Chapter 3 - Willow
My alarm blasts me awake from a delicious dream of Mike fucking me while I have another guy’s cock in my mouth.
Groaning, I pick up my phone and blink the sleep from my eyes so I can check my messages.
It’s the first thing I do every morning since Mike and I started flirting constantly.
But I’m getting impatient. I want to fuck him again. Bad.
It’s been over two weeks of texts and it’s the longest sexual flirting I’ve done with anyone since Oscar-the-Slimeball cheated on me – AND I haven’t even tried to orgasm all this time.
I’m afraid I’ll be too in my head again.
I keep hoping he’ll invite me over for a fuck, so I’ve just been keeping myself on edge. Why isn’t he inviting me over?
I’ve been worried that he’ll get bored with me since he’s so much older, but he doesn’t seem to be, and we had some enjoyable sexting that didn’t end with any release.
I think it’s time to make a move. Hell, if he rejects me, then at least I’ll know he isn’t interested in anything more than sexy flirting.
I roll out of bed and get up to take a shower before work.
I don’t dislike my job, and being a barista has its enjoyable moments.
My coworkers are great, but it feels like I’ve taken a step back in life.
Before I broke up with Oliver-the-Douche, I had a job offer to be a resident services coordinator at an assisted-living facility.
But before I accepted the offer, my then-boyfriend, Oliver, played hide the salami with a woman he met at a bar and everything went to shit.
After I dug myself out of the hole I was in, two months had passed and all I felt mentally capable of doing was barista work because it’s what I did for years.
During college, I worked at a local coffee shop and my old boss jumped at the chance to have me back.
Now I’ve lost my confidence, and I don’t know what the hell I want to do with my life.
I’m not sure I can handle the stress of social work.
Look at what happened when my boyfriend cheated on me.
Just another thing my therapist and I are working on.
It’s Thanksgiving next week and the coffee shop is busy.
There’s been a line for pumpkin spice lattes that extends halfway to the door most of the morning.
When there’s a pause, I grab a washcloth and clean the counter, lost in thought and counting down the hours until closing.
I might head over to Alice’s and see if she can help me figure out what to do about Mike.
I need the perfect way to get him to fuck me again—preferably before Thanksgiving, because I’m spending the long weekend over at my parents’ house like I do every year.
My parents are kind of assholes, and I don’t want to go.
But it’s free food, and I rarely see them, so it always feels like it’s the right thing to do.
When my shift is over, there’s a voice message from my mother asking me to call her, and I snicker at the perfect timing.
Right when I’m thinking of going over there, she wants to talk.
I’m assuming it’s to discuss details about me cooking something for Thanksgiving, so I dial her as soon as I get to the bus stop.
It’s windy and dark, and I wrap my coat around me tighter as the phone rings on her end.
When she picks up, I greet her in my best fake-cheerful voice. “Hi Mom!”
She doesn’t sound enthused. “Willow, hello.”
Wow, her tone’s weird, but it might be a bad connection. There’s a dead silence, so I prompt her. “Uh, you wanted me to call?”
“Yes. I was wondering if you would house sit over Thanksgiving. Your father and I booked a long weekend at a romantic resort.”
My mouth pops open, but she keeps talking.
“We need to get out of town and relax, but someone has to feed the fish and bring in some packages I ordered.”
So we’re not doing dinner like usual? I’m confused and a little hurt. It’s not like I want to go, but I also don’t want to sit at home all alone on Thanksgiving.
My thoughts are a jumble, but if I’m not having Thanksgiving with them, I might as well house sit. Their place is bigger and a lot nicer than my shitty apartment. I sigh and suck it up. “Sure, Mom. I can do that.”
“Excellent. I’m sure we can trust you with the house while we’re gone.”
What the hell, of course she can trust me! What am I, five?
I’m about to gripe at her, but she continues. “I’ll send you our travel plans by email. Talk to you later.”
She hangs up the phone, and I pull it from my ear and stare at it.
Well, shit, now I really do need to fuck Mike as soon as possible.
Being his mindless toy will make me forget about my asshole parents so maybe I can enjoy my frozen pizza on Thanksgiving – the fuck if I’m cooking anything elaborate just for myself.
The bus arrives, and as I get on, I stew about Thanksgiving. Who wants to spend it alone? I’m an introvert, but I enjoy having something to do on holidays. I wonder what Alice is doing. Maybe I can tag along with her.
Wait...
A burst of excitement makes my heart skip. I’ve got the perfect plan. My hands are shaking as I type a message to Mike.
Willow:
Want to house sit with me at my parents’ house over Thanksgiving and have freeuse of me?
There, sent. No taking it back now.
Oh God, he saw my message. Those three dots are a good sign, right? It’s not a quick “no.” I have to close my eyes and take deep breaths. I’m so wound up that when I hear my phone ding, I nearly drop it trying to open the message.
Mike:
Sounds tempting. Are you ready to be a good little freeuse slut again for me?
Hell to the fuck yes! I do a little dance in my seat right there on the bus. I’ll have a couple of days with him. I feel like I’ve won the lottery, and now I have something to look forward to.
We spend the rest of my bus ride texting to hash out the details of the freeuse agreement. For the days we’re at my parents’ house, I’m his toy to use unless I say my safeword, which he makes me choose; I tell him it’s the word ‘lime,’ because a woman on the bus is wearing a lime colored t-shirt.
By the time I’m in bed later, it’s hard to fall asleep. My entire body feels like it’s crawling with electricity and I desperately want to touch myself and see if I can come on my own again, but I also want to hold out. It’s just one more week. I can make it, right?
I get to my parents’ house the day before Thanksgiving, just in time for them to head to the airport for their romantic getaway.
They left me some money to buy groceries, so I borrow their car to go shopping.
I snatch up one of the last pumpkin pies in the deli and hunt for the smallest fresh turkey I can find. No frozen pizza for me!
I plan to plop a container of pre-made mashed potatoes into a casserole dish and pretend I made them.
Even the canned gravy can be spruced up with some real turkey flavoring.
Mike won’t know that it came from a can—or that’s my hope.
Hell, I’m not even sure I can cook a turkey.
I looked up online how to do it and it doesn’t seem too difficult.
Shit, I better get some frozen pizzas after all, in case this turns into a disaster.
When I wake up Thanksgiving morning, I’m in the guest bedroom of my parents’ house.
I could say it’s my old bedroom, but when I moved out, they gutted it and re-did everything.
Nothing of my old self is left, and it’s bland with no personality.
Now it’s just a spacious room decorated in light blue, with a queen-sized bed and plush beige carpet.
A glance at the clock spurs me to get up.
I don’t have enough time to lounge around all day.
I want to spend a little extra time on getting ready, and then I have plenty to do in the kitchen.
After my shower, I blow dry my hair and keep the styling to a minimum so it’ll be extra silky.
I go light on my makeup as well. I want a natural look.
Once I’m done, I put on my sexiest black bra and panties, and a silky red dress that nips at the waist and has a full skirt that ends at the knees.
I want to be comfortable, but also make him want to fuck me.
It’s not every day I get to have a freeuse fuck fest with the hottest guy I’ve met in forever.
Giving myself a final critical look in the mirror, I decide to put my hair in a ponytail.
Once that’s done, I look perfect. Smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles in my dress, I imagine Mike bending me over the table and pinning me to it so I’m unable to do anything but submit to him.
He’ll lift my skirt, move my panties to the side, and fuck me hard.
A wave of desire rushes over me and I close my eyes as I feel my nipples ache. Fuck, I wish he was here already.
I shove the thought away. I need to be patient.
He’ll be here soon enough, and we’ll have a nice dinner, and then he’ll ravish me.
Before I leave the bedroom, I put on a pair of black ballet flats.
I’d love to wear some fuck-me high heels, but I’m a sensible girl and I’m not going to be in the kitchen wearing those safety hazards.
Shit, I hope I can come again. What if that was a fluke?
I should have tried again on my own, but if that hadn’t worked, then tonight could be terrible.
How much I’m wound up over the thought of having sex again and worrying about my orgasm tells me I need to chill out.
It’s less likely to happen if I don’t relax.
If I don’t orgasm this weekend, it won’t be the end of the world.
But I hope I do.
As I walk through the house, I imagine all the ways Mike could fuck me – the couch in the living room, the floor in front of the fireplace, bent over the table….
Okay, I need to focus. I’m overheating, so I step out onto the back porch to cool off before starting the turkey. It’s cold outside, so I only stay a minute before I’m back inside and tying an apron around my waist to keep my dress clean.
When the turkey is in the oven, I unlock the front door and text Mike that he can let himself in when he gets here. If he’s anything like me, he’ll still knock or ring the doorbell. It’s weird to just waltz into a stranger’s house.
Two hours later, I’ve got all the food in baking dishes and prepped, and the empty packages buried deep in the trash and recycling so no one will accidentally see the empty gravy can.
I’m jittery from anticipation, so I dig around in the pantry and find a can of olives and some pickles.
I’m prepping a relish tray when I sense someone behind me.
Looking over my shoulder, I spot Mike and my pussy contracts in pure, unadulterated lust. I stare at the object of my wet dreams—Mr. Perfect Dom—standing there, all broad shouldered and muscular.
It might be because I’m turned on, but he’s sexier than I remembered from Halloween.
He’s wearing blue jeans that hug his muscular thighs, and a dark green shirt that sets off his eyes.
I barely have time to smile at him before he’s right behind me, pushing my shoulder to the counter.
Ohhh, wow. We’re doing this now? When he trails his fingers up the skirt of my dress and strokes my pussy through my panties, all my thoughts evaporate as my nerve endings hum to life. Mmm, yeah, right now is perfect.
Before I can gather my thoughts, he yanks my panties down, and I step out of them and widen my stance.
The feel of his hand on my skin is electric and I’m instantly wet.
When his fingers slip into my slick folds, I gasp and rise onto my toes.
Pleasure ripples from my core and I fight the urge to grind against his hand.
This is going to be a fabulous Thanksgiving.