Chapter 1 #3
I can’t move, can’t find my voice.
Andrew Harding’s staring at my pussy.
My arousal’s leaking out of me slowly, dripping down my skin.
'Already spillin’ for me. No manners, no shame.’
‘Pussy’s out here embarrassin’ itself… made to be spread out like this.’
‘Bet no one ever took the fuckin’ time to eat it right.’
And no one’s ever talked about me like that.
He’s looking at the one thing I’ve always been insecure about, and he’s excited.
He says wide open, gaping, loose as fuck, and now it means everything, finally, made just for me. These words and phrases were rewritten as they left his lips. Same letters, new sound.
I remember asking him, ‘You want this? You really… want me?’
And he smirks when he says, ‘You see me backin’ off?’
At first, I think it's all bullshit. Pretty words he tells girls to make them feel better about the ugliest parts of themselves. But then that same mouth lowers between my thighs and traces his lips around my opening.
‘In your text, you called yourself a wide-open whore.
'That 'cause somebody else said it first?'
I don't have to answer, it's splashed in my eyes.
‘Nah—whore's just a word scared men say when they can't handle a woman who knows what she wants.' He lifts a brow. 'So you gonna show me what you want, sweetheart?' He drags his lips again. 'C'mon, I'm the lucky son-of-a-bitch, show me why.'
Then? I believe his every word, and with two hands, I hold myself open wider for him. Because I want him to see it all, to watch him keep looking at me.
And when his tongue sinks inside me, it’s not talk anymore. Not when he’s wrapping his lips around my pussy like I’m a god instead of garbage.
‘That’s it, sweetheart.’ His thumbs trace around my parted pussy, stroking the creases as his tongue strokes the center of me.
‘Wide open and demanding. You ain’t scared anymore, are you?
’ He’s kissing my thigh, licking up the wet mess spillin’ out of me, sliding his tongue between my folds, sucking at the rim, kissing every part of me I used to hide.
He’s down there, treating my pussy like it’s got feelings, spending time with it, giving it attention, making it feel seen before he ruins it.
‘Yeah—this pussy’s way past some fuckboy’s league. Don’t ever forget.’
Outside this room, the TV’s screaming through the wall—sports announcers talking about the fumble, crowd yelling—while I’m in shaking from every flick of pleasure.
He flips me until I’m on all fours, face down, knees wide, soaking wet and open for him. For Andrew fucking Harding.
A guy every girl wants. Always the charmer. Always the good guy.
He has my ass cheeks spread, lips wrapped around my pussy, long, dragging licks from clit up into my opening—again and again.
Until the orgasm slams into me. Hot and helpless, I’m coming for him, soaking his mouth, his chin.
He doesn’t back away, but buries himself deeper, eating my climax, every last drop.
Then he’s holding me in his hand, stroking my pussy, a filthy fantasy come to life, using my cum and his saliva to lube me, saying filthy things that make me fist the sheets and breathe wet into the mattress.
He never takes off his clothes.
Just unzips. Cock out. Condom. That’s it.
He pushes into my asshole slowly, has his other hand circling my clit, distracting me from the burn. I’m biting the bed, eyes wet, breath shallow as he slides deeper and deeper until he bottoms out.
His hand slips off my clit, only to shove four fingers back inside me, grinding them in and out, raking up the pleasure, the aftershocks. Holy shit—I never been so full.
‘Fuck… this pussy you got, nothin' like it… ’ His hand curls deep inside me, gripping tight. ‘Can’t fuckin’ get over it, sweetheart.’
Then he drags me up and down his thick cock.
And when he hits the pace, I’m fucking shattering on him, crying into the mattress, whole body buzzing, every thrust breaking me open, his grip knocking the breath out of me.
It’s both a pleasure and pain I’d never felt before but always wanted.
A pleasure and pain so intense, I'm trying to run from it.
So he yanks me upright, back flush to his chest, his cock to the hilt. He doesn’t stop grinding into me. I’m split wide, stuffed full, tears spilling down my cheeks, with his breath hot in my ear. ‘This what you asked for, yeah? You begged for a fuckin’ asshole to fuck you in the asshole.’
And I’m nodding, crying, because he’s everything I ever wanted.
This is everything I’ve ever wanted.
He grabs my tit, squeezing hard as he drives back in.
‘Too much for you?’
I shake my head.
‘You gonna say somethin’ if it is, right?’
I nod.
‘Then stop cryin’, eyes on the fuckin’ bed, and lemme finish what you started.’ He shoves me forward, my hands hit the mattress again, and he follows me down, fingers stroking my clit until I break. Until I’m coming so hard I forget where the fuck I am.
He fucks me through it, drawing out every last wave until I’m nothing. Until I’m limp and shaking and staring at the bed.
‘There… feelin’ that now, huh?’ he murmurs in my ear, moving my hair off my shoulder. ‘That do it for you, sweetheart?’
When I nod, he stands upright, his chest leaving my spine.
Then both his dick and his hand leave me at the same time.
I hear the snap of the condom. The zipper.
The belt buckle. ‘Here’s your final order from the asshole.
’ He says it colder that time—sarcastic.
He’s done, fantasy over, and he wants nothing to do with me.
‘Eyes on the fuckin’ bed ‘til I’m out that door.
Not on me. Not anymore. We’re not friends.
We’re not fuckin’ cool. You gave that up for a one-time fuck. ’
Then he was gone, leaving me on my knees, staring at the bed, chest heaving.
But I walked away from that night changed.
I walked away thinking:
Maybe my body isn't the problem.
Maybe the way it's been treated was.
Not saying he saved me, but he reminded me what was already mine.
I never saw Andrew Harding again after that.
He dropped from our circle of friends, changed his number, disappeared.
Andrew Harding, the golden boy. The guy who never copped a stare or a feel, never made a joke about tits or ass, never stepped over the line, always made sure everyone was happy.
The same guy who shoved his fingers inside my panties in a friend’s kitchen, spit in my mouth, buried his tongue in my pussy, and fucked me in the ass so good my bones gave out.
We all thought we knew Andrew Harding… but no one does.
We all believed we had him, even for a moment… but none of us did.
At times, each of us thought we were special, swearing we were the ones who broke open his chest, stole his heart, and made him fall in love.
We were all wrong. Every time. But we were all changed after him.
What he gave was magic. What he kept was himself.
And even though every one of us got a different Andrew, he said the same thing to us all:
‘That do it for you?’”