Imperative 1

I can't fucking stay away from you.

Sometimes you text me in the night, telling me how beautiful I am. Telling me all of the filthy things you want to do to me. And sometimes I wake up and check my phone, and there's nothing.

Days can go by without hearing from you, and I dread those times. I start to feel anxious and unsure. Don't you want me anymore? Don't you need me the way I need you? And then you will send me a message and I feel my body relax. Until the next time you disappear, anyway.

It's 4 am and I'm not alone in my bed, but I can't help checking my phone. When I see your message, I get up and sneak into the bathroom so that the glow of my screen doesn't wake him.

"Fuck, gorgeous," you write now. "I need you."

I feel the punch in my gut, the uptick in my heartbeat, the heat in my pussy immediately.

"I need you too," I type. I watch the text bubble bounce for a minute.

"Video chat. Now." you tell me.

I don't even reply. I just make the call. You pick up immediately. I put my finger to my lips right away so you know we need to be absolutely silent.

I set my phone against the bathroom mirror and start to take off my tank top and sleep shorts. You're on camera, already naked and stroking yourself. I know what you want me to do. I cup my breasts in my hands and squeeze them, bringing them together and pulling them apart, running my fingers over my nipples. I pinch my nipples and pull them, imagining you sucking them. You're stroking faster now, and I know what you would sound like if you weren't being quiet. You'd be moaning and groaning, telling me what to do, telling me how sexy I am, calling me your good girl. And I am your good girl. I know what to do next.

I put two fingers between the lips of my pussy and rub them through my wetness. Then I slide my fingers into my mouth and suck on them. Your mouth drops open as you watch, and you lick your lips. Your cock begins to leak and drip.

I am listening for any noises coming from the bedroom and watching you and trying to hold my own moans. I reach down and rub my swollen clit, opening my legs more so that you can see it, and a whimper escapes me. I'm going to come. And so are you. I can see it on your face.

The light in this bathroom is not flattering for me but I know that you don't care. And neither do I, for that matter. All we need right now is to get off for each other. Nothing else feels like this.

I rub faster and bring a hand back up to my nipple and roll it between my fingers, and seconds later my knees are buckling from my orgasm. I put a hand over my mouth to keep myself from crying out. I see your hand stop moving and your eyes close and cum streaming from your cock. I do that to you. I make you feel that good.

I find my tank top and slip it back over my head, grab my shorts and pull them up, and turn off the light. We can't see each other on camera now, but I can hear you breathing.

"Baby," you say to me.

I whisper "I'm hanging up now." Almost immediately a message comes through from you.

"I love it when you're a slut for me. But it's not enough. I need to fuck you," the message says.

I sigh. I need to go back to sleep. The shame is starting to creep into my belly.

"I need to go now," I write back to you.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you write. "You're mine, gorgeous girl."

I use the toilet and wash my hands. I go quietly back to the bed and ease myself between the sheets, still buzzing from our chat. I need to sleep. I know I need to sleep. But I can hear him snoring quietly next to me and I feel dirty, ashamed.

And I know I'm going to see you tomorrow, and we're going to fuck like we're in heat. I can't help it. I'm yours.

--------

It's the next day and we meet after work. You've already messaged me to tell me the time and place. All day I've been thinking about this. I could go home and eat dinner with him, but I can't fucking stay away from you. I'm driving to the parking lot where you told me to meet you, and I can already feel that cocktail of excitement and fear in my belly that keeps me coming back.

Sometimes we fuck in a park washroom. Sometimes it's at someone's apartment, or in the back room of your workshop, or in the back of my car. Once, I could hear people walking on a trail while I was on my hands and knees in the backseat, and my stomach dropped. We froze for a second, and then you kept pushing into me, driving into me slowly but forcefully. You leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"You just take it, you fucking whore. You take my dick hard, like the little slut you are for me."

I moaned, and you clapped a hand over my mouth.

"That's my good girl, stay nice and quiet," you said, as the voices got closer and you sped up. I came so hard I had tears streaming down my cheeks and I had to fix my mascara in the rear view mirror before going back to work.

I am your fucking whore. I'm yours.

I pull into the parking lot, and see your car. You wave me over and I get in with you. You lay a hand on my bare thigh, under my skirt. Your hand is rough, cool on my skin. There is no small talk, no chatting about our day. That's not what you and I do.

"You look gorgeous, baby," you say.

"Thank you," I say.

"Did you do what I told you?" you ask, and I nod. I pull my underwear out of my purse. I hand the panties to you. You hold them up to your nose and take a deep inhale, smelling my scent. My stomach flutters, and I feel that rush that takes over when we meet in person. I never know what is going to happen.

We drive to the industrial park on the east side of town. I don't know this area. You stop in a small park, the kind of place people might sit and eat their lunches on their breaks from the Toyota factory nearby. You tell me to get out and go to the picnic table. I sit on the table and spread my legs wide so you can see my wet slit, opening the top buttons of my blouse. You pause to appreciate the view.

"Oh, fuuuck," you say. "That's my cunt."

You step in front of me and reach your hand right between my legs and find the wetness of my pussy. I feel you slide some fingers into me while you look into my eyes.

There might be people around. There might be someone driving by. I don't know and I don't care. I can only look at you.

You move your fingers in and out of me and I start to move my hips in time with you. Your other hand makes its way into my blouse and you grip my breast tightly, squeezing it.

"That's it," you say. "Take them for me. Take my fingers like the filthy little whore you are."

My body responds to your words with a jolt. I can already feel the orgasm building, and I know I'll come soon if you don't stop. I don't want you to stop. I want to stay here and feel your fingers move in me, twist and press and fill me over and over until I throw my head back and grunt like an animal.

But you do stop. You lean in close and tell me "Not yet, gorgeous. Bend over the table."

I turn around and do what you tell me. I always do what you tell me. I hike my skirt over my hips and spread myself for you. The cool air feels good.

I hear you unbuckle your pants and lower your zipper and within a second you've entered me roughly.

I lean over a bit more so you can pound into my pussy; my hands are braced on the picnic table as I take each thrust. It feels so damn good. I close my eyes and concentrate on how you're hitting that spot, that exact right spot, deep inside me. My legs start to shake.

I hear you spit and feel you spreading it on my asshole. As you rub me, i moan and whine, getting more desperate, and you reach around me to stuff my panties in my mouth.

"You need to be quiet," you say as my cries are muffled. "Be my quiet little slut. Come for me, now."

Those words, from your mouth, spur an orgasm that has me gagging on fabric and collapsing onto the table.

You keep pounding into me, using me, but I know you won't come inside me. You never do. You let go of me, pull out at the last minute and spill your cum onto the grass next to us, grunting roughly.

I'm still bent over the table and panting, and you lean close to my ear.

"Nothing feels like you do, gorgeous," you say, as you buckle up your pants. "Nobody feels as good. That's my girl."

It's the same for me. I don't know why this is the case, but it is. Nobody fucks me like you do. Nobody feels as good inside me. Nobody has the hold on me that you do.

I stand up, spit out my panties, and toss them onto the table. A car approaches and slows down to go into the parking lot next door. You move to shield me while I pull my skirt down and do up my buttons.

I'm humming with adrenaline, but also the fear that settles in after we fuck. I know I need to get home. I know he is going to wonder where I am. I hope he doesn't wonder why I carry the metallic smell of the outdoors, why my skirt is wrinkled in the wrong places and my hair a mess. I hope he will not notice the wild look in my eyes.

I feel jittery as I get back into your car. You reach over and put your hand on my thigh again.

"Breathe, baby," you say, and I calm. You're not tender. Most of the time we don't even kiss. But you know me in a way I don't know how to describe. You know all of the things I want but am ashamed to ask for. You know all the names to call me, the places to touch me, the secrets to my lust that I've never told anyone.

We drive back to our meeting place. I look at you for a moment and then get out of your car and into mine. Neither of us says anything.

There are four texts from him on my phone and two missed calls. As I start to drive home, I decide that time was the last. I can't do this anymore.

But just as I pull into my driveway, I get your message.

"You were so good for me, my gorgeous girl."

And I know I'll see you again. Because I'm yours. And I can't fucking stay away from you.