Obsession and a Twisted Romance.
Well here goes, now it begins, a devious plan concocted in Philly. “You look nice, Ronni.” Wow! My voice had gone up as if she clenched my balls because the wife looked unbelievably sexy. In soft light, she appeared almost pretty with her hair mussed. One strap of her t-shirt drooped over her shoulder.
Okay, down boy! Quit picturing how she would look with pointy nipples tingling with excitement, and legs spread wide, hips humping. I cursed the desire welling inside my dark soul. I must not sleep with her—ever! That was our agreement. “Ronni?” I said in a eunuch voice.
“Well, who were you expecting, Brad? Fool!”
Next to the wedding picture was a photo of a child, supposedly my daughter. The oldest trick in the book was to trap a man with pregnancy.
“No one calls me a fool and gets away with it!”
She ran towards the stairs.
My legs were longer and I grabbed her arm, laughing at her kicking and missing.
I spun her around, trapping her with my arms. Our bodies touched everywhere and I held her even tighter. “You smell of jasmine,” I moaned, lowering her to the stairs and raining kisses across her neck. Her wiggling aroused me beyond belief. I throbbed, pounding with such pressure; all I could think of was easing my pain in Ronni. My blood rushed to that one spot where my need was desperate. At this moment, the act was worth any price. Guilt could come later. I closed my eyes, and muttered, “God, I promise to say ten Hail Marys later even though I’m not Catholic.”
I shoved her hand on my pants, rubbing her palm against me. “Please, I need you, Ronni. Feel how much I want you. I need you so much, Ronni. Please, stroke me, pet me. Yeah, that’s it. More!”
She quit struggling and groaned.
I removed my hand and she continued rubbing. Squeezing. Pulling. Caressing.
My breath came in deep gasps. “Unzip me,” I panted and tugged at the zipper of her pants, my fingers clumsily poking her.
“Ouch, get off me you oaf!”
She slapped my cheek hard, sobering me, making me remember who we were and that bed was out of the question between us. “Again, Brad? You’re raping me again?”
I stood, straightening my pants and feeling rather sheepish about the rape thing. I plunked down on a step to conceal my throbbing arousal, looking like a petulant child. Any moment now, I might have a temper tantrum—Ronni really should give out to her husband. She was a tramp, just as her mother had been.
“I wish you stayed in Philadelphia permanently, Brad, or the plane crashed,” she snapped.
I never struck a woman in my life and clenched my hands into fists, resisting the urge to punch her. It took a minute for my pants to deflate. I then stumbled up the stairs, banging my ankle against the last step.