It had been months since he last saw her, and they hadn’t parted well. In fact it had been kind of ugly. But he had missed her, on the road. Missed twining his fingers in her long tangled red hair, missed the feel of her lips and her tongue on his cock as she watched his face with her green eyes. She had a long and complicated trick that always ended with a tug on one of his nipples as she took the tip of his dick into her throat and pressed the shaft into the roof of her mouth with her tongue. Explosive, that one... He missed her cosy little snatch and the way that she watched him, hands twined in the spindles of the headboard or occasionally roped to them, as he rode her.

So getting back home, he sorted out his gear, gave the kitchen a once over and called her. He didn’t know what would happen, and wondered if he was just setting himself up for another kick in the teeth, but what the hell, he figured, at that point the potential rewards were far greater than the potential downsides. Stick your head in a hole and get it whacked with a stick often enough, and you kind of get used to it.

Getting the answering machine frustrated him, but he left a message, saying he would be around that evening and to give him a call, and then settled in with a glass of wine and a book he hadn’t had the chance to dip into.

A friend called to ask about his trip and they ended up talking for more than an hour. A couple of minutes after they hung up, he was surprised by the doorbell. He opened it and she was standing there, a bottle of champagne in her hand, wearing some tiny, high-heeled sandals, a pair of very short cut-offs, and a filmy white silk and lace camisole.

She held up the bottle and smiled, handing it to him. “I tried to call, but I could hear in your voice that it wouldn’t make that much difference, so I just slipped into this and came over.”

He invited her in, in a voice that had gone hoarse somehow, and was taking out two champagne glasses when he glanced over at her. She smiled, half turned away from him and bent down, from the waist, to undo the straps on her sandals. Her red hair cascaded down around her face, and brushing a tendril out of her eyes, she smiled at him as she ran a hand up her leg to give her ass a brief caress and then back down to her ankle and stuck out her tongue as she fiddled with the buckle.

“You can just leave those on,” he said, and popped the cork on the champagne. She stayed the way she was, neat little round ass up in the air, as he poured two glasses from the frosty bottle, and then she straightened up and walked over to him. Watching her, he