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“You want me to fuck you?” she asked.
His heart pounded hard in his chest. What was she offering?
“Dean? You want me to fuck you?”
He nodded before he could stop himself, his head bobbing up and down.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” she said, and she sounded genuinely sorry. “But it will cost you.”
His ass was striped and hot. But he knew what she was going to say, and he knew his answer.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yes. Whatever you want.”
“It’s about what you want. Don’t you get that yet?”
He saw her at eighteen, in her parents’ pool, that little scarlet bikini. How had he forgotten her? How had he blocked that night from his memory? Her hair had been shorter then, and her eyes hadn’t seemed sad at all. They’d been hopeful. He’d felt pleased nailing such a pretty young thing, and doing it practically under the eyes of her rich daddy.
“I want it,” he said. “Please. I want it.”
“Ten more strokes,” she told him. “You count this time.”
He did, stuttering every few numbers, fucking the mattress with his hips when he couldn’t help himself. She gave him an extra two for that. He was supposed to behave; she thought he understood.
When she reached twelve, she dropped the leather and went to her suitcase. He was shivering all over, watching as she brought out a harness and a dildo. She unzipped a little cosmetics case and drew out a bottle of lube. He felt her slick the liquid between his asscheeks, really working it into his hole with her pointer. He groaned and buried his face into the pillows. Embarrassment flooded through him, but when she slid one hand under his body and pumped his dick, he understood that she liked this as much as he did.
He watched her again, watched as she dropped the shorty robe and fastened on the harness and synthetic cock. She climbed onto the bed behind him, shoving him roughly into the position she wanted, splitting him open. There was more lube then, a river of lube, and he felt the slippery liquid dripping onto his balls.
“You remember fucking me that time, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“And the things you said to me?”
What had he said? Who remembered sex talk after eighteen years?
“You said I was beautiful.”
“You were...you are...”
She had the head of the cock pressed right against his hole. He was tense with anticipation, waiting.
“You said you’d never been with a girl as pretty as me.”
“I hadn’t...” He didn’t know what he was supposed to be saying. He was practically talking gibberish, waiting for her to push forward.
“And you took my number, but you never called.”
He wanted to look at her, but she put one hand on the back of his head, pushing his face against the pillow. He couldn’t meet her eyes, not from this position. He wanted to apologize for his former self, except his former self was who he was now. Who he’d always been. Tossing the numbers in the garbage, so many numbers, so many years.
“You’re lucky,” he said, turning his head so he was facing the wall. “You wouldn’t have wanted to be with me.”
That was true. He felt as if he was saying something honest. She slid the head of the cock into his ass, and he groaned and clenched his eyes shut tight. But somehow he couldn’t stop talking.
“I was that guy,” he panted. “The wrong guy. The one who only wanted to get in your pants. I’ve always been that guy.”
She slid in deeper, and he groaned again. Christ, he’d never felt anything like that before.
“That’s okay, Dean. You’re forgiven. You took your punishment.”
