Mom's New Boyfriend

"I'm cuming, baby."

Michael's cock jerked solid and spattered reams of cum. The video had long since been over. He wasn't even holding it up now, it had been resting on the table for the last few minutes. He had just cum while looking at me, looking at me standing here in my tight top and panties.

Jesus, I was only wearing panties? I looked down and --

Fuck, fuck, fuck, my hands are in my panties, rubbing my clit. I immediately moved my hands away, revealing the giant wet patch at the bottom. I have never been so horny before. The smell of the cologne had almost distracted me to my pressing need to be fucked. Not just to cum, to be fucked by someone, a man, a real man like Michael.

"Good girl," he said, smiling at me. My pussy clenched at his words and my heart was beating faster than it ever had before. It was foul, what he had done. He'd used me for his own sexual depravity, his own sexual fantasy. He was in a committed relationship with my Mom, my beautiful Mom. It was like we were fooling around or something. I hadn't consent to this. I hadn't consented to him thinking about him slamming his massive cock into me, of us fucking and keeping it our dirty, little secret, keeping it a secret from Jessie as we messed around and he made me cum, but not with my clit, making me cum with him inside me, him cuming inside me, marking me, owning me, making me his little girl, his- his- his-

"You're so beautiful."

I should have sworn at him, run up to get Jessie, wake her up, rang the police to throw him out.

"Thank you," I said, dreary, my throbbing pussy doing all the talking. I knew I should have hated how much he lusted for me. I should have. But it did nothing but make me hornier, wetter, ready to fuck. I looked down. His cock was getting hard again, ready.

"Fuck me, baby."

I blushed, swooned, my legs became jelly as I started to walk towards him and-

"Y-you... that's wrong!" I shouted, finally waking up from my dream, my fantasy, running out of the living room and upstairs.

Who did he think he was? Thinking I'd fuck him just because I'd let him jerk off to the thought of me as I wanked myself off? Did he really think I'd want to degrade myself like that, let him bite my nipples, grab my ass, fuck me, own me? I love Tom. And, no, Tom doesn't fuck me, he doesn't make me a submissive little girl who screams like I knew Michael would, but I love him.

What the hell was I thinking about? This is insane. Michael is a disgusting, fat old man. Why do I want to fuck him so badly?

I run back into my bedroom and slam the door shut, grabbing the laptop and seeing Tom there, his small penis still out.

"That must have been a long pee" he says, "It's been, like, half an hour. I was just about to go to sleep."

"I'm so fucking horny," I blurt out, unable to control myself. Tom's eyes light up.

"Yeah?" he asks as I grab my vibrator from my bedside cabinet and turn it on.

"I know I said I don't like that dom-sub thing but could we try it tonight?"

I was basically panting as I placed the vibrator to my clit, closing my eyes.

"What, as in, like, you're the sub, I'm the dom?" he asked. Of course, Tom, you fucking idiot. Did he really think I meant him as the sub, me as the dom? I need to be the submissive one, I need to be owned, used, fucked. I need someone to hold me down, grab my neck, call me a good girl, tell me I'm nothing but a slut for --

"Uh, yeah," I said, close to orgasm already, no thanks to Tom, "Talk dirty to me."

"Yeah? Okay, keep touching yourself."

That's fucking useless, Tom. I loved him but he's not the dom he thinks he is. He doesn't know how to make a woman feel good. Michael made me feel better by just touching himself. God, Michael was hot. He was such a man. He could own me, make me feel fucking worthless, but I'd love it. I'd love being under him, serving him, making him feel good. He'd fuck the feminism out of me. I thought that shit about alpha and beta males was bullshit but here's Tom, his small cock still out, pathetic. Michael's cock is the only thing that can make me cum.

I could still feel that cologne on me. Michael's cologne. If Michael fucked me, that cologne would be all over me. He'd leer at me, grab my breasts, hold me tight, fuck me. Maybe he could tie me up. In my fantasy, of course. I'd never actually let him fuck me. It'd be too naughty, too wrong. To let a man like that fuck me, to sneak into my room and use me.

I bet he makes Mom scream. Scream out his name. They were the same age but she'd be his little girl. He'd own her. He could own me.

He owns me!

Fuck, fuck! He owns me! I'll let you fuck me, Michael! In my mouth, in my ass, in my burning pussy! Anywhere you want! Anytime!

"God, this is so hot," Tom said, watching me writhe in bed, soaking the bedsheets in my sweat and lust, loudly moaning, dreaming about another man's cock. I just wish Tom wasn't here, interrupting me. I should have followed Michael's orders and fucked him. His cock, ready to go whenever. I started to grab onto my boobs, twisting my nipples, making me hurt the way Michael would make me hurt. He was so strong. He could have grabbed me and pushed me down on the living room carpet, ripped my panties off with his teeth and gnawed at my skin and I sunk my nails into his back. There was nothing wrong about thinking about another man while sexting my boyfriend. I'm sure Tom thinks about other women when he wanks off to porn. Really, the feminist thing to do is to dream of being owned, being made submissive, Michael's little girl, his little slut on the side, his princess begging to be owned, using me --

"Daddy!" I screamed, cumming harder than I'd ever come before. My body jerked in pure pleasure as I fell back onto my bed. In that moment, I didn't care about waking up Jessie. I didn't care about Michael hearing me. Deep down inside, I hoped he could hear me. As I started to recover, I opened my eyes and saw Tom, wanking off as well, his dick erect again.

"Can we... keep going?" Tom asked, almost begging. I cringed at him, sitting there, wanking himself off, thinking he'd done something to me. And the idea of making him cum again, his small cock...

"Uh, actually, I'm really tired. I've got a lot of reading to do for tomorrow so I think I'm just going to go to sleep. Sorry."

Tom stopped masturbating and dropped his face, sadly responding, "Oh, that's okay. I understand. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I replied, "I... I love you." I meant it. I loved Tom, loved Tom more than anything.

"Love you too," he responded, smiling, disconnecting the call.

Guilt washed over me like a wave hitting the shore, followed by disbelief. I was in shock, coming to my senses. What the fuck did I just do? I'd just betrayed my boyfriend, my values, my worth as a woman because I was horny for my own mother's boyfriend. I couldn't believe that fat, ugly man made me feel so alive just through the knowledge that he wanted me. None of what I thought about to get me off was true. I didn't like being submissive. I didn't like being owned. I was a strong, independent woman. And Michael is my mom's boyfriend. This was wrong, morally abhorrent.

"You shouldn't have done that," a bellowing voice said from the door. I looked up to see him, standing there, his lower-half still exposed. He was rock hard and his cologne washed into the bedroom again, even stronger than it was downstairs. He was so close to me. I look a deep breath of air.

All my guilt vanished. The burning sensation returned. Despite cumming, cumming to the thought of daddy owning me a mere few seconds ago, I was getting wet again. Painfully wet. I thought about his earlier request to fuck him. How I'd denied him that. The guilt was being replaced with regret. I wanted to fuck him more than anything. I'd debase myself, cheat on Tom, never fuck anyone again if I could just have him inside me.

"W... what?"

"Running away from me," he said, moving into my bedroom. Was he about to force himself on me? Force me to fuck him? He could tie me up by the bedposts and use me until he came. Jesus, I was so fucking ready.

I should have told him to fuck off. To talk to me with respect.

"I'm sorry," I said. It was all I could say. I was sorry. Sorry I denied him.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he said, demanding. He already knew the answer.

"N... no." I lied, a tear falling from my eye. I was naked but I opened up my legs, showing him my pussy, my everything, my body betraying my false words. I wanted him to split me sideways, make me his little girl, make me scream. But I still couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth, "I... I have a boyfriend. You're dating my Mom. My sister... she's next door."

"Fine," he said, "Then I'm not going to fuck you. Not until you beg," he continued, walking away and closing the door behind him. I heard his footsteps lead to my Mom's bedroom, and the sound of him climbing onto bed.

I curled up, throwing the blanket over my naked, sweaty body. I could still smell the cologne in my bedroom.

Despite it all, I couldn't do it. Couldn't let him fuck me. No matter how good it would make me feel. Thinking about him fucking me made me see stars. If I actually did fuck him...