CHAPTER 3: EXPECTATIONS
No, he didn't actually fuck me all night. Not literally, anyway. But it felt like it. Even Jerome is only human, after all.
Outside in the sun next to the pool. After the day at the festival and the naked drive back, naked is less of an issue. Oh, I still felt a twinge of nerves as I walked out of the house and across the patio to one of the chaise lounge chairs by the pool. But I did it ultimately without much hesitation. The late morning sun beating down on my skin felt amazing, my legs parted, and I feel the sun's heat on my cunt lips. Truth is my cunt is tender this morning, not that that kept me from eagerly receiving another fuck from Jerome's wonderfully consuming cock before leaving the bed. I can still feel his fresh load of cum inside me.
Last night had been amazing. The more we fucked, the more he came, the longer he could fuck before his next climax. That meant the more orgasms I had along the way. We fucked in every position I had known (not many) and new positions he had introduced me to. And then, a few more. At one point, he lifted me into his arms, my legs around his waist, and settled me down over his pole. He walked us downstairs and out the front door. Each step caused his cock to bump deep against the top of my cunt and by the time he stepped outside I was only half aware of it. The slight chill in the air on my sweaty body brought the condition to awareness but I was too far into the feeling to care. He stopped at a large tree next to the street and pressed me against the rough bark to continue fucking me. When the headlights of a car rounded the corner, he rotated us around the tree and the car passed without slowing down, apparently not spotting us. I came as the car passed and Jerome just continued slamming into me.
Several times during the night he woke me with his cock pressing at my cunt. He promised me and he tried to keep that promise to fuck me as much as humanly possible through the night. I didn't know if his cock was tender like my cunt was but he didn't object when I crawled under the kitchen table to suck his cock as he ate. I happily swallowed his cum without the thought of my own food getting cold.
"How are you feeling?"
I shielded my eyes with my hand as I looked up at him as he sat on the adjoining chair, his fingers moving to further part my legs and cunt lips. The action made me smile and purr. There was no hesitation in his action. He touched me in the most intimate ways like this with complete certainty in his action that it was appropriate and acceptable. And, it was. His touches said I was his to touch in whatever way he wanted. My acceptance, parting my legs further, affirmed to him I truly was.
"A bit tender but..." and I moaned softly as his fingers played over those tender, red, and puffy lips, "... but like after you exercise and your body tells you 'good job'. My cunt is saying 'thank you'." There was a pause between us. I sensed something. "What can I do for you?"
"You can talk to me." I looked at him confused. "It's time, Trish. We need to understand what we are doing, what our expectations are, what all this means for us." He looked at me and saw me stiffen slightly. I pulled the chair back up so I was sitting more upright. I had pondered those questions for weeks and had not come to a satisfactory conclusion. Now, he seemed determined to finally get my response. An answer I didn't know I had for him.
So, I stumbled in response. "I'm married..."
"I know that. That is one of the things that pose a question to all this. Are you planning on divorcing him?"
I looked at him shocked. Nothing like that ever crossed my mind. Stan was a good man, just not... "No... that's not what I want." I looked at him with eyes suddenly welling with sadness and fear this was all about to end. "He's a good man, just not everything I need. I don't want to leave him alone. He's the kind of man who needs someone to come home to when he does come home. It's different... I know..."
"What is it you WANT, Trish? What is it YOU want? Why do you want to meet me?"
"You, of course," I blurted out. But he only looked at me. His fingers continued softly moving over my cunt lips, one occasionally slipping between them. "It is you, Jerome, but... your cock... okay? Your cock. God help me but I need to have your cock." My eyes dropped from his pressing eyes to his fingers between my legs. "You woke some part of me up, Jerome, a part of me I didn't know existed. Now that I know it, though, I want to feel those things more, to experience those things and much more. We've done things that are... are just amazing. I didn't know the body could feel such things or do such things... could receive or give so much pleasure." I looked back up at him, my eyes now pleading. "I'm being as honest as I can be, Jerome. I want your cock... but you, too. You're the one who excites me just being around you. Even just sucking you, Jerome, is a gift to me. I know I am pleasing you and it makes me so... fulfilled... different than being fucked but as strong."
He watched me for a moment longer, then, "You did those things this weekend, fucking outside, exposing yourself at the festival, wearing that ridiculous dress to please me?"
I nodded. "I would never have done such a thing except that you wanted it." I paused. "Then... then it was so exciting. I was embarrassed and nervous but more excited. But that's what I mean, Jerome... you want me to do these things and I'm nervous, maybe somewhat afraid, but I trust you and it becomes just amazing. And now I know to expect that. Being nervous, a little afraid is fine but to follow your lead will be awesome."
He smiled, his finger penetrated my hole as if some kind of reward for finally confessing what I truly felt. I moaned and that's the way I reacted; he was pleased with me.
"The thing is, though, what are we going to do with all this?" I looked from my cunt to his eyes. True, I thought, we both know how I feel now but what does that mean? "The thing is, Trish, I'm not looking for a girlfriend much less I wife and you're not leaving your husband, anyway. I already have a flood of women eager to jump in my bed. Most of them, I know, are just gold-diggers hoping to get my money. They won't but I am willing to use them. You see? Do I need another woman just to fuck occasionally?"
I saw the credits to this tragic play rolling behind my eyes. Trish Edwards playing the part of the clueless, cheating housewife. Wait... stop the credits... what was it he said to me? When I was going unconscious, he softly said something I barely connected with. Yes, 'I think you are the one'.
I blurted it out like a desperate grasp to save myself from falling. "Wait... what did you mean I might be the one?"
"You heard that?" Jerome asked.
"Just barely. It was only now that the words meant anything."
He smiled but he was also showing a very serious face. "The one. It would be against all odds to be true, Trish, You're married, You don't want to leave him," He shook his head as if he wasn't sure it was worth continuing. Then, "As I said... I'm not interested in a girlfriend or another woman to fuck with. I am looking for just one thing, one type of woman, and you intrigued me, intrigued me enough to continue."
"What?" I asked. "What, then, are you looking for? What was it that intrigued you?"
He removed his fingers from me. That action alone gave me pause. I like his touch, the way he so confidently touched me as though that was exactly what I was for. I like that. It reflected what it was between us when we were together: he touched me; he fucked me; I sucked him; I was his to do with as he wanted, as it pleased him. It was like all the tumblers of a lock aligning one after the other, a combination that unlocked the meaning of our relationship.
"Tell me, Jerome. What is it I might be for you, what you haven't found in other women?"
His look back to me was deadly serious but that look was in his eyes, that look that told me he was ready to use me most amazingly. "A slut. What I want is a slut. Not a girlfriend with demands. Not a one-night fuck. A slut. A slut that is mine to use how I want, when I want, and in any way that I want. A slut that will respond to me as I wish, that will be challenged to new experiences and situations, that will eagerly please me and others as I choose."
Wow... how does someone react to that? Intellectually, I was stunned silent. Physically, though, I was already reacting and the reaction shocked my intellectual. I flushed with new arousal that had been lost with talk. My nipples were again hard pebbles. My cunt was again wet and leaking with sudden need. But how could any of this be? I was...
"But you're married..." He finished my own thought as if it had been written on my forehead.
Yes, I was and it was still important to me. I got up from the lounge and walked aimlessly to the edge of the pool. The slight breeze that filtered in from the ocean created small ripples on the surface that flashed sunlight to my unseeing eyes. Then, it was as if those flickering flashes of light were stimulating, triggering parts of my brain to create a complex algorithm to analyze what I knew, what I want, and what I could do. But, it didn't need to be that complex. I wanted the sex Jerome gave me and I even wanted the unknown of what he might expect of me. I wanted to not hurt Stan. I still cared for him and he cared for me. Stan wasn't a clueless man. He might be clueless in understanding what a young woman might physically need, but he wasn't clueless about what happened around him. He didn't question my long nights away. Did he really believe I was JUST with the girls or did he see how happy and satisfied I was and let the reason for it be ignored? He showed me no physical interest but it wasn't that he didn't still love me and care about me. I was happy and satisfied after those nights. He was home less and less but I knew it was his job. He was married to it as much as he was to me... maybe more so. He sometimes lamented that he could be gone even more but... he was concerned about me. I saw I was faced with not a choice of lives but two distinct lives: one with Jerome; the other with Stan. Were they exclusive?
I turned back to Jerome who was still sitting on the lounge next to the one I had been on. I sat facing him, my legs parted wide to be outside his. I saw his eyes flicker from my face to my tits to my cunt fully exposed to him.
"What if my being married isn't a conflict?" He looked at me puzzled but interested. "What if Stan accepted that I was your slut but still his wife?" His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Tell me, Jerome... what would your slut be expected to do... be?"
He hadn't expected this. He hesitated. For the first time, I saw him flustered, caught by the unexpected. "Ah... okay... you'd be mine, Trish. Your body, anyway." He paused in thought, then pushed on. "Not as a slave or a weak, mindless submissive... no, I like you as a strong woman who likes, wants sex. You'd be available when I want you; you'd respond to my requests like you have been; you'd give yourself over to me to use and..." he looked at me intently, significantly, "and to share if when I wanted." He paused.
I interjected, "Shared... as in given to others to use?"
