The Revisit

She had shut her eyes to mask the embarrassment of the apology that she didn't want to give, that she'd have to trade for what she craved the most. Her words broke into another yelp, and then stunned silence, as he acquiesced and slid his cock inside her.

It was the most impersonal, perfunctory, masturbatory fucking she had ever received. As soon as he entered her, it was obvious she was being used to get him off. His rhythm was indifferently rapid, lurching, hunched over her with his hands supporting his frame either side of her head. His face was close to hers, and she could see every hair, ever pore, sweaty and snarling. His raw cock filling her exhausted, used pussy, so overtired and overstimulated from the stick and the wand that she could barely feel him inside. Degradation was all there was; her hatred and hostility towards him turned back on herself for allowing -- begging -- for him to do this to her. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. Her palms slid over his back, becoming covered in his sweat. When she couldn't bear to look at his face any longer, she nuzzled into his shoulder, and felt him grunt, moan, and indulged in her own disgust at the pleasure he was claiming from her body. His weight and heat oppressive on top of her. The bed shaking as he fucked harder, each penetration of his hairy prick fucking her deeper into the bed.

The tension when he pressed in to her and finally stayed there was overwhelming in and of itself. She felt him tremble, and he groaned horribly, directly into her ear. She screwed her eyes shut as the final pathetic fucking she had begged for far too much came to a halt, and his cock pumped rope after rope of hot semen into her tired pussy.

And that was it. The end of it.

There was plenty of avoidance in the half hour to come. Neither wanted to look the other in the eye, or talk about what had happened, or the implications of what would happen thereafter. She took her bag, leaving her wand on the floor next to the hockey stick, and making the best of heaving her rumpled dress back over her head, only to sweat through it almost immediately. He retired downstairs to let her clean up, and when she was ready, he offered her a lift back to the hotel.

The journey in his car was almost wordless. Elisabeth couldn't help but play the evening back in her mind, trying to distil the reason she'd apparently destroyed any hope she had of saving face with Dominic, getting one up on him, or getting peace from him, ever again. Her pussy ached; his cum occasionally oozed forth, and she idly mopped it between her legs with her dress, apparently conscious not to get any on his seat. Every sticky spurt caused her humiliation and regret to well up even more. She wondered what Caleb was doing. If she could ever make contact with him again. Probably not.

She expected to say goodnight as soon as he dropped her off. Instead, Dominic departed the car and walked her into the building, pursuing her into the elevator. The silence persisted; she dwelled on the thought of the shower she'd finally be able to get once she got inside the room and was shot of him, and the possibility of simply quitting her job and not having to see him ever again after this.

Still, she let him follow her to her door. Sliding the card in, she made the choice not to turn around and say goodnight. To walk into the room, and put it behind her. The door swung open, and she felt his hand on her back, gently pushing her forward. She didn't resist, and she didn't turn, either. Elisabeth merely took a few patient steps forward into the darkness of her room, and waited for the door to close behind her.