by Jessica Ashe
That self-doubt had been wiped away in one afternoon of hot, sweaty, dirty sex, that I still couldn’t quite believe I’d been a part of. ‘I was his dirty slut.’ Where had that come from? My previous boyfriend had uttered sweet words in my ear, and called me his princess. Apparently I preferred to be called a slut, and fucked like one from behind.
Tasha texted me to let me know she was on her way home with Clyde. I put a lot of thought into how Barton and I would act when she got home.
“No, don’t sit at the other end of the sofa,” I said. “That’ll look like we’re trying to hide something. Sit close and put your arm around me, but be a little awkward about it.”
“I don’t do awkward,” Barton insisted.
“Well, practice. Tasha already knows we’re messing around, but she doesn’t know we’ve had sex. I’d like to keep it that way for a little while.”
“Why? She’ll be pleased for you. I can’t imagine she’s overly judgy about these things.”
“She’ll keep me up all night asking questions. She’ll want every little detail.”
“I like to think none of the ‘details’ are all that little.”
Not even close. With all Tasha’s experience, I still doubted she’d had a man Barton’s size. No offense to Clyde, but Barton really was one of a kind in that department.
“I’ll be sure to flatter you when the time comes,” I said. “But not yet.”
“Alright, but I reckon she’ll figure it out. You look like you’ve been fucked seven ways from Sunday.”
“I want to try. That means you can’t look quite so smug.”
“This is how I look,” Barton exclaimed.
That was true enough. He pretty much always had the look of someone who’d just had sex; usually because he had.
“They’re here,” I said panicked, as I heard the key in the door. “Act normal.”
“I would have acted a lot more normal if you hadn’t made such a big deal about it.”
I grabbed his arm and threw it behind my head and pretended to have been watching the television the entire time.
“Evening,” Tasha said as she walked in hand-in-hand with Clyde.
“Hi guys. How was your evening?”
“Brilliant,” Clyde said. “We saw The Book of Mormon. Thanks for helping with the tickets, Barton.”
The two of them came and sat down in the living room with us, which immediately put me on edge. Usually Tasha went straight to her room when she came home with a date, but with Clyde, none of the normal rules applied. She snuggled up on his lap looking as happy and content as I felt.
“Who’s winning?” Tasha asked.
“Oh, I, uh….” I looked over at Barton who just returned a blank stare. Even before he’d flipped me over and fucked me like his little slut, he’d probably not been paying a lot of attention to the dancing. “Someone got all tens,” I said eventually.
“A perfect performance apparently,” Barton said. “You certainly seemed to enjoy it, didn’t you Kristi?”
“Yes,” I replied through gritted teeth. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all.
Tasha stared at me unnervingly for a few seconds and then looked back to Clyde. “Do you fancy a drink?” she asked.
“Sure,” Clyde responded. “What do you have?”
“What do we have to drink, Kristi?”
“We have everything you could possibly want,” I replied.
“We do?” Tasha asked.
“Yep. Unless you want something alcoholic, in which case we have nothing.”
“Oh. Clyde, be a darling and pop out to buy some wine will you?”
“Yes, dear,” Clyde said diligently.
Barton made a “whipped” sound, as Clyde stood up in response to Tasha’s request.
“Go with him, Barton,” Tasha said.
“I’m not quite as easily bossed around as Clyde,” Barton replied confidently. Tasha gave him a death stare that I knew was impossible to resist. Barton lasted five whole seconds before caving. Not bad for a first timer.
“Now who’s whipped?” I heard Clyde say to Barton. “At least I’m sleeping with her.”
“Hush up. I felt like some fresh air anyway.”
The door closed and for a few minutes Tasha and I didn’t speak. We watched a couple dance and get abused by the judges until a commercial break popped up.
“So,” Tasha said quizzically. “How was the sex?”
“What sex?” I asked innocently.
“The sex you and Barton had tonight. Please don’t insult my intelligence by denying it. Barton looks high as a kite, and you have a dreamy look in your eyes.”
“So just because Barton is happy and I’m tired, you assume we’ve had sex.”
“You’re hair’s also a mess, and I can tell you’ve been sweating. Do we have to do this? Why can’t you just admit that you had sex? There’s nothing wrong with it.”
I half sighed, half groaned in defeat. “Okay, fine. I just don’t want you to go getting all excited. We’re just having fun, but—”
My words were stifled as Tasha leapt over from her seat and threw her arms around me for a hug. “I’m so happy for you,” she said excitedly.
“Calm down, Tasha. We had sex; we didn’t get engaged.”
“You haven’t had sex in two years. I’m allowed to be happy for you. Come on, how was it?”
“It was fine,” I replied. The only words I could think of all sounded like they belonged in a cheesy fairytale. Except ‘orgasmic’ perhaps, but there was no way I was using that word with my sister.
“Fine?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Good.” Magical.
“Sex with Barton Fenner was just ‘good?’ ”
Unforgettable. The best experience of my life. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want details. How did it happen?”
“He stuck his penis in me, Tasha, how do you think it happened?”
“I meant, what happened before the sex? How did Barton unlock that chastity belt you’ve kept between your legs for the past two years.”
“He… well, he came over and said we were going to fuck. That’s about it. Does that make me sound a little easy?”
“I’ve fucked guys without exchanging a single word, so you’re not the sluttiest one in the family. So then what?”
“We went to the bedroom and… it happened.”
“How big is it?” Tasha asked. “I’ve heard rumors, and Clyde told me it’s infamous among the party girls.”
“I didn’t measure it,” I replied. “But yeah, it’s big.”
“That explains why you didn’t have a great time. You’ve not had a lot of sex, and I’m guessing your ex didn’t exactly measure up to Barton. You’ll have to get used to a cock that big before you can come.”
I really, really didn’t want to talk to my sister about my orgasms, but this conversation would get back to Barton through Clyde. It didn’t seem fair to leave out the most important details.
“I didn’t have any problems in that department,” I explained.
“You came?”
I nodded. “Three times.”
“Three times,” Tasha exclaimed. “I’ve never come three times during one fuck before. I’m jealous.”
“It wasn’t during one fuck. We squeezed two in.”
“Damn, sis, I’m impressed. We weren’t gone that long. I see you spent most of the time in the bedroom.”
“Actually we, uh, spent some time on the sofa too.”
“Oh, I’m so proud of you right….” Tasha trailed off. “Where on the sofa?”
I opened my mouth and closed it again, before slowly looking down to where she was sat.
“Guess I should have mentioned that.” Tasha stood up, being careful not to touch the cushions with her hands, and sat back down on the armchair. “I’ll bring a blanket out if it happens again.”
“It’s okay,” Tasha said. “I can’t be too judgmental. Not when I think about what C
lyde and I have done on the kitchen table.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Barton
So this is what it feels like to be obsessed with one person. Happy and sad at the same time.
Sad that I wasn’t fucking Kristi right now, but happy that soon I would see her again. Soon I would be with her. Kissing her. Eating her. Fucking her.
Long ago I’d come up with a rule: no sex the night before a game. It had never been a huge problem before. I had sex when I met women at parties, and there generally weren’t parties before games. We made up for it after. Boy, did we ever.
My rule now felt outdated. I didn’t need to go to a party to get laid, and whenever I woke up after spending time with Kristi, I had more energy and enthusiasm than ever. If anything, we should fuck right before the game. It would calm my nerves and help me focus. Instead, I’d have to go out there with heavy balls and a desire to get to the end of the damn game as soon as possible.
The problem with rules is they quickly developed into superstition. I’d never had sex the night before a game, and I’d won nearly every game I’d ever played. If I spent the night with Kristi and then lost, I’d blame myself for breaking the rule. I might even blame Kristi too.
Hey, I never said athletes were sensible.
Tomorrow’s game was only an exhibition match. The temptation was strong, so very strong. Unfortunately there was nothing run-of-the-mill about an exhibition game when you were determined to show everyone you were capable of being the team’s quarterback for the entire season. If I didn’t get the job done tomorrow, the team would rapidly lose confidence in me, and our season would be over before it had even started.
So no sex. Not until after the game. The second we were alone, Kristi would be getting a mouthful. And a pussyful.
My balls were already heavy when we started sexting. It started off innocent enough with Kristi telling me that she was in pajamas watching television, but within three messages I was describing how I was going to stick my tongue in her pussy while she came in my face.
Kristi’s replies had me going balls deep in her mouth as I sprayed my cum down her throat while she gagged on my cock. I couldn’t have written a better message myself. Going without sex for two years had obviously given her plenty of time to fantasize about what she wanted. Within a week, all those fantasies and more would come true, I would see to that.
I had to cut the messages short when Kristi sent me a picture of her fingers. They were wet, with a thin sliver of her pussy juices trailing between them. I almost came without even touching myself. The “no sex” rule extended to any kind of shooting my load, so for the first time ever I told a woman to stop sending me explicit photos.
Kristi let me know that she’d ‘taken care of herself,’ and we decided to call it a night. We were incapable of texting without getting down and dirty.
No sooner had the messages finished than my phone rang with a call from my sister. I considered ignoring it, but she would only call again in ten minutes, and then again, and again, and again…. May wasn’t great about giving others personal space.
“Hey sis,” I said, adding a fake yawn at the end. I planned to cut this conversation short; best to start getting the excuses in early.
“Hi Barton. The kids want to wish you good luck before they go to bed.”
I heard May calling the kids over and getting them both around the phone.
“Good luck, Uncle Barton,” they both said in unison.
“Thanks, boys. I’ll make sure to put on a good show. We want those autographs to be worth something.”
“What autographs?” May asked the boys.
“Never mind,” I added quickly. The boys scurried off and May took the phone off speaker.
“I know it’s only an exhibition game,” May said, “but it still seems surreal. College football was one thing, but this is the NFL. You’re going to be on national television.”
“I’ve been on television plenty of times before.”
“I know, but I never get used to it. Never will.”
“Are you trying to make me nervous?” I asked.
“Oh please, you never get nervous.”
“I might if you keep making a big deal out of it. Next thing you’ll be telling me how proud Mom and Dad would have been.”
“You don’t need me to tell you that, Barton. It’s true. They wouldn’t be surprised, mind you, but definitely proud. I might shed a tear when you step out on that field.”
“No, you won’t. You’re not a crier.”
“True, but I just think about how much it would have meant to Mom and Dad to see you out there and know that you’ve made it. It’s emotional.”
I never let myself think about it. You couldn’t; not really. If I went around imagining my parents were looking over me the entire time then… well, let’s just say I would have done things differently.
“Dad would have been excited,” I admitted. “But I doubt Mom would have even watched the game. She hated it.”
“Sure, but she would have been proud to see you make it, and even more proud that you’d finally settled down with a young lady.”
There it was. The real reason she called. May let the words hang out there, waiting for a reaction.
“Nice try, sis. Is this where I’m supposed to say ‘yeah, she’s awesome,’ and leave you with a nice warm and fuzzy feeling deep inside?”
“I suppose that’s too much to hope for.”
“Yeah, just a bit.”
“The boys told me all about her. She sounds lovely, and you clearly like her a lot.”
“You’re basing that on the words of a ten and eight year old?”
“They’re a handful, but they’re not stupid. They know what love looks like.”
Did they? I sure as hell didn’t.
“All they know about love is the picture perfect life that you and Lance lead. I’m never going to have that, sis, so you might as well give up that little dream now.”
“I just want my little brother to be happy,” May said defensively. “You can’t blame me for that.”
“I am happy. I’m playing professional football, and I can have any girl I want. It’s a power I’ve exercised on a regular basis, and will continue to do so.”
The thought seemed almost laughable. I couldn’t imagine sticking my dick in anyone else right now. What would be the point? It would be like eating tofu when there was steak available. Tofu could be decent enough if it was flavored properly, but it would never actually be like steak. Steak was irreplaceable.
Tasha sighed, making no effort to hide her disappointment. “Will you promise me one thing?”
“What’s that?”
“Try not to hurt her. The boys loved her and she doesn’t sound like your usual type.”
“She’s not,” I admitted.
“Yeah, well that means she’s not used to your ways. I get that you want to have fun, but please think of other people for a change. When the time comes, let her down gently.”
I pictured Kristi’s face as I explained that I wasn’t the relationship type and that we had to stop fucking. Would she be angry, sad, or both? Probably both. I didn’t want to hurt her, but that wasn’t what caused the lump in my throat. Upsetting Kristi was one thing, but I’d also be upsetting myself.
I’d be upset if Kristi and I split up. That realization had me more terrified than any football game ever had.
I didn’t want to split up with Kristi.
That could mean only one thing.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kristi
He won. Thank God for that. I had no idea how to deal with a grumpy footballer, and I knew Barton would be just that if he lost.
Barton was used to winning. He was used to getting what he wanted. That’s why he was now on his way to my apartment; to claim his victory spoils.
The knock at the door came sooner than I was expecting. An even bigger surprise came when I saw who was on the other side.
“Mom, Dad, what you doing here?”
“Surprise visit,” Mom said. She took my face in her hands and kissed me on the forehead, before giving me a big hug.
“Hi sweetie,” Dad said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Tasha invited us down but insisted that we keep it a surprise.”
“Huh, that’s weird. Tasha,” I yelled. “We have guests.”
In other words, hide whatever weird shit you and Clyde have been playing around with in your room and come say hello.
Except now she wasn’t the only one with ‘weird shit’ to hide from our parents. Boy, that would take some getting used to.
“Mom, Dad,” Tasha screamed as she came out of her room. “This is a surprise.”
“It is?” I asked. Dad looked at me and just shrugged. We’d all learned long ago just to roll with it when Tasha was acting odd.
“Are you staying long?” Tasha asked.
“Um, we’ve booked a hotel for a few days,” Dad replied. “You want to go out for dinner? Or shall we just get takeout?”
“Let’s do takeout,” Tasha replied. “But, uh, well, this is a little embarrassing…. I guess I need to introduce you to someone.”
Oh, you sneaky bitch.
Tasha summoned Clyde from her room and he quickly came out looking like he’d just got dressed.
“This is Clyde,” Tasha said, introducing him to our parents.
I tried hard not to laugh. She’d set the whole thing up just so that our parents could meet Clyde. Of course, she couldn’t do it like any normal person, because then she’d be admitting that she liked him and that he wasn’t just another fuck buddy.
“It’s lovely to meet you Clyde,” Mom said. “I mean it. We don’t often get to meet Tasha’s… acquaintances.”
Clyde smiled knowingly, and started making small talk with my parents. I could tell Tasha hadn’t told him about this visit, and she certainly hadn’t prepared him. Our parents looked like a typical middle of the road couple; a slightly liberal mother, and a conservative father. That was miles from the truth.