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I hammered her. I rag-doll fucked her. I pummeled her pussy so hard; I thought the bed would collapse. Squeak, squeak, squeak! She moaned and yelled. I moaned and yelled. I sweated profusely.
I was giving her the fuck of her life. Using a new dick on her that was beyond magnificent, it was mystical and godlike. And long, and fat, and thick, and as hard as tungsten steel.
Then I yelled, magnificently, and at the top of my lungs, "Oh, God! Oh, God! I'm cumming, baby, hold still and take me! Oh, God! Oh, God! Now! It's cumming now! Can you feel it? Oh, God!" And I heard her say, quite clearly, unlike some men, that she could feel me cumming, and she enjoyed saying it so much, she said it again.
Then I collapsed upon her, my sweat splushing between us. I then kissed her, passionately, the way true lovers do, and then crawled up beside her and cuddled her to my sweaty, hot body.
As she snuggled sweetly into my arms, I asked her to tell me her name. She sat up, rigidly, and looked right at me. A look of puzzlement and anger on her face.
"My name? My name? Arthur, what the hell's wrong with you? You've been acting weird ever since I got here. And what's with all that 'Oh, God, I'm cumming, baby!' crap you were yelling out? In a deep voice that sounded just like Nick." She grabbed a breath before going on. The puzzled look had left her face, but the look of anger remained. "I don't get it, Arthur. You'd think seven years together would count for something, and you'd be eager for us to talk. But, no, all you wanted to do was practically rape me the instant I walked through the door, without even so much as a 'How ya been, Clara? Long time no see.' What's wrong with you, Arthur? Huh? What the fuck's wrong with you?" She was glaring at me now.
I looked at her, this Clara woman, but I was unable to speak. It was obvious she knew me, and very well, and I should have known her, too, but for the life of me, I had no idea who she was. She didn't seem even slightly familiar to me.
Staring back at her now, I racked my brain for even a shred of a glimmer of recognition for her, but I found none there. Clara was as unknown and as alien to me as a visitor from outer space. The only name I could muster up from my memory banks, the only name I could even hazily remember, was Portal . . .
