Tag Archives: cheating
When I’m not exactly in the mood, all she has to do is say “no.”
It makes so little sense. I mean, it’s actually silly. I’m not touching her, I’m tired and sore and grumpy and she takes my hand and puts it on her breast which is a reasonable form of seduction. When I squeeze said breasts she pushes my hand away.
“No,” she says in that slightly too serious way.
It’s not even remotely plausible. She just put my hand on her breast! No?
She’s aware. She holds the magnet opposite disire. She may have even thought she came up with this game.
Still, I’m hard. Not from the breast, but from the “no.”
There are other words that with do that. Weighty words. A variety of them, actually. The common denominator is that they are all forbidden.
I write dirty stories here, but the stories in my head are far dirtier. The fetish I seem to have is that it doesn’t matter what we are doing, what I’m writing about, what plot or gimmick, it just has to be “bad.”
Now, I’m a forward thinking fellow. To say my friends and lovers are liberal is a serious understatement. We accept so much as long as it is consensual and safe (or at least all parties are aware of the risk.) Still this “wrongness” this “dirtiness” is like a drug. There doesn’t need to be any reality to this forbiddenness, in fact I don’t want anything that’s really wrong. Cheating repulses me, consent is paramount to my arousal in many ways, for all the little girl games I’ve played the idea of anyone underage is horrifying, hell I don’t even flirt with co-workers, still that need for the forbidden is so strong even the lightest hint of it is enough to drive me mad.
And so it goes.
They broke up on the train.
Trains push his memories to the surface. All the trips into the country as a child. All the trees passing by, leaves changing to red and gold.
The city fades fast, faster then you can imagine. It is so small compared to the stretches of country to the Jersey Shore, to Upstate, to Boston and Maryland and DC.
Looking at Maggie, he could see her fighting her childhood memories. At least he wanted to think she was fighting them, hoping they were there to be fought. She had her nose in a notebook, making a list of things to do.
They were going to Maggie’s parents’ house because Maggie’s father was sick. He had a heart attack, but it looked like he was going to be alright. She had a big Irish family and it was expected that a good daughter would come home in a time like this. So Maggie and her boyfriend Jack got on a train from New York to Virginia.
Maggie and Jack had been living together for three years. They had been dating for four and known each other since college six years ago. She was going for her BA in Fine Arts and he was going for his Masters in English back then.
She had their life planned out. She had a good steady job and he did freelance work. They had a nice apartment, which he loved, but she wanted to move out to the country soon. She wanted to get married, but he hadn’t asked her yet. She had plans and he wasn’t playing along. She didn’t break up with him because she had already put too much time into him. He didn’t break up with her because he was lazy and didn’t like confrontation.
There was something about the trip that started pushing Jack’s buttons from the start. They were taking the train out to her parents’ house and there was this air of expectance. She expected him to go, to be excited, to ask her to marry him, to want kids, to want a better job… but none of that was going to happen and both of them were starting to realize it.
A third of the way there after arguing over signing another lease for the apartment she said “If you don’t want to grow as a couple then maybe we should just break up.”
It wasn’t a threat, it was something that people said in the heat of the moment, but it just pushed Jack over the edge.
“Yeah. We should. This relationship is a joke. You don’t love me; you just need someone to help you afford a mortgage.”
And she cracked. She cried. There was no putting things back together.
For the next hour they agreed on things. Jack would be nice for the three day weekend with Maggie’s parents. They would take care of the breakup when they got back. And then like a switch when they got to their stop Maggie fixed her makeup and was back to herself.
They entered the big old house just after 4pm. It was an old southern house with white pillars outside and a big porch and a huge white door.
They entered to find silence and emptiness. Walking up the staircase they came to a long hall. Pictures hung along the walls, old school pictures of Maggie and her sisters Molly and Megan. Three smiling girls with white skin and black hair and matching skirts and sweaters. Three princesses at Halloween. Three girls on horses.
Jack followed Maggie as she navigated pass a dozen doors and finally found her old room. Jack was a stranger in this place. He was not a Smith.
Maggie’s room was white walled, filled with 2-foot boxes in one corner, an uncomfortable looking bed made up with yellow sheets and a pink and yellow quilt. One wall was all white bookshelves, but they were only a quarter filled. On one wall hung a large framed sketch of Maggie. He remembered her sitting in front of the mirror, sketching herself for her final project in still life, back in college.
In that frame was Maggie, the girl. Quiet in class, but boisterous when she was excited. Level headed, list making, but deep down an artist. Deep down filled with the same curiosity that Jack was filled with. Curiosity about books, history, art… and sex. The more he remembered their college years the more he realized that the Maggie he knew was gone.
When did she start longing for mediocre satisfaction? When did she stop needing to explore and started needing a bigger house, a better job, some mythical security she constantly talked about. When did she put her paints and her charcoal and her pads and canvas in her parents’ basement to go untouched?
The same time she started thinking of sex as a duty and rolling her eyes at the mere mention of sexual adventure. Sex was just relieving them both of some energy or maybe a way for her to get him to leave her alone so she could get enough sleep to wake up at 5 in the morning to jog.
She sighed and put her bags down.
“Listen, you can stay here. I will go to the hospital. Then everyone will come back for dinner. I know you don’t want to be here… but let’s just do this and then we can get back and…” she just trailed off. A horn honked outside and she looked out the window.
“That’s my aunt. Unpack, ok?”
Jack nodded. “I like your family. This weekend will be fine. Go check on your father, make sure he is alright.”
She looked at him, unsure if a hug was still ok. Then she just turned around and left.
He unpacked, he looked around. He ended up on the bed, drifting off into a nap. The train ride, the fight, all of it melted away.
When he awoke in darkness. He could hear people downstairs and smell the warm homey smells of chicken and potatoes.
He saw movement, the door opened and closed.
“Hey. You ok? Sorry I fell asleep… the fight and everything…”
“I don’t think your talking to the right Smith girl, mister.”
The light came on and that’s when he found out Maggie’s little sister grew up.
She was Maggie, but different. Shorter, but only slightly. Bustier, a little more hip, a little more ass. Same nose, same ears, fuller lips. Her eyes were blue, while Maggie’s where green.
The last time he saw her it was about four years ago, she had just turned fifteen. Sitting up fully he couldn’t quiet comprehend that it was the same person. Molly the Mole, skinned knee tomboy who made gagging sounds if she saw him kissing her sister.
The first thing he noticed was a red and black nautical star tattoo between her neck and her breasts, half hidden by her white cotton tank top. Half perfect black and red ink on her white skin, half dark shadow under the thin cotton.
She squirmed under his eyes. “Thanks.” Her arms came up and she folded them over her breasts. She was trying not to smile.
“So you two having a fight?”
“Um. No. Not really. Just an argument. Sort of.” He knew he had to look away from her, but he couldn’t. It was like looking at all the missing parts of Maggie, melted into a younger curvier tighter form. He walked over to the window and looked out at the greens and the grays.
She came into the room and walked to the bookshelf, looking at the remaining books, letting her finger drift over the spines.
“I was wondering what you would look like now,” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.
“Oh? Do I look different?”
He looked over to her and she nodded. “You look old, but basically the same. You look better with your hair short. Your hair looked pretty dumb long. Plus those glasses are better, the dark frames. You’re still ugly, though.” There was the smile, the wicked brat smile. In those eyes was pure curiosity.
“I always thought you had
a crush on me.”
She let out a laugh, but she blushed.
“You wish.” she said, but eyed him and smiled.
He looked at her from the side now. It was like a lecture on the effects of puberty. At fifteen she was all legs and arms and wild nervous energy. At nineteen she was all hips and tits and calm sultry sex.
He noticed other tattoos, one on her wrist, this one just a black star. He could see the shadow of something on her back, it was large and not one of those little designs girls get right at their tailbone, this was long and it came up from around her butt to the middle of her back.
He stood up and moved closer to her, slowly and she tensed. She was still facing the books, pretending not to be curious about what he was going to do next. He walked behind her, moved closer until he was two feet away. He looked at the books, he looked at her neck, he looked at her eye as she turned her head to look at him.
“You got a tattoo on your back, too?”
She nodded, still facing her body away from him, but looking at him from over her shoulder.
He moved in and put his hands on her waist. She froze. He touched the edges of her thin shirt.
“Can I see?”
She swallowed and nodded. Their eyes met. Curiosity, lust.
He pulled up her shirt slowly and saw that there where two jet black f-hole, like the ones on a violin or cello. It was a lot of ink, a lot of time. He touched the edge of it and he could feel raised scarred skin.
Her back was smooth and her ass curved out from just below his hand.
“Wow. You got all this done in the last year?”
She moved forward, pulling her shirt out of his grip.
“Yeah. I was dating a tattoo artist for a while.”
He took her hand and looked at the tattoo on her wrist.
“Did they hurt?”
She smile. “That’s the best part.”
A voice from downstairs said “Kids… dinner.”
Dinner was huge and southern. Jack had forgotten that people ate like that. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes, greens and a million other things. Everyone was so busy catching up with Maggie and Molly, who had been off at Art School and also with Maggie’s older sister who had just had twins that no one really bothered talking to Jack, which was just the way he liked it.
Molly watched him though. Watched him like a cat watches a bird. It was a very different look then the fifteen year old awkward kid gave him four years ago.
When it was over Maggie said goodnight to all and went upstairs with Jack, got undressed without looking at him and then went to bed.
Jack laid there, uncomfortable because of the small bed and not really wanting to be too close to Maggie. He found himself thinking of Molly every time he closed his eyes. The way she looked in that white tank top, tough and sexy. He wanted to know what those tattoos looked like up close. What it felt like to trace them with his tongue.
Thoughts like that and the moonlight coming in from the window kept him up half the night. It seemed like only minutes, but the next time he opened his eyes it was morning. He awoke to feel the familiar sensation of Maggie next to him. He had turned around to face her in the night and now he was spooning her, with his arm around her.
She felt warm, she smelt good. Her ass against him made him stir inside. Without really realizing, his hand came up to cup her breast. It was such a natural thing.
She sighed and pushes his arm away.
“Yeah, right.” She said with disgust.
She sat up and climbed over him.
“Go back to bed, I’m taking a shower. Everyone is going to go to church in an hour. I know you don’t want to do that, so I’ll probably see you at lunch.”
She looked him in the eyes.
He nodded. He was still hard under the warm sheets. Memories, warm blanket comfort and the smell of her hair on the pillow made his mind swim. If he just relaxed he could fall back asleep. And then there was nothing.
He awoke to the sound of the door closing.
The room was too bright, the sun coming in through the half opened curtains. He was groggy, as only waking up from oversleeping can make you. The room was a dull white blur, then the blinds were closed and the curtains pulled shut so that the light filtered through the rust colored fabric, making the room dull yellow and red.
Then Maggie slipped into bed. Her arms around him, her lips on his neck. He pushed her hair back and kissed her. Her lips felt soft, there was some sweet lip gloss… and then he opened his eyes wider and saw who was really in bed with him.
There was Molly. There was Molly in her white tank top.
“Hello mister bedhead.”
He tried to comprehend what was going on.
Then Molly’s lips are on his again and he got the rush of the taste of a new mouth. Then Molly, squirming and turning around, and her soft round ass is against him. His arms are around her and they’re spooning. His mouth is on her neck and his hands are on her hips.
It is an interesting thing when you are so used to one person’s body, your hands remember where to go on them, your body understands how you are supposed to fit together, but now he was lost in this new geography. Her lips were too hot and soft, her kisses were too rough, her breasts too big, too heavy, too perfect.
Her hips flared out, giving him something to really hold on to when he pulled her against him. Her ass was soft and cool and when he hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and pulled them down, he slipped right between her cheeks and it was perfection.
She moved her head back as he moved forward and he was lost in her kiss again. She arched her whole body against him and her lips were on his ear, sucking, then biting, then whispering.
“Do you want to fuck me?”
Jack grunted and pulled at her hips roughly. His cock touching wetness and heat as it rubbed between her legs.
“You have to say it. I like to hear it.”
Her voice was steady, but wanton. It was new, not the silent simple sex Jack was used to. Jack liked this.
“Damn,” he groaned into her neck. “I want to fuck you… so badly.”
His hand squeezed her breast once more and then moved down to between her legs. He groaned again when he felt smoothness where he expected coarse hair. Then his fingers felt wet heat. Silk softness, perfect folds that made him growl.
As his finger passed over her lips and one finger slipped into her she pushed her ass back against him.
“I want you to go down on me.” She gasped, pushing his hand away and laying on her back.
Jack looked down at her, her face was red and a red blush ran down her neck and on her chest where his unshaven face rubbed against her. He went to push her shirt off, but instead smiled.
“Take off your shirt. I want to see your tits.”
She smiled wickedly and pulled off her shirt and then unhooked her bra and took that off.
He saw that red and black star on her chest and lower down another tattoo… a heart on fire with a gold crown above it, right over her heart.
He moved until he was kneeling between her open legs, then he moved down and kissed her neck again, then traced his tongue around the slightly raised thick black lines of each tattoo on her chest. She arched her hips and her breath caught.
He kissed down her chest and stomach until he got between her legs. By now she was growling and purring.
One lick and he was addicted. Her body moved like a snake as he licked at her and she whined and gasped.
“More.. fuck. Make me come.”
He licked her lips teasing and bit the tight skin of her thigh, then he moved in circling her clit and flicking it and he moved one hand up to slip one finger into her.
r />That was all it took. Fucking her with his finger and licking her made her body buck and made her grab the pillow behind her and squeeze it as she came hard.
Jack sat up, watching her come down from her amazing orgasm. He had never seen a woman come that hard. Maggie took a half an hour of work.. sometimes even a vibrator.
She smiled and looked into his eyes and then turned to look at the clock.
“Fuck, we only have 20 more minutes…”
She pushed him away and stood up, looking at him wickedly.
“I guess I got to make you come fast… stand up.”
He did and she kissed him hard, licking his bottom lip and tasting herself on him.
“What gets you off? You want to fuck me from behind? Want me to get on top and ride you? I want to make you get off hard.” She said all these things into his ear as she reached down and gripped his cock tightly.
Really, he didn’t even know. He was so used to getting what ever sad sex Maggie would give him he didn’t know what he really want. He had never been with someone so forward.
“You like that this is dirty? That my sister could come home any minute?” She whispered, jerking him off.
“You like that I am fucking 10 years younger then you?”
“You want me to be a little girl for you? I can bend over and you can fuck me?”
She turned in a flash and kneeled down, taking the head of his cock in her mouth. She sucked and licked around the head. Then she sucked half of his cock.
All thought disappeared. She broke every rule her sister set in bed. She was like a wet, writhing, perfect id of sex.
She stood up and then leaned over the bed, sticking her ass up in the air.
“Come on… fuck me… fuck me… fuck your little slut”
And then he was looking down at her back with the tattoos that looked like a cello and she was groaning and then he was inside of her. And it was tight wet perfection.
“Fuck me.” She whispered it over and over, like a mantra.
It took seconds for him to come. It was the most violent, mind numbing, powerful orgasm he could remember. He almost fell down, his knees went so weak.
He collapsed on the bed, hardly aware that she had laid down and started fingering herself.
Jack turned and weakly kissed her nipple, wanting her to get off one more time.
“Bite it hard.” She begged.
He bit it, reaching up and squeezing her other tit. Then he moved up to her ear and whispered.
“Come for me…”
And she came, loud against him.
And that’s when the door opened.