Dirty Daddies

Jealousy isn’t me, it never has been, but it feels that way tonight. Sharing her seems a better option than being left out in the cold, but sharing a girl isn’t something that any sane man in my position should ever consider.

No. We can’t share her.

We shouldn’t even be considering the possibility. Neither of us.

We should never have broken the boundaries we’ve already ploughed through tonight, but it’s too late for that now.

I’m almost back to the main stretch of town when I just can’t hold it any longer. I slip behind the old oak we used to scale as kids and pull down my zip. My cock is throbbing as I wrap my hand around the length, my breath coming in grunts as I jerk myself off.

Fuck, it feels so much better than it should.

I remember how she wriggled against my lap, the feel of her smooth ass against my palm. Her clammy thighs, the pretty swollen pink of her pussy. The way she looked at me after Jack gave her a good hiding, the way she so willingly dropped herself over my knees.

The way she looked over his knees.

The way he spanked her.

I slam my head into the trunk of the oak, eyes screwed tight as I shoot my load. My dick twitches as the rush floods me. I’m lightheaded and disoriented, open-mouthed at the filthy pleasure of sharing that girl with the man who’s been at my side my whole fucking life.

I stuff my cock back in my pants and catch my breath, stumbling back out onto the main road to continue my walk back to regular civilisation.

This isn’t me.

I was never like this with Molly, but Molly wasn’t anything like Carrie Wells. Molly never let me indulge any of my darkest fantasies, she never wanted any of them.

The only person who’s ever known the shit I’m really into is Jack.

Trips to visit him at University. The mad thrill of going along with his wild hedonism without the pressure of social standing back home. Without the gossip and the whispers, and the fear of everyone in the corner shop knowing about your kinky sex life.

Jack’s a dirty sonofabitch. It’s one of the reasons he’s chronically single.

Jack knows what he likes, and he likes pretty much everything.

He goes for what he wants, and he wants Carrie Wells.

I think he even wants her as much as I do.

It’s a relief to stride through the high street and arrive on my own doorstep. Pam’s light is on downstairs and I see the curtain twitch as I turn my key in the lock.

She knows Carrie is staying with Jack now. She knows I knew about it, too.

Fuck knows what questions I’m going to have to answer at work on Monday, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry right now.

I’ve got tomorrow night to get through yet.

And Carrie may well have a decision to make which doesn’t go my way.

The thought doesn’t bear thinking about, but the fucker won’t leave me alone.JackShe’s not quick enough to dart away from view when I head through to the living room with a fresh cold beer from the fridge. Call it instinct, but I used to do it when I was a kid and my parents were arguing – sit myself down on the top stair and hope people would be too caught up in their row to notice me.

I prop myself against the bottom bannister and call up to her.

“You can come down if you want. Michael’s gone.”

She pokes her head around the top rail. “I wasn’t–” she begins, but I shake my head.

“Don’t even think about lying to me, you’ve been there since we sent you out.”

She shrugs. “It’s not eavesdropping if the conversation is about you. It’s called not being a stupid fucking idiot.”

“It’s called poking your pixie nose in where it’s not fucking wanted. What Mike and I talk about is for our ears and not yours.”

She folds her arms as she heads back downstairs. Good manners seem to fade awfully fucking easily with this girl.

“Even if the shit you’re talking about revolves around me?”

“Especially if the shit we’re talking about revolves around you.”

“He’s freaked out,” she says and it isn’t a question.

“Mike takes things hard. He’s very considered.” I pause. “Usually very considered.”

A flash of insecurity shows in her eyes. “I guess I’m messing things up for him a little, right?”

I have the strangest urge to pull the girl into my arms and hold her tight. I saw one of those sickly sweet graphics on the internet once. It said one day someone’s going to come along who’ll hug you so tight that all of your broken pieces will fit back together again.

It made me roll my eyes at the time, and yet here I am years later considering whether maybe it’s not quite so grotesque an idea after all. If I could hug Carrie Wells that tight I would.