The Game – Chapter 4 Extra cream please
Wow, where to begin. Well hopefully if you are reading this, you took the time to read the first three chapters of this story, and have sent me your comments. If not, do that now.
Still reading? Great, then you know that Ron and I have been playing a game of sexual fulfillment where we alternate fulfilling our deepest sexual fantasies on a monthly basis. On the first of each month we either give or receive an envelope with a fantasy in it. (I give him mine on odd months, and he gives me his on even months).
For those of you that don’t remember what I look like, I am blond, 5’6”, 34b boobs, and an athletic body. My boyfriend Ron is 6 feet tall, has an 8 inch cock and is about 200 sexy pounds. As you know, he can cum and cum and cum more than anyone I have ever met (or even heard about in porno movies).
This story takes place 2 weeks after Chapter 3. There are still four days for Ron to get me his fantasy, but as you will see, he really only has two. Well on with the story, and again please do not read this out of order unless you want to miss a lot of character development and hot steamy sex.
Also, this chapter is extremely long and contains a lot of character development required for future chapters. At the risk of boring my readers, I have broken this chapter into two parts. Thank you to all who have sent kind words of encouragement as well as those who have offered harsh criticism. I am new author and enjoy well intentioned feedback so please send it.
And now on to the story:
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“Wednesday’s suck,” I thought as I sat at my desk. It was 3:00pm and I was suffering from the afternoon blues wanting nothing more than to go home and take a nap. I clicked on the Ace of spades on the solitaire game on my computer screen. “Why do they call this hump day?” I wondered aimlessly. “No one is going to be humping me today.”
I sighed deeply and thought back ten days to the minute from right now. I was standing naked in Ron’s bathroom about to receive the fuck of my life. My nipples tingled as I mentally relived the day. I had watched the movie we had made together at least 10 times since that day. Sometimes with Ron, but often I watched it alone. I loved the way we looked on camera. I loved watching myself cum over and over again until I was exhausted. It was so hot to see Ron and the sexy black man, whose name I still don’t know, pump themselves in and out of me. Mmmmm so hot.
I checked my email again knowing that it was unlikely that Ron had sent me anything in the thirty seconds since the last time I checked. There were still no new messages. Damn. I was getting anxious again. There were only 4 days left until the first of the month and Ron owed me his fantasy so that I could plan adequately to fulfill whatever his mind had conjured up.
I knew this fantasy was likely to be more intense than the other’s we had lived. In the past two months, we were both new to the game we were playing. Although we both were true to the game, I think we both did not explore some of our more intense fantasies the first time. I wondered for the millionth time what he would come up with that was new. In the past two months I had done sexual things that I had never before contemplated. The strange thing is that in retrospect, the things we did don’t seem that kinky or weird now, although any other normal person would probably call us freaks.
What was worse, I was leaving on Friday to go to my sister’s house. Ron, of course, knew this, and he was obligated to get me his fantasy before the first. Since the first fell on that Sunday, I expected his email or letter to come before Friday. “He better hurry the fuck up.” I thought as I returned to my mindless computer game.
I planned to visit my sister’s home that was several hundred miles away. I was going to visit her for the first time in several months and her daughter, Rachel, was interested in moving to the city. I suspected that Rachel wanted me to tell her mother it was a great idea for her to move to Chicago to become a photographer rather than go to college. I also suspected that her mother was less than enthusiastic about this, and I didn’t know exactly how big of a family fight I was being roped in to.
I had not seen Rachel in several months. She and I were much closer when she was a child. My sister had given birth to her when I was 13 years old, so we were too far apart in age to be like sisters, but not so far apart that I was the dreaded authority figure. When Rachel was 14 and 15 she would sometimes come and stay with me for a weekend to get away from her parents. Like any teen she was going through difficult times with her parents. We watched lots of movies together and talked at length about her life.
I enjoyed that relationship with her and tried to encourage her in her endeavors at school and out. She had a difficult time talking to her parents, and I think I filled the void of having an adult that she could talk to without being judgmental, even if the judgment she felt was only in her own mind.
Rachel and her parents had a typical relationship, I guess. I have no children and spending time with Rachel was both rewarding and educational in ways that I never would have imagined. She was a wonderful girl who was morphing into a wonderful woman before my eyes as the years slipped by.
She was 18 now and had recently graduated from high school. I remember that time in my own life, and was both envious of the possibilities that stood before her and at the same time, glad that you only have to go through that period of time once in your life.
The last time I saw Rachel was over New Years. I was stunned at how beautiful she had become and how much she looked like an adult. She had long, wavy, auburn hair and bright green eyes that twinkled with possibility. Her body had developed as well, and although I probably should not notice such things, her breasts had become full and pert. She was skinny with long legs that were perfectly tanned and smooth. I found myself wishing for her body, and knowing that the blessed period in life when nothing sags and everything looks perfect was over for me.
Not that I am a pig, but I am also not a teenager. At 32 years old, I was still beautiful and often was asked for ID when buying alcohol, but I didn’t look like I did when I was her age. On the other hand, I had experienced things she had not and was probably a lot more comfortable in my own skin than she would be for years.
Rachel was in a word, stunning. What made her more beautiful yet, was her personality. She was very laid back and easy to laugh. She had broken up with her boyfriend a week before New Years last year, and although she was as heartbroken as only a teenager in love could be, she could joke about the guy and somewhere deep down you got the impression that she knew life would go on. I admired her greatly for this, because remembering the scars of my own first “love” was still stingingly painful, and at the time it seemed devastating.
Now Rachel appeared to want to forego college at least for a year and learn about life in the big city. I had talked to her mother at length who was appalled at the idea of her “little girl” moving away from home. Apparently Rachel had suggested that it would be ok since “Aunt Sara” lived there. So I was off to spend the weekend at my sister’s home and talk about options for Rachel. This probably was not going to go well, and I suspected that no matter the outcome someone would probably not be happy.
Thursday and Friday crawled by as only the end of the week does for a working girl like me. I played at least ten games of solitaire each day. And finally I was driving south on I-55 toward my sister and Rachel.
During the long drive I found myself reliving Thursday evening, the one bright evening of my week.
