Wilmington Woman's Club Ch. 57

She broke off the kiss, pulled away; looked at him. He felt dizzy, out of breath. She leaned back against the door.

"Well," she said, "I wasn't expecting that."

He looked straight ahead, tried to slow his breathing. Nether of them spoke.

"I guess," she said after a moment, "I better go."

He turned to her and she leaned toward him, slower this time. She kissed him lightly then touched the line of his jaw, kissed him harder again.

"Is there enough room in the back seat?" she asked.

"Be more room inside," he answered.

"I'd never get you to leave," she said, her voice laced with a husky lust.

"Then there's plenty of room back there," he said. "Let's go!"

Two days later, Marty called K.C. and in a breathy voice she invited him over. Dinner was waiting for him when he arrived. They ate, not saying much, but looking at each other hungrily. Finally, she refilled his glass from the wine bottle and said, "Sit there. Enjoy the wine, I'll get rid of the dishes, and no, I don't need any help."

She got up, scraped their plates into the trash, and rinsed them in the sink. As she moved her cardigan rode up slightly on one side, showing about an inch of skin. He got up, resealed the leftover food containers, ignoring the frown she cast in his direction. Moving to the refrigerator, he opened the door, looked in and moved several cartons and jars around to make room for the food.

"Isn't this a cozy domestic scene," she said.

"Make you uncomfortable?'

"I'm not sure. I haven't had a man do anything for me in a while. It might take some getting used to."

"We can't always pick and chose how we're going to live," he said.

She arched an eyebrow at that, wondering just how deep the statement was meant to be. She leaned against the counter, took a sip of her wine.

"You're an interesting man, know that?"

"I could same the same for you."

"Touché."

"Sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have said that."

"Don't apologize, I've made my choices. If I had to do it over . . . things would be different. Well, maybe they'd be different."

He reached for the wine bottle, turned it to look at the label.

"So tell me something about you," she said, as she set her glass on the counter and left the kitchen.

"I'm kinda fresh out of prison, for one."

"Ohhh," he heard her say from more than a room away.

"What were you in for?"

"Robbery. Armed robbery."

Again he heard her voice. This time it was further away. "So you're a dangerous man."

He made out the laughter in her voice, knew she was teasing him and he smiled, put his glass down on the counter, next to hers.

He recorked the wine, and went after her, going up the carpeted stairs, and finding himself in a long hallway, called out to her. "K.C.?"

"In here," she said.

He put his fingers on the door, pushed it wider. It was a small bedroom, a dresser against one wall, a closet. There was a single lamp atop a nightstand, a silk scarf thrown over the shade, bathing the room in a reddish light.

She had her back to him, was going through the nightstand drawer. She came out with a red candle in a glass, a pack of matches. She lit it, set it on the nightstand. The flame flickered, and after a moment, the smell of jasmine drifted over to him.

"There we go," she said, switching the lamp off and turning to face him. Their shadows dance against the wall.

"You can leave if you want," she said.

"I'm not totally crazy," he said as he shook his head. She came closer and he smelled fresh perfume, vanilla musk.

He touched the side of her face lightly, felt her tremble as he trailed his hand down her throat, her collarbone. He could feel her pulse, the thump of her heart.

He leaned close and their lips met, hers opening under his. He tasted the sweetness of the wine, broke off the kiss to look at her. She met his eyes as he undid one button on her sweater, then another, exposing the sheer black bra beneath. He reached inside, cupped her warmth and felt her nipple turn to stone.

She closed her eyes.

He held the edges of the sweater, tugged gently, and the rest of the buttons undid themselves. One popped off, landed on the bed. He kissed her again − both hands on her now and slipped the sweater off her shoulders − let it fall silently to the floor. She leaned into him, eyes still closed, mouth open. He tasted her tongue, cupped her buttocks through the jeans. She began to pull at his belt, unsnapping, unzipping, and kissing him harder, hungry for him. He reached back with one hand and gently pushed the door shut.

K.C. kissed him again, this time with her eyes wide open and staring at him as if pleading with him. Moments later they were both naked. Her eyes were wild and her hair was a mess as she took him in her mouth and her talented tongue sent shockwaves through his body.

"I like it up the ass, wanna do me there?"

"I'm game," Marty answered dryly. "We'll need some lubricant."

"Try the drawer next to your side of the bed."

She was deep-throating him by the time he found the lubricant and held it aloft. And with her lips around his base, he saw her eyes swivel over to it. Her eyes moved from the tube to his eyes and back again as if indecisive about whether she wanted to continue the blowjob or get right on to the ass-fucking.

After ten seconds or so, she swallowed once, her throat contracting around his shaft, and then pulled off with a pop. Her eyes were full of need as she lay flat on her belly and then spread her legs to the sides. Marty tried to as gentle as possible, massaging her legs then caressing her buttocks until she began moaning appreciatively. She turned her head and watched as he lubed them both, sighing contentedly when he sent a finger into her anal canal.

"Open me some more," she cooed. "Use two, maybe three fingers."

A minute later he was ready to mount her. K.C. reached back with her hands and pulled apart her own cheeks, and Marty entered her.

"Ohhhh, no, honey! Hold up, please!"

Marty paused then pushed a little harder.

"Oh, oh ... I don't know ..."

"Rub your clit harder!"

"You think...?"

The rubbing helps and K.C. begins to writhe against him.

"Just a little more," Marty whispered.

K.C. felt a slight pop as her ass opened to accept the head of his cock.

"I don't know ... I don't know!"

His hands seemed to be all over her body as he coaxed her into trying harder. "That was the hardest part, Baby. Really, it was."

Her body began adjusting to his member stretching her.

"Okay, but slow ... go slow!"

He pulled on her hips, gaining leverage for his next thrust. The thin, tight band of flesh that had held him off was no longer a problem. He squeezed her hips, his hands held K.C. steady.

"Can you take some more?"

A muffled, "Yes", came from the mouth now pressed into a pillow. "I ... I'm getting used to it."

"Can you handle a little more?"

"Yeah ... I think so." K.C. pressed back against him, already aching to feel the saddle of his hips against her ass.

"Yeah, I can take it, honey."

Marty moaned as he sank in all the way.

"You're in my ass!" she groaned. Her voice was filled with triumph.

"I'm gonna fuck your ass," he said, and his voice sent a shiver through her.

"Can we rest first?"

"Sure we can," he replied.

They lay together like that for a long time, his cock buried to the root inside K.C.'s asshole. Almost his entire weight was on top of her, crushing her face into the bed. She made no moves to get him off, instead breathing hard with the strain to get oxygen and perfectly happy to feel his weight. Marty spent a long time just kissing her shoulders and the back of her neck. And when they changed position to relieve her of all the weight, she turned her face to him, and Marty leaned over and they met in a fierce kiss.

"You feel so nice back there," she murmured.

"Never been in a tighter hole," he replied, and they both laughed. Marty, I think I could love you ..." she whispered, her voice tight from the strain of supporting him.

"I know," he sighed then kissed her again. "But try not to, okay?" Marty whispered back then pulled her with him so that they were lying on their sides, his throbbing cock still lodged in her dark passageway.

K.C. was already crying when he clamped his hands onto her hips to hold her tight.

"Hey, you're a big girl, K.C., I do like you. But we're not meant for each other."

"But ... but here you are fucking me up the ass!" she sobbed.

"Because you wanted me too," he told her while reaching over her shoulder to cup a breast as they spooned together intimately. He heard her try to muffle the next sob and began to slowly rock in and out of her. She pulled his hand to her face and kissed the palm.

"You're probably right. I'll have to ask my shrink," she whispered then laughed softly.

He felt a little better about the situation. He didn't like stringing a woman along, preferring to level with them as to what type relationship they had, or wouldn't have.

K.C. pushed back with her hips to meet each thrust. Marty managed to snake the fingers of his right hand around to her pussy, found the hard nub of her clit and strummed it, causing a fresh burst of sobbing whimpers from her.

They moved slowly, rhythmically, in no hurry. This wasn't a hard fuck meant to bring K.C. to a cascade of multiple orgasms. It was kinky; it was tender, and it was what she wanted.

The delicate flesh around her asshole stretched as Marty began to fuck her, easing almost all the way out of her until she can feel his tip, the ridge that had felt so impossible, easing out, and then back in.

Her thighs are quivering.

"Oh, you're so tight!"

"Do you like it? Do you like fucking my ass?"

Marty didn't answer her, but pistoned into her. She met his thrusting, rocking back at him, relishing the feel of his grinding into her; his grunts of effort; his lust and his sweat.

Her fingers were flying over her clit again

He heard her whimper, "Harder!"

He knew her fingers were slick with her juices, and he improved upon his thrusting, going faster than he had thought possible, slapping his balls against her pussy, pulling her back against him again and again.

"Stick that dick in me!" she bellowed as her orgasm came on. "Oh, fuck that ass!"

"Gonna cum!" Marty crowed.

"OH! THAT'S IT! KEEP ..."

He was already doing what she was asking without being told. He hammered into her and her body locked up as her orgasm tore up her spine. Her asshole clamped down on his prick as it tried to squeeze the cum from his balls. K.C.'s knees collapsed as he added additional weight to his plunging prick.

She felt him shudder; felt his cock pulsing as it spewed wave after wave into her darkest recesses.

A few minutes later they were tucked spoon fashion against one another. Their breathing was approaching that of a normal persons, he continued running his hands over her and she felt like purring aloud in appreciation.

Instead, she told him her ass was still throbbing.

"Are you sore?"

"No, I don't think ... well, probably. I don't feel it yet. But later I think I will."

K.C. still clung to the idea that he might come to love her. But she had done that with so many other men in the past. Her therapist had told her she wasn't a nymphomaniac, but that she constantly sought the love and approval of a father who never materialized; and that she would overcome this need in time with patience and perseverance along with further therapy. And because of Marty's gentle lovemaking, for just a few minutes, she felt loved.

"Marty?"

"Umm?"

"I feel kinda like Goldilocks' must have. You know Goldilocks' and the Three Bears?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like Goldilocks' and the third bowl of porridge ... you know you got it just right."

"You're a piece of work, K.C."

Marty surrendered to the bliss, unaware of anything except for the supple body in his arms and the unbelievable pleasure he had derived from taking her ass.

Marty felt himself slide out of her ass, and then slid off the bed and stood on shaky feet. He looked down and saw his jizm drooling slowly from her gaping rectum. After taking a moment to be sure of his balance, he leaned over and picked her up in his arms, hoisting her high so that her head lay against his left shoulder. She stirred, and her eyes fluttered open and stared at him, lost in her own thoughts.

The tears fell silently down her cheeks. "You're going to break up with me now, aren't you?"

He nodded, "Maybe," he replied. "I do like you very much. I can say that."

"Why did you pick me?" she whispered.

"Why do you think?" he responded.

"I don't know. I think you may have fixed my Mazda not to start back there at Dockside Doll's"

"No, that was fate. I did want to talk to you. Your car not starting opened that door."

She found a tissue, blew her nose, and said, "So I'll go back to my original question: Why me?"

"I'm going to be perfectly honest with you. I'm just out of prison. I'm looking for the guy who betrayed me while I was in there; who I think killed my girl while I was helpless to do anything about it; and who took something of mine that he promised to hold for me and used it to make himself wealthy."

"I don't know anyone like that. At least I don't think I do."

"Conrad Gentner or Conrad Kenney. Recognize either name?"

Huge raindrops pelted the bedroom window. She didn't answer him, but rummaged among the cluttered drawer and found three candles. Using his lighter she lit them and the room was filled with a yellow glow and flickering shadows.

He walked to the window, held the curtain aside and looked out at the rain pounding down on his Grand Am. When he looked back at her she was lying on her side in the tangled sheets, her bare back to him. He could see a red and yellow butterfly tattooed just above the cleft of her buttocks.

"Is it raining hard?"

"Yes," he said as he went back to the bed. She slid over to give him room. He lay on his left side, propped up on an elbow, looking at her. He put a hand on her hip. She rolled to face him. Candlelight glinted off the small gold ring in her navel. "Am I the first since you got out?' She asked.

"Yes," he said, lying, not wanting to spoil the mood.

"I could tell. For me too, hard as that is to imagine. That's the truth."

"I'm flattered."

"Not that much, I hope. It's not like you're part of an exclusive club, you know?"

"You don't need to go into that," he said gently.

"Well, I did it for a living once; still do on occasion. But," she said after a moment, "this was different. I wanted to be with you."

He reached beneath the sheet, ran his palm along the smoothness of her thigh.

"Like I said, you don't have to tell me about it, any of it, its history, like my past is history."

"Yeah . . . but weren't you happy when you saw these . . ." She gestured to the small pile of condom packets on the nightstand. "You can't tell me you weren't thinking about that. What I might have."

He didn't answer. She folded a pillow behind her, sat back against the headboard.

"How do you feel?" she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Guilty?"

"I don't know. No, I don't feel guilty and if you recall we didn't use any condoms in the backseat, did we?"

"Umm, no, we didn't. I'm sorry about that."

"Do you have some STD that I should know about?" he asked.

"No! God no! It just that most guys . . ."

"Forget it," he said.

A second later he tugged the sheet down to expose her right breast, kissed it, ran his tongue around the nipple, and felt her respond. There was a small brown mole just under her breast, visible only from the side. He kissed the mole, traced its outline with his tongue.

"Are my tits big enough for you?"

"Looking for compliments, are you? Or are you insecure about them. I can't believe that you are."

"No," she laughed and cupped them as if to examine them. "They're all right. Thirty-four B. if you must know."

"Hey, I don't need to know. I like them and that all that matters to me."

He took her hand, kissed it. She looked at him and then leaned forward, kissed his chest, his stomach, his naval, and her tongue lingered there, warm and wet.

He felt himself thicken, reached beneath the sheet, touched her little moustache, then moved into the dampness, the warmth, the great mystery and heard her groan with desire.

He kissed the nape of her neck as his fingers worked her, felt her tremble, moved his mouth down the bumps of her spine. Two fingers sliding easily in and out of her as he kissed the butterfly, tasting the salt sweat of her skin.

With a hungry moan, she twisted away and parted her thighs, urging him into her as the pelting rain ran down the windows gleefully watching them.

An hour later they sat in the kitchen drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes.

"I met Gentner a couple months ago. He told me he was a salesman; that he worked the area on a monthly basis. I was working for this escort service. Anyway, he liked me. I had no problem fucking him up the ass with a strap-on. It's his thing. I mean, he's good in bed, but he really gets off that way. I was under the impression he was telling me the truth about being a salesman; about coming to town every month. At least he would call and ask for me on a monthly basis. By the way, he hasn't called me in two months now. I figure he's finished with me and found someone new."

Marty thought about what she'd said, and said, "Maybe, maybe not. He might have had a lot on his mind."

"He's not a salesman is he?"

"Oh, he's a salesman all right."

"Good, for a minute there I thought he might be involved in the drug trade."

"No way," Marty said and smiled at her. "He lacks the nerve for that."

"I could call; see if he's interested in another session."

"No, let's wait. Give him, say, another week. Tell you the truth; I can't see him staying away from you that long."

K.C. laughed, "You certainly know how to butter a girl up."

It was Marty's turn to laugh. "I thought I'd already done that."

K.C. gave him an odd look. He slapped her lightly on the ass.

"Oh, yeah ... that," she said and threw her arms around him.

"Want me to do yours?"

"No way, K.C., I avoided it for eight years in the pen. I'm not starting now."