Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Lying in the water, I looked down at my stomach. I could see that it was starting to swell slightly—not much, but enough that you noticed it if you cared to look for long enough. My breasts were fuller, too, and a hell of a lot more tender. I was convinced that if I, or if someone, if Michael…touched them in the right way for long enough, I would actually orgasm just from my breasts alone.
He would get a kick out of that. I just knew that he would. He’d have me squirming and begging as he pinched and toyed with them, flicking his tongue over my nipples, shaking his head playfully when I pleaded with him to fuck me properly. Not until you come for me, baby, he’d say.
Almost without realizing it, my hand slid down my body through the warm water.
I didn’t feel very beautiful at the moment, since I felt like shit basically all the time. And having tender breasts like this wasn’t exactly fun. Every day when I took off my bra I felt the biggest sense of relief.
But Michael had always been good about making me feel beautiful. Making me feel desired. If he was here, all of my annoyances with my body would go away, I just knew it. I’d feel beautiful again.
I kept moving my fingers along my body, trailing them up and down, trying to tease the way that Michael would. He was good at that, at making me desperate, at making me beg for him. It was like I was an instrument, and he was trying to play me.
What if he was here in the bath with me? What if he joined me in the shower… I wouldn’t be in the tub part, that wouldn’t be big enough for both of us, but standing together under the spray, the hot water sliding down our bodies… getting all soapy and slippery together, letting him push my hair out of the way to kiss down my neck…
I started to stroke myself with my fingers, my other hand tugging at my hair the way that I imagined Michael would. He’d turn me around and have me brace my hands against the tiled walls, kissing my neck as he dragged his hard, thick cock against my ass.
As I imagined him sliding his fingers into me from behind, I did the same with my own. It wasn’t exactly a match - my fingers were so much smaller, so much thinner than his. They couldn’t fill me up the way that his did, couldn’t stretch me the same way. But I made do.
Michael would take his time, work me open nice and slow, tugging at my hair and kissing all over my back, my shoulders, my neck, so I tried to do the same with myself, imitating the way that he would touch me. Making it feel more real.
At last, right when I was begging, right as I thought I was about to lose my mind, he would slide into me.
God, I wish I’d brought my dildo into the tub with me so that I could at least pretend it was his cock. He was so thick and hard inside of me, it always made me feel like I was right on the edge of too much. It was delicious.
I could practically hear his voice in my ear, telling me to ask nicely for him to start fucking me. I would hold out, of course, because I was stubborn, but eventually I would give in. I’d beg him, and then…Oh – then ---
Chapter Twenty-One: Michael
I could so easily imagine it, fucking Stevie in the shower.
I was taking a shower myself, and missing her, and one thing just… led to another.
Fuck, she’d be perfect, the water sliding down her generous curves, her dark hair made black by the water. I’d brace her against the tile and tease her, get her worked up, until she begged and then—then I’d fuck her properly.
She’d have to beg me first. I could see it in my mind’s eye, my hand a poor substitute for her soft, hot cunt, as Stevie pleaded with me to please, please fuck her properly.
Then I’d finally give in and thrust into her over and over, my hand working her clit, rubbing, sending her ever-higher. I’d want to feel her coming around me, I’d want to use her orgasm to fuel mine… I could practically hear her moans and gasps in my ear. I’d bite down on her neck, suck, make a little bruise there. She could cover it up with makeup if she wanted or try to hide it in the collar of her chef’s jacket, but I would know it was there. I’d know that she was mine, that I’d marked her up like this. Nobody else.