The Last Time

Summary: She meets that women for the last time...

Author's note: I wasn't intending to sneak in any bonus writing, especially with my rammed workload, but it's weird how ideas can strike you in the most unexpected of places, and swiftly become scenes you need to put to paper as soon as you can. I wrote this in about 40 minutes, in a frenzy, and I think the little scene I'm going to present is a decent one. There's no really complex story - it's a bit of smut, plain and simple, but there's nothing wrong with that!

I was out at a cafe the other day on my lunch break, and I saw a woman sitting alone at a table. Another woman entered, and she was strikingly beautiful - everyone could see it. I saw the woman at the table look at her with an interesting expression, and then she went into the toilet a few minutes later, shortly after this stunning woman. Nothing there, of course - a total coincidence - but my mind imagined a whole story of what those few fleeting interactions might have been. I hope you enjoy the fruits of my midday daydream!

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The Last Time

This was it - I was going to tell her. Today would the last time, and then that would be it. I'd never see her, never again.

Fuck, when I thought about it like that, it was all so easy.

And yet, with her, it never seemed to be.

But today had to be it - it had to be the last time.

I couldn't keep doing this, breaking away from living my life and coming to see her whenever she demanded. I was a businesswoman, not a young girl ruled by my heart and my sex drive, and she didn't understand that. If she did, she pretended not to, anyway, because she knew that she could hit me harder with that cruel indifference.

And, of course, there was the fact that I was straight - that was a biggie, yet that somehow didn't stop me from coming here to meet her.

She'd sent me a message, telling me to come to this coffee shop and what time to be there. There was no politeness about it - it was an order, an order she knew I'd follow because I'd followed her orders since the day we met.

But no more.

This was the last time.

I know I'd said it before, ever since that night we met - the night I told her I wasn't interested, yet and that I was straight, and yet I somehow wound up on my knees in a train station toilet eating pussy for the first time. It was so... so unlike me, and I hated how it made me feel. I hated myself for being such a whore, and I hated that I liked it.

She had my number, and she'd text me, telling me where to go and eat her out again. I thought about ignoring those messages, ignoring her, but I was never quite able to.

She'd cast a spell on me, one that I'd couldn't quite break.

And one that, during those lonely nights at home, I wondered why I even thought about breaking it as I pleasured myself, pushing myself to the kind of orgasm that only came when I thought of her.

But I was lucid now, and I knew what I was doing. Skulking around, taking booty calls to fuck some stranger - how could it go on?

That's why today would be the last time.

I took a sip of my coffee, and I heard the bell over the door go.

It was her.

She entered the coffee shop, and all eyes were on her. She attracted attention, with her electric blue hair and all (she'd had it cut into a bob now, and it suited her). She had a nose ring, and the most vivid green eyes, and once you fell under their spell, they'd never let you go - I knew that well enough. And she was dressed simply today, a black dress not threatening to touch her knees and some matching ankle boots. It was loose-fitting, and yet it highlighted every curve of her stunning body.

She was someone you noticed, you understand, because she was magnetic and she was beautiful. Compared to her, women like me - average in every way - we wouldn't be seen.

Apart from by people like her.

She looked around, and briefly stared at me. She didn't greet me, she didn't acknowledge me, but I knew she saw me. She didn't need to look, of course - she knew I'd be there. I told her as much.

She'd have known even if I didn't tell her, because she knew the power she had.

But not for much longer - today would be the last time.

But first, the charade. She went and bought a coffee, and took a seat on her own. She wasn't directly in my eyeline, but she was seated so I'd see her. That was important, of course - I had to be able to see her.

And then I sat and waited, trying not to sneak glances at this amazing woman. She was so close to me, and she knew the effect it had on me - I could feel myself getting warmer, and the first tingles between my legs started to make their presence known. I bit my lip gently, hoping to distract myself, but it didn't work.

She could have come and sat with me, of course. She could have talked to me, we could have got to know each other - fuck, she could have at least told me her name.

But that wasn't what she wanted, no. She liked keeping me at arm's length, using me for her pleasure whenever she decided she wanted me, and that was the extent of our relationship. She treated me like I was nothing, and somehow that made this whole thing between us so much better.

I couldn't explain it - I liked her indifference. In my career, I was so used to being in charge, people hanging off my every word. But with her, it wasn't like that - she didn't give a shit who I was, and that was so exciting.

I was nothing to her.

That made it so hot.

And that was why this had to end.

What sort of relationship was this?

In the corner of my eye, I saw her get up from her seat, and walk off in the direction of the toilets. It was an act that didn't call attention to itself, but it put me on edge. The moment she started to move, a wave of electricity went through me - I could feel myself getting on edge, knowing what would happen.

Or what wouldn't happen, if I could hold my nerve.

Maybe last time would have been the last time, yeah, that sounded good in my head.

At least, I wanted it to, but my body started to disagree.

I took a sip from my coffee, slowly and deliberately, and then I slowly got to my feet. I walked casually myself, my low heels seeming to echo louder on the tiled floor with every step. I was worried someone would imagine the worst, but then, why would they? The coffee shop was half-empty, and it wasn't like a woman in a business suit in the middle of the city was particularly likely to draw the eye.

I was going to the toilet, after all - what could possibly be suspicious about that?

She knew that - that's why she did it this way.

There was safety in it, and there was lots of danger, and that was one of the reasons I enjoyed it. At least, it was one of the reasons that she told me I enjoyed it.

But not anymore, no - I was through with it.

This is the last time, this is the last time.

The thoughts ran through my head, my resolve strengthening with every step towards that bathroom. Today would be the day, I knew it - today I'd finally break it off. I was done being played with - I was done with being her fucktoy.

I pushed open the bathroom door.

And my resolve crumbled the moment I saw her smirk at her.

Fuck, why did her smirk have to be so fucking hot?

I wanted to speak, but I couldn't.

Before I could form any words - before I even knew what I was doing - I was standing in front of her, kissing her. Passionately, desperately, her rough kisses filling a void in my life that I never knew was there until I met her.

Her tongue pushed its way into my mouth, and took charge like she always did. I let her. I loved that feeling, her tongue and its metal piercing tasting my mouth, toying with me, doing whatever she wanted with me.

It was easy to let her.

No, fuck easy - it was right to let her take charge.

Eventually, she broke away, and I was disappointed - I wanted her kisses so bad.

She knew I wanted it.

But she didn't care.

She had something else in mind.

And I was more than willing to go along with what she wanted - because, not too deep down, I wanted it too.

"I needed to say -"

I started to speak, and she silenced me with her finger over my lips. It was so soft, so gentle, and yet so in charge.

"I don't give a shit."

She pushed me away from her, and to my knees, before she sat on the side next to the sink. I knew what she wanted, of course I did, and she didn't even have to tell me. She expected it from me. That's what it was - an expectation that I would pleasure her like a good little slut.

I wanted to say 'no, but my body betrayed me, and then my mind joined in.

I knew how good this could be if I did what she wanted.

I stuck my head beneath the hem of her dress, and I found her pussy. She wasn't wearing any pants, and I didn't expect that she would be. 'Easier,' she told me once, 'for my sluts to eat my cunt that way.'

She called me a slut.

I wasn't a slut, no matter what she said.

And I certainly wasn't her slut.

But faced with her pussy, wet and pulsing with a passion that her face failed to betray, what else could I do?

I extended my tongue and I started licking.

It was so instinctive - I never knew that I had it in me, not until she showed me. Not until she had made me her pussy eater.

Any doubts, any lingering feelings that I might have mounted a defence and stood up to her, they all vanished the moment my tongue met her pussy, and lips met hers. Her taste, it was heavenly - all the toying with me, all the texts and control, they were all worth it, just to be here, eating her out.

I'd come to learn how she liked it.

I started off slowly, teasing her with my tongue, getting more and more aroused as I heard little whimpers from her. I increased my speed, and I gently played with her clit using my tongue. She panted, a breathless noise of pleasure.

I was getting hotter, but that didn't matter.

This was about her.

I was here to serve her.

I kept licking, and I raised my hand to her pussy, teasing her with my finger.

I licked, and I tasted her.

I moaned.

I pushed my finger inside her.

She moaned.

Fuck it, I loved the sound of her moaning.

I reached into my trousers with my other hand, and started playing with myself.

Fuck, I needed this.

"Aah," she moaned, "keep going, slut. You're a good fucking slut."

I was happy - I wanted to be her slut. I loved it, her taste, the feeling of her juices on my cheeks - and above all, hearing the sound of her pleasure.

"You're a slut," she mocked me.

I licked faster.

"You're a pussy-eating slut."

I was - there was nothing else I wanted to be.

I heard her breath increase - she was getting closer.

I kept fingering her, and I focused my tongue on playing with her clit.

She trembled.

"You're mine, slut," she said, and then words failed her.

She pulled my head into her pussy, and ground all over my face until she came hard - I could feel her cum exploding onto my face, and I eagerly licked, desperate not to waste a drop.

I heard her moan under her breath, and then she pushed me away.

It was the last thing I wanted, being pushed away from her incredible delicious pussy, and it was a sign that things were over for her. I hadn't come yet, and I needed to, but she didn't give a shit about that.

She just ignored me, getting up off the sinks and pulling down the dress.

I found a little voice inside me, finally able to say what I had to say.

What I'd come here to say, before she bewitched me again.

"We can't keep doing this," I said, on my knees with her cum all over my face, hoping to project even the slightest bit of dignity, "this has to be the last time."

She smirked at me as she adjusted her dress.

"You always say that, and yet you always come back for more. I'll see you the next time I'm in the mood, slut."

And just like that, she was gone. She didn't give a shit about me, or about what I wanted. She knew that she got me going in a way no-one else could, and she knew the power she had over me - she clicked, and I came and licked. If she fucked me, if she ever returned the favour, she'd blow my mind, I knew it.

But she never did.

She just left me on the floor, my hands instinctively diving back between my legs and rubbing my clit to release the wave that she built inside me. I didn't get up to cum, no - I stayed on my knees, and I muffled my cries as I came hard. If I'd been standing, my legs would have given out.

I wanted to cry, and I wanted to smile - I was masturbating in a toilet in a fucking coffee shop, for fuck's sake. She was right - I was a slut.

No, I thought, no, I'm not.

And I told myself that I wasn't on repeat, because I knew it was the truth.

I don't know what she did to me, but that wasn't me, not really. She played games with my head - this game of 'call and I'll come running clearly did things to me', that was all, and she knew how to get me going.

But I didn't need this. I could get by without needing to eat her pussy, thank you very much. I mean, even the entire was fucking absurd.

I'd tell her that next time we met, because I knew that there would be a next time. She'd send me some message and expect me to come running, come and pleasure her because she wanted it.

I'd be there, but I'd have a message for her, and I know I'd stick to it that time.

It would be the last time.