Free Wife Me Bad Boy by Chance Carter Page A

feel his hands on me but they never came. I turned around and saw that he was stroking his cock, masturbating, trying to make it hard.
    “Maybe we drank too much,” I said.
    He sighed in exasperation. There was a television remote by the bed and he grabbed it and pointed it at the television behind him.
    “It usually helps me if I watch some porn first,” he said. “I need to see really hot chicks to get it up.”
    That stung. I don’t think he could see my eyes in the darkness of the room, but I felt as if he’d just slapped me in the face. I felt like crying. Was he blaming me for his inability to get it up? Was he saying it was because I wasn’t hot enough?
    I wanted to call a cab. I wanted to get out of there.
    “Maybe this isn’t working,” I said, offering him a way out, but now that he had me, he wasn’t letting me go.
    “Just give me a minute,” he said.
    His television was a nice, fancy one with menus for on demand content. He scrolled through a list until he reached something called Total Cheerleader Mayhem.
    “Here,” he said. “This will do it. These girls are on fire. If I had one of them in here I’d devour her like a piece of dessert.”
    I nodded, stunned at how insensitive he was being. Did he honestly not realize how incredibly insulting to me that was? If he had a problem getting it up, I could handle that. I didn’t expect him to perform like a sex machine. That’s what foreplay was for, and tenderness, and seduction. If he gave me a chance, I’d have made him so hard he’d explode inside that stupid little condom. There was no need for him to insult me.
    The porn started, and immediately he got harder. I half-watched the movie, which basically consisted of two skinny, perfect teenagers sucking some jock’s cock, and at the same time I kept an eye on Rob’s gradually stiffening cock.
    By the time he was erect, I didn’t want to have anything to do with him. If he hadn’t been able to get hard looking at me, then why should he have his orgasm inside me?
    As it turned out, I didn’t have to worry. Even now that he was hard, he still couldn’t bring himself to make a move on me. I watched, dumbfounded, as he continued stroking his cock while watching the porn. Not once did he try to get me involved. It was as if I wasn’t even there. He spat on his hand to make it wet, then rubbed it up and down on his shaft, over and over. The bulb at the head of his cock grew pink and swollen and I could tell he was bringing himself close to orgasm. The girls on the television in their fake cheerleader costumes continued to slobber all over the jock’s cock.
    I cleared my throat. I’m not kidding. I actually cleared my throat, the way the boss of a company might when his employees were slacking off and hadn’t realized he was present. But it made no difference. Rob just kept pumping his shaft, and at the same moment that the actor on the porno orgasmed all over the faces of the cheerleaders, Rob spilled his seed all over his hand. I watched his white semen spurt up and land on his lap. He was so weak he couldn’t even look at me.
    I suppose I should have been grateful. He didn’t deserve to get his jizz anywhere near me. If he didn’t appreciate my attractiveness, then he didn’t deserve to fuck me. I should have felt grateful. But what I actually felt were tears of shame and humiliation forming in my eyes.
    *
    T RUE TO HIS WORD, Rob had to get up very early the next morning. His alarm went off at five and I pretended to be asleep as he showered and dressed. He left without saying a word, without checking if I was awake, without giving me a kiss.
    I supposed that made sense. Why would he have kissed me then when he hadn’t kissed me the night before?
    As soon as I heard the door shut behind him, I got dressed, called a cab, and let myself out of his apartment. If I never saw that cold, barren condo again, it would be too soon.
    The cab took me to the restaurant and I cried all the way