I squirm restlessly. We had sex the first time we met. It was the first time I’d ever had an orgasm. I breathlessly admitted that to Jack and he took this as a personal challenge to see how many times he could make me come in a night. Seven was our record. I couldn’t walk the next day and spent the entire time in bed. Jack waited on me with a smirk.
It was amazing, and I’m fairly sure that’s when Anna was created.
My hand creeps down to my stomach, my fingers halting at my waistband. Jack loved going down on me. He’d take any and every opportunity to flip my skirt up or pull my pants down and feast. My fingers slide under the elastic.
His appetite was voracious and his stamina that of an Olympic athlete. He seriously never seemed to get tired. And he was fun. We laughed in bed, something I didn’t even know was a thing before Jack came along. Sex was fun and playful and hot and erotic. It was everything that books said it could be.
And he loved me, or so he said. He’d slide his massive cock into me and rasp out in his sex voice that he “fucking loved me more than life” and that “fucking me was a miracle” and “if he died fucking me, his whole life would be worth it.”
I slip my fingers inside my wet channel.
He was tender when he needed to be and rough when I needed it.
One time I’d gotten home late from a client meeting. I’d been offered an opportunity to draw a mural for a startup company. When I arrived, I found out that I was competing with others and that I could present my idea for free. It made me angry that they were going to waste my time like that. I was pissed off when I came home and not in the mood for sex.
Jack made me tea, like he had earlier today. Then he’d run a bath and shoved me inside the bathroom with my Kindle. I was ordered to not come out until I had wrinkles on the soles of my feet.
When I finally emerged wrapped in two thick terry cloth towels, I found that my favorite pho had been delivered. We ate our soup and noodles, and Jack listened silently while I complained about the whole ordeal. After the bowls were washed and the trash was removed, Jack bent me over his knees and spanked me, driving the anger and irritation.
I turned red and wet. He hoisted me up on the table, spread my legs, and held me down with one powerful hand while he unbuckled his belt and drew his hard cock out.
“Those assholes don’t deserve you. They don’t deserve your talent. They don’t deserve your attention. No one deserves you. Not even me,” he’d declared. Then he proceeded to fuck me mindless.
I thrust my fingers inside of myself, imagining that it is Jack here. That he’s bracing his sweat-slicked body over mine. That his hand is between my legs and his fingers are holding me open for the invasion of the broad head of his cock.
He is telling me how hot I look, how sexy I am, how he can barely breathe when he’s near me because I turn him on so bad.
“Look at how hard you’ve made me,” he’s whispering in that guttural tone, the one that sounded like his throat had been scraped raw. “Look at this.”
I look down to see his enormous shaft, fully engorged and ready to pierce me. I slide my legs open wider while at the same time pursing my lips coquettishly. “I’m sorry. I did that?” I tease.
His lips stretch across his across his teeth. “Yeah, little girl, you did and now you’re going to have to pay for it.”
He drives into me so hard my skull hits the headboard. He slaps a hand against the top of my head and holds me in place. “Oh no, you can’t escape your punishment.”
I don’t know what I did wrong, but I hope I do it again and again and again. He fucks me relentlessly. The memory of his harsh breaths, my short, wispy ones, and the wet suck of my pussy as it stretches to accept his girth are the background music to my lonely orgasm.
“Jack. Jack. Jack,” I chant even though it’s only my fingers and not his and that the only voice in this room is mine. I come, swallowing a keening moan. I withdraw my fingers and lever myself off the bed to wash my hands.
The night is ending as disappointing as it began. I stumble back to bed, exhausted but not satisfied, and fall into a restless sleep.
I wake up to the sound of Anna crying. I bounce out of bed and stumble into the nursery only to find that Jack has beaten me there. Or maybe he was in there all along. His suit coat is gone and the white button-down shirt is draped over the back of the rocker. Clad in only a thin white V-neck T-shirt, Jack awkwardly cradles Anna in his arms.