by Kristy Marie
This girl is none of the above, but when she was begging to come home with me, she was all about “the best night of my life.” Yeah, right.
Pulling myself onto my knees, I grasp Sarah’s hips roughly and pound into her unclenching pussy. I want her to scream. I get off on screams.
Wait. Is that BO I smell? I shrug it off, picking up the pace, not really giving a fuck at the moment.
Sarah gasps at my forceful intrusion and quickly covers her eyes, sporting a small grimace. What the fuck? At this rate, I’m never going to come.
I’m seconds from deciding to just jerk off in the shower when a chiming tone chirps in my ear. I have a call coming in. Yes, I’m fucking with my Bluetooth in. Don’t judge me.
I rasp out a whiney, “Yeah.” Thrust. Lift her knee. Thrust.
“Theo. I need a favor,” Anniston’s sexy voice demands.
Another thrust. Lifting Sarah’s pelvis higher, I pound that sweet spot, finally hitting my mark.
“Theo? Theo, are you fucking?”
I grunt in response, focused on hitting my mark again so I can come and get this chick the hell out of my apartment.
“Oh my gosh, you are fucking! You are such a bastard,” Her half-ass scolding only makes me smile. I know she likes this “bastard” side of me. I know it turns her on, gets her wet. I grunt once more, never letting up my relentless pace.
I cannot get there. Fuck!
“Do the thing.” My voice is teetering between a whine and something too close to crying. On the cusp of a mediocre orgasm, I’m leaning toward the latter.
“What? No!”
Begging is not beneath me. “Please,” I plead. Silent Sarah has yet to make a fucking peep. Damn this girl and her vanilla sex. Never again. She is out of my contact list.
“Fine,” Ans relents. “But let me just say that you are a total douche and whatever whore you have up there is apparently as good in bed as your grandma.”
Thank you, Anniston. I really needed another image to prevent my impending orgasm. Squaring my shoulders, I start a steady pace, waiting for the music to my ears that will inevitably lead me to bliss.
“You want to come baby?” she croons in a deep, raspy, phone-sex kind of way.
Fuck yeah! I love this girl. I pick up speed, my body flushing with arousal.
“Yes,” I hiss out between breaths.
“You want me to scream, Theo?”
“Mmm. Fuck yes.” Grinding down on my molars, I push harder, deeper. Silent Sarah is quiet, with a pillow over her head. Whatever, I don’t encourage her to remove it.
“Then fuck me, Theo,” she moans in my ear. “Harder. Is that all you have?”
My orgasm tingles at the base, a pleasurable tightening is finally in my balls. On cue, I begin to fucking pound this girl.
She squeaks and brings her hands to the crease of my thighs, attempting to stop me from sinking too deep.
“Uh, huh. No honey, Daddy is owning this pussy. Scream. Scream for me.”
“More, Theo. Chase fucked me harder last Saturday.”
“What?” Chase fucked her last weekend? “Are you serious?” Chase and I are due for another chat. I thought I made it clear to him the last time he tried sniffing around Ans that she was off limits. Fuck!
My rhythm falters as visions of Chase plowing my girl taunt me. Well, she’s not technically mine but… it’s on my to-do list. Let’s just say everyone in our little hometown knows that Anniston McCallister is mine. No exceptions.
Guilt sits heavily on my chest as Sarah takes a punishing thrust. I imagine that she takes one for me because I’m an asshole and have to fuck my emotions for my best friend out on her. She takes one for Anniston, just in case she really did fuck Chase last weekend. And she takes one for Chase, because now, he’s a dead man.
I pound so hard into poor Sarah that she whimpers. I almost miss the sound as the bed frame crashes against the wall. Gripping the headboard for more leverage, the sound of wet, slapping skin joins the cacophony that is the melody of my sexy soundtrack. It’s music to my ears.
“Ahh!” Ans screams, then moans and whimpers.
And that, ladies, does it for me. My balls tighten, my head clouds, and my thighs tense. Holding my breath, I pause, feeling the cum travel from my balls to the head of my dick. And sweet, sweet Virgin Mary, my load shoots out, filling the condom to the rim. Damn, I needed that.
Exhausted, I collapse onto Sarah, breathing heavily. She immediately shifts out from under me, finding a better position at my side. I don’t usually flop down on my one-nighters but I’m exhausted and couldn’t care less about her comfort level at the moment.
“Okay. So now for the reason I called.” Without shame, Anniston continues with her conversation like she did not just get me off while I fucked another girl. If that’s any indication of how fucked up our relationship is, I don’t know what is.
“Give a guy some recovery time, shit.”
I look at my recent fuck. “I have to take this. I had a great time. I’ll see you around, okay Sarah? The bathroom is through there.” I point, indicating the general direction of the bathroom.
She stares at me blankly, like she isn’t sure if I am joking or not. I assure you, sweetheart, I am dead fucking serious. Her gaze shifts to my Bluetooth like she’s just noticing it.
“You are an asshole!” she shouts, snatching her clothes with one hand while trying to cover her tits with the other. It’s not like I wasn’t all up in that, but whatever makes her feel secure and get out quickly.
Looking back on her way to the hall, she flings, “It’s Sally!”
Damn. I was close.
“Anniston, you still there?”
She laughs. “You really are a dick.”
I shrug, tying up the condom and tossing it in the trash. After blowing my load I’m tired and my words come out harsher than I intend. “Do you need a favor or not? I’m ready for a big bowl of cereal and a nap, so spit it out.”
“Are you seriously snapping at me after I just got you off? You ungrateful bastard.”
“No, I’m sorry.” I exhale a deep breath. “I’m just hungry. You know how I am if I don’t get my sugar and nap after sex.”
She doesn’t speak, which could be a good sign or the calm before the storm. Trust me when I tell you the storm is more like a hurricane.
So I talk just to be talking. I’m not one for silence. It’s boring and I just don’t like it. “What favor do you need, Anniston, since apparently I owe you one?” I can’t lose the sarcasm but, hey, it’s talking.
She huffs, “Okay. So, you know I was going to Brad’s season-end party?”
“Yeah,” I respond, sniffing a shirt I find lying on the floor.
“Well, I was anticipating Brad stroking my kitty, if you know what I mean, but he is sloppy drunk and has only managed to find my asshole. Which wouldn’t be terrible if he wouldn’t rub it like he was trying to start a fire.”
I grimace. Brad is this AAA player Ans and I met during my stint in the minors. He took a liking to Anniston, and for some reason she still entertains his advances. He’s a grade A douche-canoe and an all-around idiot.
“I’m sure that’s the only hole he knows, Anniston. It surprises me that he invited you to the party and not me.”
Her deep belly laugh makes me smile. “You’re a liar. He is not gay and you know you were invited. Anyway… I am in his bathroom with the door locked and I need you to come get me.”
With a resigned sigh, I pull on a semi-clean shirt I find on the chair and grab the jeans next to it, pulling them over my hips sans underwear. I know what you’re thinking. Commando? Really? With jeans? Yes, they rub. No, they aren’t super comfortable but I’m tired and that’s how I roll when I am beat.
Searching for my keys, I ask absently, “Where’s Kelsey? Didn’t she go with you?”
Kelsey is as close to a girlfriend as Anniston is going to get. She and Anniston met at one of the Nationals team functions last year. Kelsey was Brod
y’s date and has been a regular in his bed ever since. He won’t admit she’s his girlfriend, but we all know the truth.
“She disappeared with Brody about an hour ago, I’m positive they have already left. Please, Theo.” Her sexy little whine is extremely cute and can get me to do things I normally wouldn’t. Like going to Brad’s party when all I want to do is crash.
I was invited, Ans even asked me to go, but I declined. I don’t enjoy watching her flirt and go home with other guys. She and I have rules to our fucked-up relationship. Mondays and Thursdays are the days we set aside for each other. All other days of the week are fair game. On a Friday, like tonight, she won’t hesitate to go home with someone just to make me crazy. It’s part of our game. Just like her getting me off while I’m fucking some other girl. We’re messed up, and everyone knows it.
“Is Brad passed out?” I ask, not really caring if he is or not. I’m already walking to my car. My Atlanta penthouse sits just outside the perimeter of the neighborhood where Brad lives. It shouldn’t take long to get there. I intend to pick her up, but I like to make her sweat a little. I also don’t want to give her the impression I’m available at her beck and call.
“I don’t think so. He knocked right before I called you and I told him I had beer shits.” Her tone tells me she’s completely straight-faced.
I belt out a laugh. “No shit? You really told him that?”
“Of course I did. Why not?”
“No reason.” I can’t keep from chuckling. “I just figured you would come up with something classier than beer shits.”
“Well, I didn’t. So, are you coming to get me or not?”
Smiling into the dark, I return, “I’m on the way. Be there in twenty.”
Except now I decide the BO was definitely me. A shower is in order before I pick up Anniston. I don’t want to listen to her bitching about the smell or have her stick her head out the car window like a dog. She has a flair for the dramatic. And, I also want to wash Sarah/Sadie off me. It may be thirty minutes, but I leave that out. No need to piss her off before I get there.
“Thank you, Theo,” she purrs, making my dick stir again.
I pull up to Brad’s piece of shit abode and straightaway I’m greeted with several losers puking on the sidewalk. For a second I reconsider parking on the curb. I’ll beat someone’s ass if there is puke on my rims.
I climb out of my Mustang and take note of the dilapidated building. The old house reminds me of the Forrest Gump plantation but about 200 years after the apocalypse. The paint is peeling, the porch missing boards, and trash is littered everywhere. When you play for a minor league team, the pay is decent but nothing compared to the MLB. Factor in traveling four days a week, and you get Brad’s.
My face screws up in a grimace as I take in the party scene before me. Dozens of players line the driveway, extinguishing any chance of getting Anniston—and me—out of here quickly. I’m not a partier. Everyone knows that. I would much rather enjoy my close circle of friends than spend any more time with fellow teammates than I already have to. Anniston, on the other hand, enjoys this shit. I think she does it on purpose just to irritate me.
At least this is her last year of med school. Next year, she’ll be with me. Hopefully. If all goes well. I have been doing my damnedest to convince her to do her residency with our team doc, Aaron. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t excited at the possibility of having her closer to me. A few days here and there sucks. I hate knowing she’s out here all alone, with these assholes.
Instead of walking through the parade of drunken stupor, I opt to go through the side door, paying close attention to where I step. The door is propped open, several pairs of underwear wedged underneath. Boxers, briefs, thongs, even some granny panties are stuffed under the pissed-stained door.
I look to the sky, taking in a deep breath and holding it, asking God to give me the fortitude to get through this rathole in one piece, as well as some kick-ass STD immunity. This place is literally crawling with sperm.
A Flo Rida song blasts through the door as I take a hesitant step into the chaos. With my hands in my pockets, I move through the throngs of sweaty bodies searching for someone who is semi-sober.
Anniston said she was in Brad’s bathroom but fuck if I know where that is in Forrest Gump’s manor. A super sweaty girl bumps into me, dampening the sleeve of my shirt. Breathe through your mouth. The smell is really rank in here, worse than the locker room after a doubleheader. Dammit! I am going to kill Anniston for this shit.
I pull out my phone to call her when I hear, “Von Bremen!”
Oh hell. Be calm. Male voice, doesn’t sound like a pissed off boyfriend. It may be okay to acknowledge.
Slowly, I turn, chanting to myself, “Please be normal, please be normal.” Lady Luck is on my side because the lanky, grinning idiot approaching me is none other than my former bat boy, Paul. Thank goodness for small miracles!
Paul maneuvers through the swarm of gyrating bodies with his red solo cup held high in the air, all the while apologizing for disrupting the dry humping going on. Good Lord. When he finally reaches hearing distance, he practically sings, “What’s up dude? I thought you were in Washington?”
Paul isn’t exactly what you’d call an attractive guy. He’s rocking that whole Star Wars-comic-book thing. Anniston says he’s “hot in a nerd kind of way.” She’s been after me to wear some black-rimmed glasses and fuck her in the library to live out this little nerd fantasy of hers. I haven’t jumped on board with the idea yet, but eventually I will do it whether I want to or not. In the meantime, I try to keep innocent Paul away from her just in case. I’m just looking after Paul. That’s all, it’s not jealousy, for sure.
“It’s the off-season. I’m back home,” I respond dryly. “I’m here to pick up Anniston. Have you seen her? She’s supposed to be in Brad’s bathroom but I have no idea where that is.”
“I haven’t seen her but Brad’s room is just up the stairs. Second door on the left,” he clarifies, lifting his pointer finger in the direction of the stairs.
“Thanks, man.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Enjoy your evening.” I don’t wait for any kind of response because I will be damned if I stay in this cesspool any longer than necessary.
The door to Brad’s room isn’t locked. Fucker. Was he hoping someone would walk in and see him fucking Anniston? His rep would definitely improve. Loser. Maybe he was too drunk to remember to lock it. Whatever. I am getting this pain in the ass girl and getting us the fuck out of here. This nightmare is ruining my otherwise perfectly shitty night.
All the lights are off in Brad’s room except for the bedside lamp. Hunched over on the bed, with his head in his hands, sits Brad. When he hears the door creak open, he raises his shaggy brown head to greet me. “Hey man,” he mutters, then drops his head back down.
I guess he was expecting me. A subtle chin jerk in his direction is all the greeting I can muster before my nostrils flare, disgusted with this whole encounter. “She in the bathroom?”
He nods, not bothering to look at me again. Farther into the room, I take in the relatively cleanish space. I envisioned something like a crack house—ripped sofa, no sheets on the mattress, you get the drift.
I don’t linger, moving quickly to what I assume to be the bathroom door and beat on it like I’m the SWAT team.
“Ans! Let’s go!”
She doesn’t answer immediately, which makes me uncomfortable. Did jerk-off do something to her? I’ve been to some terrible parties where girls were too drunk to give consent. Anniston didn’t sound drunk though…I’ll kill him. I beat on the door again, this time jiggling the handle.
“Open this damn door Ans, or I will break it down!” My voice sounds a bit panicked as I bang harder. I hear movement on the other side of the door, sending a burst of relief through my chest.
I lean closer, my ear to the crack, and catch her whisper, “Break it down. I dare you.” Goddamnit. This girl. A frustrated sigh escapes me as
I try to keep calm.
In as even a tone as I can manage, I respond, “Open this fucking door, or I am going to leave you here. I’m in no mood for your games.”
Before I can say more, she throws open the door and snatches me inside. My back slams against the wall, nearly knocking the breath out of me. Anniston’s grip is tight, restraining me to the wall. She’s pretty strong for a girl. I could easily push her off, but I’ve stoked her flame with that phone call and she isn’t leaving without repayment. Brad didn’t give her what she needed so looks like it’s up to me. I’m gonna have to take one for the team. Not that I mind, I like playing her sick games.
“Are you threatening me, Teddy?” Her voice is eager with the thrill of what we’re about to do.
I cringe, hating that terrible nickname she gave me years ago. No one calls me Teddy but her. Anniston’s lips moisten in anticipation, tipping up at the corners, daring me to engage in our longstanding game. A few errant pieces of her long, golden hair fall loose from underneath one of my old baseball hats as she waits for my answer. The look gives her entirely too much sex appeal.
Here’s the thing about Anniston: She can hang with the boys in whatever we do. Sports? She can play them all. Drink? She can drink us under the table. Poker? Yep, great at that too. But no matter how much she can hang with the guys, she is one hundred percent woman. With her full breasts, C cups—yes, I fucking know how big they are—and with her lean body pressing up against me, I am reminded all too much why every dude in a fifty-mile radius pines for her attention.
She clears her throat and raises one eyebrow, those brilliant blue eyes contrasting against her naturally blushing cheeks. The side of my mouth cocks up in an arrogant smile. Freeing my hand from hers, I run it along the outside of her breast. “What if I am?”
Her tongue sneaks out, swiping her lips in a slow, seductive motion, knowing which buttons to push. My dick starts tingling. Please no, not in this disgusting bathroom.
“No. Not here,” I tell her sternly. Her lips purse for a moment.
“Yes. Here,” she counters, standing tall against my six-foot frame.
