Monica Meets a Cumslut

"He's nice. Pretty," I offered.

"Stuck on himself pretty," she added. "I think he uses more product on his hair than I do."

"You don't need product."

"Everyone needs product," she assured me, making me realize I never used any. "Anyway, I know he's going to get lucky."

"Does he usually?"

"Yeah, he's okay. Not great."

"Like me?" I joked. She smiled, but didn't laugh. Instead, she looked away for a moment before her blue eyes landing back on my brown ones.

"Can I see you afterwards?"

I watched her blush and I understood why. "So he's not that good."

"He's different. Average." A frown crossed her face as she searched for a better word. "Usual. Does that make sense?"

"I'll be naked and hard." It was a warning, not a promise.

"I'll be, um, used."

"I'm one of those things now," I said and I laughed when she looked down at my apron.

"Did you even notice that I forgot my bra today?"

"Really?"

Monica smiled. "I know Tim did. He wouldn't stop staring."

"Tim's an asshole."

"Stop it or I'll fall in like with you."

"Too late," I said. I meant, for me, but I don't think that's how it sounded. I was falling desperately in like with her and that was dangerous. I was a strange, new toy for her, nothing more. I knew my place. Like I said, girls like her don't date guys like me. Not in public. Not where anyone else might see. I knew better.

I watched Pretty Boy Gary picking up Monica from work. He pulled her close, hanging her on his arm like a trophy to sport, telling the world; This is my girlfriend. She's hotter than you. I don't deserve less. She introduced us. I shook his hand, smiling at him. It was easy to do. After his date was over, mine would be beginning. Monica smiled before she kissed Gary and then looked to see my reaction. I smiled back. "Have fun, you two."

I went home to my apartment, wishing I had gotten a better idea of what they were planning on doing that night. Were they going to out to eat? To a movie? Maybe dancing? What did the beautiful people do when they were together? Something public, I'm sure. It would be important for as many people as possible to see them together, to see how pretty the person was they were with, before they would wind things up early so they could fuck. See, that's the thing a lot of guys don't appreciate, pretty girls like to fuck, too. Their problem is, most of them don't know how to do it. Most of them have never been with a man who knows how to fuck well.

I wandered around my apartment, too wired up to settle down. My dick was hard. I got naked. After all, I had promised Monica would be naked. Naked and hard. I might as well get that way now. Just to mix things up for her, I shaved my balls. Hell, I shaved more than balls, I shaved everything down there. At least it gave me something to do while I was waiting.

I don't mean to sell myself short as I tell my story. I'm not butt ugly. I'm tall, a bit too skinny, and I lack that perfect, button nose that all the beautiful people have. I don't know why, but I got the big nose. Not "look at the funny man" big, but too big for my face. I've been told I have a kind smile. I don't know what kind of smile that is, but I think it has more to do with my plain brown eyes. There's warmth to my face when I smile.

Here's something most people don't know about me, I've got money. I'm not rich, but I'm good. I have some stocks that pay pretty well and I live well within my means. I don't drive an expensive or flashy car. I don't wear designer clothes. I do, however, have nice furniture in my apartment. Furniture is something you keep, so I splurged on leather everything in the living room. I have a big TV and a nice stereo. All the pieces of my bedroom suite match and in the bathroom, the towels are extra fluffy. I work where I do because it makes life easier between dividend checks. I don't have to budget as tightly. I was popular in school, but not "cool kid" popular. I'm not athletic.

I date average women. On a scale from one to ten, where Monica easily scores being a nine, I date sevens. I've gone out with a couple sixes, because they were nice or funny or extra friendly, but I tend to stay away from the eights. They try too hard. I don't need that. It's why I like Monica. She was the first nine or better I had ever gotten to know and she was nice. Down to Earth as they say, which I guess just means she knew she was pretty without having to show off.

At ten, Monica sent me a text, "We're heading to his place now." My swollen cock begged for attention I wouldn't give it. At eleven thirty, she sent me another text, "He's taking me back to my car." At eleven forty-five, she called me. "Still up?"

"Up, naked, and waiting," I assured her.

"You were right, by the way."

"About?"

"I swallowed."

"And liked it."

"Mostly. You want to know why I did it?" I told her I did. "Because I was thinking about you. Does that make me a bad person?"

"A very bad person. Oh, and since you're on your way to see me, you're now a slut, too."

"Fuck," she said, but I could hear the cheerfulness in her voice as she said it. Pretty girls don't worry about being sluts. They are better than that and the world knows it. "I made him do me twice," she whispered, as if embarrassed to admit it.

"Drive faster," I said, glad I lived close to the store.

I greeted Monica at the door, naked and hard (as promised). She seemed taken aback by how I opened the door wide for her. I didn't care. Her eyes slipped immediately to my cock and balls.

"You shaved."

"Got bored," I said with a shrug. She touched me, caressing my new nakedness. I pushed the door shut behind her, working off her clothes while she was distracted me. She had changed for her date into a tight, tiny black dress with a matching black panty and bra set. I kept her panties in place before scooping her up in my arms and carrying her to my bedroom. She giggled, letting go of my neck when I threw her in a heap on my bed.

"I want to suck this," she said, trying again to grab at my hard cock.

"Me first," I said, pulling her panties off her shapely thighs. The crotch of her panties clung wetly to her pussy. I could see the dark wet spot on them.

"This is so sick," she said, but she didn't stop me. I stared at her bare pussy for a moment before I pressed my tongue against her. She looked used. I saw the mix of him and her. "He didn't want to do me twice, but I made him. I told I would never suck his dick again if he didn't do me twice."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"Fuck I'm hard," I moaned, worried about laying face down on my bed and trapping my needful prick against my body and the comforter. I was on a hair trigger. Would that be too much for me? I took the chance. Pressing my mouth against her pussy, I started eating her. I tasted her and him. She smelled like sex, raw and primal. I rubbed my nose through her slit, inhaling the scent between licks. I wanted to taste all of her at once and I didn't stop after her orgasm. I didn't stop until she made me.

"Fill me," she moaned.

"I won't last."

"I don't want you to."

I climbed on top of her, pushing my hard, swollen prick deep inside of her. She gasped. I kissed her and came. I had lasted exactly half a dozen strokes. I started to pull out so I could replace my cock with my tongue.

"Wait," she said, pushing me off of her. She used to be a cheerleader. Monica is strong, stronger than I think most people realize. She pushed and used her momentum to push me on my back. Moving quickly, she straddled my face, pressing her pussy against my mouth. My cum poured from her pussy into my mouth. As she squirmed against me, I felt her lips around my cock. It occurred to me we were doing the same thing. We were both tasting her, me, and I guess him, too. I came again. She did, too. And then she kissed me. Like that morning, she had yet to swallow. Unlike this morning, I didn't just take back my cumshot, I shared it with her, sliding it back into her mouth, too, until we both got some.

We were panting by the time our kiss was over. I was spent for the moment, but I could tell she wanted more. Her nipples were twin pebbles riding high on her chest. Her pussy was wet from me, my mouth, and the multiple orgasms I had cleaned from inside of her; but I knew she was wet from her own need, too. I fingered her pussy, rubbing her clit and sucking on her tits until she cried out with one more orgasm.

I laid next to her, watching her chest heave as she sucked in deep breaths. "You're scary," she sighed when she recovered enough to speak.

"Why?" I asked, kissing her bare shoulder.

"Because I can like this too much," she said, turning her head and giving me a tired smile.

"Spend the night."

"I can't." She stretched and I marveled at how fine her body looked.

"Okay," I said, stroking her hair. A moment later, she fell asleep.

I held on to her while she slept, daring to dream without closing my eyes, because even fools are allowed to dream even if I knew better. Like I said before, girls like her don't date guys like me. When the fling ended, there would be a couple awkward days at work. She would ask Tim to change her schedule so we didn't work together as often. When we did, she would be friendly, but that fake-friendly. I would get to see more of Gary. She would make sure he either gave her a ride to work or pick her up from work whenever our schedule overlapped. I would become the weird guy, the creeper, though I would never do anything to earn that title. But it would give her distance. It was an easy future to predict and I hated myself for being able to see it so well.

I don't remember sleeping, but I remember waking up to feel her still pressed against my body. I stroked her hair again and she woke with a sleepy smile. "Tell me I didn't spend the night," she said, though she knew better.

"I didn't want to wake you."

"Your bed is better than mine or... It's good, you know?"

I could fill in the blank and I appreciated her not using Gary's name. "I can make breakfast."

"Just coffee. Okay if I take a shower?"

I used the bathroom in the hall for my morning piss while she used the master bath. I pulled on a pair of shorts and left a t-shirt on the bed for her. She was wearing it when she came out to the kitchen and joined me at the breakfast bar. "I love your towels," she said. I mumbled a word of thanks. "You're an interesting guy. Gar-" She caught herself. "He still has posters on his bedroom walls."

"Can I ask you a 'none-of-my-damn-business' question?"

"Let me guess, why do I go out with him?"

"Close. Do you have fun with him?"

Sipping her coffee, she thought about it. "I have fun around him, but not so much with him. It's like, if we don't go somewhere and do something with other people, I don't want to be around him. It's different. I have fun with you. Even at work, I have fun when you're there."

"Why do you work there?"

"I have to work somewhere, might as well be there." She shrugged. "What about you?"

"Pick up hot chicks," I said, making her laugh. She put her hand on my thigh, ran it up my leg, and reached inside my shorts.

"I like that you shaved for me."

I will do anything for you I wanted to say, but knew better. "Just trying to keep things fun."

"Last night makes me a slut, doesn't it?" Her fingers wrapped around my hardening prick.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing." She laughed again. "Besides, what does it make me?"

"We already know what you are, a cumslut." My cock throbbed in her hand. "Oh, you like that?" she asked, looking at the lump in my baggy shorts. She gave me a couple more squeezes before pulling her hand away. "I'm supposed to see him today."

"Okay," I said. What else could I say?

"This afternoon. He and his friends are going to the game tonight."

"You're not going?"

"I hate sports."

"We could do something tonight."

Monica looked at my crotch again, her hand following her gaze. She caressed me through my shorts. "Let me guess what."

"We could do dinner or a movie or something," I offered.

"Before or after?"

"During?" I joked. Again, she laughed. She pulled her hand away from my crotch to sip her coffee. When she put her coffee down, her hand went back to the front of my shorts.

"You're bigger than him."

"Doesn't mean I'm better."

"No, but you are." She kept her hand on the front of my shorts, but turned her blue eyes back up to my plain brown ones. "It really doesn't bother you that I'm going to see him this afternoon?"

"Did it bother me last night?"

"You're weird."

"You're right," I said and I kissed her. But when my hand cupped her breast, she pulled away.

"I don't want to be a slut."

"I won't tell if you don't," I said, kissing her again.

"If I see Gary this afternoon, we're going to fuck. More than once."

"Okay," I said, nuzzling her neck, my fingers finding a nipple and caressing it until it was firm. It didn't take much to make it that way. I put my hand over hers. It was a protective move. She already knew I was hard, I just didn't want her to pull her hand away.

"And then what? I come running over here to see you so you can eat me?"

"Sounds like a good plan to me," I said with another kiss on her neck.

"Maybe I should fuck all of his friends before I come over here," she suggested. My cock ached as it throbbed. "Would you like that? Would you like me to be filled from half a dozen horny guys?"

"Up to you," I offered, unsure what else to say. My mind had jumped forward in time, imaging her doing what she had suggested. It was difficult to think in the moment.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, her hand leaving my prick. She pulled back. "What if these guys are bigger than you?"

"Or better lovers," I said, already knowing the risk. I've always known the risk of my kink. "Or better looking. Or funnier."

"Yeah, okay," she said, her eyes moving back and forth from the throbbing tent inside my shorts to my eyes a couple of times as if she wasn't sure where she should look for her answers. "That doesn't bother you?"

I left one hand on her knee. I didn't want to lose contact with her, even if she wasn't touching me anymore, even if she had pulled away from my more intimate caress of her body. Her eyes had settled on mine, though I distracted her when my hard prick insisted on a touch. I clutched myself. I was so fucking hard. Her eyes flickered down, but immediately returned to mine. When she pushed my hand off her knee, I traded hands on my prick, freeing up my other hand to sip my coffee. I felt manic, out of control, and pure. I had never lied to Monica, not since our first day working together. I'm not sure when I had a chance to lie to her, either. What was there to lie about at work? It was until she visited my bed that I had a reason or opportunity to lie to her. I could have played it straight with her. I didn't have to go down on her after I came inside of her. I didn't have to reveal my kink as a cumslut.

I'm not going to give myself credit for thinking I did it to be honest with her. I guess that was part of it. But in truth, I did it to be different. I know I'm made different. I know my kink isn't normal. I don't care. I'm a freak and in an effort to shock and surprise her, I allowed her inside. It had worked, sort of. It had brought her back to my bedroom for more and that was the best I could hope for. I didn't expect more, not matter how much I wanted it. I confused and confounded her. I was strange and different; maybe risky and dangerous, I don't know. I had already seen the end of our relationship while she slept in my arms. I was always destined to be an odd fling she would never be able to talk about. Fuck it. Fuck her, Gary, and everyone else in the world. To borrow from the great sage, Popeye, I am what I am.

I didn't need to think through any of that while I sipped my coffee. I already knew it. All that was left to do was going out in a blaze of glory. That's why I held my cock, why I stroked it. I was hard. She had made me that way and I wasn't going to deny it. Fuck it if she didn't understand it or appreciate it. Hopping off my breakfast bar stool, I pushed off my shorts, exposing my hard, throbbing prick to answer her question. "Does it look as if it bothers me?" I asked, caressing the length of my shaft.

"It's weird," she said, looking at my dick.

"And probably wrong," I agreed, still stroking myself. "And it makes me hard as fuck."

"As I can see," she said with a bemused grin. "Can you put your shorts back on?"

"I could, but I don't want to."

"Fine, stay naked. I like the view." Her words came out in short little chops.

"I like showing it to you," I said, taking the same tone.

"Dammit, I'm being serious," she said. "What's wrong with you?" As her eyes searched mine, her hand found my balls. She fondled them, but kept her eyes on mine. It was as surreal as it sounds. Were we arguing or talking or I don't know what? She borrowed a move from me by sipping her coffee while her eyes never left my face.

I clutched the hand she hand against my balls, still stroking my hard-on with my right hand. She pulled her hand out, but then laid it on top of my hand. It was such an odd moment. I tugged on my prick a few more moments, wondering if I wanted to get off and decided against it. I stopped, sitting back down on my tall stool. My cock ached and throbbed, but I ignored it. When I stroked a stray strand of blonde hair from her forehead, she didn't pull away from my touch.

"You wanted me last night, didn't you?" I asked. She nodded. "Even when you were with Gary, you were thinking about me, weren't you?" Another nod. "Even when he was fucking you, you were thinking about how I was going to greet you. You were wondering if I was really naked and hard and waiting for you, right?" Yet another nod. "And how did I welcome you when you showed up at my door?"

"Like a wild man," she admitted, a tiny smile on her face.

"And it was hot, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Really hot?"

"Yes."

"For me too."

"But why?"

"Because you came home to me. Gary doesn't matter to me. Keep seeing him. Date a hundred Garys, I don't care, not if I still want to come home to me."

"But he fucked me. Well, not at first. First, I sucked him off. And then later, he fucked me."

"Twice," I added.

"I know, I was there."

"And I was here, naked and hard, waiting for you."

"And shaving," she pointed out.

"And shaving," I agreed, smiling. "For you."

She took a sip of her coffee before telling me, "Gary's not very good in bed. He's sort of lazy and selfish."

"But he's fun to look at, isn't he?"

Monica shrugged. "I used to think so, but there are lots of good looking guys out there. Doesn't mean he's not a jerk, too."

"Then why do you date him?"

"I don't know. Because I like the parties?"

"Slut."

"Wow," she said, blinking hard at the word. "Wow," she repeated, looking past me. "Wow," she said once more as she worked it through. "You think?"

"I'm sorry. That was mean. You have fun with his friends, your friends."

"It's still true," she said in a small, faraway voice. Her coffee cup was empty. I had to walk around the breakfast bar to refill hers and mine. My hard-on led the way for me. I stayed on the far side of the breakfast bar. "Was I a slut last night, too?"

"You're asking me?" I laughed. "I think you were perfect last night. Did you have fun fucking him last night?"

"I was really horny for him to do it." She tried to sip her coffee, slurped it, and set it back down. "No, that's a lie. I was horny for him to do it so I could come over here. But it did make doing him more fun. Is that wrong?"

"Do you mean, does that bother me?" I asked. She nodded. "No. I don't care. I want you to have fun. Did he make you orgasm?"