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I wasn’t done with him by a long shot. There will be no time for thinking about anything else but me and our little family. I straddled his hips and rubbed my ass back and forth on his cockhead. One thing about Dan is that he can stay hard for long periods of time.
I knew once the drug kicked in, he’d be ready to go again, but this time I wanted him to fuck me in the ass. I whispered as much in his ear, and he was quick to grab both ass cheeks and spread them wide. For a second, it felt as if he was going to tear me in half, but the burn was one I loved.
I reached back and found his cock, leading it to my wide-open ass and slipping it in. I’d been fucked up the ass so much that there was no need for lube; besides, the more pain, the more pleasure I felt.
I rocked back and forth on his cock with my hands planted on his chest while he stuffed my ass full. Sometimes I’m not sure which I like better, a good pussy fuck or getting my ass reamed.
When he was done cumming in my ass, I ran to the bathroom and sat on the toilet, letting his cream leak out of me before jumping into the shower.
* * *
DAN
* * *
When willthis feeling go away? When will I be free of the guilt and self-loathing I feel each time I touch this woman? At least I no longer throw up each time, but it had been that way for months after she left.
Not only had she left, she’d disappeared completely. It’s as if she’d stopped existing; She wasn’t at her job, and her car was never outside any of her family members’ homes when I drove by under cover of night. None of our friends would talk to me, and the few who did didn’t seem to know anything.
She’d cut everyone off and gone into the wind. I admit that I was stupid that I messed up, but the divorce had completely blindsided me. I thought because of our love for each other that, we could get through anything together, but I was wrong, so very wrong.
Other people have pulled it off; why hadn’t we? It means she never loved me, I suppose, not if she could throw me away so easily. I didn’t mind the money or the house, none of that. She didn’t even ask for alimony because she wanted to be done with me altogether.
I never thought for one second that she could cut me out so coldly, act like I never existed like we hadn’t spent half a lifetime together. How could she do this to me? The not knowing was the worst, and not having my best friend to lean on.
I love having my son, no doubt about it, but I think I’m growing to resent his mother and her existence. I want my life back, my life with Mandy. I never wanted anything with anyone else, not since the day we met. She’s always been my ideal, my one and only. So, how could I have made such a stupid mistake?
I can’t look back on our lives and find any fault in my ex. If I could find something to latch onto, to blame her for, then maybe this would be easier, and I wouldn’t feel such sadness and guilt. But the only thing I could find was the fact that she couldn’t have kids and I can’t even blame that on her. It’s not like she knew and kept it from me.
I sat up on the side of the bed and rubbed my hands over my hair. What a mess. Each time I think of getting rid of Deidre, she mentions the fact that if she says anything I could lose my job. I’m not sure how true that is since she was never a student of mine and was of age, but I was too tired to fight right now.
I have sex with her because I miss sex with my wife, and I need the outlet, but each time, I feel worse than the last. My mind is consumed with thoughts of Amanda and what we had, what we should still have if it wasn’t for the slut in my shower.
I hate her with every fiber of my being, but I’m stuck. There’s no way out for me. I can lose my job or my son if I do or say the wrong thing to this ticking time bomb. I hate the pretense; I hate her, I hate my life, I hate…. No, I don’t hate my son, but I wish he’d been born to the right woman.
AMANDA
Iwoke up the next morning with a foul taste in my mouth from the wine and crawled into the shower to let it revive me. There was no hangover since I never get them unless I drink cheap wine; had it been vodka, that would have been a different story.
I pulled on some leggings and an oversized tee shirt and pulled my hair up in a ponytail after moisturizing my face and hands. Downstairs, I came up short when I saw the trays of cupcakes, cookies, and cakes I’d made the night before.
When the hell did I do all that? I almost felt sick at the waste but then remembered that I could call Mom to come pick up most of it. Then I remembered the nice doorman who was always kind and had gone above and beyond helping me move stuff when I first moved in.
I found an old catering box among my baking stuff and boxed up an assortment of cupcakes to take down to him later. I cleaned up the empty wine bottles and brewed some coffee, then sat down to read over my notes from the night before.
Wow, that is all I can say. It appears that the drunken me likes to focus on all the things I haven’t done instead of my glaring achievements. It’s true that if I had a choice, I’d choose baking over my current profession, but fear of another failure rode me hard.
Still, I sat there for the better part of the day, pouring over my notes and daydreaming about what if. Sometime a little before sunset, I asked myself, why not? There was nothing holding me back. I had enough money in my savings and investment accounts to float me for at least a year or two, but where do I even start?
I felt excitement for the first time in way too long, and before I could think better of it, I was on the phone with Mom and my sisters, begging them to talk me down off the ledge. Instead, they encouraged me to go for it.
Dad, who is always the voice of reason, said that I shouldn’t quit my job just yet in case it didn’t work out. Instead, he suggested I put in for all of my PTO, sick days, and accumulated vacation days, which would give me three months at least, which sounded like a brilliant idea.
I hung up the phone in a daze, still not sure what I was going to do but knowing what I wanted to. My eyes landed on the boxed cupcakes, and I checked my watch to make sure Henry’s shift had started. He was pleasantly surprised and grateful. As I walked away, he said something about a poker game, but I wasn’t sure exactly what he said because I was already back on my way to the elevator.
Mom and my oldest sister came by later that evening to pick up the rest of the treats and keep me company for a bit before heading back to our hometown an hour away.
By the middle of the week, I realized I was feeling much better than I had been. I’d opened the windows in the apartment for the first time to let the sunlight in, but once my work was done, way before knock-off time, I might add, I felt bored and went back to the kitchen to bake another batch of goodies.
