Nothing More Dangerous Than a Dying Man

It began easily and innocently enough. Morgan asked me out for coffee. We were coworkers and, at fifty-four years old, I was exactly twenty-three years her senior, often acting as a mentor and enjoying watching her thrive in her work. She was married, but I learned over coffee that was on the skids. No kids, no family close by, so she was distraught and not her usual sunshiny self. I reminded her they both had good jobs and would land upright no matter what.  
 
I then shared with her about my medical condition. She didn’t know that I was on borrowed time with probably a few months to a year left. I’d kept up a good front, and since treatment wasn’t feasible, I wasn’t suffering from chemo or other therapies, though I did have short mental lapses and dizzy spells that clouded my judgment. I was planning my exit that very night, but coffee with this sweet coworker would be a nice diversion. She couldn’t know was that my 22-caliber pistol was between my mattresses for use that very evening.  
 
This personal sharing was cathartic for both of us. What I didn't share was that I’d been betrayed by two ex-wives and felt a deep-seated resentment. What I couldn’t have known was how her willingness to betray her husband would affect me.  
 
Morgan was beautiful. She carried a few extra pounds, but they were young shapely pounds. She had silky clear skin, thin lips, and a smile that filled the room. Her voice was sweet, with many sentences ending in an ascending questioning pitch. She bounced with curiosity about everything and everyone. I was shocked that her marriage wasn’t working.
 
So, on this springtime evening, coffee led to a long walk that eventually led to my bedroom where clothes were deposited on the floor, and our bodies stood in the middle of the room quietly embracing. I felt sadness that Morgan was betraying her husband’s trust with me, but I justified it, thinking he was probably doing his share of betraying, too. My pitch-black cat perched on the bookshelf looked on stoically, only having seen a couple of female visitors in the last few years.  
 
After several kisses and my protest that this was probably a bad idea, Morgan took my hand and led me to my bed. I spooned next to her and my fingers found her face as she lay on her back. I let them glide from her smooth, cool chin down her neck and to her warm breasts in a repeated motion as we kissed. Her nipples became hard quickly, and so I licked them lightly while continuing to rub her neck and chest.  
 
Then my fingers found their way to the inside of her right thigh, where I crept to her center, arriving at her firm pubic mound, a precious piece of real estate. My hand settled there, feeling her warmth and listening to her soft whimpers as this mound of flesh slightly rose and fell under my hand. My fingers slid down slightly to touch tacky, moist folds of skin as Morgan then moaned softly and spread her legs. With her hand, she pressed my hand firmly into her pussy and my finger found its way inside. She raised her pelvis higher and kissed me deeper.  
 
Morgan's kisses eventually moved down my chest with repeated licks of her tongue until she arrived and began kissing my now firm cock. She pointed me toward the ceiling with her fingers and smiled over it at me, then inserted me in her lips. I felt her tongue licking the bottom of my shaft from within her mouth.  The cat stood and meowed.  
 
I was in heaven and wished it would never end, her beautiful face embracing my cock, clearly visible in the soft bedroom light. I rubbed her cheek softly where my cock entered, feeling the place our flesh became one. I felt a dizzy spell coming on and said softly, “Nothing more dangerous than a dying man.” She gave a questioning hmmm but never released her lips.  
 
Morgan then rose and smiled sunshine into my face with the same lips that had just embraced my cock. She crawled over me and led me inside her center, where she held me for a moment before slowly gliding me in and out. I watched her sweet face towering over me, smiling as she brought me pleasure.  
 
Finally, she rolled off next to me, pressing her face onto the mattress and raising her ass. I knew what to do. Her broad, firm ass and wide back were fascinating. Small beads of sweat were forming on her lower back and I rubbed them with my fingers. I hunched down over her back, feeling her heat against my chest. At that moment, both of us were fully alive, and that was the moment of my decision. We were both in betrayal. I was a participant in the same actions that had caused me such pain in the past.
 
I began thrusting firmer, almost in anger, as Morgan bumped forward and back against my weight. She said, “That feels so good,” so I continued, hoping to bring her to orgasm. I was now dizzy with frantic decision-making. What had now become of my exit plan this evening? Should Morgan feel the full weight of her betrayal like the women who had wronged me in the past? My head began to spin, and I reached between the mattresses without slowing my pace.  
 
Morgan’s head faced to the left, and she moaned with delight, not knowing I now held a 22-caliber with silencer in my right hand. I knew my end was near. What I still did not know was Morgan’s fate.
 
She was so lovely, I wanted her for eternity, but could I have her this way? My head spun out of control, and my vision narrowed to the base of Morgan's head, just behind her left ear. I continued my thrusting, wanting her to achieve orgasm as a parting gift. Wouldn’t juxtaposing such intense pleasure and fullness with sudden and unexpected pain and loss create the ultimate dramatic effect for us both on this particular night?
 
With my left hand, I began to rub the back of her head and raise her hair, pressing her down gently as she smiled.  Her body began to quiver as she entered orgasm. She moaned, and I could see her eyes rolling upward under my gentle pressing. I waited and continued my thrusting.
 
Finally, with my dizziness continuing, I said softly, “Nothing as dangerous as a dying man.” She glanced back toward me with a questioning look. At that instant, a 22-caliber hollow point entered underneath the base of her skull, spreading as it traveled upward into the center of her brain. The cat disappeared from the shelf with a squeal. Morgan left without a sound, and her body fell limp beneath me, where I continued thrusting as I reached my own orgasm, and my last fragments of life streamed into her body.
 
God, it felt so good, and I knew Morgan would now be mine for eternity. Straddling her warm body and still pressed inside, I placed the pistol to my mouth and felt the thunderous kick of a metallic ring.