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My hips buck uncontrollably, and I desperately want to come all over her bed, so she can rub herself into my breedy fucking spill. But that’s the last thing she’ll need after a long day at work.
Forcing myself to stop before the smell of her drives me into a fucking mating frenzy, I look around her room. Where could I leave her a sign that I’ve enjoyed myself?
A light bulb may as well go off above my fucking head. The squirting cock. The gift I sent her years ago, from an adult store who delivered without paperwork for a bundle of cash.
Where would she keep it? Somewhere nearby, but where Curty couldn’t find it.
I check her bedside drawers. Under her bed —jackpot.
I look at the combination lock and pause. Six digits. Seems like a good amount for a date. Which would she use? Our first time — her birthday? That’s fucking traumatic and awful, so definitely not. That reactive, restrained, bloody, and excruciating fuck we had in the basement wouldn’t get her in the mood, would it?
My balls tingle, and my cock jerks, as it fills even more at the memory of her fucking me while I was cuffed to a chair.
It’s insanely messed up that my body remembers it all so fondly. Even now, when I bite my lip, the taste of blood makes my dick hard from the memory of those kisses and watching her tongue collect the red stain from her lips.
There was bloodshed the first day I met her, too, but none tainted the sweetness of her lips, when I gripped the back of her head and kissed her, as if I knew what the fuck I was doing. I’d been rough and raw and needy. Driven by instinct, I took what felt like mine, and there was no going back after that. For either of us.
I spin the numbers, so they align with the date of that first kiss, and the box opens to reveal the big black replica of my cock, and the squeezing-bulb with its tube that threads inside, to cream her pretty cunt in my absence.
The bottle of lube is not the one that came with the gift, and there’s about a third of it left, so she’s definitely using it.
I lift the dildo to my nose. It smells clean, but there’s a faint hint of her — she’s left her mark.
A rough grunt tugs at the back of my throat at the image in my head, and I unscrew the cap of the lube-squirting bulb before fucking my fist fast, to relieve the urgent throb in my sack.
I bite my lips, on a moan, as my need quickly grows out of control. I clench my abs and strain every muscle with my effort, but there’s no holding back the pleasure. The pressure of it bursts forth, and I stagger slightly, as I spill into her cum-squirter, nearly making a mess on her floor. I keep the bulb’s opening pressed over my slit, until I’ve milked myself of every last drop — until my hands are shaking, and I can hardly catch my breath.
I stagger again, a little dizzy with endorphins. When my vision clears from the daze of my release, my gaze falls on her little pink Polaroid camera.
Without a second thought, I click a picture of my cock, leaking shiny cum into her spurting sex-toy gear. It’s a great shot, and I set it into the box as I pack away her things, smearing the last of the jizz from my knob onto the black version of my cock, for luck.
“I hope you’re ovulating, Kira Corazon Grant. Make us a fucking baby for Christmas. It’d be so great, to be on our way to a magical new life, when we’re finally free to enjoy it.”
I kiss my fingertips and press them to the box, before spinning the combination lock and tucking the package back under the bed.
I get dressed and poke around her room, intrigued by the large plastic tubs of baby gear stored in the back of her huge closet. There’s everything from baby monitors to breast pumps and baby clothes in there, and I smell all the little onesies, trying to imagine what life would have been like if I’d been with my boy when he was small enough to fit one of the tiny bodysuits.
So small and fragile and in need of protection.
My heart aches for the years I’ve missed, and I pack the things away carefully, so they’ll be ready again for our next baby.
The sound of a car door catches me off guard, and I quickly tidy up the evidence of my prying, pull her bed covers up, smooth out the wrinkles, and then fold them back, so the bed looks inviting for her. She’ll know I was in here, and hopefully, she’ll check her secret fun stash and use it good and hard tonight.
I bolt out the backdoor and text Loosh that I’ll meet him out front once Kira’s inside.
Loosh:She’s in.Head around front now.
Me:Thanks, man.
Kira stays just inside the front door, and I walk around to where she can see me.
“Hey, Kira. Your night go okay in the end? Pulling a double shift is pretty tough. Sorry your buddy called in sick and you couldn’t get out of it,” I say, trying to be casual when I’m so excited by what she might do with that dildo.
“They’re colleagues, not buddies,” she says with a sad smile. “Friends are a weakness to be exploited,” she adds in a chipper voice, as if it’s an ad campaign. Her fake smile fades, and she shrugs. “It was okay. I’ll be tired tomorrow, though.” She looks me over with a curious expression on her face.
I smooth my hair back and down and any other way I think it needs to go, to make it look tidier, because I forgot to do so after rolling in her scent, and glance at Loosh.
“Your fly is open,” he says, staring at me.
