“Oh shit. Look how wet you are. Forget what I said. Come home so I can lick it clean, make it wet, and lick it clean all over again.”
“Shhh. I’m busy.” Setting the phone down on the floor on record, I hold one hand over my mouth, glancing around to make sure the curtain is still completely closed. Pussy throbbing, I change my motion so that now I’m making hurried little swiping motions right across my clit. Backward and forward, faster and faster until my belly clamps. My legs squeeze tight together, and I’m cumming hard and wet and shaking.
I press my lips together trying not to make a sound, but I’m certain a muffled moan escapes me.
Outside the curtain there’s a cough. “Is everything OK in there, ma’am? Can I get you another size?”
I flush beet red and quickly snatch my phone from the floor, shutting off the video. “I’m fine,” I call unconvincingly. “I’ll be out in a moment.”
Beside me, my bag visibly pulses as Adam’s dick jerks again with excitement. I rush to dress and compose myself, typing one final message before I leave to face the shop assistant.
Bring it back? No way.
Jen: I’m having far too much fun with your dick. I might never give it back
ELEVEN
Adam
I reach uselessly for a dick that’s not there for the hundredth time since Jen left the flat. I have never, never been this worked up. This horny with no relief in sight.
Maybe it’s because I can’t play with myself. I’d say I have a healthy appetite for sex. I think about it a fair bit but knowing I can’t jerk off makes me think about it almost constantly. It’s like I’m permanently on edge.
I can’t concentrate on anything. I try loading a game on my phone, but that doesn’t last. I try watching porn, but that makes it worse. I watch a movie, but I only get ten minutes through.
In the end I get up and sort through the closet in the hall and refold all the towels just to keep my hands busy.
They all smell like Jen. Like that laundry detergent she likes. I’d forgotten how much I like that smell. I always buy the unscented one, but the laundry never comes out smelling good like it did when she used to do it.
I guess she probably resented doing it all for me. It became obvious after we broke up how many things she did around the house without me noticing. I mean, I knew in a way she was doing them; she was just so efficient I never saw her do it.
One minute I’d be looking for a clean pair of socks, the next she’d be bitching at me to put away the laundry she already folded.
Looking back, I can see how that might have rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe that means I’ve changed. At least I’d like to think I have, but she still seems to be just as angry with me.
I’m hoovering the carpet in the living room when another thought strikes me. She didn’t like my gift, but not because she didn’t like the dildo. I mean, she chose it. The problem was it wasn’t much of a gift, since all I did was click a button. It didn’t cost me anything. And it was pretty selfish because I wanted something from getting it for her.
If I actually wanted to make her smile, what I should have done was give her something just for her. Something that cost me time or money or both.
Annoyed with myself for not seeing it sooner, I rack my brains for something like that—something that will make her forgive me. The video from the lingerie store was a good sign, but she still hasn’t come home. I’m pretty sure her shift has started since she stopped replying to my messages. Unless she’s still really mad…
God, I don’t know what to think. Only that I should have appreciated her a fuck ton more than I did when we were dating.
I should probably be grateful she’s stopped tormenting me since she’s still holding my dick hostage, but I wasn’t ready for her to stop. In fact, I’d happily let her have my dick all day if she would keep sending me videos of her touching herself in public.
Fuck, that was hot.
The way she had to cover her mouth to hold in that little sigh of satisfaction as she came? I think I nearly died a second time just watching that.
I’m sorting the spice drawer in the kitchen when the doorbell rings. I jump up, stupidly excited only to realize Jen wouldn’t ring her own doorbell. She would just unlock the door and come in.
When I open it, I recognize Jen’s best friend, Molly, instantly. Her high arched brows are perfectly plucked and always made me feel like she was looking down her long nose at me, even though she’s a lot shorter than my six two. Her voluminous red hair kind of makes up for that in a weird way. She’s dressed just as flamboyantly as usual, in a dress with a flared old-fashioned skirt and black pumps that look like a broken ankle waiting to happen.
I obviously recognize her before she realizes it’s me, though, because as soon as I open the door, I’m hit with a frantic burst of speech. “Oh, Jen, thank god you’re home. I wasn’t sure because you didn’t answer your—” Her blue eyes skate up to my face, and her eyebrows furrow. “Oh shit, Adam. I forgot you were here. Can you just get Jen?” She leans to one side, looking past me as if Jen might suddenly appear. Nothing odd about that. But I don’t like the hurried glance she casts over her shoulder the next second.
“Jen’s at work,” I say, searching her face. Now that I’m really looking, I can see black marks on her cheeks where her mascara has smudged. “Molly, is everything alright?”
She blinks, and it really looks for a moment as if she’s blinking back tears. When she speaks again her voice is unsteady. “Oh. Right. Of course she’s at work.” She looks away and rubs at her face for a moment, but when she looks up again there’s a forced smile on her lips. “I guess I’ll see her tomorrow.”
