Addicted

Her hand in mine, I was riding an adrenaline high.

By the giddy smile and the little spring in her step, I think she was, too.

On a dark side street in North Hollywood, we walked back toward where she'd parked. Wasn't totally sure she was safe to drive, but neither of us were thinking clearly.

I guess the streetlights and Friday-night traffic were a reality check. She stopped to pop open a little "Fresh Nap" packet and used the towelette to wipe our cum off her face.

Yeah: "our" cum.

I didn't even know the name of the other guy, he was just "green-shirt guy," but he'd come on my girlfriend's face, in his car. I came on her face, in the shadows, a couple minutes later.

What a fucking head trip.

We traded a kiss and lemon-scented wipes or not, I could still smell cum on her. There was definitely dick on her breath and it was gross, yet... not sure how, it was also the hottest fucking thing ever.

We were just close enough to the bar that the bouncer watched me walk her back to her Jeep. The guy had a confused head-tilt.

Lizzy noticed me noticing him and leaned in to whisper: "...He probably remembers me leaving with a different guy."

"Ha! Yeah."

And a second later, it really hit me: Holy Shit. That's exactly it.

Well, looks like I won't be coming back here any time soon.

Or maybe I would. This slutty girlfriend thing was a rush.

#

Five minutes later, we met at the front of my apartment building.

She gave me another giggling kiss. "I felt you wince earlier, so I had an Altoid. Better?"

"Much," I nodded. "Mint and dick is better than dick alone."

She was thoughtful as I opened the door. "If Altoids made a 'Mint and Dick' flavor, I'd suck on it all day long."

"Wow. Were you this honest with old boyfriends?"

She bit her lip, shaking her head. "Too much honesty...?"

"Nope! Fucking loving it!"

"Good!" And she planted another kiss on my cheek.

Jesus, I was going to need a "towelette" myself.

#

Upstairs, she threw herself at me. The door was just latching behind us as we locked lips. Naturally, she made this kiss tongue-deep.

When we finally came up for air, I couldn't help blurting it out: "I am so thankful for that Altoid."

She kissed me again. "Do I still have his dick on my breath?"

"Yeah? I'm guessing? Really don't know where mine stops and his starts."

"Would you kiss me if I had his cum in my mouth?"

"No. I wouldn't even kiss you if it were MY cum."

"Please?"

"No kissy, Lizzy. Cum on YOU is really hot. Cum near MY face? Total turn-off. Not saying it's bad, I just don't swing that way. if you've got cum anywhere..." I gestured all around her face. "Then you need to give me head."

"Kinda like we just did?"

"Exactly!"

"Okay..." She stared at the ceiling a moment, in cute contemplation of-- "Okay, what if I don't have cum in my mouth, but I HAD cum in my mouth?"

Now it was my turn: "Kinda like we just did?"

"Exactly!" She giggled, literally jumping up and down. Then, just as suddenly, she got all pensive and thoughtful. "See, for me, it's..."

Slow me finally put it together. "Undeniable evidence you just gave head?"

She pointed as the big grin broke into a giant smile. "I want you to know that I was a bad, bad girl... and I want your kiss to tell me you still love me!"

Slow me also realized all this shit wasn't about what we just did; this was a "what if?" She was planning for some future moment. In a heartbeat, I pictured us at a party somewhere, and my girlfriend disappearing for a while... then finding me and giving me a kiss with dick on her breath.

It was just slutty enough to start waking my dick up all over again.

"You ARE a bad, bad girl..." I gave her a gentle kiss as I thought about it. "Yeah, sure: like your dentist: spit and rinse. Have a sip of beer first, then you can have a kiss."

"My dentist?!" She covered her mouth, shocked. "Yeah... dentists need head, too!"

"Not what I meant, but I love the enthusiasm."

"Rinse and spit. Hmm. Was 'swallow and Altoid' okay?" She asked, hopeful.

Borderline. "Well, I did kiss you..."

Lizzy grinned as she pulled me toward the couch. She kicked off her pants, humming (I think) Britney Spears, still pulling me as she danced. She turned away, braced herself against the sofa, and looked over her shoulder at me. "Please? I need you."

Fuck. That ass. That incredible ass.

As the rest of the night came flooding back to me: the same ass Green-shirt Guy had been admiring, but did not get.

And framed right between cheerleader cheeks: a magnificent dark spot. Her panties were totally soaked.

I slid my thumbs down her hips, pulling her panties to mid-thigh. A fumbling moment later, my hardened dick nudged her folds.

She opened, hot and wet, dripping on my shaft. The smell was pure, sweet pussy.

I swirled the head around her entrance, lubing up with her juices, and they were plenty. Slowly, I pushed deep into her pussy.

She sighed, dropping her head into the couch.

I pushed deeper, bottoming out as gently as I could. Gripping her hips, I pulled back, right to edge, and gave another push. The second was a little harder.

"Ooh..."

The third was harder still.

Harder and harder and harder until she was squeaking and her legs were shaking.

"Oh, god!" she chirped.

I shook my head. Chirped? Mid-fuck, still cute.

Suddenly stiff, I think she was coming. I loved that about her, but I wasn't even close. Cute aside, I did not care. I squeezed her hips and pulled her into my thrusts, making her whole body shake.

She was hyperventilating: "Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Still cute.

What if she'd gone home with Green-Shirt Guy? He'd be fucking her right now. He'd be doing this.

Her legs were giving out. I was fucking the breath out of her.

If she was with him, right now, would I see her tomorrow? In the morning? In the afternoon, when she went back for her car? Would I get a blow-by-blow?

Would I get sloppy seconds?

My dick bottomed hard on every thrust.

What about that ass he'd been staring at? I looked at it: firm, but still rippling with every thrust. I stared at her rosebud, planning on how I was going to fuck her in the ass tonight, and--

She was a sudden rag doll.

"Lizzy?"

She'd passed out.

"Fuck. Are you kidding me?"

I carefully flipped her over, pushed her on to the couch, and threw her legs over my shoulders. Her ass could wait -- she needed to be awake for that. Carefully, I guided my shaft back into her pussy.

Slowly, at first, then faster and faster.

She scrunched her face and goddamn if she didn't look super cute doing it. One hand braced herself against the couch, her other hand reached between her legs, her fingers splitting to feel me splitting her.

Her boobs... small but perfect. I know she wanted a boob job, she'd been talking about that since we got back from our beach weekend, but those pert tits were jiggling in the best possible way.

I think she came again, but honestly, still didn't care: we both needed her to feel me cum inside her.

Then suddenly, a familiar smell.

She was breathing -- no, blowing -- towards me.

The fuck? "I can still smell dick on your breath."

"I was hoping so," she nodded.

"You WANT me to smell the dick on your breath?"

She blew more, making her point.

My thrusts hardened into grudge mode. "You... little... slut."

Her face scrunched again, nodding. Her breathing was controlled by my dick. "I blew... another guy... tonight... and... I LOVED it!"

Jesus. This chick.

She was cupping her tits, her nipples between her fingers.

There were creaks and cracks coming from the couch -- and I thrust harder. I suddenly needed to break the couch with her body and my dick.

My hands were going to leave grip-bruises on her hips. "You... are... a... naughty... girl!"

"YES!" She was on the verge of another fucking orgasm -- then one more blow in my direction. "Do... you... still... love... me?"

"Fuck yes... I do!"

Her legs slipped off my shoulders and wrapped around me, locked behind my back. She was pulling me as tight as she could, and I was driving as deep as I could.

"Fuck me!" she screamed. "Fuck your slut!"

And suddenly...

Pressure... then my whole universe exploded inside her pussy. My hips were still moving, but slower... harder.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, yet still so goddamned cute. "I can feel you..."

I could only grunt.

Her whole body stiffened and shuddered. Her nipples were ultra-hard. Her legs had fallen limp, and just as I noticed, she wrapped them back around me and pulled me in as tight as deep as she could.

"Jesus! Did you just come? Again...?"

"You... yes." She nodded, her eyes still shut. "I felt YOU cum."

#

She was asleep.

I studied her just-showered angelic face, resting on my pillow. Those little cherub cheeks were so goddamned cute, I could almost see the halo.

Now, after blowing her boss in his office yesterday, and blowing a stranger in his car tonight... the horns. Yeah, I could definitely see the horns. They were holding up the halo.

I crawled in behind and rested an arm across her. Her body, soft and warm, just sorta melted into mine.

#

Saturday morning, I was up early.

Last night, I only had one drink, plus enough adrenaline to light up fucking Los Angeles. Lizzy, on the other hand, had five or so playing the game that led to Green-shirt Guy.

Five drinks is five drinks, but she could handle it. She never slurred, she never stumbled. She's an athletic size-6 with a pretty well-developed tolerance, not a size-0 who's never had a sip. Last night wasn't sloppy, it was social courage.

She was still sleeping. Breathing deep, just shy of snoring.

Wait, back up: "Green-shirt Guy"? Fucking amazing that I didn't even know his name.

Looking at her now, as she slept, she had a chipmunk-cheeked angel face. Images of her giving head ricocheted through my head. Seeing her in the guy's car, the back of her head bobbing up and down. That was its own shot of tequila.

The blowjob she gave me moments later was a lime chaser. Me coming on her angel face validated her blowjobs. Yeah, plural: all of them. Because I watched this one, I realized accepting Green-shirt Guy meant I accepted her whole history.

I knew her history, and I was okay with it. And she was still cute.

Now with a clear head, as clear as it could be at least, I could only imagine that bringing her home last night was more of the validation she craved. Damn near breaking the couch? That was extra comfort in a risky relationship moment.

Did we make the right decision? Did I make the right decision? I tried searching for regrets, but there weren't any yet.

It was all good.

Okay, there was one red flag: she "loved sucking cock more than anything."

Words, words, words. Was I over-analyzing? Yes, obviously. Was I wrong? Probably not; she said something to that effect twice now: after she'd blown her boss two nights ago; and again, sorta, last night.

As I thought about it, it should've been another gut punch.

It was risky even as pillow talk goes... but it wasn't pillow talk, was it? It was heat-of-the-moment honesty. She wasn't in touch with her "inner slut." Slut wasn't some facet of her personality. No, slut was the core of who she was.

This was peak intensity. This was the relationship equivalent of being shot at: could I handle it?

Yeah.

Why?

Because now. Right now. I wasn't drunk. I wasn't hard. I wasn't working over a heavy bag. Nobody was shooting at me. No distractions, focused entirely on what made my girlfriend a slut... and I felt... I don't know. Serene?

Last night, I hadn't surfed that much adrenaline since I was jumping off helicopters. Right now, I had to guess a heart rate of 30 BPM.

She was a complete slut... and I'd made complete peace with it.

But whaddabout that red flag? When she said the words last night, in the shadows, bam! I came on her face. Why the fuck did it turn me on rather than freak me out?

Easy.

Everything about this... was about her being easy. Her priorities, her "sluttitude" wasn't about me, it was about her.

My dick was in the middle of this, so why wasn't it about me? Some voice, deep inside, slapped me upside the head: it WAS about me. It just wasn't ALL about me.

I looked back down at her, her mouth slightly open, her breathing deep. Part of me wanted to caress her, but I didn't want to wake her. I just wanted to watch her.

That kinda summed it up, didn't it? It was about enjoying watching my partner show off. Exhibition wasn't just flashing your tits, it was about demonstrating your sexuality. She was revealing something to me... and to everyone. That was the point.

The Red Flag words? Honestly, those made it easier: she was all grown up, she knew what she was doing. It was okay to think of her as the slut that she was... and treat her like the slut she was. I could treat her like she was asking to be treated.

Whoa.

Gut reaction: that didn't sound healthy. Was that something that could last in a long-term relationship? I don't know. Maybe. Looking at her now...?

Don't try to fix her. Accept her.

Could I do that?

Could I love a woman enough to let her love her addiction? I stared at Lizzy's cocksucking lips, looking for answer. She'd blown two other guys in the last two days... and I didn't love her any less.

So... yes?

I understood her a little more, now. I knew how to handle her addiction a little better.

This was going to be interesting.

#

Skillet and spatula in hand, my brain wouldn't let it go. Bacon grease fucking stings, but what did I focus on? Yeah, this: How does one properly treat a slut?

That's easy: start by making them breakfast.

That's just what I did. She woke to the aroma of eggs and bacon, toast on the side, a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee.

She stumbled into the kitchen, still a little hungover, and squinted at me. "Do I smell..."

"Nothing a shower won't fix."

"Ha ha."

I pointed at the breakfast bar -- and the plate that was waiting for her. "Have a seat."

She had a bite of bacon and picked up the bottle of aspirin, arranged just-so next to the orange juice. "I love you."

"I know."

Delicately, gingerly, in tiny bites, she started on breakfast.

We ate in silence, allowing her brain to slowly come back together again.

At dinner last night, at the shawarma place, I couldn't take my eyes off her. There was something different about her. Maybe it had to do with knowing she'd gone down on her boss the day before. This morning, we add Green-shirt Guy to the tally.

Chipmunk-cheeked Angel Face hid behind her orange juice. "You're staring again."

"Sorry, you're still gorgeous."

She held her hand up, between us, blocking my vision of her face. "I'm not wearing any makeup, I don't-"

"Shh."

"Shh?"

"Shh," I confirmed. "I'm trying to figure it out."

"I don't mind the attention, especially from you, but maybe leave it mystery? If you figure it out, I'll be boring--"

"Shh."

"Sorry." She scraped the last of the egg up onto her toast. "So, ummm... last night... Are we, uh... okay?"

"Shh. Yes. We're okay. We're better than okay."

She rested her face in her hand, breathing deep. I saw two little shakes pass through her chest, like silent coughs or something. Crying? Not sure what that was about.

"Thank you," she whispered, but I couldn't tell if that was meant for me or not.

I turned away, trying to do anything but stare. What could I do that would make me look cool and relaxed? Dishes. Right. So cool. Look at me, over here, not caring.

I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. Honestly, I wasn't used to being in a relationship. I was used to a mutual "you're hot" and a quick hook-up and that was it. A couple of exceptions to that rule, crazy exceptions, but... I didn't have any idea what I was doing then, either.

What was my secret technique? Just... try not to be an asshole, and somehow I guess that comes across as "charming." Combine that with abs and shoulders and I probably got more wiggle room than other guys. Find some enigma like Lizzy, and I was suddenly reminded that I had no idea what the fuck I was doing.

I stole a glance at her. She was savoring the bacon. No, that's not a metaphor.

Me and Lizzy had started out kinky -- I was her cheat on somebody else -- but honestly, that wasn't my first time. Still in my comfort zone. Even when she told me about her occasional thing with her boss, it didn't feel threatening. Maybe because how we started? Expectations were different.

We got attached. We got comfortable... and THEN she went down on her boss. Again. Suddenly, chipmunk cheeks blew me out of my comfort zone. Hell, I watched her go down on Green-shirt Guy. Now that I'd lived through it, did I love her any less?

Without looking at her, I tried to figure it out. Closed my eyes, let the water run, and...

Nope, still had warm fuzzies... with a drizzle of weapons-grade sexual adrenaline.

Monogamy was comfort. It was a crazy world, I could see why people liked comfort. Lizzy had the comfort of a gentle, warm rain and... BOOM! Lightning. That kind of energy arced straight to the soul. Now that I felt the jolt, whether it was Lizzy or somebody else, it was the kind of insane energy I'd need forever.

Lizzy was here. Lizzy was now. I need to keep this girl.

Not even sure that was possible.

Just gotta stay on top of my game and hope it works out.

I glanced over. "You hated it."

She licked the plate and handed it to me. "Terrible. Awful. Try again tomorrow."

I took her empty plate and slid it in the sink.

She made eye contact. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I smiled, as I tossed the empty bacon package in the trash.

"No, thank you for everything."

"You're still welcome. Are we good?"

A sweet smile crossed her lips. "I love you so much..."

"Elizabeth..." I kissed her forehead, her right cheek then her left, and finally those succulent, bacon-tasting lips. "I love you, too."