One Last Kiss

It was dark and cold and I walked quickly along the unlit path. My heels clicked loudly on the concrete, casting a lonely echo that made me feel exposed and vulnerable and alone in the late night. Easy prey for whatever might lurk in the surrounding undergrowth. Long branches reached out to tickle and caress my calves as I passed, each tug at my stockings a naughty reminder of my purpose.

I stood at his door. The air smelled of smoke and pine. And perfume. Had I used too much? Would it seem desperate? Should I go back? I hesitated, the heat between my thighs arguing against retreat. My heart beat faster, I knew this was the last time.

If he still wanted me.

My heels must have announced my presence. The door opened, radiating heat and light. He stood in silhouette, his tall, broad-shouldered frame filling the doorway. He tilted his head in recognition, the intensity of his gaze as his eyes roamed my body leaving me flustered. What must he think of this young, stupid girl in his doorway? Was I being too forward? Too presumptuous? Could he read my intentions in the dark eye shadow and deep red lipstick I had so carefully applied? In the four inch heels? Or in the impracticality of the dangerously short, fitted wool coat from which my stocking-clad legs emerged?

"Hey, uh, I wasn't expecting... I wasn't expecting to see you again. I thought you'd left."

"Tomorrow. In the morning. My flight leaves at eight."

The words hung in the air between us. He didn't respond. The moment lingered uncomfortably in my guts. Why didn't he say anything? I shouldn't have come. The way he looked at me. Had this been a mistake? But I need this. I needed him.

"I'm happy you stopped by." The words came out awkwardly, but his smile came easily. I had loved that smile. "You must be freezing, come in." I grinned. He stepped aside. My shoulder brushed against his chest as I stepped past him into the hall. He felt good. He smelled good. He closed the door, his hand pressing into my lower back as he guided me towards the living room. The smell of smoke intensified. A fire roared in the fireplace, enveloping me in its warmth. Stacks of papers sat on a coffee table. A blond-haired girl sat in a high-backed leather chair. A pen in hand, she was reading.

I wanted to die.

He made introductions. The girl, in a turtleneck and jeans, was my replacement. Her smile was almost a frown, her hand limp in mine. My outfit, which had seemed sexy and provocative when seen through his eyes, now felt childish and slutty through hers. I wanted to run, but his hand pushed me towards the sofa, my coat compounding my humiliation as it slid further up my thighs as I sat down. I crossed my legs tightly.

We talked. Or, he talked. He poured me a glass of wine and we toasted my new adventure. He told the girl about my research, my grant. As my glass emptied and, as he continued his praise, I felt less out of place. Valued. Accomplished.

And then she left.

I heard the door close and lock. The creak of a loose floorboard as he reentered the room. The pop and crackle from a log in the fire. The soft swish as my wine glass was refilled. His deep, booming voice and laughter as we talked.

He sat next to me. Close. The slope of the sofa cushion pressing his thigh into mine. I felt so small next to him. We drank. His hand casually found its way to my knee as he made a point, his thick, calloused fingers sliding roughly over my stockings. It felt good, his fingers. His home. The wine.

My posture relaxed, and I let my legs uncross, curling them under me on the sofa as I kicked off my heels. The coat didn't offer much cover in this position, but it didn't matter now. Not with the wine and the fire. I needed this, to return to the way things had been before. I pushed my long, brown hair out of my eyes and rested my head against the palm of my hand as I listened to him talk. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed him.

"It's getting really warm in here, let me see if I can't bring down the fire a little bit." His hand pressed harder into my knee as he pushed himself up off of the sofa. I watched as he moved past me, my eyes lingering on the muscles rippling in his forearm as he retrieved the poker. His movements were deliberate and focused as he tended the fire, revealing a physical strength hidden in the folds of his oxford shirt and dress slacks. I felt my body begin to respond as I remembered being caught up in the embrace of those arms, feeling the weight of his body on mine, and the liberation I felt when I gave myself to him, wholly and completely.

"I'm sorry I didn't think of it before, but would you like me to take your coat? You must be roasting." His eyes told me a different truth. He had been thinking about it. He knew.

I nodded.

My breath quickened as he sat down on the sofa next to me, his arm draping over the sofa cushion behind my head. I held my wine glass aloft so it wouldn't spill. His free hand picked up one end of the belt that held my coat tight to my waist. He rubbed the material through his fingers. I placed my hand on his. So big. Warm. Our eyes met and he knew. I belonged to him tonight.

He tugged the belt free, then slid his hand up to the top button, sliding it out through the slit. I drank my wine and hid my nervousness by focusing my attention on his face. He looked so intense. And he had such beautiful eyes. Had there always been so much grey in his beard? So many wrinkles lining his cheeks? He popped the second and third buttons on the coat, which now hung loosely across my body. He worked slowly, methodically, not bothering to push apart the flaps. He knew I would be free of the coat soon enough. He reached the last button, his hand pressing it down into my hips to release it from its clasp, then he slowly slid a finger up along the loose opening, the coat falling away from my body.

My skin flushed, my secret revealed. I was naked beneath the coat, my small, pert breasts completely exposed and only a shear pair of black nylon stockings left to cover my legs and hips, the lips of my shaved pussy plainly visible through the fabric. He smiled, but it was not in kindness. It was hunger. He wanted me. I felt myself growing wet.

His fingers traced along my cheek, my tongue instinctively darting out to lick them as they crossed my lips. He pushed them into my mouth and I looked into his eyes as he began to fuck my lips with his fingers. I knew then I didn't have to be anything in that moment that I wasn't. I didn't have to worry about what anyone else thought of me. Was I a slut? Was I being objectified? Degraded? There were no labels. I was a woman and he was a man. He pulled his fingers away and kissed me.

His lips were rough against mine. His beard scraped uncomfortably against the skin of my face. I liked it. I had always liked it. His tongue pressed against mine, a fight for dominance to which I was forced to yield. His fingers found my nipple and breast, squeezing and rolling them through his fingers. I moaned. I wanted him to know that I wanted this. That I wanted him.

I arched my back, letting my legs fall apart. He pushed the coat from my shoulders. I was exposed and vulnerable, weak and small beside him. Powerless. I had chosen this. I had chosen him. I had offered myself to him, and I was now his.

He ripped the stockings from my hips, the nylon giving way easily in his hands. They split down the seam across my thighs, my pussy exposed.

"Where are you bags?"

"In my trunk."

"So I have you all night?"

"Yes, if you want me."

He smiled.

I was on my hands and knees in front of the fireplace when he mounted me, the remains of my stockings still clung to my legs. I heard his belt buckle rattle as he undressed. I turned my head to watch but found his hand in my hair, holding my head still. I watched the logs burn.

Fingers probed me. I was wet. Very wet. I felt his cock slide over and then between the cheeks of my ass. I wanted him inside of me. I moaned loudly, pushing my ass back towards him. He slapped my ass cheek, the sting sending a shiver through my body. I whimpered, signalling my submission. I knew the role I was to play in this dance. His cock slid easily into me, stretching and filling me as I had remembered. I closed my eyes. I smiled.

I was very happy.

One hand held me by the hair, the other grabbed tightly to my hip. With each thrust he pulled me back into him, his cock sliding deep inside of me. My toes curled and my muscles tensed, but I let myself go limp under his guidance, reveling in the sensation, the loss of control. My life washed away. My future. My past. My worries. I was doing what my body was designed to do. Giving in to what it needed and demanded.

As his pace quickened, I found him placing the full weight of his body on top of mine. Covering me. Pinning me. His chest pressed into my back, crushing me into the rug. His mouth kissed and licked my neck. His teeth bit into my skin. I arched my back, my ass rising to meet him as his cock drilled into me. I think I screamed.

I came first. I felt it in my spine, an electricity that built up the length of my body. I rode it, relishing every moment. My mouth was not my own. I spoke in expletives and begged for religious intervention. In that moment, God revealed himself.

And then he came. I felt it. His cock grew harder. Bigger. His muscles tensed. Then a low, guttural moan escaped his lips as his cock twitched inside of me. I imagined I could feel a warmth, that I could feel his seed spill into by belly. Filling me. It was almost enough to bring me to orgasm a second time.

His body went limp, his cock softening inside of me. We both were breathing hard, our skin covered in sweat. I wanted more, and ground my ass into his hips. He responded by rolling off of me, his cock sliding out, leaving a trail of cum across the cheek of my ass.

We laid next to each other, like long distance runners that had collapsed at the finish line. I turned my head to watch him. His chest and belly, covered in a thick layer of hair, heaved with every breath. His eyes were closed. What was he thinking? Was he thinking about her? The blonde? Was that all I had been to him? Was she truly my replacement? Wasn't this something special?

I curled up next to him, my leg draping over his thighs, seeking reassurance. He moved his arm behind me, pulling me to him. My head rested on his shoulder. It was felt familiar. Good. My hand raked absentmindedly through the hair that covered his chest. I watched him breath. I wished that the moment could last forever.

I felt a trickle, a wetness dripping down my thigh. I freed myself, stood and padded down the hall to the bathroom. What I had done was reckless. I wasn't on the pill. I couldn't tolerate the pill. He knew that. We had always used condoms. But I couldn't seem to find the will to care. What would be would be. I liked feeling him inside of me. I liked feeling the skin of his cock against the skin of my pussy. I liked feeling him take me. I liked knowing that he wanted me so much that he lost control.

I liked losing control.

I cleaned myself, but realized I was still covered in sweat and smelled like sex. He was done for the night and I would have to leave early in the morning, so I turned on the shower.

I was using his razor to clean up my legs when he entered. He stood, watching me through the glass. I smiled at him, arched my back and stretched out my leg to tease him. He grinned.

Before I knew it, I was pinned to the wall of the shower stall. He was on his knees, between my legs, licking my clit. I had never known a man that could make me feel the way he did with his tongue. It was intense, but not overwhelming. He seemed to sense when it was too much, when I couldn't handle it, and backed off, slowly pushing me towards orgasm.

His arms reached between my legs, pushing them apart and moving them behind his head, the weight of my thighs coming to rest on his shoulders. He rose, my back sliding up the wall towards the ceiling. He had me pinned, there was nowhere for me to go. I closed my eyes and ran my fingers through his hair. His tongue was relentless. Teasing. Insistent. I came.

We kissed as he lowered me back to the floor of the shower stall and I could taste myself on his lips. I giggled and tugged at his cock, not expecting a response. He was hard.

"Are you fucking her?"

"No."

"Will you fuck her?"

"I don't know."

"Were there others before me?"

"You know the answer to that."

"Am I special to you?"

"Yes. Of course."

I kissed my way from his mouth to his belly, dropping to my knees. I wrapped one hand around his cock and the other around his balls. He had big, beautiful balls. I loved rolling them through my fingers. His cock was surprisingly hard, I hadn't known him to be able to go twice in one night but I was glad of it. I couldn't make my thumb and forefinger touch around his shaft. Had it always been like that? His cock seemed larger than I remembered. His hand pressed against the back of my head and I happily took him into my mouth.

We stayed like that for a while, the warm water from the shower washing over us and filling the room with steam. The head of his cock slid over the roof of my mouth, pressing into my throat. My hands caressed his shaft and balls, my fingers tracing over the contours of what was quite literally the source of his manhood. There was more grey here too. He was more aggressive than he had been in the past. I choked and gagged. Several times. It frightened me, but I liked it. Not in any logical way. I wouldn't have wanted to explain it in conversation. But it made me wet. I tried to please him, I tried to take his entire cock in my mouth. He held me there. I couldn't breathe. I tried to fight him, but he was too strong. I had made my choice and there was nothing to do for it. I had wanted him and he now had me, to do with as he pleased.

He let me go and I gasped for breath and tried not to gag. He slapped my cheek. I was definitely wet. He fucked my mouth for a while longer with his cock. Where had this come from?

He turned off the shower and dried me in a big, soft towel. I felt like a little girl. He combed my hair and told me I was beautiful and led me to bed.

He was gentler in bed. We kissed and talked and he made me feel important. Sexy. Gorgeous. He worshiped my toes and massaged my calves. His fingers circled my areolae and teased my nipples. He told me how much it had excited him to use me as he had in the shower. How good it had felt. His cock was still hard. My hand tugged at it.

I spread my legs and he mounted me. But he made me beg for it. He made me tell him how much I need him inside of me. He asked me if I liked it when he came inside me. Inside my cunt. He asked me if I wanted him to do it again. He made me beg.

I begged.

He called me his slut. I agreed. I told him I was his whore and I felt myself grow wetter. I watched the muscles in his chest and belly tense as his hips slammed into me, an involuntary moan escaping my lips with every thrust. He asked me if I liked pleasing him and I screamed in assent.

We fucked for a very long time. My thighs burned, my pussy felt raw. I orgasmed again and again. I couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. I was dizzy. Something happened. I lost touch with my body and found myself floating away. It felt like heaven.

I would catch occasional glimpses of our lovemaking. Sometimes it seemed like he was fucking me, sometimes it seemed like it was someone else. At one point I felt like my wrists were tied. At another it seemed like there was a cock in my mouth and in my pussy and the same time. When he came on my face and breasts, we were alone.

The next morning, I left before he awoke. I didn't bother with the stockings or heels, knowing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt awaited me in the car. I made toast in the kitchen. My jar of marmalade was still in the refrigerator and it didn't look like it had gone bad. A book sat on the counter and I flipped through it while I awaited my toast. His page was marked with an old photo he had taken of me. We were at the zoo. I was turned away from the camera, leaning over a railing, a chance breeze lifting my skirt to expose a red thong. I smiled, wrapped myself in my coat and head out to my car with the toast.

I left the photo stuck to the door of his refrigerator with a magnet, an impression of my lips stamp on its surface in red lipstick. One last kiss. I never saw him again.