He Lured Me In

An Everyday Problem: Nick Thompson

I couldn't tell if I enjoyed sex anymore. The skin that kept brushing against mine felt rubbery, and the bed held no sound when we bounced upon it. It was a memory foam and it irritated me. Beds are supposed to squeak and bounce during sex. It's as if the mattress, bored with our antics, fell asleep.

Everything else was the same, including the warm hold of the woman underneath me. Although I topped her, she caged me in. Her arms had a vice-like grip around my neck pulling me down flush against her too-hot body. And her fingers held my hair so tight that any movement of my head caused my skull to shriek in pain. She had her legs wrapped around my waist with the heels of her bony feet dug into the space above my ass. Trapped.

All I could do in the minute amount of space she gave me was thrust my hips slightly and let muscle memory take over. The act itself, the smells, even the moans kept me hard, but I wasn't in it.

I found myself rethinking my life's plan. It'd been years, at the very least, it'd been over a decade of fucking. Maybe I should retire. Buy a boat. Let bygones be bygones and hopefully the people in my life would forget me. Or at least my dick.

Bruising fingers pulled at my arm. "That feels good." Of course it felt good for her—I was a master at pleasing women and she rode me like a life-sized dildo.

I glanced at closed eyes pinched in pleasure and tried to turn to face the wall. It would feel good for me later, when she released me from the unyielding hold so I could pull out, check her name off the list, and leave.

She squeezed her fingers tighter in my hair and pulled me down so her head touched mine. "Tell me you love me," she said running her sweaty nose up my cheek. "Tell me you'll never leave me." She pulled me even tighter so my mouth was suffocated in the skin of her neck. Even if I wanted to lie and speak the words she asked to hear, I physically couldn't.

Her hips lifted off the quiet bed on their own to pull me deeper inside. The legs around my waist squeezed even harder promising bruises later. "I'm close!" She moaned.

I wasn't. Not even a little, but I would be. Sex, even imprisoning sex like this, was my expertise. And she was a project I had almost completed.

I pulled away, forcing a little room between us, but only to move my head into the crevice of her sweaty breasts and bite a trail up to her wet chin. Then, I whispered the words she asked for earlier.

She cried out, damaging the nerves in my ear and tightened around me until it felt like she would castrate me with her vaginal muscles, before she finally stilled.

As her hold on me loosened, I compelled myself to keep going while she was blissed out and malleable in her post-orgasmic haze. I had to work fast to finish before she snapped out of it and became turned on again. I looked at the clock, mentally challenging myself to orgasm before the red numbers changed.

I've had to force myself to come early before. Multiple times. I just close my eyes and go somewhere else. It worked every time.

This time, I brought up a memory from a few nights ago. A different bedroom, a larger bed, and a lovelier woman. Speeding up my movements, I felt fingernails dig deep into my skin.

"Oh god." A voice sounded, but it didn't belong. I felt spasming against me. Loud cries of pleasure. I transformed the sounds, warped them into the sultry high pitched one that matched the woman in my head.

The face elongated, the hair lightened, and her hold loosened until the woman below me disappeared completely.

Then, just as the red numbers switched, I groaned my release, holding onto the memory for as long as I could before the white walls faded away to dark hues.