After we graduated, Brad got married to another woman, Rachel. I didn't live with them, of course. But I did get calls at least once a week or so to come and be Brad's bitch. Usually this involved dressing in women's underwear. Sometimes, he just wanted a quickie at work, though, so the accoutrements were unnecessary.
When I got married, things became more complicated. But the complication were, in Brad's eyes, my problem to deal with. He certainly didn't think they should mean that he should sacrifice anything. And he didn't. I was still on call. I had to get pretty creative about making excuses. And, of course, I had to hide my women's underwear and other things from my wife. But I managed to pull it off.
That's how it started. We are now eight years into this relationship. And it shows no signs of ending. That's fine with me. I've more than made my peace with it. I know I'll never deliver the speech.
As I pulled into Brad's driveway, I knew what was going to happen. This was, in many ways, very routine now, though there were always variations. And, despite the fact that it had become pretty predictable, it never failed to get my heart pumping and my cock stirring.
I would let myself in through the unlocked door. Brad would be nowhere to be seen. I'd strip out of my outer clothes, put on my high heels, fix my wig and insert my breast forms, then head for the living room to wait for Brad. He'd make his entrance and stand, waiting for me to follow his unspoken, but now familiar, instructions.
I'd get up off the couch and walk over to Brad. I wasn't embarrassed any more to look him in the eye as I approached him. We'd passed that point long ago. In fact, I liked what I saw in his eyes as I approached him. I varied things a little each time; today I thought I'd stand close to him for a while and just run my fingers over his crotch, feeling his cock harden inside his pants from the teasing.
When I was sure I had him good and hot, I'd sink to my knees. (I had come to love that moment of surrender.) Then I'd fish out his already hard cock and take it deep in my mouth in one motion. After I'd given both of us that thrill, there'd be plenty of time for me to lick and tease his cock, to fondle his balls and stroke my finger behind them and up to his ass, before finally bringing him off deep in my mouth.
And, I knew that after a reasonable rest period, when we could share a beer, I'd be able to bring him back to life with some careful ministrations to his cock so that he could give me a good fucking. Today, I thought, I'd like to get it while I was on my hands and knees on the floor, with Brad kneeling behind me, holding my hips, and humping me like I was a bitch in heat.
I liked all the ways Brad fucked me. The first time he laid me on my back and fucked me missionary style, I was very uncomfortable. Looking up and seeing lust in his eyes made me feel very vulnerable, very feminine. But I came to like that position a lot, too-especially when I was dressed in my bra and panties, as I usually was these days.
But I think my favorite position was the "bitch in heat" position. I could really concentrate on the feeling of Brad's cock penetrating me. I love the feeling of his hands holding my hips firmly-having complete control over me-so he could thrust his shaft in my hole until he exploded with pleasure in me. It always made me very hot and very hard. It took only a little stroking of my cock for me to bring myself off, usually timed perfectly with Brad's orgasm. Then we would collapse and lie joined together for a while, just like that first time in the dorm room so many years ago-except that now, I was a more than willing partner in it all.
The funny thing is that I never came to like Brad. Though he was seldom mean to me now, he was still a brash, domineering, shallow, egotistical asshole. He never showed real concern for me or my situation. He simply demanded that I show up whenever he wanted me and do whatever he demanded to please him.
It was odd that I was such a compliant plaything for a guy I really didn't like much. But, I guess my likes and dislikes really didn't matter much. It wasn't like I was Brad's lover. I was Brad's bitch.