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Well, it ain't no secret / I've been around a time or two
Well, I don't know, baby / Maybe you've been around too
There's another dance / All you gotta do is say yes
And if you're rough and ready for love / Honey, I'm tougher than the rest.
— Tougher Than The Rest, Bruce Springsteen.
It starts the same way most things did with Jack Abbot. Slow and steady. He's never been a man eager to get to the finish line, instead content to lavish in the spoilings along the way and this was no different. This was a thing he would cradle in his calloused hands for as long as he could or at least as long as it took. He could be patient - he was patient, especially when it came to fragile matters like his newest, most delicate babysitter.
It hadn’t even reached 3 months before his perversions got the better of him and he started to fantasise but, in hindsight, no amount of time could have ever carved enough distance between the two of you. It began small and festered until his every waking moment was spent thinking of your lithe, perfumed body and all the ways he could lay his claim.
One day he would ruminate on the multitude of ways to take care of you - increase your pay, cover your rent, clothe you - and the next he would dream of defiling you. Of tying those pretty wrists together, clutching fistfuls of hair to ensure your head couldn’t move and bracketing your knees with his own, holding you apart for his own pleasure.
He could not, for the life of him, stop his hands wandering into his flannel boxers in the middle of the night, when only God was watching, to the thought of taking what was his.
And weren't you his? Didn't you revel at the way his eyes would rove your body, lingering on hems and tan lines? Didn’t you take pleasure in knowing that his wife could never do for him what you could do with one heated gaze?
And therein lies the problem. His marriage. His deeply unhappy, unfulfilling and unsatisfying marriage. His wife was not evil by any textbook definition, but there was something to be said about the way light would leave a room when she entered it.
You hadn’t met Jack at all during the entire vetting and hiring process, instead hearing about him solely from her.She could have never accurately conveyed the intensity of his stare or the sheer number of freckles adorning his sculpted body, but she most likely didn't even see those parts of him anymore, too busy spending her days off drunk and her nights slumped on the couch. Married at 19 and still suffering at 50, 3 decades of marriage had worn both of them down to their barest, most exhausted selves.
But that was where you came in.
Very quickly, the scene was set. 3 children, two of whom would be under your care, weekends off and more money than any other job had paid you before. With a doctor and a lawyer in the household, money was always a second, if not third thought but one that had soured the atmosphere of the house with the cost it brought.
Jack had completed one tour as a combat medic and was halfway through his second when a lone IED blew up his right leg and sent him packing. His wife, on account of her high demand cases and very little time off, was tightly wound and quick to anger. These attributes were not conducive to child-rearing and yet, they persevered. A bandaid baby at 23 was the first crack to come, a strained marriage reduced to patient and carer was the second and suddenly love was lost and replaced by resentment and bitterness.
Jack could never make up for the years she spent being a single mother while he was gone, and she could never accept the half-man, half-machine amalgamation he came back as. Childhood sweethearts and a 4 day engagement carried no weight in the face of mortality, and so the sporadic entanglements crept in.
Jack pretended not to notice when his wife of 30 years came home from overtime with another man's cologne wafting off of her, nor when her neck looked like a vampire had been at it. There were things she looked for that he could no longer provide and it was his own damn fault.
So, all that to say, yes. Yes, you were his, and every bit of him that wasn't misted somewhere in the regions of Afghanistan was yours. How it started could never hold a candle to the ways it just kept giving.
You were employed by them year round, with the exception of holidays and PTO, and had been for 2 years the first time Jack Abbot snuck his hand between the hem of your sundress and lace frill of your panties.
It hadn’t come as any significant surprise but you can't say you were expecting the warmth and roughness of his hands, weathered with age and overuse of hand sanitizer. The heat roiled off him, almost as badly as the August sun was beating down on you, and you could feel the hard line of his body pressed along your back.
“We shouldn’t do this, we ca- “, he drifted off to pant against your neck, his harsh, quick breaths blowing the few strands of hair left out of your low bun adrift.
“God, just - just 5 more seconds, 5 more baby, then I'll stop. Push me away, okay? I can't help myself.” He sounded near contrite, self-deprecating in his desperation.
Needing it so badly that he was willing to rut against the closest source of relief he could find, all while his family and friends were mere feet away, enjoying the summer barbecue Jack was supposed to be tending to.
“I can’t help myself, I can’t, I wish I could, but I can’t when it comes to you.” His nose pushed into the upper cartilage of your ear, forcing its way down the slope of your orbital bone and scenting the essence of you. One giant hand made its home on the dip between hip and waist whilst the right wrapped its way around your abdomen, circling the area.
He was a few seconds away from grasping the flesh in his hands, and the blatant manhandling of your body made you feel reduced to his own personal plaything. Your body burned with the unsaid implication, even more so when it rubbed over your stomach, taking his sweet time. Every movement of his hand had him lowly moaning and you sighing, a perfect symphony of cascading bliss.
“Ja-ack, please,” your need elongating the name into two syllables.
You were torn between your desire for him and apprehension for the setting. You had just come in to grab refreshments for the children - anyone could come looking for you, or for Jack even. It felt sacrilegious to even think it, but this couldn't happen here, even though you had been wanting it for so long. You had to stop the very thing you had been craving ever since you both locked eyes and he stammered over his words.
“I wish you didn't have to stop, but this - you …”. He didn't cease his ministrations, instead trailing that hand up and up, traversing it through the valley of your breasts. It was too much; your brain couldn't keep up with the sensory input and your mouth was devoid of any words that could have stopped this surely ruinous event from occurring.
Your hand flew up and wound around the back of his scalp, briefly tugging before gliding down to his neck. You swept your fingers side to side, caressing his shoulders, needing the heat of his body to merge with yours - every inch of uncovered skin meeting uncovered skin.
You could picture the abundance of freckles and sun spots under your fingertips, mapping the terrain of his physique like it was something you hadn’t already committed to memory. Days spent eyeing him up as he played pool games with his children or handyman’d something around the house shirtless did that for you. Your other hand bent lower, tugging his waist towards yours, thumbing the belt loops of his Levi’s.
“Fuck, I want you so bad Jack. I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”
He lurches into you, like he wasn't already burrowing into your skin, enclosing you between the solid marble of the counter and the soft underbelly of the dog of a man behind you. His knees bent slightly, pushing into the backs of yours, and you took a moment to picture him now.
Jack Abbot, imposing and intimidating, hunched over like a mutt in heat, all to cop a closer feel of his girl. A gasp slipped out of you, high and perhaps too sharp considering the potential for eavesdroppers.
The movement left you tilted so your palms lay flat on the counter while your hips ever so slightly curved towards him. Unashamedly grinding into you now, every orbit of his groin against yours lifting the ends of your dress, he threw caution to the wind.
A half grunt, half growl leaves his lips as he essentially gropes your chest, grabbing you and pinching your nipple in between his thumb and forefinger. The soft tissue spills out between the indents of his fingers as he stakes his claim. You feel him force himself to let go, moving upwards to slot the length of your throat into his palm, pushing it down onto your collarbones.
“Baby, baby,” he whined. “Say it again. Say you want- say you need me again.”
You could never deny him anything, not even at the detriment of your own conscience. It didn't matter how you, his children or even the countless patients he had saved saw him; years of insecurity and undoing at the hands of his wife had chewed him up and spat him out. But that was another life, one he endured through before he met you. You would be the one to undo him now. No force could ever disentangle the enmeshment of your beings, both physical and emotional.
“I need you, Jack, please. I need you to keep touching me. I needed it even before last week, I think I’ve needed it forever.”
Jack bit at the intersection of your neck and shoulder at the reminder of last week, causing you to moan out loud. He briefly entertained the idea of slapping a hand over your mouth, but decided it wasn't worth it. He wanted to hear the moans he dreamed about. God, how had it been only a week? A week for him to give himself over and completely lose his inhibitions.
“Yeah? You liked that? You liked walking in on me touching myself, palming my cock with only the memory of you?”
His recollection of that night was enough to send arousal burning through him, not for any embarrassment he felt or propriety he should’ve been able to feign but for the one reason he had held back for so long.
His undeniable need to defile the pretty young thing that had walked into his house and now would never walk back out unmarred. And Jack would mar you, no doubt. The very nature of his perversions, his body’s irrefutable longing would subject you to the depravity he knew he was unable to stop.
While his hot, calloused hand slid up and down his cock, visions of you in all forms and shapes flitted through his mind. You, bent over and used, trying so hard to keep the evidence of your coupling hidden. You lowering yourself onto him, cunt first into his open mouth. Him keeping you where could always access you, wife forgotten, fucking you as often as he wanted. Jack dreamt of giving what you needed until you were crying, of the way you would look up at him through your tears, how he would bring your fingers to your cheeks to wipe up those tears and then drag those same fingers down to play with your swollen clit.
That was what he came to when you had stumbled into his room, both of you thinking the other wasn’t home. And, oh, how you had blushed. You were red with shame, stammering as he, who could never deny himself this God-given pleasure, hips still kicking, released onto his chest and abdomen staring at you all the while.
You nodded, but that was never enough for Jack, who always needed verbal validation to know he was doing right by his girl.
“I want you to say it, sweetheart. You’ve been driving me fucking crazy, making me feel like a perverted old man for lusting after you, you’re going to say it for me now. Say ‘yes Jackie, I liked it. I liked seeing you like that, knowing it was all for me’.”
His palm was still resting on the divots of your collarbones but now, with his possessive streak rearing its head, the tips of his thumb and pointer finger respectively started pressing into the space behind your jaw. The webbed flesh between them pushed slightly against your adam’s apple and the pressure made your knees weak. Good thing he was right behind you, the stiff protrusion of his cock reminding you just how long you waited for this. Your panties must have been drenched by this point, and he hadn’t even touched you anywhere near there. You shuddered to think at all the way he would excel in unravelling you. You throbbed, needing contact that he wouldn't give until you did first.
“What? No…please…”, a breathless admission, lingering inexperience. You had never begged so openly for any man before and didn't know how to do it without sounding like a little girl.
“Just touch me,“ you panted, “Jack, we have to hurry, they can’t see us like this. Anyone could just - your wife …”, you trailed off.
“Oh no, sweet girl, I don't think I will.” He says derisively, “I've never hurried for anything in my life, and I’m not about to start today. Remember, you live here with me. I could leave you now - wet and waiting - and just as easily sneak back into your room later tonight. I could have you anywhere, at any point. You are mine to do with what I please, and if I want my girl to tell me how much she likes my cock, then I expect to hear it.”
The gravelly tone with which he whispered his demands decimated you. He could have left the room entirely, and you would have crawled on your hands and knees. Your eyes screwed shut at the realisation, but the words still didn't come.
“Please Jack, I can’t. I - I… don't know how.” You said pathetically.
“You don’t know how? Now, pretty baby, didn't I just tell you? Didn't I just give you the exact words to say? But I know thinking is hard for you when you’re like this, that's okay. I’ll say it again. Say ‘yes Jackie, I liked it. I liked seeing you like that, knowing it was all for me’.” He repeated the words slower this time, like he was talking to one of his kids during a tantrum, or trying to get something across to a difficult patient.
You drove your hips harder against him, putting up a fight you both knew the ending for. He hissed through his teeth but remained firm and unmoving. Your head lowered in shame. He always managed to take you where no man could ever before.
“Yes. Yes, Jackie. I loved it. I loved knowing that you were only touching yourself because of me.”
It wasn’t his exact words, but he would give you a pass. You had done so much for him already, that notching his chin over your shoulder and dragging the hand on your waist down to your aching, needy pussy didn't feel like a concession. It felt like a win. His new position meant that he was able to look down at you, tugging your upper body further into him so the smooth line of your body was clearly visible.
An entire platter, his for the taking.
He lowered his hand enough that he could bypass the hem of your sundress, and then crept all the way back up, his large hand cupping the warmth at the crux of your legs, through your panties. His thumb rested on the joining of your waist and thigh whilst his thick fingers applied pressure till it felt like he could break right through the fabric.
“Fuuuck, look at this… your pussy’s practically crying for me. All this from some words and heavy petting?” He groaned and nipped at your neck. “I have so much to teach you, so much to show you. The shit Jackie’s gonna do to you is going to blow your mind, babygirl.” He emphasised ‘blow your mind’ with 3 pulses of his fingers, the already intense sensation heightened by the years of waiting and the fabric between you. This was so wrong and to be doing it in the pantry where anyone could walk in? Your mind swam with consequences.
‘Jackie’ was filthy, it was so dirty, ‘Jackie’ just emphasised the years between you, reminded you of a man that reached sexual maturity before you were even born. A man that could have fucked you in the 90’s and could fuck you now. Was fucking you now. You could feel him looking down at you, the solid mass of him destabilizing you. He had so much on you - height, weight, control, and yet you were begging him to keep going.
“Yeah,” you breathily beg against the shell of his ear, “show me, Jack, do it, please, you could do anything to me. Just do something, I can’t take anymore teasing."
Neither can I, he thinks, as he tugs your panties aside. His feet that were previously bracketing yours now move to stand in between them, kicking your at heels and nudging them apart. Moving your body how he willed to carve a space for himself within you. The first direct touch of his fingers trails through the sopping mess of your slit, submerging them into your folds and circling up to your clit. You were surrounded by him, the faint scent of smoke and Old Spice, the corded muscle of his biceps - one on your throat and one right where you would touch yourself to thoughts of him at night.
“You’re so evil, so so bad for wearing this exact dress, even though I told you not to. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” the lilting cadence of his speech defining his yearning. He kept up the movement of his fingers, a continuous motion of up and down, up and down till you were mad with it. Your hips reflexively jump back into his every time he ghosts the bundle of nerves that drove you crazy. You were so wet that the glide was almost frictionless, audible and echoing in the empty marble of the pantry.
“When you turn up like this, with your - fuck - little white sundress and exposed skin - god, i can’t fucking stand it. I can't stand pretending like I wouldn't take you right there in front of every member of my family. Show them exactly what belongs to me. Would you like that? Would you beg me to?”
You nod, frenzied, and he chokes out a laugh. His fingers slip lower and lower until every pass of his fingers lingered directly under your hole, pressing down and emphasising your emptiness. It was a warning of the pleasure still to come.
“Go on then. Beg me. Tell me exactly what you want me to do.”
You tried to get the words out, past the point of arguing now, but his hand on your neck inhibited you. The flat of his palm had moved upwards till the heel was urging down on your adam’s apple and his pointer was under your chin, nudging your head upwards till the back of your head rested on his shoulder.
Two things were true at the same time: he wanted you to give in whilst you put up a fight. To beg for him and to squirm under him, like a tiny insect completely at his whim.
A strained garble left your lips, much to his amusement.
“I want you to touch me properly, Jackie. The way you promised. The way I know you think about - c’mon, please, I’m begging you.”
“Good girl. That’s all I wanted, baby. I’d give you anything you wanted, so long as you ask me just as prettily.”
The weight of that declaration hung in the air, their very circumstances currently proving them wrong.
He pulls the soaking wet cotton of your panties down, hooking two fingers in by your waist and bullying his hand inside. One more pass through the gorge of your cunt for luck, and his fingers were inside you. One long middle finger, finding its way into you like a homing device, primed for pleasure.
Jack groans into your ear - a glorified exhalation really. His lips brush the curve of your ear around the shape of his words.
“Just as tight as I dreamed. God, I used to wake up hard and leaking at the mere thought of your pretty little pussy, baby. All I had to do was imagine you bent over and I would be done for. I haven’t felt that way in years, fuck, I don’t think I’ve felt that way ever. Do you understand what that means? Hm?”
Jack waits for your reply, and when one doesn't come, he shakes your head side to side for you, your chin still held firmly in his grasp.
“All empty up there?”
You whine your acquiescence, and then let out a different kind altogether when Jack slides a second finger into you, crooking them towards your belly. He alternates between a wide sweeping motion and short bursts, avoiding the one thing you both want.
“That’s okay, doll. Let me do all the thinking for you - all you have to do is take it. It means this pretty pussy was made for me, it means that it's all mine. Mine to eat, mine to fuck. You never have to worry about it again, I’m gonna take such good care of her. Isn’t that right?”
His thumb finds your clit and circles around the hood, using the wetness your body could never hide around him. You can feel his index and his pinkie on either side of your thighs and, though you can't see it, you can imagine exactly how his fingers must look buried inside you.
You’ve watched those same fingers shake hands with colleagues, open the door for his wife. You’ve watched the way he would massage them down the palm of his other hand, absentmindedly, while talking about the most recent acquisition for his to-go bag. All those tiny moments leading to this one.
He drives deeper, and suddenly there's a chill right at your entrance. Not enough to pull away, but slight enough that it contrasts with the heat of his hand. You gasp, soft and delicate, and buck back into him, causing him to look down.
What he sees is enough to have him biting the rim of your earlobe and moving his hand off your neck to unbuckle his belt. He wishes to all holy that he could have seen your nimble fingers undo the clasp, a sight that would have been enough to power his lonely nights for years to come, but time was of the essence and his cock was painfully hard already. You could hear the metal clashing and the visual of him undoing it one-handed, years of experience, had you fluttering down on him.
“Oh baby, you’re dangerous. You are such bad news. I can feel exactly how your cunt is clenching down on me.” Every word was a groan now, desperate and demanding at the same time. His voice was lethal now, the gravel of it searing down your spine.
“You feel that? That’s my wedding ring, baby. You’re so fucking dirty, I bet you get off on that, don’t you? It bet it turns you on so goddamn much to see your cunt swallowing that ring up.”
You moan and clutch his wrist where it lays on your pubic bone. The right thing would be to deny it, fuck, the right thing would be to push him away right now and pretend none of this ever happened. But it would be a lie, and something about Jack made you want to tell the truth. Made you want to be painfully honest and bare your soul to him.
Your hand trails down to where his fingers are, tracing the short length of his pinkie, before guiding that too into you. It did turn you on, it got you off beyond belief that the hand he promised to another was the same one devoted to your cunt.
“You know it does, Jackie. But don’t pretend it doesn't do the same for you.”
“Oh, I would never. I'm just as nasty as you are, honey, if not more. You’ll see.” He snarls into your cheek, jagged edges of a smile pushing at his lips. He was feral with lust and you were his prey.
With three of his fingers inside you now, he made no attempt to shy away, aiming for the spot he knew would undo you. His fingers moved fluidly, yet with a precision that felt obsessive. He knew every single part of you.
“Yes, yeah… right there - fuck! Oh my god, finally, thank you, thank you, thank you…”
He couldn't believe his luck, couldn't believe the one thing he had wanted all those years had stumbled right into his lap, virtually impaled herself on his fingers, and now was thanking him for it.
Not that you knew what you were saying, driven braindead with pleasure. You were so close you could taste the relief.
His hand that wasn't buried inside of you was wrapped around the base of his cock, a hair trigger away from marking himself all the way up your back. Another time, for sure. He bore down tightly, edging himself away from the brink. The hem of your dress was rucked up around your waist, and so when Jack pressed the red, throbbing heat of himself against you, you felt it like a brand.
“Yeah, like that, I want it Jack, I want it inside me.” He didn't even have to ask you to shame yourself this time, you did it without a second's thought.
“Please, put it inside, Jackie. I need your cock inside me, I want it so bad.”
“Right here? You want me to fuck you right where everyone could see? God, I want that… I want you to go back out there and have me drip down your thighs. But not today, sweetheart. Or at least not right now.” Jack didn't even know the half of what he was spewing now, delirious off the feel of your sweet, pure cunt. One hand fisting his cock and the other pressing right into your g-spot, the spongey give of it his for the devouring.
“When I take you, I’m gonna do it properly, I swear. Gonna show you how a real man fucks. You’re gonna love it, baby, it’s gonna drive you crazy. Just keep you dazed and confused in my bed, cockdrunk, just… fucking hell… just waiting for me to come home and take you when I want. When you want too, right?”
His desire for you always coated with the need for your approval. His words were slurred into your throat now, barely coherent or audible, only the proximity of his own body to yours allowing you to decipher his reverence.
“I don’t care about that please, you can have me any way you want, Jack. Jack, please, I’m so close, I just need - please, jus’ wanna feel it, you promised to give it to me Jack, you promised, don’t take it from me, it's mine, I earnt it.”
And earn it, you did. He could never deny his baby.
“You can have it, sweet thing, you just gotta have it ‘nother way.” With that, he fed the leaking head of his aching cock right through the passage between your thighs.
“You know I can never say no to you. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? I’m only doing this because it’s what you want. Rem -” a deep breath, his body recentring at the tight, hot clutch of your cunt gliding against the velvet hardness of his dick. A pause, then back into the onslaught.
“Remember you asked for it when you’re begging me to stop. Because I won’t.”
“Fuuuck, I would never, Jack, you give it to me so good, I won't ever ask you to stop…”
Both of you were rambling now, lust given way to delirium, saying whatever would get you both off faster.
"It's gonna be perfect for you, shit, gonna make you come on my tongue and my fingers and my face before I even think about fucking you."
He could already imagine it, could feel the way your cunt would spasm around his cock, poor wanton thing that it was, sucking him deep, needing him to touch you where no one else had ever before. There would be nothing between you and him then, no wife and no morals that would make him rise from his knees as he worshipped at the alter of your being.
"I wouldn't even dream of wearing a rubber either, your little pussy's gonna feel me the way god intended. Gonna - fuckin' - slide into that pussy bare, feel it pulse around me. Yeah? Yeah, you would like that, wouldn't you? My sweet baby likes everything I do. One way or another, anyway. Say it for me - tell me."
"Yes, yes, yes Jack, I would love it, god, you would never have to wear a condom, wanna feel how warm you would be inside me. Harder, please. I need more..."
"Just keep fuckin' you, won't stop even when we've both come, gonna stay inside you till I get hard again. Fuck you full of me." This was dangerous territory, a razor's edge he didn't know he could pull back from.
"You take such good care of my kids, might as well give you another one." His spare hand moved to your abdomen again, this time pushing down, emphasising the emptiness and the potential to be full. His massive hand spans from the bottom of your bellybutton to just above your clit. He was incessant with it, bearing down and making depressions in the soft pudge of your belly.
"No one can deny me you then. You'll be mine, for everyone to see. They'll know how I claimed you and how you begged for it. Keep you round and fed and satiated with my come. With my babies."
"As many as I ask for?"
He teeth nipped at your cheek, your neck, anywhere he could reach. "Darling, you know I was raised Catholic. I wouldn't ever pull out, let alone think about wasting what I could leave buried in you."
God, it was just complete senseless, foolish rambling now. Jack hadn't thought about God for longer than you had been alive, not since he was a teenager sitting in the pews for Sunday Mass. And it's not like he honoured his upbringing, desecrating the sanctity of his marriage in the very house his wife slept in. But sue him, he was a hypocrite. He needed what he needed and he took it where he could get.
The tip of his cock was bumping against the back of his hand, but that wasn’t what you needed right now. What you needed was his direct touch. You pull his hand out and forcibly place it on your clit, his fingers immediately forming a flat surface to grind against. Your hips undulate, moving forwards onto his palm, and then backwards so his pulsing tip could peek out.
The head of his cock was engorged, and you almost felt bad; he’d spent so much time on you now making sure you felt good and you had given him almost no contact in return before you realised that, from now on, your every waking moment would be consumed by pleasuring and servicing him.
You could see his pre-cum smeared in between your thighs now, mixing with your own and it made you hazy. His words from earlier wouldn't stop running round your head, the idea of his come dripping down your legs, no matter how badly you tried to keep it in, visibly marking you as his. Jack Abbot was messy like that, demanding to be let out and witnessed.
“Yeah, attagirl, show me what you need. Always knew you would do well with a firm hand.”
Your moans were far too loud now, your fears tamped down by arousal, but still lingering. Your only reprieve was the fact that this was happening in the pantry, and not in the kitchen. The way he had dragged you in here was perhaps your one saving grace.
His hand presses into your outer thigh, encouraging you to squeeze tighter around him, and you both groan at the new sensation. Every long thrust has him bumping into your clit, a simulation of what you could have, what he would give you later.
“I can feel how close you are, baby. You just have to be good for a little longer. If you show me you can take it now, then I’ll let you have it next time. Soldiers oath, sweetheart,” he crooned. “C’mon now, show me. Show me how you look coming on my cock.”
You were right there, a few seconds and he would be drenched in you. You just needed -
“Give it, give it to me, come on my cock.”
The waves of your release crashed into you, Jack the steady shore against the tide of your desire. His still moving hips an ebb and flow. You gasped and whined and trembled, and he didn't move an inch, the tips of his fingers pressing down on you right where you needed it. His fingers and his cock, both working to bring you there.
“Just like that baby, well done. I’m not gon’ stop, not until you start shaking. Not until you're shivering with it.”
His voice was reedy now, betraying his own desperation. The thrusts were becoming increasingly shallow, his cock barely covering any distance. He was grinding into you, chasing his own release, and you wanted to be the one to give it to him.
You arched your hips and brought your lips to his cheek. As they brushed up against the silver stubble, the change in position meant his cock suddenly notched right where his fingers had been, pressing right up against your hole, tempting fate.
Jack’s reaction was instantaneous. A high gasp left his mouth, a sound you had never heard him make previously, before a guttural moan left him, echoing from deep within his chest. You could feel the vibrations against your back. His hips paused, the pressure against you intensifying, close enough that he could push in right now. The choice left solely up to his own self-control. Your folds opened up as your body moulded itself around him.
“Thank you. Thank you, Jackie. You’re so good to me, that’s exactly what I needed. It’s your turn now, please, I wanna see it. I wanna feel it all over me.”
There was nothing left for his body to do but acquiesce, his hips stuttering wildly.
“Fuckk yeaah,” he groans, just before he comes, his release painting white hot stripes over the hair on your mound. Your hand flies down to cup him against you, ensuring that nothing goes to waste. He comes for what feels like ages, years of built up repression breaking through the floodgates. There's so much that it starts to drip from you now, landing on the tile beneath you.
His hips slow and then come to a stop, his forehead thudding down to your shoulders, gleaming with sweat.
The air is filled with your mutual panting, and nothing else before Jack barks a short, hysteric laugh that sounds more like a wheeze. You turn your head around to face him and meet a grin so wide and carefree, it shocks you a little. You’ve never seen him smile like that.
“We haven’t even kissed yet.” He chokes out.
A noise outside the doors startle you both, your heads turning in quick succession and then back to face each other. You bring a hand to his cheek and wipe away lingering spit.
“Next time, I promise.”
When they both ventured back out, souls condemned and bodies marked, no one was none the wiser. They didn't have to know how he had played with your pussy, lamented how he 'wished he had more time with his cunt', and then regretfully slid the fabric your panties back up, fingers tracing your legs as they went, lingering and leaving goosebumps.
Someone had commandeered the speaker so it was no longer playing teen pop, but instead crooning an old Bruce Springsteen song and the smoky smell of charcoal was hovering in the air. Jack had returned to his station behind the grill but kept sneaking looks at you like he couldn't help himself.
If his wife looked at you any differently, you didn't notice. And if her husbands come was pooling in your innocent cotton panties, well, quite frankly, that was no one's business but your own. He may have been around a time or two but that was nothing compared to what he had now.
Wasn't every part of you already his, and every part of him irrevocably yours?