I can feel my heartbeat in my cock.
The way her eyes had flared at my orders.
I groan again, low and guttural and raw.
She’denjoyedsubmitting to my whims–tome. Turns out the little wildcat likes to be dominated, at least a little bit, and it seems she has a praise kink too. My mind races with the possibilities, with the fun we could have exploring that together …
My breathing is labored now, whistling out through my clenched teeth. My hand moves frantically over my length as my sack draws up tight to my body. That familiar electricity races down my spine and I come–hard–letting out a grunt from deep in my chest as I spill into my hand and across my belly.
I lay there panting, covered in my own seed, for what feels like an eternity as the reality of what I’ve just done hits. Guilt floods me. I shouldn’t have done it. I can’t– I can’t let my feelings for Lucy develop any further than they already have. I need to dial things back, way back, and jacking off to her isn’t the way to do it.
We just can’t go there again. It wouldn’t be wise.
For the sake of our child, we need to keep things strictly platonic.
Right.
Yes.
I can do this. I am absolutelynotkidding myself when I say that.
Sigh.
I glance at my phone once more, deciding that there’s little chance of me getting any more sleep tonight. Another sigh and I sit up. I use my top sheet to wipe the cum from my body, then strip the bed. Might as well throw in a load of laundry. Maybe give the bathroom and kitchen a good wipe down too. I’m a neat freak. So what? I like order, and cleaning has always helped me to settle my mind. Though my house is already nearly spotless, I think it, and I, could use a good scouring session this morning.
???
The sun’s gone into hiding and there’s a cool wind whipping through the trees as I climb from my car where I’ve just parked out front of the mansion that my parents call home.
Gardner Manor.
It’s never been anything of the sort for me–a home, that is. Aren’t homes supposed to be the place where you feel safe and loved? My child will have that. A home filled with love. I’ll make sure of it.
I stare up at the oversized and foreboding grey stone house, continuing the debate I’ve been having with myself the entire drive over. To tell them or not. The fact that I’m unsure of how they would reactshouldsolidify my decision to keep them in the dark, but it’s not like I can keep them from finding out indefinitely. They live in Coldpine Ridge, which is essentially the next town over. It’s an affluent community located just across the county line and perched atop the ridge that overlooks the twin lakes where I now reside. At some point, there’s going to be an actual baby and my life is going to change dramatically. Wordwillget back to them when I’m seen around Llyn Lakes with a child–and then what?
I think my mom would probably welcome a grandchild once she got over the circumstances of his or her conception, of course, but I doubt my father ever would. He’d label the child a bastard as though it were the 1800s.
And Lucy?
I shake my head. They’ll never accept Lucy and it makes me sick to even think about their inevitable judgment of her. No. She’s tough and gives the impression that she doesn’t care what others think of her–and I believe that most of the time that’s indeed the case–but … sometimes I catch a glimpse of something in her eyes, a pain there that suggests maybe she’s not quite as carefree as she appears. That maybe she has more fear and uncertainty, and insecurity, than she lets on, but she’s just better at hiding it than others are. Than I am. Sometimes I wonder if we don’t have more in common deep down than either of us is willing to consider.
So … I can’t put her through it.
And even if theydidwelcome my child into the family, I couldn’t put him or her through it either. Not unless something changes. I wouldn’t want to risk my parents having even a minor influence on my kid’s life. No, I will never let my child worry that they have to be perfect for me to be proud of them. I will never make them fight for my attention. I will never cause my child to have to walk on eggshells out of fear of repercussion or wonder for even asecondwhether they are wanted and loved.
I realize that my fists are clenched. My jaw too. I’m frustrated. Angry. Releasing them and flexing my hands, I focus on the tingling in my stiff fingers as the blood rushes back in. I force myself to take a few long deep breaths.
Decision made.
I know I’ll have to revisit this at some point, that I can’t keep this a secret forever. I know that there may come a time when I have to choose between Lucy and my child, or my parents. And given my relationship with my parents, I’m not even sure why that feels like a hard choice to make, but … somehow it stilldoes. Not because Lucy and my child aren’t my number one priority, but because I shouldn’thaveto choose.
I guess I’m still always hoping that they’ll wake up and realize there’s more to life than money and social circles. More than country clubs, parties, and the latest model Mercedes. More than the ever-present need to keep up appearances to the detriment of the people they’re supposed to love.
I guess I’m still always hoping that they’ll see me for who I actually am and be proud of me. I’m always hoping for an apology for my messed up childhood, for a chance to have a real relationship with them built on love, and respect, and genuine affection.
But that’s probably wishful thinking, and for the sake of my new family, I just might have to finally cut off my old one.
But for now?
