by Lucia Jordan
“Excuse me?”
“I mean they work, but do they really satisfy? I would probably be forever puffing on one of those things trying to get the feeling I get from a real cigarette.”
“I wonder if the cigarette makers would hire you for ad copy,” Sandra asked mischievously.
“They should. Think of the money that campaign would generate. Sex does sell.”
“It does.” The mention of sex made the kitchen feel even steamier. Sandra hastily changed the subject. “Did you enjoy Harris’s party?”
“Not really. I kept having déjà vu all night. I think after a time all the parties start to feel like all the parties before them particularly since there does not seem to ever be anyone new at them. I am not being an asshole by the way, that is merely an observation.”
“It’s true,” she conceded. “I tend to forget how…”
“Incestuous?”
“I was going to say cliquish. How cliquish we can sometimes be here.”
“Do you ever get bored?”
“Yes.” She could not believe she had voiced that aloud.
“Why not do something different?”
Sandra asked, “Like what?”
“Be a rebel and say no to a boring party and go into Manhattan for a night of theatre and drinking. Talk about something besides academia, this campus, and the general things that get talked about. Show up naked.”
Sandra sputtered laughter. “I suppose you know you wearing jeans and Topsiders marks you as a rebel, but not quite as much of a rebel as the woman who was our artist-in-residence a few years back. She would dance under trees during rain storms, waving about burning sage branches and belly dancing.”
Connor joked, “Maybe I should get some harem pants before the next party. I cannot be outdone. I must be the largest source of gossip on this campus.”
A vivid mental image of him in harem pants surfaced. That image was as erotic as it was comical and she laughed then blushed, a little fact that did not escape his notice. Her face bore a sexy little flush and her eyes were brighter than usual from the heat and her thoughts.
Sandra shifted her attention to the stove as the timer went off. “That would be the last batch of the cookies.”
“What kind of cookies?”
“Spice.”
“I like spice,” his eyes trailed down her upper body as he spoke, leaving no doubt what he meant by the words.
She got up and went to the stove. Unaware of how her jeans clung to her firm ass cheeks as she bent over to retrieve the pan and check to make sure the cookies were done to perfection she unwittingly caused Connor’s pent-in desire to ignite too suddenly for him to slow it down.
Warm and incredibly strong arms wrapped around her, causing her to nearly drop the tray of cookies onto the floor. His teeth nibbled at her ear, her neck and his fingers moved up, first caressing her breasts through her sweater then tugging at her nipples.
She got the tray down just in time. He spun her around, pushed her over the small table. Her cheek scrubbed against the wood and she could smell the coffee and pie they had enjoyed a few moments before.
His fingers tore open the buttons on her jeans and she wriggled to help him as he pulled them down. Her shoes tangled into the legs and she kicked and giggled as he swore a few times then gave up, leaving them tangled around her feet.
Her laughter abruptly stopped when Connor grabbed a wooden spoon form her counter and whacked her ass cheeks with it. Stinging pain and soaring pleasure mingled inside her body. Juices, slippery and heated, ran down her legs as he hit her again, turning her bottom a pretty rosy red color. It burned and itched a bit and she writhed as more blows came down, alternating with long slow caresses that softened the agony and kept her walking that fine line between exquisite suffering and exquisite satisfaction.
Her fingers clutched the edge of the table and she lifted herself up on her tiptoes, offering herself to him. The spoon came down again and she shrieked and twisted, he pulled her up by a handful of her own hair and a hot primal thrill shot through her body.
He spun her around for a long intense kiss that left her legs shaking. Unable to think, uncaring of anything except the moment unfolding around them Sandra sank to her knees in front of him, bowing her head in supplication as her trembling fingers went to his zipper and tugged it down.
His cock sprang out at her—hard and trembling. The heavy purple vein throbbed and he filled her hand. The sheer solid weight of his shaft made more fluids leak from her center, she wanted him inside of her, wanted to feel his balls slapping against her ass cheeks as he fucked her hard and fast.
Her mouth opened and she flicked her tongue across the taut skin of his helmet, a thin drop of precum leaked out and its taste filled her mouth. Reveling in the manly scent of him, she opened her mouth wider and took him down her throat. He was large and thick and his cock pushed against her tongue. She used that tongue, swirling it around and around the head and then licking down his long member even as she swallowed it.
Her eyes closed and her hand came up to cradle his balls. They tightened below her caresses. Growing bolder she pulled her mouth of his pulsing prick and took his balls into her mouth, suckling on them.
Connor had been fucking her face, thrusting his hips in time to her movements and he had been excited then but when she began to suckle on his sac he almost came. He doubled over and shoved her away gently before hauling her back to her feet and bending her back over the table.
His tongue slid into the cleft between her cheeks, ran down to her labia, and parted them. Whimpers escaped her as he massaged her clit, his fingers plunging inside of her. The friction and heat made her body feel loose and liquid, her eyes closed as spasms of ecstasy made her inner walls clench and open again.
His clever tongue continued to torment her even as he slipped a questing finger into her asshole, pressing past that tight ring of muscle. Heat flushed her entire body and she cried out, aching with need.
Connor stood and his cock entered her, full and ready. He filled her, her legs quivered and her ass jerked higher even as her hips ached from being pressed against the table’s edge. Connor yanked her hair again, pulling it ruthlessly as he fucked her.
He slid along her walls then withdrew, creating a delicious rhythm that made her pant and gasp, her nipples scraped the table’s surface, and her hips thrust back and toward him.
Her snug walls held him fast, pulled him further inside of their heated oily depths. The ecstasy was nearly unbearable, she knew she could not hold on long and she did not want to. Her body begged for a release from the sweet torture he was inflicting upon it.
“Please can I come?” Sandra begged, “Please I want to come so badly.”
“You may come when I say you can come and I have not said that, now have I?”
“No,” she whimpered. “I cannot wait much longer though, please Connor.”
He was not ready to allow her release however. His hands were hard and cruel on her ass cheeks, they were already sore and the blows stung but the pain turned to pleasure so fast she barely had time to register it at all.
“You can come right now,” he said as he stopped spanking her and reached around her so that his fingers could manipulate her clit. That proved to be too much for her. Thick come spilled from her wet slit and moans broke from her throat.
Connor came as well, his cock jerking inside her as his hot seed spilled into her tight tunnel, splattered her walls and then mingled with her own juices. He panted heavily in her ear, his body trapping hers as their heartbeats slowed and their bodies cooled.
He finally stood and helped her to stand up; she was a bit shaky as they made their way into the bathroom. Connor helped her strip and then stripped his own clothes off as she turned on the water.
Steam filled the room and they clambered into the tub. Sandra relaxed, allowing the heat and the scent of the soap she preferred to seep into her senses and ease the aches and pains that Connor’s rough lovemaking
had left behind.
His hands were soothing as he soaped a cloth and washed the fluids from her pussy, each circular stroke making her gasp. She would have come again if he had let her but he did not, he wanted her to be on the edge to be left wanting so that perhaps he would have an advantage when he asked her again to go to Maine for the holiday.
That plan backfired though. Dressed and back in her kitchen Sandra had regained her footing somewhat.
“I can’t go,” she said as she placed a dozen cookies into a brightly wrapped container.
Connor demanded angrily, “What’s holding you here?”
“This is my home and this is where I have always spent Christmas.”
“Why do you have to be so afraid to do things that are new?”
“I’m not afraid!” Only she was, and they both knew it.
“Leaving here is not the end of the world.”
The campus was her whole world. She did not know how to express that. Going on the occasional vacation or sail into waters she had not tried before was one thing but going against the traditions she had had for years…and going away with a man no less, those were two things she could not handle. Leaving the campus with him for Christmas…it would only be the precursor and she knew it and the knowledge terrified her.
Who would she be away from the place where she had always been …who was she? That was such a confusing thought. She was Professor Sandra Eckhart, the daughter of a well-known and respected professor who taught three buildings down from her own and whose university provided home sat on the next street over.
She knew every nook and cranny of the campus, every corner, and stair held a memory for her. Every Christmas of her life had been spent there. Every year she went to the traditional lighting of the tree on Christmas Eve, sang carols, and drank spectacularly bad cocoa out on the green with everyone else who left behind on the mostly empty campus.
Every year she ate dinner with her father, a dinner made by the same restaurant for the last decade. If that place closed, he would find another one. That was the way things were.
Only this year her father would not be there. So why was she resisting Connor’s suggestion so much?
She was not sure. She only knew that some stubborn streak inside of her would not let her bend even though deep down inside she wanted to.
She handed him the small box that she had brought into the kitchen with her and a container of cookies. She could not meet his eyes. “I hope you have a lovely Christmas.”
She knew he was angry, and she did not blame him. Tears stood out in her eyes but she refused to shed them as he said, “I hope you do as well,” and then walked out.
**
The next afternoon her doorbell rang and her heart leaped into her chest. Could it be Connor? Could he have decided that he needed to be with her? Hope warred with her practical side as she went to the door.
The woman standing there was nobody she recognized. Her face was lovely but showed signs of bad living, lines, and veins that the surgeries that had given her eyes a slight tilt and her mouth a full-fledged pout could not hide. A fur coat, ruffled by the wind, and a fur hat framed her face, making Sandra feel like she should know the woman. Behind the woman’s head, Sandra could see a long black car with dark-tinted windows sitting on the curb with its engine purring smoothly and smoke puffing from its exhaust.
Sandra opened the door, a frown marring her forehead. “Can I help you?”
“Your father said you had turned into a lovely woman,” she said in a low and smoky contralto. Her voice was instantly recognizable. That voice had never faded from Sandra’s memory although her face had. Not that she still wore the face that she had when she had been a young mother on a college campus.
Sandra’s mouth went dry, beyond dry, arid. Her head spun and her thoughts shot off into a thousand different directions. The wind kicked up, driving icy needles of sleet before it. Raine Madigan shivered theatrically and gave Sandra a winning smile. “May I come in?”
Sandra’s instinct was to slam the door in her face, just close it just like she had closed the front door of their house the day she had walked out. “Why are you here?”
“Do you want bullshit platitudes and tales of woe or will a simple ‘I was in the neighborhood’ suffice?”
“I hate platitudes.” Despite herself, Sandra was amused and she stood aside so her mother could enter.
“Then we are on the same page.”
Raine shed the coat and hat to reveal a body honed into lean perfection. The black sweater she wore had a scooped neck. She had chosen to pair the sweater with trousers made of Egyptian cotton, far too flimsy for the weather. Her perfume hung heavy on the air, a spicy musky scent that made Sandra think of sandalwood and dried flowers.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Do you have whisky?”
“I have wine. It is not very expensive.”
“Fine.”
Sandra went to the kitchen and took a bottle of chilled Bordeaux out of her refrigerator, opened it and poured a generous glass. She had had some of the wine with dinner and she rarely drank more than a single glass in a day but she needed some fortification so she poured herself a healthy glassful as well.
Raine took the glass, sipped, and sighed. “I miss France.”
“I guess you would.”
“I’m too old to worry about whether or not you hate me.”
The words were bald, and unkind. Sandra flinched. “I do not doubt that you never considered my feelings.”
Raine leaned back in the chair, tapping one toe of her fashionable Italian leather boots onto the floor. “I do not suppose you ever considered mine.”
Sandra sighed and tried to push aside the anger that was forcing its way to the surface. “I did not expect to see you.”
“I know. I did not expect to see you either but here we are. Can I smoke in here?”
“No.” It came out more sharply than she intended.
The pack of cigarettes vanished back into the two thousand dollar handbag. Raine tapped one perfectly manicured finger on the arm of the chair, fidgeted and then spoke. “Love is rarely convenient you know. It never behaves properly and if you really want love, sometimes you have to behave improperly as well. You have to take chances; you must be prepared to break your own heart, and somebody else’s.
“That is not an excuse and it certainly is not what I came here to say.”
“What did you come here to say?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Raine admitted, “Maybe nothing. Tell me about you.”
“There is not much to tell.”
“I blame your father for that.”
“Do not blame him,” a thin edge of anger ran under her voice. “He raised me well.”
“And in his image,” Raine gestured with the glass, the rich purple-red wine sloshed against inside the bowl.
“You make that sound like an indictment of his parenting.”
“It is not. I just thought he would have loosened up a little, maybe learn how to laugh at something other than the archaic jokes he is so fond of telling. Or maybe I was hoping you would be more like me.”
“I do not even know you,” Sandra pointed out.
“No but you have some of my DNA. I suppose nurture often does overtake nature though.”
Sandra bristled, “I do not particularly care to sit here, and listen to you insult me and my father in my own home.”
“I am merely stating the fact that you are right here where I left you. I had rather hoped you would wind up kicking your heels upon a stage somewhere or backpacking through Europe or anything besides living out your life here in this place.”
“Is that so terrible? I know you hated it here but I don’t. Neither does my father.”
“I hated it because it stifled me. I always felt like I was choking to death.” Raine said quietly. “It was always the same old faculty parties, the same constant clawing, and backstabbing for tenure and advancement and for
what? The only reward at the end of that was the dubious honor of living out twenty years here on these same few square miles, watching the seasons change just like they did every year before and speaking to the same people every day of my life. It was utterly stultifying.”
A cold chill crept through Sandra. That was how Connor felt about the place. He had not said so in so many words but his feelings were the same.
“I find it comforting,” Sandra finally got out.
“Is that my fault? Did I make you afraid of change by leaving?”
It was a startling question, one Sandra had never considered, and did not want to consider right then. “No,” she said firmly but deep down she wondered if that were true.
Silence spun out between them. Sandra had no idea of what to say. There was too much time and water under the bridge. She was an adult and her mother had been absent for so many years she was a veritable ghost in her life. There was no reason for her to mourn her, and she had gone through all the anger and hatred and other emotions over her mother’s desertion years ago. She had long since accepted that her mother would never return for her, declaring that she was wrong and the Sandra was the only thing that truly mattered in her life.
It was hard to even imagine what had spurred those rather overblown daydreams, now that she was thirty one and far more pragmatic, and out of her father’s house.
“I just decided, on the spur of the moment, to come visit because we had a five hour layover and it was not so far to here from the airport.”
“You should get back. They are cancelling flights left and right. You may be able to get an earlier one and get out if not you will be trapped here for the night or longer. The weather channel says it will clear but you can never tell.”
Sandra knew it was unkind to say that but she did not care. The woman sitting in the chair across from her was just a woman who had dropped by in the middle of an afternoon, unannounced, and uninvited. She owed her nothing.
Raine got up, donned her coat and ridiculous hat, and walked toward the door, Sandra following behind her. The long black car idled at the curb, more plumes of gray smoke tainting the air.
Sandra watched her mother walk away and wondered, briefly, if she were happy but that curiosity was just that, an idle curiosity, nothing more.
