He groaned with the first gratifying surge, arching his back and thrusting deep with the primal instinct to ensure the potency of his seed. She fastened her cold lips tight against his open mouth and inhaled. His eyes opened as his breath was stolen away. She began separating from the blonde bimbo host, and above him he could see her specter's face from the grave, hollow and decaying. His eyes grew wide with fear. Too late, he tried to scream. She reached through him and placed her hands around his heart, squeezing...
~~~~~
The woman had haunted him even in life.
She stirred the gin and tonic. She couldn't fathom why he liked such a horrid, bitter drink. Dismissing other suitors, she waited, familiar with his schedule and his habits, certain that he would arrive soon. Crossed legs exposed a slender thigh from beneath a slinky, black strapless dress. Lips set in a sexy pout, dabbed with the same lipstick that seemed to attract him to other women, his preferred shade of auburn hair cascading over naked shoulders: like an angler's prize caddis fly, every aspect of her appearance was crafted to lure him.
He entered a few minutes later than usual with two of his buddies from the firm. Dapper in his grey wool suit and pale yellow shirt - her personal favorite - and a black and gold silk tie, he was perfect in her eyes. At a table on the edge of the dance floor, the men laughed over their drinks. She observed him glancing at her. To ensure that none of the others misunderstood, she caught his eye when they howled over some inside joke, then she looked away, flirting.
It didn't take long. He consulted with his friends, gesturing at her. One slapped him on the back and he strutted to the bar.
"Hi. I'd buy you a drink, but your glass is full."
She flashed green eyes at him, picked up the highball and downed it in one gulp. Shaking it off, she lifted the glass toward him.
"Gin and tonic."
"Really? That's my drink, too." He gestured to the bartender, "Two, please"
"Make mine a double," she added. It sent the right message, and maybe the alcohol would dilute the bitter tonic.
"Are you new in town? I've never seen you in here before."
Of course he hadn't seen her. She'd lain in the shadows for months, observing each nuance of his behavior. She knew his crooked smile, full of perfect white teeth. She knew his strong angular jaw, his warm brown eyes, the mole under his ear, even the depth of his stubble this time of day. She knew how he would insinuate himself between a woman and the bar, so his leg rubbed against hers - just as he did now - and so he could peek down her cleavage when she looked away - just as she did now.
"I'm a Yankees fan," she answered, turning toward the TV, "just looking for someplace to watch the game where I'm not alone." She knew almost nothing about baseball, but she memorized the players names and the names of their positions - once she got him started, he would expound the statistics and virtues of his team - their team - and she would nod in agreement. "I don't like to be alone," she added, catching his gaze as it shifted guiltily from her breasts.
They never saw the end of the first inning. Amid smirks and salacious looks from his co-workers, he guided her to the door.
His apartment was pretty much as she had expected. It had all the markings of a male sanctuary: faux leather furniture, dying plants, and starving artist paintings on beige walls. She was confident that would all change of course, after they were married.
He made drinks for both of them. She sucked the lime, then toyed with the swizzle stick while they chatted on the sofa. Soft jazz and blues trickled from oversized speakers.
"Do you dance?" He stood, offering his hand. She accepted.
He was an awful dancer, but that would change, too. Shoes off, he held her close, her head resting on his shoulder. They swayed together, tiny steps leading in small circles. His hands wandered over her back, to her neck. Fingers ran through her hair while the other hand slid down her spine to squeeze her tight derriere.
He drew her closer, the lump in his trousers pressed hard against her belly. Her arms encircled his neck, she tilted her head, and they locked in a lustful kiss. The hand on her back found a zipper. Soon, the dress slithered over her skin to the floor, and her bra followed soon after. His rough, cotton shirt brushed her tender nipples, titillating them to attention. His fingertips provoked shivers, gliding from her underarms, past her waist, to her hips, where they found nothing but bare skin.
Encouraged, he steered her back to the sofa, and sat her down on the cold leather. She unfastened his belt, unzipped his fly, and tugged his trousers to the floor. Boxers followed, exposing the first surprise - an uncircumcised penis. That, too, would absolutely have to change, and before they got married. He had to be clean and healthy. It might be a little painful for a while, but that was the way it was supposed to be she thought.
That didn't matter now. She held the loose foreskin back and her moist lips encircled the pink head. Her tongue reached underneath the glans and fluttered there a moment. He groaned and wove his fingers through her hair, driving his member deeper. She withdrew, then pulled him a little further in. He was smaller than the cucumbers she'd practiced with, preparing just for this moment. Flattening her tongue, she took a deep breath, swallowed, and pulled his engorged flesh past the tight ring of her throat.
He was awed by his first ever deep throat - it was fantastic!. Her lips dragged along his full length, pulling back almost to the tip before immersing him again. On the fourth dip, when she extended her tongue and licked his balls, he moaned, "Oh, god, baby, that feels so good, I'm coming! Swallow it, baby, oh, yeah, I want you to swallow it all!"
That was her second surprise - he was too quick. He should have had more control! They couldn't waste his precious semen like this, not tonight. Before he could spill a drop, she withdrew and he plopped out of her mouth.
"What the fuck?" he yelled, and yanked her hair forward to finish the job. She pulled his wrist away, then stood up. With a sexy gaze, she took his hand, and led him into the bedroom. She laid back on his unmade bed, legs spread, beckoning him forward.
He misunderstood, assuming that she wanted what most women wanted first. He crawled onto the bed, his face between her legs. Though many had tried, she had never let a man kiss her down there before. She thought it dirty, and not at all normal. Since she felt certain he was the one, her one true love, she allowed him this small perversity, this one time.
Instead, this was her third surprise, an unexpectedly pleasant one. His warm breath across her sex was tantalizing. The touch of his fingers pulling apart her moist petals thrilled her senses. When his rough tongue slid across her tiny bud, a jolt of electric currents coursed through her body. That was the sign! She was sure about him before, but now there was no doubt he was the one.
Blurting out, "That's it, yes!", she clutched his hair. Under her guidance, his lingual stimulation delivered her first ever climax that didn't involve her own fingers.
When her shivering and shaking slowed, she released her grip. He climbed on top and slid into her tight little twat. A scant twenty three seconds later he arched his back, plunged deep inside, and spilled his cream against her ripe cervix.
"I love you," she whispered, holding him tight.
He looked startled, then broke her embrace and scurried to the bathroom. When he returned, brushing his teeth, he told her, "Hey, I've got an important meeting with a big client in the morning and need to get my sleep. You have to go now."
She had wanted to stay the night, but she understood. He had to make good money to support her and the baby. She dressed in the living room while he finished in the bathroom, hung up his pants, kissed him goodnight, and left with a satisfied smile. She had planned and waited for this special day, when all the critical factors and circumstances would fall into place and everything would be perfect. It had been far better than she ever expected.
Then, he didn't call. There were no emails. She had left him all of her contact information. Maybe he had lost it - he was so careless, sometimes - so she called him. After leaving a host of electronic messages, each a little more agitated, she met him at the bar again. He said he'd been busy at work. Of course he had; he's an important executive.
Hidden, she watched him. At lunch, he flirted with the waitresses. All men do that, though. After work, he went to bars and sometimes met women there. He left with some of them, but that was just to make his buddies jealous. He really loved her, she knew. They were going to be together forever.
Inside his apartment, courtesy of an impression she'd made of the keys in his pants, she wallowed in his scent. She covered her face with the underwear from his bathroom floor, inhaling his essence. She rolled around in his bed, twiddling her sex and dreaming of his luscious tongue. Sometimes, she hung his clothes or did his dishes. Wouldn't he be surprised!
A month passed, and the fruit of their passion was confirmed. She left him countless messages about the good news, but he never responded. A knock on her door found two police officers with a piece of paper. A restraining order? She didn't understand. What does this mean?
She waited in his apartment for an explanation. When the front door opened, she was in his bed, her finger in her panties. She started to run to him, but there was another voice. A woman's voice? She hid in the louvered closet.
A platinum blonde with huge boobs came in first, and he followed. This was all wrong - she knew he didn't like blondes. They stripped and jumped onto the mattress. Heads at opposite ends, they meshed, the blonde's meaty lips on him, his face nestled in the bimbo's dark pubes. He can't do that, I'm the only one he kisses that way, she thought - it's just not right!
