CHAPTER 7 – DOUBLE TROUBLE #3
I try to do as he commands but it’s hard! Of course, I’ve had anal sex before, but never with a man - only toys. Nonetheless, Jack doesn’t know and he’s gentle. He pushes the dildo, slow and easy, into my ass a few inches.
“That a girl,” he croons. “You’re doing so well. Relax,” he breathes. “Enjoy the stretch.”
I mewl helplessly because it’s so much. Too much. I feel full, filled, and claimed in the best possible way.
“Oh my god,” I moan. “Mmmmm.”
“Yeah you like being double penetrated, don’t you?” the alpha male rasps in my ear. “My dirty little girl loves getting both her holes stretched at once.”
Then, he fucks me with the toy, slow at first, letting me get used to the thick toy in my asshole. As my moans grow louder, he picks up the pace, every thrust making the dildo rock in my bottom as his cock slides in and out of my pussy. I’ve never been so full, so desperate, or so completely owned.
“You like that, sweetheart?” he rasps.
I whimper again, clinging to his broad chest.
“Yes, Daddy. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Never stop.”
Jack fucks me harder then, relentless, and I come again, screaming into his ear.
My body is on fire, every nerve ending lit up, pleasure and filth blurring into something perfect.
My asshole contracts as my pussy dissolves into a series of violent spasms, my breasts bouncing as I’m penetrated two ways.
“Oh!” I shriek. “Oh oh oh!”
Jack loses control then, slamming into me, the sound of flesh on flesh obscene and beautiful. He comes as well, shouting my name, and I feel him pulse inside, thick and hot as virile seed fills my insides. I moan and cry, squeezing him with my pussy, loving the hot load that creams my insides.
“Mmm,” I moan. “Yes.”
We collapse, tangled and sweaty, the dildo lodged in my ass, his cock still inside my pussy. I’m hardly awake, dazed and sated at once.
The older man kisses my temple, tender now. “Are you okay, sweetheart? Was that too much for you?”
“It was a lot,” I say in acknowledgment. “But I’m okay. I promise.”
We lie there, catching our breath, with Jack still deep in my pussy and the dildo stuck in my back hole.
He plays with the toy aimlessly, gently pulling it in and out a smidge, and I moan again from the sensation.
He strokes my hair, absent-mindedly, but it feels so good that I literally begin to purr.
After a minute, he speaks.
“Have you ever been double penetrated before, sweetheart? Or was this your first time?”
I stiffen, just a bit. I want to say no, and in a way, I can say no because I’ve never been double penetrated by a human man. I’ve only done it during cam shows, with one dildo in my pussy and one in my ass. Does that count? I don’t know, and decide to lie.
“No,” I fib with an innocent smile. “Never.”
He grins, and presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Well, you handled it like a pro, sweetheart. I’m very impressed.”
I laugh lightly, but my insides twist. I want to tell him the truth—that I’ve been fucked by every shape and size of toy in the world, that men pay to watch me debase myself, and that I’m not the innocent young girl he thinks I am.
But I can’t. Not yet. Shame twists in my gut because it feels like I’m sinking deeper and deeper into a lie, with no way to get out. What do I do? I can’t think, I can’t move, and I’m paralyzed by shame and indecision. Oh god.
Meanwhile, Jack pulls me in, arms around my waist, chin on my head, with no idea of who I really am.
“You’re young, baby. I’ll teach you everything you need to know in bed,” he growls. “You’re going to be Daddy’s perfect girl.”
I want to believe him. I want to be perfect for him.
But I’m not. Not even close because I’ve already done the most lewd and obscene acts on camera for other men. Oh god, oh god, what have I gotten myself into?
But I can’t tell Jack right now. The lies are thick in my throat and yet I can’t speak. So I close my eyes, let him hold me, and try to forget the truth for just a little longer.
When I wake up, the world has gone quiet and blue. Jack’s arm is still draped over me, heavy and safe, and for a minute I pretend this is my real life: a sunrise, a handsome man’s breathing, the quiet hush of a house where nobody expects anything but for me to be me.
Jack shifts in his sleep, grunting, and pulls me closer. His chin scratches the crown of my head. “You awake, sweetheart?”
“Barely,” I murmur, stirring against his chest. “What time is it?”
He rolls to check his watch, and the motion exposes his heavy pecs, the lines and scars now soft in the morning light. “Six-thirty. You want coffee?”
Oh shit! It’s Saturday morning, and I generally always come home. Sometimes it’s late, but I’ve never stayed out until the next day. Crap, crap, my mom is going to have a stroke. I climb out of bed, pulling on last night’s dress, feeling the aches and slick soreness in all the best ways.
Meanwhile, Jack sits up, covers pooling at his waist, and gives me a look that’s equal parts amusement and hunger. “You heading out?”
I nod, fighting the urge to crawl back in with him. “I need to make it home before my parents start a search party.”
He stands, all six-three of him naked and gorgeous, and wraps his arms around me. We kiss, slow and sleepy, like we’re tasting something that will have to last us a while.
“Text me, sweetheart,” he says, voice low. “I want more of this.”
“I will,” I promise breathlessly.
He grins, all teeth and stubble. “Good girl.”
I make it to my car with my hair wild, dress wrinkled, and no panties (because they’re probably lost somewhere in Jack’s bedroom).
I’m buzzing with happiness, unable to stop smiling even when I almost hit a recycling bin backing out of his driveway.
The streets are empty, my phone is dead, and the only thing buzzing in my head is the memory of his hands on my hips, his voice in my ear, the way we fit together.
Halfway home, the afterglow starts to fade, replaced by cold panic. I rehearse the excuse: Stayed late at the office on a Friday night. Big case. Paralegals have to do as told, we have no choice. If I say it like I believe it, Mom will let it slide. Maybe.
But when I walk in the door, Nancy is in her robe, coffee in hand, and her face is set to maximum concern.
“Where were you?” she asks, voice sharp. “You didn’t call, and you know your father and I don’t like that. You still live under our roof.”
I give her the “long night at the office” spiel, down to the fake eye roll and the woe-is-me about being overworked and underpaid. She narrows her eyes, searching for the flaw in my story, but I keep my expression flat, just a little tired, and very annoyed. She lets it go.
“Go get changed,” she says. “An all-nighter is never easy.”
I smile, grateful for the out, and race up the stairs. My bedroom is untouched—laundry in a heap, makeup scattered across the desk, everything right where I left it. Perfect.
But when I plug my phone into the wall, it immediately starts buzzing with notifications, and my heart drops.
I never should have let it lose power last night, but the fact is that I was too caught up in Jack.
In his presence, his scent, and most of all, his lovemaking.
Sure enough, when I stare at the screen, there’s a barrage of missed calls from Mom, multiple texts from Tara, and, at the bottom, a camming site reminder:
“SHOWTIME: Your premium fans are waiting.”
“SHOWTIME: Five minutes until live.”
“SHOWTIME: You have not logged in. Your fans are waiting.”
“SHOWTIME: A penalty will be assessed. Repeated violations will be reviewed by our team.”
I stare at the screen, heart sinking as realization hits me hard. I had a scheduled performance last night, and I completely forgot. This is the first time I’ve ever missed a show, and there are probably angry DMs, refund requests, maybe even a drop in subscribers. Oh shit.
I set the phone face-down and flop onto the bed.
My body feels spent, my thighs sore, my lips bruised.
I close my eyes and run my tongue over them, tasting the faintest hint of Jack.
I remember the way he touched me—real, rough, not for anyone but us.
It’s so much better than any show, any chatroom.
The difference is laughable, and my mood lifts because what’s the camming in comparison with an actual, live alpha male?
The truth is that there is no comparison whatsoever.
Jack makes me feel seen on a human scale, whereas the other men are mere taps on a keyboard.
I lie there for a long time, letting my mind drift over the competing narratives.
On the one hand: a handsome alpha male who makes love to me in real life, my curves sizzling with pleasure.
On the other: customers whom I don’t actually know, paying money to see me perform lewd acts in my bedroom.
Again, there’s no comparison whatsoever, and I sit up, resolute.
So what if I missed a session? I’ve made so much money for the site that they’re not going to kick me off just like that.
Plus, my customers can wait. They’ve seen enough of me as is, and there are tons of saved videos on-line that they can pay to access.
Right now, I don’t want to share myself with strangers.
I want to keep this, all of it, just for Jack.
With that, I go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and change into PJs.
It’s 7 a.m. now, and most of the world is just waking up and taking their first sip of coffee.
But I fall into my bed, the comforter pulled up to my chin, and when I dream, I dream of flying: of being carried, held up, with a pair of strong, safe arms wrapped around me.