Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final - Sex Stories

Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final

... rebelling. I just don't have it in me anymore.

"I love you," I tell her. "Thank you for not leaving me."

I can hardly believe it when I hear the sniffle, but that's what love-beyond-like does to people. It doesn't make me think any less of her. She's too cool. She's too complete within herself. She can cry tears of happiness just because. It doesn't have to mean that armor cracked or a facade broke down. I wish I was like that, too.

"If I cum," she asks, "will you stay? Will you listen? Will you talk to me?" Her emphasis is clearly on that last one, which is no surprise.

"I will."

"Do you promise?"

Well, that hurt, but I deserved it. "I promise."

"Okay."

Jack's fucking subtly changes again. It's still really good for me; I'm not a reluctant bottom. I don't want to be disposable, but I do like being used for her pleasure. I think that might be the most normal thing about me.

I receive more kisses, but they're no longer disciplined, doled-out rewards. They're expressions of both love and lust, and there's new force behind them. She's pouring them into me as prelude to the semen. Her embrace, likewise, becomes about her need.

"I love you, Jack," I whisper. "I'm yours. Breed me."

She groans first, before she starts cumming, but then the two intertwine. She blasts my insides with her dominant heat, and my asshole quivers -- not another orgasm, really, but a submissive instinct to coax her seed up into me. Her hold on me is genuinely ironclad, and ...

... I accept it. I put my arms over hers, grasp at her clutching hands, and let her know that I want her to imprison me. I want her to keep me. She doesn't hurt my titties, but if she had, it would've been okay. Just like her hips and pelvis pushing into my ass, it would've been in service to getting me as close to her as humanly possible. That's what we need right now. For a moment or two, it's even what I want. I also want to keep wanting it; I just don't know if I will.

Bound by a promise, I'm physically freed. We clean ourselves and each other up. We shower together and have coffee together. It's like old times, almost. Love-beyond-like hangs in the air. Jack's worried that my declaration was temporary, even though she knows it wouldn't be my fault. She knows I'm super fucked up in the head.

I guess we're going to find out, because Jack's not done ramping up.

"Tell me about Gwyn," she says.

Because I'm a dumbass, my first thought is my rant -- the one I dumped on that vaguely Asian dickgirl months ago before everything went acid-foggy and started reeking of puke. My new tribe's heard a dozen variations on the theme. They're very into it, and the more cutting commentary I add, the more they like it. It's like standup stand-up comedy without the jokes. In the dark of night, they laugh mean laughs at outsize expressions of shared anger and resentment. It feels really good. Only here, with Jack, am I forced to look at it in the light of day. It's ugly. I'm ugly. Ifeel ...