When I woke up again, all I felt was shame. Shame for what I had done to Andy, and with myself for being so damned weak, giving in to it again. I cleaned up my room, trying to think of what I should do now. I tried to think of what might happen, if there was a way to stop it, did I want to stop it. What would I tell Andy? What would I tell work? Could I ever go back there again?
I walked through a cleaning routine in daze, before noticing my phone blinking, and remembering I had another message.
I picked up the phone to listen, and felt all my restraint blow away as I heard the voice on the other end. I don't think Sarah's voice had any special power over me, per say. I think it was just the memories it conjured. Memories of what I had done the night before. What she had made me do. What she had done to me.
I don't really remember all that she said in that message. All that mattered was my fingers in my slit. All that mattered was that she had heard I was out sick. All that mattered was that she was coming over to see me that night.
I couldn't help imagining, as I masturbated on the kitchen floor. What else she would make me do. What I could do to resist. If I even wanted to. Would she finish what she had started? Would she make me a walking set of tits like her? I didn't want that did I?
So why wasn't I running? Why was I just laying here, moaning on the floor, pinching those newly expanded tits, and dreaming of the sensations I would feel when she arrived?
When I regained control of myself, I decided it was that I had to wait for Andy. I had to wait for him to get home, home so I could confess. Something, not all of it, just that something was wrong, and that we had to get out of town, had to get away from this thing that was happening to me. He wouldn't argue, not if I told him how important it was. He loved me, he trusted me. We would run, get away from here. But first I had to wait. Wait for him to get home from work.
So I waited. And I tried to stop, I swear I did. I tried to keep from masturbating, to keep my hands away from my breasts, from my slit. And when I showered to try and get clean for Andy's return, I swear I tried to behave myself with the shower head. But my thoughts just kept going back there, kept running away from me. And then my hands would follow, and then I would need to shower again.
When he finally got home, I didn't hear him. I was busy with my new best buddy the shower head. I didn't hear him come in. I didn't hear him knock, and I didn't hear him when he jokingly inquired if he could help me from the other side of the shower stall door.
Really I didn't notice he was there at all until he was in there with me. Hell, I don't think I even realized it was him until after I came, pressed into the shower tile with his cock buried in me. Until after I dropped to my knees to finish him off. I don't think it was until he was filling my mouth and I was looking up at his face that I even realized I knew the man that this cock was attached to.
After that wonderful introduction to just how worried I was, it became significantly more difficult to convince him of the seriousness of our situation. I was in the middle of my third attempt to convince him, with my third variation on the "someone is after me" story as I stuffed clothes into suitcases and he pulled them back out again. When I heard a car pull up outside.
It was her. I knew it was her. And I was too late.
I was suddenly more turned on, and more terrified than I had ever been. I was shaking, for more than one reason. Andy noticed of course. He's always been caring like that, quick to know what was wrong. But I had changed in the past few days, and all he picked up on was the fear.
He asked who it was, and all I could manage to tell him was to make them go away.
I curled up in a ball on the bed, trying to hold myself together, just telling him over and over, to make them go away.
I saw him set his jaw. Angry that someone was scaring me like this. He strode out to meet the fear-monger, and I was so thankful I had him to protect me.
Now, I didn't see what happened next. But I can use my imagination. It was only about two minutes before the lack of noise or footsteps got me worried, and I went to peak around the corner. But two minutes was more than enough.
In hindsight, I should have known better. After what happened with Jim, I should have just dragged him out the back door and never looked back. But I was still trying to make sense of all of this, still trying to understand what was going on.
When I looked around the corner I knew I had already lost my boyfriend. She was riding him, right there in the hall. His pants around his ankles, his hands around her tits, his mouth gasping in pleasure. He was staring at them, at those amazing tits, bouncing above him as she rode him towards a shuddering orgasm. But she, she only had eyes for me. They bored right into me, right through me, and I found myself standing in the hall, stripped naked by those eyes, and that mocking grin.
She stared at me, smiled at me, as my boyfriend pumped frantically into her. Smiled at me as my hands started to wander, to touch, to tease, as I started to lose control right there in front of her, right there in front of my partner of three years. But he didn't even notice. He never looked up from the girl that had only taken two minutes to take him away from me.
And to tell the truth I barely noticed him either. He was just a semi sad note on the edge of a building wave of lust. And as they both shuddered, arching in ecstasy, as she reached out a hand towards me, calling me to her. I barely even saw him as I went.
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