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“Why’s your throat so raspy?” my sister asks me when I show up at her place. She called me earlier to ask me to babysit because she has another women’s retreat at her church. Don’t ask me why they don’t offer childcare for those who are moms. Those fuckers.
“It sounds like you have a sore throat.”
My cheeks heat in remembrance of what I did. The feel of him tunneling down my throat, the words he said to me.
My cheeks positively flame.
Her brows meet, probably taking my flushed face for a fever. “You’re not getting sick, are you? Because I don’t want the kids getting whatever you have. It’s just a lot of work, you know?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m not sick. Just lost my voice for some reason.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I rasp. No way in hell am I going to tell her I got this sore throat from deep-throating a dick. A big one.
A dick I keep thinking about. Over and over. How big it is, how thick. About the vein that runs underneath like a Snickers bar. How it positively throbs when it’s hard, the way it tastes. Salty, musky, manly.
My cock tries valiantly to lift, to rise to the occasion, but the cock cage I stuck on it earlier keeps it under wraps. And let me tell you, it’s uncomfortable and itchy because I had to shave all around my groin, but fuck, what else was I supposed to do? Walk around with a giant boner for a man? Just let him keep using me whenever he pleases? Hell no.
This has become a bit of a problem, one I need to deal with swiftly. This feels less like a hobby now and more of an addiction.
A cock addiction.
Agayaddiction.
I’m addicted to Alec’s cock. No one else will do. And I’ve tried. I’ve really fucking tried, but no one else appeals. The minute I consider someone else, my mouth dries up like the desert. I can’t even muster up saliva to wet a dick. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and I can’t even swallow.
He’s ruined me.
I’m just dried up and useless. I can’t even suck a dick for fun.
I have no hobbies anymore.
I’m a bore.
Might as well grab a chair and stare at the wall. Maybe eat some paint.
“Well, if you’re sure,” my sister says, looking doubtful but whatever. If she doesn’t like me as the babysitter, she can find an actual one. Not that I want her to. I love being here with my niece and nephews. They bring me life. But she always fucking complains. It’s alwayssomething. No matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I want to do it right, I can’t quite seem to make her happy.
Part of me wonders if I’m wearing this cock cage so I can be someone she’ll be proud of.
Goddamn, I’m messed up.
“I’m sure,” I rasp and then take a swig of water. “I’m not sick. Promise. Just a fluke thing.”
She eyes me once more and then grabs her purse. “Fine, well, just call me if you need anything, but try not to call unless it’s an emergency.”
“Yeah, I won’t, and just so you know, I’m taking the kiddos to a baking class in town. Ollie just confirmed it. We’re making sugar cookies.”
Julia and Jordan perk up at the mention of cookies and then begin tugging on me, asking a million questions all at once. I can’t even make them out, but it warms my heart how excited they are for it. To just be with me. They love me for who I am.
“Fine, but don’t feed them too much sugar. You know how they get. And really watch your friends. I’m not so sure about Ollie. He smiles too much.”
I restrain an eye roll as she watches me suspiciously for a moment and then bends down and gives each of the kids a kiss before disappearing into the garage. A moment later, I hear the garage door open and feel sudden relief. Honestly, I don’t know why being around her makes my chest constrict in anxiety. But I guess it’s always been like that. She’s always been more of a mother figure than a sister, even more so when I was left in her care.
I owe it to her to try and behave.
Stop being so goddamn gay, Jude.
