25
KENDALL
Iwake up horny.
Not the gentle kind of arousal that fades with consciousness, but the aching, pulsing kind that makes me press my thighs together before I even open my eyes. I dreamed about him. His hands pinning my wrists above my head, and his mouth on my throat. I swore I felt the weight of him pressing me into the mattress while he fucked me slow and deep and whispered filthy things against my skin.
He wants me to come ten times today, like that’s possible. The most orgasms I’ve ever had were with him, and it was four. Maybe five. Ten feels like a Guinness World Record. I don’t even know if my body can do that. But Patterson told me to, and something about the way he said it makes me want to try. Makes me want to be good for him.
I slide my hand between my thighs and find myself slick and swollen, my clit already throbbing. I don’t tease myself. I press two fingers against where I need them and start circling, fast and tight, thinking about last night. He watched me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
The first orgasm rolls through me before I’m fully awake, and my hips rock against my hand. I gasp, believing it will bring me some sort of relief. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. It’s not him.
I reach for my phone with trembling fingers.
Kendall
Chef
I drag myself out of bed and make coffee, but the ache between my thighs won’t quit. I’m hypersensitive in a way I’ve never experienced, like every nerve ending is tuned to a frequency only he controls. I drink my coffee, standing at the kitchen counter, and think about the first time he fucked me, how he made me beg for it, how I came so hard that I forgot my own name.
My hand moves between my legs again. I brace myself against the counter and slide two fingers inside, curling them the way he does, searching for that spot he always finds. It takes me longer than it takes him, but when I hit it, my knees nearly buckle. I fuck myself while my other hand grips the counter edge. I think about his voice in my ear, telling me I’m his good girl, his perfect slut, his. The orgasm builds like a wave, cresting higher and higher until it crashes through me. I cry out to my empty kitchen, my forehead dropping to the cool granite.
Kendall
Chef
After breakfast, I move into the shower. The water beats down on my shoulders while I press my back against the cold tiles and try something I’ve never done alone. I angle the showerhead between my thighs, adjusting the pressure until the pulsing stream hits my clit directly.
The sensation makes me jolt. It’s intense in a different way than fingers, and I can’t control the rhythm. I have to surrender to it. I have to let it take me.
I spread my legs wider and tilt my hips, chasing the pressure, and think about Patterson’s mouth on me. The way he licks me like he’s starving for it. I love it when his strong hands hold my thighs apart so he has full access. The water is too intense against my swollen clit, but I don’t back away from the orgasm.
I think about his tongue on me. This time, I come with a sob, my legs shaking so hard that I have to brace myself against the wall to stay upright. The aftershocks are almost too much, but I ride out every last spasm until I’m gasping and oversensitive.
Kendall
Chef
By noon, I’ve hit five, and I’m starting to understand what he’s doing to me. Every orgasm feeds the hunger instead of satisfying it. I’m not getting relief, only growing more desperate. My body is learning something new with every climax, discovering edges and depths I didn’t know existed.
Number four came on my couch with my hand down my panties. It was quick and almost angry as I thought about the way he gripped my hair when I sucked him off. Number five came slower, softer, as I lay on my bed with my eyes closed and my fingers gentle on my clit, thinking about the way he lookedat me after we fucked. Like I was something precious. Like I was his.
Kendall
Chef
I need something more.
I pull up my laptop and do something I haven’t done in years. Porn. The first few videos are boring, generic, all fake moans and bad acting. But then I find one where the woman is alone, touching herself while a man’s voice tells her what to do. My breath catches.
I watch her slide her fingers inside herself while his voice commands her to go deeper. I watch her circle her clit while he tells her she’s beautiful, she’s perfect, she belongs to him. I can’t close the laptop. I spread my legs and mirror what she’s doing, following his commands like they’re meant for me.
But it’s not his voice that makes me come. It’s imagining Patterson instead. Patterson praising me, desperate for me.
I fall apart with his name on my lips.
Kendall
