Fool Me Once

"Too sensitive?" he asked.

"No. It has been so long since a man took the time to do what you are doing, I had forgotten how good it can be," Karen replied. "But, I did not fly 3000 miles just to get fingered or licked. How about you take that big fuck stick and put it where I need it? Right NOW!"

"Your wish is my command, milady," Paul answered. He spread her legs and positioned himself between them on his knees. He leaned forward and pushed the head of his now solid cock through the meaty outer lips. As he pushed in there was a little resistance from the dry outer surface, but when he pulled the head out and rubbed her juices on them, the lips became slick indeed. Slowly his entire length slid into her until he felt himself pushing against her pubic bone. Karen lifted her knees to bring Paul's point of contact more directly onto her clit. Paul slowly withdrew until just the head of his dick was inside her. Then he repeated the slow penetration.

"Paul," Karen said sharply, "in the car, I did not say 'make love my brains out', I said 'fuck my brains out.' Now get busy, stud." Like a steam engine gaining speed Paul began to pound her pussy harder and harder. His pubis was smacking her clit at the bottom of each stroke. Karen began to use the most unladylike language to inform Paul of the success of his efforts.

"Jesus God! How did I ever let you go? That's it, fuck me like it will never end. Ram that cock into my cunt! Keep fucking! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! AAAAAhhhh!" Karen's back arched then she wrapped her legs around Paul's back, rocking them side to side. Paul felt a surge of hot liquid around the base of his cock. He answered her flow with his own as he pumped at least as much hot cum into her cunt as he had her mouth. She held him inside until he began to soften, them she released her legs and Paul rolled off her to the side.

"Holy shit, that was incredible," exclaimed Karen.

"It was. It seems we both learned some new lessons, teacher." He found it hard to believe this was the same woman he met when they were both virgins fourteen years before. Or the one who had left him seven of those.

Karen rolled toward him and threw her arm over his chest. Paul cradled her head on his arm. In a few minutes the sound of her breathing changed, and he realized she had gone to sleep. He closed his eyes to ponder the events of the day and how expectations and reality seldom intersect. Today they did not intersect, they had a head on collision. Within minutes he followed Karen into slumber.

Next morning, he awoke to the sound of the shower running. The need to piss was overwhelming. He proceeded into the bathroom and took care of that business. Then, shrugging his shoulders in a what the hell manner, he stepped into the shower joining Karen. Her reaction was not what he expected. She was shocked and tried to cover herself with her hands. "What's up?" Paul asked, "We used to shower together all the time." It had been dark in the room the whole time they indulged their lust the previous evening. Paul looked Karen over and saw why she had reacted as she had. The bruises were old. They probably did not hurt physically anymore, but they were still visible. Paul wondered how badly her psyche was bruised.

The answer to Karen's request of the previous evening was immediately clear to Paul. He was going to New Hampshire to have a conversation with one Bruce Smith.

***************

Friday, 1:30 PM, found Karen with her suitcase waiting in the portico of the Fairmont. Her heart leapt as Paul's blue BMW pulled around and into the circular drive. She had been thrilled when Paul suggested she check out at the end of the convention and spend the rest of the weekend at his house in Palo Alto. Paul had left his office a little before the market close to pick up Karen. He had no desire to get caught in the rush out of The City, which by now was beginning around 3:30. Beating the traffic, Paul and Karen were back at Paul's house on Bryant Street just before 3:00.

"What a nice neighborhood," Karen exclaimed as they pulled into his garage.

"Yeah, it is. The cool thing is I can ride my bike, the pedal one, to my office on University. Come on, let's get you situated, and we can figure out what to do for the weekend."

Karen looked around the garage and saw Paul's Harley parked next to the BMW. "So, you finally got the bike you wanted instead of that crappy little Honda you had when we were married. Maybe we could go for a ride," she suggested.

"Sounds great," he answered, "Tomorrow we can scoot up to Skyline, incredible views. Maybe grab lunch at Batt's."

He carried her bag into the house and set it in the master bedroom. She looked around and was impressed with the décor of the room, and the house so far as she had seen. She turned to her ex and asked, "Do you remember Fridays at your apartment in Amherst when our classes were over for the week?"

"You mean when I would pick you up and take you back to my apartment?"

"Yep, that's what I mean."

"I think we did something like this," Paul said as he took Karen into his arms and kissed her deeply. She eagerly returned the kiss.

"I think we made love at that point. You up?" asked Karen staring into his blue eyes.

Without answering, he pushed her back onto the bed. Their kissing continued. Soon their clothes were a small pile beside the bed. Paul started as he had the night before, but this time there was no demand for speed. Paul and Karen, made out, made love, came, he once, she many times.

That evening, they walked downtown along the tree lined streets, reading the menus of restaurants until they found a quaint trattoria with interesting cuisine. The food was excellent, and the chianti the server recommended was superb. After dinner, they walked off the meal heading back to Paul's house. Once back in his house, Paul offered Karen a nightcap. When she inquired what he had, he produced a bottle of Vodka from the freezer. "Stolichnaya," he said, "from Moscow. Its importation was just allowed last year. It's fantastic straight up with a twist of lemon."

By the third round, both Paul and Karen were slurring "na zdorovya!" as they shot the cold syrupy liquid down. Agreeing they'd had enough, they stumbled to the master bedroom. Too tired to reengage, they fell asleep with Paul spooning Karen.

Morning brought the ideal NorCal day. Bright sunshine, no fog, and mild temperatures, and on Paul, a significant erection. After a vigorous morning fuck, joint shower, and great breakfast of scrambled eggs with cheddar and fresh fruit, Paul asked Karen if she was ready to ride. "I have nothing to wear for that," she replied.

"No problem; the stores will be open soon, and we will get you fixed up," Paul came back.

By 11:00, Karen had a helmet, tight jeans, boots and a leather jacket. She protested that Paul was spending too much. He replied by pointing out that while all of it was suitable for riding, except for the helmet, none of it was dedicated "biker" wear. She could wear any of it to the mall on cooler days back in New England.

By 11:30, Paul had backed the Low Rider out of the garage and was letting it warm at idle in the driveway. He had liked the bike, but he felt the H-D factory had missed some serious points. His Shovelhead engine had been bored out to 80 cubic inches, the heads had been sent off to Jerry Branch to maximize flow, an S&S carb sat between the cylinders, and a custom exhaust built by a local shop ensured the spent gases left at the optimal rate. With upgraded suspension added to the mix, this bike was seriously fast.

Paul closed the garage, threw his leg over the saddle and told Karen to mount up. She stepped on the passenger peg settling on the pillion behind Paul. The only thing to keep her on the bike was her grip around his chest. Paul kicked it into gear and pulled out. He rode over to El Camino, then up Page Mill. Once they cleared the millionaires' houses, Page Mill became a lot more interesting with a series of switchbacks taking them up to Skyline Boulevard. Once on Skyline, they headed north through the broad sweepers that had made the road legendary for bikers. Karen was amazed at the views.

Paul pulled into a cutout where they dismounted. She could see all the way from San Francisco to Moffett Field with its distinctive blimp hangars. After getting going again, Paul followed the road around to the west and she could look left and see the vast expanse of the Pacific.

But the scenery was not the only thing she noticed. The thumping and ever-changing vibration of the big twin motor was having an effect on her elsewhere. It was as if the bike was designed specifically to arouse her. As the miles rolled by, she tried squirming side to side slightly to avoid it. But, she could tell her motions were throwing Paul off his handling of the big machine. She decided to stay in one place on the pillion. Not long after, the first orgasm hit with a crash. She did not want to let on and upset Paul. When they pulled up to the stop sign at Highway 92, he asked if she were okay. Her reply was to reach around him and give him a big thumb's up sign.

Paul turned toward the coast on 92 and rolled down into Half Moon Bay. From there, he headed south to San Gorgonio beach and Highway 84, going back inland through La Honda. He followed 84 back over Skyline and back down into the valley. Near the base of the mountains, he turned south and followed back roads until he reached Portola Valley. From there it was a short hop to The Tyrolean Inn Beer Garden (formerly known as Battaglia's), as the sign proclaimed. No one of Paul's (or anyone else's acquaintance) had ever called it anything other than Batt's.

They had great burgers and fries washed down with beer. From there it was a short cruise back to Paul's house. After they dismounted in his driveway, Karen asked Paul if he would be embarrassed to know that she came three times during the ride. His reply was a succinct, "Embarrassed? Fuck no! Why do you think I invite women out to ride with me?"

"Let's get cleaned up and figure out the rest of the day and tomorrow," Pal suggested. Karen readily agreed. After a shower and a change of clothes, Paul drove them over to a local market where they picked out a nice-looking rack of lamb and some fresh vegetables for dinner. Paul prepared the lamb rack for the oven and the vegetables to be sautéed. Once the food was ready, Paul poured a bottle of 1974 Robert Mondavi reserve wine. The food was fantastic, the wine was fabulous, and conversation was even better.

Dinner was followed by sitting quietly listening to music and sipping more Stoli. Paul turned to Karen and said, "Not tonight, but tomorrow, I need you to tell me everything you know about Bruce Smith. Before that, I want to spend the last night we have together making mad, passionate love."

That they did. As they lay in the glow of their red-hot round of sex, Karen asked, "Would you do one more thing for me?"

"What's that?"

"I want you to fuck me in the ass."

"What??!!"

"I know you will be gentle and not hurt me. If you ever talk to Bruce, I want you to tell him you did it, and I loved it."

"Jesus, Karen, where did that come from?"

"It's something Bruce always wanted, but I would not give it to him. He was too rough, and I knew he would hurt me. One night, just before he beat me, we had both been drinking. A lot. He started with the "Come on, baby, you know what I really want.' So, I agreed to let him try. Well, no lube, no foreplay, he spit on the head of his dick, like that would be enough lube, pushed me onto my stomach, and he tried to force his way in."

"No fucking way."

"Yes, fucking way. It felt like my asshole was on fire when his head went in. I pushed up to get out from under him and ran into the bathroom and locked the door. I prayed he would not break the door down, and thankfully he didn't. I slept on the bathroom floor. When I woke up and came out, Bruce was his usual charming, apologetic self. Didn't mean it, would never hurt me, blah, blah, blah. But that's Bruce.

Now, when I was by myself after we split up, one of my girlfriends told me I was missing out on some amazing sex by avoiding the back-door approach. So, I have tried it a bit with a vibrator, I think I need to feel a real man back there to get the full effect."

"Let's go to bed and see where things lead," suggested Paul.

When Karen stood to accompany Paul, she definitely felt the effect of the vodka and wine they had consumed. Not enough to make the room spin but definitely enough to hit her giddy switch. After they stripped off their clothes and were under the covers, Karen alternated kissing Paul deeply then giggling. Soon she was lying on her stomach crosswise to Paul and sucking his cock. Paul pulled her leg closer to his shoulder, his fingers probing her pussy. No doubt Karen was turned on; she was as wet as he had ever felt. Coating his finger with her natural lube, he began to circle her puckered opening. Karen wiggled her ass to show she enjoyed it. Slowly he pressed against it and it opened to allow his finger inside. He pushed past the rings of her sphincter muscles. Karen was humming on his cock again and the body vibrations started. Soon Paul had a second finger inside, and Karen was still humming away, only a bit louder now.

Breaking away from her, he announced he needed to find some lube somewhere. He remembered his adventure in New York a few years prior. He recalled he had brought home a tube of K-Y along with the butt plug Joannie had given him. He had never used it again, but he remembered where he put it. Coming back into the bedroom, he found Karen beginning to nod off. He asked if she still wanted to do this, and she said it seemed like the perfect time because she was so relaxed. Paul squeezed a generous amount to the gel on her anus and began to work it in with his fingers. Then more lube and more penetration. Soon she was easily accepting two fingers and he was able to rotate them expanding the opening more. "How does that feel?"

"A whole lot better than my vibrator."

"Ready for the real thing?"

"Give it to me, big boy, but take it really slow."

Paul had Karen lift her hips and he placed two pillows under her stomach. The, after lubing his shaft thoroughly, he spread her legs and directed his cock toward its target. Pushing as gently as he could, he felt it give way under the pressure. Karen pushed back feeling the head plunge through. She inhaled sharply. Paul asked if she wanted him to stop, but she told to pause for a bit until she got used to it. "Okay, slide a little more in," she instructed.

He did, then a little more, and a little after that until his shaft was buried in her hot hole. "How much more to go," asked Karen.

"It's in babe. You have all of me. How does it feel?"

"I have never felt so full. And it is starting to feel really good. Try pumping in and out. Slowly"

Paul did as he was told slowly withdrawing without letting the head escape, then pushing back in. Karen began to moan. "You can speed up a bit."

As he increased his pace, Karen snaked a hand down to her crotch and rubbed her clit. The moaning rose in volume. She pushed her hand lower and sank two fingers into her sopping cunt. She could feel his cock moving through the thin membrane. Meanwhile, Paul reached around where her mammoth hanging breast were grazing the bedsheet. Working his fingers around her hard nipples, he began to pinch them.

"Holy fuck! Squeeze them harder! That's it, now fuck me!" she cried, "Fuck my ass hard!" She worked her fingers in and out. A feeling like none she had ever felt radiated out like a wave from her pelvis. The wave grew and grew.

"Fuck the shit out of me! Jesus Christ, fuck that ass. Harder! HARDER! OMIGODOMIGOD!"

The wave crested and she went completely incoherent. Her legs were shaking. She was driving her ass back to meet Paul's thrusts. That was what pushed him over the top. Letting out a roar of his own he pushed as deep as he could go unleashing a flood of hot cum into her bowels. Karen whimpered underneath him. He collapsed on top of her. Paul put his head down to make out what she was saying.

"That was way too fucking amazing," she said just above a whisper, "Not sure I could do that again. It may kill me."

Paul's softening cock slid out of her followed by a trail of his cum. He hopped out of bed and retrieved two hot washcloths and towel from the bath. Wiping them both, then drying them with the towel, he fell back down in the bed next to Karen. "You are so sweet to take care of that, "she told him, "that was the most incredible sex I have ever had. Thank you."

She kissed him lightly on the lips, rolled over, and was sound asleep in an instant. Paul climbed on the sleep train right behind her.

Sunlight leaking through the blinds awakened them the next morning. Karen rolled over and looked at Paul. "Were we really as wild as I thought we were last night?"

"Do you mean did you demand I pound you in your most forbidden passage? Then, yes, we were."

"Well, it's not like I held you down and tortured you to do it."

"True that," responded Paul, "let's get showered up and I will throw together some breakfast. I'll shower first so I can get the food going."

"Sounds great. I'll catch a few more minutes of sleep."

Karen awoke to the smells of breakfast permeating the house. Paul was busy stirring potatoes in a skillet. Patty sausage was finished and warming in the oven. As she entered the kitchen, Paul gave her a rundown of the menu. "I am glad I watched my diet before I came out here," said Karen, "any more of your cooking would give me a heart attack next week."

Paul finished frying the eggs and put a plate in front of Karen. Her portion was half a sausage patty, two fried eggs with a small amount of home fries. His serving was about three times that. "I guess I will have to hit the running trail and the club a little harder this week," Paul confessed.

After he had cleared the dishes, Paul suggested they take their coffee into the family room and have a discussion. Over the next two hours, Paul got caught up on Karen's life over the seven years since they divorced. Given her looks, it came as no surprise to Paul that Karen had no trouble attracting male attention. There was no need to delve into the details of the "post-divorce fuck-a-thon." What Paul wanted was hard intel.

Where did he live? With whom, did he associate? Where did he work? What did he do there? Where did he hang out? What did he drive? Was there anyone else Paul could speak with to get a more complete picture without alerting Bruce?

Bruce lived in an upscale apartment complex in Manchester. He had a small group of asshole drinking buddies who he saw every week at a bar called Cousins. It was a quasi-biker place. Karen had been there a couple times with him, but the vibe was all wrong for her. In truth, Bruce and his buddies didn't belong there either. None of them rode. They were posers of the highest order.

He had a series of jobs while he and Karen had been together, none of them suited for his talents. That was his description. He drove around in a late-model jacked up 4x4 pickup for which Karen's teacher's salary had made most of the payments.

Paul thought about New Hampshire, even though he would rather not. Most folks thought of New England as a progressive bastion, and that was true of the major cities. When you got into the three northern states, you discovered the northern end of the Appalachians was not all that different culturally from the southern end. It sounded like Bruce fit right in.

Karen finished her account and looked at Paul expectantly. "Now, after all I have told you, what do you think?" Karen inquired. "Before you answer, I need to know if there is a chance for us to...you know, get back together?"