“Your pussy’s so fucking tight, baby,” Mason mumbled into my ear. His forearms were posted on either side of my head, and he pulled me close to him as he pumped into me. Locks of his blond hair stuck to his sweaty forehead.
“Oh, Mason,” I whispered, closing my eyes. I wrapped my thighs around his waist, pushed a hand between my legs, and rubbed small circles around my clit to try to get off.
But before I could even get myself close, Mason pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, refusing to let me touch myself when he could be the one to do it himself. He pushed his hand between my legs, his fingers hitting my dry clit and making my legs jerk up.
All I wanted to do was scream out in pain, but I didn’t say anything to him about it because the last time I had … he refused to touch me like this for months. He’d told me that he knew exactly what he was doing and that me pointing this out to him was me ridiculing him.
I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to think of something that could make me the slightest bit wet as his cock slammed into my raw pussy over and over again. My mind wandered from the cute guy at Mickey’s Coffee Shop to my own damn college professor, yet none of them made this any better.
My pussy was dry, stinging, and now chafed. And I just wanted this night to be over.
So, I said what I always did when I didn’t want to have sex with Mason anymore. “Come inside of me, Mason.” I dug my nails into his back, pretending like I was enjoying him and silently thanked Mom for taking me to get that IUD years ago. “Fill my tight little pussy with all of your cum.”
Mason grabbed my waist, his thumbs digging harshly into my sides. I clenched on him—I made myself tighten on him—and sucked in a breath.
“Oh, just like that. Please, I need it,” I begged.
After a couple moments, he tensed, his hips seizing, and groaned into my ear. I gripped on to his shoulders, feeling his thick cum pump inside of me.
I lay on the bed, stared up at the plain, boring ceiling, and felt Mason roll off of me and onto his side.
With one forearm over his face and the other limp by his side, he muttered, “Damn, baby.”
“Wow,” I said, lips set in a tense line. “That was amazing.” My words sounded so lifeless because, well, they were.
Another night of sex with Mason, only to be disappointed. I didn’t know why I continued to get my hopes up that one day, I wouldn’t have to perform in bed. After five years with him, I had only come from him a handful of times and … I blew out a deep breath … I couldn’t even remember when the last time had been.
Despite all the bad things about Mason in bed, there was a bright side to this mess. He’d be snoring in three … two …
His breathing evened out, and he let out a throaty snore. I sighed and pushed a hand under the sheets. If Mason couldn’t get me off, I knew what could.
My body relaxed against the bed, and I did what I did every night. I closed my eyes and thought of the hottest man I knew.
My best friend’s father.
It was wrong. It was so wrong, but, God, did it feel right. Thinking of him always felt right.
I refused to think about Michael Bryne while Mason was inside me, because I knew him–closely. But I didn’t really know the guy from the coffee shop or my college professor. I didn’t talk to them. It was pure fantasy. But I saw Mr. Bryne more than a couple times a week. I talked to him. We exchanged looks and touches—none of which were sexual—but still…
A couple weeks ago, Michael had been fixing up the yard, dressed in one of his gray V-necks, his sleeves tight against his biceps. I took a deep breath, my pussy pulsing. When he tugged his shirt over his head …
Pleasure rolled through me. It was … it was enough to drive me wild.
All I wanted was for his face to be buried deep between my legs, his eyes gazing up at me, his hot mouth all over my pussy, eating me until I came more than once. I knew that he’d do it too. I knew that he’d finish me over and over again. That man wasn’t a quitter. He’d fuck me until I couldn’t walk, and … I would let him, if I ever had the chance.
I thought about Mr. Bryne way too many times. It was embarrassing to think that my best friend’s father could affect me more than my boyfriend ever had. And, hell, Mr. Bryne had never even touched me.
Two of my fingers slipped into my pussy, sliding in and out so easily. I pounded them deeper, imagining that it was Michael Bryne’s big cock jamming into my tight hole, imagining him above me, imagining my fingers digging into his back, my pussy pulsing all around him.
My palm hit my clit with every thrust, making the tension build higher and higher in my core. I arched my back, pinched my nipple between two fingers, and bit my lip, so I wouldn’t scream his name.
Wave after wave of ecstasy pumped through me, and my whole body tingled. Another earth-shattering orgasm, lying in Mason’s bed, fantasizing about an older man. I pulled my fingers out of my pussy, wiped them across my thigh, and turned onto my side to look at my very lovely boyfriend.
Mason was turned away from me, and I could only imagine drool dripping from his lips like it usually did. Even in his sleep, his muscles were tense. I frowned, guilt washing over me. Part of me wished Mason had given me the orgasm, so I wouldn’t feel this bad about coming to a fantasy about my friend’s father.
But what was even worse was that part of me didn’t care at all. Every night he didn’t try to make me come, I cared less and less about him. I even toyed with the idea of breaking up with him, but—I shook my head and turned to my side—I couldn’t.
Mason turned toward me, wrapped an arm around my waist, and placed his nose against my neck, snoring into my ear. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t break up with him. We’d been together for five years. So many memories. So many good times. So much I had to make up for.
My phone buzzed on the dresser, and I hopped up to see a good night text from Mom. I smiled at the little <3 instead of a heart emoji and promised her that I’d come see her at the hospital early Monday morning. She quickly texted me back.
Mom: Hope you and Mason are good. xx You two seemed off today.
I sighed and put my phone back down, climbing back into our bed. We had been off for the past two years, but I never told Mom that, not when she was in that state. I didn’t tell her that he had refused to let me visit her unless he was with me either. I didn’t tell her that Mason held her hospital bills that he paid for with his parents’ money over my head. I didn’t tell her any of it.
To her, Mason and I were perfect. And that’s how it’d stay for the rest of my life.
At least I could relax for the next couple of days at Melissa’s for our girls’ weekend. There would be booze, boyfriend-free conversation, a pool to go skinny-dipping in at four in the morning, and of course—the only reason I was really going—Mr. Bryne.