Dating : The Way You Look When I’m Inside You

I love the look in your eyes right now, with you inches away from taking my cock in your mouth. We’re about to do something you told me couldn’t happen again, despite everything we did two weeks ago. That look — worried, scared, helpless — says you still know it’s wrong. A betrayal. Crossing lines — again — you swore you’d never cross.

It’s a look that says you’re going to do it anyway, that you’re lost to your need.

A look that says you’re mine, despite that little gold ring on your finger.

I’ve been here before, watching a wife wrap delicate fingers around a cock that doesn’t belong to her husband, my heart pounding as I see her wedding band slide across the veiny skin of another man, guiding his shaft past her warm red lips.

But this time, I’m on a different side of the equation.

This time, my heart pounds when I see your wedding band and know he bought it for you. He put it on your finger. He expected it to keep you bound to him forever.

He has no idea what your mouth is doing right now, but I do.

I look down at you as you extend your tongue and lower my cock onto it. You hold your tongue still and move my tip around and around with your hand. Your eyes are focused on nothing but my cock until suddenly your gaze rises up to meet mine and I see all hint of worry, doubt, and guilt fade away as I disappear into your mouth.

You look me in the eyes the whole time I’m in your mouth. At first, I let you do everything, sucking and licking on the top part of my shaft as you stroke the lower half and massage my balls. After a couple of minutes, though, I want more control.

So I grab both sides of your pretty little head and you giggle around my cock because you know I’m going to use your skull as I see fit.

“Such a good girl,” I say right before using you like the perfect little slut you are.

You grunt and you moan and you whimper as I pull you into me, forcing the head of my cock into your throat. Tears form at the edges of your eyes as I push you away, pull you close, push you away, over and over and over again and I tell you what you already know.

“You’re mine. My filthy whore. My pathetic little cum dumpster.”

You giggle again.

I use you until I’m almost ready to come, holding your head so tightly and slamming into you so roughly it has to be painful for you. It’s almost too much for you — almost — but I know you want this as much as I do. If you had your way you’d do nothing but suck my cock all goddamn day.

But I have other plans.

I stop moments away from filling your throat and say, “Bed. Now.”

You don’t hesitate, even though it’s the bed you share with him. The bed where tonight he will lie down next to you and wonder why you seem so tired. The bed where he has failed to satisfy you for quite some time.

The bed where I will take what he thinks belongs to him and give you what you need.

You lie back and spread your legs, opening yourself to me, not shy about what you want and where you want it. You pull apart your slick folds, rubbing yourself and moaning and I can barely make out what you say.

“Fuck me, Daddy.”

I smile, looking at the mess you’re making on your bed. His bed. You know I’m the one who’s supposed to give the orders around here but I don’t mind. The scent of your sex intoxicates me, fills the room, and I wonder if he’ll smell it when he gets home.

I hope he does.

And still, after all of this, after you lying there with your cunt exposed, your fingers pointing the way, and you telling your Daddy to fuck you, there’s that look again. The worried, pathetic, guilty look of a woman betraying words spoken to a man years ago because she can’t get enough of the man who’s seconds away from plunging inside her.

A look that says you’re not quite sure you want me to do what I am most definitely going to do.

I’d stop if you told me to. I’d stop if I thought you genuinely didn’t want this. If I thought your guilt tomorrow would outweigh the pleasure you’re going to have right now.

Yes, I’m in control. Yes, I get what I want. Yes, you’re my little fuck toy.

But what I want most of all is your happiness. What I want most of all is for you to want this again and again and again. What I want most of all is for you to look at me like you admire me, respect me, want me more than you want to remain faithful to a man who you love but who doesn’t get you like I get you.

What I want most of all is you. The you that you really are. The you that you want to be.

You still look unsure, but when I get close you grab my cock and guide it into your warmth. Into your wetness. Into you.

I call you names — horrible, degrading names — and you come twice before I’m ready. I’ll be nice to you later, sweet even, and I’ll thank you for being who you are, and for giving me so much of you. But for now, you need to feel like all you are is a vessel for my pleasure even as your own washes over you in waves.

“I’m close,” I say, both because it’s true and to give you a chance to stop something else I’m not sure you want to happen.

Your eyes say you’re scared again, uneasy again, but your legs wrapping around me so that I couldn’t pull out if I tried tell a different story.

So I fill you up, and your eyes go wide, and you’re scared as shit and not sure about this anymore.

But you come one last time, and all that exists in the whole wide world is one being made of two. Two minds finding each other after decades of searching for something they couldn’t even define.

As the last little bit of me pumps into you and you’re coming back down from the high of your climax, I whisper something I’ve never said to you before. Just three little words overflowing with truth but which we’ve both avoided saying.

And you say them back, with your eyes open and clear and lacking any sign of doubt, fear, or guilt.

When we’re finished, when my cum is leaking out of you onto bedsheets that’ll need to be washed before he gets home, I play with your hair. You’re drifting, falling asleep. You ask me if I’ll make sure you don’t sleep too long, that you’ll get up in time to take care of things so he doesn’t get his heart broken. And of course, I will.

I always take care of what’s mine.

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