She walked in the house without speaking a word, her pneumatically pumped hips and tits rocking in a counterpoint of viciously quivering girl flesh. In a thin, tight, tank style t-shirt dress – neckline cut nearly to her deep brown areolas, hem a scant couple of inches past her flexing round ass – she was an almond skin, chocolate brunette fuckdoll.

Fallon stood in silence against the kitchen counter as she passed through the room without so much as a sidelong glance, spike heels clicking crisply across the tile floor. He was already gone and he knew she was fully aware her entrance alone would take him down like a shot bird. When she dressed and made herself up like a plastic fuckdoll, he never had a chance.

Lace’s firm, rounded ass swayed out the kitchen door into the living room, heading for the stairs. Her scent lingered in her wake. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. It had been weeks since he’d breathed that scent. Scent of pure sin and rapture.

Every time she went away, it left him standing on the edge of a dark, impossible void. He followed the trail of her scent out of the kitchen and upstairs.

She was sitting on the foot of his bed, shimmering, brown legs crossed. The meat of her thigh and calf on the top leg bunched out. His throat felt constricted and he dug his fingernails into his palms. She still didn’t look at him, even though he was staring at her. Almost glaring. But she just sat gazing off at the corners of the room, spine perfectly straight and her large, heavy tits jutting forward, demanding attention.

He wanted to say I told you so…it had been bound to happen again…but he didn’t.

Finally, after interminable silence: “So…as I’m sure you’ve already figured out…it’s over with Deuce.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I pretty much got that.”

She stood up with the same, breast jutting posture she’d been sitting in. “Is this all I am, Daddy? Somebody’s plastic fuckdoll?”

The dark, exotic look passed on from her Egyptian mother almost ruined the whole fuckdoll image. But not quite. She’d learned too well how to primp and pamper herself into the guise, and the raucous lines of her body turned the rest into a foregone conclusion. The whole gestalt of her existence said use me like an exquisite cum dump.

He would’ve been happy enough to stand there looking at her until his prick went hard, but he finally approached, standing in front of her in a worn, old t shirt and jeans. He fingered back his light, brown hair, eyes on the light and shadow of her milk chocolate throat and collarbones. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and standing next to Lace he came off looking like an immaculate hobo.

“You just think you want to be sometimes,” he said, putting his hand on her neck. “I mean…why not…you’re fucking perfect for it. You look like you were born to fuck. You make the most of it because you get thinking it’s one way to fly. Everybody loves a party girl, but you get bored. You’re like a junkie standing in line for a half-assed shot of methadone. And you know I’ll always be here for you – a dose of whatever all this means to you…and that fucks me up bad.”

“Daddy, that’s mean.”

He slid his hand down her neck and pulled the flimsy top of her dress down below her prodigious tits, her outsized mounds quivering to freedom. The warm palm of his hand grazed over the extravagant contours of her exposed skin. All the blood in his body began swimming toward his cock.

“I hate when you call me that,” he said. But he wasn’t really thinking about what she said. He was thinking about the way his house was going to feel so empty after she was gone in the morning he’d feel the urge again to torch it and let it burn down.

“Then why do you always cum so hard when I do?” she purred.

Jesus Christ! but her lips curled into something that made centuries of painting, music and sculpture seem like an afterthought. Other than the excessive opulence of her body, her mouth was one of the few things he could look at and make him feel in touch with luxury.

“You got a mouth like a spunk trough, little girl,” he said.

The curl of her lips became a full blown smile and he kissed her before she could say anything more, squeezing her breast firmly, thumb back and forth across her hardening nipple, tongue curling into the wet core of her mouth. Kissing Lace always hit Fallon like the onslaught of some sublime reality. It was like being shrouded in something secretive. When her tongue rode into his mouth and her breath rushed into his throat, he caught a sense of being in a home without walls.

She was a dirty, passionate kisser. Her mouth was like a roiling cavern of hunger, betrayal and paradise. Fallon’s cock surged with heat as he drove into her humid mouth, gathering her obscenely outsized breasts into the firm grip of his large hands.

Her hands slipped under his t shirt and traversed his taut skin. The pads of her fingers grazed him like dull points of silk dragging over his shape. Being touched by Lace always hit him like a throatful of opium smoke. Her usual M.O. was to be touched, rather than touch, as if touching someone back closed an unseen gap. He knew because he’d seen her in action with others. It was how they’d met.

As their tongues swirled around each other and her nipples swelled into hardened knots under his clasping hands, Fallon flashed back on that first time he’d seen her. She was on her knees in the master bedroom of Charlie Summers’ house, a casual acquaintance of Fallon’s who was throwing a party. Charlie was lying back on his bed, eyes closed, moaning weakly while Lace’s head was bobbing up and down his excited cock.

Fallon would never forget the graceful arch of Lace’s spine as she knelt on that carpet in a bright yellow thong, her extravagant breasts swaying free of the bikini top still tied around her neck and shoulder blades. Her posture was elegant as a lady sipping tea in a royal court. Her hands rested on Charlie’s thighs, never straying toward his tightly gathered balls.

Charlie’s wife had been downstairs, chatting it up with other guests outside by their pool. Maybe she was going to get her own before the day was over, but Charlie was sure getting his. A few days later, when Fallon and Lace had met for a drink that first time, she’d laughed when she confessed leaving the door open had been her idea. She’d told Charlie the only way he was going to get his cock in her delectable mouth was if the door were wide open.

Fallon had gone inside looking for a bathroom to use. When he saw them, he stopped, unable to look away. Charlie had been oblivious to everything but the exquisite lips steadily stroking his rigid shaft. Lace had spotted him standing in the doorway. She’d smiled with her eyes. Taunting. Defiant. Inviting. But she never stopped sucking. And somehow, even with Charlie Summer’s stiff cock in her mouth, Lace had this way of looking at Fallon that made him feel like the only man in the world, even if only for the span of time her eyes were on him.

Fallon had gripped his cock, rubbing and squeezing his solid shaft through his pants while he and Lace locked eyes. It had felt as if her eyes were telling him this should be you. He watched her lips work Charlie’s wet shaft until he grabbed up two fists full of sheet, grunting as his portly body strained and poured the overflow of his cum into the delicate artwork of Lace’s sucking mouth.

Her mouth and throat flexed along with the pulsing of Charlie’s eruption, leaving no visible sign of the gushing spurts she swallowed effortlessly.

Fallon continued down the hall before Charlie could see him. He found the bathroom, and later, back in the midst of the party on the backyard terrace, he spotted Charlie speaking and laughing in a private corner with his wife. Amanda Summers had shot a pointed glance toward Lace, her outsized tits shoved back behind their small, triangular confines.

Now, Lace’s nipples burned in Fallon’s twirling fingers. He rolled her nipples harder, shoving his tongue deeper into her mouth as he thought of the way she could take a man’s geyser of spunk down her throat like a thick bolt of warm honey.

It was the easiest thing in the world to slip his cock into the mouth of a woman who truly wanted it there, but pushing your faces together and breathing the life from one another’s body was a wholly different proposition. Nothing was more intimate and obscenely personal than a hot, wet, tongue broiling kiss.

She was pinching his nipples almost as hard as he was pinching hers. Then her palms were crossing over his skin. Meandering rivers of silken touch. She started opening his jeans, reaching inside to liberate his swollen cock from his briefs. He let go of her distended nipples and pushed the diaphanous excuse for a dress down over the curve of her hips.

White thong.

Pouting mound through the taut skin of clinging cotton/nylon blend.

Cup of his large hand curling over the shape of her sex.

Fingers pressing.

Lace uttering a half moan into his mouth. It was as if every sound out of her throat was feeding him. Six weeks since the last time, and now the opposing currents of love and desire for a creature he seemed to know less and less were swarming inside him with fresh strength. He pushed his fingers under the gusset of her panties and fingered the wet, puffy lips.

He reared back from her face and pulled in breath of his own.

“You’re always wet when I get there,” he said. “I’ve known you more than a year, but I still have no idea what it’s like to touch you and a feel you go wet because you want me back.”

“That’s cuz I’m wet the moment you walk in the room, Daddy,” she purred.

“Fuck that shit,” he muttered, pushing her backward, just hard enough to send her onto her back on the bed. He peeled off his t shirt and then finished shoving his jeans and briefs off. Standing back upright, he regarded her thoughtfully, even though his hand was wrapping around the fat girth of his hungry fuckstick. She was left in nothing but that white thong with a growing stain of dew in the gusset. The spikes were still on her feet. He dropped his cock long enough to pull them off and whip them into opposite corners of the room.

“The easy thing would be to call you a stupid whore right now,” he said, “but we both know how much smarter you are than me. How much smarter you are than that parade of spunk donors you play baton twirler for.”

“I’m just a plastic fuckdoll, remember, Daddy?” She pulled the crotch of her thong aside and dragged her finger temptingly over her slick, wet sexlips.

“Lose the whore panties,” he said, stroking his shaft until the persistent drip from the head was slicking his skin.

Lace uttered a giggle that managed to come off more like a growl. Suddenly her legs shot up straight as pins, the muscles along the backs of her thighs and calves flexing in a sinuous flow of pure, feminine gristle. The puffed flesh of her sex was like a perfectly split oval nestled between her thighs. She pulled the thong over her hips and up her legs, tossing it off to the side as she slowly lowered her legs in opposite directions. She lay in a dark X across the bed, her smooth slit parting and opening as she splayed her lips with her fingers.

Fallon took a moment to memorize her, then crawled onto the bed. He leaned down and slid the wet flat of his tongue up the flayed slash between the V of her fingers. Then he trapped her clit under the damp suction cup of his lips and gently sucked as he slid a couple of fingers up her hole.

“Yeah, Daddy,” she growled, pulling harder for breath. “That’s…ohhhh yeahhhh…”

Her hips began to rock into his face. Honey poured into his mouth and fingers. She pushed into his mouth like she was trying to dance with his lips and fingers.

Finally, Fallon released her clit and moved forward where he could swipe his pussy lacquered fingers across her nipples. He smeared each one thoroughly with her dew, then sucked each one clean while he reached between her thighs and spanked her slit in a steady rain of firm, smacking wet cunt slaps.

“Dirty motherfucker,” she cooed. “C’mon and pump me full of hard cock, Daddy.”

Fallon hunkered onto his haunches between her legs, shoving them up high and wide, spreading her pussy and rosebud all in one motion. Then he gripped the base of his pulsing cock and gnashed his oozing dome up and down the fleshy furrow of her slit.

“I have a name,” he reminded her.

“C’mon, Daddy, hurry up and fuck me,” she complained in an exaggerated whine.

Fallon ground his cock into the hot grip of her writhing sheath. He sank in easily, readily plugging her roiling core with his stone hard prick. “Names are too personal for you,” he said, grinding down to the root until his ballsac mashed against her asshole. “You want to fuck and suck and cum like a little volcano…but you keep it all at arm’s length.”

“Fuck that shit,” she sneered. “Just fuck.”

Fallon laughed, and holding himself upright on extended arms, he began slipping his fat cock in and out Lace’s slippery core. He gathered up as much steam as he could as fast as he could, pumping her hard and deep.

“Fucking is just a doorway to a place you can’t get to any other way. No matter what happens on the other side, we’ll always look at each other and know…I’ve been inside you…I’ve tasted your deepest flavors…I’ve spent all my last hopes on a few jolts of cum inside your body.”

He gazed at her strain twisted face, slip-grinding his inflated cock along the honey dripping walls of her broiling channel. Fuck. And then the rest of it came to him.

“How many others can say the same thing?” he grunted, pumping hard. Vengeance like. Her unwieldy tits rolled and heaved across her chest to the gathering force of his anguished lunges.

“Not everybody puts the key in the lock gets all the way through the door,” she said in purr that was almost a snarl.

Fallon stopped, holding his pulsing cock still, deep inside the hot, wet grip of her sumptuous body. He flattened his chest against the balloon like swells of her corpulent tits. He leaned down and kissed her throat, gently pressing his lips to her skin as he paused to feel her breath rush in and out.

“I’m not going to fuck you hard anymore. I quit,” he said, lips brushing against the hollow between her collarbones as he spoke. His cock withdrew slowly, almost by imperceptible degrees.

“C’mon, Daddy,” the devil purred in protest. “Give your baby girl a hard, pounding fuck . Make me limp, Daddy. C’mon….fuck me!”

She rocked and ground her hips, wrenching at his cock, trying to taunt him to pump her sore and limp as a rag doll.

“Hold still.”

His cock slowly pulled backward, then forward again. Slow. Prodding.

“Can you feel what we’ve been missing?” he said. “I can feel every cell of yours scraping wet and slick against every cell of mine. Can you, baby? Do you feel alive like I do?”

Lace closed her eyes tightly and turned her face to the side. “Please,” she whispered. “Not like this.”

“Oh Lace,” he sighed, drawing the single syllable of her name out as long as the breath lasted in his body. He rocked his cock slowly in and out of her shivering core. “Do you stay away so long every time because you know how much I love you?”

“Shut up and fuck,” she sobbed.

“Baby,” he whispered. He kissed her throat and eased into a steady, rhythmic pace as he stroked his cock in and out of her sheath. She wouldn’t speak or look at him. She stopped begging to be fucked like an automaton.

Her thighs parted like a pair of wings and enclosed Fallon’s gently heaving body. He felt the sense of being the first couple on the dance floor, setting the pace for the rest of the world.

He’d never known how soft and pliant her lips truly were before, but as they kissed and she sobbed in protest, he felt her hands come to rest on his slow rolling haunches.

He kissed her neck. Her throat and her nipples. The slowly rising boil between their bodies was urging Fallon to push harder and deeper, but he forced himself to keep going slow. Their hearts were both pumping faster than his cock. It barely seemed natural, but in time, Lace arched her spine and cried out long and husky, her elegant body tensing as the walls of her core threatened to cave in around the lazy piston of his cock.

Even his own body was screaming to explode. Screaming to rear back and fuck his muscles beyond their own endurance. Suddenly, Fallon gave one, hard, final lunge, his own spine arching, too, as the hot rush of cum coursed from his body into hers.

Warm rivers of stardust poured around their bodies as they tensed and gripped each other.

Fallon stayed inside her as long as he could. He stroked her face with the backs of his fingers and kissed her. When his cock finally slipped free, she frowned and quickly rolled to her side, turning her back to him as she rolled into a fetal position.

They seemed to go in and out of sleep. Fallon felt he was awake most of the time. Sometime during the night, Lace’s body was quivering with sobs. He put his hand on her, but she didn’t turn and didn’t speak.

***

I can pretty much watch you do anything, but the one thing I can’t bring myself to see again is you walking out and staying away so long I don’t know where you are or which time is going to turn out to be the last time you ever came back. If you’re gonna go this time, it has to be the last time or I’m never gonna survive you.

Fallon was in his car, driving, jaw firmly set as he wondered when Lace would wake up and find the note. He was on his way to the beach. The sun wouldn’t be up for a couple of hours. It would be dark everywhere except the surface of the water. He was going to park his car and walk out on the sand. He was going to drop to his knees and close his eyes. Let the seesaw wash of the surf become the rise and fall of her breath in every corner of his mind.

At the time, it was the only place he could think of where a man could weep in private over the simple curse of love.