by R J Butler
I pull her closer, feeling her breasts against my shirt.
How long have you got? she asks.
Not long. Not long enough. One hour.
Or two? Or three maybe?
Oh, Dawn –
I know; I’m only teasing.
She takes my hand and leads me through to her bedroom. I hadn’t been in here before, hadn’t liked to assume. It’s warm, infused with an amber glow, a large double bed, four-poster, with a mauve duvet, a dressing table covered in jars and pots, and jewellery boxes spilling out their contents, a Dean Koontz novel on the bedside table, a Garfield digital clock. She sits on the bed, reaching out for my hands, pulling me down, kissing me. Soon she’s lying on top of me. My heart pounds as she sits up and slowly, but slowly undoes the sash to her dressing gown.
Look at you, she says. You look like the cat that’s got the cream. And as she lets slip her gown and reveals her breasts to me, I feel my erection spring to life. No need for Viagra this time! She laughs at the glee within my face: Anyone would think you haven’t had sex with a beautiful woman before, she said, pulling down both my trousers and my boxers in one swoop. Free from restraint, my cock stands to attention. I think I may have cried out. My, she purred. Look at him; look at that purple head. Lizard-like, her tongue darted out, licking my deep-red helmet. Do you have a big cock, Robin Collingbourne.
So I’ve been told.
This time, with time against us, we were quick, but no less delicious for it. No sooner had she removed her knickers, I took my cock, already dancing and trembling with anticipation, yanked a condom on and plunged myself into her. I didn’t even have time to remove my shirt or tie. She squealed with delight and slapped my arse, digging her nails into my flesh and pushing my arse so that I thrust deeper. She then gripped my hair and grunted yes, yes, yes, surprisingly deep, grinding her hips in time to my thrusting. She pushed me off, and went on all fours, wriggling her arse in the air, her shaved cunt wide open and dripping for me. I loosened my tie and guided my cock into her hole and as the lust took over pumped her with quick short thrusts, animal-like. I kneaded her buttocks and pounded so hard, her buttocks rippled. She arched her head back, and I took her long mane of hair in one hand and rode her like a rodeo, swinging my free hand round in circles. The noise we made was full-pitch and guttural. Then, slowing down, I pulled my prick out until the knob was just at her entrance. I left it there for a few moments while she exclaimed with delight, then just as she thought I was removing it entirely, I plunged it violently into her, making her scream.
Oh, fuck, do that again, she gasped. Happy to oblige, I did, resting the tip of my knob against the outside of her pussy, moving gently to and fro, while she waited with mounting anticipation for the mighty thrust. Sometimes I’d push in just enough so that the ridge of my knob expanded her hole. Her legs buckled slightly and when I finally plunged into her, she screamed again. She pushed me down on the bed, and eased herself down on me and started riding me hard, forward and back, forward and back; her eyes clenched shut as if in pain. Panting and out of breath, she flopped onto her back and, stretching open her legs, exposing her red, glistening cunt, beckoned me in.
Do it, just do it hard, you hear me, boy, fucking do it hard. I did, feeling the sweat down the back of my shirt as I pinned her hands against the pillow and pushed her legs wider still with my knees, and pumped. I came on top of her, with so much hot cum. She watched me intently as I spilled my seed into her.
An hour and a half later, I was back at my desk, forty minutes late, my balls aching, my heart still calming down. I ate a cereal bar, idly flipping through my emails. I’d sat there in nervous anticipation for ten minutes waiting for someone, for Heather, to say “where have you been? We’ve been looking for you everywhere”. No one had missed me. Heather passed my desk and even raised an eyebrow in a form of acknowledgement but, to my relief, nothing was said – I’d got away with it!
5 p.m. I bought a rose. I tried to remember the last time I’d bought flowers for Emily and realised it must have been the anniversary before last. Or perhaps the one before that. So I bought another. Be lucky, said the ruddy-faced florist as I paid him.
And so, for the third time today, I was at Dawn’s. I couldn’t stay long – I’d received instruction to pick up Lola from the childminder’s. Dawn looked serene. Her own interpretation was more direct, more honest: I feel fucked, she said with a giggle. Well and truly fucked. I was in the supermarket and I thought everyone could tell; I could barely stand!
I’ve brought you a little something, I said, holding out my rose, blood-red, soft and inviting.
Sweetheart… thank you. She smelt it. A souvenir of today. We’ve had quite a time, haven’t we?
You could say that.
Oh, Robbie. Robbie, Robbie… She wrapped her arms round me, still clutching the rose. You sure you can’t stay… just a little longer?
I can’t, Dawn.
I know. But listen, thanks for coming to see me again. It means a lot. And the rose… I shall keep it forever.
Forever?
She smiled. Forever.
The second rose was accepted with almost as much gratitude and certainly much more surprise – surprise bordering on suspicion.
Saturday, 5th January
I forget the excuses I sometimes came up with but again I managed to get away, and with Lola drove off to have lunch with Dawn in De Niro’s. We only had the hour but after the last two days, I simply had to see her today. It was worth the effort – a lovely lunch, a ‘little circle of happiness’ as I called it – Lola, Dawn and I. Afterwards I drove back home with Lola chirping away in the back, as happy as can be. I felt wonderful.
Sunday, 6th January
Today, the Christmas decorations came down, the Norwegian pine tree taken to the dump, unceremoniously tossed aside along with hundreds of others. Christmas cards were stuffed, mostly unread, into the recycling, the baubles and yew logs neatly packed away for another year.
So, said Emily as I was looking up the fairy’s skirt, were you playing on us watching a DVD tonight?
No, why?
So, why have you got four films from the library then?
Oh, that. I forgot about those. I got them the other night. I thought we needed to broaden our cinematic horizons. Werner… Hernog, I mean Herzog, is a fantastic director.
Is he, indeed?
So, I’m told.
Later, I put Lola to bed who was still bemoaning my callous treatment of the Christmas tree. But, Lola, we couldn’t keep it forever; Christmas is over now.
I know that, Daddy, but it’s so sad. Why couldn’t we keep it?
What, like a pet? A friend for Ginger?
Daddy, don’t be silly.
With Lola asleep and Joshua reading in bed, Emily and I settled down and watched the DVD.
Well, that was bollocks, I said as the credits rolled.
Tuesday, 8th January
The next week passed in a haze. Life returned to normal. But for me, it was far from normal. Not a waking moment passed without my thoughts turning to Dawn, wondering what she was doing at the moment, wondering whether she was thinking of me. Visual snatches of our intimacy would appear in my mind, involuntarily, at the most inopportune moments. So, Robin, Heather would be saying, have you assessed the re-gradings for the Scale Four call centre posts yet? And whilst grappling for an excuse, my brain put an image of Dawn into my mind, riding me, juddering up and down on my shaft, her tits bouncing, her eyes half closed in ecstasy. Hey, Rob, Paul called out. Do you know how to freeze-frame a spreadsheet? Whilst the only freeze-frame I could think of was one of Dawn on her knees half way down the bed, my cock disappearing into her mouth, her fingers curled round my shaft.
Dawn, meanwhile, had started her work in Ipswich. She texted me just the once, reminding me to return the DVDs to the library.
Friday, 18th January
I felt bereft, knowing Dawn was far away in Ipswich. Work is normal – Heather, fortunately, has
been in meeting after meeting, so we haven’t seen too much of her; Ernie is on the up – having been smiled at, apparently, by Marjorie in Accounts; Karen’s now fretting about the bridesmaids’ dresses (and making frequent furtive calls); Sean is back from his parachuting and humming all day long; and even Paul seems suspiciously upbeat (he must have got one over on his ex-wife and her new boyfriend).
In the meantime, I’ve tried not to think of Dawn and, as a result, thought of her during every waking moment. I long to see her, to hear her voice, to smell her fragrance. Thursday, I received a text – my heart went into overdrive. It was Emily – could I take a detour on my way home for a loaf of bread. Rendered useless by disappointment, I went to the disabled loo and locked myself in whilst trying to recover my sanity. Only the rattle of the door handle brought me to my senses. Opening the door, I found Sean, waiting outside. I smiled weakly, aware of having been caught somewhere I shouldn’t have been.
Finally, today at lunchtime, I got a text from Dawn, asking if I fancied popping round after work. I almost punched the air. Heaven! I couldn’t wait and counted the hours. Meanwhile, it was a tough day, and it was a relief to get to Dawn’s and settle down. It’s strange how I’ve adapted her flat as a sort of second home. Dawn made me soup and gave me a plate of stuffed vine leaves. Snuggled up together, we watched a bit of crap primetime TV, which I always hate. I rather hoped we might migrate into the bedroom. After an hour or so, when I could no longer bear the TV mystic and his magical powers, I declared I should go home. It did the trick. No, don’t go, hon. Stay a while longer. I’ll make it worth your while.
Oh, Dawn, I don’t won’t you to think I just come here for that. Perish the thought.
No, but while you’re here, she said, sliding her fingers beneath my shirt. You’ve been here all this time and you’ve not noticed that I’m not wearing any knickers.
Oh? That certainly caught my attention.
She rucked up her skirt a little, exposing her slender, well-toned legs. Gently, I ran my hand along her thigh, up and down, barely touching her skin. She shuddered. My hand inched upwards. She kissed me hard, her hands gripping my face, her tongue seeking out mine. With just one finger now, I stroked the inside of her thigh, high up. She began to squirm, wanting me to go higher still. I’m so fucking wet for you, hon. No longer able to resist the temptation, my finger brushed her clitoris. I licked my finger. She tensed up, readying herself, opening her legs wider. I rubbed her clit in circles. Oh God, please, hon, lick me. I went down as ordered and most gently, with the tip of my tongue, slowly licked the whole length of her wet, shaved cunt, starting at the bottom and working up. Parting her labia, I lapped at her clitoris. Her fingers gripped my shoulders as she widened her legs still further. I pulled back and admired what was in front of me – this beautiful woman, still wearing her top, her nipples showing through its fabric, her skirt pulled right up, her legs akimbo, her cleanly-shaven cunt glistening with wetness, the inviting redness of her hole. I had to free my cock. Out it came from my boxers, springing free. We each played with ourselves, staring intently at each other, our faces rapt with lust – me wanking on my shaft, she rubbing her clit. I feared I was going to come and had to slow down. She looked down at me to watch what I was doing, and me at her, watching her finely-manicured fingernail painted bright purple as it slid up and down her engorged cunt.
With my fingers wet with pre-cum, and more dripping from my purple head, I inched forward on my knees. She reached out for my cock, her hand tightening round its girth and guided me towards her. I slipped a condom on. I paused at the entrance of her hole, wanting to delay the moment of penetration, wanting to delay the utter pleasure. A hint of a smile flashed across her face. With that, I dived into her. The suddenness of my movement made her scream out loud. Her eyes rolled back. The warmth of her cunt felt divine. I began to pump – slowly. Each time I drew back, I purposefully withdrew my cock to the knob so that each time I went back in, it was like another plunge. It worked; each time made her yelp, a strange high-pitched noise I hadn’t heard before. She started to swear, saying fuck each time I went in. Withdrawing, I went down on her again and lapped at her juices like a man parched, desperate for water. I came back up for air, my mouth soaked with her wetness. She kissed me; our lips drenched with spittle and cunt juice. I pushed inside her again, this time pumping harder. She started swearing again; always a good sign. She reached behind me and gripped my arse, grinding me even harder into her. Go on, she urged. Go on, fuck me, fuck me, shoot your cum into me, give me your cum, give it to me, give it to me. Fuck me, fuck me. I came quickly, grunting deep guttural noises, pumping as hard as I could, feeling the cum shooting out of me in delicious waves. I carried on, making sure that I’d emptied every last possible drop from me. Finally, I slowed down and, catching my breath, came to a stop. Oh my God, oh my God, she spluttered. That was… I don’t know. How do you do it? You are a fucking beast. How can I ever go back to my husband after experiencing that, you bastard?
I made to withdraw but Dawn held me tight. On no, not yet; I’ll be distraught. It’s too soon. She was still breathless. Stay there a bit; let me recover. I so wanted to take it out now. No man likes to linger too long afterwards; it feels uncomfortable somehow. But, being a gentleman, of sorts, I stayed put, putting up with that slightly cloying feeling. After another minute, I tried again. Not yet, I haven’t recovered.
Dawn, please.
Ok, if you must.
With relief, I withdrew my now shrivelled cock. In losing its hardness, the condom had slid off at her entrance. I pulled it away but my cum was all round her cunt. There was so much of it. I shuddered; it wasn’t a pleasant image. Dawn, on seeing it, screamed. Oh fuck, what’s happened?
It’s just –
Shit, it’s everywhere. Fucking hell, there’s so much of it, shit.
Calm down, Dawn; it’s only at the entrance.
Oh, and you know that for sure, do you? How do you know? How do know that half of it is not inside? You idiot.
What?
Don’t just sit there; get me a flannel, a wet one.
I returned from the bathroom, having got rid of the offending condom, still naked from the waist down and had to fight the urge to cover myself and my now tiny, red appendage dangling between my legs.
Snatching the wet flannel from me, she wiped away my semen. This is no good. Fuck knows how much is inside me. Oh God, oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening. This is your fucking fault; didn’t you think your cock would go down?
I… I did try to say.
Not enough though. So now what? I get pregnant. Fuck.
Dawn, you won’t be pregnant.
No? It doesn’t take much, does it? One little sperm.
Well, we’ll make sure; we’ll get one of those morning after pills.
Lovely. Don’t they have side effects? Long-term effects on your fertility, that sort of thing? Anyway, don’t think you’re going home after this. You can’t leave me like this; you have to stay the night.
Fuck. Now it was my turn to panic. There was no way I could stay the night. Either way I was fucked, I just had to decide which would cause me least pain. I would have to phone Emily and say I was stuck somewhere and staying with a friend. No – it wouldn’t work. She would just tell me to catch a taxi, wherever I was. There was no way she would believe me; I simply had to go home.
I took a deep breath. I’m sorry, Dawn, but there’s no way I can stay.
You’re not fucking going home, not now.
Dawn, I’m not working tomorrow; I’ll be back first thing in the morning.
No, I’ll never forgive you; you’re not leaving me, this is your fault.
I left her. I left her curled up and in tears. I turned my back on her, walked out and left her. What a bastard. Distraught, I returned home in misery, my heart pounding.
Saturday 19th January
Emily woke up poorly; I so wanted to tell her my woes but instead trembled alone in my misery. I felt
sick with worry; my stomach turning over. What had I done? Numerous times Emily tried to talk to me but found me with my thoughts elsewhere. If only she knew. I told her I was meeting Paul for lunch. On a Saturday? she asked. Personal stuff, I said. I received a text from Dawn, as I knew I would, saying Meet me at de niros at 12. Don’t let me down. As if I had a choice. And so I drove over, my heart thumping with dread. I had to take Lola with me as Emily was feeling too weak to look after her. Frankly, I was pleased. Her continual talking and humming helped eased the pain.