**Twenty Years of Lost Desire**

In high school I had a friend named Brenda and we graduated together and after that we went our different ways and years passed bye and I day I stopped at this little bar beside the road to get a cold beer and when I walked in there was Brenda working the bar and she said dam look who it is And then I dam Brenda look how beautiful your are And then she said it's been twenty years since we seen each other and she said I been married twice and divorced and then she said I have a place behind the bar and she said let's go there and talk about time we lost together and then I did and

The neon hum of the bar’s sign flickered through the dust on my windshield—*The Last Call*—like a promise, the kind that always came with a cost. Brenda's ass wasn’t the same as it had been twenty years ago when she’d twist on her stool in math class, hair in a ponytail, pencil skirts riding up just enough to tease. The years hadn’t been kind to her in the way that mattered, though—widening hips, thicker waist, a chin that promised new flaws. But her *face*? Christ, her *face* was untouched. Lips fuller than I remembered, or maybe they’d just always been that way and I’d been too slow to notice. Freckles still dusting across the bridge of her nose, same wide green eyes that used to glare at me when I’d cornered her at practice, fingers already hooked in her mouthguard before I could say she was about to get punished, and then just as fast, unclipping it like a dare, tongue darting out to lick the metal clean before— The bar’s cheap beer mat snapped under my palm. "Damn." Brenda’s shoulders stiffened halfway through her wipe-down, turning that slow, practiced roll into a jerk. She tossed the rag down, fingers sticky with lemon-scented cleaner. "Look who it is." Her voice was deeper, rougher edges, but just as sharp. A smile cut through the scar tissue of her lipstick. "You said you wouldn’t come." "Ain’t my fault you’re still here." She smirked, wiping her hands on her already stained apron. "Been here since our divorce. You remember my second husband?" "Nope." Brenda leaned past the tap, and I saw the curve of her tits press into the wood as she grabbed a bottle, letting the sleeves of her tight shirt ride up her forearms. "Fool said a beer joint was the last place I’d end up." I grabbed the neck of my bottle when she popped it open, her nails brushing the glass. "Twenty years. Two divorces. You’ve *aged backward*, Brenda." Her laugh was bitter. "You’re one to talk." The door to her office hung open behind the bar like a taunt. I took my time finishing the beer, watching her jaw tighten with each swallow, how her throat moved, how the hem of her apron shifted when she crossed her legs under the counter. Finally, I set the bottle down and nodded toward the door. Brenda didn’t make me ask twice. The office was tight, the air thick with the scent of her perfume—something expensive, probably bought to hide old regret. She locked the door. "Talk about time we lost," she said, voice dropping low. I didn’t say another word. Her fingers were already working my belt, not wasting time with the button. The zipper hissed with hunger, and then her hand was *inside*, closing around my cock like she’d never let go again. I leaned over the counter, the wood warm under my palms, the glassware clinking like a fucking bell when she bumped it back. Her breath was hot on the back of my neck when she whispered, *"You’re stiffer than I remember."* I turned my head just enough to see her smiling against the edge of the bar’s mirror. Then I turned back—because her mouth wasn’t the first thing I needed. And it *wasn’t* the first thing she needed, either.

The second button of her apron was easier—already half-undone from earlier. Her fingertips traced the waistband of my jeans, pulling me toward her with deliberate slowness. My cock pulsed against the fabric, and she didn’t miss it. *"Oh yeah,"* she breathed, her other hand sliding up my chest, nails digging into the soft skin between my pecs. *"Twenty years hasn’t dulled your edge either."* I grabbed her wrist when she tugged. *"Not like that."* Her laugh was a wet, gasping thing against my skin before she leaned in, teeth grazing my collarbone. *"Not like what?"* The mirror behind her desk warped the shadows of her hands, fingers already busy with my zipper. I caught the look in her eyes when she finally freed my cock—thirsty, but cautious, like she was testing how much I’d give back. *"I always knew you’d be the first to fuck me again if you ever saw me."* I didn’t. I bent her over the desk instead. The noise of the hinge was loud when the door swung open against the wall, and the scent of her perfume—*Chanel, like she’d never let go*—blended with something darker. The desk lamp flickered when I yanked her against it, her ass already bare from the apron’s fall, the cheap pleather of her bar stool still clinging to her thighs. *"You always wanted it,"* she taunted, voice muffled against the wood. I didn’t. I pressed forward anyway.

And now she has large breast and a beautiful body and a nice round ass and the more I look at her it made my cock harder

The desk creaked under Brenda’s weight, her body curving over the wood in a way the old Brenda never would’ve let herself—thighs spread just enough to give me a line of sight, and I saw how *wet* she was, already glistening for me. I didn’t hesitate. One hand gripped her hip, fingers digging into the fleshy curve, the other yanking the edge of her panties down until they tore with a sharp snap, the lace hook half-hanging off her thigh. The damp fabric clung to her ass, the globes heavy against my palm, her moans softening the edge of the desk’s burn against her skin. *"Since when do you like it rough?"* she panted, but her eyes locked on me through the mirror’s reflection, dark and pleading. I adjusted my grip, rolling a nipple between my thumb and forefinger before her gasp cut me off. The weight of her tits in my hands was *new*, all this soft, heavy flesh that hadn’t been there when she’d been just Brenda. Her areola was pink, stretched tight around the nub. I pushed my cock between those wet thighs, the head already throbbing against her. The scent of her—lemon cleaner, but thicker now, sweeter—filled my lungs. *"Since I never stopped wanting you,"* I growled. Her hands fisted into the desk drawer handles. *"Then why wait so long?"*

The answer was already there, pressing between her thighs—my cock, slick with her arousal, throbbing against the flushed skin of her pussy. *"Because I couldn’t risk you ruining it."* Her laugh came out sharp, breathless. *"Too late."* The word turned into a whimper as I lined up and drove into her, splitting those plump folds with a single, punishing thrust. Brenda’s back bowed, her fingers clawing at the wood, but I held her down, driving deeper with a brutal rhythm. The sound of skin slapping wet against wet filled the room, mingling with her cries. The desk’s edge dug into her stomach, but she didn’t care—her thighs clamped around me, squeezing tight as her pussy clenched, milking my cock with every desperate gasp. *"Fuck, you’re so much tighter now,"* I hissed, my jaw pressed against the back of her neck. I could feel the pulse of her artery, the way her throat trembled beneath my teeth. Her head lolled back against my shoulder. *"Like this…"* She arched herself further, her ass grinding back against me, *"…I’ve always been waiting for you."* I didn’t need words. My grip shifted, fingers wrapping around her throat—not enough to cut off air, just enough to remind her who she was riding. The tension made her gasp, her pussy fluttering against me like a trapped thing. *"Since I never stopped wanting you,"* I grunted, my hips pistoning into her, *"then why the fuck didn’t you tell me sooner?"* Brenda’s only answer was a choked-off moan, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the drawers as my cock dragged against something slick and swollen, buried deep. The mirror showed me her breasts pressed against the desk, her nipples dark with need, the way her lips were parted, panting. I wanted her harder.

And then she said i never had a big cock like this and then she said you owe me twenty years of your cock and she i don't remember it being this big

Brenda’s voice snapped with a husky desperation, her thighs quivering around me. *"I never had a big cock like this—"* The words broke as I pulled back, only to slam into her again, the stretch of her pussy making her gasp. *"—you owe me twenty years of your cock and I don’t remember it being this*—*god*—*fuck, this big!"* Her nails scored the wood, the sound raw with the struggle to stay upright. The desk vibrated beneath her, the thin surface no match for the force of my hips. I grinned, pressing my palm flat against her spine, forcing her down as I fucked her deeper—every thrust making her gasp, her words dissolving into ragged whispers. *"You don’t remember?"* I taunted, my fingers flexing against her throat, just enough to keep her breath shallow. *"Or you just don’t remember how hard I made you come?"* She shuddered, her pussy clenching around my cock like a vise. *"Both!"* The confession came out as a breathless laugh, her head turning just enough to let her lips brush against mine, teeth grazing. *"I’d—"* A moan replaced her unfinished sentence as I hit that swollen bundle of nerves, the angle too perfect. Brenda’s thighs locked around my waist, her body trembling, the scent of her arousal thick enough to choke on. *"Show me. Please. Just like then—"* Her voice cut off into a whine as I shifted my grip, fingers sliding down to trap her breast, my thumb rolling over the tight, aching peak. *"—but *better*."*

My thumb pressed harder against her nipple, the rough drag of it pulling another whimper from her lips. *"You’re still a greedy little slut,"* I murmured, my voice rough against her damp skin. *"Twenty years isn’t long enough."* The words sent a tremor through her, her pussy fluttering around my cock with every syllable. Her chest heaved, breath coming in shallow, needy gasps. *"Tease me,"* she begged, her hips lifting slightly as I drove back into her. *"Please, just *tease*—"* The plea turned into a broken moan when I refused, instead slamming forward until my balls slapped against the bare skin of her ass. Brenda’s hands flew to the mirror, framing her reflection as she watched us fuck—her breasts bouncing, the flush of her skin deepening, her lips slick with a mix of her own arousal and the bite of her tongue. *"Do you remember how I’d watch you touch yourself?"* I whispered, my free hand slipping between her thighs, fingers testing the slick heat of her folds. *"How you’d spread those legs so wide for me?"* Her eyes rolled as I found the tight bundle of nerves, my fingers circling but not applying the pressure she wanted. *"Yes,"* she whimpered, her voice already thick with need, *"but you denied me—"* The words died when I finally gave her what she craved, my fingers pressing against that swollen spot as I kept my relentless rhythm inside her. *"—I needed *you*,"* she finished, her pussy clamping down around my cock as her orgasm crashed over her. *"Not just your cock, *everything*—"* Her voice was a low, broken plea, her body shuddering against mine. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not until she was a trembling, whimpering mess beneath me, her pussy soaked with her release, her thighs still locked around my waist. *"Now you’ve got it,"* I growled against her ear, *"all of me."* My grip shifted from her throat to her hips, fingers digging into the flesh as I dragged her back against my cock, the stretch of her pussy making her breath catch. *"Again,"* Brenda demanded, her voice rough, *"just like *then*—*"*

As I kept filling her creamy wet pussy and yell you bastard I'm not you ever leaving me again and then she said you are going to marry me and you will be mine

The words spilled out like a curse and a promise, tangled with the slick, desperate sounds of her body. Brenda’s fingers clawed at the mirror again, her reflection blurred with tears that weren’t just from the heat. *"You bastard—"* Her voice cracked mid-sentence, broken into a sob when I hit that spot deep inside her once more, my cock thick and unrelenting. *"I’m not letting you leave me again—"* Every thrust was another vow, her muscles squeezing me tighter, as if she could *hold* me in place with pure friction. *"Marry me,"* she gasped, her hips rolling back to meet mine—needy, rough, her pussy swallowing me whole with each word. *"You’ll be *mine*—not just your goddamn cock, but *you*."* Her nails dug into her own thighs now, leaving crescents of red as she yanked herself back against me, the desk groaning beneath the impact. *"All of you."* I grinned, my teeth sharp against her shoulder where I’d bitten her earlier, just to make her his. *"First you fuck me,*" I growled, my fingers finding the wet heat between her legs again, pressing two inside her while my cock stayed buried deep. *"Then we talk.*" Her breath hitched, her body already tensing around my fingers, the slick sounds of her pussy filling the air. *"You son of a—*oh fuck*—no—I’ll fuck *you*—just*..." The word died in a choked whine as I pulled my fingers out then shoved them back in, my cock jerking inside her without apology. *"Just make me come again."* I obliged. Every muscle in her back went rigid as the second orgasm tore through her, her nails dragging down the mirror now, the glass shattering under her weight. *"Oh God—*oh *shit*—yes!"* The profanity mixed with her panting gasps, her pussy *drowning* me as her thighs shook. I let her take it, my thumb grinding against that tight peak as she collapsed forward, her skin slick against mine, the scent of her release sharp and suffocating in the room. *"Good,"* I murmured, my lips brushing the sweat-soaked skin of her spine. *"Now the rest."*

As I fuck all night and the crazy thing we went to the court house the next day and got married and she was right she didn't let me go

The wedding band on her finger was heavy with the dried sweat of last night—each shuddering thrust, each desperate plea, each bruised bite of skin marking her as mine again. Now, in the sterile brightness of the courthouse hallway, her back still pressed against the wall where I’d pinned her hours ago, her voice was quiet but no less fierce. *"You said ‘till death do us part’,"* she whispered, her free hand gripping my wrist, fingers digging into the vein beneath my skin. *"I *know* what that means to me."* I didn’t answer right away. Instead, my mouth found hers, swallowing her groan as my thigh pushed between her legs, the seam of my slacks rough against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. *"Yeah,"* I growled against her lips, *"and I’m about to prove it."* My hand slid up her dress, fingers testing the damp heat of her already slick pussy—no undies, no pretense. *"You really thought twenty years would be enough?"* Her breath hitched as I hooked my fingers inside her, the stretch of her cunt making her bite down on her own lip. *"Goddamn it—"* she hissed, but her hips rolled forward anyway, chasing the pressure I wasn’t giving her. *"I *know* better now."* I smirked. *"Good girl."* My lips trailed down her throat, tongue flicking over where her pulse still raced—just as fast as the slick, wet sounds of her pussy clenching around my fingers. *"I’m gonna make sure you *remember*."*