The following is a work of erotic fiction and is in no way meant to represent real people or events. It is completely written and owned by me, OfStarsAndDreams.
Contents (includes possible spoilers): M/f, cuckolding, manipulation, irredeemable asshole MC, older woman/younger man, homewrecker, casual fucking, gym, public sex (mild), seduction, pick-up artist, massage, over clothes petting, fingering (M on f), oral (M on f, f on M), orgasms, questionable consent, non-consent, mouth fucking, PiV sex, negging, creampie, fluids, coercion, no doesn't mean no, lips that grip, raw sex, bdsm (very mild, controlling M), commands/demands (M to f), begging (f to M), dirty talk, forceful oral (f on M), swallowing, forced down and fucked, rough sex, on phone while fucking, teasing, hair grabbing, dripping cum, caught in the act, clothing destruction, cervix pounding, impregnation (not stated in story, suggestion of it occurring is made)
Let's begin!
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I think most people would agree that I'm not a very good person.
I'm certainly not trying to be.
If it makes you feel better you can blame my dad, or my stint in the military, or whatever other Freudian bullshit floats your boat. Honestly, though? I was probably just born this way. I mean, there are plenty of men like me out there. I'm just more honest about it. At least with some people, anyway.
Which is why, in the start of this recollection, I had come to find myself in a predicament regarding my Thursdays.
You see, I really like getting my dick wet. Who doesn't? But I really hate having to deal with all of the emotions, all the baggage, the women suddenly having expectations of me, so on and so forth. My ideal, then, was someone eager to put out but disinclined to try to work their way into my personal business. No strings attached.
Yeah, me and everyone else, right?
Except, in my case, I'm fit as fuck, hot, charming, and, like I said before, I don't give a shit about what anyone thinks of me. I have no problem pulling pussy and I have no qualms with blocking their numbers after I pop a load off in them, or maybe a few if they're a really good fuck and not especially whiny about shit.
Landing a new girl every night can be a bit of a chore, though, which is why I really came to appreciate my job at the gym. It's like a buffet of neglected, insecure housewives all trying to get in shape so they can pretend they still look as good as they did in their twenties. And they're usually as regular as clockwork. Sharon, for instance, comes in for personal training on Monday mornings and Reba on Monday afternoons, so I could straight up be banging Reba with my dick still wet from railing Sharon and naive little Reba would honestly think she was so special that she was the only piece of ass I was getting there. I mean, that is what I told her, after all.
I could line up one or two holes every day of the week with none of them any the wiser.
Of course when I first started I mostly had eyes on the tight young gym bunnies -- and I'll still snap one up in an instance whenever they avail themselves to me -- but over time I learned to enjoy how reliable, desperate, and incredibly easy to manipulate the older women were. Plus, the young ones have egos like you wouldn't believe. They might be horny but damn do those bitches act like they're doing you a favor. On top of that they always make things so god damn complicated. A married woman, on the other hand, is going to put in the effort to make sure things stay on the down low. Hell, she'll do most of the work for you.
Which brings me back to Thursdays. You see, that was the day of the week I'd assigned to fucking this ex-beauty pageant trophy wife, but I guess the guilt of cheating on her husband finally got the best of her, or else hubby found out and kicked her whore ass to the curb. Who knows. But she hadn't been showing up, and I had realized I needed a new girl to fill the position.
It's always a bit of a careful thing at first -- I have to test the waters, see who's willing, make sure my boxes are checked before making a move, lest one of them freak the fuck out and report me for sexual harassment and cost me my job and, more importantly, my calendar line up of eager pussy.
At the time there had been a couple girls on my radar, but the most promising option was Tammy. She'd hired me as a private trainer, so I had plenty of time with her. She wasn't anything special, a bottle blonde in her fifties, overly concerned about appearances. Her husband was some rich upper-class ex-serviceman, an officer. I won't deny that I find a certain added amusement in the thought of using the wives of rich and powerful men as my personal toys. These men think they have everything, hold all the power, and here I am just walking all over them, dirtying their most prized possessions right under their noses. I'm pretty sure there's even an oblivious CEO out there raising one of my kids.
Just thinking about it gets me a little hard.
Anyway, the first thing I did with Tammy dearest was see if she'd be game for some extracurriculars during our sessions. I put her in positions that got her close to my hard thighs, my bulge in those tight gym shorts, situations that brought my body a bit too close to hers, and each time I noted her reaction. In cases where it wasn't ever going to fly the filly will look uncomfortable or flighty -- they'll edge away, squirm, not look, try to make distance.
Tammy, however, did the opposite. She'd blush, and hold still, and linger, and even occasionally shiver at my touch. She'd fidget during sessions, throw me glances and quickly avert her eyes. Play with her fucking hair. It was as good as in the bag.
Once I determined the fruit was ripe for the picking, I decided to step a layer deeper. I put her in a bit of a compromising stretch, something that required a bit more out of her than she was used to giving, and, as a nice bonus, put her ass in the air in those nice tight yoga pants of hers. I could see the way they wrapped around her pussy like the whole thing was vacuum packed. By the look on her face she was probably thinking the same thing.
So I leaned in and teased her a bit, told her that she must not have a very exciting sex life if she couldn't even handle a pose like this.
Her reaction was delightful -- she nearly fell over right there and then -- and I knew my suspicions were spot on. Caught her. She looked away, embarrassed, and anyone with eyes could tell she wasn't getting anything good at home. Maybe not getting anything at all. When was the last time this woman had an orgasm?
