Lost Love


Michael began to knead her breasts in his hands. He kissed her again. Her tongue worked its way into his mouth. She bit his lip softly.

Reaching over to a vase on the table, Michael took a rose in his mouth, careful not to stick himself with a thorn. His hands returned to her breasts.

Slowly, deliberately, he brushed the rose against Nichole cheek. The soft petals made her skin crawl.

Michael's hands began to wander, rubbing, caressing. His featherlight touch tickled and teased her in all the right places.

The flower brushed against her breasts. Nichole arched her back with pleasure and moaned softly.

Michael worked his way down her body until he was sitting on the bench again between her legs.

Placing the rose on the table, Michael began to lick the rest of the honey off her thighs. His lips lingered on her skin.

Michael's teeth scraped against her. Nichole moaned again, louder.

She could feel her sex throbbing. He was so close to where she wanted him, but delighted in teasing her. Gradually, he worked his way up each leg, nibbling on every square inch. Driving her crazy. Until all the honey was gone.

The kisses became longer, more intense. He bit the most sensitive part, just on the inside of her thigh. Nichole gasped. He did it again on the other side.

She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair. Her eyes were closed.

Nichole felt him pull back, then his hands were under her ass. He pulled her body towards him and set her back down so her ass was on the edge of the table. Her feet still rested on the bench.

And then he kissed her.

All the blood in her body seemed to rush into her clit as Michael's lips enveloped her.

"Holy God!" Nichole cried out. "That feels so good, Michael!"

His tongue flicked against her clit. She could feel his breath against her skin, still sensitive from the shaving.

Michael took her clit between his lips and squeezed. Nichole squealed with delight.

In small circles and then larger ones, Michael massaged her sex with his tongue and mouth. Nichole couldn't contain herself and began to buck against him. Her hand gripped his head and she pulled him towards her.

A finger replaced the tongue on her pussy. "If you don't stop moving, I'll quit."

She moaned in protest.

"But that feels so good . . . "

Michael resumed his oral attack on his wife's pussy. She could barely contain herself.

"Oh, Michael . . . God, that feels so good . . . so good . . . Yes! Right there! Right there! Yes, Michael . . ."

She felt is tongue enter her. He was breathing on her clit. She was in heaven.

Strong hands lifted her buttocks off the table as Michael devoured her sex. Biting. Nibbling.

He lapped up her juices. Nichole closed her eyes as she felt her climax approaching.

"Yes, right there . . . That's the spot, Michael . . . That's it . . ."

She closed her eyes and started to see flashes of colour. The fireworks were about to start.

"I love the way you eat my pussy . . . I love . . . Oh!"

His tongue mashed against her swollen clit.

"Oh, God! . . . I'm about to cum . . ."

The room started to spin.

"I'm about to . . . Oh, yes! . . . Oh, God, I'm . . ."

Her toes tingled.

"Yes . . . Yes! Eat me, Michael . . . Eat meeeee! . . . NOOOOOOOO!"

She howled with frustration as she heard Michael push the bench he was sitting on back. He lifted her off the table. She was so close!

Her feet hit the floor and her legs almost gave out. Michael's arms steadied her. Frantically, she reached down and began to finger herself, rubbing her clit, trying to summon the orgasm that was slipping away.

"Put your hands on the table," he commanded.

She ignored him, desperately trying to finish herself off. A sharp slap! across the backside got her attention.

"Please, Michael," she wailed. "I need to cum!"

"Put your hands on the table," he said again, forcefully. When she paused another slap! stung her bare bottom.

Each hand went to the edge of the table. Michael pushed her forward so her rear was sticking out. He hooked one foot inside her ankle and kicked her legs apart. She stood there, bending over, her arms and legs spread.

Michael pressed against her back. She could feel his hard cock through his sweatpants. She pressed her ass against him.

"What did I tell you not to do?"

"But it felt so good . . . you were—"


"What did I tell you not to do?"

"You told me not to move," she cried out plaintively.

"And what did you do?"

"I couldn't help it, Michael! I need—"


"And what did you do?"

"I need to cum, Michael!" Tears of frustration began to run down her cheeks. "Please, Michael! Please eat—"

Slap! Slap!

"And what did you do?"

"I moved," she whispered. "I moved when you told me not to."

"That's better," he whispered back in her ear. His breath tickled and aroused his earlobe. His hand gently caressed her stinging backside, which surely was a bright red from the spanking.

He took her earlobe between his lips and sucked gently. She moaned with pleasure. He continued down her neck, leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses, then blew cold air along the same path. She shivered with pleasure.

Michael's lips were soft and gentle across the back of her neck. His teeth raked the most sensitive parts. She felt the sparks of a new orgasm begin to build within her.

His cock was rock hard and pressing against her ass.

She reached back and began to fondle his hard-on, but another slap! and her hand went back to the table.

"I didn't tell you to do anything else with your hands." His voice was hard. Authoritative. In control.

Nichole whimpered in frustration.

Her husband continued across her back, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles, first across her shoulders, then down her spine.

Reaching around, he cupped her breasts. He squeezed them and she let out a soft gasp. He pressed his cock harder against her backside. She wanted him. She needed him.

Her desire overtook her and she started to grind her hips against his. He pulled away and the kisses continued down to the base of her spine. He kissed her across the small of the back. She tingled with excitement.

Nichole closed her eyes and bit her lip when he pinched her nipples, then his hands were gone.

She heard his sweatpants fall to the floor as Michael kicked them off.

A strong hand slowly pushed her down, until she was bent over. Her ass stuck out and her legs were spread wide. The table felt cool against her breasts and face.

Michael's sex was between her legs, his erection pressing against her throbbing pussy. His pubic hair tickled her ass.

She felt one of his hands on her backside, then felt the head of his cock rubbing between her ass cheeks. He teased her anal opening, then his head was rubbing lower, against her swollen clit.

Nichole braced herself as Michael pressed his cock into her hungry sex that was slick with her juices. He entered her slowly. Deliberately.

When he was all the way in, he held it for a long moment, filling her up with his hardness. She squeezed his cock with her vaginal sphincter. She heard him grunt with pleasure.

Spreading her arms, Nichole gripped the edges of the table and held on as Michael pulled back, then thrust back in.

Michael's fingers dug into her ass. When he pulled out, he pushed her away. When the tip of his cock was almost ready to slip out, he pulled her towards him and rocked his hips forward at the same time.

Each thrust brought a satisfying slap! as he buried his cock inside her.

Nichole gasped with each thrust. His hips moved furiously as he assaulted her from behind. Even the heavy oak table shook.

Rear entry was one of Nichole's favourite positions. She loved the submissiveness of it. She loved being at Michael's mercy. She loved the feel of his entire length inside her. She loved being impaled upon her husband's cock. She loved giving in to the trust and love of allowing her husband to dominate her. To pleasure her. To control her.

With one final hard thrust, Michael slowed his rhythm. Instead of fast and furious, he held is cock inside her for long moments, then slowly withdrew until he was almost out of her, then slowly—teasingly—pushed back in.

He moved his hips from left to right, stretching her in a different direction.

"Oh, Michael!" she mumbled. "That feels wonderful . . ."

Suddenly, he thrust deep inside her and held it for a long, long time. He let out a feral growl

She knew he was close to cumming. If she moved or squeezed with her pussy, she would push him over the edge. If she let him go for a few seconds, his orgasm would recede and their lovemaking would continue. She was half tempted to grind on him and set him off after he was so "mean" to her earlier when he didn't finish going down on her, but decided against that. She was having too much fun!

Michael let out his breath and she knew he was ready for more. Her ass still stung from the spanking, and was still sore from his hands bracing against it, but she wanted more.

She felt his chest press against her back and he kissed her in the middle of her spine, right between the shoulder blades. He pulled her up off the table, and she propped herself up with her arms, her hands never leaving the table.

Both of his hands reached around to cup her pendulous breasts and he started to slowly work his cock in her pussy again.

One hand rolled an erect nipple between its index finger and thumb, while the other worked its way down her stomach to her bare pussy.

Her labia were spread wide and Nichole shuddered when Michael began rubbing the nub of her clit. She felt her pussy flood with even more juices. Her body was covered with sweat.

The hand on her breast let go only to grab a handful of her hair and pull. She cried out in surprise. Her back arched. Michael turned her head to the side, exposing her neck and throat.

Michael's teeth bit into her neck. Nichole's mouth fell open. He didn't let go of her hair and even pulled harder. His rhythm increased, both in his thrusts and the hand that was fingering her clit.

The hand left her clit and she felt him grab a second handful of her hair. Her back arched even further as Michael used her hair to pull her into him. Nichole began to scream with pleasure.

"You are so hard for me . . . that feels so fucking good!"

He pulled harder.

Michael bit her at the top of her neck, just behind her ear. "Touch yourself."

One hand went to her pussy. It was soaked.

She could feel Michael's balls and stroked the bottom of his shaft as he continued to move in and out. Two fingers began to rub back and forth against her clit.

The dual sensations of his cock inside her and the hand on her clit was driving her crazy. The room began to spin again and her knees trembled as her orgasm came.

"Oh, God! . . . Oh, yes . . . I'm about to . . . .I'm about to cum . . ."

She felt Michael press his cock deep inside her and he held it as her hand worked over her clit. The tingling came back to her toes.

Michael let go of her hair and cupped her breasts again. He steadied her while at the same time stimulating another of her erogenous zones.

"Oh, Michael!" Nichole began to rock her hips back and forth on his cock as her pussy exploded with sparks of ecstasy.

Her pussy started to contract uncontrollably and it set Michael off. She could feel his cockhead pulsing inside her and the warm sensation of his cum mixing with her own.

With a heavy sigh, Michael pulled his cock out of Nichole, then she felt is strong arms around her. He picked her up and carried her the short distance to the couch. He plopped down, exhausted.

She straddled him and took his spent cock inside her and they sat together silently caressing each other. Savouring the post-coital glow.

"Thank you for breakfast," he said finally.

"You're welcome." She kissed him gently.

"Are you going to have dinner ready for me when I get home tonight?" He smiled.

"I think you're going to be out too late for dinner, but if you ask nicely, I just might make you breakfast tomorrow."

"I don't think you could top breakfast today."

"I've still got a few tricks, Mister," she teased.

"Good. I'll look forward to that." He kissed her between her breasts.

"Promise me something, Michael."

"Anything, my love."

"Promise me you'll love me forever."

He looked deep into her eyes. It seemed as if were gazing into her soul. "I promise I'll love you until the day I die."


Nichole woke up the next morning and felt good. A little groggy, but not hungover. The sun was shining through her windows.

Something the night before had changed. It wasn't anything she could put her finger on, but her first thought that morning wasn't a feeling of dread or self-pity.

She walked to the bathroom, and started the shower. The warm water washed over her, cleansing her not only physically, but emotionally. A year later, she realised that was the day she turned the corner from grief to healing.

Wrapped in a towel, Nichole went to the living room. The city was just getting up. There was a cool autumn breeze coming through the windows.

Nichole settled on the couch, a bottle of diet soda in her hands. Nichole sat there for a long, long time, her gaze settled on the silver urn that hadn't moved in almost a year.

It was time.


The look on her father's face was serious. Nichole immediately knew something was wrong.

They stood in the entryway to the kitchen, staring at each other for an eternity.

"Get your purse," he whispered. "And your coat."

"What's wrong?" Nichole managed to get past the lump in her throat. Something happened to Mom, or one of the other kids.

"It's Michael," Ernie said quietly. "He was in an accident."

"Is he okay?"

The look in her father's eyes told her everything.

Nichole folded into his arms. She felt him holding her up. She started to cry.

Ernie's heart broke as Nichole's sobs overtook her. His paternal instincts were to shield her from the pain and evils of the world, but there was nothing he could do about this one. All he could do was hold her and fight back is own tears.

When Nichole was little, she was scared by thunder and lightning. During the particularly bad storms, she'd cry out and Ernie would come in and hold his little girl, making the thunder less threatening and rocking her back to sleep.

Ernie rocked her back and forth in his arms. Nichole's tears gradually subsided. She held on to her father for a long time.

"Come on," Ernie said, wiping the tears from his daughter's face. "We need to go."

Nichole steadied herself against the kitchen counter as Ernie gathered up Nichole's purse and coat.

There was a cab waiting outside which whisked them away to the ER at St. Vincent's. Nichole was in a daze.

The entire family was waiting at the hospital. Michael's parents John and Elizabeth sat quietly, holding hands, as if in shock.

Nichole's mother threw her arms around her. "Do you remember Jimmy Williams? He's over at the reception desk. You need to go talk to him."

Jimmy was one of Michael's friends from high school. Now he was one of New York's Finest. He gave her a hug.

"Hi, honey." He smiled, but his voice was grave. "How are you doing?"

"I don't know," Nichole said. "What happened?"

"I talked to Bryan a few minutes ago; he's a mess now. It looks like Troy and Mikey dropped him off at his place, then were coming down Broadway." Jimmy winced. "They were coming this way and a cab ran a red light at 53rd. Troy swerved and clipped a Toyota in the right lane. He lost control, bounced off a third car and got rammed by a bus from behind."

Nichole started to tremble. Carole put her arms around her daughter.

"Troy was thrown out of the car and died on the way in." Jimmy paused and drew in a deep breath. "Mikey wasn't wearing a seatbelt. He hit his head on the windshield and the airbag blew up on his chest."

The room started to spin. Nichole felt faint. She felt Carole and Jimmy lead her to a chair. She collapsed into the cushions.

"Ronny and I got there right after the ambulance did, but they still had to cut him out of the car." The policeman paused again.

"Is he okay?" Nichole whispered.

"Sure he is. Mikey's tough like that." He was lying. Nichole didn't care, though; he told her what she wanted to hear. "Remember when Rhett hit him in the head with the baseball? It's just a bump on the noggin."

"How long has he been in there?" Nichole pointed towards the ER surgical suite.

"About 45 minutes," Jimmy took her hand. "Listen, I've got to write up the accident report on this. If you need me, I'll be right over there."

"Thanks, Jimmy."

Carole started to chatter. That was a bad sign. Her mother talked and rambled when she was nervous, scared or both.

"Jimmy came over as soon as they got Michael out of the car. He said he didn't want some stranger to deliver the news to us," Carole said. "He's such a sweet boy. It's too bad we couldn't fix him up with your sister. His parents are the nicest folks. You know, they came to your wed-"

She stopped in mid sentence. Nichole turned and saw the door to the ER room open. A man in surgical scrubs came out. He walked over to the nurse's station. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. Everyone got quiet.

The doctor talked with the attendant at the nurse's station. She pointed towards John and Elizabeth, then Nichole. He began to walk towards them, taking of his gloves, mask and safety glasses.

John and Elizabeth stood. Carole pulled Nichole to her feet. Everyone gathered around.

"Good evening, folks. I'm Dr. Rivas," he said in a pleasant voice. "You're Michael Galloway's family?"

"That's right," John said. "How is he?"

"It's not good. He had a couple of broken ribs, a punctured lung and a concussion." The doctor paused. A pained look flashed across his eyes. Nichole drew in a sharp breath. "That's the easy part."

He stopped talking for what seemed like an eternity. "His blood pressure has been extremely low. I can't say for certain, but it looks like one of his heart valves may be leaking or stopped working. We got him stabilised, but he's going to need emergency heart surgery. Dr. Tran is prepping him right now."

"How long do you think he'll be in surgery?" someone asked.

"It's hard to say. I'm not a cardiovascular specialist. They should be taking him up any minute now."

"Thank you, doctor," John said quietly. He wrapped his arms around Elizabeth, who was crying softly.

"If you need anything else, I'll be here all night." He turned and walked back to the nurse's station, ready for the next case.

Nichole choked back the tears. She was confused. Angry. Scared. Why weren't you wearing a seatbelt, Michael? You can't leave me like this!

She started to sit down, but snapped her head around when she heard the door to the surgical suite open. A pair of orderlies and a nurse wheeled Michael out of the room and down the hall towards the elevator. She started after them.

Michael's body was covered by a sheet. He had a neck collar on and a tube down his throat. His head was covered with bandages where his face hit the windshield. There was blood in his hair. He looked so helpless.

Nichole panicked. She started to run after him. Nathan caught her arm. "You can't go with him."

"The hell I can't!" She tried to twist free of her brother's grasp.

"Nic, let them do their jobs."

Filled with frustration, anger, fear and helplessness, Nichole lashed out and struck her brother. The suddenness and ferocity of the strike caused him to let go of her arm and he took a step back.

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