Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Olivia
And here I am again.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I can almost taste his cock, can almost feel the weight of it in my mouth. I’m waiting for him. He returns just seconds ago from his three days at the fire station. I’m waiting for him at his place. I see him pull up his truck and then just get on my knees to wait for him to step through the door. I’m naked. This whole thing is from the internet. A lot of girls calling their boyfriend’s Daddy or Master and stuff and then being required to wait for them on their knees like some twisted idea of a “good girl.”
Well, I figure the inherent humiliation of that kind of thing and the stupidity of submitting myself to Clint is going to do what everything else hasn’t. I’m finally going to feel so disgusted with myself that my addiction is going to be broken.
The door opens, and he says, “…but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t inventory it along with the disposable…” He sees me and says, “Tommy, we’ll need to get back to this conversation when I’m back at the station,” and hangs up.
“I don’t understand,” he says as he looks at me.
“You have a twenty-four-year-old girl naked and waiting for you on her knees,” I reply.
“But why?” he asks.
“Hmmm. Let me think… Oh yeah, my mouth is really empty and you need to fill it, dummy!” I’m really starting to panic that he’s not going to let me do this, that I won’t be able to just jump past yesterday and get back to how things were. So, I say softly, “I’m really sorry about yesterday. I was overwhelmed and I took it out on you. Please don’t cut me off.”
No, there’s sincerity to the part about not wanting him to cut me off. There’s honesty to the part about me being overwhelmed and taking it out on him. It’s just that I’m overwhelmed because of him and he’s the right person for me to take it out on. I’m sorry, too. It’s just that I’m apologizing to myself with that, not him.
“What if what we’re doing is bad for us?” he asks.
It’s a fair question. It’s a question I no longer ask because I’m pretty sure I know the answer and pretty sure I want to stop telling myself the answer. “What if it not doing it is worse?” I ask. “What if it’s bad for us but going without it is worse than bad.”
He steps forward, closing the door behind himself as he does. He looks at me and I can tell already that the argument is won. He surprises me, though. He puts his keys on the console table and says, “I’ll do this but you need to promise me we can talk afterward.”
“In the morning,” I counter.
“All right,” he says, “in the morning but if you leave my home before we talk, this will be the last time. I’m not kidding, Olivia.”
“Livvy,” I whisper. “Call me Livvy.” Holy crap. I haven’t ever let anyone call me that. It’s just from fantasies. You know, silly schoolgirl romantic fantasies. The hero of those fantasies always called me Livvy. I think I’m going to start crying. I quickly add, “Tomorrow morning we’ll have breakfast and we’ll talk for as long as you like.” I want to scream at him. I want to tell him to be a man and drop his damned pants. Instead, I say, “So since I’m committing to that, why don’t you come over here and enjoy yourself.”
I don’t think I could ever have foreseen a time in my life when having a dick in my mouth would be the most comforting thing imaginable. That’s how it feels for me a few seconds later, though, as I move my lips along his shaft.
I find that I'm almost greedy about the experience. That may seem weird to say, but I can’t think of any other way to describe how I work my mouth up and down on him and moan like I’m slurping on the most fantastic popsicle ever. I moan like my mouth on him is some kind of direct link to my own pussy.
I cup his balls in one hand while I balance myself with my other hand on his leg. I pull my mouth off to dip lower and suck his balls. This is something completely new for me but again, I’ve watched some videos.
It seems to really do the trick though, since Clint starts to groan and growl like an animal. It’s so realistic I almost think I'm going to look up and see some wild creature instead of him. That image is with me when he looks down at me as I lick up and down his shaft. I pause at the pure intensity of his stare.
He swoops me up at that moment. It’s like I’m nothing more than a doll to him, a weightless doll. He brings me to the couch and drops me down and without preamble, spreads my legs, kneels, and puts his mouth on my pussy.
I’m already aroused. This drives me right to the edge. His tongue toys with my clit and I can’t stop myself from yelling, “Oh holy… Oh! Clint! Yes, oh… Yes! Yes!”At least, it feels like I can’t stop myself from yelling. All of that comes out in a hoarse whisper. Not a single cell in my body feels in my control. He thrusts his tongue into me and I howl and it’s silent.
I’m about to be hit by the most explosive orgasm when he pulls back. He picks me up from the couch. I’m trembling so hard my teeth chatter. I feel chills race over my skin.
He holds me with what seems no effort at all. He guides my legs around him and then he slides his hard cock into my very wet and waiting pussy. The first thrust makes me cry out with some actual volume. The next one makes me lose all control. The third one brings my orgasm to the tipping point.
I lose anything resembling a complete sense of reality, of anything beyond pleasure (that is almost pain, actually) as my orgasm grips me. He holds me tightly and thrusts far more rapidly until I feel his body tense as he holds me tightly enough it’s almost scary while he cums.
The whole thing is surreal.
And it isn’t over.
He doesn’t let me go. He just carries me to the bedroom and drops me onto the bed. He climbs on, and things start all over again.
A bit later, my exhaustion draws me to sleep. I’m not really aware of much except how very tired I am. I’m not even really aware of Clint at the moment. He’s just a vague presence by my side as we drift to sleep together.
Around midnight, I woke up to the shower running in the bathroom. I slip out of bed and walk over. I don’t know if I’m actively deciding to keep the adventure going or if I’m afraid the conversation tomorrow will end things so I just want more now. I just don’t know. Whatever the reason, I slip into the shower with him.
But he doesn’t do anything more than wrap his arms around me and kiss me lightly on the head. He gets bodywash in his hand, lathers up a washcloth, and bathes me.
It is the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced in my life, and I feel like I want to cry again.
We finish our shower and head to the front room. He gets some leftovers and pops them in the microwave. We settle down to watch some TV while eating. I curl my legs up on the couch and lean into him.
I don’t understand how I’ve gone from having a panic attack at the thought of being unable to suck this guy off to cuddle with him while watching a late-night infomercial about kitchen gadgets and cracking jokes about the announcer.
“Well, I think we should maybe get some more sleep, huh?” He stretches and stands. I get to my feet beside him.
And then he takes my hand and leads me back to the bedroom.
It’s a scene straight out of a family sitcom. The young couple heading to the marital bed after indulging in late-night makeup sex.
What the hell is running through my head?
We get to the room and I have no answer, but I know that I want to be here not just for the sex anymore. Even after we make love again and I realize everything about sex has changed for me... Even after I realize it’s like my circuits have been rewired so I can handle far more pleasure than I could have imagined before... Even after all that, I know that this is more than some weird physical addiction to a man I loathe.
I know I want to fall asleep at his side and dream of more nights like this one, and I mean watching the infomercial and eating leftovers, not just the orgasms.