Ten (My Brothers Best Friend) by Ker Dukey Page B

desk is a little high for her so she has to tiptoe and it makes her toned legs look fucking unbelievable.
    I roughly drag her panties half way down her legs and ignore the tremor that rocks through me at the sight of her bare ass and pink swollen pussy peeking out beneath it. Lining up my cock against her entry, I slowly push in, torturing her and myself. “How hard do you like it nowadays, Alex?” I tease.
    “Hard!”
    I thrust into her and then pull out so I can slap her pussy, making her gasp. I push back in fast and hard, and pump my hips a few times before pulling out and slapping the tender flesh between her legs again. She loves it, and her moans increase with the contact of my palm against her pink, perfect pussy. It’s not long before my balls draw tight and warmth grows low in my gut and up my spine. I pull out of her and squirt my cum all over that flawless ass of hers, rubbing my shaft between the cheeks to bring me down from the high.
    “Now get the fuck out of my bar,” I tell her as I push my dick back inside my jeans and go around the desk to pick up the paperwork I was working on before she arrived.
    It takes her a few moments to compose herself but I don’t look at her. She rushes from my office so fast it’s almost a blur.
    And I needed her to go, if I let her, she’ll get inside my mind eliciting a craving only being inside her body can sate.

S ometimes I wish I were that little girl again, because frustration and achy limbs heal faster than the total destruction of your heart.
    “Why is there no medicine for heartache?”
    “There is. It’s called alcohol,” Six replies.
    “That just emphasizes the sadness. I can’t drink him away. I’m stuck in this shitty place that I’ve been trapped in for ten years.”
    “You want me to stay?” he asks, and I feel crappy for dumping my baggage on him.
    He came over to check on me and I was in the process of hating myself for succumbing to Dalton’s taunts. How could I be so freaking foolish? The way he spoke to me. God, I hate myself. I bite into the sandwich I made but spit it out into the bin. Everything is tasteless. I feel empty being here and need to get out of this town as quickly as possible. I’m in mourning for more than just my Dad. I’ve lost so much more now. My memories are tainted because the boy in them doesn’t exist; the father I’d told my son about is no longer the same man. I never wanted to lie to him, but I didn’t want him to know the truth either so I told him that his Dad went away and didn’t come back. I also told him about all the beautiful parts of Dalton, things now gone forever. Maybe it’s a blessing that he ignored my letters refusing to have anything to do with us if this is the kind of man he is.
    I feel dirty for enjoying him inside me so much. I am a whore.
    As soon as this service is over and I have Dad’s ashes, I’m getting on the first plane out of here. I’ll sell Dad’s house as it is and just be grateful that this place is behind me, and maybe I’ll be able to finally move on with my life. I’ve been on hold. Dalton wasn’t the only one who got a sentence. I did too and I’m still serving it. It’s time for me to set myself free.
    “I’m just going to shower and crash,” I tell him, and flinch when he looks around the place.
    “It’s derelict in here, Alex. You shouldn’t being staying in here with no furniture.”
    “It’s fine. It won’t be for much longer.”

    I hardly slept at all last night. I lay there going over and over the way I let Dalton fuck me like I was… urgh, Lisa. I’ll just put this down to stupidity and try and forget it. I make myself as presentable as possible, which is difficult after I gave away the iron and ironing board. Once today is over maybe I’ll have some closure.
    Or maybe I’ll never have that.

    I hate driving in a pencil skirt - getting in the car is a nightmare. In fact, I hate wearing this entire outfit. If I’d had more time I would