Welcome Home

He stood in the doorway of the empty house and scanned the bare floors and walls. The feeling was alien, unsettling. Ghosts of memories haunted every corner of the room and threatened to overwhelm him.

Slowly he walked around the room, taking in the scene one last time. The carpet was vacuumed, shampooed. His eyes scanned over slightly darker sections where a glass of wine had spilt, where a cup of coffee had fallen. There were indentations where the feet of the couch had been.

Ah, the couch. It was gone now, nothing left but those indentations. Not even the dust bunnies which had made a warren under there remained. Even so, the faint ghostly image of the couch rematerialized in his mind in the same spot. Lying upon it... was her.

She lay there, sleeping. Her robe had fallen open, her breast and nipple visible in the soft light, her white panties barely seen through the parting of the bottom.

His memory replayed like a movie. Standing next to her, he lowered his hand to her mound on top of the panties. Her crotch was warm; she didn't awake.

The stirring in his groin snapped him back to reality. Getting turned on right now was just wrong, so wrong. He looked up at the ceiling trying to fight back the tears. No, he wouldn't cry. That would just be too insulting to add to the injury. He wouldn't let him. He just wouldn't.

He looked back down at the memory and saw her lying there. He watched the replay of his memory like a detached observer. It quelled his threatening erection and he allowed himself to remember.

His fingers had slid across her pussy lips, feeling the soft cotton of the panties underneath his fingertips. She breathed deep but still did not wake up. He couldn't believe his luck. His other hand reached down to caress the swell of her breast with the back of his other hand. It was so smooth, smoother than any skin he had ever felt. His fingers just touched her with the barest of touch.

Her pussy was starting to respond even while she slept. Moisture arose through the soft cotton, and he could smell the beginnings of her arousal. While he focused his attention on her breast, he felt her hand touch the one at her pussy. He glanced down and saw her move his fingers to the waistband and push them underneath. Looking at her face, he watched as she slowly opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"Hello," she said. Her pussy was soaked under his touch.

The vision vanished. He realized he had closed his eyes at some point, and now he opened them to a watery perspective once more of the indentations on the carpet. Again, he looked up to the ceiling, as if he could roll back the tears into the ducts.

No, he mustn't. He mustn't cry.

He felt numb. Was this what shock felt like? He couldn't tell. He didn't think he'd ever been in shock before. How could he know?

He walked into the bedroom, half expecting to see the bedroom furniture there but knowing that it wasn't. Similar to the couch, the ghostly bed rematerialized in the forefront of his mind, and he wandered around the perimeter of where the bed used to be, not allowing himself to cross the boundary that used to be the edge of the bed.

Before he could stop himself, the images flooded into his mind. They flickered like an old-time nickelodeon, fluttering images of her sleeping, of her sitting on the edge of the bed blowing him, of her being tied up at the bedposts, of him grabbing her ass and fucking her from behind. Image after image of increasing sexual intensity ran rampant through his brain before finally stopping at the most recent memory.

They lay side by side in the bed, naked. She was playing with his semi-hard cock after having fucked him hard.

"I have to tell you something," he had said. She looked at him. "I have to go to a client meeting up north for about three days. I just wanted to tell you because I don't know how well I'll get Internet or cell reception because I've never been there before."

"What are you saying?" she said, concern in her voice. "Are you not going to be able to pick me up?"

He laughed, and brushed the hair from her face. "Oh, no!" he said, reassuringly. "I'm telling you this now so that you won't worry. I'll be there."

"Okay," she said, not convinced.

"Look," he said. "I know that we've only been seeing each other for 3 months. But you have to trust me."

She smiled weakly, her beautiful blonde hair pressed against the side of her face as she cocked her head. "Perhaps I should ask someone else to get me at the airport."

"Why?" he asked. "I'll be back in time, I promise." She still looked doubtful. "Even if I have to get rolled in on a gurney I'll be there," he said, laughing.

She laughed too, and kissed him while squeezing his cock. Already he was growing hard again.

"You're sure?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he said.

She leaned up to kiss him, and cupped his balls. "Okay," she said, with more confidence.

His cock grew in her hand. "Mmmm," she purred. "Can I suck you again?"

She had to ask? "Suck me, babe," he whispered.

She moved down between his legs and took his hardening cock between both hands. She took the tip in his mouth and her eyes widened in joy, as if she had just tasted a sweet. "Oh, I love tasting myself on you," she cooed, and then engulfed him yet again.

As he watched her head bob up and down, he realized how little he knew her. This gorgeous woman came out of nowhere, seemingly absolutely perfect for him. She loved everything he loved, wanted everything he wanted, was absolutely insatiable. Somehow she had found a way to let him drop his fortress-type internal walls and let her in.

Her eyes released his and she closed them and took him completely in her mouth, her hand wrapping around his smoothly shaven balls and caressed them in her palm. She hummed softly, sending vibrations through his dick and making him squirm.

She giggled at his reaction, even though she knew it was how he would react. As her mouth crept into a smile, he could feel the change in shape through his sensitive cock.

She looked up at him, and rubbed the knob furiously, sending him into conniptions. "I don't know if I want you to come in my mouth or in my pussy," she said.

Without waiting for a response, she took him deep into her throat again. He cried out in surprise and excruciating pleasure. On her upstroke she sucked hard, the head falling out of her mouth with a soft "pop."

He inhaled, not realizing that he had even been avoiding breathing. His gasp for air was just in time; she swallowed him whole once again, choking the breath in his throat. She ticked behind his balls with her fingernails while re-emerging from the base of his cock.

She let him go and slid up his torso so quickly he was caught by surprise. Still holding his stiff shaft in one hand she stuffed him in her hot, tight pussy. She was too tight to take him all in one go, even after the thorough fucking earlier. She was a little too overzealous, causing his dick to bend slightly. He jumped.

He jumped out of the memory at the thought. At some point he sat down, staring at the carpet of the bare room. It was as naked as they had been.

He got to his feet, brushing his trousers. He walked through the area where the bed had been, not sure if it was a gesture of acceptance or defiance. He walked past the empty closets into the bathroom to see the spotless tile gleam back at him. The house was ready to be shown by a real estate agent.

He looked at the mirror and got a flashback of her bent over the counter staring at him through the mirror as he fucked her from behind. He looked down at his bastard traitorous cock as it started to awake, begging for attention. He felt disgust at his own body for betraying him this way.

Still, the image would not abate. She rested on her forearms on the bathroom counter, her wrists tied together with velcro straps. She could only receive the tremendous fucking he was giving her.

He placed one hand on the small of her back and guided his angry engorged tool into her soaked pussy. This wasn't lovemaking, this was fucking.

"Oh, yes!" She cried out as he entered her, his balls slapping her clit. "Fuck me hard!"

He did. He held onto her hips and fucked her as hard and fast as he could. He wasn't going to last long, and they both knew it. Neither of them cared. When he fucked her this hard she came easy and often. Already her pussy was clenching him in pre-orgasmic preparation.

"Oh god," she said. "I'm coming already!"

Hearing the words caused his cock to jump. He could feel the beginnings of his own orgasm building as well.

"Oh, yeah," he grunted. "I'm going to come too, baby."

"Yeah," she said, trying to look back over her shoulder, then locking her eyes with his through the mirror. "Fuck me, baby. Come inside me. Paint my pussy."

His cock lurched in his pants, bringing him back once again, frustrated. He felt dizzy. The recollection had been so real, so present, he had for a moment thought that she was really here, and he was really fucking her like he used to.

He turned to go, and lost his balance. He slipped and leaned against the doorframe to set himself right. Maybe he should go see a doctor.

He staggered out through the bedroom and into the living room, crossing the short span into his home office. Again, the emptiness of the room generated vertigo. He slid his hand across the door, not to be melodramatic (after all, who was there to see?), but because he was searching for something real, something solid.

The broken closet door swung out, and he heard a piece of paper fall between the horizontal slats just behind. He angled the door out, thinking sickly that he had intended on fixing that, and saw a small card on the floor. It was the only item that wasn't bolted down that he had seen since he arrived.

Bending down and picking it up, he turned it over to see a picture of her. She was posing, her long blonde hair cascading down her back, her head cocked back in a coy look of a 40's pinup. She was dressed in skimpy black bra and panties and thigh-high leggings.

He remembered when she had sent it to him. He had been at a team meeting at work, his laptop open when his personal mail account showed an incoming email. Seeing it was from her, he clicked it open to see this half-naked beauty staring back at him. Definitely not safe for work.

He kept sneaking peaks at the picture whenever he could do so, hiding the window surreptitiously whenever someone appeared to be getting too curious as to what he was looking at.

His cock would no longer be denied. He was rock hard, pressing against his trousers. He decided to give in and release the straining cock.

He dropped the picture on the ground, and stood over it, cock in hand.

He had come home that day to find her in this very office, in this very spot, sitting in the same position she had been in the picture.

"Did you have a good day at work, sweetheart?" she asked coyly.

He stroked his cock at the memory.

She took out his cock and sucked his head for a short while. "I've been thinking about your cock all day, baby," she said. "I've wanted to feel you come on me. I can't wait to feel your hot come fall on my chest and stomach." She traced her fingers from her throat down her breasts to her tight tummy.

She flattened her tongue and licked the bottom of his cockhead, never removing her eyes from his. She started sucking him hard, pumping with her fist. Her fingers went between her legs, hiding underneath the black lace panties. The sound of her masturbation, though, rang in his ears.

"Oh god, honey," he cried. "Your mouth feels so good!"

She sucked him and pulled his cock with her fist hard. She wasn't playing with him, she wasn't teasing him. She was going to make him come as fast as she could.

It wasn't going to take long. He started to feel his thighs quiver and shake as her ministrations were having their effect. She was so good, he found it hard to even speak.

"Oh god, oh! oh!" was all he managed. She released his cock from her mouth and looked down at the head as he shot out long ropes of come onto her chest, splattering her black bra with his white fluid.

He looked down and watched his own fist pump out his orgasmic fluid onto the picture on the floor. The come landed square on her chest, then her ass and hair, the final rope hanging limply from the end of his cock. He shook the last bit off and watched it fall straight onto her face.

"Bi-" he began, but the sound of his own voice unlocked the key to hell. He sank to his knees, unable to support himself any longer. The tears came unbidden, confusion and sadness mixing in with the anger, hatred, and longing.

The sobs hit him hard, and surprised him with their force. Vision soon became impossible as he retraced the steps of the morning.

He had driven straight to the airport from his business trip, never stopping at home. The last thing he had heard from her was an email just before her leaving for her flight, saying "Ah, my darling, there's no place I'd rather be than in your arms... Just now dressing to be away, I'll be on my way home in 45 minutes..." She signed it with a little graphic red rose.

He had made it to the airport on time, had stood at the arrivals lounge for her to emerge from the gates, holding a goofy sign saying "Honey (left bracket)" – an inside joke that they had shared when a graphic she had sent during an IM session had failed to turn into the picture she thought it would.

He had weathered the strange stares of both passengers and those who had come to pick up the passengers. He waited until the flight was no longer listed, had searched the terminal, had had her paged. Finally, worried sick, he had gone to the airline's frequent flyer lounge to see if she might be there.

"What's her name?" the receptionist asked. He told her.

"I"m sorry," she said, "But there's no passenger with that name on this flight."

"What?" he asked, incredulous. "But, but that's impossible."

"Maybe she's on the 8:05?" offered the other agent, trying to be helpful.

The first agent tapped in some items on the keyboard, and again shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, sir. We don't have that passenger listed on any of our flights. Could it be another airline?"

He shook his head, dumbly. No... Did he say it out loud, or just think it?

"No," he said. "She gave me that flight number and time."

He stood there for a few minutes, letting this sink in. He wasn't sure what it meant, but afraid that he actually did.

He wandered out into the arrivals lounge to return to his car. Emerging from the terminal into the pouring rain, he couldn't make himself move faster to avoid getting soaked. He walked to his car, got in, and turned the car over. It refused to start.

He sighed. He stared at the cascading sheets of water falling down the windshield, a surreal feeling of nausea threatening to overwhelm him. He called her cell, only to find that the number was no longer in service. He stared out the window.

Eventually, he tried the car again, and it reluctantly started. He drove home the uncertainty of the car failing him again, but secretly grateful that it forced him to focus on something else.

He pulled into the driveway an hour later, and walked up to the front door. He held the keys in his hand, unsure if he really wanted to venture inside.

The door swung open to the empty house.

His mind whiplashed back to the present. He'd only been in the house for fifteen minutes, but he felt as if he'd been there for years.

He blinked his eyes, and saw that his own tears had fallen and had cleared away her face on the picture. She had taken everything, had stolen everything, including his heart.

He stood up and tucked himself back into his pants. He picked up the picture and looked for a place to dispose of it. There was, of course, nothing in the house. He held the corner of the picture and walked to the front door.

It was still raining outside. He looked around the living room once more, letting the ghosts fade from view, even if they'd never leave him completely.

As he closed the door, he was struck by the biggest question he should have been asking all along, and was surprised he hadn't done so already.

Why?