The Hog Bar

He moaned and trembled, finally human and vulnerable, but she showed no mercy to his plead for rest. Tirelessly, she worked his shaft with her mouth and tongue, teasing it, taunting it, swallowing it, sucking it, moving her head up and down along its entire length. She felt herself still dripping and was unable to resist the temptation of touching herself, milking the pleasure from her exhausted body till the very end. Her other hand she dedicated to him. She caressed his stomach, tickled his thighs, massaged his warm, wet balls and toyed naughtily with his perineum.

Her mouth was hot now, and full of his taste, London took him deeper and deeper into her throat, gagging erotically as she made him fuck her mouth, somehow lecherously yet lovingly at the same time. When she felt him deep enough, she scouted out with her tongue, licking what part of his scrotum she could reach, filling her head with his rich, manly, taste.

Suddenly his hands came upon the back of her head, pressing down as he panted and moaned uncontrollably. She let him push, unresistingly, letting him sink her down as much as he cared, beyond the limits of what she imagined she could take. She gave a timid gag, then felt her body warm and her pussy melt again as he found his way into the depths of her esophagus. He let out a long, gentle sigh and pulled her back just enough to allow her to breathe, then came, suddenly and strongly into her mouth.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, their gazes crossed in the moment of total abandon. She did not flinch, nor gag, nor frown; instead, without taking her eyes off him for a single second she drank his load quietly and eagerly, gulping it down, almost playfully, to the last drop, her face seemingly smiling with his manhood in her mouth.

When It was all done he leant his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes for a long moment. She thought he might be asleep, for a moment, then she saw him look at her through the corner of a half opened eye. She licked her lips clean of the last few drops of semen and sweat and crawled onto the sofa, lying sensually and delicately over him, her arms and legs around him. The room was finally quiet, their bodies exhausted, moist and warm as they slowly fell asleep.

When London opened her eyes she was alone on the sofa, wrapped up in a warm white sheet, a soft pillow under her cheek. Breakfast was waiting on a table in the nearby kitchen, freshly cooked eggs, smoked salmon, toast and orange squash. The window was open and it felt to her that she was so high up that the blue sky was flooding into the room. There was no sign of him, he wasn't there. The girl made her way to the bathroom and had a long, hot shower. She found her clothes folded next to the basin and, next to them, a simple, cotton summer dress, dark blue with red flowers carefully stitched all around it. It wasn't a perfect fit but she wore it, it was good enough. She waited a while, until it was clear he wasn't coming home soon, then she scribbled something on a piece of paper, took her clothes and left.

It was dark when he came back. His flat was empty, clean, fresh. The window was still open on the dining table in his kitchen. He took a breath of night air and closed it before clearing the table. Her glass had a lipstick stain on it, not a smudge on the edge but the distinct mark of a kiss, delivered at its base. Beneath it, he found a piece of paper which simply read "call me", followed by a telephone number.

He smiled, put the paper in his pocket and left. Down at street level, his green sportscar growled when he turned it on, its lights bouncing of the black, warm tarmac of the road. He slid into gear and was gone. On the ramp to the motorway out of town he looked into the mirror and thought of her, somewhere, out there, she was thinking of him too. He put his hand over the pocket where here number lay and pressed on the accelerator.

"Perhaps..." he sighed, looking at the road ahead "...if I ever come back."

The car disappeared into the night, and with it, he did as well.