Lost Love
by John Dark

If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else.

This material is Copyright, 1997, John Dark. All rights reserved. He specifically grants the right of downloading and keeping one electronic copy for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting requires previous permission.

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Lost Love
by John Dark

Wayne Brown grabbed the vodka as soon as he got home from the reception. Champagne hadn't suited his mood, though he'd drunk it. Watching the love of his life married to another man wasn't a champagne occasion. Shoes off, he put the bottle of cheap vodka within reach as he settled down.

11:20. Shouldn't drink it now. She knew that he would come, even now, if she called him. But she wouldn't call. Danielle followed through on her commitments.

Nearly twelve. They'd be in the room now. Would Steve allow her time to shower? Probably. He could picture the water pouring over her smooth breasts and thighs, picture her cleaning the pouting folds between them in preparation for their spoliation.

12:15. There had been no call; there would be no call. Time to drink.

12:20. By now, Steve would be seeing that naked beauty which would be denied to Wayne forever. Would the fool appreciate the gentle swell of her breasts and the taut, slender belly? Would he calm her fears and kiss her into anticipation? Or would he plunge ahead, tearing her open to reach his own pleasure?

Wayne's emotions cut through any anesthesia from the drink. He doubted that Steve would have the patience to cuddle her long enough. A kiss on her forehead would do more than one on her lips. Did Steve know that?

Would he hold her and kiss her, and pet her and stroke her hair? Would he kiss her sweet ears and tickle her belly button as Wayne used to do? Steve should kiss her breasts and stroked her thighs until the ease turned into desire. Even then, he shouldn't plunge into her. Picturing that required another drink. Steve couldn't really know Danielle.

Steve should have kissed her center. He should have gotten her thrashing on the bed in need for him before he inserted himself into her ultimate secret. When he met her barrier, he should have looked at her for permission. Danny had a habit of taking three deep breaths before the iodine was applied or the adhesive tape torn off. He should have let her take them.

But then he should have thrust firmly so that the necessary pain would be brief. Fully in her, he would have comforted her again, aroused her again, stroked her magic button until she climaxed around him.

Steve had probably started before poor Danielle was ready. Worrying about his erection after all that champagne, he'd most likely fumbled his prick into her until she hurt. Then he might have stopped and stupidly let the hurt go on. Why had Wayne allowed this to happen?

"Wayne?" called Denise.

"Denise, did you talk to her? Did you tell her what to expect?"

"Danielle is your daughter, Wayne. Do you really think that she married Steve without trying him out?"

"Denise!"

"Daughters talk to their mothers, Wayne. Some husbands even talk to their wives. Now come to bed."

The end.
Lost Love
by John Dark
Copyright, 1997.