Free Pretty In Ink by Scott Hildreth Page A

silence, all of which included my dick still being buried deep inside of her, she raised her chest from the bed and peered over her shoulder.
    Her eyes were incapable of completely hiding the slight worry which obviously filled her mind.
    “You’re not done?” she asked.
    I wanted to me that man. The guy she proudly told her friends about in the bar over a bottle of beer. The one she came back to time and time again, the man she was afraid each and every time just might fuck her to death, but she was incapable of walking away from. The person, when the time was right, she eventually would fall in love with, knowing he was completely willing – and capable – of satisfying her each and every desire.
    I wanted to be the one. 
    “Far from it,” I growled as I gripped her waist in my hands.
    “Where have you been all my life,” she breathed.
    Whether she realized it or not, she had already placed me atop a pedestal. I felt like a complete success, and was filled with an unbelievable sense of pride. Her remark left me feeling even more so. Now with an inflated sense of sexual self-esteem, I gazed down at her, fixed my eyes on her, and responded in a manner much different than I ever would have expected.
    “Waiting to meet someone who could take all the sexual punishment I like to deliver,” I responded.
    She buried her face in the comforter and screamed in apparent joy. After a few seconds of silence, she raised her head, glanced over her shoulder, and grinned.
    “Your search is over, Wilson. Whether you know it or not, she’s bent over in front of you with your fat cock throbbing inside of her,” she said.
    With her waist still in my hands, I slowly began to work myself in and out of her wet mound. As I did so, I grinned in return, fully believing her stubborn nature and my self-pride would prevent either one of us from giving up.
    But I was prepared to find out.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    STEVIE
    Everything seemed new to me. The drive to work was no longer irritating, nor was the time spent at the many stoplights between my home and the shop spent yelling at the person in front of me. Instead, I sat quietly and thought of the time Wilson and I had spent together.
    I was unable to pinpoint what was different about him, and I guessed it really didn’t matter. The only thing that was important was how he made me feel, and even that was difficult to understand and even more impossible to explain.
    “Are you in love?” Riley asked.
    “No, you fucking dork, I’m not in love,” I said.
    “How do you know?” she asked.
    I stared at my bottle of beer as I picked at the label, slowly peeling it from the bottle. I really didn’t know what I was feeling, but I enjoyed whatever it was more than anything else I had experienced in my life. I was quite certain the car and the flowers had very little to do with my feelings, as material things had never really mattered much to me in the past.
    In my opinion, Wilson made me feel like he actually cared. I wasn’t a cute little bitch for him to show off to his friends, or a tight hole for him to pound. I was a woman he was attracted to, someone he enjoyed spending time with, and someone who he obviously perceived as being pretty close to an equal.
    “Because I know,” I said as I glanced up from the bottle of beer.
    She shrugged her shoulders and raised her bottle of beer to her lips. “Sounds like bullshit to me.”
    I shrugged my shoulders mockingly, and picked at the label of my beer.
    “Do you think about him like all the time?” she asked.
    “Uh huh,” I responded as I took a drink of beer.
    She glanced over each shoulder and leaned into the center of the booth. “Have you, uhhm. You know, masturbated while you think of him?” she whispered.
    “Yeah, but I’ve also masturbated to thoughts of Charlie Hunnan, Johnny Depp, and Chris Hemsworth, but I don’t love any of them,” I said with a laugh.
    “You’re impossible,” she sighed.
    “I’m realistic,”