Deception by leigh@nbi.com "Brandy and soda, please - and could you add just a touch of Midori?" William looked up from his magazine to look at the woman who had seated herself a few stools down the bar. Perhaps just a little different from the sort one would usually find in the lounge of the Great Southern Hotel; a little bit of the intellectual about her, perhaps, more of the studious kind than most. Her hair was done in a simple style which belied its expensive cut. Red lipstick outlined a crisply cut mouth which seemed just as inclined to remain neutral as to smile. She wasn't tall, but leggy nonetheless, and the high heels she wore accentuated the long expanse of calf flowing smoothly downward. The bartender smiled at her as he neatly tossed a highball glass into the air, letting it spin slowly and fall with a soft sound into his hand. "First drink I've ever had a lady order that I didn't know the name of," he said. Ice rattled into the glass and he expertly measured a jigger of French brandy into it. William hadn't heard her specify the finest brandy in the house, but wasn't surprised when the bartender took it upon himself to use it as a matter of course. From the woman's lack of expression, William imagined she was used to these sorts of little tributes. "Oh?" The woman said, smiling back as soda from the well splashed over the brandy. "It's just something I made up one evening at home." "Ah..." The barman turned around for a moment, and retrieved the pebbled bottle of emerald green from a long mirrored shelf of jeweled liqueurs. "You sound American, is that home?" "Right on the first guess." She watched as a cocktail napkin was whisked in front of her and her glass placed carefully in its center, the barman's hand lingering for just a moment, no doubt to emphasize the fact he wore no wedding ring. William returned his gaze to his magazine, his eyes moving mechanically along the lines of type, but his attention was focused on the woman and her softly accented voice. Her vowels were long and the consonants blurred, a slow voice, a voice of drowsy summer afternoons. He had known another woman with a voice like that once, from the American South. Some absurd Grecian name of a town, what had it been? Athens? Rome? Sparta? Something like that. A voice that conjured up images of white marble and vast green lawns, a slave or two out somewhere picking cotton. William snorted and turned the page to the letters column. Whatever the bartender thought of the woman, she didn't seem to think much of him. She gathered up her drink, wrapping her napkin around its glass, and her heels tapped smartly on the polished wood of the floor and then thudded softly on the deep red carpet by the fireplace. A quick glance to his right showed William that she had settled on a sofa there, the one in the back corner of the room. He closed his magazine and signaled the barman for another Guinness. No special favors for William, no chatty comments; the bartender simply filled his glass, waited a moment, then topped it off without a word. William nodded to him and slid a note across the bar and stood, aimed in the direction of the far corner of the room. He thought he saw the bartender smirk at him, but possibly not. William sat in a wing-back chair opposite the woman. She either took no notice of him or pretended that she didn't; her head was leaned back against the soft pillows of the sofa back, her eyes closed, her long fingers curled around her glass, steadying it on the sofa arm. Her legs were crossed high, her skirt barely coming half-way to her knees; William noted with interest that she wore stockings instead of hose. The dark bands of their elastic melted into the shadows under her skirt. He turned the page of his magazine, rattling the stiff, shiny paper as much as possible as he did. It had its intended effect: she leaned her head forward and opened her eyes. Brown eyes, with long black lashes. Silver earrings swayed with the movement of her head. "Did I disturb you? I'm sorry." He smiled at her, asking forgiveness. Actually, now that he had caught her attention he was a bit flustered, and the color rose in his cheeks, making him, as he knew it would do, look quite a bit younger than he really was. She smiled back, although a little warily. "That's okay. Just sort of resting my eyes." She took a sip of her drink and seemed to roll it about in her mouth, as if cooling its interior, and then swallowed. "You have a very lovely voice." William closed his magazine and placed it in his lap. "You sound remarkably like a friend of mine, someone from the South. You're Southern too, aren't you?" Her eyes lost some of their guard, and she smiled again, this time a genuine smile. "Yes, I am. I'm from Atlanta. That's about as South as you can get." She laughed, very quietly, her lips barely parting. "Is your friend from thereabouts?" "I think so, I was never very keen on American geography in school." He gave a quick self-deprecating smile. "Athens, perhaps? Does that sound familiar?" "Yes, it certainly does - that's where I went to college." Her smile widened. "Perhaps I know her? Wouldn't that be spooky? What was her name?" William thought quickly, and decided. "George. Valerie George. Name ring any bells with you?" She seemed to think for a moment, and then shook her head. "Sorry, but no. I know a man named George, Michael George. No Valerie, though. Maybe they're related. Not many people named George in Athens. Not exactly a fine old Southern name." There was a pause and she looked at William's face, as if she were studying it. "Speaking of names, mine's Jan." She leaned forward and held out her hand. William wondered for a split second if she expected him to kiss it, and then remembered that even American women were very big on shaking hands. He stood and crossed to her, shaking her cool hand in his warm one. "I'm William." He gave her hand one last squeeze, making the rings on her fingers click together. A quick look told him that all her rings were on her right hand. "Hi William. Have a seat." She proffered the sofa perpendicular to hers with a wave of her hand; William ignored it and sat next to her. Her eyes flashed for a moment but she smiled and turned so that she could face him. "Been in Galway long?" William took a long draught of his stout, watching her face over the rim of his glass. Her face was rounded, her mouth full and painted a brilliant red. Short wavy hair fluffed out around her face in a cloud. "Just a couple of days, actually." She swirled the ice in her drink. "I came here to meet someone." "Ah." William put his drink on his knee and looked regretful. "Perhaps I should leave you then. I wouldn't want to cause any problems when your friend arrives." "Well, he's not going to arrive." Her smile withered for a moment, and then resumed. "So stay as long as you like. Don't let me run you off." He looked at her for a moment, his gaze catching hers, then nodded to her knowingly and grinned. "Don't mind if I do." He gestured to her glass. "May I get you another one of those, whatever they're called?" "Oh, no thanks." She drained the last of her drink and put the empty glass on the table in front of them. "I just came down here to forget my woes. I really don't drink all that much." "Surely you eat though. Would you like to go to dinner with me, Jan?" "Dinner?" She seemed surprised, as if she had never been asked that particular question before. "Well I - well, yes. That would be nice." She put her hand briefly on his arm. "Thank you, William. How nice of you to ask." "Shall we say seven thirty?" He looked at his watch; it was a quarter past five. Plenty of time for her to do whatever women did before accepting a dinner date with a stranger. "How about seven?" She laughed and stood up. "Meet you right here at seven then?" "Seven it is." He said, looking up at her. "I think I'll finish this before I go home and change." She turned to go, giving him a last look over her shoulder. "See you in a little while." She smiled at him again, and then left the bar, her long legs flashing. William threw a glance at the bartender on the way out. The bartender was not amused. ***** "You look lovely, Jan." And she did, he thought, not lovely in the way he was accustomed to American women looking, with bleached hair and sunlamp tans, but lovely in an individualistic sort of way. She was certainly well-dressed; that was a Chanel gown, he had seen one like it in his wife's fashion magazines. From the rich, warm smell of her floating across the table, he guessed that her perfume was from the same house. He couldn't place the number, but it wasn't Number 5. "You certainly are complimentary." She looked at him from under her lashes as she pierced a bit of escarole on her fork. "First I have a lovely voice, and now I look just the same." "Do you mind being told that you're lovely?" William poured more wine in his glass. She laughed and put her napkin to her lips. "No, not really." "Well then. I shall just keep on saying it." The waiter appeared with their entrees, and talk turned to trivia as they ate. She was a vegetarian, he loved nothing better than seafood. They had both visited the same pub in Edinburgh, only two years apart. He was an engineer, she worked for an American telephone company. "So where did you hear of this place?" William asked her as their plates were cleared away and liqueurs poured. She had been the one to suggest the restaurant. "Out of a pamphlet, actually." She sipped at her liqueur. "From the hotel, you know." "Nice place. I've never been here before. Lived here for years and never it knew it existed." "Really?" She smiled. "I picked it because the brochure said they had dancing. I love to slow dance, don't you?" "Well." He drank half of his creme de menthe. "In a manner of speaking." She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "If you love to dance, maybe we could take a turn now?" He rose from his chair and took her hand. "May I?" "Yes, you may." A wry smile was on her face, and he returned it. Her body was warm next to his; he wondered if it was all his doing or partly the wine and liqueurs. He preferred to think the former, but laughed inwardly as he told himself that it didn't really matter; she smelled nice, and her breasts quivered inside of her dress invitingly. She didn't seem to be wearing a brassiere. She moved against him, deliberately it seemed at times, brushing her pelvis against his. His cock stirred at the nearness of her, his hands only a layer of cloth away from her ample breasts, her arm pressed into the small of his back as they danced, linking her body to his. When his hand brushed over her derriere she did not pull away, but moved in closer to him. He thought for a fleeting moment what it would be like to feel her body pressed against his, naked in the dark. He kissed her ear lightly. She murmured something and laid her head on his shoulder. When the song ended, the dancers applauded lightly, and while she looked toward the orchestra he took her in his arms swiftly and pressed the full curve of his lips to hers. She seemed startled for a moment, as if the sight of his dark blue eyes so close frightened her, but at the tiniest touch of his tongue to her lips they parted, and her eyes closed, and she gave herself up to his kiss. He felt her hands grip his arms. He broke the kiss and put his lips to her ear. "Thank you for the dance." "My pleasure." Her voice wavered just the smallest bit, and she blushed, the color rising from the tops of her breasts and flowing into her face. "Would you like another drink?" He led her back to their table and held her chair for her, sliding it under her deftly as she sat. "That would be nice," she said, "but I have a craving for a champagne cocktail, ice cold, and I know the bartender at the hotel stocks Southern Comfort. Makes me think of home." She looked at him innocently, her eyes sparkling. "Then let us go there, by all means." The night outside was cool; the rain had ended just a little while before. Pools of rainbows glittered on the black pavement of the parking lot, oil refracting beauty into the watery night. He unlocked the passenger door of her car; she had a rental Mercedes but admitted she was none too comfortable driving, as she put it, on the wrong side of the road. Her simple dress framed her hips, and the heavy chain she wore about her neck made the silk jersey mold her breasts perfectly. His gaze took her in appreciatively, and she seemed to be slightly amused by his stares. Emboldened, he pressed her against the car, her back arching against the cold metal, and he rubbed his stiffened crotch against her, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as he kissed her. Her mouth tasted of creme de menthe, cool and sweet. Her arms went around him and she moaned as she felt his erection press against her. "Let's go back to the hotel." She whispered, her arm going around his waist. He drove back slowly, his hands a little unsteady on the wheel; her hand was pressed to his crotch, kneading it, tracing the outline of his hardness under the cloth. "Let's order our drinks upstairs." She said as they entered the hotel foyer. "I'm in a suite, it has a very nice sitting room. Much quieter up there." She punched the button for the elevator and he smiled. She took a key from her sequined clutch and fitted it to the lock and, giving him a quick smile, opened the door and walked in. He followed, and turned to shut the door. The suite was done in blue; thick blue carpets, blue moire upholstery, blue walls. The lights shining from the floor gave him the feeling of being underwater. She took off her shawl and let it hang carelessly from the back of a chair. "Do you mind if I change out of this dress?" She gave a slight shrug as if embarrassed. "It's a bit uncomfortable, to tell you the truth." "Take it off, I don't mind." He smiled at her slyly. "Um, yes." She shot him an amused look. "I'll go change. Would you order me a champagne cocktail? Make sure you ask for it with Southern Comfort." She turned toward the bedroom and then stopped. "Make that two. Be sure and get something for yourself." She went into the bedroom and closed the door. He ordered her cocktails, and another pint for himself. He looked around the suite, wondering if any of the little trinkets lying around were hers, would speak anything about her personality. Some envelopes on the desk, addressed to a Jan Hawkins, with absurd American stamps - what other country on earth would immortalize Elvis Presley on a stamp? The second sheet of a letter lay almost obscured under its envelope; a hastily scrawled signature was all that was visible, right under the words "Your Loving Husband". Hmm. He took off his jacket and put it over the back of the chair at the writing desk and stood there, waiting for her, one hand idly turning the tiny silver earring in his ear, listening to her bumping about in the next room and he wondering what to expect. He cursed when he felt the back slip from the earring post. There was no way he could find it in the deep pile of the carpeting. Perhaps it would stay in of its own accord. A knock came on the door, and he opened it; a maid stood there with three drinks on a silver tray. He signed the ticket and tipped the girl, and closed the door in her face. He would be happy to service milady from this point. More than happy, in fact. "Oh good." Jan stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Her hair was swept back from her forehead in a silver filigree clasp, taking off years of age and sophistication from her face. "I'm thirsty." She walked barefoot across the carpet, her feet sinking slightly into the nap. She wore a man's dress shirt, hopelessly large for her; she took a cocktail from the tray and curled up against one arm of the sofa, snuggling herself down into the pillows. William saw black spandex shorts peeking from under the tails of her shirt. "Mmm. That's good." She patted the sofa cushion next to her in invitation. "You can have a seat without being asked, you know. We can be informal, nobody can see us." She twirled her glass by its stem. He sat next to her and put his drink on the table in front of them. "This is probably a very odd question, but would you have an earring back I could borrow?" He took the little stud from his ear and showed to her with a grin. "I seem to have lost mine. Unless it would be too much trouble..." "No, not at all." She handed him her glass. "Back in half a moment." She trotted across the carpet to the bedroom, and William watched for her return, anxious to witness the display in reverse. "Here you go." She held out her hand, the tiny piece of curved metal resting on her palm. "Need some help getting it back in? I used to have a lot of trouble doing that without a mirror." She smiled and held his eyes for a moment longer than he would have expected. "That would be nice." He handed her the earring. "Usually takes me a number of tries. I have no idea where the thing fell, I didn't see it on the carpet." Jan put one hand on his breastbone, inside the open collar of his shirt, holding him still. "Don't fidget." She gave a breathy little laugh, and pushed the earring in and slid the back onto the post. "There you go." She put her hand back inside the collar of William's shirt. "Maybe it fell and got caught in your pocket?" "I didn't think to look there." Her hand was very warm against his skin, and her fingers tickled the soft fan of hair there. "I'll be glad to look." She put her hand in his shirt pocket, her fingers brushing lightly against his nipple. It instantly hardened at her touch. Her lips quivered at the corners, a covert smile. "Nope, nothing there... maybe in your collar?" She ran her long-nailed fingers across the back of his neck, making him shiver as she stirred the dark wisps of hair there. She moved in a little closer to him, one hand massaging the occipital ridge under his hair, the other continuing her search inside his collar. She slid her hand as far as the buttons of his shirt would allow, and leaned forward, her lips close to his ear. "Shall I continue?" She whispered. "Please do." She parted each button from its slit, and kissed down his breastbone as she uncovered his chest. The fan of hair narrowed to a line pointing downward, soft as a snowfall. Her fingers followed its direction, parting the opening of his shirt, pulling it from the confines of his belt. She slipped the shirt down his arms and tossed it onto the seat of a chair, where it caught for a moment and then slithered into the floor. His chest naked, her tongue wormed over each nipple briefly, and they sent little shivers down to his groin. When she came to his navel she darted her tongue into it, and he laughed. "Don't stop there," he said, but she only laughed and leaned back. "I really don't think it's fair that you can sit here with no shirt on and I can't. I don't know about here, but we have equal rights where I come from." Her face held a wicked smile. "Like me to help?" He reached out to her shirt and quickly unbuttoned it, anxious to see her full, naked breasts, whose nipples were peaking against the cool cotton, making little shadows fall underneath them. She shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall behind her. Her hands ran palms upward under her breasts, lifting them, offering them to him. "You like?" She whispered. "Yes, very much." He leaned over and pulled a nipple into his mouth, a sound of satisfaction rising from his throat at the feel of its hard pebbled surface. She kneaded her breasts as he sucked, kissing his hair. His hand slid up her thigh to her crotch; he could feel the valley made by her sex through the form fitting shorts. He pressed at the hidden opening, and she hummed low in her throat. "Would you like me to take these off?" He nodded without taking his mouth from her breast; she gently pushed him away and stood up, peeling the spandex down like a second skin. His cock throbbed painfully in its strictures as he noticed that she was clean-shaven, the skin between her legs white and smooth. She lay on the sofa, her head in his lap, her cheek pressed against the bulge in his crotch, raking her nails lightly along the soft down on his arms. She was smiling. "Hi." "Hi yourself." His hand slipped across her stomach and down to the moist crease between her thighs. She spread them slightly to allow his fingers to slip inside its opening. "That feels nice." She closed her eyes and wriggled her head on her lap, a strand of hair falling across her eyes, which she brushed away. "Yes, it does. It feels very nice." He pushed his finger gently inside of her, covering it with her juices, sliding it upward to lubricate her clitoris. Her hands went to her breasts, holding them, pressing them together so that her nipples pointed at the ceiling; she gave a low hum of approval as he made slow circles around her clit. The feel of her face so close to his erection was maddening, and he shifted to ease the feeling of constriction. She had made no move to free it from his clothing; she had not even touched below his navel since the long ride in the car when she had teased him unmercifully. He moved a hand from her breast and laid it on his cock's outline, pressing it there. "Need some help with my belt buckle?" He asked softly, smiling down into her face. "Excuse me?" She opened her eyes and looked at him in puzzlement. He squeezed her hand between his palm and his crotch again. "There's someone here who would like to meet you." He shifted his weight upward, pressing against her trapped hand. She moved the hand from her crotch and grasped the gently rubbing fingers, holding them away from her body. She sat up. "I beg your pardon?" She didn't smile. A trace of doubt passed across his face, and then cleared. She was, after all, an American; perhaps they weren't speaking exactly the same language. "I just thought you might be interested in seeing how much you affect me." She didn't say anything, but seemed to draw her spine a little straighter, her legs pressing together tightly. He unbuckled his belt and pulled the zipper pull downward, his silk underwear gleaming dully in the soft lighting of the room. "Just exactly what do you think you are doing?" Her face was stony. "I am showing you the massive erection you've given me." He pulled down its covering, his hips rising slightly from the surface of the cushion on which he sat. It was a relief to release his cock from its tight home, and he held it proudly in his hand, the full, ripe head shining. He gripped it tightly for a moment, and almost sighed with pleasure, to be naked and erect in front of her. "I haven't given you a thing." She retrieved her shirt and pulled it on first one arm, then the other, and shrugged it into place on her shoulders, making her breasts shift heavily. "Perhaps we have misunderstood one another." "No, I don't think so." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him, almost making her lose her balance. He wrapped her hand, covered by his own, around his cock and thrust it inside of her grip. "What are you doing?" She looked at him angrily, trying to snatch her hand away. "I'm asking you to reciprocate a little bit." He looked at her, his brows lowering, wonderment at just what kind of game she thought she was playing plain on his face. "When you lie naked on my lap and let me masturbate you, I figure you would be interested in at least returning the favor." "Well, I'm not." Her voice was cold. "So since I don't seem to have what you want, why don't you just go?" She stood up and bent over to retrieve her shorts, her breasts swaying with her movement, her ass presented to his gaze. "But you do have what I want. And I think you want it too, whatever you say." He rose quickly from the sofa, putting his arms around her waist from behind, his half-exposed sex feeling like fire against her cool buttocks. "You're wrong." She whirled in his arms, her arms crossed in an instinctive X across her breasts. "I'm not interested in anything like that." "How could you not be interested?" He pulled her to him, kissing her neck, his hands running over her shoulders, confining her in his arms. "When we were in the car you were about to rip my clothes off." "I don't remember that at all." She tried to pull away from him, but his arms were strong. "You are reading things into perfectly innocent actions. Let me go." Her voice quavered with barely contained fury. "Innocent actions? You almost pulled my cock right through the cloth." Her throat was so lovely and cool against his lips, he nibbled at its skin as she writhed in his encircling arms. "Feeling guilty, Mrs. Hawkins?" He chuckled and put his lips to hers, his tongue stabbing through her lips, lips thinned with anger. "No, I am not feeling guilty." She pulled her head away roughly and her eyes blazed into his. "I have done nothing to feel guilty about and I'm not going to, either, so like I said before, perhaps you should just leave." She freed herself from his grasp with a shove and walked a few steps toward the door. "I don't want to leave." He said simply, pulling the elastic of his briefs up, the head of his cock peeking over the top. "I want to make love to you." "I really don't give a damn what you want." Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated. He crossed over to her and tried to take her in his arms, but she whirled away, retreating toward the bedroom door. He made a lunge for her, and caught her by the elbow. "Why don't you want to admit that you want me?" He smiled at her coolly. "Mr. Hawkins is thousands of miles away. He'll never hear you while I make you come over and over again." She tried to pull free of him again, but he held her tightly, propelling her inexorably toward the bedroom. He pushed her inside the door and closed it tightly behind him, locking the knob. "I will ask you reasonably one more time to get out and leave me the hell alone." Jan's breasts were heaving with her rapid breaths. "If you don't, I will scream bloody fucking murder and watch them cart your ass off, do you understand?" Her accent deepened with the rage in her voice, and William followed her words with difficulty, but her meaning was clear. He put his mouth to hers, covering it, her breath singing against him. With a swift movement he toppled her over onto the bed, her legs over the side; he parted them and stood there looking down at her as he pulled his trousers and briefs downward. "Scream? Why? So that someone can come in here and find your dress gracefully arranged on the valet stand? Your shawl neatly on the back of a chair? Your shorts in the living room floor where you pulled them off in your haste to make love with me?" He gave a short laugh. "And then they could come in here and see that charming little device there, the one on the night table." He gestured at the thick vibrator which lay there. She gave him a look of loathing. "Yes, sweet one, right next to the little jar of lubricant." He kicked his clothing away from his feet and massaged his cock. It was incredibly hard, jutting out at an angle, kicking in time to his heartbeat. He grabbed her by the saddle of her hips, sliding her across the smooth satin of the coverlet. She tried to grab the spread to impede her progress, her legs flailing against him, her knees trying to meet but encountering him, squeezing him in a vain attempt to shut him out. She tried to turn onto her stomach, but he threw himself on her, grabbing her by one shoulder, his other hand guiding his cock to her hot, wet sex. She cried out as he penetrated her, her knees coming up almost involuntarily, trying to writhe away; it made her pussy excruciatingly tight, and he groaned in pleasure. Her breasts shook with her movements, the sight fueling his desire. His strokes were long and hard; she seemed to be sliding upward on the bed from the sheer force of his movements inside of her. He held her down by her upper arms and moved his body completely over hers, his cockhead still buried in her tight flesh, her heels beating against him in staccato movements. She screamed at him to stop, and her fists drummed on his back as she struggled beneath him, the muscles of her cunt contracting around his cock with her movements. He took a nipple in his mouth and teased it between his teeth, nipping it lightly, then harder, and she cried out again and her nails made sharp points into his skin. Her cunt felt so good on his pulsing shaft, her flesh so hot and soft as his cockhead opened the way. He settled down to a rhythm matching her struggles, feeling his balls tighten and swell, the first sweet ache of a coming flood. But not to come, not yet. William pulled his hardness from her, dripping wet. He sat on her thighs, holding her down, one hand on her breastbone to keep her from escaping. He reached for the little glass jar by the vibrator and removed the wide cork from its mouth. The strong scent of mint filled his nose; he dipped two fingers into the gel and slathered it over his cock. It was cold, so cold, so slippery and cold. His cock started to feel as if were made of ice. He let the jar roll to the floor and pulled at his icy hardness, looking down at Jan. "Turn over." He said, watching her expression. Her lips parted and her eyes widened. "Why?" She whispered. Her eyes pleaded with him. "Just do it." He whispered back, and lifted himself up from his sitting position, rolling her roughly under him. The globes of her ass were round; he parted them slowly to find the tiny pink entrance he sought. He slipped a lubricated finger into her and she shrieked into the coverlet of the bed and her hips bucked, trying to press her cheeks tightly together. It felt so good when he slipped his achingly cold cock between the warm skin of her buttocks, and he gasped as he felt the head of his cock slide into the exquisitely tight opening of her ass. "Oh god!" She was crying over and over, her voice muffled by the heavy covers of the bed. He moved up into her slowly, the pinching tightness giving way to a long smooth expanse of warmth, tight as a fist. His coldness buried completely in her warmth drove him to a frenzy, and he fucked her ass in long, smooth strokes, unbroken by her thrashing underneath him. He curled his body over hers, his hands reaching under her to find her breasts. He took a nipple in each hand and pinched them, letting her heavy breasts sway with his thrusts. Her breathing was ragged, and she gave a low moan each time his cock submerged itself inside of her, faint begging cries reaching up to his ears. He rode her joyously, his cock a long expanse of pleasant agony with his need to come, to come inside her as she twisted and turned beneath him. The sweat ran down his face as he threw back his head and closed his eyes, concentrating on the throbbing in his sex, the rippling feel of his cock invading her tight ass, her cries as she bit down hard on a fold of the bedclothes. He felt the gathering of his orgasm, the inescapable truth of it. He called out to her hoarsely that he was going to come, and grabbed her ass and shoved his entire length into her, his climax roaring through him, come flowing from him in jets, his screams of pleasure ripped from his throat. He collapsed on top of her; stars swam in front of his eyes. She lay still beneath him, her breathing as hard as his. His flesh was still joined to hers, the spasms slowing, but still strong enough to make her flinch and moan as his ejaculated his last drops into her. "Did you come?" He whispered in her ear. She groaned in reply, her fists clenching and unclenching beside her. He pulled his cock from her gently, lovingly, and turned her over in her arms. Her hair had come loose from its clasp and obscured her face. "Did you come?" He whispered again. She rolled away from him and struggled to lift herself to her elbows, her head bowed, her breath coming a little easier now. He reached out and stroked the side of her face, and she shuddered. "Did I come?" He saw her face, flushed, partially hidden by her falling hair. She took a deep breath. She pushed the hair from her face and smiled up into his. "About ten times." She giggled, a little breathlessly. "Wow. That was the best time yet." She snuggled up against him and smirked. Her body was smooth and warm against his. "Is it my turn to rape you tomorrow night?" He grinned at her lustfully in reply.