross between a moan, a laugh, and sob.  After a ragged breath, she wiped the screen off on his sofa.  Quickly, she attached the file to a text with the message, "Fuck you, asshole.  We're done." Message sent.

She closed her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks before she felt his hand grip her neck from behind, his warm breath caressing her cheek.

"Not even close."

(250)

Pity Party for One

I wonder what would happen if anyone actually knew me.  If they could split me open like some piece of rotted fruit and see everything.  This person... the one that dresses like her mother, hides behind her weight, and smiles at the entire fucking world is a piece of of shit fraud.  I don't write for a reason.  When I write, I speak truth.  I talk about the things I want, but can't have.  The pain I miss every fucking day.  The stranger seared into my brain.  I drown myself every fucking day in the fantasies of others so I can deny my own.  I want.  I want so much.  I complacently settle for the life of a middle class office bitch when I crave so much more.  And then?  Then I deny my past and cope with the anxiety and depression in a Mary Jane haze. Then I write dirty stories with my friends because it's the one thing that triggers my pulse.  And when my friends are gone, I go scary places inside.   Honestly.  I really am a piece of shit. I believe if anyone really knew me, they'd just walk away.  Plenty have.   Fuck, I would.

FFF - In the Pink

She was humiliated, but there was no stopping now.

"What was it," Tom asked.  "What dirty little thought made it impossible for you to keep your fingers out of your sweet, pink pussy?"

He watched from the foot of the guest bed.  She kept her arm across her face, unable to look at her best friend.

"You."  Her words hung between a moan and a gasp.  "Both of you."

A wicked grin flashed across his face.  "You heard us, didn't you?  You heard him fucking me."

She swallowed hard, nodding.  Her fingers worked faster, sliding over her swollen clit.  She flinched as she felt his fingers beneath the waistband of her pink flannel pajamas.  With a quick tug they slid down her thighs.  She hadn't even heard him move.

"I'm watching," he said, his voice deep and strained.  "Don't stop."

She closed her eyes tighter, her cheeks flushing to a bright pink.

"Tell me what you heard.  How much you liked it."  He slowly stroked his hardening cock through his thin cotton shorts.

She shook her head emphatically, too focussed on her own pleasure to respond.  Too ashamed to tell him how wet she got listening to him.  She barely registered the opening door.  Barely heard the footsteps.  The whispered, "Oh my."

Guilt flashed across Tom's face.  It was quickly dismissed as his lover smiled, slowly shaking his head.  He knew Tom had always wondered, that a part of him had always wanted her.  He sank to his knees after gently turning Tom's face back towards his childhood friend.

Tom watched.  Tom watched her perfect fingers stroke her perfect pussy as his cock disappeared between his husband's lips.  He moaned.  She dropped her hand from her face, spreading herself open to his gaze.  He moaned louder.


She looked up, pushed to the brink by the sight of Tom balls deep in his lover's mouth.

"Fuck, baby," he muttered.  "Cum.  Cum watching us.  Cum watching him get me off."

She did.  Back arching.  Legs trembling.  Fire in her veins.  But she pictured herself on her knees in front of him.  She pictured his hands tangled in her hair.  His cock sliding over her tongue.  And picturing this she came harder than she had in ages.

So did he -- closing his eyes and imagining the same damn thing.