She was thirty years my senior, or nearly so. And I only saw her that once, out in the parking lot of the condo complex, talking to two of her neighbors. She seemed shy, glancing at me twice but keeping her head down and talking in a soft tone of voice. I felt what I can only describe as a pull towards her, a pull that would tug at me for the next two years until one day the water went out. I drove to the local 7-11 to buy a few jugs of the stuff and, getting out of my car back home, I decided to take her one. She called, "Who is it?" from the other side of the door in nervous, suspicious tones when I rang the bell.

"Hi, it's John. I'm your neighbor. I have something I wanted to give you."

"I'm not interested, John."

"I'm sorry. Poor phrasing. It's just a gallon of water to get you through until it comes back on." She stood there, gazing down at the jug of water, obviously elsewhere in her head. "So I guess I'll just set this down and . . ." I trailed off, staring at her. She raised her eyes and I saw her expression better. They were the lightest hue of blue I remembered, fierce and full of nervousness at the same time. And there was something else, something I couldn't place. Was it sorrow? "Invite me in?" I asked.

"Of course," she said, nodding, and backed into the condo. I followed her in and walked past her to the sofa. "Would you hand that to me?" She asked in cracked, singsong tone. She took the water and disappeared into the kitchen. "I know you were probably expecting tea, but I won't drink it. I'm too old to take on affectations, even if they are age-appropriate."

"I'm not." She turned, expressionless, almost downtrodden. "But mine are becoming more socially acceptable." I idly examined the room as she prepared coffee. When she approached me with two cups, I quietly asked, "You're?"

"I'm at peace, even if it is a nervous peace. My name's Sarah." She set the coffee down on the table and sat right down next to me, very close. When I reached for my cup, she put her hand on my leg. "You're?"

"Surprised dreams come true. And my name's Mitch."

She smiled, squeezing my thigh. "I had a boy like you once. So precocious. Such temptation. Irresistable." She looked at me with doe eyes fraught with melancholy. "And I loved him." She leaned in and we kissed, painfully tender, her lips seeming to devour mine, sending electricity through me. She began to climb over me and I lay back on the sofa. She simply lay on top of me and unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt, sliding a hand in to grasp and squeeze my flesh, raking and piercing it with her nails. "I had a boy like you once," she repeated and kissed me passionately.

"Sarah?" I asked in a high pitched, helpless voice as she withrew.

"Lover," she asked? When I didn't respond, didn't even move a muscle, she breathed out a word in a husky whisper: "Mistress."

"Mistress." I swallowed. "I don't care what happens to me, I just . . ."

"We're going to lie to each other, love. We're going to say things we don't mean without regret. And when it's through, the spell will break and what remains will remain, and pass." She brushed my hair back from my forehead. "All things do."

"Mistress," I whined. "I can't get hard."

"We'll see about that."

I finished unbuttoning my shirt as she opened my pants and swallowed me. I shuddered and cried out. "No, Mistress. Please, Mistress. Don't do this to me. It's so wrong." A finger entered my shitter. "Mistress!! You can't make me feel like this. I can't take you. I can't take you. " I exhaled heavily and relaxed a bit. "I can only love you." I dropped a hand to her hair, which she brushed off. Settling for caressing the tops of her ears between my fingers, I began to talk. "I never knew. I never knew what love was, Mistress. I can't, I can't feel it the way other people do, or the way you do, the way you want my soul. Can you fuck me, Mistress? Can you fuck your little slutty, open whore who wants nothing but to cum in think syrup onto the back of your hand so you can smear it on my face with sweet caresses? Can you love me? Could you ever love me? Will anyone ever love me?"

"Somebody does," she answered and mounted me. Her clothes spilled of her as she engulfed me with her font of life. Even my breathing froze in anticipation of succumbing to her carnal lust. I began to shrink inside her and still she rode me till she was grinding her pussy against the wet mess of my lifeless dick. "Go upstairs," she said, lifting a leg off me. "And get in the tub."

I sat, lifeless and hunched over as she washed me. "I feel like you're little boy," I told her, feeling as though I had just confided something important in her.

"You're too old to be a little boy."

I reached up into the soap dish for a disposable razor and handed it to her. She smiled and pulled the drain on the tub and proceeded to shave every hair off my body but what was on my head. "Sit," she said, gesturing to the toilet. I did. Sarah started the shower and began washing herself, smiling at me. I reached down to play with my dick. It wouldn't get hard, but still I felt the sensations rising in me. When she stepped out of the shower, she motioned to the counter. "Show me that cute little butt of yours." I leaned over the counter and grabbed the edge. Closing my eyes, I began to wiggle, arching my back as best I could.

When the dildo entered me, I gasped in a low groan. It felt as though I was being raped. This, exactly what I wanted, and it was just rape. This fantasy, this culmination of decades of desires, and it was rape. And I couldn't think about anything but how perfect everything was till I screamed. When I did, Sarah reached down and cupped my genitals, their entirety, in one hand and I sprayed cum inside it. She squeezed me. "Good boy," she cooed in a happy meow and eased me down to the counter with her fingernails, perched in a claw on my back, letting me feel her right nipple against me. With my head level with the vanity countertop, she slid under me, her legs between mine, her face staring up at me. We locked eyes.

Her ice blue eyes held me, sad and liquid, but eager, more eager than the almost false smile upon her face. She began to lower her eyes and I slid down with them. My butt hit the tile floor between her legs, which wrapped firmly around me as my legs sprawled over onto the floor. "Play with me," she said, and I inserted two fingers into her vagina, surprised at the warm, flowing wetness that leaked out around them as she placidly played with my hair. "You know that I love the mention of boy names for my parts."

"Pussy. Your pussy feels so good and warm and wet and cunt. Cunt, fuck me. My fingers, my baby toes." I slid up towards her on the floor a few inches and her hand grabbed the back of my head, and held it down to watch. "Maybe you know the one thing I think of when I look at you and know my home in this world."

"Good," she gurgled.

"You are the love of my life. I have never known another, never been another, any other than a slave to the well of life between your legs. Birth me anew? Hold me in your arms, in your womb, baptize me in the warm, sweet mucus that would hold me safe for months before releasing me only to turn and strive to return forever to the sweet sea of nectar that grew me. Forever, again and again succumbing to the possession of a needing love I hear screaming in my ears when I pierce you. Succumb, succumb, succumb . . ."

"Good boy," she mewled, watching my dick twitch to life, the raised her eyes to mine.

"Maybe I can cum?" I asked and her face contorted in pained release, eyes closing and shuddering, neck craning back and then an exhaling gasp. She rose off the floor and, leaning against the vanity, hands on its edge, began to empty her bladder. I watched her face with astonishment as her bit lip and curious eyes stared right into mine, her urine flowing onto me, cascading down my shaved body. "Clean yourself up," she said when she finished, two last spurts striking my chest. Dismounting my legs, she walked off into the bedroom. "I expect to see you when . . . I don't know when. I don't care. Soon, not later, though. Come after dark. No sense . . ." she waved dismissively and left the bedroom for the stairs.