Chapter 11: The Goodbye?
Jen’s body slumped against the cupboard door, slick with sweat and trembling uncontrollably. The aftershocks pulsed through her, sharp little jolts centered deep in her cunt and radiating from her asshole, still tingling from the brutal invasion of Lisa’s tongue. Her cheek pressed against the cool wood, breath fogging a small patch. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think beyond the raw, echoing emptiness and the phantom pressure where Lisa’s fingers had been buried moments before. The coffee machine’s final gurgle sounded obscenely loud in the sudden stillness.
Behind her, Lisa stepped back. The warmth of her body vanished, replaced by the kitchen’s cool air. Jen heard the soft, wet sound of Lisa sucking her own fingers clean. A low hum of satisfaction vibrated in her throat. Jen flinched at the sound, a fresh wave of shame washing over her, hot and prickling beneath the exhaustion. She’d screamed. Begged. Come like an animal pinned to the counter.
"Fuck," Lisa breathed, her voice thick, sated. Jen felt the shift in the air as Lisa moved, her shadow falling over Jen’s crumpled form. A hand landed on Jen’s hip, not gentle, but not punishing either. Just… possessive. "You took that well." The words weren’t praise; they were an assessment. A statement of fact. Like commenting on the weather.
Jen managed a shaky inhale. She tried to push herself up, but her arms trembled violently, refusing to hold her weight. She slid sideways, collapsing fully onto the cold tile floor, her legs splayed awkwardly. She curled in on herself instinctively, trying to shield her nakedness, the bruises darkening on her thighs and hips stark against her pale skin. She couldn’t look up. Couldn’t meet Lisa’s eyes. The vulnerability was suffocating.
Lisa stood over her, a silhouette against the under-cabinet light. Jen could see the gleam of sweat on her thighs, the damp patch between her legs, the faint smear of whipped cream she’d missed high on her inner thigh. Lisa’s gaze felt heavy, scrutinizing. Calculating. Jen squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the next command, the next violation. Anything but this unbearable silence.
Instead, Lisa sighed. A sound of… inconvenience? "I need to go."
The words landed like stones. Jen’s eyes snapped open. She stared at Lisa’s bare feet, inches from her face. Go? Now? After… after that? Disbelief warred with a crushing sense of abandonment. "Go?" The word scraped out, raw and thin.
"Yeah." Lisa shifted her weight. Jen heard the rustle as Lisa picked up her discarded underwear – simple black cotton briefs – from where they’d been kicked aside near the fridge. "It’s late. Later than I thought." She stepped into the briefs, pulling them up over her hips with efficient movements. The fabric clung to the dampness between her legs. "Kids’ll be up early. Mark might notice." Her voice was flat, practical. Devoid of the heat, the dominance, the dark amusement that had filled the apartment just minutes ago.
Jen pushed herself up onto her elbows, ignoring the protest of her bruised body. She stared at Lisa, who was now hunting for her bra on the cluttered countertop, nudging aside paint tubes and sketchbooks. The cozy haven felt suddenly alien, violated. The scent of sex and coffee and sweet cream hung thick and cloying. "Lisa…" Jen’s voice cracked. "You… you can’t just…" Fuck me like a whore and leave? The unspoken words choked her.
Lisa found her bra, a plain beige underwire. She hooked it deftly behind her back, her movements brisk, businesslike. She glanced down at Jen, her expression unreadable in the dim light. "Can’t just what, Jen?" There was a flicker of something then – impatience? Annoyance? "You got what you wanted, didn’t you?" She leaned down slightly, her eyes locking onto Jen’s. "You begged for it. For years, you fucking begged for it. Don’t pretend otherwise now."
The accusation, delivered with cold precision, hit Jen like a physical blow. She recoiled, curling tighter. Tears welled, hot and stinging. "I didn’t… I didn’t beg for… for you to leave like this." The humiliation burned brighter than the bruises.
Lisa straightened, fastening the front clasp of her bra. Her breasts lifted, the nipples still visibly hard beneath the fabric. "Like what?" She picked up her crumpled blouse, shaking it out. "Like I have a life to get back to? Responsibilities?" She pulled the blouse on, not bothering with the torn buttons, leaving it hanging open, exposing the bra and the smooth plane of her stomach. "Jesus, Jen. What did you expect? Flowers? Breakfast?" A harsh, humorless laugh escaped her. "This was… this was just fucking. Wild, messy fucking. Something I needed." She raked a hand through her short blonde hair. "And you gave it to me. So thanks."
Thanks. The word echoed, hollow and brutal. Jen watched, numb, as Lisa located her tailored pants, stepped into them, zipped them up. Each movement was a dismissal. The powerful, terrifying goddess who had owned her body, her mouth, her very breath moments ago was packing herself away. Returning to suburbia. Leaving Jen naked and broken on the kitchen floor.
A desperate, reckless surge of anger and longing rose in Jen’s chest. She couldn’t let her leave. Not like this. Not after tasting heaven and hell intertwined. She scrambled forward on her knees, ignoring the pain flaring in her joints, and grabbed Lisa’s ankle just as she was about to step towards her shoes.
"Lisa, wait!" Jen’s voice was ragged, pleading. "Please… just… don’t go yet. Not… not right now." She looked up, tears spilling over. "Touch me again. Just… just once more. Please?"
Lisa froze. Her gaze dropped to Jen’s hand clutching her ankle, then slowly travelled up Jen’s naked body – the tear-streaked face, the trembling shoulders, the breasts still marked faintly from earlier bites, down to the dark curls glistening with her own slickness. Jen saw the flicker. The brief, undeniable flare of hunger reigniting in Lisa’s eyes. The predator recognizing prey offering itself again.
A slow, dangerous smile curved Lisa’s lips. Not warm. Not kind. Utterly carnal. "You just can’t get enough, can you?" she murmured, her voice dropping back into that low, commanding register that made Jen’s cunt clench involuntarily. "Still fucking hungry?"
Jen nodded frantically, hope warring with dread. "Yes. Please, Lisa. Anything. Just… don’t leave."
Lisa’s smile widened. She reached down, not to pull Jen up, but to grab a handful of her dark hair, yanking her head back sharply. Jen gasped, exposed. "On your feet," Lisa ordered, her voice hardening. "Against the fridge. Now."
Jen scrambled to obey, propelled by the sharp tug on her scalp. She stumbled upright, her legs shaky, and backed against the cold stainless steel of the refrigerator door. The chill seeped into her overheated skin. Lisa crowded her instantly, pressing her body flush against Jen’s, pinning her. One hand remained fisted in Jen’s hair, holding her head immobile. The other slid down Jen’s side, over her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass cheek. Lisa’s open blouse brushed Jen’s skin, the rough fabric a contrast to the heat radiating from Lisa’s body.
Lisa leaned in, her mouth hovering inches from Jen’s ear. Her breath was hot. "You want me to fuck you again?" she whispered, the words filthy and thrilling. "Before I go? One last quickie for the road?"
"Yes," Jen breathed, her voice trembling. "God, yes."
"Then spread your fucking legs," Lisa commanded, grinding her pelvis against Jen’s thigh, letting Jen feel the hard ridge of her zipper through the thin fabric of her pants, the damp heat radiating from her own cunt. "Wider."
Jen obeyed instantly, pushing her feet apart, bracing herself against the fridge. Lisa’s hand left her ass and shoved between Jen’s thighs. Her fingers weren’t gentle. They plunged into Jen’s slickness, spreading her folds roughly. Jen cried out, her head thudding back against the fridge door. Lisa’s fingers slid easily, probing deep, finding her swollen, sensitive flesh still pulsing from the earlier assault.
"Still so fucking wet," Lisa growled, her fingers curling, rubbing hard against Jen’s front wall. Jen gasped, her hips bucking forward. "Always ready. Always desperate." Lisa withdrew her fingers, glistening. She brought them to Jen’s mouth. "Suck."
Jen opened her mouth obediently, tasting herself, salty and musky, mixed with the faint sweetness of the whipped cream Lisa hadn’t cleaned off her own skin earlier. She sucked Lisa’s fingers clean, her tongue swirling around them, moaning softly.
Lisa pulled her fingers free with a wet pop. Her eyes burned into Jen’s. "Turn around. Hands on the fridge. Ass out."
Jen spun, pressing her palms flat against the cold metal. She arched her back, pushing her ass out towards Lisa, presenting herself. The vulnerability was absolute again, but laced now with a frantic urgency. This was goodbye. This was the last taste.
She heard the rasp of Lisa’s zipper. Then the unmistakable sound of fabric sliding down thighs. Lisa’s pants pooled around her ankles. Jen risked a glance back. Lisa stood behind her, naked from the waist down except for her black briefs pushed aside, her blonde curls damp, her cunt glistening. She held her blouse open with one hand. The other gripped the base of her cock – a thick, realistic silicone strap-on harnessed securely around her hips, glistening with Jen’s wetness from Lisa’s fingers.
Jen’s breath hitched. The sight was brutally erotic – Lisa, half-dressed, powerful, wielding the hard, artificial cock jutting from her body. "Fuck me," Jen begged, turning her face back to the fridge, bracing herself. "Please, Lisa. Fuck me hard."
Lisa didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, aligning the broad silicone head with Jen’s dripping entrance. She didn’t tease. She didn’t ask. With one powerful thrust of her hips, she drove the entire thick length deep into Jen’s cunt.
Jen screamed. The sudden, brutal invasion stretched her impossibly wide, filling her completely, hitting her cervix with jarring force. The cold fridge door pressed against her front, Lisa’s body slammed against her back, trapping her. Lisa’s hand fisted in her hair again, yanking her head back.
"Take it!" Lisa snarled, her voice rough with exertion and dark pleasure. She pulled back almost all the way, leaving only the tip inside, then slammed forward again, hard. The fridge rattled. Jen cried out, her fingers scrabbling against the smooth metal. "Take my fucking cock, you greedy slut! You wanted it! Begged for it!"
Lisa set a punishing rhythm. Short, brutal thrusts, driving deep with each piston of her hips. The silicone shaft dragged against Jen’s sensitized walls, the harness grinding against Lisa’s own clit with every movement. The sounds were obscene – wet slaps of flesh, the creak of the fridge door, Lisa’s harsh grunts, Jen’s choked sobs and gasps.
"Feel it?" Lisa panted, her breath hot on Jen’s neck. She reached around with her free hand, fingers finding Jen’s clit, pinching the swollen nub hard, rubbing in rough circles. "Feel me fucking owning this cunt? Marking it before I leave?"
"Yes!" Jen wailed, the dual assault overwhelming. The deep, relentless penetration, the sharp pain-pleasure on her clit. Her body convulsed, trying to accommodate the brutal pace. "Yours! It’s yours! Fuck! Harder!"
Lisa obliged. Her thrusts became faster, harder, jackhammering into Jen’s core. She fucked her with single-minded intensity, focused solely on her own release, using Jen’s body as a vessel. The strap-on pistoned relentlessly, the base slamming against Jen’s ass cheeks with each inward drive. Lisa’s fingers worked Jen’s clit ruthlessly, pinching, rubbing, demanding.
Jen felt the orgasm building again, a terrifying wave rising from the depths of her violated core, fueled by pain, submission, and the sheer, brutal force of Lisa’s possession. "Gonna come!" she shrieked, her voice breaking. "Lisa, I'm coming!"
"Come!" Lisa roared, her own voice tight, strained. She slammed home one final time, burying the strap-on to the hilt, grinding her hips against Jen’s ass. Her fingers pinched Jen’s clit viciously. "Come all over my fucking cock!"
Jen shattered. Her vision whited out. Her cunt clamped down in violent, rhythmic spasms around the thick silicone shaft buried deep inside her. A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat as the orgasm ripped through her, wave after wave of blinding, brutal pleasure-pain that left her trembling, sagging against the fridge, held up only by Lisa’s grip on her hair and the cock impaling her.
Lisa groaned, a deep, guttural sound of her own climax hitting. Jen felt the vibrations through the strap-on, felt Lisa’s body shudder against her back. Lisa held herself deep for a few more seconds, grinding slightly, milking her own release against the harness. Then, abruptly, she pulled out.
The sudden emptiness was shocking. Jen whimpered, feeling slickness gush down her inner thighs. She slumped forward, forehead pressed against the cold fridge, gasping for air, her body a trembling ruin. Behind her, Lisa quickly pulled her briefs back into place, then yanked her pants up over her hips, zipping them with sharp efficiency. The harness and strap-on were hidden again.
Lisa stepped back, adjusting her open blouse. She looked down at Jen, collapsed against the appliance, legs trembling, fluids dripping onto the tile floor. Lisa’s expression was unreadable. Cool. Detached. The frenzy was gone.
"Thanks, Jen," she said again, her voice flat, devoid of inflection. "That was… something." She turned, located her purse near the doorway to the living room. "Lock the door behind me."
She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t look back. She walked out of the kitchen, her footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Jen heard the soft click of the front door opening. Then the solid, final thud as it closed.
Silence.
Utter, crushing silence, broken only by Jen’s ragged breathing and the faint, persistent hum of the refrigerator motor against her cheek. The scent of sex was overwhelming. The taste of herself lingered on her tongue. The ache between her legs was profound, radiating deep into her core. Bruises throbbed. Tears, hot and silent, began to track through the sweat on her cheeks.
She slid slowly down the fridge door, collapsing onto the cold tile floor amidst the scattered remnants of their encounter – a discarded paint tube, a stray coffee bean, a faint smear of whipped cream she hadn’t noticed before. She curled into a ball, naked and alone, the echo of Lisa’s final "Thanks" ringing in her ears like a curse. The cozy apartment lights seemed dimmer now, the eclectic art on the walls mere meaningless shapes. The record player had long since stopped. Only the scent of stale coffee remained, a bitter counterpoint to the raw, brutal sweetness Lisa had left behind. The front door lock clicked softly into
The metallic chill of the doorknob stung Lisa’s palm as she pulled Jen’s apartment door shut behind her. The click of the lock felt obscenely final in the silent hallway, sealing Jen inside with the wreckage. Lisa leaned back against the cool wood for a second, breathing hard. Her blouse hung open, her tailored pants felt suddenly constricting over the damp harness still strapped tight around her hips. The ghost of Jen’s screams, the clench of her body around the thick silicone cock, vibrated in Lisa’s bones. She could still taste Jen on her tongue, salt and musk and leftover sweetness from the cream they’d smeared.
She pushed off the door, the movement jarring the deep, persistent ache between her legs – an echo of the power, the brutal release. Her stride down the dimly lit hallway was uneven, her thighs sticky. Every nerve ending felt raw, exposed, humming with the fading violence of what had happened on Jen’s kitchen floor. Thanks, Jen. The words tasted like ash now. She needed out. Needed air that didn’t reek of sex and desperation. Needed distance from the raw need she’d both exploited and devoured.
The sudden, shrill buzz from her purse felt like a physical blow. Lisa flinched, her heart slamming against her ribs. She fumbled the clasp open, fingers trembling slightly, slick with a sheen of sweat. The screen glared: MARK. Home. Reality, cold and sharp, sliced through the lingering haze of dominance and sweat. She swallowed, forcing her voice into something approaching normalcy as she hit answer, pressing the phone to her ear. "Mark? Hey."
"Lisa? Where the hell are you?" His voice was tight, strained. Accusatory. "It's past midnight. The kids were asking. Said you went to Jen's for coffee?" The word dripped with disbelief. "Coffee takes four hours now?"
Lisa stared at a water stain on the hallway’s faded wallpaper, her mind scrambling. The heavy silicone cock pressed insistently against her clit beneath her pants with every step, a filthy secret. Her cunt throbbed, still swollen and sensitive, a stark counterpoint to the panic tightening her throat. "Jen… Jen wasn't feeling great." The lie tumbled out, rough and unconvincing. "Really upset. Needed to talk. Lost track of time."
"Lost track?" Mark’s scoff was audible. "Jesus, Lisa. It's a school night. Emily had a nightmare. Wanted you. I had to calm her down." The unspoken accusation hung heavy: Where were you when your daughter needed you?
Guilt, sharp and cold, warred with the residual heat coiling low in her belly. She pictured Emily’s tear-streaked face, Mark’s weary frustration. Pictured Jen, bruised and trembling, dripping onto her own kitchen floor, whispering Please. The dissonance was paralyzing. "I'm sorry," Lisa managed, the words hollow. "I'm leaving now. Be home soon." She quickened her pace towards the building’s exit, the click of her heels echoing too loudly.
"Just get here." The line went dead. Silence crashed back, heavier than before. Lisa shoved the phone back into her purse with a jerky movement, her breath coming in short gasps. She pushed through the heavy front doors into the cool night air. It did nothing to cleanse her. The scent of Jen’s skin, her arousal, the sharp tang of her tears, seemed embedded in her pores. The harness chafed, a constant, unwelcome reminder of the power she’d wielded and the chaos she’d left behind. She’d traded suburban quiet for raw, devouring heat, and now faced the cold fallout. Her body screamed for more, even as her mind screamed for escape. She walked faster, the city lights blurring, the echo of Jen’s desperate pleas and Mark’s angry voice a dissonant chorus in her skull. The car keys felt like lead in her pocket. Home waited. Normalcy waited. A facade she wasn't sure she could wear, not with the taste of Jen’s cunt still on her lips and the phantom weight of the strap-on between her legs.