Rest Stop Bull

By tinybetacuck.

I ease my pick-up truck into the rest stop parking lot. I live just one more exit down the highway, but I can’t make it: I’ve just got to piss too bad. The lot’s crowded, but I manage to find a spot up near the entrance. I ease the truck in and walk calmly to the bathroom. I’ve been here a thousand times and know exactly where it is.

I unzip at the urinal and let fly a thick stream. I stand an inch or two back to avoid any splash from the rear of the urinal. That position might leave me a bit exposed, but I don’t mind. I’ve got nothing to hide. I sigh contentedly as the tension drains out through the end of my cock.

I notice the man next to me. The bathroom’s pretty full, and there’s no room for the one-urinal buffer that men try to leave when possible. This guy next to me is pressed up close between the dividers, his shoulders almost touching the flushing handle. He’s so close to the porcelain.

I try not to make surface-level judgments about people, but for some reason, I feel that with one glance at him — the hunched posture, the self-conscious way of doing his hair, the too-new rustic-chic sweater, not to mention the khakis — I can fill in most of his story. You know the type just as well as I do: late 20s, went to a leafy, prestigious college, probably works at some hotshot startup where he spends all day at a computer. He’s out here in the country for a bachelor’s party getaway or a business retreat or some such nonsense. There’s a chance I’m relying on too many stereotypes, but I think I’ve got this one pretty well pegged. It makes me smile.

The poor fuck. I’m a good six inches taller than the guy. From my vantage high above the dividers, I can see one reason why everything about him is so self-consciously constructed: Between his right thumb and forefinger, he’s jiggling one of the smallest flaccid dicks I’ve ever seen. It couldn’t be more than two inches long from what I see in my stolen glance.

He notices me looking. I can tell he’s spooked, and he instinctively turns up to me, trying on a look of defiant annoyance. I’m still smiling from my musings, and I look back calmly and confidently. As if in a challenge, he makes a show of glancing down and getting a good look at my large member. Soft, it still takes me three fingers and a thumb to hold it straight. I’ve always thought it looked like a sausage you’d get at a ballpark with peppers and onions. I don’t have to wonder what he makes of it. We make eye contact again. The fight is gone from his eyes.

We finish and flush at the same time. He holds one hand awkwardly over his groin as we walk toward the row of sinks, but he can’t hide the wet spot from the urinal splashback. Never stand too close, kiddos.

He chooses a sink as far away from mine as possible. I shake my head and focus on washing my hands. When I look up again, he’s gone.

I forget about the College-Type and make for the exit before deciding to hit the Starbucks for a quick pick-me-up. As usual, there’s a line about ten deep, but these things move fast, and I’m in no hurry now that I’ve pissed. Something about pissing when you’ve been holding it in for a while — the world just seems a bit happier.

I watch the crowd surge in and out of the rest stop entrance while I wait. The line seems to be taking a bit longer than usual. I look ahead to check the holdup, and I notice College-Type two spots before me in line. He’s engrossed in whatever’s on his phone, but he’s standing next to a striking young woman.

She’s beautiful if a bit distracted and discombobulated. Slender but with enough curves to make you look twice. Dirty blond hair, about shoulder length, but it’s pulled up in a haphazard ponytail. She fills out her blue jeans, not scandalously tight, but tight enough. She’s also wearing a boutique rustic-style sweater, but it works much better on her than the college boy. On a purely superficial level, this woman is hitting all my buttons, and after thinking back to what I learned in the bathroom. Well, this is all suddenly a lot more interesting.

From the way college-type is standing so close to her, it’s clear that they are together, but Mrs. College-type is deep in conversation with the person in front of her in line. It seems to be a stranger, an older woman, a local, offering sympathetic nods in response to Mrs. College-Type’s story. Trying to look natural, I edge forward and mentally block out the crowd’s roar to catch the conversation.

Mrs. College-Type is recounting a saga, something about car trouble. They barely made it into the parking lot here, she says. There was steam pouring out from under the hood. They’ve dropped their station wagon off with the mechanic at the rest stop gas station, and they learned just a minute ago that it won’t be ready until at least tomorrow. And it’s tough because tomorrow’s their anniversary! Since freshman year, they’ve been dating, and tomorrow it will be seven years.

I watch her gestures but see no sign of a wedding ring. Seven years and they’re not married or even engaged. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but if neither is ready to commit at that point but still together, their relationship might not be all it’s cracked up to be. I drink her curves one more time, this time appreciating the self-possession and intelligence evident in her face and word choice. I remember the view at the urinal.

And now, Mrs. — excuse me Ms. — College-Type tells the stranger, they have to find somewhere to stay. I already know they won’t find many options for the next couple of exits. They’re looking into hotels nearby. There’s the Sleep Tite motel about ten miles back in the other direction, but something tells me they won’t be too thrilled about staying in that fleabag. As if reading my mind, the stranger relays the same pieces of information. Ms. College-Type’s face falls adorably.

I feel just rotten for them, genuinely. That’s terrible luck. College-Type’s jaw is clenched, and he’s glaring at his phone. We’ve all moved up about six spots in line, and the happy couple is about to order. He orders some fancy, steamed milk—almond milk—latte thing. She gets a large coffee, black—atta girl.

They stand off the side as they await their order. I wonder if the guy has recognized me from the bathroom, but when I walk over to the waiting area with my order placed, he’s still engrossed in his phone. The conversation with the stranger has stopped, and I don’t look again until I’ve ordered.

I learn her name when the Starbucks employee calls it out: Beth. We make casual eye contact and exchange pleasant smiles as she walks back to the waiting area. My coffee is ready a moment later. While I’m grabbing a cardboard sleeve and some extra napkins from the milk station, I hear someone criticizing the busy Starbucks workers. From his petulant, entitled tone, I guess it’s College-Type without looking. Sure enough, he’s scowling impotently while the employee explains that there’s a backup for the machine to froth his almond milk.

I understand he must be frustrated with his car situation, but I have a particular dislike for people who harass retail workers just doing their jobs. If I felt vague disdain tinged with pity for him before, the contempt is no longer vague, and the sympathy has evaporated.

I look at Beth. She’s embarrassed and tries to get him to end his tantrum. When he shrugs her off, she happens to glance in my direction. We make eye contact again, and I offer a slight smile that says, ‘I’m sorry you have to deal with this.’ She smiles back gratefully, then rolls her eyes and gestures with her head toward her partner.

As I walk away, his drink is finally ready, and I learn his name: Dustin.

Well, the show is over. I leave them be and walk out to my trunk. I sit in the driver’s seat and sip my coffee, keys in the ignition. My seatbelt buckle is in my hand when I see Beth and Dustin exit the building and sit at a bench outside a spot or two over from my truck. I release the buckle.

Unable to tear away, I roll down my window a few inches. Behind the windshield, I can’t hear anything. Still, they’re fighting. They’re arguing about the hotel. He’s yelling about how he wants to take an Uber to a Marriott 45 minutes away; she’s trying to calm him down while advocating for the motel. She cites the cost of the extended cab ride, plus the higher rate at the Marriott. I guess sitting at that computer all day doesn’t pay too well.

They reach a testy detente and turn away from one another. I unlock my door. I try to convince myself as I walk toward them that it’s the good samaritan in me who wants to help these people. Still, I don’t find my internal argument very persuasive with Beth’s radiant appearance in the waning afternoon sunlight.

“Excuse me, folks,” I say when I reach their bench.

They turn their heads up to me in unison. The sun is starting to set behind me, and my position has put Beth in my shadow while Dustin has to squint and shade his eyes with his hand. I can’t tell if he recognizes me from the bathroom.

“I’m sorry to bother you, and I hate to admit this, but I happened to overhear you discussing your situation in the coffee line.” I gesture my Starbucks cup toward the ones in their hands. “That’s some rotten luck. I—”

Dustin cuts me off. “Yeah, thanks, but we’ve got it under control.”

Beth glares at him. I ignore him and continue talking directly to Beth.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about the situation you’re in, having to find somewhere to stay on short notice, and you’re in a bit of a dead zone for quality establishments.”

Dustin’s unsure where this is going, but he doesn’t like it wherever it is. “Look, man, thanks and all, but as I said, I’m handling it.”

“Dustin, Jesus Christ!” Beth chimes in. There’s real anger in her eyes, which I see now are a lovely hazel. “This man’s trying to help us. The least you could do is not be rude.”

She turns to me while he scowls. “I’m sorry about that. Please, go on.”

I smile at her. It’s hard not to. “That’s alright, ma’am. I understand why he might have a bit of a short-fuse, given your predicament.”

At the words ‘short-fuse,’ I lock eyes with Dustin first. The sun has sunk below the tips of the pine trees on the hills in the distance. He can see me now. He recognizes me. His eyes widen in apprehension, and his gaze darts to my groin. I watch his shoulders sink as he slumps back into the bench. A warm, fluttery feeling surges into my belly.

“To cut to the chase, I live just one exit down the highway here. I have a big house, plenty of space. If you want to spend the night there instead of the Sleep Tite, I have a guest room you can use. Queen bed, private bathroom, the works. Or if you just want to kill a few hours and eat some dinner before heading to the Marriott, I’d be happy to give you a lift there. I’m not one to boast, but I have a lovely view from my house. I even got a hot tub last spring. I think you might find it more agreeable than this.”

I nod to our rest stop surroundings. As if to make my point for me, a family bursts out from the entrance, one kid screaming about his immediate need for an ice cream cone. His baby sister cries hysterically from its stroller.

Beth looks at Dustin. “What do you think? It might be nice to relax somewhere quiet after this mess of a day. Then we can head to the Marriott.”

“I don’t know, honey,” Dustin says. He glances at my truck. I watched him register the logo for my electrician business plastered on the side. He takes in my dusty jeans and a wrinkled flannel shirt. His tone is no longer aggressive but self-consciously calm. “Queen bed in the guest room? Hot tub? I’m not sure I buy this. No offense, mister.”

Little does he know, but I make six figures a year, and my company has three offices within forty miles of this rest stop.

“Oh, you might be surprised how far you can get in life if you know how to use your hands.” I smile at him, holding up my mitts. They’re not pretty, with a few visible nicks and scrapes, but they’re big and experienced, the hands of a man.

“Well, I— We still don’t know you,” Dustin says, shoving his hands in his pockets. I can still see the faint outline of the piss stain on his pants. “You could be some kind of psycho. Can you give us a minute to talk about this?”

I look at Beth, who gives a slight nod.

“Of course,” I say. “Take your time. I understand your hesitance, completely reasonable. My name is Alan Fuller, by the way, and for what it’s worth, you can go talk to most of the employees inside here. They know me. They’ll vouch for me as a card-carrying non-psycho.”

Beth chuckles, earning a glare from Dustin. I walk back to my truck and lean against the rear panel to give them some privacy, but within moments I hear raised voices, mostly Dustin’s piercing whine. I watch the sunset behind the hills in the distance, and there’s a definite chill in the air by the time Beth taps me on the shoulder a few minutes later.

“Excuse me, Sir?” I find her formality incredibly cute, and I’m grinning as I turn to face them. Beth’s arms are hugging each other across her stomach to ward off the chill, but she returns my smile. Dustin sulks a few feet back, his jaw set and eyebrows low.

“We’d love to take you up on your generous offer and have dinner and relax at your house for a while, and then if you wouldn’t mind taking us to the Marriott for the evening.” As she speaks, I try to avoid glancing to her chest, where her crossed arms are hoisting her bosom. “Thank you so much for your hospitality. We appreciate it.”

Dustin pretends to ignore her until she opens her eyes wide in a warning. I watch him force his eyes to meet mine, and he mutters a reluctant, ungracious, “Thanks.”

I reach out to shake their hands. “Great! Glad to have you both aboard.”

My large hand engulfs Beth’s slender palm. Her fingers, long and elegant, are soft against my callouses. I linger for half a second too long, my thumb just barely rubbing the back of her palm. Dustin doesn’t notice, but Beth does. She doesn’t pull away.

Dustin’s hand is just as soft as Beth’s, and it’s similarly dwarfed in my grasp. I apply more pressure, but he seems to have regained some of his confidence because he returns the squeeze and raises his posture to look me in the eye.

“Sincerely, Alan, thanks for the help.”

I nod. They introduce themselves, and I pretend I don’t know their names. After a few minutes of idle chatter, they grab their belongings, a rolling suitcase, and a duffel sitting by the bench. Dustin has to tie his shoe, so Beth is the first one back to the truck. I escort her to the front passenger seat. I climb in next to her and close the door, and there’s a moment of silence where it’s just the two of us.

I turn the key, and the engine comes purring to life. I forgot that I’d left the stereo on, and the jazz radio station I’d been listening to returns at full highway volume. I quickly turned it down to a more bearable volume and apologized, but Beth recognized the tune from the few seconds it played. We’re immediately deep in discussion about our favorite jazz albums and artists, and neither of us hears Dustin knocking on the rear passenger side window until he’s using his full fist to pound on the glass.

“Jesus, Dustin,” Beth says after I unlock the door, and he climbs in. “There’s no need to pound on Alan’s truck like that.”

“No worries, big guy,” I say, pre-empting an apology I assumed from the constipated look on his face was not forthcoming.

I back out of the parking space. I see in the rearview mirror that Dustin is still trying to situate himself and his bag among the bins of tools, wiring, insulation, and so forth that take up two of the three rear seats.

“Apologies for the tight squeeze back there, my friend.”

He glares at me.

Beth and I keep talking the whole drive to my house. Dustin tries once or twice to cut in and change the subject, but Beth, to my surprise, just ignores his interjections and continues our discussion. She knows her stuff, and her love of jazz is evident, but I can tell she’s trying to impress me. I let her. Eventually, Dustin slumps back against the seat and stares out the window.

The radio station cuts to commercials as I pull off the highway, turning off. There’s a comfortable silence in the front seat, and I smell a pleasant, floral aroma that I realize is Beth’s hair. It’s faint but perfect. We turn into my neighborhood, and I watch in the rearview mirror. Dustin’s eyes widen as the expansive lawns, and large homes come into view in the early-evening darkness.

The gravel crunches under the tires as we pull into my driveway. My house is on the side of a hill, and the steps leading from road level to the front door are extensive and somewhat steep. There’s a side door at the ground level, of course, but I want them to get the full experience of the house at the main entrance. I offer to carry all of their luggage for the climb, but Dustin insists on lugging his duffel, leaving his girlfriend’s behind. As we reach the front door, he’s trying to disguise the fact that he’s a little out of breath.

I suggest they turn around to take in the view. The hills in the distance are silhouetted against the sunset’s last rays, and the rolling acres of pine forest in the foreground are just visible. Everything is quiet for a moment, except for Dustin’s muffled panting.

Beth breaks the silence. “Wow, it’s beautiful, Alan.”

“It beats the Sleep Tite, I do believe. And I don’t think the Marriott’s got much on it either.”

She chuckles.

“It’s…very nice,” Dustin says. Beth elbows him good-naturedly.

I open the door and show them to the guest room.

“Even if you don’t want to spend the night — which you are still more than welcome to do — feel free to take a shower, lie down, relax. Make yourself comfortable. You guys have had one shit day.”

I drop Beth’s suitcase next to the bed, which is indeed a queen. She looks at me, and there’s just something about her face that I can’t resist.

“This is beautiful,” she says, “and too much hospitality. We can’t thank you enough.”

“Ah, it’s no trouble. I’m glad for the company, truly.”

She’s smiling up at me, and I can’t look away. Our shared gaze must have lingered a moment too long because Dustin, who had been poking around the room and attached bathroom as if searching for some fault, clears his throat deliberately. Beth averts her eyes and occupies herself with unzipping her suitcase. Dustin eyes me as I walk to the door, but I meet his attempt at defiance with calm confidence.

“Get settled. Come find me in the kitchen when you’re ready. It’s the second left from here, at the end of the hall.”

Ten minutes later, after changing out of my work clothes into a clean button-down and jeans, I walk back across the house. They’re not in the kitchen, and I head to the guest room to see if they need anything. I’m a few feet from the door when I hear them talking. The voices are not raised, but the tension is palpable. I make to turn away, leave them be, but the first words I can make out stop my retreat.

Dustin’s voice, high and passionate: “… Stop defending him! When I saw him in the bathroom, he was such a prick.”

Beth’s voice, firm, calm: “I’m not defending him, just being an adult. He’s been nothing but polite. What does that even mean? He was a prick in the bathroom?”

A pause, then Dustin: “He—at the urinal—he looked down at me while I was going with a shit-eating grin. He thinks he’s so much better than me.”

All of a sudden, the flutter is back in my stomach. I got to him.

Beth: “Well, dang, you mean, he saw it?” She trails off. She knows what I saw.

Dustin must have nodded because he responded: “And he was so proud to show off. What a cocky asshole.”

Beth: “Ah, hmm.”

Another pause. My heart is pounding. She knows what I have that her boyfriend doesn’t. I need to make sure I don’t breathe too loudly, but damn, damn, damn. The night’s possibilities unfold in my mind in an instant like a map of the stars, plotting infinite unknown outcomes. I exhale slowly, relaxing tensed shoulders.

She continued: “Well, I’m sorry about that, but I guess it can’t be helped now. He’s been incredibly gracious since then. Even you have to admit that. We’ve been rude staying in here for so long.”

She continues talking, but I realize I’ve lingered far too long and silently high-tail it to the kitchen and busy myself with some dishes left in the sink, distracting my buzzing brain. A few minutes later, they wander in. I hand them each a beer.

“Cheers to new friends.”

We clink our bottles and drink. Dustin, sour-faced, is still in his same expensive-looking sweater and ill-fitting khakis, but Beth now has a black T-shirt featuring the album cover of Miles Davis’ “Kind of Blue” tucked into her jeans. Her body is incredible. I wink at her in recognition of the cool shirt, and she hides her smile behind another sip from the bottle. Dustin, busy guzzling his beer, doesn’t notice.

I show them around the rest of the house quickly, offering explanations of my favorite pieces of art and furniture. It doesn’t take too long; the house is large for one person but not decadent.

At one point during the tour, Dustin pointed his thumb at a closed-door I didn’t explain. “Does this lead down to the basement where you keep the mutilated corpses of all the stranded travelers you take in?”

I can tell he’s trying to be an ass, but I laugh anyway. It’s pretty good. Beth isn’t as pleased.

“Shut it, Dustin. Don’t be rude.”

She walks ahead, reading the spines of the books on a nearby shelf. I slap Dustin on the back to show no hard feelings, then grip his shoulder and pull him next to me until his body touches mine. I keep it natural, but I tower over him, and I’m sure he can feel the muscle on my torso where his shoulder is wedged against it. He tries to extricate himself, but I hold him close for another second or two before freeing him.

We end the tour in the living room adjacent to the kitchen and has a door to the back patio. It’s almost pitch black through the glass, but I flip on the exterior lights to reveal the backyard: a grill, a glass table with the umbrella stowed, the beginning of a lawn that disappears into the murk. Before I flick the light off, Beth somehow spies the hot tub, even though it’s partially hidden around the corner of the house and hard to discern in the night with its dark cover. Nevertheless, she insists we turn it on and go for a dip.

“I haven’t been in one in forever, and it sounds perfect after our horrible day.”

Dustin looks mildly panicked and shuffles his weight on his feet. He chatters, searching for an excuse that will fit. “Oh, uh, are you sure? I don’t think I packed a bathing suit. There are probably bugs outside anyway. Also, I’m pretty hungry. Shouldn’t we start thinking about dinner?”

I’m also getting hungry, but there’s no way I will pass up an opportunity to see Beth in a bathing suit.

“No worries, champ. I have some extra trunks.” I glance at his crotch and remember the tiny pecker he’s hiding in there. “Though they might not fit you quite right.”

He doesn’t respond. He just tightens up his face and averts his eyes. The guy is riddled with self-confidence issues and insecurity. I would feel bad for him if he wasn’t dragging a beautiful, fascinating woman like Beth down like an anchor. I make a decision.

“Tell you what, you get started on dinner, and I will take Beth for a dip.” I keep my tone casual as I feel out this unknown threshold.

Dustin stares at me in disbelief. I want to see Beth’s reaction, but I know I can’t take my eyes from Dustin. This is a pivotal moment. I have been slowly eroding his control over the situation all evening, and he makes one last scramble for purchase.

“Oh, actually, um, I guess I will borrow a bathing suit if that’s —”

“No,” I say, cutting him off, “I think you making dinner sounds like a good plan. I’ll show you where everything is while Beth gets changed.” Nothing in my tone or cadence suggests this is up for debate. It is a statement of fact.

He looks at his girlfriend with thinly veiled desperation. “Beth —”

She looks back and forth between us in surprising silence but makes no effort to come to his aid. She seems to be seeing Dustin for the first time. For the boy, he still is underneath the bluster and the fancy clothes. Then she turns to me, and all I see is a warm smile.

“Be right back.” Dustin’s mouth falls open in shock as he watches her walk toward the guest room.

Arousal is coursing through my body. I’ve never done anything like this in my life. I’ve always been an assertive and confident person, but these are deep waters unknown to me. This first taste of control —domination—over Dustin hits buttons I didn’t know I had. Aside from my deep sexual and intellectual attraction to his girlfriend, something is exhilarating in this dynamic between him and me. Standing here, in my tall, muscular body with my large cock hanging between my legs, I look at him in his weakness and feel strong, powerful, unstoppable.

But I don’t want to overthink it and blow it. Before he can react, I take him by the shoulder and lead him to the kitchen. I open the fridge, pull out ingredients for a salad and a rudimentary pasta dish, and tell him where to find the knives, cutting boards, pots, and pans. I don’t care what he makes; food is now the last thing on my mind. I leave him there, holding a box of baby spinach in stunned silence.

I dart into my room and change into a bathing suit. Something short and tight. My body is still tingling in anticipation when I dip outside to turn on the hot tub. The air is chilly.

Beth enters just as I return into the living room. Any fantasies of her body I’d had time to concoct are incomparable to the real thing. Her breasts are tantalizing beyond description in her light blue bikini, filling the cups with the essence of feminine allure. Her stomach is flat with a just hint of softness above long shapely legs that look smooth to the touch.

Seeing my desire, she glances nervously around the room and does a quick twirl. I get a glimpse of her partially clothed ass, which seems somehow both soft and hard, round and tight. I toss her a towel, then put my hands on my hips so she can get a look at my body. I know she’s curious, and I let her get a good look.

I watch her looking at me. A momentary timidness is overcome when she sees my bulge, which has only grown with my arousal. I think about Dustin’s dumpy body and small cock. They’d been together for seven years. There’s no way that dunce can fuck her right. She must be thirsty. I want to feel her soft skin, slide my fingers under the fabric of her bikini top —

Dustin wanders back into the room. He’s about to ask me something about the kitchen when he sees his beautiful girlfriend drinking me in. He stops dead.

Before he can say anything, I move to block his view of Beth. I let him get a good look at my body, though; his eyes dart for my tight bathing suit faster than hers did. Smiling, I again grab his shoulder and gently spin him back toward the kitchen. Speaking warmly but firmly, I say, “Dustin, pour us two glasses of wine. I have some good bottles in the rack at the end of the counter. Any red will do. I have a feeling Beth here hasn’t had something really good to drink in a long time.”

I lay that “ really good” on so thick you could put a pat of butter on it and call it French toast. I realize I might be pressing my luck — am I really trying to steal this guy’s girlfriend from him right under his nose? Can that possibly work? — but I find that I can’t help it. It’s not insulting him that turns me on so much; it’s the way he just takes it, accepting my domination with quiet obedience, that sends the blood coursing through my body.

When I turn around, Beth is watching me with a strange expression, like someone learning the secret to a long-befuddling magic trick. She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “You know, Dustin’s never seen this bikini. I was going to surprise him.”

Hearing this supercharges my arousal. It’s trivial, but we now share a secret. We’re in it together against Dustin. The secret is about how I’m getting something intended for him only makes it that much hotter.

She also seems to realize that she’s traversed a small but meaningful boundary, and she looks scared and delighted at once. She is gorgeous, and I want to take her now, here on the living room floor. But I know I must be patient.

I open the sliding door and guide her into the backyard, my fingers grazing the straps of her bathing suit top and the silky skin of her back. It’s the first time I’ve touched her. Another boundary crossed. How many more can we get to?

The hot tub feels exquisite in the nippy night air. Beth moans as her legs slide into the roiling cauldron, and the jets start to do their magic. Aside from my arousal, I have to agree with her wordless sentiment: It really does feel fucking fantastic. I definitely do not use this thing enough.

We’re sitting on opposite sides, everything entirely above board and platonic, when Dustin slides the door open to bring us our wine. Beth leans over the edge of the tub to fetch the glasses, and we clink cheers.

“Thanks, honey,” she tells him, turning away.

“You’re welcome,” he mutters, shifting his weight awkwardly. Then, as if he’s just made up his mind, he straightens up and looks me in the eye. “I think I’d like to take a dip after all.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t pack a bathing suit, my friend,” I say, shaking my head sympathetically as if that is the only reason he’s still out in the cold when we all know it isn’t. I wonder who will break this charade first.

Dustin’s jealousy is apparent as he watches us luxuriate in the swirling steam. “I have a pair of gym shorts I could wear. I don’t mind.”

“I’ll tell you what. You want to come in, just strip down to your birthday suit and hop in. It doesn’t bother me. It’s nothing any of us haven’t seen before.”

I feel Beth’s foot move against my own under the dark water. She brushes past tentatively, then returns and stays put, rubbing her sole against my toes. I try not to react visibly, but my cock hardens below the bubbles. Amazing. She likes it when I toy with him.

He stands awkwardly, weighing my offer, but before he can say anything, Beth cuts in. “Dustin, we all know you don’t want to do that. Go inside and finish dinner.”

“This is bullshit,” he whines. “This is supposed to be our weekend together!” He’s finally broken through his daze, ready to stand up for himself. But that opportunity has come and gone. He’s had all night to do it. Hell, he’s had seven years to avoid ending up here at this moment.

He opens his mouth to protest again, but I cut him off. “Dustin, shut up. You’re embarrassing yourself. Go inside. Make dinner. We’ll be in soon.”

Beth’s foot travels farther up my leg, toeing the bottom of my bathing suit. The sensation brings me to almost full erection. She’s only a few inches away. Goosebumps break out over my exposed shoulders and arms. She takes a long sip of wine.

Dustin sputters a few incoherent syllables, then gives in. I can see his shoulders slump in the dim light. He shuffles back into the house. The glass door slides closed, and I turn off the hot tub’s jets. All is silent and still in the dark backyard.

Beth and I lock eyes. Her footfalls from my lap. Neither of us has verbally acknowledged the electricity between us, which builds the tension. There are a million things that I want to say, but my throbbing erection clouds my mind. The silence grows, threatening to become something malignant until Beth breaks it.

“I recognized you from the Starbucks line. When you came to talk to us on the bench, I mean. I remembered you.”

“I remembered you, too. I noticed you immediately. That’s why I started eavesdropping on your conversation. That’s not like me, but after what I saw in the bathroom —”

Her eyes dart to the house, checking that the door is still closed. “Dustin is the only man I’ve ever been with.” The tips of her hair dip below the water’s surface as her shoulders droop.

“It’s not your fault, Beth. It’s just who he is. But it’s not enough for you. That was clear to me the second I saw you.”

“He told me,” she begins slowly, choosing her words carefully, “about what he saw in the bathroom.” A pause. “Is it true?”

I had already overheard Dustin’s mumbled account of the bathroom incident, but I needed to hear her say it. My cock was in control now, my insides a writhing mass of hungry fire. “What did he say he saw?”

“That you were…bigger. A lot bigger.”

Instead of answering, I beckon her toward me. She slides across the hot tub, coming within range of one of my outstretched arms. She leans back against my arm, and I wrap my hand around her shoulder and pull her in close to me. My heart is beating high and fast. It feels right.

She puts her hand on my thigh and looks up at me. Her eyes are wide and full of longing. I want her more than I’ve wanted anything before in my life. She opens her mouth and needs to swallow twice before the words come out.

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

Her hand moves up my leg. I feel her fingertips graze the taut fabric of my bathing suit as she approaches my groin. It almost tickles. Then she finds my hardness, which has forced its way down one thigh. Her fingers wrap around me.

“Oh my god.”

Her first touch is timid. Her hand moves slowly up and down my shrouded length, testing its limits. She holds it tightly where it’s thickest near the base; her fingers barely make it around what she can grip over my bathing suit. It feels incredible to have her touch me, explore me like this. I flex against her hand, sending jolts of pleasure down my arms and legs.

“Oh my god,” she says again and gulps. Her breath has quickened. “Alan, I didn’t even know it could be like this.”

She adds another hand. Even then, she still can’t hold all of me at once. She worked a hand between my legs, feeling for my balls. I’ve never been this aroused. My cock feels swollen with latent power, and my instincts tell me to rip off Beth’s suit, bend her over the edge of the hot tub, and plunge inside her.

Instead, I say: “Let’s go into the house.”

She looks up at me in surprise. Her hands pull away. My cock screams at me.

“Inside? But Dustin, I’ve never, I don’t know if I actually can, ah, cheat.” The word hangs in the air like poisonous vapor.

“Neither have I. But I know when something feels right, and something feels wrong. This feels right. Righter than I knew something could feel. I know you feel it, too.”

She stares back at me, waging an internal war. Finally, she says quietly, almost whispering: “You’re right. I do.”

“There’s no need for secrets here. It might be a little tough at first, but I think you’ll be surprised at how Dustin will react in the end.”

She looks at me disbelievingly, but when I rise from the water, I see her eyes widen at my engorged groin. The visual — my erection forcing the bathing suit fabric out to a ludicrous degree — would be hilarious if the atmosphere wasn’t tense with barely controlled lust.

We do our best to towel off, but we’re too distracted, and water pools around our feet on the wood floor after I slide the glass door closed behind us. Dustin saunters in from the kitchen. His grin is wooden and eyes empty, and he speaks in a falsely cheery tone. So he’s chosen denial, I think.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Nothing too fancy, I’m afraid. We better eat soon if we want to make it to the hotel before it gets too late. You said it’s a bit of a hike, right Alan?”

He sees how Beth and I look at each other, but he doesn’t drop his charade until I drop my towel. As expected, his eyes are immediately drawn to my bulge. I let him look.

“Dustin, you’re not going to the Marriott tonight.”

He tears his eyes away and looks up at me wildly. “What the fuck?” He turns to Beth, then back to me. His voice rises and cracks with emotion. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

I speak calmly. This is it—no more games. “You’re both going to spend the night here. You’re going to sleep in the guest room, and I’m going to fuck Beth.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Louder now, panicky. “That’s bullshit. That’s fucking bullshit.”

I say nothing, only reach out to Beth, who takes my hand and lets me pull her to me. She presses her body against mine. She looks at him straight on with no fear. I’m so proud of her.

Dustin watches with horror. He rounds on Beth, tears of rage tracing paths down his cheeks.”You slut. You fucking whore! I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

“Be quiet, Dustin,” I say, still calm but with an undercurrent of menace. “Don’t speak to her like that. This isn’t her fault; it’s yours. You couldn’t satisfy her. She deserves better, and she’s going to get it for the first time in her life.”

“You—” He starts toward me.

“Dustin, no!” Beth screams.

He makes to swing at me, but I grab both of his wrists and wrench his arms back down. It’s not hard; I’m much stronger than him, even in his wild, spasmodic rage. He barks a syllable of helpless fury and tries to kick me, head me, anything to make contact. I take one kick off my shin that I barely feel as I force him down to the ground. He tries to wriggle out from under me, but I tighten my grip on his wrists until he yelps in pain.

“Dustin, stop,” Beth says, obviously worried, but is there an undercurrent of exasperation? “He’s stronger than you. Stop before you get hurt.”

I finish subduing him. I’ve got his right arm pinned tightly behind his back and a knee on his flailing legs.

“I’m doing you a favor,” I say. He’s sobbing under me, whether in fear, anger, or grief I can’t tell, and he spits muffled curses into the floorboards.

“A favor? Fuck you. You retarded hick.”

“You couldn’t satisfy her,” I say. “And it’s not your fault. You shouldn’t have tried. You would never have been able to.”

“I can satisfy her! I can satisfy her better than you! Tell him, Beth!”

“No, you can’t,” Beth says quietly. “You never did. But I know Alan can.” A little more confidently now. “He’s different than you. It’s hard to explain. It’s just he’s a man.”

“And what am I?” he sobs, straining his neck to make tear-blurred eye contact.

“You’re pretending,” she says, “play-acting as a man.”

All at once, the fight leaves Dustin’s body. He falls limp on the floor, and I know he won’t be any more trouble. I release him and rise to my feet. He scrambles up to a kneeling position, and I offer him my hand. He accepts the help.

I direct him to an easy chair, then sit next to Beth, still wrapped in her towel, on the couch. I put my arm around her shoulders. She puts her hand on my bare leg. Dustin, shell shocked, eyes red-ringed, is transfixed by her wandering fingers. After all the tumult, my bulge is not as prominent, but it’s still quite evident.

“Listen, Dustin,” I say, settling back against the couch. “I’m sorry it came to that. I don’t blame you for being protective of Beth. She’s a gorgeous woman.”

I’m speaking calmly, matter-of-factly, as if I’m not ripping his throat out with every word. Beth’s fingers tip-toe closer to my cock. She’s eager to get her hands on it again. I already know how aroused she gets watching me dominate Dustin.

“She told me that you were her first sexual partner,” I tell Dustin. “I think if she’d had more experience, see what the world had to offer her, so to speak, she would have known right away you weren’t up to the task of satisfying her. And I don’t mean satisfying her in some pornographic, jackhammering bullshit way. It is partially physical, but it’s more about matching energies, feeding back to one another on a certain frequency.”

Beth wriggles a little against my side, pulling closer.

“Anyway, I think she would have known right away that you weren’t right for her, then it wouldn’t be so hard for you right now.”

I turn to Beth, “Not that it’s your fault.”

“No, you’re right,” she says. “Just being next to you, feeling you, how you’re different than him. I know you’re right.”

Dustin stares, mouth slightly agape, as Beth’s hand crests the curve of my bulge. Circling my prey like this has me fully erect again, and I flex against her touch, my cock fully discernible against the tight material of my trunks.

I continue: “And I mean, yes, I have a much bigger dick than you. There’s nothing you can do about it. I think it might help a lot if you just said that back to us. Tell us, ‘I have a small dick, Alan has a big dick.”

He opens his mouth once, twice, but nothing comes out. Beth wraps her hand around my shaft through my trunks.

“Say it, Dustin,” Beth says. “Go on.”

In a slow, crackling croak: “I have a small dick. Alan has a big dick.” He exhales and clears his throat.

“Atta boy,” I tell him. “Now that’s out in the open, we can also stop pretending. I’m sure you’re tired of it, even if you don’t realize it yet.”

I scoot my ass up off the couch and yank my trunks down, then kick them away. When I sit back, my cock bounces up, buoyant despite its engorgement. Dustin is staring at my cock as if there’s an invisible string emanating from each eyeball, and both ends are tied to my shaft. I wrap my arm back around Beth, and she instinctively slides off the couch onto her knees between my legs. She snakes one hand up my length while the other wraps around my balls, then she takes me into her mouth.

“See, I doubt she’s ever done this with you, like this,” I say to Dustin. He doesn’t avert his gaze, just shakes his head in mute confirmation.

I stretch out, opening my legs wider and settling back against the couch. I can feel the almost spongy caress of her tongue amid the general warmth and wetness of her mouth, and I flex in her mouth. Along with the movement of her hands on my balls and the base of my cock, it’s like she’s trying to engulf more than my penis — she wants my essence, my sexuality.

“This might sound kind of fucked up,” I say to Dustin, looking at him above his fiancé’s bobbing head, “but tell me, do you think you deserve this? Think about your body, your attitude, the vibe you give off. Do you think you inspire this in others? I’m not saying you never will, but right now, as you are, sitting here. Do you deserve this?”

“No,” he says, his voice quiet but clear.

As if it drives the point home, Beth unwraps her lips from my cock and starts licking in long, unbroken lines from the base of my scrotum up to the shaft. She’s genuinely lost herself in her work, and I wonder if she even hears the conversation around her.

“You’re welcome to stay and watch if you like, but I’m going to fuck her now.”

Dustin shifts in his chair, and one hand is rubbing the front of his khakis. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression and body language make it clear he wants to stay.

“And listen, this doesn’t have to be a sobfest for you. Enjoy watching. You don’t have to worry about being bad at fucking.”

His lips curl up in a wan smile. He’s so much more likable now.

Taking one of Beth’s hands, I rise to my feet. I unknot the towel and let it fall the floor. The bottom of my cock presses against her stomach as we bring our lips together for our first kiss. I inhale deeply of her scent, which is not marred at all by the lingering smell of chlorine. Our tongues entwine like vines along a chain-link fence. Her hands roam my back as I untie the neck of her bikini top and push it, grabbing the bottoms along the way, past her hips. Her practiced shimmy does the rest, and the suit lands around her feet.

We push our naked bodies together, the sensation of her breasts against my chest inducing an almost drug-like high as lust courses through my veins. I rock my hips, rubbing my cock on her stomach, and she returns that pressure with more of her own, grinding her mound into my thigh. Her hands wrap up around my shoulders, while mine follow the curve of her back to the natural terminus of her ass cheeks. As our tongues continue their serpentine mating ritual, I grab two perfect handfuls of ass and knead them, spread them, let my fingers graze dangerously close to her holes. She groans into me.

After several moments, I pull away and look into her beautiful eyes. I imagine that my own face is mirroring the expression I see on hers: excitement and a thrilling kind of shock about the immediate and obvious depth of our sexual connection. There is no future or past, instead an ecstatic being-here, a cocoon of passion.

As I lay her down on the couch, I see Dustin, whom I’d entirely forgotten about. He’s rubbing his small erection through his khakis with the heel of his right hand. Unwilling to expend any more energy considering him, I turn back to Beth and dive between her legs.

Her pussy is shaved but for a narrow fan of trimmed hair, like the crest of an exotic bird. I nuzzle that patch as my tongue cascades down the front of her lips in a wall of soft warmth. She moans and digs her hands into my hair while I tongue her cunt. Neither frantic nor overly deliberate, I explore every fold, basking in the totality of her Bethness. Interspersed at natural but irregular intervals, I break to kiss or suck at the area around her clit.

She writhes against the couch, grinding her pussy into my face. I feel her wetness spread across my cheeks, my nose, my chin, and I relish the overpowering, intoxicating scent. Her moan is constant now, broken up by barely intelligible utterances of “fuck” or “oh god.” Soon I feel her movements take on a more consistent rhythm, and I maintain that moment’s combination of licking and nuzzling. I reach up to grab her breasts, encircling the flesh, feeling the taut prong of her nipples against my palms. She builds up against my face until her orgasm crests like the breach of a whale, sudden and magnificent and hinting at unseen, unknowable power.

As her body starts to loosen, I slow my stimulation from a deluge to a steady current and ultimately a trickle. When she spasms after my tongue gets too close to her sensitive clit, I kiss the inside of her leg and disengage. I lean back and watch her open her eyes and exhale, her smile wide, exhausted, smirking.

After another deep breath, she says, “I need you inside me.”

In an instant I’m sitting on the couch. Beth is in my lap, her arms wrapped around my torso, her lips on mine. I guide my cock into her cunt; I feel its hardness like a clenched fist inside her as she slowly settles down on my length. She grunts under her breath as she stretches to the unaccustomed width and her natural lubrication works its way around my shaft. The look on her face is amazing. Her eyes close in concentration and her breath quickens.

“Oh my god,” she pants. “Holy god, that’s big. Holy shit.”

“I know,” I say, stroking her hair supportively. “Take it slow.”

Eventually, she’s able to sink almost to the base of my cock and she lets out a loud wordless moan, the vowel sounds twisting in her mouth over the course of the long, slow exhale. She wraps her legs around my body, pulling herself as close as possible, just sitting there with my cock fully inside her.

“Let me just be like this for a moment,” she whispers into my ear. “Just feeling you.”

I murmur back an assent and run my fingers through her damp hair. Her neck is too inviting not to kiss, and I cut a path from her shoulder up to her ear, which I nuzzle and bite. I feel a shiver shimmer down her body. I grab her ass, one cheek in each hand. The feeling is so erotic, my cock feels harder than it’s ever felt, like a pillar of solid rock. Unable to stay still any I longer, I start to gently gyrate my hips. She moans and cinches her arms tighter around my back.

“Oh my god,” she says, the words coming out in quick spurts between her deep breaths. “I can’t believe how good this feels. Holy shit. Never stop fucking me.”

There’s a small grunt somewhere across the room. I look over Beth’s shoulder to see Dustin, a splatter of cum on his exposed stomach, his reddened boner already starting to sag in his grip. I briefly imagine his view –his girlfriend’s slender, erotic back, only the tight pouch of my balls visible under her luscious ass, the length of my cock unseen but somehow still perceivable deep inside her womb — and I can’t blame him for being unable to control himself.

Shoving Dustin again from my mind, I turn back to Beth. She’s looking up at me, adoring, lustful, excited, content. I’m so happy. Our lips meet again, and as our tongues caress one another, I start rocking my hips. Slowly at first, letting her adjust to my size, then just a little faster, a little deeper. Each thrust elicits a bright pop of a moan. It’s so cute; I think it’s my favorite sound I’ve ever heard. Soon I’m working several inches in and out of her with each stroke. I’m so proud of how she’s taking me, given her lack of big dick experience. Her cunt feels made for my cock.

As if reading my mind, she leans up off my shoulder and says, “Your cock feels so fucking good, oh my god. Fuck. I think I’m going to cum again.”

Then we’re kissing. I keep fucking her as her crescendo builds. I can feel her contract wildly around my cock as wave after wave of pleasure crashes down inside her. Her moans are almost sobs, and her entire body convulses in my arms. I slow down as the last spasms course through her body. She collapses against me.

I keep fucking her gently as her breathing evens out and her pulse settles. Eventually, her refractory period ends and she’s back at it, sitting up in my lap, matching my gentle rhythm with her hips.

“This feels like the first time I’ve ever actually been fucked,” she says, loud enough that Dustin can’t help but hear it. One look at the mischievous expression on her face makes it clear that she understands that dominating him turns me on. I smile back wickedly.

“You are so fucking hot,” I say. “I can’t believe how fucking amazing you feel.”

“That’s because I’ve never had a real cock like this. Oh my god, it feels so good. I didn’t know it could be like this. And it’s not just your perfect cock; you’re so fucking good at this. I’ve never cum from just penetration, like not even close.”

My lust is becoming uncontrollable. I need to cum inside her, but first I want to change positions to really pound into her. I wrap one arm around her midsection and cradle the back of her head with the other and move to flip her onto her back. She instinctively understands and holds on tightly with her legs. Our tongues meet as I rotate her onto her gently. My cock is still fully inside her, and I start fucking her as soon as she settles on her back.

With one hand wrapped tightly in the roots of her hair, I fuck her hard, grunting into her neck as I shove my cock into her again and again. As the tension builds I suddenly get the urge to look at Dustin, to own him in this final moment. He meets my eyes. His pants are still around his knees, his small cock almost hidden by a tangle of wiry brown pubic hair. One of his feet is bare, and his stomach hair is smeared where he used his sock to wipe off his cum. It’s not an appealing site, but the way he subtly shrinks away under my stare thrills me. Beth’s moans fill the room.

“Thank me,” I say, my voice terse between quick breaths as I fill his girlfriend’s eager cunt. “Thank me for fucking Beth.”

“What?” Dustin croaks. With his load blown, the thrill is gone, and I can see the combativeness returning to his face. He struggles to pull his pants back up while seated. “You want me to thank you? Fuck you. I hate you.”

I smile at him. “Thank me little boy, or I won’t cum in Beth.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Don’t let him cum in you Beth!”

I lift myself up a bit to give Beth some room. She cracks opens her eyes and tilts her head towards him. Her face, glowing with sweat, barely changes from its grimace-like expression of deep pleasure as she speaks. “Fucking thank him Dustin. I need this.”

“You need him to cum in you?” The utter disbelief, at this late stage, almost makes me burst out laughing.

“Yes, I fucking need his cum inside me, so say fucking thank you! Say pretty please with fucking sugar on top. Don’t ruin this for me.”

I can feel my orgasm building in my legs. I pull Beth’s head back by the hair and start making out with her. I hear a small voice.

“Thank you for fucking Beth.”

I pull away from the kiss, knowing that I only have another second before the dam breaks. “Louder. And keep saying it until I’m done cumming.”

“Thank you for fucking Beth!” Dustin yells. “Thank you for fucking Beth! Thank you for fucking Beth!”

I can hear the complete submission in his voice and it pushes me over the edge. The pleasure sweeps through me in a tidal wave, more intense than I’ve ever felt. I lose my connection to my surroundings, unaware of anything, bucking and grunting wildly. Somewhere in the distance, Beth is shrieking in ecstasy. I empty myself again and again into her womb; inside her, I can feel the hot liquid surround my cock.

I return to myself and bury my head into Beth’s neck, wanting everything, her smell, her sweat, her skin. I feel her hands on my back, rising and falling with my lungs as I get my breath under control. The final jolt of pleasure shoots through my body, and my hips slow, then stop. For a long second, the room is silent. I stay motionless in Beth’s embrace. Finally, I kiss her neck and pull myself up. I ease my cock out, leaving her cunt stretched and messy with cum. I stroke her breast lovingly before standing up. My cock isn’t fully hard anymore and there’s cum and other liquids stuck in my pubic hair, but I feel no embarrassment.

Beth hitches herself up on her elbows, clearly reluctant to get up and instigate a semen Niagara Falls on my couch. Noticing that, I walk to the hall closet, grab a clean hand towel and run half of it under warm water before bringing it back to her. When I return to the room, I can sense how the tension ratcheted up my absence. Dustin is staring at Beth with hard eyes, and Beth is having trouble meeting his gaze.

I hand Beth the towel, which she puts over her pussy. I help her up into a seated position.

“I suppose you two have a lot to talk about. Beth, would you like me to stay? I’m happy to.”

She takes a deep breath, then smiles up to me. “No, thank you Alan. I think it’s better just the two of us.” She turns to Dustin and looks at him with kindness. “Come on, Dus. Let’s go to the guest room and talk.”

 

The End.

 

*This story has been edited to fix spelling, punctuation, & basic grammar, but the narrative and plot have remained the same. Just remember, even with the limited editing we do, it doesn’t mean any possible major flaws in this story were fixed.

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