Worry and Control
The first time I asked Maggie if she’d fuck someone else while I watched, I was hoping for control.
We had been dating for a few months, and she made it clear from the beginning that she was not a good girlfriend. But she kissed me slowly and showed up at my room unannounced, so maybe I was different. She came incredibly hard each time we fucked, and I thought it might be enough to keep her from falling into old habits.
Her idea of a bad girlfriend was complicated. Some of it was simply her past that made her convinced no one would love her. Her turn ons and her shame were intricately connected, and somewhere along the line she decided she wasn’t good enough. She was too slutty, too removed, too dirty to be a good girlfriend, so she decided to be a bad one. Days would go by without a phone call, and then she’d show up drunk at my door and beg me to fuck her while I called her names.
“You’re a filthy little whore,” I’d groan as I slapped her and choked her until tears ran down her face. She’d spit and struggle, but the few times I stopped, worried that possibly it had gone to far, she’d roll over and shut down.
“Don’t fucking do that,” she’d say. “I don’t want to deal with you being worried about me.”
When I suggested bringing Max over, she smiled and asked me if I could handle it. I had watched them flirt for weeks, and somewhere in the middle of it all, I decided I could make it mine. Maybe if I told her what to do, if I made her do it, it would feel less hard than when it happened behind my back.
I undressed her in front of him, and she was shy for first time since I met her. I pulled her hair and forced her to her knees, but the look on his face was more concerned than lustful even as she opened her mouth around his cock. We took turns fucking her mouth and her cunt, and there were a few moments when her eyes glazed over in want, but it was nothing close to how she was with me. He was gentle even when I told him not to be, and she kissed me softly while they fucked.
It took her half a bottle of gin to say anything other than, “it was nice.” Three days later she stumbled into my room, her short skirt around her waist as she struggled to get out of her panties. She didn’t kiss me once as she crawled onto my lap and rubbed her pussy against me through my boxers.
“He would have fucked me harder if you weren’t there. He would have hit me and fucked my ass, but he was worried to do it in front of you. I can always tell when someone is afraid to give me what I deserve.”
“Maggie, don’t,” I whispered, even as I watched in horror as I slid my cock inside her. She leaned down and I grabbed her hair as I thrust up into her, but it was too much. “Please, don’t do this.”
She rolled off me a second later, and curled up into a ball. She was still wearing her skirt, and her tank top was down around her stomach. I pulled the blanket up over her and tried to wrap my arms around her. She pushed me away as she rocked on the bed, and her sobs were loud.
“Why didn’t he want me?” she cried.
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Ce soir… Banane is visiting my place for the first time. The last few days Banane’s been driving me wild texting in detail about her current sexual fantasies. We’ve been doing the slow reveal when it comes to getting to know one another in other ways but no doubt there’s awesome sexual chemistry. Everything is fresh and ready: me, the food, and the bed sheets. I’m pacing with butterflies.