



Copyright 2006-2011 Rachael Ross all rights reserved. Intended for adults only.



Story Codes: MF, MF/f, Romance, Seduction, First

Synopsis: Kris is a beautiful young woman, a successful artist and married to a devoted man who loves her, but beneath her happiness, she suffers the shameful guilt of betrayal. Unable to conceive a child, Kris harbors fantasies of seeing her husband with another woman, someone innocent and filled with promise, who hasn't suffered the inevitable disappointments that maturity brings. How to realize her fantasy is the question and it remains to be seen if the answer is everything Kris is hoping for.



NOTE: This is very much my favorite fantasy expressed through a character who is only slightly more consumed by her desires than I am. I'm not in the habit of condemning anyone for their fetishes, nor do I feel apologetic for my own. They are what they are and we don't often have a clear understanding of where they spring out of, or even a definition of exactly what our interests are. This is just my most recent attempt out of many to express myself.



Plain text download Love's Distant Shore.zip (65Kb)



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Love's Distant Shore

by rache







~Chapter One~

"What do you think about?" I asked my husband softly.



We were lying in bed, him on his back and me on my side. I had my left leg over his thigh and my left hand on his chest. Our bodies were cooling, damp and sticky, and I could feel him inside my sex. He'd filled me with his sperm once again and it was the best feeling in the world for me. It made me complete, the afterwards, even more than when his cock reached for my womb. It was the remains of our lovemaking that I liked most.



"Hmmm?" Kurt sounded sleepy, the way men sometimes do after sex.



"I was reading a magazine," I shrugged, knowing it was silliness on my part. "About how men fantasize during sex."



"Oh." He smiled. "Cosmo again?"



"It was all they had." I giggled, snuggling closer as he shifted a little, getting comfortable. My husband is a large man and I'm so small, we fit together well.



"Hairdresser?"



"I didn't get my hair done." I mocked a pout, but he was only teasing me.



Kurt knew I'd been to see my gynecologist, getting only enough good news to keep me from crying. I wasn't completely infertile, just mostly, even with the pills and the diet and the timing and…



"Yeah, Kris. I know." He turned his face so he could kiss my blonde hair.



"So, what do you think about when we do it?" I persisted.



"Uhhh…" he cleared his throat and I waited. "The Yankees mostly. You know…Baseball."



"Liar!" I laughed.



"No, seriously, they're having a rough year." Kurt loved to tease me and I loved his sense of humor, usually.



"Come on, please?" I sighed. "I really want to know."



"Why?" He almost laughed, pleased with the opportunity to tease me more than with my curiosity.



"I won't be mad," I promised, moving my hand down to feel his cock, soft now and sticky against his skin.



"Ah…" He did laugh then.



"I'll tell you what I think about," I offered, massaging his penis gently, just stroking it with my long red fingernails.



"I know what you think about, Kris." His left arm, the one I was laying on, was behind me and I could feel his fingers on my back.



"Yeah," I shrugged. I'd already told him that all I ever imagined was his sperm finding one of my precious eggs and giving us a baby.



"What did the doctor say?" Kurt asked. We hadn't discussed it yet, but now seemed as good a time as any, so I told him.



"…One chance in a hundred," I finished half a minute later, because there really was very little to say.



"Okay," he nodded and we were quiet for a little bit.



We'd looked into artificial insemination, but the problem, my problem, wasn't with my fallopian tubes. Kurt's sperm was reaching my ovum, it was just that my eggs weren't receptive, to use my doctor's phrase. Even fertilizing my egg outside the body, in a test tube, so to speak, had a very small chance of success. Too small for the expense, which was considerable, but we were saving for it anyway. Some people saved for vacations or houses or cars…Kurt and I were saving for a chance at making a baby. One in thirty was better than one in a hundred, wasn't it? It felt like a sure thing to me sometimes, but mostly I was just sad.



"You have to cheer me up now," I finally said.



"Sure." Kurt gave me a squeeze and his cock was semi-hard under my fingers.



We were barely twenty-three, our birthdays being just a few days apart, which I'd taken as a good omen on our first date. We were still newlyweds as well, by the standards of our friends anyway, and just approaching our second anniversary. Out of college finally and both of us working good jobs, it should have been perfect, and almost was.



"So come on, tell me what you really think about," I sighed, stroking him now because Kurt was hard for me again. His cock had grown long and thick and hot. I liked his maleness.



"Ohhh…How about if I sing for you?" he suggested playfully, and I frowned.



"Kurt, come on. I told you I won't be mad. I know you think about something besides me." I reached lower to feel his balls.



There was nothing wrong down there. He'd been checked and his sperm was vigorous, which is another one of those funny technical terms. Vigorous, healthy sperm, that's what my husband had. When I remembered the two years I'd taken birth control pills while we'd dated, I wanted to laugh at the irony. I was a birth control pill all by myself, just laying there.



"Well, maybe you'll laugh." Kurt turned onto his left side to face me. "My dad warned me about talking to girls about stuff like this."



"He did?" I smiled and wondered if I'd believe him. The bedside lights were on and his brown eyes were warm. He liked to look at me when we had sex and I didn't mind.



"Oh yeah." Kurt leaned close for a kiss and his lips were dry on mine, soft and smooth. I let his tongue tease mine for a moment.



"Do you think about some thing?" I licked my lips. "Or some one?"



"Uhhh…Yes," Kurt grinned and his right hand moved down to my hip, stroking my skin and continuing slowly towards my ass.



"Oh, I don't like this," I sighed.



"I think of you mostly," he told me seriously, and I let Kurt pull my body even closer than we already were.



I pressed his cock down, between my spread legs so that the shaft would ride across my sex, already wet with our earlier orgasms. My distended labia were split along the length of him and it felt nice like that. No penetration, just my pussy riding his cock as we barely moved together. I had my leg over him and his hand was on my small round ass, his fingers in the crease of my buttocks, moving down to press against my anus. I liked that a lot, having my ass played with, and even anal sex, sometimes, was very good for me despite Kurt's size. I liked a little pain. I liked being the submissive woman to my dominant man in the bedroom.



"But not always," I breathed, smiling and kissing his chest because I am so much smaller than him.



"You're not going to let it go, are you?" His cock was dripping again, leaking precum, and I could feel it against my flushed skin.



"I'm stubborn." I teased his right nipple with my teeth, the pierced one. My left nipple was pierced and we had matching gold rings. It had been a college thing and we'd called them our wedding rings until we'd gotten real ones.



"Like a mule," he sighed.



"I'll tell you something bad," I said a minute later, while Kurt was kissing my ear and making me shiver.



"What?" he whispered.



"Sometimes…" I reached down because it was time; I needed him inside me again. "Uh…Mmmm…" I rolled my hips a little, feeding the head of Kurt's large cock into my ready pussy. "Okay…There…" I nodded and Kurt gave me a little push, sinking inside me slowly.



"Yeah…" He held my ass tight and his hand was big, covering my butt. I loved him because he was big and strong and so much else besides, but especially that; my protector, my man.



"Sometimes I think about you with someone else," I told him, letting him see as deep into my blue eyes as he wanted to.



"Someone else?" He blinked at that, moving his hips slowly.



"Yeah." I was confessing, just because he wouldn't.



"You mean when we have sex, you think, what…You're someone else?" He was smiling, trying to understand, or possibly teasing me.



"No!" I giggled, and we were moving slowly so that I could feel his cock inside my well-stretched cunt, moving just a few inches back and forth, in and out. He was working that old sperm out of me, finding the wetness with his fingers, bringing it to my ass and moistening my anus with it.



"Well, what then?" He was curious now, finally.



"I think about you with another woman," I said. "Having sex, like this."



"Okay," he shrugged with his eyebrows. "What are you doing while…"



"I don't know." I laughed and wriggled my ass against his finger, feeling my pussy full and enjoying it greatly. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."



"Huh." Kurt pushed against my asshole with a gentle, constant pressure making me moan softly as his middle finger penetrated my tight sphincter.



"Don't you want to know who?" I asked, a little breathlessly as my tight butt opened reluctantly.



"Well, of course," he chuckled. "I just don't want to seem eager."



"Ummm…" I closed my eyes for a moment. "That feels good."



"Does it?" Kurt kissed me and I couldn't answer. He knew I loved the sensation of my husband fingering my ass while we fucked. Something about it just felt really good for me.



"Tina," I said after we broke our kiss, even before I took the breath of cool air I needed.



"What?" He swallowed hard, looking a little red faced from our kiss, which had been long and deep.



"I think about you having sex with Tina." I laughed and blushed, but he probably couldn't tell because I was already so warm all over.



"The girl across the hall, Tina?" Kurt was acting very surprised and I wondered who he thought I'd been thinking of.



"Yeah," I nodded, and then felt a bit self-conscious about it. "I mean, I know she's young and everything, but…I don't know…I just…"



I didn't know why I thought of that, of her. Tina was just thirteen, barely thirteen by less than a month, and our neighbor in the apartment building we lived in. She was exotic and dark, with long black hair and deep blue eyes, unlike mine which were more grey, hers were like a bright summer sky. Tall and lithe for her age, Tina was already pretty and in a few more years she'd be truly beautiful.



"She's not just young, Kris," my husband narrowed his eyes, "she's a kid."



"I know." I bit my bottom lip, which is always a sure sign of guilt. "I told you it was bad."



Kurt had stopped moving, his cock lodged deep inside me. He was big all around, physically, intellectually, even spiritually, I thought. It had been so easy to fall in love with the man. We'd talked about so many things, everything it seemed, but this was new; my confession that I was a pedophile in some strange way. How else could I explain this desire to see my husband making love to a child of thirteen? Kurt wouldn't understand this, and how could he when I didn't understand it myself?



"Are you angry?" I whispered, afraid to move against him. Kurt's penis was still hard, still inside me, and he held me tight, but that was all.



"No," he replied, reassuring me and it spurred him to give his cock a short hard thrust. "I just…Why her?"



"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "I haven't thought about it, you know? Like tried to understand it."



"I think I need to understand," Kurt said. "You can tell me."



"I know," I agreed, kissing his neck. Kurt wasn't going to push me away, he just wanted to know.



"Why Tina?" he repeated, and then added, "Is it just her, or..."



"Yeah," I nodded, rolling my hips slightly to work that cock around inside me. "I don't know many other girls her age, so maybe…"



"So maybe if you did…"



"It's her age, yeah," I decided. "She's never been touched. Not kissed or been in love…Real love with a man…"



"Then why not, um…Shelly?" he wondered.



"Shannon," I corrected him, meaning the nine-year-old down the hall.



"Right, Shannon. Why not her?"



"She's too young." I shivered as Kurt brought his fingers back to my ass, playing with me there while I worked my sex on his cock slowly.



"Too young?" My husband chuckled. "That's good."



"She's not, uh…" I sighed, trying to think. "She's not fertile."



"You want me to make Tina pregnant?" He tilted his head downward, staring into my eyes.



"Yeah that's part of it," I agreed quickly. "That's most of it."



"What else?"



"What else?" I asked myself. "Um, her size. I mean, she's like me, even a little smaller than me. I like that. And innocent, yeah…I want to see her the first time."



"Losing her virginity…"



"Becoming a woman," I said, moving more eagerly as I began to define my fantasy aloud for the first time. "Pregnant and fucked and changed forever."



"Fucked?" Kurt chuckled because I so rarely swore, even during sex.



"And I want to watch and be watched." I was talking quickly, before I lost it like a good dream. "I want you both to see me…"



"See you…"



"…helpless." I kissed his chest. "I want you to love her and make a baby in her while I watch helplessly."



"Why?" My husband pushed his thick finger into my ass hard, making me wince with delight.



"Because I'm…worthless!" I gasped, cumming suddenly with an unexpected rush of pleasure in my husband's arms.



==============-



"Kris…"



"Hey. Morning, sleepyhead." I smiled at my husband's entrance into the kitchen. I stood near the microwave, drinking coffee and waiting for our bagels to get warm.



"Good morning." He moved behind me, smelling fresh and damp from his shower.



Kurt wrapped his arms around me and gave me a kiss through the turmoil of my golden hair. He'd dressed for work already and so had I, in a manner of speaking, although the only thing I wore was my bathrobe. I made a soft purring sound as he squeezed me nice.



"Your coffee's there, on the table already," I told him, and this was very much our morning routine.



"Mmmm…Thank you." He kissed me again and let me go.



A few minutes later I sat down with him, eating our bagels and drinking our coffee. Kurt was looking through the previous evening's newspaper, but just to check the box scores real quick. Once baseball season was over he wouldn't even do that much; neither of us were very much interested in the world at large.



"Are we going out tonight?" I asked, because it was Friday and we usually did, if only for dinner, but often for more than that.



"Do you want to?" Kurt put his paper down with a soft rustle and picked up his coffee. "What do you want to do?"



"I don't know." I took a deep breath and stretched a little. "Let's go dancing."



"Sure." He smiled at that and there was something on his mind. I could see it in his eyes; he wanted to say something.



"What?" I tore off a bit of bagel and put it slowly in my mouth.



"Last night, what you said…"



"Oh." I felt my face growing warm. "That was…"



"You're not worthless, Kris."



"I know." I gave him a weak smile. "It's too bright for that, okay?"



Kurt looked at me for a moment and I felt very self-conscious about it. The morning sun was streaming through the kitchen windows and my memory of the night before seemed something like visiting a confessional, dark and remote and secret.



"Yeah." My husband finally nodded and then frowned as he looked at his watch. "I'd better go."



"Okay," I agreed, even though we both knew it was a little early for that. He kissed me as I sat there and then he was gone.



=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



I sat in my studio, but I was hardly in a mood for work. I did illustrations for publishers, books mostly, but magazines as well, some freelance stuff here and there. I had a nice contract with Harlequin, working on commission, doing covers for the romance books that they churned out by the dozens every month. I'd lucked into the job through a friend and it paid well enough. Sitting in a room surrounded by paintings of beautiful couples embracing in their tragic love was a real chore though. That and the mind-numbing repetition that I hadn't fully appreciated immediately; this wasn't a job anyone spent a lifetime doing, I was sure.



I looked at my easel and frowned. I'd paint later and it was almost finished anyway, something called 'Love's Distant Shore' which meant very little to me. That's all I had to work with usually, the title and maybe a paragraph to summarize the main characters' general appearance, and a vague setting to put them in. This one was on a beach, of course. A striking man and his fey woman, holding each other against an approaching tempest. It was overdramatic and lurid with promise, the way millions of women liked it. I had a talent for that sort of thing though and even got the fan mail to prove it.



"Margie Watson," the voice on my phone said, sounding old and distracted, both of which she was.



"Hey Marge, it's Kris." I rubbed my forehead, not sure why I was doing this. "I need a favor."



"Hey, honey. What do you need?" she asked, setting her distractions aside now.



Marge ran a modeling agency and over the last eighteen months I'd become a very good customer. Good enough that I could now skip the secretaries and managers and go straight to the top. I didn't do it very often, usually going through the same process everyone else did, browsing the online portfolios and making an appointment. I usually needed two models for a full day, or sometimes two days, but I tended to work quickly anyway.



"I'm in a bit of a rush," I said. "I need a girl, um…Young, real young."



"Uh-huh. Today, you mean?"



"Yeah, like five minutes ago." I laughed softly. "Sorry. It kind of snuck up on me."



"That happens," the woman said, laughing as well. "Uh…What do you need? Young might be tough on short notice."



"That's why I called you, Margie."



=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



I didn't know what I was doing, or why, but I had my suspicions and I closeted them away, unwilling to consider them. I was doing what I needed to and that was enough. I showered and dressed quickly, not knowing how much time I'd have. There was nothing special about it, only the good manners I'd been brought up with. I pulled on an old pair of jeans, spattered and stained with years of paint, and an old Stones t-shirt. Brushed my hair and tied it back with a rubber-band, and I waited.



"Hello." I smiled, opening the door at half past ten to find the girl Margie had sent over. "Come on in."



"Hi." She looked beautiful and all of fifteen probably, which was a little older than I'd wanted. "I'm Amy…This is my mom."



"Hi, I'm Kris." I stood aside for them and it wasn't the first time I'd used a child model, but the need was rare.



Mom would be there to make sure I really was who Margie said I was. She had the paperwork, the contract which I filled in and signed, mother and daughter as well. It was a very real business and all legitimate, and I was paying a premium for taking Amy out of school so she could sit around in my apartment all day. Mom didn't stay very long; she was satisfied and I'd come with the highest endorsement from the agency. She was going to get her hair done, or do some shopping, or meet up with a friend for lunch. I didn't concern myself overly much with her.



"Do you want something to drink before we start?" I asked the girl. "Do you need the bathroom or anything?"



"No, I'm okay." Amy was looking around the apartment and I was looking at her, dressed in what had to be a school uniform.



"How old are you?" I asked. Her contract had said fourteen, but I wanted to hear her say it.



"Almost fifteen," she said over her shoulder. "Are you married?"



She was looking at the large wedding portrait framed on the bookcase and I nodded.



"Yeah. That's my husband, Kurt," I said. "Come on. We'll go back this way."



"He's cute," Amy said, and followed me to the studio.



"Yeah, he's pretty okay." I smiled as I walked towards the glass doors that opened onto our small balcony.



I'd already cleared an empty space, as my studio was a rather cluttered place at best. I had some cartons there with supplies, and another with studies and unfinished works filed haphazardly. I shoved all that aside and opened the doors wide. It was early autumn in New York and the air was warm, but the breeze felt pleasantly cool as it entered the room.



"Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked, just making small talk while Amy looked around.



"Have you seen my mom?" The girl giggled. "She'd have a heart attack if I even talked to a boy."



"Yeah, moms are like that," I said with a smile. "I need you to undress, okay? Leave your bra on, and your panties too, that's fine, and stand over here."



"I'm not wearing a bra," Amy shrugged. "Is that okay?"



"Yeah, that's okay," I nodded, going to my work table and finding my camera, an old Polaroid.



Amy was just a little shorter than me, and I'm hardly tall in any case, just a little over five feet. Her long hair was brown, but once she stood in the direct sunlight I could see some red in it, a little auburn that seemed very pretty. It was wavy, curling at the ends, and the girl wore her hair loose, which suited me just fine. Amy's presence was generous for her age and the girl wasn't shy at all, with her body or her hazel eyes. She undressed quickly and I'd had plenty of experience with models who were much more picky when it came to undressing, wanting a screen and a robe and all of that. I used the adjoining bedroom, which was going to be our nursery someday, maybe, for a dressing room when models demanded it. I was happy that Amy seemed so relaxed.



Her skin was tanned all over as she stripped down to just her plain white panties. Amy's breasts were small and puffy and topped with proud pink nipples; her waist was soft and narrow with some baby-fat clinging to her hips and tummy, giving her belly a pleasant and only slightly plump appearance. Her thighs came together in the middle and then separated just beneath the tight crotch of her panties and I could make out the suggested form of the girl's sex hidden there. She was smooth and blemish free and with her fresh, heart-shaped face, I thought she was very attractive.



"Do you think anyone can see me?" Amy wondered, looking past the balcony at the apartments and offices across the street.



"Oh, I don't think so," I said, not knowing for sure. "Are you okay?"



"Yeah, I guess so," she nodded.



"You won't have to stand there long," I promised her. "I just need some photos in the sunlight and then we can move you inside a little more."



"Okay," Amy agreed, but she didn't seem all that worried about it anyway. I got the impression she might have enjoyed seeing a man looking at her from one of the distant balconies.



I took two dozen pictures with the sun behind me, posing the girl in variations of the general image I had in mind. Amy's legs were slightly spread, her pelvis out and shoulders back, chin down only slightly with her eyes open and up. Her left arm across her stomach, just beneath her breasts, and the right arm close to her side, with her hand up, fingertips touching her right shoulder. Amy's stance was defiant, and she was offering herself plainly, but she was shy and self-protective as well. There was a conflict within that structure, a woman struggling to emerge, seeking to escape the bonds of childhood. That was what I wanted and Amy was giving it to me nicely.



"Okay, turn around…Remember that pose…Turn…"



I took several pictures from behind, with that same arrangement, but adjusting Amy's head so that she could look over her left shoulder at me. I adjusted her panties, pulling the left side down slightly and tugging the thin cotton back into the soft valley of her firm round ass. Just a little of that left side, enough so the imperfection would lend motion to the eye. She had very little baby-fat there and Amy didn't need it; her fourteen-year-old butt was wonderfully round and pert. I finished the film, setting the photos in a long line across my bench while I went for some juice.



"What kind of painting are you doing?" Amy asked me as I returned a few minutes later.



She was looking at her pictures. They were just snapshots and I'd never claimed to be a photographer, but the girl was very photogenic. We looked at her pictures together, drinking orange juice, and I was only a little surprised by how excited I felt inside. I'd been feeling it since I'd first decided to call Margie and every moment I spent with Amy only made me more restless. She was gorgeous, this girl, and I wanted her. Not sexually, not for myself, but to see her with a man, with my husband…That was the idea, the thought in my head and deeper, in my heart. It was undeniable and I felt guilt gnawing at my soul.



"I'm doing a cover for a reprint of a book. Lolita," I lied. "Have you read that?"



"Lolita?" Amy shook her head and smiled. "What's it about?"



"Um, well, it's complicated." I laughed and my heart was beating quickly. "It's about a girl, your age, I guess, and she has a relationship with an older man."



"Like her dad?" Amy finished her juice and I took her glass, setting it aside with mine.



"No. Not her dad," I shook my head. "Here. You can pose right here now. I'm going to do some sketches for awhile and then we'll have lunch, okay?"



"Sure."



"Do you like music?" I asked.



"Yeah," she smiled. "Do you have Fob?"



"Fall Out Boy?" I laughed. "No, but I got some Moby. Do you like him?"



"Whatever." She shrugged as I hit play on my stereo and Extreme Ways filled the room.



Amy let me correct her pose and I rolled my big leather chair over, just sitting in it and doing pencil sketches across my knees. We were quiet for a long time, half an hour or forty minutes at least, and it was pleasant. I was able to focus more on the art and push my other thoughts away, but not completely. I would draw the girl, her shoulders and breasts, or her tummy and hips, and imagine my husband's hands there, touching her. He was caressing Amy, kissing her neck and whispering in her ear while I drew the two of them together in my mind, and it made me quiver way down deep between my thighs.



"So, what are you doing with all the money you make from modeling?" I asked the girl; she looked a little bored and I was trying to distract myself.



"My mom makes me save it for college," Amy sighed. "She gives me an allowance."



"That's not a bad idea." I smiled at her. "I went to college. It was pretty fun."



"I guess," Amy didn't sound so sure. "I want to be a real model though, or an actress."



"This isn't real modeling?" I teased her, but at seventy-five dollars an hour I had a valid point.



"You know what I mean!" She giggled and it made her almost unbearably cute.



"Yeah," I nodded. "Lots of boys at college though. I met my husband there."



"Really? My mom will make me go to an all girls one probably," she said, frowning. "That's what my school is now."



"Nah." I shook my head, working fast to catch that giggle before it faded from my mind's eye. "She just wants to let you grow up a little more, I think."



"I'm pretty grown up already," Amy said. "She just treats me like a little kid."



"Mom's do that."



"Like bringing me here? She's like my babysitter," Amy was letting it all out. "Like she doesn't trust me, you know?"



"Well, I think she just wanted to meet me," I said. "There's a lot of weird people in the world."



"She just cares about money," she sighed. "Ever since the divorce. I make more money than my dad does anyway."



"Your parents are divorced?" I gave her a sympathetic frown of my own.



"Last year," Amy shrugged. "My dad's out in California. I see him once in awhile."



"Hmmmm…" I made a face at that.



"Yeah," she said. "It's no big deal. How did you meet your husband? Was he in one of your classes or something?"



"Something like that," I told her with a grin. "He was a model, actually, for one of my art classes."



"Oh yeah? He's a model?" Amy's hazel eyes got a little bigger at that.



"Not anymore," I shook my head. "He's a draftsman, like an architect, but he used to model in college."



"How come he stopped?"



"Well, he just needed a little extra money," I explained. "He never really wanted to do anything but design buildings and stuff."



"Oh." Amy looked a little disappointed at that news and I smiled.



"Let's take a break, okay?" I stretched a little. "Do you want to see what Kurt looked like? I have some old paintings…"



"Sure, yeah." Amy was stretching too, but not complaining. Her pose had been an easy one and I hadn't been strict at all when she'd happened to move.



"You need a robe, Amy? I can…"



"No. I'm okay."



"Okay, ummmm…" I had a number of big leather portfolios, most of them bought second hand and well used. I reached for one and then changed my mind, pawing through them to grab another.



"You must have a lot of pictures." Amy had taken my chair and she spun in it lazily.



"Yeah," I laughed. "I've been drawing and painting everyday since I was about four years old. Here we go…No, stay there, you're okay."



=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



I sat on the floor near Amy's feet, smiling up at her briefly as I unlatched the old brown leather straps. Her feet were so close to me, her little pink toes painted baby blue, and she smelled like bubble bath, I thought, though I hadn't noticed it before. Amy's legs were slightly spread, the chair creaking softly as she pushed with her feet, turning it a few degrees one way and then back, her naked breasts rising and falling with every breath. I was sitting at her feet, like a servant it suddenly seemed to me, and I swallowed hard at the thought.



"Uh, okay…" I could barely breathe and I knew what I was doing, although not exactly why, and it was wrong.



I flipped open the portfolio and there on the very top was a watercolor I'd done of Kurt. It wasn't from my art class, it was from the bedroom we'd shared during our third year at college, our first apartment together, and he was on the bed, naked and beautiful and sleeping after our sex. I remembered that night so well and I'd been tired, but so much in love that sleep was impossible. That's what the picture was about, not a man sleeping, but a woman who loves him. I thought of it as my first, best self-portrait and showing it to Amy was as close as I'd come to confessing my dark desires.



She took a second before gasping, the girl's eyes growing big as Amy stared at the full nude of my husband. His muscular body was on display with one arm over his chest, his left leg askew beneath a white sheet, and his flaccid penis, ruddy and recently used, laying across his pelvis to the right.



"Oh, God!" I closed the portfolio quickly. "Amy, I'm sorry. I grabbed the wrong one."



"Uh, that's okay," she said softly, and her face had turned crimson.



"These are my, um…" I cleared my throat, "…the ones I did after class, you know?"



I started to close the straps, hoping Amy hadn't seen through my little charade, but I think she barely noticed anything except the image imprinted onto her adolescent brain.



"Do you have to put it away?" she asked me suddenly, lifting her eyes to my face. "I mean, it's just art, right? Can I, um…"



"What?" I blinked at her. "You want to see them?"



"Yeah." She was still blushing and even her breasts had taken some color, I thought, her puffy nipples looking a bit darker possibly.



"I don't know, Amy, they're kind of private," I said slowly, giving the girl an apologetic look.



"Please? I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about." She held her breath and my tummy was doing flip-flops.



"Oh, I know," I said. "It's just art, but…Okay, yeah," I nodded finally and Amy let her breath out with a smile. "I guess we can look, but…"



"But what?" she asked quickly.



"But don't laugh, okay?" I smiled. "Nobody has ever seen these before."



"I won't," Amy promised. "The first one was really good."



"This one?" I asked her, opening the portfolio again and getting a nod in reply.



"It's beautiful. It looks so real," she said, leaning over now with her arms across her knees. Half a minute later she was sitting on the floor next to me, the chair shoved aside as we looked through the portfolio slowly.



They were all nude studies, some from the front, some from behind or in profile. They were watercolors mostly, a few oils, some tempera work here and there. They were a year out of our lives and Kurt seemed so beautiful it hurt to look at him. It was my best work, as collection, and I hadn't been lying when I told Amy that nobody had seen it. Not like this. Kurt had seen all of the paintings, but only one at a time, spread out over the months as I'd done them. It was meant to be viewed as a whole, one collected body of work, and the effect on Amy was acute.



She stared at a painting I'd done of Kurt with an erection, leaning against the tiled wall of our old shower. I'd painted him looking down with his hands behind his back; eyes closed with water streaming from his hair and face. It was a blue, moody piece and originally I'd thought of it as a baptismal, but more recently it seemed to me that I'd caught my husband weeping, alone as a strong man must. He looked like an angel; my guardian angel, crying for me.



I flipped to the next and there stood Kurt smiling in the kitchen, holding a glass of orange juice and his erection was prominant. I'd done the painting from memory, but it was very accurate nonetheless and I'd spent a lot of detail on his penis, much to my pleasure and Kurt's amusement



"Is that what it's like? His, uh…" the girl's voice was a whisper and it took me a moment to realize she'd spoken.



"His penis?" I looked at Amy and she nodded.



"Is it really big?" she asked me with a nervous giggle.



"Yeah, it's pretty big." I laughed, pushing my other thoughts away. "I didn't need to make it any bigger."



"Oh! I didn't mean like you…"



"I know," I smiled at her. "It's okay. Yeah, he's a big man, so…"



"Yeah," Amy sighed. "He's the most handsome man I ever saw."



"Oh, well, I don't know about that." I turned to the next picture, an oil of my husband laying nude on his stomach.



"I do," she decided, staring at Kurt's pale ass, hard and chiseled beneath his muscular back and shoulders.



It was tempting to say more to the girl, to lead her on in our conversation, but I wasn't going to do any of that. I had no ultimate goal beyond sharing my husband with Amy the way I was, through my pictures and the memories contained within them. If this was a seduction, it was only that, a shared experience without any other expectation. Still, how could the girl not be seduced? Kurt was a good looking man and Amy was just at that age, fourteen going on fifteen, where boys were the happy mystery in life.



She was falling in love with my husband.



"Let's have some lunch, okay?" I said finally, and both of us were warm enough.



I felt sticky with sweat beneath my t-shirt and my sex had grown moist, my nipples itching. Amy was the same way, perhaps more so, and she was plainly flustered and inexperienced with the arousal she felt. She'd turned pink all over and her swollen nipples were stiff with a darkly florid hue. I could see her sex, just a hint of it as the material of her panties stretched tight against her vulva. Amy was humid there, I knew, wet inside and she needed to relax. We both did.



"I should get dressed, um…" Amy seemed to suddenly realize she was just in her panties and I kept my eyes off of her, sparing the girl as much embarrassment as I could.



"Yeah, go ahead," I said, putting the portfolio away. "I'll make us some soup. Is chicken noodle okay?"



"Sure, yeah." Amy was relieved at my composure, I thought, and we'd shared something, but neither of us were quite sure what yet.



=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



"What's he like?" Amy asked me while we sat at the kitchen table, eating our soup.



"Kurt?" I gave her a little shrug. "He's smarter than me." I thought for a second. "And patient. He's really calm, like the world is a little slower when he's around; there's more time or something. It's weird."



"More time?" Amy giggled and she was dressed now in her skirt and blouse and comfortable again.



"Yeah, I don't know." I laughed too. "He makes you feel safe, especially when he holds you. Sometimes I feel like I don't know what I'm doing, like the world is just going and dragging me with it, but with Kurt…"



"I feel like that sometimes," she agreed.



"He makes the world slow down. He makes you feel important," I said, nodding to myself. "He's so gentle too. I mean, he's big, a lot bigger than me or you, but he's so careful. He'd never hurt us."



"He sounds perfect," the girl sighed, and I giggled at that.



"Oh, nobody's perfect," I told her. "He can't cook anything. He leaves his clothes wherever they land when he takes them off. He never puts the toilet seat down…"



Amy was laughing and I was shaking my head, listing off all the little things, the unimportant things that mattered not at all. Kurt was perfect, despite all that, or more probably because of it. All the reminders that he was just a man; a big, handsome, beautiful man and he was mine. That was the amazing thing. He was all mine and I was trying to give him away. What was wrong with me?



"How come you guys don't have kids yet?" Amy asked, being direct the way only a child can be.



"Oh, we're trying," I said as I cleared the table. "My body doesn't seem to want any though."



"Why not?"



"I don't know," I told her. "One of those things, I guess. I see doctors all the time, you know, take medicine and all that, but…"



"You're so pretty though," she said, like being attractive was a cure, and she really was terribly young.



"Well, I guess I'm not pretty down here," I shrugged, touching my tummy, and that seemed particularly sad, but true.



"That sucks," Amy decided and she had no idea.



"Yeah," I agreed and changed the subject. "Are you ready to do a real painting now?"



"A real one?" She had an infectious smile.



"Yeah, I have all the sketches I need." I washed my hands and dried them. "So, we'll go ahead and start on that cover."



"Do you want me to undress again?" Amy asked, and I nodded.



"Yeah, actually…" I thought about it for a second. "I want you to wear something different, okay? Come with me."



I led the girl to our bedroom, which was a very strange thing to be doing. I'd never brought any model there for any reason and I'm sure Amy's mom had given her daughter a talk about things to be wary of when she was on an assignment. I could see it on her lovely face, the hesitation and confusion perhaps. Amy wasn't frightened though, and she was curious, more about seeing the place where Kurt slept, where we made love perhaps, than whatever I might be planning.



"Excuse the mess," I apologized. "The maid forgot to make the bed this morning."



"Okay." She giggled softly, eyeing the disheveled sheets and pillows and looking around.



"Ah, here…" I'd gone through my dresser and pulled out a pair of small, black lace panties and then a garter belt, a very real one in black leather. I found the silk stockings to go with it, black with roses around the tops and long thorny stems along the seams.



"I'm going to wear that?" She narrowed her eyes.



"And a bra…It goes with the panties," I told her, finding a black one of delicate lace, without any under-wire support at all, just soft, sheer cups. "And shoes. What size shoes do you wear?"



"Um, five."



"Okay, I wear size six. It'll be alright." I smiled at the girl. "All you have to do is stand in them anyway."



"I've never…How does this work?" Amy giggled, holding the garter belt in her hands like it was an octopus, the elastic straps falling around as she turned it this way and that.



She rather enjoyed it, I thought, and I know I did. It was fun dressing Amy up as a child-whore, which was my obvious intention. My husband loved stockings and if he had his fetishes, which everyone does, that would be one of them. Stockings, garters, and black lace underwear. He'd bought me all of those things and it was precisely what I wore when I wanted to ensure his eager mood for a long night of sex.



Amy was very close to my size in height, although my hips were a bit wider and my B-cups obviously much larger than her budding breasts. It worked though out, and very nicely. The stockings were perfect on her legs and the garter belt was perhaps slightly loose around her tummy, but not bad at all. The small amount of baby-fat she had was enough to compensate for her small waist. The panties went up, over her stockings and garter straps, and I held my breath as I knelt on my bedroom floor for the girl. She put her hands on my shoulders and if Amy was self-conscious about exposing her hairless sex to my eyes, she didn't express it in any way. I was careful to be the professional, of course, just an artist dressing my model the way we do. I felt certain Amy must have sensed something of my excitement though; there was an electricity to the moment and I could barely restrain the energy coursing through my veins as I pulled my panties up her legs, fitting them carefully to her body.



I adjusted the bra to its smallest size, fixing the straps, and it seemed more like the top of a bikini than a real bra in any case, and I was pleased with the way it fit Amy's chest imperfectly. I found a pair of heels, three inch stilettos in black, and I had her try them on in the bedroom, but she wouldn't be able to walk far as they were a size too large. I didn't bother with makeup; she looked so lovely without any. Amy's face was pure and innocent, very much that of a girl her age, bored and infatuated with the world all at once. I didn't need to touch her there, she was smart and experienced and blessed with a talent that cosmetics could only spoil.



I posed her much the same as I had before, adjusting Amy's stance only slightly to get full effect from the heels. They pushed her ass out wonderfully, arching the girl's spine to compensate so that her proffered breasts were thrust out and up sweetly. She was fourteen years old and begging to be fucked as she stood there, looking innocent and seductive, and this was Lolita as Nabokov had imagined her, I was certain. She would have worn something modest and sweet over the top, a sun dress perhaps, in yellow or cornflower blue, but underneath…



"Are you okay?" I asked, locking fresh canvas into my easel. "Comfortable enough?"



"Yeah, I'm okay," she nodded.



I had her right hand just below her left breast, fingers together, thumb spread, as if cupping her desire to mature, searching for the woman inside. Amy's left hand was behind her hip, giving her body a slight twist to the left, adding a small dynamic and pulling at her shoulders nicely. I told her not to smile and Amy gave me a subtle, petulant pout that was entirely natural for the child. She had a wonderful mouth. And her gold flecked eyes, looking down and left, as if there were something, or someone behind her, standing near and wanting to touch her. Amy could feel his presence, the desire looming close, and it was exciting, I whispered, and frightening and what she wanted most.



Love was coming for her and all I had to do was capture the moment.



=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



"You're really good," Amy said, looking through the sketches I'd done earlier.



"Thanks." I smiled and glanced at the clock, it was quarter to five.



I'd painted for nearly four hours and her mom would be knocking on the door any minute. Amy had dressed already and we'd had a little snack, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I'd cut in half, sharing it between us.



"If you see one you like, you can have it," I told her. "I don't need all of them."



"Really?" Amy smiled. "Cool."



"You probably have a ton of pictures, huh?" I stretched a little. "From other artists or whatever."



"Yeah, some," she agreed, "but not like yours." She widened her eyes with a giggle. "You make me look…sexy, kinda."



"You think so?" I tilted my head, looking at the drawings as she went through them slowly. I'd done about two dozen, mostly just quick studies of some aspect of the girl, her face, or hands. None of them were complete in any sense.



"Is your husband, um…Kurt? Is he going to look at these?" Amy asked, blushing sweetly and looking away in an effort to hide it.



"If he wants to," I shrugged. "I think he was a little overwhelmed when we first started dating. I used to make him look at everything."



"Oh," she laughed.



"Yeah, he'll probably want to see what I was doing. He likes that," I decided, just to see Amy's reaction.



"Okay," she nodded, biting her lower lip. "Can I have this one?" Amy pulled out a sketch I'd done from behind her, of her shoulders and neck, her face caught in profile looking left.



"Let me see it." I took it from her, grabbing a pencil and I signed it quickly. "To Amy, my favorite model. Love Kris. There…Let me spray it so it won't smudge."



"Thank you." Amy smiled shyly and I was trembling inside, but I didn't know why. Maybe because I really did love her just then.



"What's your schedule like this weekend?" I asked her a moment later, rolling up the picture and finding a thin rubber band to hold the tube, but I spied a bit of red ribbon and used that instead.



"Um, I'm working tomorrow," she said. "Some guy in Greenwich, he's nice but not really very good. Sunday is my day off."



I laughed at that. "Put your finger here." I tied the ribbon into a little bow. "Maybe next Saturday?"



"Yeah, I don't know." Amy smiled as I gave her the drawing. "My mom takes care of all that stuff."



"Okay…" I lifted my head as the doorbell rang, "…I'll talk to her then."



"I hope I can model for you again," she said, following me out of the studio. "It was pretty fun."



"Good." I smiled over my shoulder. "Art should be fun, otherwise…What's the point?"



"Yeah," she agreed. "But sometimes it isn't."



"Yeah," I had to nod at that. "Sometimes. Well, if you can come on a Saturday, you can meet Kurt."



I tried to sound nonchalant, but inside my heart was hammering and my stomach knotted up at the idea of seeing Amy and Kurt together, smiling and talking, getting to know each other. I didn't dare let my thoughts wander any farther than that. Just seeing them together, that was enough for the moment and I swallowed hard, blinking my eyes and forcing myself to relax as I opened the door to greet Amy's mother.



==============-



"Uh…Hi…" Kurt was startled when he opened the front door and found me right there waiting for him.



I was wearing the exact outfit I'd had on Amy just a few hours earlier. I was perched on three inch heels, with black silk stockings, garter belt and matching lace panties and bra. I'd taken a bath, shaving my pussy bare, which was something I hadn't done since college. I'd brushed my golden hair and applied just a bit of gloss to my lips. I didn't need or want makeup.



"Come in here," I breathed, and I was so horny it was unbelievable.



"Okay." My husband smiled down at me and then gave a little gasp as I grabbed him, pulling him off balance in my eagerness so that he had no choice but to take me in his arms.



I reached up, putting my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his suit like I was trying to climb up a tree. I'm sure it would have looked silly to a casual observer, but there was nothing funny about it to us. Any questions Kurt might have had were lost as his large hands found my ass, gripping me gently, but with such strength that it made my heart run wildly. I loved his size and power. Kurt stood a full twelve inches taller than me, and nearly twice my weight. He was toned and muscular, nothing about him was wasted. He picked me up easily, as he had a thousand times before, and I quickly found his mouth with mine.



We hadn't even closed the door to our apartment and I had my legs wrapped around Kurt's waist, my ankles locked with my heels digging at the top of his buttocks. I could feel his cock stirring beneath the clothing he wore, that huge muscle coming to life as I tried to find it with my hungry sex. I clung to the man, turning my head, sealing our lips and yielding happily to his tongue as it filled my mouth. I moaned deeply, a low needy sound rising between my aching breasts. I needed him inside me. I'd been with him all day, sharing him with Amy while we'd looked through my portfolio, and now he was finally home.



"Fuck me…No…" I breathed, shaking my head with wide and wild eyes as Kurt started moving, either to close the door or simply take us to the bedroom. "Right here…Now…Fuck me now, Kurt!"



"Let me close the…"



"Leave it open," I laughed lightly, sounding crazed with desire. "I like it."



"Are you okay?" He smiled at me, but his eyes were tinted with concern. "You haven't been playing with the blender again, have you?"



"Noooo…" I kissed him. "I just really missed you today."



"Wait…" Kurt blinked at me suddenly, jerking his head back, "…you're not pregnant, are you?"



That more than anything would explain my behavior perhaps, and I could see the hope flickering across his face. It would have been incredible if I'd been able to say yes. It would have been like winning the lottery, or…I don't know. The best thing ever. But I wasn't pregnant and as soon as Kurt asked, he knew it. He could see it in my eyes and I think the regret was painful, the sudden thought that he'd hurt me with his optimism.



"I love you," I whispered, kissing and forgiving him, although there was nothing to forgive in my heart. It was the answer that was unreasonable, not the question.



Kurt recovered quickly enough, cradling me with one hand while he worked to free his cock with the other. He took me there, like I wanted him to, holding me to his body, impaling me on his long fat cock with the door wide open. I rode him awkwardly, pulling at his neck and shoulders, scissoring my legs around him as he moved me with his hands under my ass. He'd lift me and let me down, moving and turning us after a moment, pinning me against the wall so he could have some leverage and fuck me properly. I was cumming quickly, almost as soon as he'd pulled the gusset of my panty aside and entered me. I was soaked and ready and I felt little of the initial discomfort that I normally experienced. Kurt's cock was very large and I was very small.



My thoughts were entirely of him, with the small exception that I dearly wished the door across the hall would open and Tina would find us making love. That was my only concession to fantasy and knowing it was a possibility was enough to let my mind go to other things, real memories that I'd long ago captured on paper and canvas. I'd relived the first year of our lives together and now I was feeling it, making love to Kurt the way we used to. An immediate and spontaneous coupling that quenched my lust not at all, but only fed the flames of passion. I wanted more and harder and deeper. I couldn't get enough of my husband's cock filling my womb.



I wept with my eyes tightly shut, the wetness running down my flushed face as I pulled Kurt's tongue into my mouth. I was breathing his groans and grunts, adding to them my own sighs and happy gasps as his cockhead would lunge deep into my cunt, finding the very bottom of me with a jolting sensation of pain and pleasure, which only served to confuse my senses all the more. I was tingling all over and my ears were filled with the rapid purling of my blood. I could smell and taste our sex on the air. My lungs ached and my heart seemed ready to burst; but it was my sex that was exploding, multiple orgasms rocking me into a rapturous stupor of ecstasy. I couldn't stop cumming and I felt as if my whole body was wrapped around my husband's manhood, embracing it and coaxing him to join me.



My husband joined me soon enough, pulling his mouth away so that he could give voice to his desperate release. Kurt held me firmly upon his penis, the full length of him inside me so that his cockhead was there, bending the soft pillow of my cervix to his strength. I sobbed loudly, filling our apartment and the long hallway outside with the sounds of a woman being sated with her lover's potent seed. The urgency of his orgasm filled us both, Kurt's vigorous sperm shooting inside me, bathing my womb with hope.



Maybe this time, I prayed silently. It could happen; one chance in a hundred wasn't impossible. Oh please, God, please…



=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



"What are you working on?" Kurt walked into the studio and it was still early Saturday morning.



"Another cover for Harlequin," I said. "It's almost done. Are you going for a run?"



"Yeah." He kissed my cheek as he looked over my shoulder. "Tahiti?"



"Yeah, how did you know?" I laughed, teasing him. The background had come out of our honeymoon album, a photo Kurt had taken.



"I recognize that palm tree." Kurt held my head still so he could kiss the top of it. "Don't remember the couple though."



"Heh!" I smiled at that.



"Who's that?" he asked a moment later, and I had to turn around on my stool.



He was walking towards my work table and I'd set aside some room for Amy. Her unfinished canvas was leaning against the wall and the drawings I'd done were in front of it, piled haphazardly. The pictures I'd taken were in a little stack and I watched as Kurt picked up the Polaroid's, looking through them.



"Who's this girl?" he repeated without looking up.



"That's Amy. I got her from the agency yesterday."



Kurt put the photos down and looked through the drawings. I didn't stop him; I'd never been one to worry about showing my work, whether it was finished or in progress. Kurt could look at anything I was doing and it didn't bother me, but this was a little different. It felt like I had a secret, not by design, but by omission. I hadn't mentioned Amy at all before he discovered her.



"I've seen that outfit before," Kurt said slowly.



He was looking at the canvas now, the painting I'd started the previous afternoon. It wasn't close to being done, but it was plain what the girl was wearing and Kurt wasn't likely to forget how I'd greeted him at the door. I watched as he leaned closer, looking at the picture up and down as if he were a critic, or a buyer perhaps, and I had to force myself to stay calm.



"Do you like her?" I asked, unable to contain myself. "The painting, I mean."



"The painting?" Kurt gave me a look, almost a frown. "Or the girl? How old is she?"



"Uh, almost fifteen." I licked my lips. "What do you think?"



"She looks thirteen going on thirty," my husband said. "What's it for?"



"No reason," I shrugged. "I just…I wanted to paint a girl."



"Kris…"



"What?" I frowned. "I can paint a girl if I want, can't I?"



"This is part of it, right?" Kurt asked me quietly. "What you were talking about the other night."



I didn't say anything and I couldn't hold a steady gaze into his eyes.



"I'm trying to understand, I really am…"



"There's nothing to understand." I stood up; tossing my brush into a little coffee can of thinner. "I wanted to paint a girl."



"Kris, come on." Kurt wasn't gong to let it go. "You put her in your clothes, your underwear. It means something, especially when we had sex and you…"



"What do you want?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "I liked it, yeah. I liked painting her, okay?"



"Yesterday. What was that? You were being her when I came home? Is that it? She becomes you and then you become her?"



"Something…" I swallowed hard. "I don't know."



"You didn't…" His tone told me what he was thinking.



"Didn't what?" I stared at him for a second. "Touch her? Is that what you think of me?"



"No, I don't think you'd do that."



"But you had to ask, huh?" I felt so confused. I wanted to be angry, maybe I should have been, but I wasn't. I wanted him to touch her, after all.



"I just…I want to know why," Kurt shook his head.



"I told you already," I said. "It isn't about me. I want to see you with another girl. In love with her."



We stared at each other for half a minute with those words hanging between us. I didn't know the why and I'd just told him what I wanted as plainly as I could. I wasn't keeping anything from my husband. This was it, my desire, my fantasy. I'd found the girl I wanted him to love, not just fuck, but really love in front of me. I'd already started working on Amy, introducing her to Kurt through my pictures, now Kurt had met her the same way.



"I'm in love with you," he said. "Why isn't that enough?"



"She's curious about you," I told Kurt, ignoring the look on his face and speaking quickly. "Amy was asking me about you. She's never had a boyfriend. Never had a kiss. She's so beautiful, Kurt, you'd like her."



"She's thirteen…"



"Fourteen," I corrected him. "Almost fifteen."



"Whatever." My husband stared at me. "How could I love her? She doesn't even know who she is yet, Kris. She's a kid. I love you because we share so much, because of who we were when we met, who we are now…"



"She'll grow with us," I said, loosing my enthusiasm completely. "We can influence her; help her become the woman we want. The perfect wife, Kurt."



"That's crazy," he snorted, shaking his head.



"She'll give us children," I told him. "We can do this, Kurt. It'll be perfect, I know it will. She can be my Mistress, I'll serve both of you…"



"Kris, stop."



"…We'll get a divorce and you can marry her." I was searching for a key; speaking from the heart, not the mind. "Our children have to be baptized, right? Like we talked about; and I won't be a problem, I swear. Just let me serve you, I'll do whatever you want."



I was insane, there's no other explanation, and this fetish or whatever it was, it had to be self-destructive. Where was the happy ending? If I got what I most desired, I'd lose what I most loved. It was emotional suicide. A punishment self-inflicted and for what sin? I couldn't see it, or understand it. I couldn't step back from myself and analyze what I was feeling. All I could do was act on it.



"I'm going to run," Kurt decided and he gave me a lingering look, perhaps waiting to see if I'd stop him from leaving.



I said nothing, but merely watched him go. I had no idea if he'd ever be back.