The Parade

'Word' / words enclosed by apostrophes = thoughts

"Word"/ words enclosed by quotation marks = spoken words

*****

I cleaned up before leaving his place — didn't catch his name, didn't want his name. Gave him an old email of mine — if he wants to contact me for real, he can do it through that. Im not risking a phone call or messages to my current email. As I was heading out, I turned my phone's brightness up all the way, clicked open as many apps as it would run and effectively killed the battery by the time I'd rounded the corner. Part one to my wild excuse...check.

Part two? Get trashed. Go find a bar. Go find weed. Just gotta do anything to get me out of my own head.

'I mean...I AM though. I jus..i just let a guy fuck me,' I marvel to myself while weaving through crowded streets, 'I've gotta be out of my fucking mind.' The pride party is still going strong even after the parade's end, it always does. If anything, even more people take to the streets after the fact. Now that does sort of present a problem — every bar I'm coming across is packed to the exits with patrons; no room for me even if I just wanted to hover at the edge of the bar and slam back some shots.

So it's looking like drinks aren't on the menu for me right this moment. Fortunately for me, people smoking in the streets aren't in short supply so it's easy enough for me to cozy up to a circle, puff and pass a few times and stumble away after giving sincere thanks.

Thankfully, when it comes to weed, I'm a lightweight; shambling through the crowds, I'm already feeling the hits.

Time starts moving out of sync as the dizzying high works its way through me, through my limbs. Through yawns and hazing vision, I manage to push onward to a subway station, hop the red line, and as soon as the train doors close, darkness falls.

*****

Sunlight creeps across my face; I swat at it in groggy annoyance but I'm forced to awaken.

'Ouuuch,' I lazily think, 'did I sleep weird? All of me aches.'

Sliding out of bed, I grab a pair of jeans off the floor and shuffle shirtless out into the living room with squinted eyes, shielding my sensitive sight from the pervasive daylight. Teresa, she's sitting legs crossed on the couch with a bowl of cereal in hand, a spoonful in her mouth as Mulan plays on the television.

In a daze, I mumble out "mmm hey beautiful" while scratching at my chest.

Plucking the spoon from her mouth with her eyebrows quirked, she smirks out "You. Were. Soooo fucked up last night. How in the hell did you even get home?"

My blank stare, unsure myself, clues her in that I don't have that answer.

"I mean, you nearly fell on your face coming through the door," she smiles out, but there is a note of worry in her eyes, "and all you were saying when you came in was..."

Putting up my best poker face even as my heart seizes, my thoughts race 'shitshitshitshit what the fuck did I say?!! Oh shit!! OH SHIT!'

Putting on her best impersonation of me, she growls "pffff. Phone dead. Ehhhhrrr" while pantomiming holding a phone in her empty hand, thumbing at the air. "That was you...and I gotta say, you had me worried. Then I smelled the weed on you..."

Rubbing at my eyes, I grumble out "Damn. I'm so fucking sorry — I smoked way too much yesterday" and plop down on the couch beside her, just distanced enough to not cause her bowl to spill.

"It's fiiiiine. Besides, I know how you can pay me back..." she winks mischievously, "go brush your teeth first."

Oh, I know where this is going.

And I cannot wait.

I leap from the couch and hurry to the bathroom, performing the task required of me with haste and washing my face up. Jaw wide, scrubbing at my tongue, I look to the mirror — for a split second, the me in the reflection has his open mouth enveloping a HIS cock, gagging on its thickness with slobber glistening down my chin.

Blink.

It's gone.

'Fuck,' I breath sharply at the thought, 'not now. Go away.'

Tearing my eyes from the mirror, the reflection normal again, I rinse, gargle, spit, and dash back to the living room for Teresa. And oh, what a gift she is. While she's kept her white, loose t-shirt on and kept her perky small breasts hidden, her pajama bottoms have been tossed to the floor, her slate grey cotton panties around one ankle. Refusing to look away from Mulan as she faces off against the Huns, Teresa beckons me with a finger and points to the floor in front of the couch.

"But of course," I eagerly drawl out and take my place between her legs; grabbing at the sides of my head, she locks my face against her tender lips. Her trimmed pubic hair brushes and tickles at my nose as I wet her with the tip of my tongue. A heated exhale against her most sensitive spot and I feel her inner thighs quiver against me as her legs enclose around my head. Using my tongue to part her, I already taste her familiar sweetness on my tastebuds, that and I taste her sweat.

Pungent, but it's her, it's delicious.

She hasn't showered yet, she never did after getting home yesterday — she's still wearing the sweat she danced out. But while she should be grungy, I just lap her up, licking and toying. Even muffled by her thighs tight against my ears, I hear her shallow gasps, and at that, I pick up the tempo — I hone in on her swollen clit and flick my tongue tip. Pressing up against my mouth, her legs a vice around my head as they shudder, she grinds herself roughly against my face, forcing my tongue deeper and harder into her; my erection scrapes against the inside of my jeans but I'm not slowing down.

Never, not with her.

Straining my eyes, I look up past my brow to watch her face, to study her ecstasy. Lids fluttering, eyes rolling back, she's not focused on Mulan anymore.

She can't focus.

My lips and chin are growing ever more slick with her with my tongue rolling against her trigger; waves of pleasure crashing, she's latched onto my head so tight I'm sure I'll crack open like an egg. Grating aside, I feel a dampness against my leg — Pre-cum oozes from my tip, a wetspot forms in my jeans.

But it's all so wonderful. If she could handle it, I'd eat her out all god damn day but that's pushing it — that'd be akin to touching raw nerve endings to an electric fence set to pulse.

I feel her grip on me slacking, the pressure on my skull receding. Peeling my sopping face from betwixt her legs, I breathe for precious oxygen as her radiant face beams down at me. Biting her lip, she brushes her fingernails against my temple, rakes them gently down my cheek and holding my chin, she draws me up to meet her. A tender kiss, still lingering with heated passion, she sucks at her own juices on my lips and hums into my mouth. Parting slowly, she lets slip a bashful smile and whispers out "I uh..gave you some rugburn," referring to my nose and bare skin around my beard.

Still catching my breath, I reply "worth it."

"And, hehe, your beard — your beard is soaked," she giggles, her breathy laughter jiggling her meager breasts against her shirt fabric.

Joking, I ask "paid back?" before planting several kisses up her exposed inner thigh, threatening, teasing to dive back in. She plants her palm against my forehead and with a devious grin, she sighs out "Oh no, no more of that for you. Three orgasms was enough, thank you very much. What you CAN do now is keep me in you beard for the rest of the day, a uh..a reminder of what you're missing out on when you fail to come home."

"My scent is on you, babe," she adds, "breathe in the wonder that is me."

Stifling a rolling laugh, I breathe out "You are ab-so-lutely perverse — I love it. I love you."

"And donchu forget it," she sasses. Then tapping at my scalp, she switches gears, saying "alright, hop up. I've gotta get dressed — got a tea date with Liz at noon."

"What earth shattering developments are going on in your sister's life?," I sarcastically ask — Liz only ever seeks out Teresa if everything is going wrong. But that's family.

"I honestly couldn't understand half of what she was going on about during her call." Heading around the island countertop and into the kitchen, she pours herself a shot of courage and raising it high, quips "here's hoping it won't be redundant." With that, she downs the whiskey.

Knowing Liz, it will absolutely be a repeat of whatever she was dealing with last time. She has a tendency of slipping into old habits and letting the same problems, typically of a work nature, repeat themselves. I feel for her, I like Liz, but it's hard to help someone who doesn't actually try change.

But that's neither here nor there. That's Teresa's task today; mine, mine is to bask in Teresa's essence.

*****

I ended up lazing about after T headed out — I just sat around watching the tail end of Mulan. But as the sequel started up, I found myself zoning out. Long since dried and crusting over in my beard, her essence keeps wafting up my nostrils and I feel my blood quickening.

What a high, what a rush.

'God she's delicious,' I ruminate on my girlfriend's taste, on how spectacular it feels when she rides my face like I'm a mechanical bull. Her scent, intoxicating. Even caked in sweat, she smelled and tasted wonderful. It isn't long till I feel a familiar stirring in my pants, a scraping of my cock head against that now-dry cum stain.

So I do what any sensible man would do — I whip off my pants and plop back down on the couch, lazily stroking myself as I reminisce about this morning.

"Mmmm," I moan, breathing deep of her scent, "mmm... Oh yes..."

Biting my lower lip, I close my eyes as I imagine her rocking and grinding on me, using my tongue as a proxy dildo. I run my fingers up and down my shaft, and still breathing deep of her, I take to rolling my balls in my other hand, my right hand.

"Oh god, ooo-hehh, oh your sweet... ohh," I moan out more loudly, finding my rhythm.

'Your.'

'Your pussy.'

"Ahhhh-ahh uhhh."

But something curious occurs; as I play with myself, the fingers of my right hand trail further and further down, grazing my taint. As they do, as I stroke with my left, unknowingly, I keep readjusting myself on the couch until my fingertips are circling the rim of my asshole.

"Huh...huh, oh! Mmmm," I huff out. A hand on my swelling cock, my other takes to sliding a single digit inside. It slips in with ease, no pain, no fuss. Still stroking, and moaning "oh-hahh...ahhh Teres—sah," I slide another finger inside. Two now, they softly plunge back and forth, in and out.

Then a third. I'm hard as a rock, my cock is painfully stiff, its head blushing deeply as I rock back and forth on my own fingers.

Eyes still closed, I unconsciously wedge my pinky in. It's a tight fit, I feel the inner walls clenching down but it's all still so slick, like a thick jelly coats my insides.

"Wet."

Daydreaming about T's sweet spot, another vision sunders the first, forces it to share the spotlight, forcing itself in — a thick uncircumcised 9 inch cock dances before my mind's eye as it wedges itself into my tight, willling...

'Pussy.'

It's then my eyes fire open — four fingers deep, my stroking hand isn't even on my cock anymore, it's pulling back my asscheek to allow for better leverage. I've been fingerfucking myself for the last half hour, toying with my asshole using the remnant loads HE blew inside me —a small pool of cum has dripped its way from tip down my shaft and come to rest on my stomach. And I did this all the while imagining pussy.

But which pussy?

'Her's for sure...' I ponder gravely, 'but also...''

It's a struggle to even think the words he convinced me of yesterday.

'...my..my'

My cock twitches as I inadvertently press against my prostate; more cum dribbles from my tip.

'My...my-ahhh pussy.'

"My pussy. Mine," I huff out, getting back into it. Rocking along on my fingers, my hole yawning wide to better accept them, I fuck myself hard. I fuck myself... in my pussy, imagining all the ways that HE plowed me, the way he was intimate with my insides, and the way it affected me. And every time that daydream cock of his swells in my imagination, every time it's fit to blowing a mighty load, Teresa's intoxicating aroma conjures the image of her riding my face all over again.

Her. Him. Me drinking in her pussy. Him pummeling mine.

My body quakes and quivers as my balls tighten, my legs spasm, and I fingerfuck myself to the brink.

HER lightly furry lips. HIS shaved smooth member.

"What is wrong with me?," I ask the ceiling — withdrawing my fingers, I reject the orgasm. I welcome the imminent blue balls.

As much as I'm in absolute love with her parted lips, as much as I love plunging my own cock deep inside her and feeling her writhe in ecstasy against me, on me, the images of HIM plunging into me won't leave me be.

HIM grabbing me in public.

HIM reaming my ass as Teresa danced just a scant few yards away.

HIM folding me in half and fucking me till I detonated.

HIM demanding I ignore her texts...

HIM.

I just lie there on the couch, stewing in my own semen and sordid thoughts, trying to imagine now any scenario where my pussy doesn't crave HIM.

*****

The remainder of the weekend was fairly uneventful — since my odd masturbation session that afternoon, I haven't touched myself since. I've just tried to keep my mind off sex in general. And sleeping next to Teresa, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, feeling her lithe frame against me, feeling her as she squirms into me to play the little spoon, it was insanely difficult to ward off the sexual thoughts — I didn't want to risk HIM entering my dreams, risk him arousing me.

Fortunately, this day, work has been fairly busy, enough so to keep my mind off everything outside the tasks at hand.

Data entry sucks but the mind-numbing drudgery of it is a rewarding feature right now.

It isn't until the early afternoon that I hit a lull, and left with free time, I take to browsing the internet on my phone. As I reload reddit for the enth time, my phone buzzes. Tapping back to the home screen, I see no new texts so I check my emails.

Nothing new in the last 23 minutes.

'..so why did you buzz?,' I internally question my phone.

It wouldn't be Facebook, Twitter, or LinkedIn — there are zero notifications for those apps.

'So what was...?' I ask before realizing I've got my old gmail linked app loaded back on my phone, hidden in a folder of bullshit apps I never use but can't delete.

No notifications for it either but I turned this one's off intentionally.

Tentatively, I tap at the app and hold my breath as it boots up my old account.

At first, the latest email I see is from months ago — just some spam — I let out an easy breath, a sigh of relief.

But that's not the end of it, not by a long shot — the app catches up with itself, syncing with its server and suddenly hundreds of junk emails come pouring in, flooding the inbox. I'm almost about to just tap out of the damn thing but a lone email catches my eye.

2 down from the top, it's an email with the subject heading "it's time."

I don't recognize the sender but something about it calls out to me.

*tap*

Up pops that email, its body reading "So I've given you a couple days to wrap your head around things — that's ample time for you to realize what you need..."

"...And who you belong to."

Cold dread clutches at my chest and excited arousal awakens my nether region.

The remainder reads "You know where I live — I expect to see you here within the hour."

It isn't signed, per our initial agreement — no names.

Teeth clattering with nervous energy, that same shaking radiates through my body. I feel cold, anxious, wary; I close out the app and sleep-mode my phone. I try to force myself back to work, try to convince myself that there isn't a lull. But after 15 agonizing minutes of clicking refresh on the work email, with nothing coming in, I lean back in my chair and take to staring at the wall mounted clock...

1:22 pm.

'Could cut out early, take a half...the fuck are you thinking? You're not going over to HIS house! You're staying here, working till 6, going home...'

'...it's only a short walk from here, wouldn't take...NO!'

'Go home and take your place between HER legs. Go home and...'

Unfortunately, my nervous arousal beats out my fear. Uncertain what the the hell I'm doing, I grab my pack, slide a work laptop inside, and head for the door. As I'm leaving, I pass my boss and say "hey, it's dead here — cool if I head home and work from there if stuff picks up?"

She just kind of shrugs and hums out "ehhh, why not? Not much going on right now." With that, she spins back to her screen and gives me the over the shoulder wave.

'Oh god.. why didn't she stop me?! Why..oh what am I doing? Whatamidoingwhatamidoingwhatamidoing?!' are the only words that seem to manifest in my head the entire walk. It's a blur, my directions; down backstreets and doubling around blocks, ensuring know one could be following, all the same trying to persuade myself to just turn around, internally yelling nonstop 'WHATAREYOUDOING?!'

It isn't until I'm standing outside that familiar door, staring at the building intercom, that my thoughts go silent. "Turn back. Just leave. Go home," I mumble frantically to myself but it's too late — I've dragged my hand across all the buttons — someone will buzz me in.

A moment of silence.

The door latch buzzes, a shot fired, I'm quick to grab the handle and slide inside. Up the stairs, first door on the right. Standing before his door — the final threshold before this is real, I still can turn around, I can still leave...

HIS door is closed, certainly, but from the gap between the frame and door itself, I can tell that it isn't closed all the way — it's positioned ever so carefully as to give the illusion it's as it should be.

...and my damn nervous energy spurs me forward.

Sliding through the door and quietly shutting it behind me, I'm exactly where I didn't want to be, exactly where I've been avoiding even thinking of for the past 48 hours. But all that cold electricity, whatever it is, it melts as I look up and across the apartment. There HE is, fully nude, sitting on the couch with his legs spread, his hefty flaccid piece hanging over the edge of the seat cushion.

He's just smirking, that same knowing smirk he wore during the parade.

Before anything else can happen, I spit out "it's done. We're not doing this anymore."

Cool, in control, he calmly explains "you will head into the bathroom and freshen up."

"I'm going home," I say, not quite as convincing as I was a moment ago.

Not breaking eye contact, ignoring me, he continues "You will leave your clothes on the floor, you will turn your phone off, and you will return to me. You WILL receive your next order then."

Admittedly, my cock stirs and my legs tremble; I look to the doorknob but I know I've already lost the moment I take a step towards his bathroom. He just watches me as I do; he knows he's winning thus far.

In the bathroom, I strip awkwardly, like my limbs aren't mine to control — my movement is disjointed, shaky. Once nude, I find a douche he's set aside specifically for me, a big black rubber one...

*****

"Every bit as beautiful as I remember," he smiles out as I exit the bathroom. With a quirk of his eyebrows, he urges me to pick up the pace.

And I do.

Standing, my naked form on display for HIM, he makes a twirling finger gesture and quietly commands "turn around." And I do just that; my bare backside revealed to him, he whispers "but you know how to be even more beautiful?"

I twitch as a shudder rolls through me, I gulp and reply "with...your cock inside me..." in shameful arousal.

"Inside what, specifically?" He calmly demands. He never raises his voice, but the tone, it carries the weight of his words.