Gripping his hip with one hand, I reach for the outline of his cock with my other, pausing mere inches away. I look up at him and parrot, “MayI?”
He chuckles, the notes low and masculine. Then, just like I did, he takes my hand in his, then presses it firmly against his cock. It flexes beneath my touch, boasting a considerable length and girth... why am I not surprised Perfect Guy would have the perfect package?
After spending several tantalizing moments of exploring each other’s bodies through our clothes, I push us to the next phase in our adventure. Leaning back, I unbutton my pants and lift my hips to tug them down over my ass. He takes it from there, pulling them down past my feet and tossing them to the floor.
His hands skim down my belly to the line of my panties, his fingers tracing the elastic on my waist, then around my thighs, and I find myself holding my breath as he draws nearer my centre, then avoids it entirely to move lower down my legs.
As much as I’d like to take things slowly with him, the longer I’m here, the greater the risk of something going wrong.
I sit up quickly and push him back with a firm hand on his impressive abdominal muscles. Then, with a flash of a coy smile, I slide off the bed and kneel between his feet. I run my hands from his thighs, over his cock, and up to his abs, then back down, relishing how his body shivers in response to my touch.
Then, I unbutton his trousers and pull his zipper down. Unlike Perfect Guy, who was slow and gentle with me, I waste no time in removing his pants. Instead, I shuck them down to his hips, just low enough to reveal his tight black briefs. His cock strains against the thin, silky fabric, and a delightful wet spot reveals just how eager he is to be with me. I play at his waistband, letting my fingers slide between his skin and the fabric, before pulling it down inch by delightful inch, until his impressive cock springs free. It’s a shame I’ll only ever be with him this once. Better make the best of it, and quickly, too, before something happens and—
“I’m home!” A feminine voice echoes through his house as the front door slams shut.
I gape up at Perfect Guy, who looks down at me with wide eyes.
The overly clean house. The feminine touches to the decor. The fucking lipstick on his wineglass.
“You’re married!” I sputter. Of course he is. How could he not be? Before he has time to respond, I aggressively pull his pants on and tug his zipper back up. Perfect Guy screams in pain as he grabs his crotch and stumbles backward. He backs into his nightstand, knocking the wineglass over, which shatters on the floor.
Footsteps clomp up the stairs.Shit, I’m going to be caught in nothing but my bra and panties with a dude who’s cheating on hiswife.Yep, sounds about right. I stand quickly and twist around, searching for my pants.Where the fuck are my pants?I duck down and find them kicked halfway beneath the bed. I slip one foot in and start hopping on the other foot as I try to balance and pull them on.
The bedroom door swings open so hard that it hits the opposite wall with a loud bang. A short woman with shoulder-length brown hair rushes in and slides to a stop, frozen in place as she takes in the scene before her.
Perfect Guy is too busy screaming and clutching his genitals to do or say anything, and I’m still hopping on one foot trying to pull on my pants, when I step on a piece of glass.
“Motherfu—” I cry, before tripping on my pant leg and falling toward the woman, smacking my head right into her face.
“Jesus Chr—” The woman stumbles and the two of us collapse onto the floor in a tangled heap.
I roll off her and sit up, reaching for my foot, which has a sizable shard of glass sticking out the bottom of it and a thin trail of blood. The woman beside me sits up, too, and she pulls her hands away from her face to find blood coating them.Oh my god, is her nose crooked now?I wrecked her home and broke her nose all in one fell swoop.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I cry out, bringing my hands toward her before pulling them away, and then reaching for her again, uncertain of what I should be doing. “He didn’t tell me he was married! I never would have come here if—”
The woman clutches her face. “Married? I’m his sister!”
My heart stutters. His...sister? I look from the woman sitting on the floor with her broken, bloody nose, to Perfect Guy leaning against his nightstand whimpering in pain.
“Olsen, are you okay?” The woman asks. She tries to stand but wobbles and falls against the wall.
Oh yeah, his name’s Olsen. I was close.
“Sit down,” I tell the woman. “Just in case you pass out. And there’s broken glass all over the floor.”
With shaking fingers, I pull the shard of glass in my foot free. Blood puddles on the floor. I’ll probably need stitches, but it’s not so bad as to cause me any real harm—unlike Olsen and his poor sister.
I limp toward Olsen, careful to avoid the glass. “What happened?”
“The zipper, it...” He moves his hand so I can look.
“Oh my god.” Bile rises in my throat. “Your dick is caught in the zipper.”
Olsen’s face turns a shade of greenish grey. I reach for his shoulders and guide him toward the bed, forcing him to sit. He cries out as he leans back, trying not to stretch or move the tender flesh caught in the metal teeth of his pants.
I look over at the woman, sitting on the floor and covering her nose with blood streaming from her face down her arm, then to Olsen, whimpering as he cups his sensitive genitals, and then down at myself, still in my bra and panties with one foot in my pants, the other leaving bloody footprints with every step I take.
Yep, this seems about right.
