Fog hung thick in the air. It seeped into my skin as I made my way up the drive to the front door. The house appeared dark, save for a light in the front hall. I knocked. I heard a scrambling inside before the heavy oak door swung open, an eery creek greeted me.
He stepped around the door, arms open, placid smile on his lips. I allowed him to hug me and place a chaste kiss to my cheek. I could smell her on him, her juices still mingled with his saliva.
I pretended not to notice his glances over my shoulder when we embraced. My arrival apparently did not warrant her departure. I wanted to laugh at the stupidity of them both. He offered a brandy. I declined.
We chatted about our day. My fingertips trailed his knuckles while we spoke. My nails dragged along his forearm and up to his chin where I ran the back of my hand. His eyes lingered over my breasts. The sharp cut blouse allowed him every access. I leaned further toward him, touching his knee.
He visibly swallowed; his eyes darted to the small closet in the room. I ignored his glances and leaned further to take his mouth in mine. The tension in his kiss told me her eyes were on us. I deepened my hold on him, sliding on the couch until I sat in his lap.
The buttons of my blouse slid open easily as I continued our kiss. His hands ran up my back fiddling with my bra. Topless, I straddled him- pushing my lush breasts into his face. He smiled up at me- a sensual smile that begged me for more. I slid my skirt up over my hips. I hadn’t bothered with panties. He worked his fingers between us to free himself from his pants.
My fingers wrapped around his thick cock. Her dried come still lingering on his skin, I could feel the film. His hands were on my breasts, pulling at my nipples, dragging one breast into his mouth. The hot, wetness of his tongue interrupted my thoughts of revenge. I melted into the sensations of my tits acting as his toys.
In one swift motion I sank onto his dick, taking the length of him into my slippery, hot pussy. I remained motionless for a moment, pulling his face away from me to stare into his eyes. I kept his gaze locked with mine as I began to ride him. Slow at first, taking great care to rise to the tip of his cock before taking it all back into me. His eyes rolled with the torment.
A gasp escaped the closet. I grinned into his lips as I took them beneath mine. She deserved a good show. I ground my hips into him as I quickened my pace. His breath came quicker, his grip on my ass tighter as he pounded into my pussy. I reached down between us and felt my moist clit, twisting it and rolling it with my fingers. I imagined her eyes on me, watching me fuck her boy toy and him enjoying every thrust.
Feeling the end barreling down on me, I pulled him into my breasts. I held him there as I rode him hard. The slapping of my ass against his thighs filled the room. I moaned as the pressure built in my belly. I bounced harder, rubbed my clit faster. He mumbled between my breasts. I ignored him. “Fuck!” I yelled into the air and felt the release take hold of me. I rode him like the stallion she saw him to be until the pulsations of my cunt relaxed, and I could breathe steady again.
Taking a deep breath, I released his head from my hold. He fell back onto the couch, his head rolled to the side. His eyes open, mouth agape. I slid from his lap and reached for my purse.
“I suppose I should have warned you.” I pulled out a package of wipes. “I spilled a little something on myself today.” I used the wipe to peel the transparent patch of poison from between my breasts and disposed of it. A whimper caught my attention as I buttoned my blouse.
I smoothed my skirt back over my hips and slung my purse over my shoulder. The lighting in the room remained dim, the fire crackled in the background. The closet door cried as I kicked it open with my foot. The blond huddled on the floor. Her mascara streaked her face. Her lipstick smeared over her lips. Her small black cocktail dress showed signs of wrinkles forming. She hiccuped.
“I’m sorry.” I think she said. Her blubbering made it difficult to understand. I remained silent. There was nothing to be said. I reached into my purse and pulled out a small pistol. The one he had bought me for protection during my late nights at the office. “Oh Go-” There was more kick to the little pistol than I would have thought. The back of my hand bruised from being thrown against the doorjam.
I left her in the closet. Where she belonged. I left him sitting on the couch, his dick sticking out of his pants. Fitting.
The fog lifted as I made my way down his drive. My car idled at the gate.
The theme this week was Going Dutch… and I had every intention of sticking to it at the beginning of this piece. In fact, I originally wanted the last line to be said from the murderer to the “other woman”- “I don’t do dutch,” or something along those lines..but once I start the story, I rarely get to control what happens during it. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it- sometimes I get a little dark. Now, run over to Wicked Wednesday to read all the hot stories for this week. And next week, join us! Tell us where to find your words!