Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
I’ve tried to forget her. I’ve tried throwing myself into Karmax, working late nights and weekends. I’ve even thought of dating some new girls but no one even remotely interests me, not even for a fuck. But I get these raging hard-ons. All the time. The image of Fiona’s curvy body will float into my mind, torturing me. Her huge, soft tits spilling into my hands when I grope them, swaying as I fuck her. Her round ass in the air as I push my pulsing cock into her tight little ass, watching her tiny pink pussy gush as I make her come with my cock up her ass, her ass cheeks bouncing with the movement. Her flushed, innocent face, always so full of surprise at how huge my dick is and how much pleasure I can give her each time. It’s all so pornographic, and yet porn can’t satisfy me either, even if I try looking up porn stars that resemble Fiona. All I can do is jack off three times as day, beating my cock as I pretend it’s Fiona’s tight little cunt squeezing it until it explodes. Shit. I’m a pathetic fuck for sure.
But even worse, I have these violent dreams. I’ve been having them more and more frequently, and they've become more intense as the months wear on. They’re about Fiona, and in my dreams, I’m locking her up so she can't get away from me again. I’m tying her up just tightly enough to hold her in place without hurting her. She’s begging me to never let her go, to satisfy her with my cock, tongue, and fingers. To kiss her and hold her. I can’t leave the room, as if I'm the one tied up and not her.
And it’s never enough - in my dreams, no matter how hard I make her cum, no matter how I do it, she's always telling me it’s not good enough. She wants more. She deserves better. The dreams are even more proof I should stay well away from her. My sick mind has no business going near a good girl like Fiona and an innocent baby.
There's always a sense of guilt when I awake, my cock hardened up so tight against my abdomen it hurts, desperate for release. I stroke my throbbing shaft and I imagine it’s Fiona’s sweet tongue. She’s going to catch my come with her soft mouth and suck me dry, and then hold me against her soft tits as she strokes my hair until I fall asleep. I'm constantly caught up in a whirlwind of thinking about Fiona and being horny. Thinking about Fiona and jacking off. Thinking about Fiona and feeling pathetic. Thinking about Fiona and feeling angry. Trying not to think about Fiona while watching porn. Thinking about Fiona and feeling sad. And back to thinking about Fiona and being horny. It never ends. I haven't slept properly in months.
But tonight is different. When I wake up from my dream about Fiona, even though my cock is stiff and ready to go, I resist. Not this time. This time there’s a new kind of feeling mingling in with the horniness and torture - a kind of gut instinct. I sit up and ignore the way my cock sways on its base like a flagpole in the wind, trying to focus on why my heart is beating in my chest like this. I look at my phone and discover no missed calls - so what is it? It’s the middle of the night, but I have a sudden urge to drive to Fiona’s apartment.
I calculated the date of the arrival of the baby and know very well when it’s due - and it’s not for another two weeks. And yet I have a strange feeling that Fiona needs me. Could she be in trouble? The feeling is strong enough that I decide to call her for the first time since I found out she was pregnant. The woman doesn’t answer, her cell going straight to voicemail. Fuck! I throw the phone on my nightstand and try to go back to sleep, flopping down on the mattress.
But I can’t. There’s a voice in the back of my head telling me that she’s in trouble. So like a madman, I throw on my clothes and grab my car keys. It’s fine that she’s not answering her phone; it’s the middle of the night and she probably hates me after all. But it’s odd that it goes straight to voice mail. I need to know if she’s okay, with an urge I can’t explain.
When I arrive at Fiona’s apartment and stand buzzing at her front door, I carry on insistently for a while, not knowing what else to do. The buzzing must have woken one of her neighbors, because a window opens and I hear a grumpy voice yelling down at me.