by Ws Greer
“Tell me how it feels, Ava,” I demand with more authority as I start to fuck her.
“S… so good.” Ava stutters through her words, and I know what she's feeling must be something phenomenal, because it’s usually hard to get Ava to stop talking. “It’s so good, Malcolm.”
My cock slides in and out of Ava’s pussy with such ease, because her pussy is wetter than it’s ever been. It’s like an ocean inside of her, and with every pump I swear there's an actual splash that explodes out of her and wets my stomach.
I use every inch of my cock as I fuck her. My strokes are long and deep, but fast-paced. I feel my lungs burning from the exertion, but being tired doesn't stop me. A real one will fight through the burning of lungs and muscles, and I’m nothing if not a real one.
“Who’s is it, Ava? Tell me who’s pussy this is.”
“Yours! It’s yours Malcolm! Yes, fuck me!”
I do as Ava demands, letting my frustration with her fuel me. My engine is being revved by how annoyed I am by the fact that she’s even here. I let it control me, and fuck Ava like I’m trying to break her. I want her sore after it’s over. I want the memory to stay with her for months.
“Would you like me to let you come?” I ask between deep breaths and long strokes.
“Please! Please let me come. I’m ready to come right now. Oh God!”
“Do it, Ava. You have my permission. Come for me.”
I press the Magic Wand onto Ava’s clit so hard I can feel the vibrations on my cock as I pound in and out of her. Ava’s skin lights up like the red bulbs on a Christmas tree, and in seconds, she lets out a grating scream. The veins in her throat come to life as her body tightens itself and nearly folds her in half from the force of her orgasm. She shakes and rocks beneath me like she’s experiencing the most intense painful pleasure of her life, and the sight of it all reaches deep into me and lifts me to my own orgasm. Both Ava and I howl into the air loud enough to shake the walls, before the two of us collapse into each other.
It takes a moment before the stars in my vision subside, but once they do, and my breathing regulates, I position myself so that my back is against the wooden headboard of my bed.
Ava lays beside me, still gasping for air like she has nearly drowned. Her hair is still tied in its ponytail, but there are loose strands everywhere and the front is hanging over her forehead, where it’s stuck in her sweat.
I take a minute to get myself completely together before clearing my throat. “Ava.”
She swallows hard and lets out an exhilarated sigh. “Mmm. Yes, Dr. Colson?”
“Get out.”
Ava’s eyes pop open as she furrows her brow. “What?”
“Get out,” I repeat with zero concern for her feelings. “Get up, get your clothes, and get out of my house. And don't ever stay in my home without my permission again. If you do, it’ll be the end of us. Do you understand?”
Ava stares at me with a puzzled expression on her face, blinking over and over again. Her eyes dart around the room like she’s looking for answers in the corners, but there are none to be found. The only thing she’ll find here now is my cold shoulder.
It takes a few minutes for her to understand what’s happening, but eventually Ava gets up and grabs her clothes from the floor. I see her keep taking glances over at me while she puts it all back on, hoping I’ll change my mind, but my mind was made up before I ever saw her on her knees.
After five minutes of awkward silence, Ava escapes out of the room with nothing more than a spiteful glare in my direction as she closes the door. When I hear her engine start in the driveway, I sense a feeling in my gut that Ava was more than just upset by me dismissing her, and that could be a problem.
Threatened
8
~ Sean ~
I never claimed to be the world’s hottest person. I don't even try to be. I just want to be me. Just plain old Sean Tillman. Lately, however, I’ve been feeling like maybe Sean Tillman isn't good enough. I don't mean that in a general sense like I’m falling into some sort of dark depression. It’s very specific, actually. Lately, plain old Sean Tillman hasn't been good enough for Rebecca Richmond.
My ride from Bayhealth Hospital is about fifteen minutes going south on Highway One. Becky and I live in a small subdivision called Water’s Edge, and the time it takes for me to get home is just the right amount of time for me to think things through. Again.
It’s been three days since my first session with Dr. Malcolm Colson, and I still don't feel like I can tell anybody that I’m seeking therapy. It’s not that I’m ashamed, but the reason I’m seeing him is just embarrassing. Maybe that means I am ashamed. I don't know, but what I do know is that I will keep seeing him.
Dr. Colson is like the spokesperson for all things sexy. Upon seeing him in the reception area of his office, I was actually taken aback by his presence. He’s a good looking man: tall and masculine with a well-groomed beard. He looks like he’s probably mixed with a couple of different races, because his skin has that exotic tan glow to it and he’s blessed with green eyes. Everything about him seemed right for the job of sex therapist. I know he does relationship therapy more than anything, but the guy has sex written all over him, so when I spoke to him, I felt like he knew what he was talking about and that I needed to listen.
I need Dr. Colson to be right on the money. Things between Becky and I have been a little tense since the last time we had sex the morning I met Dr. Colson. We haven't had sex since then, but it’s not because I haven't been trying, it’s because Becky seems to be not trying. Every time I’ve gotten a little too touchy in the overtly flirtatious way that I do when I want her to know I want sex, Becky backs away.
She’s been using all the cliche excuses lately: too exhausted, headache, sleepy, not in the mood, on or about to start her period, hungry, thirsty, feet hurt, haven't shaved, hands hurt from writing reports at work all day, skin isn't smooth right now, eyes are blurry, ears are sensitive, nails are too long, in need of a haircut. Okay, some of those aren't so cliche, but that only serves to alert me even more. She isn't interested in sex right now, and I can't help but think about how she left the room and slammed the bathroom door behind her last time. I must've really messed it up, and she must be really tired of me messing it up.
I’m only a few minutes from home now, as I see the sign for my exit ahead. I know Becky’s already there preparing dinner or something, and I’m determined to make tonight the night. I haven't forgotten what Dr. Colson told me about continuing to push when I have her on the edge, and I plan to put that into effect tonight. I’m not sure how I didn't think of that myself, but Dr. Colson already started proving his worth with that one.
It makes perfect sense, although I can’t remember why I felt the need to change things in the moment. Becky was obviously right there on the edge, but I changed everything up and she seemed to walk away from the edge with a disgusted look on her face as she left me there breathing hard, wondering what the hell just happened. Next time, it’ll be different. I’ll make sure she goes over head-first.
I’m steadfast in my desire to please Becky. She deserves it. Her job is demanding and she's often tired and frustrated from dealing with budgetary issues and needy doctors at work. When she gets home, she just wants to relax, and I want to be the one to make her feel good. I want to be able to end her day with something amazing. I want it so bad that I’m paying Dr. Colson fifty dollars an hour to teach me.
Determination aside, I have to make sure Becky doesn't find out about my therapy. As much as I want to perform better sexually, it would kill me if she knew I had to seek help from a therapist. What would she think of me if she found out I had to ask another, better-looking man for tips and tricks on how to fuck her? If she thinks little of me for not bringing her to orgasm, imagine how she’d think of me if she knew that I was so lost on my quest to please her, that I had to ask a stranger for directions.
She’d never forgive me for divulging our private
sex lives to anybody. She’d probably cringe at the very thought of the amount of detail Dr. Colson tried to pull from me last time, and that was just the first session! We’ll get deeper into this, and I know that means it’ll require even more specifics. So, Becky can never find out. As far as she’s concerned, I’ll just gradually get better and better at bringing her to orgasm. I, for one, can’t wait to surprise her. Just wait until she comes for the first time. Just thinking about it makes me hard, even as I drive past my seventy-year-old neighbor who’s sitting on her porch with her feet on the railing.
As I approach our house, I press the button in my truck that raises the garage door. Inside, I see Becky’s white Nissan parked backwards. She’s inside, just as I imagined, and my heart speeds up as I back my black Silverado into the spot next to hers. I’m sure she can hear the rumble of my engine in the kitchen of our house, but she has no idea that I’m ready to start something new today. Her days of sexual frustration and disappointment are over.
We’ve only had one session, but I feel like I’ve turned a page mentally. It’s not just the conversation with Dr. Colson, it’s the craving in me that yearns to give Becky what she wants. I will do it, because I can feel the tide slowly turning, and it’s not turning in my favor. I will be what she needs me to be, and I won't let anything stand in my way.
9
~ Sean ~
“Hi, honey. I’m home.” When I walk into the house, I find Becky standing at the stove. She’s still wearing the black and white dress she wore at the hospital earlier today, with her hair tied into a ponytail that’s now hanging over her shoulder as she leans forward. Her elbows are resting on the granite countertop, and she’s holding her phone in front of her gorgeous face, texting away.
Becky stands there in all her glory, looking as beautiful as ever—as if she didn’t get home an hour ago from working in a busy hospital, where stress and emotions hang on you like a parka. She’s stunning. So stunning, in fact, that it takes me a minute to realize she hasn’t even noticed I walked in. Her round, light brown eyes are glued to her phone as she texts, then stops to wait for a response from whoever is on the other side. She’s lost in a world that is her screen, and my head tilts to the side as I watch her read whatever whoever has sent back to her. Becky’s mouth curls into a playful smile as she reads, and it’s in that moment that my heart starts to pound, as curiosity mixed with an unfounded jealousy is born within me.
I clear my throat much louder than anyone would ever need to, and Becky snaps back into this world. Her head jerks in my direction and she presses the button to close the screen on her phone. I could be reading too much into it, but that seemed sneaky. The feeling that something is wrong weighs on me like I'm in a room with too much gravity.
“Oh, hey babe,” Becky blurts as she stares at me, wide-eyed. “I didn’t even know you were there. Why didn’t you say anything when you came in?”
A puzzled expression takes shape on my face. “I did. I guess maybe you didn’t hear me. You looked really busy texting.”
“Oh? Yeah, I guess. How was the close of your shift? I saw that woman come in as I was leaving. The one with the gash in her cheek. That looked bad.”
I can’t help the furrow in my brow in response to her question. I’ve never known Becky to act this way. She seems unconfident all of a sudden—shaky, like she’s jittery about being caught doing something inappropriate.
Becky leaves the phone on the counter and turns her body towards me. She places a hand on her hip and releases a breath that sounds like she’s been holding it for too long. Even the hand on her hip looks like it’s not supposed to be there—as if her own hand is uncomfortable with the situation.
“Yeah,” I say, dragging the word out. “I sewed it up, no problem. Are you okay?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Becky looks like if she doesn't move to get a glass of ice water, she might actually start sweating from doing nothing more than standing there.
“I don't know. You just seem nervous. Work got you stressed out? Is that who you were texting? Somebody from work?”
I know this question is a strange one. What I should be asking is how come she looked so happy when she was staring at her phone, but looks so nervous now that she’s looking at me. I should be asking what came across her screen that planted that little smile on her face before she realized I was watching her. I should just ask directly, who were you texting, and ask her to let me see her phone. If she said no, I wouldn’t force her, but I’d know she had something to hide. I’d know. But, that’s just not me. I love Becky more than anything in this world, and to be completely honest, I’m not sure I want to know the answers to any of those questions.
Becky releases another breath and manages to pull herself away from the counter and approach me. I stay planted in the doorway with a puzzled expression still on my face, but Becky strides across the tile floor and wraps her arms around my waist, pulling me into her. The scent of her seductive perfume engulfs me, sending me reeling.
Why does she have to smell so damn good? I’m a sucker for a sexy perfume, I must admit. With a single hug, Becky has already lowered my walls. I feel disarmed by her touched, and the anger and suspicion I was feeling is slowly leaking onto the floor beneath our feet.
“It was work, actually,” Becky admits as she lays her head on my chest and pulls me into an embrace. My arms instinctively wrap around her without me even thinking about it. “It was Dr. Bishop. He was just asking about the order form for his new cabinet. It’s some temperature controlled, fancy unit, and he's impatient about it. I told him to just chill. We’ll get it all organized before the end of the week. It's no big deal.”
Her words zoom past me like whizzing bullets. I know she’s trying to hit me and defuse any aggression I might be feeling, but everything she’s saying is missing me altogether, and I’m not sure I believe a word of it. Someone asking about a cabinet wouldn't put a flirty little smile on my face. If I asked Becky about a cabinet, I bet it wouldn't make her smile. Then again, I’m not Dr. Bishop.
Dr. Daniel Bishop is a thirty-nine-year-old anesthesiologist who works at Bayhealth. He just got out of a divorce, which was enacted because he cheated on his wife. Well, she found out about one particular time he cheated and decided to leave him then. She had no clue about the dozens of other times Dr. Bishop cheated on her.
Dr. Bishop is a playboy, and he makes no attempts to hide it. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s very good-looking, and being nearly forty seems to suit him well. He fits into the silver fox role quite comfortably, with his short black hair and strong jaw. Dr. Bishop is six-one, about a hundred and eighty pounds, and has ocean blue eyes you can see from down the hall. He’s an attractive man, and every nurse I work with would agree with me. Trust me, I’ve heard them swooning over him enough times to know. He's newly single, and embraces the fact that he can do what he wants now, as if it ever stopped him before. Becky never mentioned his looks to me, but I know better.
My head tells me Becky just pulled a slick little move on me. She told the truth about who she was talking to, but then lied about the conversation. It’s a half-truth that’s hard to spot because she actually was honest . My mind tells me to call her out on it, not now, but right now.
My heart, on the other hand, tells me not to make a big deal out of nothing. She told the truth about who she was talking to, and maybe she actually was telling the truth about what was said. I’m sure there was a little more to it than just cabinets, but maybe it was harmless. Maybe Becky and Dr. Bishop are just friends. Maybe I’m overreacting because I’m feeling insecure, and because I love Becky the way I do, I can't help but go with the conclusion that avoids an argument and allows me to tighten my arms around Becky and breathe her in.
“Well, it’s good to see you,” I hear myself say, letting go of the image I saw when I walked in. “I know I just saw you a few hours ago, but it’s good to come home to you.”
“Aww
, well aren't you sweet,” Becky says, just before lifting to her tippy toes to kiss me. “I missed you, too.”
The two of us smile at each other before Becky goes back over to the stove and looks into a large black pot of boiling water releasing steam into the air. I take a second to gather my thoughts and rearrange them back to where they were when I left the hospital and got on the highway. I’m on a mission to please my woman, and I can't let distractions have their way with me. In fact, any uncertainty I feel about Becky texting Dr. Bishop should only make me focus on Becky. If Becky is feeling vulnerable to someone flirting with her because of our sex life, then that’s about to change. It’s on me to turn it around, and that’s what tonight is about. I refuse to lose sight of that.
“So, what’s for dinner, sweetie,” I ask, as I step into the living room and place my bag on the counter.
“Oh, it’s spaghetti. Your favorite.” Becky smiles at me before picking up a box of spaghetti noodles and pouring them into the pot of water.
“Nice,” I say as I plant myself behind my girl and wrap my arms around her while she cooks. “It is my favorite. You're my favorite.”
Becky leans her head over so that her face rubs against mine, and it reminds me of how important tonight is.
We’ll have dinner first, and I’ll shock her with the best dessert I can muster. When it’s over, I’ll know I don't have anything to worry about.
10
~ Sean ~
Two white plates rest on top of the oval glass table in the center of our dining room. Red sauce is smeared across the plates, with leftover strands of noodles that have been left behind to fend for themselves after Becky and I devoured our meals. Two glasses of red wine sit on top of the table as well, one empty, the other half full for another minute or two, before I knock the rest of it back.
