Welllll if it isn't everyone's long-neglected brat back for more! And by everybody, I mean the 6 people who have asked me what happened to this series.

If you're new here, this series is a bit of a choose-your-own-adventure thing where readers get to pick what happens next. This entry comes courtesy of ch. 4's readers, who felt that Gabi needed to fuck shit up on a work trip, so here we are. Several readers did weigh in asking for something to make Dan a little jealous, so that element will come in for the next chapter regardless of where we go, but be sure to weigh in on the options available at the end of this one too.

Previous chapters are linked below. As always, happy reading!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

*******************************************

My vision swam and my toes were fixing to curl into broken little knots.

"God, you're so fucking hard," Gabi moaned, pumping my cock in her wet fist with boundless resolve. "I think I'm gonna drink it all up today. You like that? Huh? I can't hear youuuuu."

Tessellated fractals drew themselves on my bedroom ceiling as she stroked, having already rewired my brain with the most out of pocket mouthwork I had ever been treated to. Honestly, Gabi's journey from Little Miss Teeths-Alot to a certified Grade-A throat queen needed academic study.

"Gabs," I managed to gasp. "D-don't fucking stop!"

I don't even know why I bothered sometimes.

"Let me come on your work trip," she said abruptly, removing her hand and grinning up at me from between my legs.

"W-what?"

She grinned and bit her lip as she stared at my cock impishly. The thing bobbed in time with my heartbeat, a concerning shade of purplish flesh that I liked to call PleaseDearFuckingChristLetMeCum.

She giggled as I reached for myself. "No! Bad!" she said as she swatted my hand away. "Answer me."

"Gabs...no? It's a work trip, not a vacation."

Another slap on the wrist.

"No touching I said! Let me come."

"No."

"Let me!"

"Gabi, come on."

"If I can't come," she said in her best take-me-seriously voice as she started crawling up my body. "Neither can you."

"Not fair," I panted.

Gabi, now astride me and looking me straight in the eye, eased back until my aching cock kissed something wet and lippy. Just a glance, just one aggravating tease. "Say yes."

"I...My boss will be there. Ohhhhh, fuck, come on."

She worked her hips and grinned as she tortured me with the promise of her tight, wet slit. "Just say yes and this will all be over."

"It's a big client!"

She reached back and held me between her lips as she ground against me, sighing in a hitching judder as she moaned for that extra little twist of the knife. "You used to like me," she accused.

"I do!"

"Say yes then. Do it. Say 'Yes, Gabi, you can come to Boston with me' and I'll let you cum allllll up in this pussy."

"Gabs...."

She eased a half inch into herself. Half a tip, at most. It was a mere crumb of pussy. "I'll sit down if you let me."

You know, I've never been big on the whole 'you reap what you sow' thing. What does that even mean?

"I'll let you do whatever you want to me while we're there."

God damn me and my generous heart.

*******

As it happened, I wasn't going make it to Boston.

I was going to Scottsdale.

In the dead of night. By car. Because an even bigger client's server, to quote the on-site engineer 'just fucking exploded, man', and I couldn't get a flight out.

I must have woken half the neighbourhood up as I shlepped my suitcase from the house to my car, cussing like a sailor with Tourette's as I first ran back for my keys, then my shoes, then my pants. In that order.

Two hours later, I was yawning loudly as I squeezed a tank of gas into my car. The night air was cool and refreshing, with the first softening glow of morning just suggested along the flat horizon. Call me old fashioned, but there's still something about the promise of the open road that just gets the fire lit in my belly. That thirst for what's next. That wanderlust.

"Ugh, where the fuck are we?"

I screamed and leapt out of my skin as the bundled blanket that I hadn't noticed in my backseat sat up and blinked a bleary eye at me.

"FUCK! What the...Gabi, what the fuck are you doing?!"

She looked at me sleepily as she rubbed her face. "You said I could come?"

"To...Not...Gabi, what the fuck?"

"You said that already," she accused as she looked around. "Where are we? This isn't the airport."

"Because we're not going to the airport," I groaned.

"But you said..."

I pinched the bridge of my nose as the gas pump slammed to a stop.

"I got called out," I groaned. "I'm on-call."

"Sooooo...we're not going to Boston?"

"No, Gabi, we are not going to Boston. I'm going to fucking Arizona, and you're going home."

She looked frustratingly confused about the whole thing, as if the fact that she'd snuck into my car like some kind of stowaway was somehow my fault.

"But you said I could come? Besides, how am I supposed to get home from here? Are you gonna drive me back?"

Queue the long sigh. If I turned around now I'd never make it in time to keep my company's SLA intact. Besides, a deal's a deal...I guess.

"Hey! Hey, where are you going?"

"To pay for the gas," I grumbled as I shuffled across the parking lot.

"Can you get me a snack? I like Skittles. And a Redbull please. I'm sleepy."

*******

Luckily she slept through the night, snoring in that frustratingly cute way as we blasted across state lines one after another. She eventually roused again only once I'd stopped the car in a Denny's parking lot just outside Scottsdale.

"Th'fuck're we?" she yawned.

"We're here," I said as I unbuckled. "Well, mostly here. Come on, I'm hungry. You want something to eat?"

"They got waffles?"

"Yeah," I replied incredulously. "I'm pretty sure Denny's has waffles. Come on."

After four cups of coffee, one plate of bacon and eggs, plus a heaping serving of strawberry pancakes literally drowned in syrup, Gabi and I wallowed in that limbo-time between waiting for a bill and not having anything to talk about. It's not like we hung out because we found each other super stimulating on an intellectual level.

Gabi cracked first. "So, uh, what are you here for?"

"The coffee."

"No, stupid. Why'd you have to drive out here?"

"Oh. Server went down."

"And you have to fix it?"

"Yeah. Or turn it on."

"You have to drive 9 hours to turn a computer on?"

"Sometimes."

"Can't someone else do that? Isn't there, like, a power button?"

"There is."

"So how come they can't just push it themselves?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I ask myself that all the time."

She examined me quizzically. "I thought you were an engineer."

"I am."

"Are you grumpy?"

"No."

"Why are you being a grump then?"

"I'm not!"

"Are you mad I snuck into your car?"

"A little."

She shrugged and sipped her orange juice. "You said I could come."

See, the thing with Gabriella was that you didn't win. Ever. As soon as you got that through your head, you were better off. You didn't win, you shouldn't argue, and you never EVER wanted to give her what she wanted. Trust me on that last one - it only ends up worse for you.

"You made me."

Another shrug. "You could have said no. There was no gun to your head."

"Not fair," I quipped.

"It's not my fault you have zero self-control."

A memory of her face, all contorted in savage pleasure and diabolical self-satisfaction as she rode me to the result she wanted flashed across my mind. As did her end of the deal.

"You said 'anything,'" I replied.

"What?"

"You said I could do anything I wanted to you while we were here."

"No I didn't."

"Did so."

"That wasn't the deal. The deal was Boston."

"So, what? You're gonna sit up in a Motel 7 all weekend by yourself?"

"I..."

"You said 'anything.'"

She huffed and opened her mouth to reply just as our waitress stepped up to the table cheerfully.

"Cash or card?"

"Card," I replied. "Please."

"There you go," she said. I took the card machine from her and punched my PIN in. "Big plans this weekend?"

"Not really," I said as I turned it back to her. "I've got a little work stuff, but other than that we're completely free, isn't that right?"

Gabi bit her lips together coyly as she nodded. "Mhmm. Completely."

"Nothing wrong with that! Thanks for coming, y'all!" She said as she waddled away.

Under the table, Gabi stomped on my toes.

*******

Ah, Scottsdale. Prized for being the butt-end of countless jokes and the lynchpin of any story involving white retirees, swingers you want nothing to do with, and jazz festivals that make you hate jazz on a deeper level than you ever thought possible. Oh, how I fucking hate thee.

Which is why Gabi was naked and facedown on our creaky mattress as soon as we got into the room.

"Ugh," she moaned pitifully. "Fuck, that's...that's so deeeeep."

I blanketed the petite thing's frame almost entirely, my arms wrapped up under her armpits as I sank into the sweetest little hole I had ever fucked. Her hair smelled like something expensive as I grunted a little artlessly in her ear. She must have liked it; she kept biting down on my forearm as she let out the most desperate little moans.

"I...needed you," I accused. "So bad. Fuck, Gabi. How do you f-feel so good every...single...time."

"Nnnghhhh," she groaned as she ground her forehead against my arm in reply, which...I get. There was a lot of cock inside her.

"That's it," I panted. "Let me...let me hear you cum for me. Please, Gabi, let me hear you cum. That's it. That's it, nice and...nice and hard. Goddddd that's so pretty. Fuck yes."

She shook her head tightly as she juddered around me, smearing her lips along my hairy arm like she was playing a furry harmonica. Between my legs, her feet kicked and twitched on the mattress.

"I f-fucking came so hard," she said raggedly. "It's too...deep!"

I eased out of her and kissed her cheek, ear, neck, whatever was closest, shocked to find her leaning back into me as she nuzzled in.

"Better?"

She nodded. "Uh huh. Thank you, daddy."

I grinned in spite of myself. "None of that, now," I admonished as I inched back into her. The 'daddy' thing didn't do it for me. Maybe it was the 16 years between us. Maybe it was because I'm not a weirdo. Hard to say.

She gasped as I bottomed her out again, nudging and bumping somewhere between 'Oh god!' and 'Fuck yes!'

"S-sorry," she sighed. "I just can't h-help it!"

"Be good."

"I can't!"

"Yes you can."

Her hips wiggled underneath me in spite of my full weight pinning her slight frame to the bed. "M-make me."

"Are you gonna cum again for me?"

"N-no!"

"I think you are."

"You c-can't make me!"

I pushed.

"Cum again."

"Ah!"

"Do it. Cum for me, Gabi. Be good and cum for me."

"I want you to cum."

"No," I replied with a good deal more authority than I was ready to back up. "Not until you do."

"I-I did alreadyyy, shit!" she blubbered. "I f-fucking came so hard on you."

"So do it again."

I folded my arms in tighter and pressed into her as far as she'd let me.

"I...Fuck, I..."

"Now, Gabi."

"I-I c..."

"Cum on your cock," I urged. It was about to be one of us, and I was losing my edge.

"I ffffffff..." she fizzled, tucking her face forward as our contest neared its end. "F-fuuuuuuuuck, ohhhh!"

"Good...good girl," I panted as my thighs started to tighten around her hips and my stomach muscles started to heave. "Take your...take your fucking cum n-now," I grated into her ear uselessly. My Gabi was somewhere else entirely, pussy full and head empty as I bucked an undeserving load into her.

Romance, as it turns out, is alive and well in Scottsdale, Arizona, especially when it comes to Room 322 at the Motel 7 overlooking that Wal-Mart loading dock.

In the panting, breathless aftermath, my post-cum comedown took me back to what I was supposed to be doing. Server. Work. Shit.

I kissed the back of her head and started to shove off of her, but her hands held my arms in place. "No," she pouted. "Stay."

"Gabs, I gotta get to work."

"I don't want you to."

"I'm squishing you," I pointed out.

"I like it."

I tried to pay the kiss tax, but the price had apparently gone up. "Gabs, I gotta go. I'll be back in a couple hours, I promise."

"What am I supposed to do?"

I laughed. "You're the one who crawled into my car in the middle of the night."

Her pouty 'harumph' was just so annoyingly cute.

"Listen," I said as she finally let me untangle myself from her. The sticky mess between her legs was a bit of a scene, but I was sure she could manage clean-up just fine without me. I know, I know, real Casanova over here. "I'll be back at 2:00 if everything goes well, okay? I'll leave you some money for...I don't know, whatever."

"I want dinner."

"Yeah, no problem. We can order something."

"No," she said as she rolled over. Did you know that some women are actually about a billion times sexier right after they've cum? I didn't, until Gabi. "I want real dinner. I want you to take me out."

"O-okay. Yeah, sure. Find somewhere that looks..."

"No," she said in that flat Gabi tone. "I want you to do it. I want you to find somewhere nice, I want you to call, I want you to make a reservation, and I want you to take me out."

God fucking damn it. "Of course."

"And I don't have anything to wear."

"Okay?"

"So I need more money."

"I didn't even give it to you yet?"

"I know. But I need more."

You know, all things considered, I had been on more expensive dates. 'Had been' being the operative phrase there. Gabi came with fine print written in invisible ink though, and even leaving a credit card on the bedside table as I slipped out 10 minutes later was a small price to pay for the kinds of things she was starting to make me feel.

I so hate feeling.

*******

The server had, it turns out, pretty much fucking exploded, man.

"Who the hell installed this?" I asked for the hundredth time. A few pimply co-op kids shrugged and shot accusatory looks at each other as I angrily wrestled with miles of cabling. "Hand me those side cutters. No, the other...yeah, those ones."

My phone chimed in my pocket as I slid another burnt out unit off the rack.

"Here, take this," I said as I handed it back to someone.

Ding.

"Jesus, did you have to spray the whole thing with the fire extinguisher?"

Ding.

"Run and grab some zip ties. What? All of them. As many as you have. And then go get more."

Ding.

"Of course it's on backorder. Don't you guys keep any spares in-house? Bring that other one back in, we'll see if there's anything useable."

Ding.

Ding.

Dingdingdingdingding.

"FUCK!" I shouted as I pitched a screwdriver across the room. "I'm going out for a smoke! Don't...just don't fucking touch anything, got it?"

No, I don't smoke anymore. I do occasionally lean against the side of a building and have a cup of coffee, which still helps immensely. I pulled my phone out and tallied up the cost of my earlier indiscretion.

Charge: Zara, $237.17.

Charge: Sephora, $124.62.

Charge: Nordstrum, what the actual fuck dollars and holy fucking shit cents.

"Hello, handsome." Gabi said as she picked up my call.

"Having a nice time?" I asked.

I could hear her smile over the phone. Don't ask how. I just knew she was. Because she's a little shit. "Mmm, not bad. How's work?"

"I might be a little late," I replied between sips of tepid coffee.

"Awh, poor thing. Is your computer thingy not going well?"

"It's going okay," I replied. "I could just use the overtime, you know? A little extra money."

"I thought you made a lot of money. Oh, these are cute."

"I do," I replied. "I make very okay money. It's just that someone spent $1200 at a store I've never heard of this afternoon."

"Gosh, is that a lot?"

A panicked looking intern leaned out the office door in search of me. "Gee, Gabi, I don't know. How much do you make waiting tables at Rosario's in a month?"

"Oh, God, not that much," she laughed dismissively. "Sure, a bag would be great thanks," she said to someone else.

"Gabi."

The intern spotted me and started waving frantically as my phone dinged again. I held it away from my face.

Charge: Victoria's Secret, $183.97

Clever girl.

"Did you find a place for us to eat?"

The intern was walking towards me now.

"Not yet. I will."

"Good. I can't wait. Hey, how long do you think you're gonna be?"

"Why?"

"Just trying to figure out if I have time for a wax. Do you like a landing strip or a triangle? Who am I kidding, you like it bare. Pervert."

The intern, now running like he'd shit his pants, started shouting. "Hey! Hey, man! Uh, we got a..."

I held up a finger as he trotted over. "How much does that cost?"

"Oh," she hummed. "Less than these Jimmy Choos."

"How much were the Jimmy Choos?"

"About twelve hundred dollars."

The pudgy IT dork coughed a breathless "Hey, man, we got a real problem, I think we might need to..."

"I'll see you at 6:00, okay?"

"Okay, daddy. Don't be late."

She knows I hate 'daddy'.

Almost as much as I hate it when she hangs up on me.

*******

The thing, you see, about showing up to a steakhouse with a woman who's had your credit card all afternoon, is that you're always going to look like you paid her to be there. It's a lose-lose. And when she's 20 and you're on the wrong side of your mid-thirties, you just look like a creep.

But then again, Scottsdale fucking sucks, so who gives a shit.

Then, of course, there's the whole 'It's Gabi' thing.

"Let me try your drink," she said.

But I, obviously, was not listening. Her lipstick was red.

"What?"

"Your drink, let me try it."

"You won't like it," I replied. Winged eyeliner always got me. Is that what it's called, when they do the little tails thingy? I don't know. I like it. I like it on Gabi.

She reached for the glass anyway. Her nails, squared off and polished in a glossy clear that had cost me sixty seven dollars, clinked against the glass.

She said something about the way it tasted like toilet water, but her hair was pinned off her face, and her jawline was just...

"Are you listening?"

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said it tastes like someone farted in your drink. You should send it back."

I laughed. "It's supposed to taste like that."

"Blegh," she protested. "Nasty. Why do guys like the grossest shit?"

"I don't."

"Yes you do!"

"I like you," I pointed out.

She hid her blush with a sip from her oversized cocktail glass.

"Well, maybe I'm gross."

"No," I said. "Hardly."

"No?"

"Not even."

"What about when I..." she said, probing the inside of her cheek with her tongue.

"Not gross."

She laughed. "If you say so."

"Do you think it's gross?"

"Obviously not," she countered. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. Well, now I do. I used to not."

"What changed?"

Mr. Choo's finest work slid up my calf under the table. "You did, I guess."

I gave the waiter a flat smile as he took our plates away. "Wrong again, I've never changed."

If I knew what the look she gave me was called, I'd do everything in my power to squirm away from it just then. It was something like sympathy, or maybe a little amusement in the face of naivety. "Yes you have."

"How?"

"Well," she started as she leaned in. For a smaller woman, she wore the absolute hell out of that neckline. "You never would have agreed to let me come here with you."

"I didn't," I pointed out.

"You know what I mean."

"Fine. Maybe."

"Maybe yes," she repeated. "And you never would have pinned me down and fucked me like you did today."

"I fuck you all the time."

"Now you do," she pointed out. "But I practically had to throw myself at you to get there."

"It just...felt a little..."

"What, weird?"

"Kinda."

"Well," she said, stirring her drink with a straw. "I'm glad you figured out that I'm not made of glass."

"Why's that?"

"Because, uh," she said with a quick look around for eavesdroppers. "I kinda spent a lot of your money today, and I definitely don't have any way to pay you back."

"I hadn't noticed," I quipped. I had noticed; it was like twenty two hundred dollars.

"No?"

"Spare change."

"So I can keep it all?"

"Go for it."

"You think I look good?"

You ever look at a mousetrap and think to yourself 'Look at how stupid this is, how does any mouse fall for this?'

"You look great."

"My dress, you like it?"

"Love it."

"And aren't these shoes so pretty?"

"The prettiest."

"What about my makeup, did I do good?"

"Well," I replied, draining my drink. "You did well."

"What about my nails? You think they'll look nice while I'm..." she trailed off, turning her fist to face me as she pumped it in the air just enough to suggest something.

"You look great," I said, waving to pay my tab.

"Wait till you see what else I spent all your money on," she purred. "Then you can decide if it was worth it."

It was, you'll be pleased to hear, worth every red fucking cent.

*******

The makeup, so heavy around her eyes, was a dark graffiti tag that marked her pretty, messy face as mine.

Whenever we practiced, I always laid or sat back and let Gabi push her own limits. Tonight though...tonight I fucked her. I fucked her in the mouth, and I was not gentle about it.

"Grrhhhhk," she gurgled. Big, wet eyes stared up at me, reddening with the effort to keep her dessert lodged down her throat. "Ngghhhk!"

"So...so good, baby," I panted as I loomed over her. The dress was still on, but I figured it might be more fun to unwrap her as we fucked along - even so, it'd need the dry cleaner's in a big way once I was done with her. "That's - that's it. Swallow it all down. Such a...perfect mouth!"

I knotted my fingers through her hair and hauled her off my bobbing meat as she gasped for lungfuls of air with a wide smile on her face. That was what set Gabi apart, that's what made her so special - how many people will nearly suffocate on a cock and then smile at you just for letting them catch a breath.

Gabi would, evidently.

"More," she panted. "I can...take more."

I rubbed a thumb across her cheek to brush an errant tear away, leaving a greasy makeup smear under her eye like some parody of warpaint. "I know you can," I replied as I guided her to her feet by the hair. "But I miss you when you're way down there on your knees."

She returned my kiss with a soft giggle that didn't improve my resistance to her charm at all, reaching down to rub me as I kneaded her tight ass in one hand.

"You miss me?"

"All the time."

"Even though I'm a pain in your ass?"

I laughed and felt around for a zipper or buttons that would get her out of the little black dress. "Of course."

She looked down to watch herself rub the cock that she'd so lavishly washed with her spit. "You just like me because I make you cum so hard."

"I could say the same to you," I said as I found the zipper and started to pull.

"Uh uh," she accused, letting go of my cock to tug at my tie and start on my shirt buttons. "I like you for more than that."

"Like what?" I asked as I pushed one dress strap off of her shoulder, then the other. "My money?"

She shook her head. "No, but that is a nice perk."

She shrugged her way out of the dress as I tugged it down, baring lingerie that was both very lacy and very unnecessary. "What is it then?"

She bit her lip, because of course she bit her lip. I taught her way too fucking well.

"Maybe I just like the way you look at me."

Mouse, cheese, trap, snap.

The panties had cost me thirty two dollars, but I'm pretty sure that you can't return them once you've literally torn them off someone's body.

Face down, ass up, Gabi started doing Gabi things, which you might recognize as 'cumming and yapping'.

"B-be nice to that pussy!" she moaned as I was decidedly unkind to it. "F-fuck! So...so mean!"

That's an ass slapping.

"Ah! So rough! What did my - fuck! - What did my ass do t-to you?!"

I probably didn't need to spit on it, but I did anyway.

"Gross! Dirty, nasty, gross f-fucking...Oh my GOD!" she wailed as I pummeled her from behind. "I...I know the dress was expes...FUCK!- I know it was expensive, but you're going to b-break your pussy if you...if you...fuck it like that!"

"Whose?" I grunted, reaching down for a fistful of hair again.

"Y-yours! Your pussy!"

It's got a nice little ring to it, doesn't it? My pussy. Yeah. I liked that.

"The shoes," I groaned as I held myself deep up into her, rubbing my spit into her ass, "were twelve hundred dollars."

"I'm sorry," she moaned. It was a little pitiful; she was really working it.

"Are you?" I asked with a meaty swat.

"I..."

Another crack. "Are you sorry?"

"Fuck me," she whined.

"Say it."

"No!"

"No what?"

Face down in a dubiously clean mattress cover, Gabi shook her head and kicked her feet. "I'm not fucking sorry!"

So that was another spanking. And this time I made sure she felt it.

"FUCK! Oh my...I-I love it!"

"What do you love?"

"Th-the way you h-hit me!"

Eeeeesh. Hard to feel great about that one. Later, anyway. At that moment, it was hotter than hot.

"And?"

"The way y-you fuck me p...p.."

"Spit it out, Gabi," I growled.

"Your pussy!"

Good fucking girl. The best girl, really.

"That's it," I groaned, easing back out to slide home again. "That's my girl."

"I...I wanna ride you," she panted. "I need to. Please, daddy, I - Ow! Shit, sorry! Please, just let me ride it! I'll make you feel so fucking good, I swear."

She squealed as I flipped her over and jerked her by the ankles towards myself, and louder again when I sank to my knees and shoved her legs up.

"Oh my god, are y-Holy shit!"

Some girls don't love getting eaten, can you imagine that? I mean, I know I don't have first-hand experience, so maybe I should just stay in my lane on this one, but if it's not meant to be eaten, why'd God make it look like a snack? And why'd he make it so fun to lick?

"Y-you were just fucking that," Gabi pointed out as her neck arched and her hands found my hair. "You were j-just fucking that pussy so hard, you can't just be...all sweet to it n-now!"

"Shut up," I told her. "I want to."

"Do you love h-how smooth it is?"

"Mhmm," I hummed into her lips.

"Good," she panted, playing with her own tits as I ate. "Y-you paid for it. Oh, shit. D-Dan, I...I'm gonna...Oh, fuck, baby, please don't fucking stop that."

Charge: Dessert, on the house. Seconds are free.

Oh, but Gabi can ride. I know lots of girls can sit on a cock and look pretty, but my Gabi fucking rides. Call me lovesick idiot, but the best part about the whole thing is watching her lose herself in it - her hips will literally hypnotize you while she utters the filthiest, most degenerate shit imaginable, only for her to seize her own moments with this totally unconcerned shamelessness. It's all sport, all spectacle, and then all at once she's slamming herself down with her eyes squeezed shut to milk every scrappy ounce of her own thing out. It's a show and tell with brief intermissions where you're not there at all, and you just get to watch in rapturous voyeurism from the galleries as her body checks the fuck out for a minute or two.

And when that happens, your only job is to love the small part she lets you play in her production.

"Ughhh, ff...." she panted as her eyes winked open out of sync with each other again. "What are...What are you grinning at?"

"You," I said to her plainly. I know was cheesing like an idiot, and there's probably something deeply dorky about loving another person's pleasure, but Gabi's body was just so, so worth worshiping.

"That was a big one," she informed me as she juuuuust rocked her hips in my lap. "Ugh. Your hands feel...so nice."

"Come here," I plead, gathering her in my arms as she laid into my chest breathlessly.

"Does this feel good?" she asked.

She could have quit right there and I'd still have loved her for it. Liked. Liked her for it.

Eh. Whatever. Later problem.

"So good," I said with a kiss on her forehead.

She was still moving, but it was too slow to be sex. It was a cuddle by then. An unprotected snuggle. She was tapped out, but I knew she wouldn't admit it - I couldn't blame her. Her ass was red, her throat was likely sore, and I'd never known her cum that many times without a break.

"Did I spend too much of your money?"

"No," I laughed.

"Do you want me to pay you back?"

"No."

"Are you just saying that because your dick is in me?"

"Gabi," I chuckled breathily. "No."

"I can take the shoes back."

"Keep them. They looked good on you."

She leaned forward and squeezed, leaving my cock cold, wet, and suddenly lonely.

"I don't wanna go back to school in September."

See now, maybe she was right. Maybe I was changing. Just a little.

"I know."

"I'm gonna miss you."

Like...what the fuck do you say to that?

"I know," I said again as I petted her hair. "I'm gonna miss you too."

"You mean it?"

Dear reader, I did very much mean it.

*******

The morning came early, thanks in no small part to the blinds that were too thin to actually keep any sun out of the room. Gabi groaned as I climbed out of bed to hop in the shower. Debris from our raunchy adventure was strewn about the room, including one disheveled bra hanging off a bedside lamp in a very cliched way.

"Do you haaaaave to go in again?" Gabi sighed as I came back in, scrubbing a towel through my hair 20 minutes later.

"Yeah, 'fraid so."

She rolled over with a pout. "I wanna do yesterday again."

"What do you mean?" I laughed.

"All of it. I liked it. I wanna do it all over again."

"I don't think I can afford that."

"Mmmmm," she hummed as she pulled the blanket off herself to reveal a very tender looking red buttcheek. "Maybe I can't either."

"Fuck, Gabi, I..."

"Relax," she laughed.

"Well, I'm sorry you're gonna be stuck here all day. Do you want to drop me off at the office so you can drive around for the day or something?"

"You'd let me do that?!"

"Well yeah, sure. I have to leave in like 15 minutes, can you be dressed by then?"

"Uh huh!"

"Well let's get to it then, come on."

Her little grin and the excited way she hopped out of bed ran circles in my mind all day long. Just the joy that something as little as having a car for the day was so infectious and sweet. It almost completely covered for the mild aggravation of getting a lunchtime voicemail from the hotel front desk while I was up to my elbows in fried computer parts.

"Mr. Rockwell, this is Gerry from the Motel 7, uh, if you could give me a call back when you get this. It seems that your wife has run over some of the bushes in front of the building and, uh...if you'd like, we can just charge that to the room or you can pay separately when you check-out. Okay, let me know. Bye now."

Now, if only I had opened the incredibly gorgeous picture of Gabi's pert tits before checking my voicemails, the whole thing might not have been so bad.

As it stood though, I was out another three hundred bucks for some dead hydrangeas and a shrub.

All of which Gabi's already-sore ass paid dearly for later that night. After dinner, of course. And a walk.

And an admission that I will not be repeating here.

*******

So, in the spirit of the series, I think we OBVIOUSLY need to know what Dan told Gabi on their little after-dinner walk. We've got the obvious option, but we can also drag this thing out some more if you're feeling creative and needy (I know some of you. You're needy people). Whatever he said will clearly inform the next chapter.

SO - What'd Dan admit to Gabi?

1. The L-bomb, obviously.
2. He wants something steady with her before she goes back to school.
3. He's got a secret kink that he wants to explore with her.
4. He's terrified of where they're going and needs to slow down.

Of course, you can also go for the rarer option 5, which is 'whatever you think would slap'.

Lemme know!

Waking up alone never bothered me.

Half past six. Saturday.

Her voice floated through the house.

🎶 If you love me, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 I will love you 🎶

Teeth brushed, face washed, floss neglected, I shuffled down the stairs.

🎶 Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 And the lambs play 🎶

The coffee maker sputtered and choked noisily, flooding the room with that heady promise of a swift kick in the ass. I thumbed through the news on my phone while I waited.

🎶 We shall be safe, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 out of harm's way 🎶

The clock on the oven, a temperamental piece of shit, flickered in that irritating way again, briefly showing a time that it shouldn't. It had the hour right, but there's only supposed to be 60 minutes at most after than. Well, 59 I guess. Not 66.

🎶 I love to dance, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 I love to sing 🎶

"Goddamn it, Lenore," I groaned.

The faucet coughed a brackish black sludge before running clear as I tried to fill up my water bottle.

The coffee maker sang its little tune, producing a discordant harmony against the lilting song that filled the house.

🎶 When I am queen, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 You'll be my king. 🎶

I sat down on the couch and pulled the remote out from between two cushions. The picture flickered several times as the speakers barked little snippets of the channels flying by. If I cared to listen, I might have heard something coherent.

I slapped the remote against my thigh and cussed as coffee spilled everywhere.

"I swear to fucking..."

🎶 Who told me so, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 Who told me so? 🎶

🎶 I told myself, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 I told me so 🎶

"Damn it, Lenore," I groaned. A televangelist shouted from the screen. Something about the devil or temptation or the end of days.

"You don't like my singing?" she asked from behind me.

Right behind me.

I sighed. "No, it's not that, it's just..."

"I can stop if you hate it."

"It's not the singing. It's just, you know," I said, gesturing to the TV as a nearby lamp started to flicker. "It's the other stuff."

"Sorry," she said meekly. "Can't help it."

I looked up over my shoulder. She hung over me, looming tall and pale and too still, one wide, bright eye peering through a wet curtain of dark hair that hid the rest of her face from view.

"I know," I said. "I know. Sorry."

An icy hand laid itself on my shoulder with an affectionate squeeze.

How's that, dilly, dilly?

*******

She came with the house. Come to think of it, the bank had seemed a little too eager to be rid of the place.

"Great bones, Ethan, great bones," the broker had said. "You don't get old places with this much character in your price range, you know?"

Understatement of the fucking century.

"Seems like a bit of a fixer upper, no?"

"What's the matter, you afraid of a little elbow grease? Think about it, when's a guy like you ever gonna come across a deal this good, eh? Besides, just look at the square footage - you're not getting a shoebox for this price back in...where was it again?"

"Chicago," I replied, inspecting cobwebbed ceilings as I poked my head in and out of the bedrooms upstairs.

"Oh, Christ, yeah. See? Sign the offer, man, it's a hell of a deal. Trust me."

Rat faced son of a bitch.

It started almost immediately. Little stuff at first.

Faucets that refused to stop dripping. Smoke detectors that chirped in the night. A cupboard door left open. A window that wouldn't stay shut.

The creak of a floorboard as I'd drift off to sleep.

A shadow behind the curtains on a bright, sunny day.

A HOWLING FUCKING CACKLE IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT A KEENING WAIL FROM THE BASEMENT THAT FREEZES YOUR BLOOD A FRANTIC SCRATCH AT THE DOOR BEDSHEETS RIPPED OFF YOUR BODY WHILE YOU SLEEP DOORS THAT SLAMSLAMSLAMSLAMSLAMSL

*******

After two months, I was a haggard shell of myself.

When Kyle showed up, he had to let himself in. I had heard the doorbell ring, I just...yeah.

"You look terrible," he said with a concerned, nervous laugh. "What, uh...What's going on?"

"Oh," I said, coming down the stairs. "You know. Just new homeowner things."

He eyed the boards I'd nailed over the basement door with a skeptical eye. The hammer lay in a pile of nails I hadn't bothered to pick up. The rest of the place didn't look much better.

"Uh huh. Come on, let's grab dinner. I'll buy. You look like you need it."

How do you tell someone that your groceries rot in the fridge overnight? I had to tell someone. I tried to tell him.

"A woman?" he said. "Like, living there?"

"Not so much living," I said as I tore off a hunk of blooming onion.

He didn't say anything, just watched as I ate.

"Bud, I...I love ya. I do. You know that."

"Don't."

"You know that I have to."

"I'm fine."

"I know you are. I just..."

"I'm said I'm fine. You want me to piss in a cup?"

He leaned back into the booth heavily and stared me down.

"I promise."

"Okay. Okay, fine. Sorry, I..."

"I know. And I get it. Look, I do. I know what it looks like."

"I just promised your mom, you know, and then I show up and you've got, like, boards all over the place and you haven't slept, and...and that voicemail you left me. Dude, what the fuck was that?"

That wasn’t me.

"Yeah. I get it," I repeated. "I just...you'll see. She'll come."

He looked me up and down, unkempt and exhausted as I was, weighing what he'd seen against what he already expected. Evidently, he still had enough faith left in him to humour me one last time.

Later that night, we sat in the living room, side by side on my shitty couch in the dark with a bowl of cheese-o puffs between us. The TV lit the room as the Bills wasted another powerplay.

"I gotta hit the can," Kyle said, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

"'Kay," I replied placidly. "Just don't talk to her."

"What?"

"If you see her. Or anyone. It's not them."

He gave me another one of those looks. "Sure, no problem."

"I mean it," I repeated seriously as he turned to leave. "Don't even look at her."

"Right. I'll be careful."

To his credit, not all of his piss missed. Some ended up where it was supposed to.

He was still a sputtering wreck by the time I made it up the stairs. Luckily his head had missed the edge of the tub.

"Sh...she...I..."

I followed his wide-eyed stare as he trembled on the bathroom floor; the last traces of a splayed handprint faded on the vanity mirror. I sighed.

"Yeah," I replied. "That'd be her. Say 'hello' to Lenore."

Every door in the house slammed all at once and Kyle started to scream.

*******

There were rules, I came to learn, with Lenore.

First was not to talk to her. You could, and she'd talk back, but you really didn't want that.

"Join...us for a...trip to...hell and back," she'd sputter at me through the clock radio on my bedside table as it scanned through frequencies all on its own. I had to admit, she had a knack for cobbling commercials together to get her point across. She had this one she liked to do whenever the classic rock station played Crazy Train.

"Sorry, can't" I'd reply. "I'm all out of vacation time."

At which point she'd crank the knob all the way to the left to screech angrily until I sent the radio across the room. We played that game a few times.

Second, that's not her. And it's not who you think it is either. Don't believe your eyes.

The doorbell rang. I was in a good mood, so I went to open it.

"Baby? Hi! Oh my god, I can't believe it's really you!"

"This is a fun one," I replied to the creature wearing my ex-girlfriend's skin. "Where'd you dig this one up? My nightmares? You been through my photo albums again?"

It laughed in a decent mockery of Sara's bubbly, airheaded lilt. "What are you talking about? Oh, god, you're such a goof. Come on, it's me! I...I heard you had moved out here and I thought - Oh, what the hell. Let me in, Ethan. Please?"

I shrugged and gave it a smirk. "Nah, I'm good."

It looked wounded by my refusal, like Sara often had when I came home all fucked up again. "Baby, come on. It's...it's me. Look, I know I messed up, but we can still get this right. Just let me in, babe. Please?"

The pouty mask slipped just for a second as its patience ran out.

"Let me in the fucking house."

If she hadn't tried the same act with my dead grandmother literally last week, it might have gotten me. "Come on, dude," I said as I closed the door on a blustering, bristling version of Sara that started to drip water all over my porch as it phased out of reality. "The real Sara would know that I fucked us up. Not her."

Third, and this was the big one: Do not, under any fucking circumstances, give her what she wants.

I moved through the house with purpose, hauling rollers and pans and cans of colours called Indigo Harvest or Eggshell Cream along with me. Five months in and I hardly noticed her anymore.

The lump behind the curtain.

The shadow under the bathroom door.

The too-still darkness in the corner of an unlit room.

The second set of breath on the telephone.

The shape of something swirling in the steam after a hot shower.

The weight at the end of the mattress at night.

After a while, I just got good at tuning her out. This, of course, pissed her off to no end.

I set myself up in the dining room, ready to start laying down a coat of Avacado Ephemera. The drop cloth hung in the air too long as I shook it out, crowning in the middle as I let it fall once, twice more. I pretended not to see the toes disappear under the sheet as it settled.

I clicked another head onto my roller and sighed as the microwave in the kitchen started to hum.

“Knock it off,” I muttered.

The humming stopped. Then started again.

“Fine,” I relented. “Here, happy? Go nuts.”

I reached into my pocket and fished a bag of Scrabble tiles out, shaking the wooden pieces out onto the table.

I tried to ignore the sound of the letters rearranging themselves behind me as I turned to pour some paint into my pan.

“What’s this, eh?” I groaned as I rose slowly. “Let m…No, Lenore. I’m not letting you in. What does that even mean? Aren’t you already in? If you’re not ‘in’, how’d you back the sinks up last week, huh? Riddle me that.”

The tiles sorted themselves out as I painted. I looked back a few minutes later.

“Yeah, I know you’re Lenore - you scratched it into the wallpaper last month already, remember? Tell me something I don’t know.”

I wasn’t sure the colour would work. It was closer to baby poop than you wanted to stare at while you were eating.

T O U C H

Y O U

“Hard pass,” I muttered. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll…Hey!”

The windows slammed shut and the microwave beeped angrily.

“Ah, shit,” I complained as the Scrabble pieces leapt off the table all at once. “Look at the fucking mess, you…Whatever. Throw your fit, go on.”

A bedroom door slammed upstairs.

I told myself I’d collect the lettered tiles later, then forgot all about it and painted until my bed called. When I awoke the next morning, the little red bag of letters sat on the floor outside my bedroom. 6 of them framed the underside of the cloth pouch.

P L E A S E

*******

Something started to change. Lenore got quieter. More elusive. Weak.

I couldn't have known it at the time, but my indifference was starting to cost her deeply. It wasn't something I did on purpose, she just...didn't freak me out anymore. At a certain point, walking into the kitchen to find all the cutlery stuck in the ceiling just didn't hit the same. Aside from that, her darker attempts at shock just fell a little flat. I'd come a long way. I'd seen things. There was nothing she could say to me that I hadn't told myself six inches from the mirror a lifetime ago.

But she needed my fear. It kept her strong. When the tricks stopped working, my annoyance was enough to sustain her for a while. She definitely lost her edge a bit, but any attention seemed to suit her, so she changed tactics. When she'd grown too week for all-out shock and awe, little irritations produced just enough aggravation for her to feed off of.

So she'd squeeze all the toothpaste out of the tube.

Jerk every door open as soon as I reached for the knob.

Turn the lights on or off, depending on whether I wanted them off or on.

Just straight up yeeted the sandwich I was actively eating across the room.

But I had her figured out. I knew her secret.

She needed me.

The Fall came around and my water heater finally gave out. I had already been taking cold showers just so Lenore couldn't write shit in the foggy mirror, but the old heap still ran on radiators and I wasn't making it through a midwestern Winter without something to keep me warm. That meant, of course, a trip to the basement.

I was pretty sure she lived down there. Lived...whatever. You know what I mean. Haunted. Either way, I had learned early on that she seemed to be strongest in that dark, dank cellar. On very rare occasions, it was actually possible to catch glimpses of her down there; her pale hands slipping out of sight here and there, or the bright points of her eyes staring between boxes of shit I'd piled high.

Of course, all of that took energy that I just wasn't giving her anymore.

"Piece of shit," I grunted, cranking a pipe wrench around with a juddering screech. I felt around behind me for the can of WD-40 that I'd left just out of reach. "C'mere," I groaned as I stretched.

The can tipped over and rolled slowly towards my outstretched fingers. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, but also don't think too hard about it if the horse is dead and haunting your basement.

"Thanks," I muttered in spite of myself.

The pump was fucked, not to mention old and heavy. I wailed away on it, every bolt fighting me as I struggled to exorcize it over the course of the afternoon.

It was too dark to see what I was doing and I couldn't hold my flashlight at the right angle while I wrenched. My knuckles bled and my frustration started to boil over. Stupid motherfucking piece of...

The bare light fixture, nothing more than a socket with a pull-string, clicked behind me. The room remained dark.

"There's no bulb, stupid. You keep blowing them."

I tried to clamp my flashlight in my mouth and lean over the crusty old pump. The angle was better, but not great.

A small box slid itself off a shelf behind me.

Don't turn around. Don't acknowledge her. Don't give her what she wants.

Cardboard grated over bare concrete.

Don't look back.

Do not look back.

Breathe. Just ignore her.

She's not there. Two bolts to go.

Above and behind me, something squeaked as it turned.

Eek

eek eek

eek eek eek eek

eekeekeekeekeek.

Click.

The room flooded with light.

I held perfectly still, swallowing hard as I struggled not to have an emotional reaction of any kind. Addressing her had been a mistake, but I could still make this costly for her if I remained in control. No fear. No frustration. Nothing. In the words of Bruce Lee: Be water, my friend.

Then again, it was much easier to see what I was doing. What kind of amateur hour haunting was she up to, anyway? Oh wooooo, changing lightbulbs, soooo scary.

So I got back to work. One bolt to go.

"Come on, come on you little piece of..."

I patted around next to my knees as I felt for my hammer. One good knock ought to turn it loose. If I could just find the fucking...

Something hard slipped into my hand and my heart froze. I came paralyzingly close to gagging on my fear.

I turned my head, one inch at a time.

And screamed at the panting figure leaning next to me, still holding the other end of my hammer in a pale, shaky hand. She opened her mouth to scream back before bursting into bright points of incandescent nothing.

The lightbulb exploded and the world went dark as my head cracked off the side of the boiler.

*******

We struck a bargain. Not verbally, but an informal sort of arrangement that worked for both of us. The egg on my head was still tender, but I couldn't afford to dump the place - compromise was the only way forward. So I took a chance.

"You wanna play ball?" I muttered to myself as I unloaded five boxes of lightbulbs from a grocery bag. "We can play ball."

She manifested long enough to get three of them changed while I slept. I allowed myself to feel gratitude for her effort. By the time I came down from my makeshift office to microwave a frozen burrito for lunch, she'd finished the first floor. The bits and scraps of all the ones she'd shattered in the last six months sat in a neat pile on the kitchen table.

"Thank you," I said aloud. For all the work I'd done to numb myself to her, I admitted to myself that it was more than a little freaky. I shivered and laughed nervously; I supposed it didn't hurt to give her a scrap of the good stuff. "Here," I told her. "Go nuts."

I had taken to leaving the little red bag of tiles in my car for a few weeks so she couldn't get to them, but fair's fair. When I came down after work, all the boxes of new bulbs were empty and she'd saved up just enough energy for a messy looking

T H A N K S

*******

It worked. It wasn't perfect, but it worked. She got the point, and we managed to settle into an easy-ish arrangement.

She'd stop trying to scare me to literal death, and in return I'd ... regard her.

Not a bad trade-off. At a certain point, I don't think she could deny her nature entirely - she still had a habit of making things go bump in the night. All that considered though, she wasn't bad company. A bit needy, but not bad.

I laid out on the couch a few weeks later, a good book in my hand as Saturday slipped away. Abruptly, the TV turned itself on.

"Hey, no. Uh uh, no pay-per-view," I chided as the rentals menu popped up. "Netflix only, got it?"

She complied, but I could tell she wasn't thrilled about it. I could feel her irritation in my teeth.

N O T E B

I watched as the letters typed themselves into the search bar.

"Again? How many times have you watched this?"

O O K

I sighed. "Just keep the volume down, alright? I'm trying to read."

The cushion at the other end of the sofa sank with a groan as Noah and Allie began playing out their generational love story. I'd never admit it, but it's not a terrible movie. I didn't need to be seeing it for a third time that week, but it's not bad. And Rachel McAdams is a timeless beauty.

"What do you want?" shouted prime-Gosling. "What the hell do you want?"

"Can you turn it down a bit?" I asked Lenore without looking up from my book. "It's a little loud."

She responded by pausing the movie and swatting the paperback out of my hand petulantly.

"Hey!"

The Scrabble letters started to scramble on the coffee table.

FA VOU RITE P A RT

"Sorry," I said. "I know."

W A T CH MITH M E

I turned her misplaced M upside down for her with a sigh. "Alright. Go ahead. I'm watching."

P R O M I S E

"Yes, I promise."

And I did, right up until my eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.

I awoke early Sunday morning with a blanket draped mostly over me.

*******

It simply wasn't enough for her. By intensity or volume or whatever quality of emotion she fed on, the little bit I was giving her in the absence of terror wasn't working. She was starving. As fucked up as it might sound after the hell she'd put me through, I actually felt bad. I wanted to help, I just didn't know how.

She had an idea though.

Snow built up on my bedroom windowsill as I rolled over on a late-January morning. The house was still and all was quiet. I blinked the world into focus and yawned deeply. Maybe I'd head into town for breakfast. Maybe I'd lay here and call it lunch.

She shifted in the ensuite washroom.

"Lenny?" I said sleepily. "What are you..."

The shower started with a bang of noisy pipes.

"I'm comfy," I complained, assuming she was trying to elicit some gratitude by helping me get my day going. "Thank you though."

The faucet squeaked off and something heavy flopped out of the tub with a wet smack. I stared blearily as a sodden bedsheet dragged itself across the floor. The wet trail might have annoyed me, but I was too curious to let it bother me.

Slowly sheet same to rest in front of an old armchair that I'd thoughtlessly shoved into the corner of the room; the old frame groaned in protest as she settled into it.

"Lenore," I breathed.

The sheet drew itself off the floor slowly, sliding upwards as it filled out with the form beneath it. Wet cloth draped and clung to the shape of the woman who spent every ounce of herself to affect this latest hungry stunt.

But what a shape it was.

The water helped keep the soggy sheet in place as she smoothed it over herself, giving a shockingly detailed impression of the body she manifested. I'd caught little glances of her here and there, but nothing that had ever given me the faintest clue about...this.

"Is...is that you?"

The head-shaped lump of bedsheet nodded.

"God, Lenore...I - You're lovely."

Lovely. The spirit-cum-roommate I'd spent months trying to negotiate with was more than lovely. Even as little more than a silent, rubenesque statue dripping all over my floor, the body she sacrificed so much to show me was a wonder. Soft swells and enticing curves rose and fell with the breaths I didn't know she needed to draw. I admired her openly, and she drew on the offered lust.

Soft impressions of invisible fingers squeezed at her chest, wringing cold water out of the sheet as she squeezed. My alarm clock abruptly barked a shocking EVERYTIME WE TOUCH I GET THIS FEELING before chocking back out again.

"You...What?" I asked as I sat up with my eyes glued on the confusingly arousing scene unfolding in the corner of my room.

PUSH ME AND THEN JUST TOUCH ME

TILL I CAN GET MY

SATISFACTION

I looked from the radio back to the sheet-Lenore. The shape of her knee drew up over the edge of the chair - her cover tented poorly over her lap, but her intention was obvious.

As was the faint moan.

She was...touching herself?

"Jesus," I gasped. "That's...are you - Lenore, are you..."

A bundle that I assumed to be her fist pumped up and down once under the fabric glued to her chest.

"What the fuck," I breathed.

Her pL...e*^(ea)********a....ssss*^(SsSe)eee... sighed through the room.

"Did you just...was that you? Lenore, was that you?"

The figure nodded. My heart raced as I tried to feel everything I could; the confusion, the panic, the tepid fear, the unsettled arousal.

The stiff heat building between my thighs.

"Okay," I gulped. "Okay, uh, here."

I drew the covers off myself, wincing at the cold air as it washed over my body. Even as a wet blanket shaped as a a woman, Lenore's offering was enough. I imagined that she was soft. Tender. I imagined my hands on her body. I pictured my lips on her skin. I wished for her hands in place of my own.

It took some imagination, and more than a little willful ignorance not to think about what I was doing, but the stiff points of her nipples and the playful pouch of her soft tummy were enough. Laugh if you want, but it had been a long few months. Lenore was enough.

And I was giving her plenty to feast on. So much, in fact, that I spied a few gray, wriggling toes curling at the hem of the sheet that hung over the chair's arm. In a few minutes, I heard her drawing sharp, raspy breaths. As I stroked, admired, thirsted, she grew stronger. She moaned. She writhed. She spoke.

"M...more," she croaked. "G-give mmmmeee...more."

"F-fuck," I gasped, massaging my stiff prick for her. Months of life as a haunted shut-in had me on a hair-trigger already, even if my muse was little more than a moaning impression of the hungry specter I'd inherited.

"C-c-cummmm," she implored. "C...cum fffff-formm...meee."

All in all, you know what? No, not my proudest. But definitely one of my hardest.

I broke rule number three and gave her what she wanted. This time it really was her, and she'd asked so nicely.

*******

As it turns out, lust and fear are pretty much interchangeable when it comes to ghost food. Food? I don't know. Food.

Lenore was eating good. She liked doing what she could to get me riled up - smeared handprints on bathroom mirrors became the impressions of her buxom tits, or the impressions of dewy lips left on the seat of a chair just for me. When she could manage it, she'd coalesce just enough of herself to be a third and fourth hand in the shower when the steam was hot and the soap all sudsy. Eventually, she worked out how to be more. We were never the same after that. I wasn't, anyway.

"Len?" I whispered into the darkness. "It's late, I've got work tomorrow."

"Come on," she moaned from somewhere and everywhere. "One more?"

I groaned. "I honestly don't even think I can. We did it all afternoon. There's...chaffing."

"I told you to buy some lotion," she complained, materializing out of the murk at the foot of the bed. The sheer gossamer gown she seemed to default into hung over her shapely body like dead weight, like the heavy curtain of dark hair that blocked her face from view when she was feeling particularly petulant. "Come on, just one more? For me?"

I sighed. "The things I do for you," I complained unconvincingly.

What I could see of her lips twitched into a smile. "Good boy."

"Are you joining me?" I asked as I tried to revive my aggrieved meat.

She shrugged. "How adventurous are you feeling?"

"Uhh, not...adventurous?"

"You sure?" she asked as she faded back into the shadows. "Because I'm feeling pretty strong right now."

"Hey, where'd you..."

A lump rose in the duvet between my legs, filling out from the foot of the bed with an unnerving slither. I pulled the blanket up and found her looking up at me from between my legs - even when you know she's going to be there, it's still not something you get used to.

"I think I could touch you," she said in a low voice, licking her lips just inches from my rousing cock. "If you let me."

"You...Can you? I didn't think..."

"You have to let me in," she said, rushing on as I hesitated. "You don't have to! I get it. I just...I thought you might."

It was hard to forget all the times she'd stood at my windows or facing me through my mirrors demanding to be 'let in.'

"What'll happen to me?"

She nibbled her lip. "I, uh...I don't know. Honestly. I just have to ask. You have to give me permission. You have to want it."

"You don't know?"

"Look, this doesn't exactly come with a handbook, okay?"

"No, I - I know."

She grinned playfully and flicked a tongue that was too long and too not-flesh-coloured towards my improbably swelling dick. "We don't have to. It's okay, I understand. I won't like, freak out or anyth..."

"No," I cut her off. "I...Let's do it. You can - You can come...in?"

Her face lit up. Something, some immutable, unknowable, just-on-the-edge-of-reality thing gasped into the air as Lenore sighed a long, satisfied breath. For my part, the only thing I noticed was a complete, honest lack of anything remotely like fear as I looked at her. Maybe I'd find out later that I had damned my eternal soul or sold myself to the devil, but the look on her face as she reached a cold, clammy hand up towards my cock was...Well, it was all worth it I figured.

"OhHhHhH, f-fu-fucking SHIT," she panted as I pounded her meaty ass into the mattress an hour later still. "Your c-cock is s..so f-fucking...hot! Fuck me - Ah! - fuck me harder! C-come on! That's...that's so good! Come on, fuck that cold, dead pussy motherfucker! You like that? Yeah? You like burying yourself all up in this rotten cunt?"

For someone who fell down the decommissioned well in my backyard in 1862, she'd picked up a shocking vocabulary.

And yes, ghost pussy feels un-fucking-real.

"You're gonna be...so fucking...insufferable after...this," I panted as I pumped her. She was wet, but not in the way you'd immediately accept. It wasn't the 'Oh yeah, she's so turned on' wet that you get with a real girl. It was more of that 'weird, slimy, don't think about it' wet, like when you have to reach into the sink of dishes you left soaking overnight to pull the plug.

Lenore cackled as I rutted her out, grunting as I hammered into her. My hands held fast around her dense hips, her rippling masses of spoiled flesh smacking against mine like any other flesh-and-blood ass cheeks would.

"Promise me," she panted, "that y-you'll fu - FUCK! - me like t...this alll...the...time!"

I took a fistful of her hair, a wad not unlike the ones I used to fish out of the shower drain when Sara's would back our pipes up. Lenore squealed with joy as I wrenched her head back.

"I let you...In," I grunted in her ear. "You're stuck with...me now."

"Ahhh! Yes! YES! FUCK, BABE, YES!"

That night was more of that. A lot more of that. And if you think begging me to dump my cum in her grave-cold holes sounds foul, I won't bother repeating some of the actually-reprehensible shit she gargled around my balls either. I don't even think they'd invented facefucking when she was still alive, but my Lenore was nothing if not creative.

And honestly? I kinda love that about her. Sure, I'm still getting used to finding her staring back at me in the glass of the microwave door, and she does attract like WAY more spiders than I'll ever be okay with, but being her dilly, dilly isn't half bad. No, fuck that - it's fucking amazing.

I mean, she is what she is. I know she can't help her nature, and I wouldn't hold any of it against her. She might never figure out how to stop popping the lightbulbs when she's grumpy, or letting out the odd blood-curdling scream in the middle of the night, but have you ever tried the throat of someone who hasn't needed to breath in like 200 years? No?

Spare me your pity then. We're gonna be together forever.

She told me so, dilly, dilly.

Less sexy, more wordy, still something that I had tremendous fun with. This was loosely inspired by a really fun little album of images by nia4294, which you can check out here - it's a pretty loose association, but their work really got my gears turning on a piece that had been rotting in drafts for almost a full year now.

*******

Waking up alone never bothered me.

Half past six. Saturday.

Her voice floated through the house.

🎶 If you love me, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 I will love you 🎶

Teeth brushed, face washed, floss neglected, I shuffled down the stairs.

🎶 Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 And the lambs play 🎶

The coffee maker sputtered and choked noisily, flooding the room with that heady promise of a swift kick in the ass. I thumbed through the news on my phone while I waited.

🎶 We shall be safe, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 out of harm's way 🎶

The clock on the oven, a temperamental piece of shit, flickered in that irritating way again, briefly showing a time that it shouldn't. It had the hour right, but there's only supposed to be 60 minutes at most after than. Well, 59 I guess. Not 66.

🎶 I love to dance, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 I love to sing 🎶

"Goddamn it, Lenore," I groaned.

The faucet coughed a brackish black sludge before running clear as I tried to fill up my water bottle.

The coffee maker sang its little tune, producing a discordant harmony against the lilting song that filled the house.

🎶 When I am queen, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 You'll be my king. 🎶

I sat down on the couch and pulled the remote out from between two cushions. The picture flickered several times as the speakers barked little snippets of the channels flying by. If I cared to listen, I might have heard something coherent.

I slapped the remote against my thigh and cussed as coffee spilled everywhere.

"I swear to fucking..."

🎶 Who told me so, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 Who told me so? 🎶

🎶 I told myself, dilly, dilly, 🎶

🎶 I told me so 🎶

"Damn it, Lenore," I groaned. A televangelist shouted from the screen. Something about the devil or temptation or the end of days.

"You don't like my singing?" she asked from behind me.

Right behind me.

I sighed. "No, it's not that, it's just..."

"I can stop if you hate it."

"It's not the singing. It's just, you know," I said, gesturing to the TV as a nearby lamp started to flicker. "It's the other stuff."

"Sorry," she said meekly. "Can't help it."

I looked up over my shoulder. She hung over me, looming tall and pale and too still, one wide, bright eye peering through a wet curtain of dark hair that hid the rest of her face from view.

"I know," I said. "I know. Sorry."

An icy hand laid itself on my shoulder with an affectionate squeeze.

How's that, dilly, dilly?

*******

She came with the house. Come to think of it, the bank had seemed a little too eager to be rid of the place.

"Great bones, Ethan, great bones," the broker had said. "You don't get old places with this much character in your price range, you know?"

Understatement of the fucking century.

"Seems like a bit of a fixer upper, no?"

"What's the matter, you afraid of a little elbow grease? Think about it, when's a guy like you ever gonna come across a deal this good, eh? Besides, just look at the square footage - you're not getting a shoebox for this price back in...where was it again?"

"Chicago," I replied, inspecting cobwebbed ceilings as I poked my head in and out of the bedrooms upstairs.

"Oh, Christ, yeah. See? Sign the offer, man, it's a hell of a deal. Trust me."

Rat faced son of a bitch.

It started almost immediately. Little stuff at first.

Faucets that refused to stop dripping. Smoke detectors that chirped in the night. A cupboard door left open. A window that wouldn't stay shut.

The creak of a floorboard as I'd drift off to sleep.

A shadow behind the curtains on a bright, sunny day.

A HOWLING FUCKING CACKLE IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT A KEENING WAIL FROM THE BASEMENT THAT FREEZES YOUR BLOOD A FRANTIC SCRATCH AT THE DOOR BEDSHEETS RIPPED OFF YOUR BODY WHILE YOU SLEEP DOORS THAT SLAMSLAMSLAMSLAMSLAMSL

*******

After two months, I was a haggard shell of myself.

When Kyle showed up, he had to let himself in. I had heard the doorbell ring, I just...yeah.

"You look terrible," he said with a concerned, nervous laugh. "What, uh...What's going on?"

"Oh," I said, coming down the stairs. "You know. Just new homeowner things."

He eyed the boards I'd nailed over the basement door with a skeptical eye. The hammer lay in a pile of nails I hadn't bothered to pick up. The rest of the place didn't look much better.

"Uh huh. Come on, let's grab dinner. I'll buy. You look like you need it."

How do you tell someone that your groceries rot in the fridge overnight? I had to tell someone. I tried to tell him.

"A woman?" he said. "Like, living there?"

"Not so much living," I said as I tore off a hunk of blooming onion.

He didn't say anything, just watched as I ate.

"Bud, I...I love ya. I do. You know that."

"Don't."

"You know that I have to."

"I'm fine."

"I know you are. I just..."

"I'm said I'm fine. You want me to piss in a cup?"

He leaned back into the booth heavily and stared me down.

"I promise."

"Okay. Okay, fine. Sorry, I..."

"I know. And I get it. Look, I do. I know what it looks like."

"I just promised your mom, you know, and then I show up and you've got, like, boards all over the place and you haven't slept, and...and that voicemail you left me. Dude, what the fuck was that?"

That wasn’t me.

"Yeah. I get it," I repeated. "I just...you'll see. She'll come."

He looked me up and down, unkempt and exhausted as I was, weighing what he'd seen against what he already expected. Evidently, he still had enough faith left in him to humour me one last time.

Later that night, we sat in the living room, side by side on my shitty couch in the dark with a bowl of cheese-o puffs between us. The TV lit the room as the Bills wasted another powerplay.

"I gotta hit the can," Kyle said, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

"'Kay," I replied placidly. "Just don't talk to her."

"What?"

"If you see her. Or anyone. It's not them."

He gave me another one of those looks. "Sure, no problem."

"I mean it," I repeated seriously as he turned to leave. "Don't even look at her."

"Right. I'll be careful."

To his credit, not all of his piss missed. Some ended up where it was supposed to.

He was still a sputtering wreck by the time I made it up the stairs. Luckily his head had missed the edge of the tub.

"Sh...she...I..."

I followed his wide-eyed stare as he trembled on the bathroom floor; the last traces of a splayed handprint faded on the vanity mirror. I sighed.

"Yeah," I replied. "That'd be her. Say 'hello' to Lenore."

Every door in the house slammed all at once and Kyle started to scream.

*******

There were rules, I came to learn, with Lenore.

First was not to talk to her. You could, and she'd talk back, but you really didn't want that.

"Join...us for a...trip to...hell and back," she'd sputter at me through the clock radio on my bedside table as it scanned through frequencies all on its own. I had to admit, she had a knack for cobbling commercials together to get her point across. She had this one she liked to do whenever the classic rock station played Crazy Train.

"Sorry, can't" I'd reply. "I'm all out of vacation time."

At which point she'd crank the knob all the way to the left to screech angrily until I sent the radio across the room. We played that game a few times.

Second, that's not her. And it's not who you think it is either. Don't believe your eyes.

The doorbell rang. I was in a good mood, so I went to open it.

"Baby? Hi! Oh my god, I can't believe it's really you!"

"This is a fun one," I replied to the creature wearing my ex-girlfriend's skin. "Where'd you dig this one up? My nightmares? You been through my photo albums again?"

It laughed in a decent mockery of Sara's bubbly, airheaded lilt. "What are you talking about? Oh, god, you're such a goof. Come on, it's me! I...I heard you had moved out here and I thought - Oh, what the hell. Let me in, Ethan. Please?"

I shrugged and gave it a smirk. "Nah, I'm good."

It looked wounded by my refusal, like Sara often had when I came home all fucked up again. "Baby, come on. It's...it's me. Look, I know I messed up, but we can still get this right. Just let me in, babe. Please?"

The pouty mask slipped just for a second as its patience ran out.

"Let me in the fucking house."

If she hadn't tried the same act with my dead grandmother literally last week, it might have gotten me. "Come on, dude," I said as I closed the door on a blustering, bristling version of Sara that started to drip water all over my porch as it phased out of reality. "The real Sara would know that I fucked us up. Not her."

Third, and this was the big one: Do not, under any fucking circumstances, give her what she wants.

I moved through the house with purpose, hauling rollers and pans and cans of colours called Indigo Harvest or Eggshell Cream along with me. Five months in and I hardly noticed her anymore.

The lump behind the curtain.

The shadow under the bathroom door.

The too-still darkness in the corner of an unlit room.

The second set of breath on the telephone.

The shape of something swirling in the steam after a hot shower.

The weight at the end of the mattress at night.

After a while, I just got good at tuning her out. This, of course, pissed her off to no end.

I set myself up in the dining room, ready to start laying down a coat of Avacado Ephemera. The drop cloth hung in the air too long as I shook it out, crowning in the middle as I let it fall once, twice more. I pretended not to see the toes disappear under the sheet as it settled.

I clicked another head onto my roller and sighed as the microwave in the kitchen started to hum.

“Knock it off,” I muttered.

The humming stopped. Then started again.

“Fine,” I relented. “Here, happy? Go nuts.”

I reached into my pocket and fished a bag of Scrabble tiles out, shaking the wooden pieces out onto the table.

I tried to ignore the sound of the letters rearranging themselves behind me as I turned to pour some paint into my pan.

“What’s this, eh?” I groaned as I rose slowly. “Let m…No, Lenore. I’m not letting you in. What does that even mean? Aren’t you already in? If you’re not ‘in’, how’d you back the sinks up last week, huh? Riddle me that.”

The tiles sorted themselves out as I painted. I looked back a few minutes later.

“Yeah, I know you’re Lenore - you scratched it into the wallpaper last month already, remember? Tell me something I don’t know.”

I wasn’t sure the colour would work. It was closer to baby poop than you wanted to stare at while you were eating.

T O U C H

Y O U

“Hard pass,” I muttered. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll…Hey!”

The windows slammed shut and the microwave beeped angrily.

“Ah, shit,” I complained as the Scrabble pieces leapt off the table all at once. “Look at the fucking mess, you…Whatever. Throw your fit, go on.”

A bedroom door slammed upstairs.

I told myself I’d collect the lettered tiles later, then forgot all about it and painted until my bed called. When I awoke the next morning, the little red bag of letters sat on the floor outside my bedroom. 6 of them framed the underside of the cloth pouch.

P L E A S E

*******

Something started to change. Lenore got quieter. More elusive. Weak.

I couldn't have known it at the time, but my indifference was starting to cost her deeply. It wasn't something I did on purpose, she just...didn't freak me out anymore. At a certain point, walking into the kitchen to find all the cutlery stuck in the ceiling just didn't hit the same. Aside from that, her darker attempts at shock just fell a little flat. I'd come a long way. I'd seen things. There was nothing she could say to me that I hadn't told myself six inches from the mirror a lifetime ago.

But she needed my fear. It kept her strong. When the tricks stopped working, my annoyance was enough to sustain her for a while. She definitely lost her edge a bit, but any attention seemed to suit her, so she changed tactics. When she'd grown too week for all-out shock and awe, little irritations produced just enough aggravation for her to feed off of.

So she'd squeeze all the toothpaste out of the tube.

Jerk every door open as soon as I reached for the knob.

Turn the lights on or off, depending on whether I wanted them off or on.

Just straight up yeeted the sandwich I was actively eating across the room.

But I had her figured out. I knew her secret.

She needed me.

The Fall came around and my water heater finally gave out. I had already been taking cold showers just so Lenore couldn't write shit in the foggy mirror, but the old heap still ran on radiators and I wasn't making it through a midwestern Winter without something to keep me warm. That meant, of course, a trip to the basement.

I was pretty sure she lived down there. Lived...whatever. You know what I mean. Haunted. Either way, I had learned early on that she seemed to be strongest in that dark, dank cellar. On very rare occasions, it was actually possible to catch glimpses of her down there; her pale hands slipping out of sight here and there, or the bright points of her eyes staring between boxes of shit I'd piled high.

Of course, all of that took energy that I just wasn't giving her anymore.

"Piece of shit," I grunted, cranking a pipe wrench around with a juddering screech. I felt around behind me for the can of WD-40 that I'd left just out of reach. "C'mere," I groaned as I stretched.

The can tipped over and rolled slowly towards my outstretched fingers. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, but also don't think too hard about it if the horse is dead and haunting your basement.

"Thanks," I muttered in spite of myself.

The pump was fucked, not to mention old and heavy. I wailed away on it, every bolt fighting me as I struggled to exorcize it over the course of the afternoon.

It was too dark to see what I was doing and I couldn't hold my flashlight at the right angle while I wrenched. My knuckles bled and my frustration started to boil over. Stupid motherfucking piece of...

The bare light fixture, nothing more than a socket with a pull-string, clicked behind me. The room remained dark.

"There's no bulb, stupid. You keep blowing them."

I tried to clamp my flashlight in my mouth and lean over the crusty old pump. The angle was better, but not great.

A small box slid itself off a shelf behind me.

Don't turn around. Don't acknowledge her. Don't give her what she wants.

Cardboard grated over bare concrete.

Don't look back.

Do not look back.

Breathe. Just ignore her.

She's not there. Two bolts to go.

Above and behind me, something squeaked as it turned.

Eek

eek eek

eek eek eek eek

eekeekeekeekeek.

Click.

The room flooded with light.

I held perfectly still, swallowing hard as I struggled not to have an emotional reaction of any kind. Addressing her had been a mistake, but I could still make this costly for her if I remained in control. No fear. No frustration. Nothing. In the words of Bruce Lee: Be water, my friend.

Then again, it was much easier to see what I was doing. What kind of amateur hour haunting was she up to, anyway? Oh wooooo, changing lightbulbs, soooo scary.

So I got back to work. One bolt to go.

"Come on, come on you little piece of..."

I patted around next to my knees as I felt for my hammer. One good knock ought to turn it loose. If I could just find the fucking...

Something hard slipped into my hand and my heart froze. I came paralyzingly close to gagging on my fear.

I turned my head, one inch at a time.

And screamed at the panting figure leaning next to me, still holding the other end of my hammer in a pale, shaky hand. She opened her mouth to scream back before bursting into bright points of incandescent nothing.

The lightbulb exploded and the world went dark as my head cracked off the side of the boiler.

*******

We struck a bargain. Not verbally, but an informal sort of arrangement that worked for both of us. The egg on my head was still tender, but I couldn't afford to dump the place - compromise was the only way forward. So I took a chance.

"You wanna play ball?" I muttered to myself as I unloaded five boxes of lightbulbs from a grocery bag. "We can play ball."

She manifested long enough to get three of them changed while I slept. I allowed myself to feel gratitude for her effort. By the time I came down from my makeshift office to microwave a frozen burrito for lunch, she'd finished the first floor. The bits and scraps of all the ones she'd shattered in the last six months sat in a neat pile on the kitchen table.

"Thank you," I said aloud. For all the work I'd done to numb myself to her, I admitted to myself that it was more than a little freaky. I shivered and laughed nervously; I supposed it didn't hurt to give her a scrap of the good stuff. "Here," I told her. "Go nuts."

I had taken to leaving the little red bag of tiles in my car for a few weeks so she couldn't get to them, but fair's fair. When I came down after work, all the boxes of new bulbs were empty and she'd saved up just enough energy for a messy looking

T H A N K S

*******

It worked. It wasn't perfect, but it worked. She got the point, and we managed to settle into an easy-ish arrangement.

She'd stop trying to scare me to literal death, and in return I'd ... regard her.

Not a bad trade-off. At a certain point, I don't think she could deny her nature entirely - she still had a habit of making things go bump in the night. All that considered though, she wasn't bad company. A bit needy, but not bad.

I laid out on the couch a few weeks later, a good book in my hand as Saturday slipped away. Abruptly, the TV turned itself on.

"Hey, no. Uh uh, no pay-per-view," I chided as the rentals menu popped up. "Netflix only, got it?"

She complied, but I could tell she wasn't thrilled about it. I could feel her irritation in my teeth.

N O T E B

I watched as the letters typed themselves into the search bar.

"Again? How many times have you watched this?"

O O K

I sighed. "Just keep the volume down, alright? I'm trying to read."

The cushion at the other end of the sofa sank with a groan as Noah and Allie began playing out their generational love story. I'd never admit it, but it's not a terrible movie. I didn't need to be seeing it for a third time that week, but it's not bad. And Rachel McAdams is a timeless beauty.

"What do you want?" shouted prime-Gosling. "What the hell do you want?"

"Can you turn it down a bit?" I asked Lenore without looking up from my book. "It's a little loud."

She responded by pausing the movie and swatting the paperback out of my hand petulantly.

"Hey!"

The Scrabble letters started to scramble on the coffee table.

FA VOU RITE P A RT

"Sorry," I said. "I know."

W A T CH MITH M E

I turned her misplaced M upside down for her with a sigh. "Alright. Go ahead. I'm watching."

P R O M I S E

"Yes, I promise."

And I did, right up until my eyelids grew too heavy to keep open.

I awoke early Sunday morning with a blanket draped mostly over me.

*******

It simply wasn't enough for her. By intensity or volume or whatever quality of emotion she fed on, the little bit I was giving her in the absence of terror wasn't working. She was starving. As fucked up as it might sound after the hell she'd put me through, I actually felt bad. I wanted to help, I just didn't know how.

She had an idea though.

Snow built up on my bedroom windowsill as I rolled over on a late-January morning. The house was still and all was quiet. I blinked the world into focus and yawned deeply. Maybe I'd head into town for breakfast. Maybe I'd lay here and call it lunch.

She shifted in the ensuite washroom.

"Lenny?" I said sleepily. "What are you..."

The shower started with a bang of noisy pipes.

"I'm comfy," I complained, assuming she was trying to elicit some gratitude by helping me get my day going. "Thank you though."

The faucet squeaked off and something heavy flopped out of the tub with a wet smack. I stared blearily as a sodden bedsheet dragged itself across the floor. The wet trail might have annoyed me, but I was too curious to let it bother me.

Slowly sheet same to rest in front of an old armchair that I'd thoughtlessly shoved into the corner of the room; the old frame groaned in protest as she settled into it.

"Lenore," I breathed.

The sheet drew itself off the floor slowly, sliding upwards as it filled out with the form beneath it. Wet cloth draped and clung to the shape of the woman who spent every ounce of herself to affect this latest hungry stunt.

But what a shape it was.

The water helped keep the soggy sheet in place as she smoothed it over herself, giving a shockingly detailed impression of the body she manifested. I'd caught little glances of her here and there, but nothing that had ever given me the faintest clue about...this.

"Is...is that you?"

The head-shaped lump of bedsheet nodded.

"God, Lenore...I - You're lovely."

Lovely. The spirit-cum-roommate I'd spent months trying to negotiate with was more than lovely. Even as little more than a silent, rubenesque statue dripping all over my floor, the body she sacrificed so much to show me was a wonder. Soft swells and enticing curves rose and fell with the breaths I didn't know she needed to draw. I admired her openly, and she drew on the offered lust.

Soft impressions of invisible fingers squeezed at her chest, wringing cold water out of the sheet as she squeezed. My alarm clock abruptly barked a shocking EVERYTIME WE TOUCH I GET THIS FEELING before chocking back out again.

"You...What?" I asked as I sat up with my eyes glued on the confusingly arousing scene unfolding in the corner of my room.

PUSH ME AND THEN JUST TOUCH ME

TILL I CAN GET MY

SATISFACTION

I looked from the radio back to the sheet-Lenore. The shape of her knee drew up over the edge of the chair - her cover tented poorly over her lap, but her intention was obvious.

As was the faint moan.

She was...touching herself?

"Jesus," I gasped. "That's...are you - Lenore, are you..."

A bundle that I assumed to be her fist pumped up and down once under the fabric glued to her chest.

"What the fuck," I breathed.

Her pL...e*^(ea)******a....ssss*^(SsSe)eee... sighed through the room.

"Did you just...was that you? Lenore, was that you?"

The figure nodded. My heart raced as I tried to feel everything I could; the confusion, the panic, the tepid fear, the unsettled arousal.

The stiff heat building between my thighs.

"Okay," I gulped. "Okay, uh, here."

I drew the covers off myself, wincing at the cold air as it washed over my body. Even as a wet blanket shaped as a a woman, Lenore's offering was enough. I imagined that she was soft. Tender. I imagined my hands on her body. I pictured my lips on her skin. I wished for her hands in place of my own.

It took some imagination, and more than a little willful ignorance not to think about what I was doing, but the stiff points of her nipples and the playful pouch of her soft tummy were enough. Laugh if you want, but it had been a long few months. Lenore was enough.

And I was giving her plenty to feast on. So much, in fact, that I spied a few gray, wriggling toes curling at the hem of the sheet that hung over the chair's arm. In a few minutes, I heard her drawing sharp, raspy breaths. As I stroked, admired, thirsted, she grew stronger. She moaned. She writhed. She spoke.

"M...more," she croaked. "G-give mmmmeee...more."

"F-fuck," I gasped, massaging my stiff prick for her. Months of life as a haunted shut-in had me on a hair-trigger already, even if my muse was little more than a moaning impression of the hungry specter I'd inherited.

"C-c-cummmm," she implored. "C...cum fffff-formm...meee."

All in all, you know what? No, not my proudest. But definitely one of my hardest.

I broke rule number three and gave her what she wanted. This time it really was her, and she'd asked so nicely.

*******

As it turns out, lust and fear are pretty much interchangeable when it comes to ghost food. Food? I don't know. Food.

Lenore was eating good. She liked doing what she could to get me riled up - smeared handprints on bathroom mirrors became the impressions of her buxom tits, or the impressions of dewy lips left on the seat of a chair just for me. When she could manage it, she'd coalesce just enough of herself to be a third and fourth hand in the shower when the steam was hot and the soap all sudsy. Eventually, she worked out how to be more. We were never the same after that. I wasn't, anyway.

"Len?" I whispered into the darkness. "It's late, I've got work tomorrow."

"Come on," she moaned from somewhere and everywhere. "One more?"

I groaned. "I honestly don't even think I can. We did it all afternoon. There's...chaffing."

"I told you to buy some lotion," she complained, materializing out of the murk at the foot of the bed. The sheer gossamer gown she seemed to default into hung over her shapely body like dead weight, like the heavy curtain of dark hair that blocked her face from view when she was feeling particularly petulant. "Come on, just one more? For me?"

I sighed. "The things I do for you," I complained unconvincingly.

What I could see of her lips twitched into a smile. "Good boy."

"Are you joining me?" I asked as I tried to revive my aggrieved meat.

She shrugged. "How adventurous are you feeling?"

"Uhh, not...adventurous?"

"You sure?" she asked as she faded back into the shadows. "Because I'm feeling pretty strong right now."

"Hey, where'd you..."

A lump rose in the duvet between my legs, filling out from the foot of the bed with an unnerving slither. I pulled the blanket up and found her looking up at me from between my legs - even when you know she's going to be there, it's still not something you get used to.

"I think I could touch you," she said in a low voice, licking her lips just inches from my rousing cock. "If you let me."

"You...Can you? I didn't think..."

"You have to let me in," she said, rushing on as I hesitated. "You don't have to! I get it. I just...I thought you might."

It was hard to forget all the times she'd stood at my windows or facing me through my mirrors demanding to be 'let in.'

"What'll happen to me?"

She nibbled her lip. "I, uh...I don't know. Honestly. I just have to ask. You have to give me permission. You have to want it."

"You don't know?"

"Look, this doesn't exactly come with a handbook, okay?"

"No, I - I know."

She grinned playfully and flicked a tongue that was too long and too not-flesh-coloured towards my improbably swelling dick. "We don't have to. It's okay, I understand. I won't like, freak out or anyth..."

"No," I cut her off. "I...Let's do it. You can - You can come...in?"

Her face lit up. Something, some immutable, unknowable, just-on-the-edge-of-reality thing gasped into the air as Lenore sighed a long, satisfied breath. For my part, the only thing I noticed was a complete, honest lack of anything remotely like fear as I looked at her. Maybe I'd find out later that I had damned my eternal soul or sold myself to the devil, but the look on her face as she reached a cold, clammy hand up towards my cock was...Well, it was all worth it I figured.

"OhHhHhH, f-fu-fucking SHIT," she panted as I pounded her meaty ass into the mattress an hour later still. "Your c-cock is s..so f-fucking...hot! Fuck me - Ah! - fuck me harder! C-come on! That's...that's so good! Come on, fuck that cold, dead pussy motherfucker! You like that? Yeah? You like burying yourself all up in this rotten cunt?"

For someone who fell down the decommissioned well in my backyard in 1862, she'd picked up a shocking vocabulary.

And yes, ghost pussy feels un-fucking-real.

"You're gonna be...so fucking...insufferable after...this," I panted as I pumped her. She was wet, but not in the way you'd immediately accept. It wasn't the 'Oh yeah, she's so turned on' wet that you get with a real girl. It was more of that 'weird, slimy, don't think about it' wet, like when you have to reach into the sink of dishes you left soaking overnight to pull the plug.

Lenore cackled as I rutted her out, grunting as I hammered into her. My hands held fast around her dense hips, her rippling masses of spoiled flesh smacking against mine like any other flesh-and-blood ass cheeks would.

"Promise me," she panted, "that y-you'll fu - FUCK! - me like t...this alll...the...time!"

I took a fistful of her hair, a wad not unlike the ones I used to fish out of the shower drain when Sara's would back our pipes up. Lenore squealed with joy as I wrenched her head back.

"I let you...In," I grunted in her ear. "You're stuck with...me now."

"Ahhh! Yes! YES! FUCK, BABE, YES!"

That night was more of that. A lot more of that. And if you think begging me to dump my cum in her grave-cold holes sounds foul, I won't bother repeating some of the actually-reprehensible shit she gargled around my balls either. I don't even think they'd invented facefucking when she was still alive, but my Lenore was nothing if not creative.

And honestly? I kinda love that about her. Sure, I'm still getting used to finding her staring back at me in the glass of the microwave door, and she does attract like WAY more spiders than I'll ever be okay with, but being her dilly, dilly isn't half bad. No, fuck that - it's fucking amazing.

I mean, she is what she is. I know she can't help her nature, and I wouldn't hold any of it against her. She might never figure out how to stop popping the lightbulbs when she's grumpy, or letting out the odd blood-curdling scream in the middle of the night, but have you ever tried the throat of someone who hasn't needed to breath in like 200 years? No?

Spare me your pity then. We're gonna be together forever.

She told me so, dilly, dilly.

Conner had been playing for like two hours already. We were supposed to study for midterms, but the wretched fucker just kept nattering on about fighting or becoming an elden lord or something.

Such a fucking dweeb.

"Come on, come on, come on," he moans as he smashes the buttons on his controller.

Look, I like video games as much as the next guy, but there comes a point where you really need to grow the fuck up, lock the fuck in, and quit acting like you're gonna haunt your mom's basement forever.

"I'm gonna hit the can," I mutter, climbing off his bed.

"Ay, grab me a soda while you're up there?"

"Sure, dude. Whatever."

gRaB mE a SoDa...What are you, 10? No, 22. Twenty fucking two.

It serves him right, honestly, having a hot mom. Even with his dozen allergies and three inhalers and general fear that every public surface would give him a new disease. Conner is a dipshit. A good friend, true, but still a dipshit. So, yeah, he deserves a hot mom.

Why? Dude, a hot mom is an absolute curse. The jokes, the ridicule, the little comments. Having a hot mom is a fate worse than death. Even so, thank Christ for Molly.

Molly Draper. The object of my obsession. My muse, my Juliette. My north star.

My private whore. Well, almost.

"Conner’s home," she giggles as my hands snake around her waist in the kitchen. Even in her apron, Molly's body is just irresistible. No frumpy sweater or shapeless skirt can hide the fact that she's absolutely stacked.

"Let him stay down there," I say between kisses along her jaw. "I won't be long."

She sighs desperately, I feel her melting. Today's dress is thin and her soft body yields to me under the pale fabric. "You're bad," she gasps. Something nestles between her ass cheeks as my breath falls hot on her neck. It's all we ever allow ourselves, but our mutual denial is so painfully hot. There's a reason she always asks me if I'm staying for dinner.

"God, I want you," I moan, kneading her tits under the apron. Even the heavily padded mom bra she straps herself into every day can't hide how hard her nipples get for this. "Run away with me."

"I can feel you," she groans, wiggling back onto my stiff prick. "Is all that for me?"

"It wouldn't be pressed against your ass if it wasn't yours."

She hisses as I pinch her nipples tenderly; the red in her cheeks has nothing to do with the hot pot of broiling food she's minding.

"If he comes in..." she purrs, leaning in as I nibble her ear. It's the flimsiest defense - we've been at this little game of grab-ass for like two years and she's never bothered with more than 'If he comes in...'

"He won’t," I promise. "He’s too busy, and I fucking want you."

"Shhhh," she hisses. She always shushes me when she's done with the pretend pushback part of our charade.

"Fuck me," I groan. "Come on, Molly. Just one time. We need it. Everything will be better, I promise. I just can't live without it anymore."

"You certainly do love my tits today, huh?"

"There's just so much to love. Let me suck them, just once. Please, Molly, I know you want me to. I won't bite."

She lays the knife she's been pretending to use down and wraps her arm behind her head, taking a fistful of my hair as I love all up and down her tender, salty neck.

"You're obsessed," she accuses breathily.

"Tell me to stop then."

"Mason..."

"Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you don't think about my cock day and night. Do it. Tell me to leave, Molly, please. If you won't fuck me, send me away. I can’t take it.”

"I..." she tried. "I can't. Oh, fuck, I just can't. I...I want that cock so badly, it's just so..."

"MASON! Dude! You lost or something?"

We both groan in frustration as Molly's 22 year old man baby interrupts us for want of an Orange Crush. Just as well, another minute and we'd both have broken down. For better or worse, he complicated the affair.

I back away, still hard and dangerously close to leaking through my jeans. Molly looks near pristine, if a little rosy in her cheeks. Nothing a hot stove can't explain.

"I better get..."

"Yeah," she replies, smoothing the front of her apron down and patting her hair. "Tell Conner that dinner's almost done?"

"Sure," I promise. "Oh, and Molly?"

"Mason?"

"I hate that dress."

"But I...I like this one. What's wrong with it?"

"It's not on the floor."

*******

God she tortures me.

I know she's not trying to, and she's decent enough to actively do her best to avoid it, but she's just so goddamn fuckable. She's 48 and everything the girls at schools never could be. Fuck their perky little tits and bubble butts; my girl had the kind of ass that turned men into poets, and these hips that I was dying to get my bare hands onto. And her tits! Ugh, fuck me sideways, I swore I'd never lust after another pair of sweater puppies so long as I lived if I could just get my lips on them one time.

And for her part, Molly very obviously got more than her fill out of our illicit little tryst too. I think it's just the attention of a younger guy, or the thrill of being told things she hadn't heard in decades. Maybe she's just a closet freak and this is all very pedestrian for her. I don't know. What started as playful banter had since crossed several lines that neither of us were remotely interested in untangling.

Even so, our self-restraint was just barely keeping us in check. Barely. It was tested the hardest on those rare occasions when we were accidentally alone.

Molly’s upstairs folding laundry when I get to their house. Conner has an extra tutorial on Fridays, but I usually just go straight to his house if we’re gonna hanging out. He doesn’t mind, that generous chap.

Only Molly can wear a tshirt and sweatpants like they're lingerie, I swear to you.

"I like when you wear shirts like this more," I tell her, pushing her back against the dryer. She looks up at me with her big brown eyes and the most dangerous dare written on her face. She could have pushed back, said ‘no’, denied me; any act of resistance would have sent a clear message. Instead, she licks her lips while I lift the hem of her shirt up and cup her heavy tits greedily.

“Yeah?” she asks. “Why’s that?”

“Easier access,” I say with a feverish edge of need. I’d never dared to bare them before, but I could have. She would have let me. Probably.

She paws at me through my pants. “I didn’t wear it so you could feel me up,” she teases.

The way her skin wrinkles and yields as I massage her eagerly is so enticing, even against the backdrop of her modest bra. If I wanted to, I could just…

“Fuck this,” she groans as her fingers make short work on my button and fly. She worms her hand down, grasping my cock through the barely-there fabric of my briefs. It’s the closest to actually touching me she’s ever come.

“M-Molly!” I gasp.

The mild-mannered woman is still there, belying the touch-starved, unloved goddess beneath. Her eyebrows work in time with her clenching jaw, affecting a look that's nearly concerned - worried she might not be able to stop, or apprehensive about the handful she’s claimed.

“God I want this stupid cock,” she groans. I’d forgotten all about groping her tits, and stood there stupefied as she starts to stroke, really stroke my meat.

I melt in her hand. This is new, a yard further afield than we’d been before. This is…

“You’re stroking my cock,” I observe stupidly.

She sighs. “So hard, so fucking…big. God, Mason, you’re a real handful.”

“Take it out. Please fucking take it out.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, seeking and commanding my eye contact.

“I…I just need to feel you. Please, just for one second. Please, Molly, fuck - just let me see you touch it!”

She smirks. “‘Just one second’ is how I ended up with Conner,” she says. My cock is a hot knot of need in her hand, her finger tips gracing my head just lightly enough to make my blood boil.

“You- You’re gonna make me cum,” I threaten. “Molly, p…please, you’re gonna - Oh, fuck!”

Her grin is a wicked, cruel thing. “Oh that’s cute. I like when you beg for it. Do that again.”

“Molly, I…”

“Uh uh,” she chides, using her free hand to lift the cup off one breast, then the other. Showing them to me for the first time while she works me over is a curse, it’s a dirty, rotten, no good trick.

They very nearly finish me on the spot.

“Now try again,” she urges.

“Again?” I ask as the room starts to thrum.

“Beg.”

Her tits are staring me straight in the eye and her naked tummy’s soft promise is killing my resolve. Even with her bra sitting atop her chest awkwardly, all I want to do is seal my lips around her fat nipples and…

“Beg,” she demands again. “Or I stop.”

“Molly, I groan. “Please take my cock out. I need it, please dear fucking god, I cannot take this. Your h-hand feels so good already, and I…I…”

“Touch me,” she orders. “Come on, my tits are out and you’re not even touching them. Don’t you like them?”

“I love them,” I groan painfully, slapping my hand against her cool flesh with a meaty handful. She draws a sharp breath in satisfaction.

She doesn’t give in to my request, but keeps stroking regardless. The angle is awkward and my underwear is grating against my sensitive skin, but the fact that it’s her hand, my Molly’s hand, and her tits I’m touching…I’m ruined.

The cum is hotter for the shame it carries, but it pumps and spurts into my shorts before I can wrap my head around what to do about my mess. Molly grins, always that same grin, feeling me twitch, jolt, pulse under her fingers. I always thought she was a meek little suburban ornament, but that look is raw filth, cruelty wearing the mask of a lamb. She stays past her curfew, smearing the embarrassing mess through my trousers thoroughly as I grind my teeth together.

“F-fuck,” I groan. She withdraws her hand, fingertips just dewy with the produce of her efforts. “Molly, I…you…”

She tugs her bra back down, still staring up at me like nothing’s the matter and my own jizz isn’t soiling my pants. She looks highly amused, and more than a little proud of herself.

“I’m going downstairs,” she says flatly. “Throw your stuff in with this load. You can borrow some of Conner’s jeans. He won’t mind.”

“What am I supposed to tell him?” I ask as she steps past me into the hall.

Her laugh is a hair shy of mocking. “Not my problem,” she chuckles. “Just not that you came in your pants I guess.”

*******

Of course, fucking around is like taking a piss at the bar. Once you break the seal, you’re fucked.

Her hand squelches in the dark as it slips over the tip of my cock. Outside, her neighbours carry on scarfing burgers and playing frisbee. But Molly and I? We’re huddled in a corner of her unfinished basement pretending that we’re totally in control of ourselves while everyone enjoys the barbecue outside.

“Got a nice, big load for me, eh? Gonna pump all that cum out into my hand?”

You hear people say “oh, I was weak in the knees, my legs were like jelly”, but I’m living that idiom in real time.

“Fuck that feels so good,” I pant like a mutt begging for scraps at the table. Every minute that this goddess, this utter idol to every raw fuck, isn’t being worshipped is pure sin. Here, in the dusty corner of an unused storage room, among boxes of old photo albums and Christmas ornaments, she is desire itself.

“You look so cute when you’re trying not to cum,” she says with an edge of mirth as she stares at her pumping fist. “Your cock is so fucked up, you know that? I swear it would bark if I told it to.”

I’d make it roll over and do tricks just to make her smile. I’d put it down to make her cum.

“L-let me touch you,” I pant. “Molly, fuck, pull your pants down.”

Her fluffy mound drives me up the fucking wall and back. I shouldn’t see it. I shouldn’t even look. It’s not even right.

It’s the hottest fucking thing on earth.

I paw at her as she jerks me off, groping her bare ass in the dark as she works me over.

“Cum for me,” she commands. “Mason, fucking cum for me. Now, cum. Cum! Are you listening, I said…”

Sorry Molly dear, I was in outer space.

She howls as I buck, pumping and grunting artlessly as she beats me right through the entire sordid affair. My cum waters the bare concrete floor, splattering a box labelled “Conner’s Toys” and rains down on her sanded toes. She, of course, finds the whole thing hilarious.

“Mom!” screeches our chief antagonist. “Mom, we need more hot dogs! Are there any wieners down there? Mason, you down there?”

We stifle our guiltless giggles as she shoves my limp sausage back into its casing and heads off.

*******

Look, Conner's okay. He might be a textbook case of failure to launch, and some of his favourite podcasters might use the word 'alpha' a little too unironically, but none of that means he deserves the things I've started doing to his mom.

Things like hot dogging her fat ass cheeks whenever he's not in the room.

"Are you boys excited to graduate?" Molly asks as we share dinner one night.

Conner pokes at some boiled string beans sullenly. He still hasn't told her that he won't be invited. "I guess."

"Just 'I guess?' Come on, it's exciting! A new chapter's right around the corner. Mason, you must be happy to be moving on."

"Oh, for sure," I reply.

"We'll have to have a little party or something. It's not everyday your special guys graduate college!"

Conner huffs loudly and shoves back from the table, stomping out of the room. His bedroom door closes sharply upstairs.

I stare at the half-eaten pork chop on my plate.

"Little asshole," Molly sighs before draining her glass of wine.

"I'll talk to him," I promise.

"Oh, you don't have to do that. If he's gonna flunk out, he needs to grow a pair and tell me himself."

"Molly, I..."

"I'm gonna clean up here. You sticking around for a bit or do you have to run?"

'Sticking around' is certainly one of the things you could call it.

A newscaster reads off the nightly litany of doom and gloom on the living room TV, but Molly and I are already breathing heavily, pants around our ankles on the couch. Her hand tugs my cock slowly as she draws small circles through her pubes with the other.

"T-take your tits out, please," I beg. Her body is worth worshipping whether it's clothed or not, but any excuse to get her topless is worth pursuing. If we're not going to actually fuck, I'll take anything else.

She giggles and pauses her rubbing long enough to tug her shirt up. Great, wobbly perfection.

"God," I grunt. "Why aren't we fucking? Molly, come on. We-we're obviously going to. Please, just..."

She bats my cock playfully. "Be good."

"I'm tired of being good," I whine. It's not an assertive look, but I'm an addict in need of a fix at this point.

She eyes my cock with open hunger, her pretty face twisted with conflict. She wants me. She so wants me. "I don't know..."

"Let me...Let me use your ass!"

"What?"

"Just let me rub against it. Please, Molly, I'm dying over here."

"You want to fuck my - my ass cheeks?"

I had more arguments lined up, but they weren't necessary this time.

Molly slinks to the floor and rests her head on her folded arms. Bare from the waste down, she fights an errant grin as I mount her hips hurriedly.

"Just rubbing," she warns.

I spit into my hand and rub the saliva over my cock. "Right," I pant. "Just rubbing."

Upstairs, music thumps in Conner's room. I pray that his mood will keep him brooding long enough for what's about to happen.

I lay my meat along the deep crack of Molly's butt and test my luck with a handful of each cheek. Molly makes a small sound in her throat as I pry them apart.

"Is that alright?" I ask.

She purses her lips and nods.

It's a little awkward without lube; there's a lot of ass to manage and I have to pin my cock between her buns as I hump. Even so, it's dirty and forbidden and the notion that I might be kissing her asshole with my shaft is just too intoxicating. She let's out these little 'oh's and 'ah's as I grind myself against her. It's a little stupid, but the bare skin-to-skin friction is so pure and erotic.

"Is that what you wanted?"

"Feels...so good," I grunt. The tip of my sausage peeks out from between her buns with a dewy pearl of precum welling up.

Molly chuckles with a little wiggle of her ample hips. "I feel you leaving something sticky back there."

"Can't help it," I huff. "So...fucking hot."

"You can pull my hair if you want. Just be...ah! Mason, gentle!"

"Sorry," I mutter, taking her dark hair by the roots as I feel myself edging closer and closer to ruin.

"I - shit! I can...feel you grinding over my asshole," she says ludicrously. "Are you actually gonna cum from this? Mason? Mason? Oh my GOD!"

Whether it was the warm, pillowy hug of her doughy cheeks, or the insane reality of hearing a woman twice my age moan about the feeling of a hot cock against her little butthole, the entire thing is too much to resist. I erupt up her back with a violent spurt, spurt, spurt, grinding my teeth together in an effort not to shout something unseemly back at her. To my actual regret, more than one rope actually manages to paint the back of her head, even landing amongst the fingers I still have knotted into her hair. The rest, an absurd load drug up from reserve tanks I didn't know I had, splatters heavily against her back in heavy slaps of wet perversion.

"Oh, oh fuck," I pant, surveying my work.

"It's everywhere," Molly moans. Moans?

"What are you..."

She's got her hand underneath herself, rubbing with lurid urgency - the foul mess coating her body drives her into a feverish, greedy fit of lust. I lean off her enough to ease the weight pinning her to the floor, and she makes good on the opportunity to work her angles better.

"S-so fucking...hot!" she pants. "I can f- feel it on my s...skin! God, there's so fucking much! I...I...Oh, shit!"

Even spent already, the scene is too hot; I stroke myself raw while I watch her cum, punishing my wilting prick as she lets me take in her intimate moment. There's wet, dark hair and fingers and squishy lips enough to fall in love with, and Molly grinds a hard cum out of herself shamelessly.

"Ughhh," she groans through the tail end of her affair. "Phew. That was...Gah. I needed that."

"So beautiful," I moan, falling to a seat next to her long, plump body, kneading her ass indulgently as she comes down.

She smiles over at me hazily. "Tell me the truth, did you make a mess?"

I squirm. "Kinda, sorry. I'll go get a towel."

She pushes herself up on her elbows. "Uh uh. Mr. Moody seems happy to sulk upstairs; why don't you head home and we'll do this again sometime?"

"Are you kicking me out?"

She laughs. "I guess I am. Go on, I've gotta get into the shower. Someone jizzed in my hair, and there's some between my butt cheeks. I'll talk to you later."

She was a mean old gal when she wanted to be.

*******

Of course, there was no way we were going to stop there. Her ass became a regular obsession over the next week or two, and she even let me fuck her tits in the garage while Conner distractedly scrolled on his phone upstairs. There was no reason to fear him finding out by that point - Molly made it clear that flunking out of college was going to be the last straw on his rent-free ride, and he was running out of avenues to avoid the conversation. Even so, I had a perfectly good apartment of my own, and she didn't need anyone's permission to sneak out for a little cum cocktail.

I open the door with a shit-eating smirk. "Welcome to, uh, my apartment," I say, stepping aside to let her in. She's dressed plainly in baggy clothes that do nothing to temper my excitement for the body underneath. She won't be needing them anyway.

"Mason, this is not a good neighbourhood. Is this apartment even legal? I'm pretty sure my foot almost went through one of the steps getting up here."

Calling it an 'apartment' might be a little generous. It's the attic of an old Victorian shit heap.

"But you still came," I point out.

She allows herself a little chagrinned smile. "Yeah, well, there was nothing on TV."

I take her jacket and fold it over the back of a chair. "How romantic," I laugh. "Do you want a drink?"

Surprisingly, we manage to find a fair bit to talk about. It's all pretense to our messing around, but a few mediocre drinks slip by before we remember what we're here for.

"You know," she says finally, sliding a hand up my thigh. "I usually don't drive across town for cheap beer on a futon anymore."

"Oh, no?"

She shakes her head playfully. "Nah, not really. Maybe 20 years ago."

I lean in to taste her lips - it's a new indulgence, but one that feels more forbidden than the tug jobs and tit fucks. She's still my best friend's mom, after all.

"So what'd you come for then, if my company isn't enough?"

She licks her lips and gets to work.

My cum has landed across more of her body than any woman I've ever touched by that point, but this is the first time she's taken me into her mouth. She slips to the floor and tugs my pants off with a coy little smirk, wordlessly taking my stiffy into her hand and sliding her lips over the tip. Having her all way down between my thighs feels weirdly lonesome, but watching her bob slowly over my hard cock is heaven.

"I told myself I wasn't going to suck this cock," she moans, rubbing the tip across her lips like a stick of lipstick.

"What changed?" I ask, tucking some hair off her face with a gentle brush of my hand.

She shrugs. "I wanted to."

"You do look so pretty," I tell her as she dives back onto it again, "with my cock in your mouth. Fuck, Molly, that's so perfect. Do that again. Yes, oh shit, just like that. All...all the way down. Godddd," I groan.

"I want to drink your cum," she moans. I'm soaked with her spit, she pumps me in her fist as she looks up for approval. "God, I want every last fucking drop down my throat. I want to taste it, I want to drink it, I just want to...Mmmhm!!"

She eases back onto it as I guide her gently down, sucking and slurping loudly as she hums and groans. It's a cock she's teased a dozen times, and she knows just how to read it.

"Molly, that's...fuck, how do you feel this good?"

"Tell me," she demands.

"It's just p-perfect! Oh, just look at the way you pout with it in your mouth. So fucking pretty. So gorgeous!"

"You think you can cum for me?"

"Of course!"

"Yeah? You sure you don't want my ass again?"

"Keep stroking, please Molly, please, please."

"You like my tits, do you want to finish on those instead?"

"No!"

"Are you sure? I can get them out. Just think about how hot it would be to cover my big, heavy..."

"Molly! Fuck, I..."

She suctions her lips over me just in time as I buck and sputter, spilling yet another gooey load for the woman who's since come to own every moment of my lust. Her eyes are wide and she struggles to keep up with my little jolts, but her greed is too great to quit. Even so, she just does things to me that I can't explain; the mouthful becomes more than a mouthful as hot cum starts to spill out over her lips.

"Ahhhh," she gurgles as she opens her mouth wide, spilling the foul mess onto her chin and chest. Her molars swim in the rest of it, but she's a nasty waterfall of pearly seed by then, and I'm still twitching through the end of a hard nut.

"Mol!" I pant as she tries and fails to scoop it up off her chin with a burbling chuckle. She loses her edge and coughs the sticky wad out with a harsh bark, splattering her prize all over my cock, all over my balls. If I was attached to my shitty couch, I might have cared about the mess, but the sight of my cum sprayed like a shotgun blast all over the place is just too fucking hot to ignore. Aside from that, I have the advantage of youth on my side.

Cum makes a fine lube, and I was ready for more.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she moans a moment later, already flat on her back as I grind my messy cock between her cheeks again. "S-so fucking hot! I can feel your nasty jizz everywhere. Oh god, I can feel it against my hole!"

Her moans are so dirty, so filthy, and I'm just a slave to her perverted whims. Not being inside of her is a crying shame, but she's still reticent about the idea of actually fucking, so pounding myself between her buns will have to do. It's hard not to wonder what she's getting out of it still. A messy face? A hot young guy using her body to get off? Surely a slimy piping of cum across her asshole isn't worth *this* kind of treatment? How does anyone get off to this?

"F-flip me over," she pants. "Flip me over and fuck my tits again. Mason, please, flip me...AH!"

I'm up between them in no time, smearing what's left of the load she fumbled around in a sloppy rush to get her soft old meat pressed together around my cock. Watching myself poke through the top of her cleavage while she gives me the most absurd looks is just too much; she's lost to the heat of her perversion, making faces and uttering obscenities that just weren't meant for pretty girls like her.

"I want your cum," she pants. "I want it, I want it, I want it. Please, baby, fucking blast it right onto me again. Please? Please, Mason, don't make me beg. I want it all, I want every hot, sticky drop on my face, on my tits, in my mouth. Come on. That's it, fuck these tits like they're yours. You gonna do it? Hey? Yeah? Come on, show me how much you love sliding your cock between these big, soft titties baby. Come on! More! Yes, yes! YES!"

I blast the underside of her chin with one, two, three heavy ropes of salty spray. She cackles as I bathe her, mewling and moaning, writhing underneath me as she sneakily rubs herself off. The jetting spurts start to overwhelm me; whatever muscle does the blasting feels tender and tight, but I'm astride a cum drunk angel and the pooling mess on her chest starts to run in little rivers over her collarbones.

"M-Molly," I pant, humping her a few times as I dribble the last of my offering onto her. "I...holy fuck. Oh, shit, that's so much. God damn it."

She smiles up at me, a mix of precious pride and unslaked thirst. Her hair is splayed about her pretty face in a scene that would be nearly tranquil and almost romantic if not for the concerning amount of seed on her body. A double dose of post-nut clarity starts to well up inside of me, and I feel suddenly very naked, and very vulnerable as I climb off her to flop on the bare floor next to her.

"Mmmm," she hums as she runs her hands up my thighs. "So sexy. Look at the mess you made, mister. Gosh, you really must love this body, huh?"

"Molly, I...I feel bad that you didn't get a chance to cum. Do you want me to...Wait, what are you..."

Molly grins from the flat of her back and gets to work on herself, daring me to keep eye contact with her as she masturbates openly.

"I can take it from here," she says in that sultry, confident tone. The idea that this version of Molly was hiding behind the mild-mannered divorcee all along has me stunned. The same woman who's always offering me little snacks while I begrudgingly hang out with her son is lying here in a puddle of jizz, rubbing a hand through her furry pussy as she grins up at me with cum-soaked lips. The way she grinds, rubs, moves, moans, gasps...it's all so hot. So *fucking* sexy.

"H-here it c...comes! Ohshiiiii..." she groans in mere moments, closing her eyes tight as she furiously rubs herself right on through to a clenching, grunting, juddering release.

I'm just lucky to watch from the sidelines, honestly.

*******

Eventually, the cat came out of the bag for Conner, and Molly was forced to put her foot down three weeks later. We still hadn't fucked, but I don't think the things we *were* doing we much purer.

"We've got hours," she says excitedly as I come through the door. She kisses me softly as I step into the hall and kick my shoes off. "He'll be at work till 9:00. You better have so much saved up for me."

Should I feel guilty for using his Mom as a cum rag while he stocks grocery shelves? Maybe. But it's not my fault that she's charging him board for the first time in his adult life. If he wanted more for himself, all he had to do was go to class once in a while instead of playing his Switch in the library for the past 4 years.

Besides, I just love watching her rub.

I'm knelt between her legs on the bed upstairs. Molly rubs with luxurious, slow cruelty as I stroke my cock just inches from her hairy muff. We stare at each other brazenly, occasionally sharing little chaste giggles when we catch each other's eye.

"Your cock is so pretty," she accuses. Her eyebrows work like curious little caterpillars as her brow scrunches and clenches. Naked, her tits sit heavily to either side of her chest. Her toes curl and pinch the duvet. "Stroke it slow for me. That's it. Nice long strokes. Oh, so pretty."

I blush at the epithet; nobody has ever called any bit of me pretty before, let alone my cock. The self restraint that it takes not to lean forward and touch my tip to her wet, pillowy lips is just...

"You really like watching me?" she asks.

"Of course I do," I sigh softly. "Molly, you're so gorgeous. I just love the way you rub and cum for me. It's so fucking sexy."

"Get closer," she moans.

"Molly, I'm..."

"Closer. Come on, just get as close as you can."

I scooch in, bringing my engorged tip within centimeters of her bare pussy. Close enough that her fingers graze it as they circle past on their slow trips around her clit.

"That's it," she gushes. "Keep...keep pumping it for me? You want that, don't you? To make me happy, to pump your cock?"

"More than anything," I pant. "Molly..."

Her body settles into the mattress fractionally, and I gasp as her lips kiss my spongey head with a glancing peck.

There's a first time for everything.

"Mol..."

"Ohhhh," she groans. "I...I want it. Just- rub the tip. Come on, baby, please. Stroke it up against me. That's...Yes, just like that. Ohhhh, god."

I obey at once. This whole business of 'no fucking' was never my idea, but I'm entirely smitten with Molly and want anything she'll give me - the chance to press myself right against her burning need is one that I leap at. I watch my runny precum smear through her dark hairs as she presses her fingers hard against herself. Together, we stroke and rub as best we can, fighting against our better nature all the while.

"We can't...we can't fuck," she pants. That look of concern creeps onto her face all over again. It's the one that always comes before an accident. "Just this. Just rubbing. Ohhhh, but I can feel you leaking onto me. Fuck it's too much."

"I...I can stop if you..."

"Don't you fucking dare," she moans. Her hips work in tight circles now, grinding, actually gridning, her lips against my slick cock. "I need this, you understand? Fuck, Mason, it's been so long since I've had a cock to worship like this. Just...don't slip it in, okay?"

The mind games are off the charts. I try to hold my form as rigidly as I can while I'm still stroking, but Molly's little gyrations are getting less and less controlled. Her moans are louder and her breaths come in sharp gasps each time she slides herself up and down, but I'm practically splashing around in the shallow end and the entire thing is almost too hot to bear.

"D-don't slip...in. Mason, you can't. You hear me?"

Lady, there's more pink every time you slide. Is a pussyjob a thing? Do people cum from this?

"Molly, it's so close!"

She's reduced to a moaning, gasping puddle as she cups her own tits playfully. She eases down, still rubbing hard, but something catches the tip of my cock on her way past this time. I flick away this time, but that had to have been hole.

"Oh," she exclaims with worry. "Mason, what did I say?"

"Molly, that was you!"

"I said," she pants, repeating the motion with tight, precise control, snagging me on her way down again. It's not even the tip; it's the tip of the tip, but she's actively hiding cock between her lips now. "I said not inside."

I groan, not even stroking anymore, just holding myself hard and steady as she grinds up. Down. Up. Down. Looooooong stroke up. Down. Looooooong stroke up. D...down...down...

Down.

All the way down.

In.

"F-fuck!" I cuss as she slides onto me.

"Mason!" she gasps again, still cramming me into her. "I said..."

"You did it!"

She works her hips to stroke me off, still rubbing herself firmly as her delicious hole milks my cock. I know she's playing with me, but her chastised rebuttals are so confusing.

"You weren't...supposed to - fuck! - do that!"

"I didn't!"

"I said not to go inside, Mason!"

"I listened!"

"This is so bad," she grunts. "Fucking me like this. So dirty! So wrong! You're just so naughty, aren't you? And such a bad listener!"

She swallows me to the base, holding me deep inside as she stirs herself up with little bumping grinds. Even from the flat of her back, Molly finds a way to ride me.

"You're not supposed to fuck me," she moans again, playing with her hair, her tits, her tummy, nipping at her own arm, looking anywhere she can. "Ohhhh, baby, this is so wrong. So fucking wrong. This cock isn't supposed to be inside of me!"

I take her hips.

"Oh, fuck, we can't be doing this. This is just...this just isn't right."

"Tell me to stop," I offer. "If you want this to..."

"So much fucking cock," she mewls. "So much hot, dirty cock inside of me," she moans into her shoulder.

"Molly, what the hell do you..."

"Oh, fuck me already," she commands. "Mason, shut the hell up and fuck me already. YES! Fuck! Mason, YES! Oh, fuck yes, baby! That's it, pound this pussy babyyyyyy."

Turns out girls still don't know what the fuck they want at 48. Still, I offered. She made her choice.

I rut her out hard and fast, pounding her while she squeals and flops and jiggles and moans. After what was now months of denial, I pour my heart and soul into that fuck, willing myself to bring her along to the hardest, hottest orgasm she'd ever known. It's a vain goal, but it's what she needs. She needs it. She needs...

"F-fucking cum inside me! Mason, NOW! Please fucking give it to me. All of it, I want all of it. Cum pleasseeeeee, oh fucking hell, I need that cum inside of me!"

Stars swim in my vision and the room goes hazy; the hex she casts is a strong one as she summons every profane drop that I have to give her. My hips work on autopilot as the creamy mess starts to spurt out of her over-full hole. The mess in her pubes builds, as does the little torrent pouring down between her legs. Wet slaps crack on as I work each and every drop up into her heavenly body, and Molly's rising wails finally croak out into raspy, stuttering nonsense as she drinks me deeply through her own eruption.

It's a fucking mess. A right, nasty scene.

I, for one, am spent for the moment. I collapse alongside Molly, who's affinity for hot loads knows no bounds. She bundles me up in her arms and pets my hair, kisses my forehead, as she plays with her earnings lazily. The sucking squelches are a little overstimulating after my performance, but she whispers the sweetest praise for what I've done to her, the gift I've left, the cum I brought her to.

It's the first of several deposits I'll make tonight, with hundreds more to follow.

*******

Molly hums next to me as I work to dry each dish before she hands the next over. Her cheeks are rosy and her chest is flushed - we'd only just finished each other off over the counter ten minutes prior. The heat of it still runs down her thighs. Again.

"There's still soap on that one, mister," she chides me, pointing to a missed spot on her favourite pot.

"Sorry," I mutter.

The front door opens and closes as Kroger's employee of the month loudly bangs his way through the entry hall.

"Hi sweetie!" Molly calls.

"Hi," he grunts back.

"How was work?"

"Fine," he says, sticking his head around the corner to glare at us. "What time's dinner?"

"Oh," Molly chuckles. "Sorry, love; we're going out. There's some mac and cheese in the pantry if you want to make that for yourself?"

He shoots me a spiteful look. I shrug back. "Giovanni's."

His mouth opens and shuts like a fish out of water as Molly and I smile at each other happily.

"Just...just shut the fuck up, man, how about that? God, I fucking HATE you guys!"

Conner stomps off to his room angrily as we share a small chuckle. Mine feels a little guiltier than hers.

"Don't mind him," she says, passing me a wet plate. "He'll come around."

Honestly, Molly and I have a good hand on cumming enough for this household. If he doesn't like it, he's welcome to leave.

Lord knows it'd do him some good.

This is a contest post for Image 15, as requested by a friend who's (finally) made her way back to Reddit. The ask was for outercourse and 'lots of cum' so here we are.

Buckle up and enjoy, folks!

*******

Conner had been playing for like two hours already. We were supposed to study for midterms, but the wretched fucker just kept nattering on about fighting or becoming an elden lord or something.

Such a fucking dweeb.

"Come on, come on, come on," he moans as he smashes the buttons on his controller.

Look, I like video games as much as the next guy, but there comes a point where you really need to grow the fuck up, lock the fuck in, and quit acting like you're gonna haunt your mom's basement forever.

"I'm gonna hit the can," I mutter, climbing off his bed.

"Ay, grab me a soda while you're up there?"

"Sure, dude. Whatever."

gRaB mE a SoDa...What are you, 10? No, 22. Twenty fucking two.

It serves him right, honestly, having a hot mom. Even with his dozen allergies and three inhalers and general fear that every public surface would give him a new disease. Conner is a dipshit. A good friend, true, but still a dipshit. So, yeah, he deserves a hot mom.

Why? Dude, a hot mom is an absolute curse. The jokes, the ridicule, the little comments. Having a hot mom is a fate worse than death. Even so, thank Christ for Molly.

Molly Draper. The object of my obsession. My muse, my Juliette. My north star.

My private whore. Well, almost.

"Conner’s home," she giggles as my hands snake around her waist in the kitchen. Even in her apron, Molly's body is just irresistible. No frumpy sweater or shapeless skirt can hide the fact that she's absolutely stacked.

"Let him stay down there," I say between kisses along her jaw. "I won't be long."

She sighs desperately, I feel her melting. Today's dress is thin and her soft body yields to me under the pale fabric. "You're bad," she gasps. Something nestles between her ass cheeks as my breath falls hot on her neck. It's all we ever allow ourselves, but our mutual denial is so painfully hot. There's a reason she always asks me if I'm staying for dinner.

"God, I want you," I moan, kneading her tits under the apron. Even the heavily padded mom bra she straps herself into every day can't hide how hard her nipples get for this. "Run away with me."

"I can feel you," she groans, wiggling back onto my stiff prick. "Is all that for me?"

"It wouldn't be pressed against your ass if it wasn't yours."

She hisses as I pinch her nipples tenderly; the red in her cheeks has nothing to do with the hot pot of broiling food she's minding.

"If he comes in..." she purrs, leaning in as I nibble her ear. It's the flimsiest defense - we've been at this little game of grab-ass for like two years and she's never bothered with more than 'If he comes in...'

"He won’t," I promise. "He’s too busy, and I fucking want you."

"Shhhh," she hisses. She always shushes me when she's done with the pretend pushback part of our charade.

"Fuck me," I groan. "Come on, Molly. Just one time. We need it. Everything will be better, I promise. I just can't live without it anymore."

"You certainly do love my tits today, huh?"

"There's just so much to love. Let me suck them, just once. Please, Molly, I know you want me to. I won't bite."

She lays the knife she's been pretending to use down and wraps her arm behind her head, taking a fistful of my hair as I love all up and down her tender, salty neck.

"You're obsessed," she accuses breathily.

"Tell me to stop then."

"Mason..."

"Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you don't think about my cock day and night. Do it. Tell me to leave, Molly, please. If you won't fuck me, send me away. I can’t take it.”

"I..." she tried. "I can't. Oh, fuck, I just can't. I...I want that cock so badly, it's just so..."

"MASON! Dude! You lost or something?"

We both groan in frustration as Molly's 22 year old man baby interrupts us for want of an Orange Crush. Just as well, another minute and we'd both have broken down. For better or worse, he complicated the affair.

I back away, still hard and dangerously close to leaking through my jeans. Molly looks near pristine, if a little rosy in her cheeks. Nothing a hot stove can't explain.

"I better get..."

"Yeah," she replies, smoothing the front of her apron down and patting her hair. "Tell Conner that dinner's almost done?"

"Sure," I promise. "Oh, and Molly?"

"Mason?"

"I hate that dress."

"But I...I like this one. What's wrong with it?"

"It's not on the floor."

*******

God she tortures me.

I know she's not trying to, and she's decent enough to actively do her best to avoid it, but she's just so goddamn fuckable. She's 48 and everything the girls at schools never could be. Fuck their perky little tits and bubble butts; my girl had the kind of ass that turned men into poets, and these hips that I was dying to get my bare hands onto. And her tits! Ugh, fuck me sideways, I swore I'd never lust after another pair of sweater puppies so long as I lived if I could just get my lips on them one time.

And for her part, Molly very obviously got more than her fill out of our illicit little tryst too. I think it's just the attention of a younger guy, or the thrill of being told things she hadn't heard in decades. Maybe she's just a closet freak and this is all very pedestrian for her. I don't know. What started as playful banter had since crossed several lines that neither of us were remotely interested in untangling.

Even so, our self-restraint was just barely keeping us in check. Barely. It was tested the hardest on those rare occasions when we were accidentally alone.

Molly’s upstairs folding laundry when I get to their house. Conner has an extra tutorial on Fridays, but I usually just go straight to his house if we’re gonna hanging out. He doesn’t mind, that generous chap.

Only Molly can wear a tshirt and sweatpants like they're lingerie, I swear to you.

"I like when you wear shirts like this more," I tell her, pushing her back against the dryer. She looks up at me with her big brown eyes and the most dangerous dare written on her face. She could have pushed back, said ‘no’, denied me; any act of resistance would have sent a clear message. Instead, she licks her lips while I lift the hem of her shirt up and cup her heavy tits greedily.

“Yeah?” she asks. “Why’s that?”

“Easier access,” I say with a feverish edge of need. I’d never dared to bare them before, but I could have. She would have let me. Probably.

She paws at me through my pants. “I didn’t wear it so you could feel me up,” she teases.

The way her skin wrinkles and yields as I massage her eagerly is so enticing, even against the backdrop of her modest bra. If I wanted to, I could just…

“Fuck this,” she groans as her fingers make short work on my button and fly. She worms her hand down, grasping my cock through the barely-there fabric of my briefs. It’s the closest to actually touching me she’s ever come.

“M-Molly!” I gasp.

The mild-mannered woman is still there, belying the touch-starved, unloved goddess beneath. Her eyebrows work in time with her clenching jaw, affecting a look that's nearly concerned - worried she might not be able to stop, or apprehensive about the handful she’s claimed.

“God I want this stupid cock,” she groans. I’d forgotten all about groping her tits, and stood there stupefied as she starts to stroke, really stroke my meat.

I melt in her hand. This is new, a yard further afield than we’d been before. This is…

“You’re stroking my cock,” I observe stupidly.

She sighs. “So hard, so fucking…big. God, Mason, you’re a real handful.”

“Take it out. Please fucking take it out.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, seeking and commanding my eye contact.

“I…I just need to feel you. Please, just for one second. Please, Molly, fuck - just let me see you touch it!”

She smirks. “‘Just one second’ is how I ended up with Conner,” she says. My cock is a hot knot of need in her hand, her finger tips gracing my head just lightly enough to make my blood boil.

“You- You’re gonna make me cum,” I threaten. “Molly, p…please, you’re gonna - Oh, fuck!”

Her grin is a wicked, cruel thing. “Oh that’s cute. I like when you beg for it. Do that again.”

“Molly, I…”

“Uh uh,” she chides, using her free hand to lift the cup off one breast, then the other. Showing them to me for the first time while she works me over is a curse, it’s a dirty, rotten, no good trick.

They very nearly finish me on the spot.

“Now try again,” she urges.

“Again?” I ask as the room starts to thrum.

“Beg.”

Her tits are staring me straight in the eye and her naked tummy’s soft promise is killing my resolve. Even with her bra sitting atop her chest awkwardly, all I want to do is seal my lips around her fat nipples and…

“Beg,” she demands again. “Or I stop.”

“Molly, I groan. “Please take my cock out. I need it, please dear fucking god, I cannot take this. Your h-hand feels so good already, and I…I…”

“Touch me,” she orders. “Come on, my tits are out and you’re not even touching them. Don’t you like them?”

“I love them,” I groan painfully, slapping my hand against her cool flesh with a meaty handful. She draws a sharp breath in satisfaction.

She doesn’t give in to my request, but keeps stroking regardless. The angle is awkward and my underwear is grating against my sensitive skin, but the fact that it’s her hand, my Molly’s hand, and her tits I’m touching…I’m ruined.

The cum is hotter for the shame it carries, but it pumps and spurts into my shorts before I can wrap my head around what to do about my mess. Molly grins, always that same grin, feeling me twitch, jolt, pulse under her fingers. I always thought she was a meek little suburban ornament, but that look is raw filth, cruelty wearing the mask of a lamb. She stays past her curfew, smearing the embarrassing mess through my trousers thoroughly as I grind my teeth together.

“F-fuck,” I groan. She withdraws her hand, fingertips just dewy with the produce of her efforts. “Molly, I…you…”

She tugs her bra back down, still staring up at me like nothing’s the matter and my own jizz isn’t soiling my pants. She looks highly amused, and more than a little proud of herself.

“I’m going downstairs,” she says flatly. “Throw your stuff in with this load. You can borrow some of Conner’s jeans. He won’t mind.”

“What am I supposed to tell him?” I ask as she steps past me into the hall.

Her laugh is a hair shy of mocking. “Not my problem,” she chuckles. “Just not that you came in your pants I guess.”

*******

Of course, fucking around is like taking a piss at the bar. Once you break the seal, you’re fucked.

Her hand squelches in the dark as it slips over the tip of my cock. Outside, her neighbours carry on scarfing burgers and playing frisbee. But Molly and I? We’re huddled in a corner of her unfinished basement pretending that we’re totally in control of ourselves while everyone enjoys the barbecue outside.

“Got a nice, big load for me, eh? Gonna pump all that cum out into my hand?”

You hear people say “oh, I was weak in the knees, my legs were like jelly”, but I’m living that idiom in real time.

“Fuck that feels so good,” I pant like a mutt begging for scraps at the table. Every minute that this goddess, this utter idol to every raw fuck, isn’t being worshipped is pure sin. Here, in the dusty corner of an unused storage room, among boxes of old photo albums and Christmas ornaments, she is desire itself.

“You look so cute when you’re trying not to cum,” she says with an edge of mirth as she stares at her pumping fist. “Your cock is so fucked up, you know that? I swear it would bark if I told it to.”

I’d make it roll over and do tricks just to make her smile. I’d put it down to make her cum.

“L-let me touch you,” I pant. “Molly, fuck, pull your pants down.”

Her fluffy mound drives me up the fucking wall and back. I shouldn’t see it. I shouldn’t even look. It’s not even right.

It’s the hottest fucking thing on earth.

I paw at her as she jerks me off, groping her bare ass in the dark as she works me over.

“Cum for me,” she commands. “Mason, fucking cum for me. Now, cum. Cum! Are you listening, I said…”

Sorry Molly dear, I was in outer space.

She howls as I buck, pumping and grunting artlessly as she beats me right through the entire sordid affair. My cum waters the bare concrete floor, splattering a box labelled “Conner’s Toys” and rains down on her sanded toes. She, of course, finds the whole thing hilarious.

“Mom!” screeches our chief antagonist. “Mom, we need more hot dogs! Are there any wieners down there? Mason, you down there?”

We stifle our guiltless giggles as she shoves my limp sausage back into its casing and heads off.

*******

Look, Conner's okay. He might be a textbook case of failure to launch, and some of his favourite podcasters might use the word 'alpha' a little too unironically, but none of that means he deserves the things I've started doing to his mom.

Things like hot dogging her fat ass cheeks whenever he's not in the room.

"Are you boys excited to graduate?" Molly asks as we share dinner one night.

Conner pokes at some boiled string beans sullenly. He still hasn't told her that he won't be invited. "I guess."

"Just 'I guess?' Come on, it's exciting! A new chapter's right around the corner. Mason, you must be happy to be moving on."

"Oh, for sure," I reply.

"We'll have to have a little party or something. It's not everyday your special guys graduate college!"

Conner huffs loudly and shoves back from the table, stomping out of the room. His bedroom door closes sharply upstairs.

I stare at the half-eaten pork chop on my plate.

"Little asshole," Molly sighs before draining her glass of wine.

"I'll talk to him," I promise.

"Oh, you don't have to do that. If he's gonna flunk out, he needs to grow a pair and tell me himself."

"Molly, I..."

"I'm gonna clean up here. You sticking around for a bit or do you have to run?"

'Sticking around' is certainly one of the things you could call it.

A newscaster reads off the nightly litany of doom and gloom on the living room TV, but Molly and I are already breathing heavily, pants around our ankles on the couch. Her hand tugs my cock slowly as she draws small circles through her pubes with the other.

"T-take your tits out, please," I beg. Her body is worth worshipping whether it's clothed or not, but any excuse to get her topless is worth pursuing. If we're not going to actually fuck, I'll take anything else.

She giggles and pauses her rubbing long enough to tug her shirt up. Great, wobbly perfection.

"God," I grunt. "Why aren't we fucking? Molly, come on. We-we're obviously going to. Please, just..."

She bats my cock playfully. "Be good."

"I'm tired of being good," I whine. It's not an assertive look, but I'm an addict in need of a fix at this point.

She eyes my cock with open hunger, her pretty face twisted with conflict. She wants me. She so wants me. "I don't know..."

"Let me...Let me use your ass!"

"What?"

"Just let me rub against it. Please, Molly, I'm dying over here."

"You want to fuck my - my ass cheeks?"

I had more arguments lined up, but they weren't necessary this time.

Molly slinks to the floor and rests her head on her folded arms. Bare from the waste down, she fights an errant grin as I mount her hips hurriedly.

"Just rubbing," she warns.

I spit into my hand and rub the saliva over my cock. "Right," I pant. "Just rubbing."

Upstairs, music thumps in Conner's room. I pray that his mood will keep him brooding long enough for what's about to happen.

I lay my meat along the deep crack of Molly's butt and test my luck with a handful of each cheek. Molly makes a small sound in her throat as I pry them apart.

"Is that alright?" I ask.

She purses her lips and nods.

It's a little awkward without lube; there's a lot of ass to manage and I have to pin my cock between her buns as I hump. Even so, it's dirty and forbidden and the notion that I might be kissing her asshole with my shaft is just too intoxicating. She let's out these little 'oh's and 'ah's as I grind myself against her. It's a little stupid, but the bare skin-to-skin friction is so pure and erotic.

"Is that what you wanted?"

"Feels...so good," I grunt. The tip of my sausage peeks out from between her buns with a dewy pearl of precum welling up.

Molly chuckles with a little wiggle of her ample hips. "I feel you leaving something sticky back there."

"Can't help it," I huff. "So...fucking hot."

"You can pull my hair if you want. Just be...ah! Mason, gentle!"

"Sorry," I mutter, taking her dark hair by the roots as I feel myself edging closer and closer to ruin.

"I - shit! I can...feel you grinding over my asshole," she says ludicrously. "Are you actually gonna cum from this? Mason? Mason? Oh my GOD!"

Whether it was the warm, pillowy hug of her doughy cheeks, or the insane reality of hearing a woman twice my age moan about the feeling of a hot cock against her little butthole, the entire thing is too much to resist. I erupt up her back with a violent spurt, spurt, spurt, grinding my teeth together in an effort not to shout something unseemly back at her. To my actual regret, more than one rope actually manages to paint the back of her head, even landing amongst the fingers I still have knotted into her hair. The rest, an absurd load drug up from reserve tanks I didn't know I had, splatters heavily against her back in heavy slaps of wet perversion.

"Oh, oh fuck," I pant, surveying my work.

"It's everywhere," Molly moans. Moans?

"What are you..."

She's got her hand underneath herself, rubbing with lurid urgency - the foul mess coating her body drives her into a feverish, greedy fit of lust. I lean off her enough to ease the weight pinning her to the floor, and she makes good on the opportunity to work her angles better.

"S-so fucking...hot!" she pants. "I can f- feel it on my s...skin! God, there's so fucking much! I...I...Oh, shit!"

Even spent already, the scene is too hot; I stroke myself raw while I watch her cum, punishing my wilting prick as she lets me take in her intimate moment. There's wet, dark hair and fingers and squishy lips enough to fall in love with, and Molly grinds a hard cum out of herself shamelessly.

"Ughhh," she groans through the tail end of her affair. "Phew. That was...Gah. I needed that."

"So beautiful," I moan, falling to a seat next to her long, plump body, kneading her ass indulgently as she comes down.

She smiles over at me hazily. "Tell me the truth, did you make a mess?"

I squirm. "Kinda, sorry. I'll go get a towel."

She pushes herself up on her elbows. "Uh uh. Mr. Moody seems happy to sulk upstairs; why don't you head home and we'll do this again sometime?"

"Are you kicking me out?"

She laughs. "I guess I am. Go on, I've gotta get into the shower. Someone jizzed in my hair, and there's some between my butt cheeks. I'll talk to you later."

She was a mean old gal when she wanted to be.

*******

Of course, there was no way we were going to stop there. Her ass became a regular obsession over the next week or two, and she even let me fuck her tits in the garage while Conner distractedly scrolled on his phone upstairs. There was no reason to fear him finding out by that point - Molly made it clear that flunking out of college was going to be the last straw on his rent-free ride, and he was running out of avenues to avoid the conversation. Even so, I had a perfectly good apartment of my own, and she didn't need anyone's permission to sneak out for a little cum cocktail.

I open the door with a shit-eating smirk. "Welcome to, uh, my apartment," I say, stepping aside to let her in. She's dressed plainly in baggy clothes that do nothing to temper my excitement for the body underneath. She won't be needing them anyway.

"Mason, this is not a good neighbourhood. Is this apartment even legal? I'm pretty sure my foot almost went through one of the steps getting up here."

Calling it an 'apartment' might be a little generous. It's the attic of an old Victorian shit heap.

"But you still came," I point out.

She allows herself a little chagrinned smile. "Yeah, well, there was nothing on TV."

I take her jacket and fold it over the back of a chair. "How romantic," I laugh. "Do you want a drink?"

Surprisingly, we manage to find a fair bit to talk about. It's all pretense to our messing around, but a few mediocre drinks slip by before we remember what we're here for.

"You know," she says finally, sliding a hand up my thigh. "I usually don't drive across town for cheap beer on a futon anymore."

"Oh, no?"

She shakes her head playfully. "Nah, not really. Maybe 20 years ago."

I lean in to taste her lips - it's a new indulgence, but one that feels more forbidden than the tug jobs and tit fucks. She's still my best friend's mom, after all.

"So what'd you come for then, if my company isn't enough?"

She licks her lips and gets to work.

My cum has landed across more of her body than any woman I've ever touched by that point, but this is the first time she's taken me into her mouth. She slips to the floor and tugs my pants off with a coy little smirk, wordlessly taking my stiffy into her hand and sliding her lips over the tip. Having her all way down between my thighs feels weirdly lonesome, but watching her bob slowly over my hard cock is heaven.

"I told myself I wasn't going to suck this cock," she moans, rubbing the tip across her lips like a stick of lipstick.

"What changed?" I ask, tucking some hair off her face with a gentle brush of my hand.

She shrugs. "I wanted to."

"You do look so pretty," I tell her as she dives back onto it again, "with my cock in your mouth. Fuck, Molly, that's so perfect. Do that again. Yes, oh shit, just like that. All...all the way down. Godddd," I groan.

"I want to drink your cum," she moans. I'm soaked with her spit, she pumps me in her fist as she looks up for approval. "God, I want every last fucking drop down my throat. I want to taste it, I want to drink it, I just want to...Mmmhm!!"

She eases back onto it as I guide her gently down, sucking and slurping loudly as she hums and groans. It's a cock she's teased a dozen times, and she knows just how to read it.

"Molly, that's...fuck, how do you feel this good?"

"Tell me," she demands.

"It's just p-perfect! Oh, just look at the way you pout with it in your mouth. So fucking pretty. So gorgeous!"

"You think you can cum for me?"

"Of course!"

"Yeah? You sure you don't want my ass again?"

"Keep stroking, please Molly, please, please."

"You like my tits, do you want to finish on those instead?"

"No!"

"Are you sure? I can get them out. Just think about how hot it would be to cover my big, heavy..."

"Molly! Fuck, I..."

She suctions her lips over me just in time as I buck and sputter, spilling yet another gooey load for the woman who's since come to own every moment of my lust. Her eyes are wide and she struggles to keep up with my little jolts, but her greed is too great to quit. Even so, she just does things to me that I can't explain; the mouthful becomes more than a mouthful as hot cum starts to spill out over her lips.

"Ahhhh," she gurgles as she opens her mouth wide, spilling the foul mess onto her chin and chest. Her molars swim in the rest of it, but she's a nasty waterfall of pearly seed by then, and I'm still twitching through the end of a hard nut.

"Mol!" I pant as she tries and fails to scoop it up off her chin with a burbling chuckle. She loses her edge and coughs the sticky wad out with a harsh bark, splattering her prize all over my cock, all over my balls. If I was attached to my shitty couch, I might have cared about the mess, but the sight of my cum sprayed like a shotgun blast all over the place is just too fucking hot to ignore. Aside from that, I have the advantage of youth on my side.

Cum makes a fine lube, and I was ready for more.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she moans a moment later, already flat on her back as I grind my messy cock between her cheeks again. "S-so fucking hot! I can feel your nasty jizz everywhere. Oh god, I can feel it against my hole!"

Her moans are so dirty, so filthy, and I'm just a slave to her perverted whims. Not being inside of her is a crying shame, but she's still reticent about the idea of actually fucking, so pounding myself between her buns will have to do. It's hard not to wonder what she's getting out of it still. A messy face? A hot young guy using her body to get off? Surely a slimy piping of cum across her asshole isn't worth *this* kind of treatment? How does anyone get off to this?

"F-flip me over," she pants. "Flip me over and fuck my tits again. Mason, please, flip me...AH!"

I'm up between them in no time, smearing what's left of the load she fumbled around in a sloppy rush to get her soft old meat pressed together around my cock. Watching myself poke through the top of her cleavage while she gives me the most absurd looks is just too much; she's lost to the heat of her perversion, making faces and uttering obscenities that just weren't meant for pretty girls like her.

"I want your cum," she pants. "I want it, I want it, I want it. Please, baby, fucking blast it right onto me again. Please? Please, Mason, don't make me beg. I want it all, I want every hot, sticky drop on my face, on my tits, in my mouth. Come on. That's it, fuck these tits like they're yours. You gonna do it? Hey? Yeah? Come on, show me how much you love sliding your cock between these big, soft titties baby. Come on! More! Yes, yes! YES!"

I blast the underside of her chin with one, two, three heavy ropes of salty spray. She cackles as I bathe her, mewling and moaning, writhing underneath me as she sneakily rubs herself off. The jetting spurts start to overwhelm me; whatever muscle does the blasting feels tender and tight, but I'm astride a cum drunk angel and the pooling mess on her chest starts to run in little rivers over her collarbones.

"M-Molly," I pant, humping her a few times as I dribble the last of my offering onto her. "I...holy fuck. Oh, shit, that's so much. God damn it."

She smiles up at me, a mix of precious pride and unslaked thirst. Her hair is splayed about her pretty face in a scene that would be nearly tranquil and almost romantic if not for the concerning amount of seed on her body. A double dose of post-nut clarity starts to well up inside of me, and I feel suddenly very naked, and very vulnerable as I climb off her to flop on the bare floor next to her.

"Mmmm," she hums as she runs her hands up my thighs. "So sexy. Look at the mess you made, mister. Gosh, you really must love this body, huh?"

"Molly, I...I feel bad that you didn't get a chance to cum. Do you want me to...Wait, what are you..."

Molly grins from the flat of her back and gets to work on herself, daring me to keep eye contact with her as she masturbates openly.

"I can take it from here," she says in that sultry, confident tone. The idea that this version of Molly was hiding behind the mild-mannered divorcee all along has me stunned. The same woman who's always offering me little snacks while I begrudgingly hang out with her son is lying here in a puddle of jizz, rubbing a hand through her furry pussy as she grins up at me with cum-soaked lips. The way she grinds, rubs, moves, moans, gasps...it's all so hot. So *fucking* sexy.

"H-here it c...comes! Ohshiiiii..." she groans in mere moments, closing her eyes tight as she furiously rubs herself right on through to a clenching, grunting, juddering release.

I'm just lucky to watch from the sidelines, honestly.

*******

Eventually, the cat came out of the bag for Conner, and Molly was forced to put her foot down three weeks later. We still hadn't fucked, but I don't think the things we *were* doing we much purer.

"We've got hours," she says excitedly as I come through the door. She kisses me softly as I step into the hall and kick my shoes off. "He'll be at work till 9:00. You better have so much saved up for me."

Should I feel guilty for using his Mom as a cum rag while he stocks grocery shelves? Maybe. But it's not my fault that she's charging him board for the first time in his adult life. If he wanted more for himself, all he had to do was go to class once in a while instead of playing his Switch in the library for the past 4 years.

Besides, I just love watching her rub.

I'm knelt between her legs on the bed upstairs. Molly rubs with luxurious, slow cruelty as I stroke my cock just inches from her hairy muff. We stare at each other brazenly, occasionally sharing little chaste giggles when we catch each other's eye.

"Your cock is so pretty," she accuses. Her eyebrows work like curious little caterpillars as her brow scrunches and clenches. Naked, her tits sit heavily to either side of her chest. Her toes curl and pinch the duvet. "Stroke it slow for me. That's it. Nice long strokes. Oh, so pretty."

I blush at the epithet; nobody has ever called any bit of me pretty before, let alone my cock. The self restraint that it takes not to lean forward and touch my tip to her wet, pillowy lips is just...

"You really like watching me?" she asks.

"Of course I do," I sigh softly. "Molly, you're so gorgeous. I just love the way you rub and cum for me. It's so fucking sexy."

"Get closer," she moans.

"Molly, I'm..."

"Closer. Come on, just get as close as you can."

I scooch in, bringing my engorged tip within centimeters of her bare pussy. Close enough that her fingers graze it as they circle past on their slow trips around her clit.

"That's it," she gushes. "Keep...keep pumping it for me? You want that, don't you? To make me happy, to pump your cock?"

"More than anything," I pant. "Molly..."

Her body settles into the mattress fractionally, and I gasp as her lips kiss my spongey head with a glancing peck.

There's a first time for everything.

"Mol..."

"Ohhhh," she groans. "I...I want it. Just- rub the tip. Come on, baby, please. Stroke it up against me. That's...Yes, just like that. Ohhhh, god."

I obey at once. This whole business of 'no fucking' was never my idea, but I'm entirely smitten with Molly and want anything she'll give me - the chance to press myself right against her burning need is one that I leap at. I watch my runny precum smear through her dark hairs as she presses her fingers hard against herself. Together, we stroke and rub as best we can, fighting against our better nature all the while.

"We can't...we can't fuck," she pants. That look of concern creeps onto her face all over again. It's the one that always comes before an accident. "Just this. Just rubbing. Ohhhh, but I can feel you leaking onto me. Fuck it's too much."

"I...I can stop if you..."

"Don't you fucking dare," she moans. Her hips work in tight circles now, grinding, actually gridning, her lips against my slick cock. "I need this, you understand? Fuck, Mason, it's been so long since I've had a cock to worship like this. Just...don't slip it in, okay?"

The mind games are off the charts. I try to hold my form as rigidly as I can while I'm still stroking, but Molly's little gyrations are getting less and less controlled. Her moans are louder and her breaths come in sharp gasps each time she slides herself up and down, but I'm practically splashing around in the shallow end and the entire thing is almost too hot to bear.

"D-don't slip...in. Mason, you can't. You hear me?"

Lady, there's more pink every time you slide. Is a pussyjob a thing? Do people cum from this?

"Molly, it's so close!"

She's reduced to a moaning, gasping puddle as she cups her own tits playfully. She eases down, still rubbing hard, but something catches the tip of my cock on her way past this time. I flick away this time, but that had to have been hole.

"Oh," she exclaims with worry. "Mason, what did I say?"

"Molly, that was you!"

"I said," she pants, repeating the motion with tight, precise control, snagging me on her way down again. It's not even the tip; it's the tip of the tip, but she's actively hiding cock between her lips now. "I said not inside."

I groan, not even stroking anymore, just holding myself hard and steady as she grinds up. Down. Up. Down. Looooooong stroke up. Down. Looooooong stroke up. D...down...down...

Down.

All the way down.

In.

"F-fuck!" I cuss as she slides onto me.

"Mason!" she gasps again, still cramming me into her. "I said..."

"You did it!"

She works her hips to stroke me off, still rubbing herself firmly as her delicious hole milks my cock. I know she's playing with me, but her chastised rebuttals are so confusing.

"You weren't...supposed to - fuck! - do that!"

"I didn't!"

"I said not to go inside, Mason!"

"I listened!"

"This is so bad," she grunts. "Fucking me like this. So dirty! So wrong! You're just so naughty, aren't you? And such a bad listener!"

She swallows me to the base, holding me deep inside as she stirs herself up with little bumping grinds. Even from the flat of her back, Molly finds a way to ride me.

"You're not supposed to fuck me," she moans again, playing with her hair, her tits, her tummy, nipping at her own arm, looking anywhere she can. "Ohhhh, baby, this is so wrong. So fucking wrong. This cock isn't supposed to be inside of me!"

I take her hips.

"Oh, fuck, we can't be doing this. This is just...this just isn't right."

"Tell me to stop," I offer. "If you want this to..."

"So much fucking cock," she mewls. "So much hot, dirty cock inside of me," she moans into her shoulder.

"Molly, what the hell do you..."

"Oh, fuck me already," she commands. "Mason, shut the hell up and fuck me already. YES! Fuck! Mason, YES! Oh, fuck yes, baby! That's it, pound this pussy babyyyyyy."

Turns out girls still don't know what the fuck they want at 48. Still, I offered. She made her choice.

I rut her out hard and fast, pounding her while she squeals and flops and jiggles and moans. After what was now months of denial, I pour my heart and soul into that fuck, willing myself to bring her along to the hardest, hottest orgasm she'd ever known. It's a vain goal, but it's what she needs. She needs it. She needs...

"F-fucking cum inside me! Mason, NOW! Please fucking give it to me. All of it, I want all of it. Cum pleasseeeeee, oh fucking hell, I need that cum inside of me!"

Stars swim in my vision and the room goes hazy; the hex she casts is a strong one as she summons every profane drop that I have to give her. My hips work on autopilot as the creamy mess starts to spurt out of her over-full hole. The mess in her pubes builds, as does the little torrent pouring down between her legs. Wet slaps crack on as I work each and every drop up into her heavenly body, and Molly's rising wails finally croak out into raspy, stuttering nonsense as she drinks me deeply through her own eruption.

It's a fucking mess. A right, nasty scene.

I, for one, am spent for the moment. I collapse alongside Molly, who's affinity for hot loads knows no bounds. She bundles me up in her arms and pets my hair, kisses my forehead, as she plays with her earnings lazily. The sucking squelches are a little overstimulating after my performance, but she whispers the sweetest praise for what I've done to her, the gift I've left, the cum I brought her to.

It's the first of several deposits I'll make tonight, with hundreds more to follow.

*******

Molly hums next to me as I work to dry each dish before she hands the next over. Her cheeks are rosy and her chest is flushed - we'd only just finished each other off over the counter ten minutes prior. The heat of it still runs down her thighs. Again.

"There's still soap on that one, mister," she chides me, pointing to a missed spot on her favourite pot.

"Sorry," I mutter.

The front door opens and closes as Kroger's employee of the month loudly bangs his way through the entry hall.

"Hi sweetie!" Molly calls.

"Hi," he grunts back.

"How was work?"

"Fine," he says, sticking his head around the corner to glare at us. "What time's dinner?"

"Oh," Molly chuckles. "Sorry, love; we're going out. There's some mac and cheese in the pantry if you want to make that for yourself?"

He shoots me a spiteful look. I shrug back. "Giovanni's."

His mouth opens and shuts like a fish out of water as Molly and I smile at each other happily.

"Just...just shut the fuck up, man, how about that? God, I fucking HATE you guys!"

Conner stomps off to his room angrily as we share a small chuckle. Mine feels a little guiltier than hers.

"Don't mind him," she says, passing me a wet plate. "He'll come around."

Honestly, Molly and I have a good hand on cumming enough for this household. If he doesn't like it, he's welcome to leave.

Lord knows it'd do him some good.

This is not a romance, and it doesn't make me look like a particularly good dude, but sometimes you just have to take the wins that life gives you.

Especially when they beg for it.

I'll spare you the finer details of how I found myself caught up in this whole...thing. Suffice it to say that my neighbour Luis is the proud father of one exceptionally talented daughter, Gabriella, and that I'm not quite the neighbour I should be.

I like Luis. He brings a beer over after we finish cutting our lawns on Saturday. He lends me tools when I need them. He waves if he sees me pulling into the driveway after work. He's a good dude. It's almost enough to make me feel guilty for the things I do to his sweet angel when he's not looking.

Gabriella. Gabi. What a little hell raiser. I might not be the neighbour Luis thinks I am, but she couldn't be further from the sweet, clever, perfect daughter he's always telling me about. For the first few months after her parents moved in next to me, she was just the exemplary kid that they gushed about, a pretty picture on top of their mantle. She's in school a few hours away, they told me. Great grades, they said. Never gives us any problems, such a good girl, she'll be home for the summer soon.

If only they knew.

This is as much her fault as mine, I'll have you know. She wanted this. No, really, I'm not bullshitting you. She begged, literally, on hands and knees for it.

It started out as an innocent game of flirty teasing. She'd lay out on the pool deck in their backyard in these scrumptious swimsuits whenever I was out working on my yard. Then she graduated to nosey little "whatcha doooooing?" probes. Then it was just so gosh darn hot one day, and didn't I want to come over for a dip in the pool with her?

She's 20 years old. I'm 36. I had no fucking business taking the bait. But you know what? Fuck you. She knew what she was doing.

She was naked in my living room 20 minutes later. My cock was in her mouth moments after that.

And she gave just the laziest, most atrocious head you've ever seen.

The thing about Gabi is that she's very self-aware. She's got a hot little body, an exceedingly pretty smile, and these big dark eyes that make it way too hard to say 'no' to her. None of this is news to her; the boys at school just trip over themselves for her attention, according to her, and she lives for it. Her words, not mine - Gabi's a lot of things, but her nearly-vapid obsession with squeezing devotion out of undeserving subjects is almost pathological.

But, as I said, she's a terrible fuck. I told her so, too.

"Was that good, Daddy?" she asked, still on her knees between my legs as she wiped an errant drop of cum off her lips.

My poor prick felt like it had been chewed up and spit out. I guess, in a way, it had been. All teeth, no depth. She looked pretty as a picture beaming up at me from the floor, waiting for the kind of praise she was used to farming up in frat house bedrooms. But boys will lie for another crack at the big time, and I just didn't have it in me.

I winced at the 'Daddy' thing. "It was alright," I said back.

Cue the second thing I learned about Gabi: she's relentless. Christ, if she got half as spunky about her grades as she did about the opinions of a random bachelor that lived next to her parents, she'd actually be the A+ student that her dad thought she was.

"Just...alright?"

"Yeah, I mean, it was really fun. Just...it was okay."

She looked flabbergasted; I could tell she'd never received anything but glowing reviews before. Was this what rejection felt like? I watched the wheels turn in her head.

"But I'm good at blowjobs!"

"Look, you're so sexy, and you looked amazing doing it, it's just - Ah, hell."

"Tell me! I can take it!"

That was the problem. She really couldn't. The barest contact with the back of her throat and it was just endless coughing and retching gags that had me worried about my the fabric of my sofa.

"I just think you need some practice, that's all."

"Oh, I've had practice! Lot's of practice! I've sucked, like, a bunch of cocks. I know I'm good at it."

"Nobody's ever mentioned the teeth?"

She sat back and fixed me with an imperious stare. "No."

"It's just a little abrasive, you know? A lot of scraping."

She worked her pouty lips and crossed her arms impetuously. I felt a little bad.

"It's okay," I assured her. "It's really not a big deal. I'm sorry if you..."

"It is to me," she shot back.

"What is?"

"Sucking dick."

"You...What?"

"I like sucking dick. It's fun. How would you feel if I told you that you were bad at working on cars?"

I am bad at working on cars. The old Dart in my garage that she liked watching me cuss at was still in pieces for a reason. Still, a guy's gotta have hobbies, and so did Gabi.

"Then keep at it," I said, reaching for my pants. "I've never tried it, so I don't know what tips to give you or anything, but I'm sure you'll be world-class in no time."

She put a hand on my thigh before I could get up and pinned me with a look of indignant determination - I'll never forget it.

"Teach me," she demanded.

"I just said..."

"Bullshit. Tell me what to do. Help me get better. I'm serious. Teach me how to suck cock better."

And so it began. The practice.

"That's it," I panted a week later. "Just like we practiced, come on, Gabi."

Her eyes pinched shut and squeezed little drops of frustration down her cheeks, and her fists were knotted balls of focus at her sides as she bore down on me. Those first sessions were rough, but after a solid week of training, she managed to hold me at the threshold of her throat without gagging for a few seconds at a time.

"And up," I said, easing my hand off the back of her head. "Better, much better."

"PWAH!" she spat. "Fuck, that's so hard!"

"It's just a matter of relaxing, really. Over time, it'll get easier."

She massaged my meat dutifully, a foxy little squire polishing my weapon between sparring sessions. There was no reason for her to be naked, but stripping her down once she snuck through the side door always felt like a good, official way to start the lessons. Plus, she had the most ridiculous body, and I loved the way she felt in my hands. Call me old fashioned, but a tight ass in your hand really gets the blood pumping.

"I don't feel like I'm getting much better," she said forlornly. "I think it's too big or hard or something."

"That'll happen when you stuff it in your mouth," I replied.

"I guess."

"Come on," I said, putting my hand back onto the crown of her head. "Let's go again. Ready? And...down."

Another week of that and Gabi really started to show some promise. She cheated a little with some deft wrist work while she focused on my tip, but the effect was pretty encouraging.

"Fuck, Gabs," I panted above her slurps. "That's...Oh, shit. That's fucking great. Oh, holy hell."

She'd been working every part of her game. The angular, amateurish kneeling had turned into this exceptionally hot squat that arched her back beautifully and accentuated her pert little ass in the cutest way possible. Gone were the flickering glances to see if I was close, too; Gabi had mastered the 'fuck me' eyes without any coaching at all, staring up at my face while her lips slipped and slid over my glans effortlessly.

We were a ways away from the throat still, but she was turning into a super serviceable little cocksucker.

"Slow it down," I said breathily. "Gabs, ease up a bit. I don't wanna...Oh, shit!"

Eyes up, tongue working, hand sliding, lips kissing, hips wiggling, ass preening.

"Gabi, hold up...I'm gonna...Fuck, oh my god! I need...I need to..."

She gurgled, pulling me out seconds before disaster as she hummed a self-satisfied "AHHHHH!" and beat my meaty club on her tongue with a wet laugh.

"Oh, god damn," I panted. The relief came in the nick of time.

"What's the matter? Did someone almost blow their load?"

"Actually, yes, you little shit. You're getting way too good at that."

"Ooooh, say that again. I liked it."

She really was a little shit.

"You can have your gold star when you learn to stop punching down so hard with your fist. What are you trying to do, beat me up?"

She stuck her tongue out. "Whatever. You like it."

"I assure you I don't," I laughed. "Now come on, let's try to get some throat holds in before your dad gets home."

"Fine," she sighed. "Guess it would look pretty bad on you if I still had dick breath when he gets in."

"It certainly would. Now come on, mouth open. Ready? And...down."

Of course, the best way to make training stick is to make sure there's some reward mechanism in place too.

"Fuck, oh yes! Faster, Daddy, please! Faster!"

Laid ass-up across my lap in our third week together, Gabi panted like a dog in heat as my fingers squirmed inside of her. Today's lesson had scarcely slid into her stomach before the little minx had wormed her way into position.

"What did I say about the 'Daddy' thing?"

"Mmmm," she pondered in feigned ignorance. "I can't remember. Was t-to busy sucking your cock. Daddy."

That one earned her a smacked ass. It was for her own good, not because I liked the way she squealed. No way.

"Behave," I said. "Or you're not cumming today."

I slipped back into her and she shimmied her hips more than agreeably. "Fine," she said. "But I - Oh! - I like it."

"That's because you're all kinds of fucked up," I chided. Ring finger and middle finger, firm thrusts. Worked every time.

"Oh, but you - AH! Yes! - You like me."

"I wouldn't go that far. You just keep walking into my house whenever your dad isn't around."

"S..shit!" she panted with my hand pinning her head to the cushion. "Yeah, well - Oh my god, right...right there - you're the one...who...who lets me."

I snorted. She was starting to clench around my fingers hard. "I'm not gonna turn down easy head now, am I?"

"I'm not easy! Deeper, please. Oh, fuck, yes!"

Not easy. As if. Who the fuck walks into someone's house on a Saturday morning and hollers "Helloooooo, Dan? I'm here for my cock sucking lesson! Anyone here?"

"Would you shut up and cum already? I've got stuff to do this morning."

"Y...Yes, sir. Right away, sir! Oh, God fucking damn it! Please don't stop!"

Ever the eager beaver, Gabi took to the curriculum like a duck to water. Once the initial gag reflexes were dealt with, it was only a matter of time before she was reliably able to choke most of me back.

"Don't you try being all cute," I said with a laugh sometime in the first week of June.

She'd long since realized that her brown doe eyes were the way to my heart, and had perfected this panicky terrified look with them that just drove me wild every time. She called it her 'suffocating on cock' face. Who the hell says shit like that? Gabi, I guess.

She burbled with a "Grrrrukh," as she backed off me. Her eyes watered and her nose ran, but she was quick with a stroking fist to keep me warm while she caught her breath. "Oh, come on. You love it."

I pushed some hair out of her face. She smiled at the gesture, but it was a little too sweet. "You better save that one for the boys you really like. Don't go breaking out the big guns for just any old shmuck."

"You're an old shmuck, and I break it out for you," she pointed out.

"That's different."

"How? You're old."

"Shut up."

"You are! You're like...my dad's age!"

"Gabi," I warned.

"Okay, fine. Not THAT old. But still like almost twice my age. Is that not weird for you? OH! You twitched! You like it!"

"I'm warning you!"

"What? I'm just saying!"

"Yeah, well, why don't you keep that mouth a little busier before it gets you into trouble, eh?"

She shrugged and popped her lips over me one time before getting a last thought out. "Can we get food after this? Swallowing your kids always gets me so hungry!"

With a great 'harumph', I palmed her head back into place and fumed silently in my seat.

She really was gonna be trouble at some point. But honestly? Something about the way she batted her eyelashes up at me made it hard to care.

And she was kinda cute.

I groaned, loudly, in frustration. It was nearly half past 8:00 on a late August night and I was still chained to the desk in my small home office, working. I knew that I really only had myself to blame, but it didn't make my disappointment easier to bear. I rubbed my eyes under my glasses while I waited for what I hoped would be my last dataset to compile for the night.

"Do you like her?" my wife asked, leaning against the small round window of the little room, staring down into our backyard in quiet contemplation while she dragged a brush through her long brown locks.

"Hmm?" I mumbled, dragging myself out of a waking nightmare of tasks left unfinished to devote all of my attention to my loving spouse.

"Nessa. Do you like her?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, she's alright. I guess..." An insistent error message on my screen demanded my attention again, and I cursed under my breath.

"I'm glad," Ellie said distantly, eyes still glued to something in the yard. I spotted the error in my sheet's config variables and let the thing run again, taking a tender sip of the drink she'd brought up for me. It was mostly bourbon, just how I liked them. She was an angel.

"And what about us?" Ellie asked, actually looking across to me for a change.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think she likes us?" She looked quite serious, like the answer might really matter somehow.

"Well yeah," I said, leaning back from the desk to cross my legs and regard my wife in earnest. The low light of a dusky sunset shone just bright enough to trace the shapely curves of her body through the short nightgown. I'd have taken a picture of her, there and then, if I thought it wouldn't diminish the moment to do so. "Yeah I think she likes us just fine. She likes cashing our cheques, anyway." I smiled, hoping the weak joke would land.

"I'm serious, Tom!" she chided, "I really want her to feel at home with us." An affirming notification let me know that my set had compiled successfully; I leaned forward to send it off for review.

"She does, sweetheart; I'm sure of it."

"I really hope so," she muttered, returning to her study of the property below, and resuming the long pulls of her comb.

I'd happily sat there, in that very spot, and watched my wife comb her hair out nearly every single night since we'd married six years earlier. If it wasn't from this chair, it was from the comfort of our bed, with her looking out that room's window instead. Regardless of location, the effect was the same; my heart swelled with nothing but a totalizing affection and all-encompassing adoration for the woman who'd knocked me over the head and set me up across the alter from her before my nerves ever gave me a chance to question what she was doing, or why I was lucky enough to be the one she'd picked. She was my everything; rock, partner, pillar, confidant, confessor, co-conspirator, friend, and love. I'd do anything for her.

"What about me?" she asked, almost too softly to be heard as I shut the lid of my laptop quietly.

"Oh Ellie," I said, pushing my chair back and beckoning her away from the window to sit in my lap. Reluctantly, she tore her eyes from the only thing that could have been dominating her attention so. She padded over to me and curled her soft body up against mine, pulling her feet up off the ground to tuck herself wholly up on me. I hugged her tight to my chest and kissed her head tenderly. "I'm sure Nessa is very fond of you. Really. She told me so, actually."

Her eyes lit up as she turned her face to look at me hopefully. "She did? She really said that?"

"She did! She said you're kind, and sweet, and caring, and that I'm very lucky to have you." I wasn't lying; she really had told me all of that. The fact that she'd done so while clamping a hand to her leaking pussy to keep my cum inside her didn't make it any less true. Ellie squirmed happily in my lap, nuzzling herself into my chest in perfect contentment.

I wrapped an arm around her. I kissed her head. Took a sip of my drink. Grinned from ear to ear. Outside, a soft splash broke the evening silence as someone dove into the pool for a late night swim.

*******

"Good morning, you two!" came a happy call down the stairs. "How are my two favorite people this morning?"

"Good morning, you!" Ellie said, lighting up as Nessa came into the well-appointed kitchen in her usual sleepwear; a tight fitting white tank that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and a pair of thin cotton shorts that left a healthy amount of her underbuns free to enjoy. She tied her dark hair into a high ponytail as the slap of her bare feet carried her across the tiled floor to accept a steaming cup of coffee from my wife.

"Good morning gorgeous!" she said to my wife before planting a kiss on my cheek on her way to the fridge, "and good morning to you too, papa!"

I looked up from my paper at the two of them sharing a conspiratorial grin; they looked absolutely devilish, like two peas in a tremendously mischievous pod. "You can't call me 'papa', young lady. That's just...not allowed! Hey, come on now!" They fell to fits of giggles together, and I was sharply reminded just how outnumbered I was when it came to things around here anymore. It was at least half an act on my end; it did my heart well to see both of them happy like this, especially my Ellie.

"Oh, come on Tom! Don't be such a grump!" Ellie rebuked, "At least she stopped calling you 'Daddy', didn't she?" The two of them sipped their coffee in unison, shooting furtive looks over the rims of their mugs at each other and doing a terrible job of hiding their shit-eating grins; I still got called Daddy more often than I cared for. I shook my head, laughing, and checked my watch.

"You're both trouble, you know that?" I said, folding my paper. "I've gotta go; it should be a shorter day for me today, so do you want me to pick something up for dinner, or meet me somewhere maybe?"

Ellie looked to Nessa, happy to defer to her as usual.

"Oh I don't know!" said the younger woman, chewing her bottom lip in thought. As hot as it was for me, the barest twitch of my wife's eyebrows told me that she'd have flooded her underwear if she'd been wearing any under her morning robe. I smiled at her openly while she pretended to ignore my gaze. "Why don't I cook tonight? For you two! Does that sound fun?" Her bubbly exuberance at the idea, coupled with the snappy bounce of her little titties under the thin shirt, visibly melted my wife entirely. It was hard not to love having her here with us.

"That sounds great," I said, reaching for my briefcase, and daring my wife to look me in the eye; she wouldn't do it. "I should be back by 5:00. What are you two getting up to today?"

"Well," Nessa said, eying my swooning spouse next to her obliviously, "now that your wife has a hot date with a handsome man tonight, I think I had better take her shopping for something to wear! How does that sound, lovely?"

"Good. Great! Yeah, great! Let's...let's do it!" Ellie said, snapping out of whatever profane daydream she'd let herself tumble into; I was certain it involved the younger woman's bare pussy on or near her face. It was incorrigibly cute.

"Great!" squealed our houseguest, looking to me excitedly, "I'll have your wife looking so good tonight, you won't know what hit you! A full tummy and empty balls await you tonight, papa!"

I could only shake my head ruefully, drain my mug to hide my amusement, and rise to leave. "I have no comment," I said, sweeping my keys off the corner of the island "other than that my wife always looks so good." Ellie stepped up to kiss me goodbye, laughing against my lips as our resident little pervert chimed in with her commentary again.

"Is that why your bed was squeaking for so long last night?"

"I'm leaving; see this? I'm walking away, out the door now," I called over my shoulder, my wife's snickers mingling with Nessa's playful teases.

"I'm just saying! I could hear it down the hall! Whatever; have a good day! Daddy! We love you!"

I slammed the door shut for dramatic effect as their peels of cackling laughter chased me out of the house.

*******

The day flew by in a blur of meetings, consults, meetings disguised as consults, consults masquerading as meetings, and touchpoints that managed to toe the line of both. Playful texts from my wife, sent from various fitting rooms around the city, were a welcome distraction throughout the day; several shots of her delicious ass in nothing but a skimpy excuse for underwear or her dark nipples barely covered by her hand gave me reason enough to keep a genuine smile painted on right up to quitting time.

Nessa also sent regular messages; proof that the pair of them were working in unison to tease me thoroughly. Things like 'did you like that last outfit she sent?' or 'how about that one? Smokeshow, right?' tailed my wife's messages by less than a minute each time. I played along with their game, refusing to point out that not a single shot had actually included Ellie in more than her own bra and panties. More than one image featured an errant knee or elbow to be glimpsed in a background mirror that didn't belong; it was clear that Nessa was responsible for actually taking most of the pictures.

I watched the clock hammer closer and closer to 5:00pm impatiently. My seniority meant that I should have felt free to leave whenever I wanted to, but our CEO had actually made a rare appearance that day, and I refused to let him see me walk out prematurely. With 8 minutes to go, I took another scroll through my texts and admired the body of the woman that I was, even after all these years, madly in love with.

I was, obviously, a lucky son of a bitch. It was almost too good to be true, truly. Ours was a marriage of equals, and not in the fifty-fifty split sense; we both gave the relationship everything we had each and every day, and were strong as hell because of it. We never hit a stumbling block that we couldn't heave each other over, or met an obstacle that didn't part before us through our combined force of will. Indeed, not even our inability to conceive together had offered more than a momentary hiccup.

Maybe it was two moments. At any rate, Ellie's insistence that we just go ahead and try to find a live-in surrogate had sounded hellish alarms in my mind when she first served it up; there's not a married man on earth who wouldn't immediately dread the impending jealousy or complications that something like her plan would bring into a home. But the fights never came. Not when we discussed it, not when we agreed to it, not when we started looking, not when we began interviewing candidates, not when the shortlist invariably meant having conversations about actually fucking someone, or when we settled on the little devil who'd moved in a few months ago. We just...kept working. If anything, Ellie and I enjoyed each others' bodies more often since Nessa had arrived.

And we were still working, well. Ellie had been adamant that the surrogate had to be living at home with us so that we could get her to appointments, provide her with a good diet, and comfortable conditions to carry our baby; I never questioned why any of that meant I had to *put in the work* myself until she showed me what kinds of costs a more clinical approach might incur. My salary was admittedly ridiculous, but I didn't mind saving tens of thousands of dollars if the tradeoff was that I would be dumping load after load into someone as perky as Nessa had turned out to be.

I grinned from ear to ear as the last minutes of the working day ticked by, saving a photo of my girls to my camera roll; I'd missed the happy double selfie they'd sent from brunch this morning, but it was too cute not to keep. She might have come into our lives for a very specific, yet-to-be-fulfilled, purpose but Nessa had really become a part of our family, and a dear friend to my wife. Frankly, it was almost hard to imagine how our home had ever been half so joyful before she came around.

Of course, my wife's overwhelmingly intense crush on her might have had something to do with it.

The clock struck 5:00 and I raced down to the parking garage, eager to get home. I reflected on the drive, amusedly, how the whole thing had developed. It started with the looks; I should know what Ellie looked like when she wanted something - she still gives me those same eyes to this day. The long, intense stares. The hunger. The lip nibbles. She was in deep. Then, of course, came the laundry; I don't know when she started stuffing her face into the worn panties, but it probably wasn't long after I caught her clutching them to her chest while she watched Nessa sunning on our pool deck through the laundry room window, hand stuffed desperately down the front of her own shorts. The verbal admission had come later that same week, though it was entirely unnecessary by then. She might have well told me that the sky was blue.

It couldn't have mattered less to me. We were madly in love, entirely in tune with one another, and the fact that one of us was hopelessly obsessed with Nessa while the other was fucking her raw never stood a chance of changing who we were to one another in the slightest. She'd never replace anything integral to our marriage, even if she had become a central pillar of our home life.

*******

"Hello?" I shouted as I pushed through the front door, expecting an array of delicious sights and smells to await me. A pan crashed loudly from the direction of the kitchen.

"Ah! You're home!" Nessa cried, out of sight. "You're early!" She stuck her head around the corner of the hall in panic, "you can't come in yet!"

"Did you say something?" came my wife's voice from the 2nd floor.

"He's here already!" shouted Nessa.

"What? On no! No, you can't be home yet, Tom! Go away!"

I laughed, dropping my keys into the bowl by the front door. "And where am I supposed to go?"

"Go get the mail or something!" Ellie shouted as further clanging erupted from the kitchen. "We'll let you know when we're ready!" Nessa's top half reappeared around the corner to point sternly at the door when I didn't immediately retreat.

I had no choice but to obey.

"Evening, Tom!" called my neighbor from across the street as I retrieved a bundle of envelopes from the posted letterbox at the end of my lane.

"Gary," I said in dry reply. "How're you now?"

"Not so bad, not so bad," the slovenly retiree said, coming over to chat. "Say, you got someone new doing your yardwork?"

"Eh? Oh, kind of; we have a, uh, boarder staying with us. I think she's been helping Ellie out with a bit of it."

"She's living there with you?" he asked, arching a quizzical eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah; she's been here since spring I guess," I said, suddenly wondering what my signal to re-enter my own home would be.

"Cute little thing huh, real spunky looking." I bit back a smart reply; I was sure the old horndog would love to know just how spunky she was. "She going to school around here?"

"Yeah, school," I lied as the porch light blinked on and off three times.

"I see, I see," Gary mumbled, "looks like you got a bulb workin' on dying there, huh?"

"Looks that way," I said, turning to wander off back up the lane, "I better go do something about that now, while I'm thinking about it."

"You do that. And, hey, send your little gardener over this way sometime why don't ya; I got some seed that needs spreading! Ha!"

Stupid old fuck.

*******

"Can I come in now?" I called as I reentered the front hall.

"Yes, you can," replied Nessa smoothly as she stepped into view from the adjacent dining room, planting a quick kiss on my cheek and taking my jacket. I should have known better than to let myself be surprised, but her outfit was outright scandalous. Strappy black heels made her legs look a mile long even before I noticed the glossy sheen of thigh high stockings that clipped to something around her waist, barely concealed by a skirt that hardly deserved the name; the black pleated strip of fabric made her skimpy little pajama bottoms look modest by comparison. Something like half of a white blouse was knotted just under her bust in a way that showed off her taut little tummy, which had so far refused to fill itself with a viable pregnancy. A ridiculously expensive looking black bra showed itself off nearly entirely, even as it crammed Nessa's perfect little B-cups up under her chin. A shockingly outdated stretchy plastic choker and messy twin hair buns completed the 'sexy waitress' look effectively. I had no words to offer, so I chose to simply stare unashamedly instead. "You like?" she giggled, twisting on the spot to give me half a peek at her rear. I reached out to lift the edge of the skirt with a single finger to admire the handprint I'd left there two days prior.

"I paid for all of this today too, didn't I?" I chuckled, letting the skirt drop again.

"Oh, come on Daddy," she pouted playfully, "don't you like my outfit?"

I hated how much the infantilizing routine got to me, but gladly conceded that she looked positively edible.

"Well that's better," she said with a grin, "do you like my choker? It's vintage!"

I winced at that; I wouldn't tell her that the cheap things had been all the rage when I was in junior high. It was just another reminder of the near-decade between us.

"Yes, yes; it's very cute," I admitted as a door shut audibly from upstairs.

"That will be your date," she said with a beaming grim, turning to face the staircase with me.

Ellie stepped into view on the landing above us and my heartrate spiked measurably. Aside from the white number she'd worn to the chapel a handful of years ago, I couldn't recall a dress ever looking so good on her; a black, fitted thing with a tapered skirt that split to her mid-thigh on one side, and a boxy neckline that cut straight across her ample chest adorably; the whole thing worked together to compliment my wife's already stunning figure. Her hair had been worked into wavy tumbling tresses that fell about her shoulders loosely and paired with a dainty gold necklace to frame her face beautifully. I'd given her the delicate chain as a gift on our first anniversary, which was all I could afford at the time; we'd eaten instant ramen on a futon in our cheap apartment to celebrate, and fucked on the living room floor until the sun came up. She was a vision; my mouth worked to find words that refused to come. She looked down at me warmly, pinching her ruby red lips inwardly to resist the urge to smile shyly.

"Doesn't she look wonderful?" Nessa asked quietly. I'd quite forgotten all about her being there for the moment.

"Elenore," I breathed, eyes glued to the only woman in the room that I cared about as she began to descend the wooded steps of the staircase delicately, unused to doing so in heels.

"Hi," she said, blushing beautifully as she stopped to stand before me.

"Hello, you," I replied. I couldn't take my eyes off her. My stomach was a knot of nerves.

"Hungry?" she asked.

"Starving," I replied, glancing shamelessly down her cleavage.

Nessa led us into the dining room where a candlelit table was set with what looked to be every plate, bowl, knife, fork, glass, and spoon I thought we owned. I'd been to enough fundraisers and formal dinners to know that I was looking at the makings of a long, drawn out affair of at least a half dozen courses. The younger woman disappeared into the kitchen to begin retrieving water and wine while I made a show drawing my wife's chair out for her; she treated me to an loving kiss as she sat down.

We held hands across the table and made doe-eyes at each other as dinner was brought before us in progressively more elaborate offerings. Something custardy that appeared to have been seared with a blowtorch convinced me that almost none of this had actually been cooked in my house, but I wouldn't call them out on the ruse. I was in heaven. Ellie and I talked and talked about nothing at all, basking in each others' company cheerfully as our scantily clad hostess bustled in and out. We shared private giggles after being treated to an entirely scrumptious view of Nessa's bare ass as she bent to retrieve a fork that she'd clumsily let fall to the floor; my wife fanned herself dramatically with her hand while chugging her wine, obviously flustered by the generous show she hadn't expected to enjoy with dinner.

"See something you liked?" I teased playfully when she'd left the room.

"She's so fucking hot," my wife said in a loud whisper, rolling her eyes in suggested disbelief. "Was she even wearing underwear?"

"Definitely not," I whispered back with a laugh.

"Jesus Christ, how do you handle that body? I want to take a bite out of that thing!" she said with a chuckle of her own.

"Thirty seconds at a time," I joked. The arrangement between us was that I'd fill her up as often as possible while it was opportune to do so, which I tried hard to make quick and easy on her, but the truth was that shorter get-togethers were as much as I could manage most of the time. She rode like an absolute demon when she wanted to.

"I can't blame you," Ellie said as Nessa reemerged with a freshly uncorked bottle, ready to top us off.

"What are you two getting up to in here?" she asked in response to our childish attempts to act like we hadn't just been talking about her.

"Nothing at all," Ellie said as her glass was refilled, "this is just really nice. Thank you for everything, seriously. I think we needed this." I nodded in earnest agreement, scooping the last crumbs of a pastry into my mouth. My wife stared up at the younger woman by her side with the most adorably vacant puppy dog eyes; I couldn't work out if the returned smile was polite, knowing, sympathetic, or something more. It was just so heartwarming to see Ellie like this.

"Well," she said, "you both deserve a little quality time together, and I'm just happy to be a part of that. You both mean so much to me." She put a hand on my wife's shoulder and they shared another glance as Ellie nodded up at her, giving her some silent confirmation. "So, mister man, why don't you just follow us upstairs once you're done that drink of yours and you can enjoy the last course of dinner, hmm?" Ellie fought to bite back a smile again as her cheeks and chest flushed with a deep crimson blush.

"Do I need to go check the mail again?" I asked while Nessa held my wife's hand daintily, guiding her up out of her seat as she smoothed the skirt across her thighs.

"Take as much time as you want," she said as they made to leave the room together, hand in hand, "but don't take too long, or your dessert will go cold."

Nessa shot me a wink that tightened my trousers instantly.

*******

I gave myself a much needed pep-talk in the mirror of the first floor powder room after splashing a handful of tepid water on my face. The visits to Nessa's room were usually quick because that was all they had to be, but I wanted desperately to give my wife the performance of a lifetime tonight. Watching the horny little pixie prance around in her skimpy excuse for an outfit all night was sure to have Ellie all worked up, and I was desperate to get her out of that stunning dress.

Figuring that enough time had passed for Nessa to head off to her own room, I mounted the stairs, excitement pounding through me. I jerked my tie off and left if on the floor of the upstairs hall, hearing the door to Nessa's room click shut behind her to my right. To my left, a soft light played through the cracked door to our master suite.

I pushed through into the candle lit room, shedding my shirt and closing the door behind me, only to have my breath stolen from me all over again.

Ellie lay in luxurious repose on our enormous bed, propped up on a half dozen soft pillows, hair expertly arranged in an intentional display about her, arms spread wide to either side, and with a properly wicked look upon her face. I grinned back at her in feral heat, drinking in the sight of her matching set of deep red lingerie; a high-waisted, lace fronted set of bottoms with the strings pulled high up on her abundant hips, and a matching sheer top that failed spectacularly at obscuring my partner's large, dark nipples. She crooked an arm and plucked one strap off her shoulder seductively.

"You took long enough," she purred as I worked my belt from around my waist and kicked free of my pants. She gave an appreciative hum of approval at what she saw standing naked before her; I was hardly a gym rat, but I made some effort keep my fuzzy frame functionally fit for her. "Come here, you."

I crawled up the bed to her as she parted her legs for me, kissing my way up her legs and insistently at the soft pouch of her tummy, circling a slow lap of her navel with soft smooches. She petted my hair all the while; I'd have been treated to a glowing, affectionate smile if I'd bothered to look up from my work. I was committed to my labors though, and there were swathes of unkissed flesh that needed my immediate attention.

"I love the way you love me," she cooed, stroking my hair as I lavished her torso, hips, thighs, knees, tummy, ribs, and love handles with amorous attention. I lost myself in the obsessive need to find every bare inch of skin and press my lips to each new spot. "My big, handsome man," she cooed.

"I do love you, so much," I replied briefly, diving into an unloved space under her left breast.

"I know you do," she said, "here, let me help you babe." Realizing that I wouldn't rest until I'd positively smothered her from head to toe, Ellie deftly undid the silver clasp at the front of her bra, letting the delicately fashioned cups fall away until she could shrug out of the thing entirely. I applied myself with a new fervor, greedily engulfing her heavy teardrops in gaping mouthfuls of her impossibly soft flesh. In time, I worked up, up, and up, feasting at her neck and below her ears; a crowd favorite with Ellie that never failed to harden her nipples in an instant. "God, Tom, I love that so much," she exhaled.

"I know you do," I quipped, parroting her own words back to her. "I need you, now."

"Then take me."

I did. Peeling the inconsequential thong off and dropping it next to us, I kneed my way up toward her hips; her puffy mound was a favorite snack of mine whenever she'd let me have it, but I knew she didn't have the patience for that tonight. She nested her fingers in the wiry hair of my chest while I stroked myself to rigid attention, not that it was necessary; as was our particular habit, we watched together as her greedy pussy enveloped inch by throbbing inch of my burly cock. Ellie would never have admitted to being a size queen when we met, but I'd never been given reason to feel insecure about what I brought to the table; as wet as she was from the night's slow romance, we still moved slowly to keep her comfortable. She exhaled slowly as I sank home into her deepest, tightest berth, and began to rub languidly at bottom of her fat mound of newly bald skin. I wondered absently if she'd had help with that; it was improbably smooth to the touch.

We locked eyes, me kneeling between her legs, buried to the hilt and bumping back and forth in short strokes that kept most of me deep inside her, while she toyed her sensitive little nub with practiced fingers. It wasn't the flashy, hard, fast, animalistic sex that we'd had in our twenties; it was the sex that two people who knew each other like the backs of their own hands had, and it was perfect.

"God, you still feel so fucking good," my wife intoned with a serious set of her brow, disbelief creasing her forehead as she tried to reason out how the only cock she'd had in nearly ten years still found ways to surprise her. Her tummy tightened and she took hold of an urgent handful of pillowcase next to her head as she ground herself toward a hitching orgasm. "Yes, baby, fuck...yes, yes, yes!" she grunted, shivering and pitching forward slightly as electricity ripped along her spine, causing her to clamp down hard on me from within.

"Good girl, baby, that's my good girl," I expressed, heart swelling endearingly as I cupped her face in a big hand, "I love feeling you cum on me."

"Ahh," she sighed, gently probing at herself still, if somewhat tenderly, "I just love rubbing while you fuck me; there's nothing like it."

I was still thrusting into her, slowly, in the way she enjoyed after she came, even as I ran my hands over her soft body in an act of pure adulation. She did her best to paralyze me with her big brown eyes and a loving smile with what was left of the lipstick on her lips.

"Tom," she said, flush with heady confidence; I knew what would come next before it left her mouth.

"Yes, my love," I said, pressing into her more insistently.

"I..."

I drew longer strokes, intent on having my fun with this. I couldn't just make it easy on her.

"Tom!"

"Out with it, babe, use your words."

"Tom, I...I want..."

I had my hands around her hips now, and was riding her forcefully; her tits flopped with a delectably heavy ripple in time with her little tummy.

"Spit it out Ellie," I demanded.

"I want to fuck her!"

I hammered at her, bearing down into her carelessly, knowing my wife's mind was full to the brim with unfulfilled bisexual longing. Her eyes screwed shut and she clenched her teeth together, either in disbelief that she'd finally spoken the unspeakable, or in an effort to bear the savage punishment that I rained down on her battered little hole; a wordless, feral noise rose from her chest as she hammered her fists into the mattress on either side of herself.

"Again," I ordered.

"I...I...can't!" Ellie protested, squirming powerfully.

"Again Ellie. Say it again."

"Tom, I..."

"Now, Ellie," I barked through gritted teeth.

As if with great anguish and under punishing duress, she complied at last, erupting in a wracking spasm of agonizing bliss as she finally uttered the words, "I want to fuck her so bad, Tom!"

I pulled myself free of her, dripping from tip to base with my wife's desperate lust, and stomped in something like a fury towards our door while Ellie's breathless mewling filled the room. I tore the door open, prepared to march the length of the hall without breaking stride.

Nessa squeaked in terror as she recoiled from where she'd clearly had her ear pressed to the door.

"Get in here," I growled, grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her into the room.

"I'm sorry!" she cried pathetically as I hauled her to the foot of our bed. Ellie perked up eagerly, hunger and raw lust sparking her eyes; she literally licked her lips. "I'm so sorry, really!"

"My wife wants you, now," I told her. She still wore most of the outfit from dinner, minus the heels and stockings.

"Okay," she gasped, eyes darting around the room furtively.

"Okay?" I asked, needing to be sure that her consent wasn't just panic. She nodded quickly.

"Mhm. Yes!" The excitement sounded more genuine; she was warming to the idea, looking quickly from Ellie's voluptuous naked body back to my hairy, sweaty form towering over her. "What do you want? What do I need to do? Tell me...Daddy."

Ellie made a sound like a ravenous jungle predator.

I spun Nessa around roughly, pulling her little skirt up to show my handprint to Ellie. "Is this what you want?"

Ellie nodded rapturously, and began to rub her dripping slit. I cracked a harsh slap at the tight little butt on display, earning a nod of gratuity from my wife and a little cry from Nessa. I spun her back around and pulled the black fabric up again; her neatly tucked pussy lips were red and inflamed; she'd obviously been a very busy little voyeur. I ran a finger along her wet slit and offered my hand toward my wife. She wavered only a half second on the edge of indecision before steeling herself; she clamored the length of the king-sized bed swiftly, sucking my finger into her mouth like it would save her life, casting her hungry gaze up at the younger woman lecherously. She settled back on her haunches and undressed her muse with her eyes; that wouldn't do, not for my Ellie.

I pulled the feeble knot of her top away and yanked the sorry little shirt off crudely, wanting desperately to give my wife what she craved so deeply. The bra went next, and the girl's tits stared Ellie right in the face, tiny pink nipples set ready to cut glass at a moment's notice. I pushed her forward into Ellie's waiting arms, and she immediately began sucking at them with at least as much dedication as I'd shown her much larger ones minutes ago. Nessa's face was one of carnal disbelief as she chewed on her bottom lip with a furrowed brow that told the story of a woman all too happy to be treated as she had been. Ellie pawed at her greedily, squeezing ass and tit meat with fevered abandon.

"Are you going to fuck her?" I asked, fighting the urge to simply continue enjoying the vulgar spectacle of my wife's insatiability. She was drooling on herself by then.

She made no real reply, but bodily pulled the smaller woman onto the bed with her. Nessa gasped, but didn't protest, and let herself be coerced onto her back where Ellie had just lain. My wife swatted her legs apart as Nessa craned her neck to look down at herself, and Ellie shoved the tiny skirt up around her midriff. I had no choice but to stand there and stroke myself to the view.

Ellie dropped her chest to the bed and popped her wide ass into the air, giving a little wiggle that I knew was just for me; I reached out and patted her lovingly, eager to watch her satiate her deepest need. Nessa looked to me as if for some support, but I shrugged to let her know that she'd find no help from me. The searching look turned to wide-eyed disbelief in the moment Ellie's hot tongue parted her lips; she slammed her head back into the pillow in open-mouthed incredulity at what her night had become, and cupped her own tits to ground herself. I couldn't take another minute.

I squared up behind Ellie, who's ass teetered near enough to the foot of the bed. Pearly strands of wet excitement webbed between her thighs and I slid into her without any effort whatsoever. Her mess of hair hid Nessa's pelvis from veiw, but the girl stared me right in the eye while I started pummeling my wife anew; Nessa's mouth worked in mute 'Oh's continually, her face a contorted masterpiece of bliss that approached indignance. Ellie was clearly eating well, and her pussy twitched and clamped down on me ceaselessly.

"You're doing so good, baby, I'm so proud of you," I said encouragingly, patting Ellie's hips to let her know that the compliment was for her. She refused to abate her sloppy munching, but a hard series of blinks from Nessa and an audible "fucking hell, just like that, yes please" told me she'd intensified her suckling feast.

"Daddy," Nessa said waveringly, "do you like watching your wife eat me like this?" I was pleasantly surprised to hear her getting vocal.

"I...love...it," I fought to reply between thunderous thrusts. The cracking report of my pelvis against my wife's perfect mountain of ass filled the room with a staccato beat that I was sure the neighbors must have heard.

"I love it too, daddy, I love it. I love your wife's tongue on me. I love it...so...fucking...MUCH!" I wasn't sure if she'd cum or was just dangerously close, but Ellie's head was bobbing savagely as she devoured the poor girl.

"Tell me," I demanded, wanting to hear the girl compliment my stunning wife further. I'd had Nessa's pussy on a silver platter for weeks and weeks now, but I wanted desperately to know that she appreciated my wife at least half as much as I did, to know that she was worthy of her magical mouth.

"I fucking...NEED...to cum for her, daddy!" she cried, pinching her own nipple tightly and pulling at her own hair with the other hand.

"You will look at me when you cum, understand?" I ordered, nearing the brink myself. With luck, and a patient devotion that came with worshipping the woman on the end of my cock for nearly a decade, I'd see us all cumming in a messy puddle together.

"Yes, daddy!" She moaned in agony, already looking to me for an anchor.

"Are you close, baby girl?" I pleaded. Nessa nodded urgently, and Ellie moaned loudly in time with her; they'd both heard what they wanted to.

A deep breath, a mental bracing, a willful steadying of shaky legs, and I launched myself back into the complete and utter ruination of my wife's happily abused pussy. Nessa clamped her hands to either side of Ellie's head tightly, seeking me out as her mouth parted in yet another wordless howl, and Ellie's hands wrapped themselves powerfully around our girl's waist to hold on for dear life as I split and splintered from the inside out with what I couldn't hold back for another second; Nessa and I watched each other cum on either end of my faithful life partner, trembling madly into and onto her peerlessly gorgeous body. A hot, streaming rush of my wife's watery euphoria ran in a short flood down both our legs as she crashed forward onto the still-shaking woman she'd just spent the last five minutes lashing with her tongue; Nessa wrapped her arms around my wife's head and shoulders and held her close, emitting a steady stream of adoring accolades.

"Oh, you did so good, you did so good, gorgeous, you did so good for me and daddy, yes you did, yes you did." I could have wept for the wholesome purity of it. Ellie found her lover's face and lauded it with kisses, each of which was returned passionately and earnestly, and I felt sure that my time with the couple was at an end.

I leaned over and kissed my wife sumptuously on her bare ass cheek, sparing a happy wink for Nessa smothered beneath her as I scooped up a shirt and some shorts, intent on making my way to the spare room for the night to give my wife space to enjoy her new toy.

"Where are you going, sweetheart?" she asked, turning back to face me for the first time in many long minutes.

"You two cuddle up tonight, if you'd like! I don't mind."

"Are you sure?" Ellie asked genuinely.

"Of course," I said with a wide smile, heart full to bursting with pride for the glassy-eyed, vacant expression on the well-fucked girl who patted my wife's hair absentmindedly. "Take care of our girl, okay? I'll come in in the morning."

"You have to fill her up tomorrow," Ellie said, "it's her time again."

I turned before slipping through the door to leave. "I know it babe; there's plenty for both of you, okay?" Ellie smiled and nodded contentedly. "Goodnight you two."

A pair of "Goodnight Daddy"s followed me out the door.

Life was very, very good.

My entry for Image 8. Enjoy responsibly!

*******

~ September ~

I was nursing my sixth beer of the afternoon.

"You want another one?" asked the crusty old bartender.

I looked up from my phone and blinked him into focus. "Sure," I sighed. "Put it on my tab."

He slid a brown bottle across the sticky bar. "Tab, rent; what's the difference, eh? At least you're not driving home. Ha!"

"Thanks Ted," I mumbled. Even after three months, he still seemed to find amusement in that same tired joke. Take a little advice from someone who has no right to be giving any; don't move in above a bar. Not after a breakup.

I returned to my dejected scrolling. Diana smiled back at me from every photo I thumbed past. Diana at her cousin's wedding. Diana at a work party. Diana in Cabo. Diana smiling. Diana looking happy.

Diana without me.

I pulled a long sip of Bud and muttered to myself that it was time. It'd been long enough. She was obviously thriving; the least I could do was try.

Finding a fuckable profile picture of yourself is a young person's game. At 40, you're ahead of the pack if you manage not to let a fish or boat slip into the frame. At least I still had all my hair still. Even so, pickings were slim - all the best photos of me also included Diana, which was...not ideal.

Pinching to crop her out of a shot from my parents' anniversary dinner last year, I clicked 'Save' with a dejected "fuck it, whatever" and dropped my phone atop the bar. 9 years. All 'wasted' according to her. I obviously felt differently, but she was entitled to her feelings even if she was wrong.

I watched the Packers fail to convert their point and waved Ted down for a refill.

"Fuckers aren't even gonna make playoffs like this. Who they playin' next week?"

"Lemme check," I said, plucking my phone back up.

LilyRae83 liked your profile picture. Lily Rae. The name felt familiar. Something tickled the back of my mind, some remnant of memory that I just couldn't place.

"FUCKERS!" Ted howled, pulling me back to the present as a costly interception guaranteed he'd have to listen to a thousand 'rebuild year' conversations over the coming season.

My phone lit up again. LilyRae83 commented on your post.

"Looking great!"

I clicked the profile.

*******

~ November ~

"This was nice," Lily told me at her door.

It had been, just a complete breath of fresh air. "Yeah, it was. You know, I've never been to a jazz bar. Good call on your part."

She smiled; time had made the awkward girl from college into a more-than-handsome woman. "We'll have to do it again some time."

"I'd really like that," I said earnestly. I meant it too; I hadn't been on a first date in almost a decade, but this one felt like it had gone well. Like, really well.

She tried to stifle a little smile, betrayed as her hands worked around her purse strap. God, it was cute. "It's a...date?"

I grinned wide. "Yeah," I agreed. "It is."

"And...this one?"

"This one?"

"Yeah. Was this a date?"

I swelled with the same giddy enthusiasm that I'd entirely forgotten how to feel. "I mean, I think so. Do...do you?"

She nodded. "Mhm."

"So...a kiss wouldn't be out of line? Is that what I'm hearing?"

No. No it would not.

*******

~ December ~

Her fingers were knotted in mine, the whole tangled mess sitting in my lap comfortably as we drove through the snow.

"Do you think they liked me?" she asked.

I looked over at her. That smile just got more intoxicating with each new day.

"The fellas? Yeah, for sure. Paul said you you're not allowed at poker night anymore though. I think you're going home with more of his money than he was ready for."

She laughed brusquely. "Did he now? Well, maybe he needs to worry a little more about his cards and a little less about my cleavage."

In all fairness to Paul, she really was showing a lot of boob, and had gleefully flaunted every delicious curve each time she leant forward to scoop his chips towards herself. Hell, I'm not convinced the old pig wasn't raising on bad hands just for another look by the end of the night. Confidentially, I don't remember her being that busty twenty years ago. Or that funny. Or cool.

"You've got a point," I conceded.

She looked pleased with herself. Again, it was disarmingly cute. Are you allowed to think of women in their forties as 'cute' still? I don't know. Who cares.

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Eh?"

"The boobage?"

I barked a short laugh. "Why the hell would I mind?"

"Oh, you know. Some guys get weird about that kind of thing."

"Guys you've been with?"

"Some of 'em, yeah."

"That's lame."

"Tell me about it. My ex used to make me wear turtlenecks whenever his brother came over."

"You're joking!"

"Nope. Real piece of work."

"Well," I said, turning onto her street, "Not that you need MY permission, but please feel free to wear whatever the hell you want."

"Ohh, careful mister. I'm sure I can find a good use for lots of your friends' money with an agreement like that."

"They'd survive; a couple of them have more than they know what to do with."

She snickered. "Well, given that you haven't seen them yourself yet, that doesn't seem quite fair."

I nearly ran her garbage bin over as I slid into her driveway. Paul's guilt for ogling her was nothing next to my raging desire to get her out of that low-cut top. We had settled into an easy, casual, flirty thing, but I'd be lying if I told you I didn't want more.

"Invite me in then," I suggested.

"Well that's a little forward," she laughed, gathering her clutch and reaching for the door handle. My heart began to submarine just as she saved me from embarrassment. "Kidding! Come on. I've got a bottle of red we can crack open. It matches my underwear, and I want both gone like...right now."

*******

~ January ~

My vision was still vague and unfocused as I laid breathlessly on the flat of my back. Lily was already humming in her en suite, no doubt mopping up the mess I had just blasted into her.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was I thinking? We weren't even dating and I'd just let myself get so caught up in the moment, in her, in the way her body moved, in the way she felt.

No, fuck that. Of course I'd slipped up - have you seen her? So much WOMAN. What the fuck was I supposed to say, 'Oh sorry, I'm not interested in cumming inside you." When someone like her tells you to cum, your only job is to ask 'how hard?'

"Alright there, tiger?" she asked with a smirk as she peeked around the door frame.

"I'm dead. You've killed me."

She snorted. Even the piggish grunt was sexy. "Bit dramatic there, don't you think?"

"God, is that you? Can I still get in? I tried my best in life, really. It's not my fault she fucked me to death. No, we weren't married, I'm sorry if that's a deal breaker. But we didn't use a condom, so I get points for that right?"

"You're stupid," she laughed as she ducked back into the washroom. She reappeared a minute later in her bathrobe. "You're lucky you're cute."

"I'm lucky you ride like a rodeo star."

"That too," she said, reclining next to me and propping her head up in one hand. "And don't sell yourself too short, you've been putting in some decent shifts lately."

"Just decent?"

She pulled a little face. "Not bad. Serviceable," she teased.

"Not bad?!"

"Shut up," she laughed throatily. "You know you're getting me there. I'm just pulling your leg."

"Phew. I was about to dial a hotline for a second there."

I let my head fall to the side so I could see her. The post-fucked glow bloomed beautifully on her cheeks. Soft lines sketched the borders of a million smiles that I was growing jealous I hadn't been around to cause. Time had turned the geeky girl who'd crammed for Chem exams with me into a vivacious woman, but the kindness that sat in her eyes was the same as it ever was. For the thousandth time, I kicked myself for letting the memory of her slip away.

Her face softened as she leaned in for a sumptuous kiss.

"What was that for?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I wanted to."

"Do it again."

She scrunched her lips and wrinkled her nose. "Hmmm," she hummed. "I usually only kiss guys I'm dating."

"Is that so? Damn, what a shame."

"I know, right. And I'm good at it too. Like super fucking good."

"Oh, I know it."

"You should see what else I'll do for guys I date."

I groaned. "You're teasing me."

She bit her lip coyly and rolled onto her tummy, reaching down to tug the hem of her robe up over her soft ass. "So ask me out," she said in a dangerously sultry tone, taking a handful of her own butt with a harsh squeeze. I tried to reach down and got a literal slap on the wrist. "You heard me."

"Lil," I moaned.

She pushed herself down, drawing her ass up as she assumed a picture-perfect downward dog. No ass has ever so closely resembled a heart, and mine thundered in my chest as she looked at me then.

"Ask me then."

"Date me," I folded. "Please?"

"Hmm," she said with a coy wiggle of her hips. "Hey, my eyes are down here."

"But your ass is naked. Please, Lil, date me?"

She thought about it, watching me try and fail to keep my eyes off the pale cheeks she refused to stop baiting me with.

"No," she said simply.

"Wh...But...Wait, actually? Lily, I thought..."

"I'm calling it in."

"Calling what in? What are you talk..."

When it finally hit me, square between the eyes with the merciless force of a freight train, I reeled back through time. Back twenty years...back to that night.

*******

~May, 2005. Twenty-ish Years Earlier. ~

The sound of her roommates laughing and howling in the kitchen floated up the staircase as they pre-gamed their way to another night at the club.

"Sorry," muttered the shy, still-pimply girl hunched over her Stats textbook on the bed next to me. "They'll be gone soon."

"It's alright," I replied. "Honestly. Let's just keep at it. Do you want me to drill you again?"

She sputtered. "Wh..what?"

"You know, ask you questions? From the study guide?"

"Oh," she exhaled nervously. I wouldn't catch on until I was halfway back across campus later. Drill. Real nice. "Uh, sure."

"Alright," I said. "Let's see. Ah, here. How would you calculate the coefficient of...Hey, Lil? You ready?"

Lily was miles away, staring at some nothing between us with a pensive dejection on her face. "Eh? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just...distracted."

I put the books aside.

"Something on your mind?"

"No," she muttered. "It's stupid."

"Tell me. We're not gonna get much studying done if your mind is somewhere else."

"I just...Well, don't you think we should be down there with them?"

"Lil," I laughed. "Robinson's finals are, like, notoriously brutal. I don't know about you, but I need almost a 90 to keep my offer to grad school."

"I know, it's just - I don't know. It's stupid."

"No, come on. Tell me."

"We're about to graduate, Ryan. I haven't even dated one guy, and I never even tried! Meanwhile, they're all having the time of their lives, not worried about a single thing while we're up here studying for stupid tests. Again!"

"Yeah, but they're also not trying to do anything with themselves either. Kelly's barely gonna graduate, and Hailey's gotta come back for another term to make up for all the classes she's failed. I know it sucks, but this is the chance we've got to go places, you know?"

"The bar's a place," she groaned. "How come I have to stay in here and try while they get to have all the fun. At this point, I'd rather graduate with a boyfriend than a degree."

"I'm sure you'll meet tons of great guys after we graduate. Really. You're...you're great. It'll work out."

"And if it doesn't?"

"I dunno. I'll marry you."

She blushed and shoved her glasses up her nose unnecessarily. "You're dumb."

"If we both make it to, like...forty! If neither of us meets anyone by then, I'll take ya!"

"So romantic," she laughed, perking up just a little. "If nobody else takes me, you'll scoop up all the old leftovers when I'm wrinkly and fat."

I held out a crooked pinky. "I'll swear on it if I have to! Come on, what do ya say? We got a deal?"

She eyed the offered finger suspiciously as a slow smile crept back onto her face. It was obviously a cheesy move to cheer up a dependable study-buddy, but she needed the pick-me-up.

"Deal," she said, linking her pinky in mine. "I'll hold you to it though. A pinky swear is a big deal."

"Oh, don't you worry. I won't back out. Promise."

*******

~ February, Present Day ~

"Stop playing with it," she chided playfully as she tugged my sleeve.

I adjusted my tie again. The stupid thing still didn't feel right. "It's still loose."

"It's not," she grinned. "You look very handsome."

"Garcia and Ivanovich!" called the county clerk from across the office.

"That's us," Lily said. She sounded way less 'about to vomit' than I felt. Then again, the flush on her cheeks might still be from what we'd done in the car outside. "You ready?"

She didn't want anything big. City hall was fine. Her parents were gone anyway and she didn't really feel like explaining things to her sister. They weren't close. Even so, there, in that moment, I felt a little twitch of regret. She deserved more. I told her as much too, as recently as that morning. "White is for virgins," she had joked, "and churches creep me out."

"Babe," she repeated. "You ready?"

That smile. I did that, I put that there. Fulfilling a twenty-year-old marriage pact might not be the most romantic thing in the world, and we were probably making a midlife-crisis level mistake here, but honestly? I really felt like we had a shot. Kids and a white-picket fence were unlikely, but I really did think there was some happiness to unpack between us, and not just because I liked the way she looked naked. In fact, staring at her then, all done up in a cute cocktail dress and clutching a $37 bouquet, it struck me that the ring in my pocket wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen? If nothing else, the chemistry was pretty unbelievable.

"Ready," I said shakily. "Let's do this thing."

*******

~ March ~

"Babes? Babe! I'm home!"

My eyes darted to the bottom of my computer screen. 4:32. She was early. I closed 7 incognito tabs as fast as I could; there was no need to risk her finding google searches for stuff that nobody on the wrong side of 40 should be looking up, the least of which was just a query for "penis bruises that don't show?"

"In here!" I called.

"Hey, you," she said with a warm smile as she stepped into the doorway of my makeshift office. Moving into a shitty bachelor pad above a dumpy bar was a no-go, and she owned her place anyway, so it just made more sense for me to bring my stuff here.

"How was your day?" I asked. She looked happy. That was usually good. Occasionally dangerous.

"Oh, not too bad," she said, already unzipping her skirt as she recounted things casually. "The product team fired their lead without telling anyone, so it kinda fucked a deadline for one of our smaller clients. Explaining that who situation to the VP was a real treat. But other than that, things were fine."

Her skirt fell to the floor. Nothing underneath, again. Who the hell doesn't wear underwear to work?

"Sorry, hun, that's a pain. But everything was okay?"

"Yeah," she said, working the buttons of her blouse. "He understood."

I gulped. "That's good."

"Whatcha working on?"

"Oh, uh, just wrapping some stuff up for the day. Trying to get this stupid documentation aligned so the PM doesn't bite my head off again."

Her bra fell away, leaving her standing there in nothing but her earrings and the bush she sported proudly.

"Well, I'm gonna head upstairs and get started. Join me when you're done?"

"Uh huh," I replied with less confidence than I felt. "Be up in a few."

She smiled warmly. It was too sweet by half. I was most certainly in danger.

Try not to pity me too much.

"Perfect. Don't be long."

I gave her my assurances as she turned to leave. Her clothes laid in a small puddle at my door as I exhaled in relief.

Don't get me wrong, Lily is the most amazing woman. Smart, beautiful, witty, charming, so loving, and just filled to the brim with affection. I just don't know where she gets the energy for...this. Constantly.

"Get to work, you little motherfuckers," I said, shaking out a few little blue helpers from the pill bottle I kept under a pile of shit in my drawer. Gulping them back with the cold dregs of this morning's coffee, I slipped into the bathroom to splash a little water on my face. Lily's moans were already audible from upstairs.

I disrobed and hopped into the shower. She liked me clean. Insisted on it, really. Even so, I winced more than a little as I scrubbed down to my poor, abused dick. I don't know if cocks can break, but mine felt like someone had hung it in a boxing gym and used it as a speedbag. They're just not designed for the kind of mileage Lily was putting on it.

"There you are," she groaned as I stepped into the bedroom. I dumped my towel in our hamper and surveyed what we were working with today. Head off the end of the bed, toy already shoved up between her legs. So it was like that, then. "I thought you were gonna leave me high and dry."

"Don't be silly," I assured her as my prick stiffened with chemical assistance and Pavlovian urgency. "I wouldn't do that to you."

She grinned wickedly; even upside-down, it was a spooky, feral thing. "What *would* you do to me?" she asked, plunging herself with a girthy dildo.

One thing I had learned about Lily since our hasty nuptials was that you needed to keep her mouth busy. Any old thing was liable to come tumbling out if you didn't give it something to do, and I didn't think the neighbours needed that smoke in their lives.

So I slid my poor, aching cock between her lips and answered her question by stuffing her throat to the hilt.

Again, try not to pity me too much. We were both right where we wanted to be.

"GRHHH HRRR GRKK!" she gurgled around me. I winced as her neck tightened, each stifled gag squeezing me dangerously close to another idiotic google search about the physical limitations of a boner.

"Give me that," I told her, batting her hand away from the toy she was struggling to stuff up herself. Her body trembled deliciously as she rocked in time to my thrusts, her age-softened tummy rippling against each short bump. God, I loved that fucking tummy.

"HRHGGHKK GRKK," she replied, perhaps voluntarily as her hands kneaded my ass.

"Yeah, well, you're hardly doing it. Let me take over," I replied. I grabbed her intimidating toy in a backhanded fist and got to work pumping it back into her. The mess she started to make had everything to do with the cock in her throat, but I knew how much she loved a gentle tease. "That's better, hey? Lil? I can't hear you."

"GRr HRGHCH!"

To be fair, I'd feel the same way with a pair of balls hanging over my eyes. But I'd learned better than to go easy on my wife, so I kept her mouth busy and her pussy full.

Wife. It still felt so weird.

"That's it, babe," I grunted as tight muscles pulsed back against the toy, making it harder to punch the thing up into her as her first tense orgasm hit in powerful waves. "Cum for me, honey. Cum for me good and hard."

She expelled my cock briefly to exclaim a rheumy "FUCK!" I tried not to think about the fact that her forehead was pressed against my taint as she curled forward to cum.

"The fuck are you doing? Uh uh, bad," I chided. You just couldn't let her start running her mouth - it needed something to stay focused on. I leaned back, dildo still in hand, and reinserted myself between her lips. "You just keep going on that, got it? Let me worry about your cum."

If it turns out that one half of the internet is right, and it really is pee, I honestly couldn't care less. Lily was a bit of a bear if we didn't work it all out of her, and we had spare duvets anyway.

So I fucked and she sucked, till Pfizer's best wore off and she soaked the mattress. Again.

*******

~ April ~

Of course, all new marriages go through hard times. Little rough patches. Hiccups.

Our first fight came fresh off the heels of an inevitable certainty. I ran out of cum.

"What the fuck is that? Ryan, what the fuck is this shit? Are you kidding me right now?"

I stared at the pearly droplets dotting her tummy. To call the offering 'meagre' might be giving it too much credit.

"It's all there was, Lil, I don't know what to say!"

She was furious. Like, openly. "I know you're not serious right now. Uh uh, no. Fuck this shit," she spat viperously as she smeared it in one hand and slapped me clean across the cheek. "Pathetic!"

"Lil, I'm sorry, I swear. I...I can go again. Come on, lemme just..."

"Lay down, asshole. On your back."

This is the part of the horror movies where tiny violins start screeching. You know, the best parts.

The world went dark as she sat astride my face, dark fur scrubbing the tip of my nose as she really let me have it with both barrels.

"We will NOT be one of those couples, Ryan. You hear me? I waited 20 goddamn years for the right guy and I refuse to believe we're going to be one of those fucking dead bedrooms. You got it? Say yes."

She eased off my face just long enough to let me gasp a reply. I neglected to point out that it'd been my fourth load of the day. The tanks only hold so much. Hardly a dead bedroom.

"Good!" she groaned, one hand knotted tightly in my hair as she ground me down between her lips. "I'm your wife, Ryan. Your fucking wife! Not some cheap whore! You WILL fuck me right. None of this wimpy little dogwater bullshit. When you fuck the woman you're married to, you do it right, god damn it! You hear me, motherfucker?!"

Yes. Yes, love. Anything you say, love. Sorry, darling.

"God," she moaned. "You're...lucky your face is cute enough to ride. You made a vow, Ryan. Remember that? You promised to love me. So don't give me any of this weak, sad bullshit again, okay? I...Oh, fuck yes - I have needs, baby. I, ohhhhhh shit," she grunted, "I just need what I need. You're the man here, it's your fucking job to provide. I don't ask for a lot, do I? Do I ask too much?"

No. Honestly, no. She'd never once asked me to lift a finger for her benefit. Just my dick, and occasionally my tongue.

"No, I don't," she whined a little desperately. "All I want is for us to spend our days making each other feel good. I know you want that too, don't you? I know you...you...you do. Oh fuck, baby, you're gonna make me fucking cum all over that pretty, stupid face. You want that? You want to make me cum all over your sorry face? Jeeeeesus christ don't stop licking, babe. Don't you dare stop licking me out. Show me how sorry you are and make your wife fucking cum. That's it, baby, that's the fucking...s - spot! Y-yes! Yes, baby!"

As far as apologies go, I reckon the key to a good one is humility. You have to really be willing to show how far you'll go to right the wrong. Make the aggrieved party really believe that you see and hear them.

In this case, it means licking till your tongue goes limp and remembering to drink more water.

*******

~ May ~

I woke with a start. The living room was dark, lit only by the glow of the TV. Lily must have slipped off to bed at some point. A wet towel we'd spoiled lay in a crumpled heap on the floor at my feet. It was after midnight.

I shuffled, tired and bleary eyed, off to the bathroom for a piss. Catching my own eye in the vanity mirror, I checked in with the guy staring back at me.

He looked tired. His stubble greyed. His brow furrowed in ways it hadn't before. I wondered to myself if that old face could really be mine. Time flew, I mused.

He smirked abruptly.

"Shut up," I told myself, avoiding my own eye bashfully to focus on my aim.

To think, less than one year since a ghost from my past had called in a decades-old pinky promise, here I was. Back on my feet, married to beautiful woman, thriving at work, with my biggest problem being persistent dehydration and an aching prick.

I heard Lily's bedside light flick on as I washed my hands.

"Hun?"

"Coming," I said back softly.

She leaned into the bathroom door, stifling a yawn. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Come to bed already."

I smiled at her, soft curves draped in a sheer nightgown whose purpose never failed to escape me. It was a gorgeous body, if shockingly hard to satisfy completely. The things she could do with it were...shocking.

"Sorry, I must have fallen asleep."

Another yawn got the better of her. "You were snoring," she accused lightly. "And I needed to cum again."

I fixed her with an amused look. "Again?"

She shrugged. "I don't know if you've figured it out yet, but I kinda need to a lot."

I patted my hands dry and turned back to her with a tired grin. "I hadn't noticed."

She leaned in for a sleepy kiss, putting her hand against my bare torso. Just the brush of her touch against my bare skin lit the beacons. Furnace fires stoked back to life. She'd trained me so well.

"No?" she smiled against my lips. Her other hand massaged me through my sweatpants. "I think you're full of shit."

"Lil," I gasped. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was soft and tender.

"Your cock wants me," she purred. "It knows it's job."

"I don't know if I can go again," I moaned. Her hand worked me to a dangerous stiffy. "I want to, I'm just sore."

"Awh, too much time at the gym? You gotta make sure these muscles have enough left for me, you know."

Little minx. She knew damn well it was from pounding her raw all afternoon.

"Come on," she cooed. "I'll do the work this time. You just lay back and let me get what I need, 'kay? It'll help us both sleep."

Of course I agreed. Not in the 'blink twice if you're in danger' way, but in the 'how did I get this lucky?' way. She moved on tides of her own making, and I, the undeserving beneficiary of her long-denied, now unhinged need, could only reach back through the hazy fog of time to slap a young dipshitted version of myself on the back of his ignorant head again.

Was she a little scary when her eyes rolled back and I failed to get a hand over her mouth before she started howling obscenities that would give the neighbours cause for concern? Possibly. Should I have said something about the fact that all my exgirlfriends had somehow ended up on my blocked contact lists without my intervention? Probably. But, as I've said time and time again: Lily's a whole lot of woman.

She might get snippy if I don't get her off before we leave the house, but she calls my mom every Sunday just to gab. The water bill might be twice what it should be thanks to all the bedsheets I have to wash, but my friends still aren't tired of her fleecing them for all their money every other Thursday night, and she shoots whiskey with the best of them. And maybe it's not entirely reasonable to expect me to get hard six times a day anymore, but she had worked so damn hard to learn how to make paella the way that my grandma used to, and I love her to death for it.

So, you know what? If this looks a little Stockholm-y to you, then that's a 'you' thing. That's my wife, no matter how we got there. I'll take a sore cock and fistful of supplements every morning - watching her grind herself out on top of me while she groans demented absurdities into the dark will never get old. We've got lost time to make up for, and her body is more than welcome to take mine to its limits as much as she wants.

"Happy Pinkyversary," she sighed into my chest 40 minutes later. My heartbeat is a dull, aching thud in my softening dick.

"What?"

"It's the 17th of May. It's our Pinkyversary. The day you proposed, you know? Back in my dorm room."

Who remembers a thing like that?

"We should celebrate," I yawned as I scooped her in closer. "What do you wanna do tomorrow?"

"Have sex," she said matter-of-factly, hooking a pinky into mine. "Lots and lots and lots of sex."

"With me?"

"No, dipshit, by myself. Of course with you. And maybe my butt. It's a very special occasion, after all."

If you think for one second I was anywhere other than right where I belonged, you might be crazier even than me. Maybe crazier than Lily Rae.

You should work on that. That's not healthy. You could get yourself into trouble, you know?

Due to me not having an encyclopedic knowledge of every character in every IP, it seems the contest album erroneously included characters who are canonically not appropriate to feature.

I’ll re-upload the album with a new image in their place tomorrow.

Thanks.

We're through with our April showers and I'm more than ready for May flowers. Given that I saw snowflakes this past week, I'd settle for a mere scrap of sunshine. Just a sliver. Just one crumb.

This month's newsletter marks a little over two years since I claimed this subreddit, having rescued it from the jaws of a community ban after the previous team saw fit to move on to other projects. It's been my very great privilege to steer this ship for the past few years, and nothing has filled me with quite so many warm & fuzzies as seeing some of you develop your passions, creativity, and skill.

When Reddit awarded the community to me, it sat at about 275,000 members - today, we're at just under 100,000 more than that. Over the course of that first year, things quietly grew and grew - Elizabeth, Niradia, and Star came onboard to help keep things ticking, we added automations to make posting here easier to understand, and submissions skyrocketed. The Top Author program has seen almost 60 writers recognized for their significant contributions, with a select handful having reaching the hallowed ranks of Writers in Residence too.

While Reddit is slowing down and traffic limps in sporadically compared to where we were last year, I still see the same spark of creativity and influence ticking away at the core of this subreddit. I'm proud of it - proud of the users, my fellow moderators, our Top Authors, and our Writers in Residence. Over time, each and every one of you has contributed to making a space that brings people together. If that's too sappy for smut, I'm not bothered - as I said in the Writer's Desk address last month, life is weird and we ought to love that about it.

Which is all a long and circuitous way to say that I'm ready for the next chapter in my own story. Several weeks ago, I let the mod team know that I'd like to start the process of moving on from my active role with the subreddit. I'm not sick of it or fed up or dejected or anything so dramatic; spare time is getting harder to come by, and I'm just ready to spend less of it looking at the same computer and phone that I use to earn a living. And I want to write more! It feels a little odd to be hijacking this newsletter to make anything like an announcement, but I "know" a fair number of you now, and felt it was right to let you all know that things will be changing over the next little bit. I'll still show up in the mod roster, but it won't be me on the other end of your modmails, newsletters, contest posts, or occasional polls.

I have full confidence in the staff who are remaining - they're fantastically capable and committed to keeping the spirit of this thing trucking. My ask to you as a community would be to lend them a hand; report anything that you see breaking our rules, encourage one another in my (relative) absence, and keep driving that beautiful level of engagement that I see every time I pop a comment thread open. We've put out some feelers for new mods to join the team too; if the current team bring new friends into the fold, please treat them with the kindness and respect you've shown to me.

ANYWAY THAT'S ALL GETTING A BIT SAD, LET'S MOVE ON.

Top Authors

This month saw some absolute dominance at the top, with a few authors peaking consistently into the top 10 with multiple entries. The skill that insists on crawling out of the woodwork continues to amaze! In the general category this month, we have:

1. u/AdjacentTales with Tied Up on a Stupid Bet, which gets top marks for slipping in oodles of healthy communication without diluting the absolutely aching need that permeated this entire chapter.
2. u/zombies-never-saydie with their second chapter of "I'm way too big. You'd never be able to handle me." I said to my extremely competitive and ridiculously horny friend". If you're looking for something with fun exchanges between characters in the act, this was a treat!
3. u/forquietthings takes third spot with House Sitter Opted to Be Tied Up and Turned into a House Whore. This punchy little piece marks the writer's triumphant return to our podium for a 2nd time, and well-deserved too - this one sizzled with lots of the same dynamics we've seen growing in popularity lately - instruction, denial, and all that good stuff.

And in the contest category, we've got some new faces to celebrate with in 1st and 2nd!

1. u/CirrusSpeaker tackled arguably the most difficult prompt this month to GREAT success in Stress Reduction, which was so well set up that the transition to *the good stuff* felt entirely natural in the end. Such a cool group-centric piece, and well worth the time to check out.
2. Experiment 53X by u/Grizzly-Golf took a popular prompt and absolutely ran away with it, packing loads of hot action right against the medical sterility of a seriously desperate situation.
3. u/sad-heat-592 is literally just speedrunning their way to the Writer in Residence award, making a third podium appearance in just as many months with A Transaction in Deep Water. The tentacles were a popular pick this month, but sad-heat's nearly experimental treatment of the theme and attention to sensory detail had loads of users rushing to offer glowing feedback. This one definitely deserves a read.

Well done, everyone! Fantastic work this month.

The Writer's Desk

Something that I've seen cropping up regularly in discussion circles is the craft and practice of editing. It's not the sexiest part of this hobby, but it can really make all the difference when a missed typo or clunky sentence is enough to send you readers in search of other, more polished work.

To that end, I reached out to one of our G.O.A.T authors and Writer in Residence, u/StrikingEconomist753, for some thoughts on how to edit effectively. Check out what they had to say:

"Editing for me usually happens in two phases. Phase one happens as I’m writing the story when I’m going back and rereading sections at a time to try to make sure that the dialogue and actions make sense, that they logically follow, that the characters feel real, etc. It can be easy to become paralyzed by indecision at this point and so I continually remind myself that this is not the final edit and that I will be coming back to improve things that I don’t currently love.

The goal of this kind of editing is to force myself to pause as I’m writing and reflect on the direction the story is going in. A question I often ask myself here is “how what I’m writing helps support the overall tone or feel I’m going for, and if not, then does it need to be included?” I find this helps reduce the number of narrative cul-de-sacs I write myself into.

The second phase of editing usually happens the day after I’ve written a piece. I like to come back to stories after a day or two so I can look at them with fresh eyes. I have the broad strokes of the story done at this point, so here I’m looking at specific word choices and trying to decide if there’s a better word that more accurately conveys whatever it is I’m conveying.

Another question I ask at this point is “can this description be replaced by dialogue?” As a writer I tend toward lengthy descriptive passages and if I’m not careful they can drag a story’s pacing down, so I try to imagine myself as a reader and look for points where I’d be getting bored or skimming to the end of a paragraph.

This second pass is also key because it forces me to reread the story from start to finish which helps to find any strange word issues that I may have missed when writing. Ultimately the goal of editing for me is to make sure that every word of my story has been chosen deliberately, and I’ve found that for me at least this process lets me do that without being so overwhelming that I never finish anything."

Wise words from one of the best to ever do it! We want to thank Mimi for their continued friendship and support of this community, and encourage everyone to check their work out if you haven't had a chance to do so yet - it's literally the best we've had!

*******

That's all from me folks. Just one more time, I wanted to thank you all from the very bottom of my heart for making this place such a cool hangout over the last few years. I'll still poke my head in from time to time, so please feel free to say 'hi' and all that.

Be good, yeah?

Tom out.

The ones you shouldn't will try stuff like...

Oh I'll do anything for extra credit, can I do *bonus* assignments?

Yawn.

So, you live with a roommate? A girlfriend?

Derivative.

Are you allowed to, like, get drink or do you have to wait till the end of the semester?

Bolder, but still boring.

Then there's the ones you wouldn't, who go for...

Your reading on that piece was so insightful, maybe we can meet up and you can show me more.

How about I gouge my eyes out instead.

My friend's gallery is opening across from a great tapas place. You should come.

First, what the fuck is tapas? Two, that sounds excruciating. I'd sooner die.

My work is primarily focused on...

I am actively mapping my route to the nearest fire escape. A window will do.

You know what's a really unexplored topic in modern social science literature? The sexualization of grad students. By their students, their peers, their supervisors. Everyone. What could possibly be so appealing about a bunch of self-righteous, willfully impoverished alcoholics with neurodivergent levels of interest in topics nobody will ever care about?

Oh it's the brains, we really like how smart they are. Yeah? Because my buddy Carl missed his stop and ended up in Bushwick because he was too busy daydreaming about having dinner with Nietzsche again.

Oh it's because you're so cultured. Sure, maybe. But this woman in my cohort, Amy, took 47 pictures of a thermos at an art gallery because she thought it was an installation about food insecurity before the curator pointed out that he had just misplaced his lunch.

It's the confidence, there's just something about people who are so passionate and driven. Tell that to Dave; his supervisor called his lit review 'not bad' and he cried so hard he threw up. We had to take a $37 cab ride to get his stomach pumped later that night.

Look, I can forgive the undergrads. When you're 19 and some hot, young thing is up there at the head of your tutorial section all full of piss and vigor, dressed in their twenty-two-dollarest H&M sales rack button down, yammering on about something with the conviction of a misguided dictator, I can kinda see how that gets a few people riled up. Really.

But the fucking endless barrage of 'what are you doing after class' and 'oh, this is your stop too? Interesting!' and 'do you have any, like, extra office hours?' gets stale pretty much immediately. It's not that it isn't flattering - we are, one and all, literally addicted to praise and validation. The issue is that our egos are ravenous, insatiable beasts and your attention is, well...kinda beneath us. When a faculty head tells me that my paper was good, I'll run on those fumes for weeks. When Stephanie, the D+ student in my Tuesday section who doesn't know the difference between two/to/two, tells me I'm soooooo smart it's just...not the same thing. Don't get me wrong. Steph is cute. But Stephs are mistakes you only make once. They cling. They're clingy.

Don't get me started on other grad students. Honestly, it's not even remotely tempting. You know how a school convinces a couple hundred liberal arts grads to teach its classes for the equivalent twelve bucks an hour? That's right, ego again. Here's a grant, you're so clever. Here's a little citation in a supervisor's paper, such a smart little cookie you are. Moderate this conference panel, you've earned it! That same mechanism that keeps us blind to all the ways that the academy fucks us over also ensures we'll nevvvvvver touch each other.

If you're my peer, you're my enemy. This program has a 20% graduation rate. I will strangle you for a crumb of recognition, you lecherous, performative hack.

So who do we fuck then?

If you're anything like me, the answer is "anything, as long as you don't want to talk about your grades, my grades, or my fellowship."

Which is how, once again, I find myself in your apartment. I'm tired as hell and stuck in that stage of drunk where the quiet feels too heavy. We share a Camel from the crushed pack in my pocket on your balcony, hovering over a downtown street where any of my students might look up to spy their sodden TA sharing a smoke with a strange woman on their way home from the bar. They'd assume she was an artist, or a director, or a professor. He reads Camus, it must be one of those, they'd think.

But you're none of those, thank Christ. You're the bartender at the dive across from campus, and you don’t give a fuck about who I read.

"Got my nipples pierced," you tell me between drags.

The answer to that one is always "I don't believe you."

So I say "I don't believe you."

"I did. I'll show you. You wanna see?"

You hand me half a cigarette and hike your shirt up right there on the balcony. It's 2:00am. I share the view with no one else.

"Nice," I offer. "Hurt much?"

You look down at your tits, first one, then the other.

"Not too bad."

"They're cute. They suit you."

Inside, half a smoke later, I taste them as you grind in my lap on your shitty futon. Your roommate's at some guy's place, which is just as well - the bed's too small to fuck in anyway.

You'd blow me if I asked but honestly there comes a point where it just feels perfunctory. Besides, that's not why I stuck around till close and helped put the stools up on the bar. Call me a romantic, but I like the way you look in my lap just fine. Close it better. You're miles away down on your knees.

"Fuck me," you ask/tell.

This isn't a date, so you didn't shave. Neither did I. But you're not a sophomore trying to impress anyone, so you didn't shave. And you're not another post-doc, so you didn't even think twice about it - there's no double-pump-fake social commentary or nuanced revolutionary politicking about your bush. It grows there out of your body so you wear the crown you're handed, and razors are twelve fucking dollars.

You ride like you don't even loathe yourself. How's a thing like that work? Will you teach it to me? You've no reason to perform for the likes of my ass, that's for fucking sure, but to just fuck for the sake a hard, hot cum? Keep your eyes closed, the honesty of it thrills me.

"Touch me."

What a thing to say to someone - unrepentant indulgence! Touch you! I can't touch you, I haven't even read enough to know how to feel about you. My cock is one thing - it means nothing to me, it's a simple, crude, artless thing that I feel bad for even showing you, but there's pressure that comes with inviting a touch.

What if miss the mark? What if I find that mole you don't like? What if there's no strength in it and you find out that I'm not so much a man but an insufferable assembly of conspicuous insecurities. Oh, that's right - you don't hate yourself. You just want to be touched.

"Yes!"

Yes? For me? But I'm nothing. I'm a worm. I'm the meagerest instrument in the room. But for my hands and the fact that I'll cum when you tell me to, I might as well be the dildo in your bedstand.

I hold your hips, my thumbs sit in the cleft of your pelvis. You knuckle your lips with a closed fist, eyes closed, grinding it out of yourself with the pure certainty that *this* is gonna work for you.

It's the most honest thing in the world.

"I'm gonna..."

Then do it. Please. I'll beg if it'll help. I'll wait outside if that'd be better. Whatever, for you? Whatever. Anything. Name it. I can be bought for almost nothing at all - a sliver of you will sustain me indefinitely, and your body feels so, so good.

"I'm...I'm..."

So close all of a sudden. Your forehead is right against mine, sweaty and slick and I hear, really hear you, really feel you. By rights I shouldn't even be here, I should be halfway across town facedown in my own sick instead of OH FUCK WHY ARE YOUR EYES OPEN.

"Cum with me. Now. Cum with me now."

Cumwithmenowcumwithmenowcumwithmenow.

That's some sick game you've got going on, lady. You invite me here under the pretense of of a mutual orgasm, you smoke my smoke, you show me your tits, and then what? Fuck me. Just like that. You just go off and, what, demystify the whole fucking arrangement and we both get exactly what we want? Fuck off. Oh but your teeth are really grinding, I can hear your molars creaking, I can feel your butt squeezing it out in my lap, I can see you losing your edge I can cumwithmenowcumwithmenowcumwithmenow.

I choke on my strangled cry as you buck it out of us both.

There's nothing left.

I don't want to say anything else. It'd sound stupid if I did.

You could be asleep against my chest now for all I know. It might be better if you were. I've nothing clever to say anyway and I love you in the way that all men love all women who don't make them feel stupid right now. That's cheap, isn't it? That's kinda cheap. You sat on my cock and I fell in love again. What a dirty, foul, cheap thing to do. I haven't learned to do better yet.

"I'm gonna drip on the couch."

"I'm comfy."

I feel you smile into my neck. Oh, god, please don't do that. I'll remember it at the worst time and then I'll come apart all at once.

"Me too," you report. "But it's my roommate's couch."

Well if it's your roommate's couch, what are we supposed to do?

"You work tomorrow?"

"Yeah, till close again. You?"

"It's Saturday."

"You don't work Saturdays?"

Of course not. The school's closed. Doesn't everyone know that? "No."

You climb off my lap and ruffle my hair.

"Buy me lunch then."

"Lunch? Not breakfast?"

You smirk. "It's like 3:00am and you're half in the bag. We're not making it to breakfast. Come on, I need a shower. You coming?"

That really is the long and short of it, huh?

"You go ahead. I'll catch up."