Page 27 of Off Limits

Not me who just saw…

Oh my God.

After a minute, I manage to push myself off the door and stumble over to my bed, where I sit down in a daze.

I can’t get the mental image out of my mind. His dick in his hand, and…

…Oh my God.

He was ejaculating. Holy fuck, he was ejaculating and seeing him in that abject sexual posture is the single most arousing thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

I will never get this mental image out of my mind.

I wouldn’t want to.

Laying down on my bed, looking up at the rough, untreated wooden ceiling, an electric sexual heat is pulsing through me. My nipples, rubbing lightly against the fabric of my bra as they harden, are exquisitely sensitive. Heat is pooling down below. I want to have some release but I don’t know how, exactly. It’s never worked for me. I could try anyway. Although I’m sure Jean-Luc will come knocking at my door in a minute, wanting to have a chat about what just happened. I just walked in on him. He can’t walk in on me.

Can he?

The idea is intriguing, though—him walking in and finding me fingering myself. Him being so overcome by lust that he pins my wrists down on the bed and just slides his cock into me, right then and there.

Oh my God, his…huge…cock.

Jesus, I saw it.

I lift my knees and let them rest against each other, tilting my pelvis and rolling my hips a little bit.

His hand on his cock. His broad, muscled chest… Oh God, his cum hitting the shower wall just as I looked…

I squirm as my pussy swells. I’m so close. It feels like it would be so easy. I’m still in my school skirt. Just lying here on the bed. With the door closed. All I have to do is touch myself.

I lower a hand between my legs, softly rubbing the fabric of my panties. They’re wet already, and as I trace my finger lightly over the fabric covering my clit, my heart seizes and clenches. God, it feels so good.

Letting my knees fall open, I start rubbing light circles over my clitoris, loving the feeling of the wet fabric between my pussy and my fingers. It feels so good, yet so abstract, too. What exactly is an orgasm? Every time I feel a rush of pleasure, I wonder, could that be one? Is it really so different?

Eventually I drop my hand and let my knees fall apart, aching and unsatisfied. I don’t know how to give myself what I need.

Despite all the horrible awkwardness of the last three days—the avoiding each other, the not speaking—ever since I kissed Jean-Luc it’s like my hormones went into overdrive. My pussy is throbbing around the clock, as if craving the pressure of the bulge in his pants when I straddled him. I’m ashamed and humiliated, and yet my body doesn’t fucking care. It just wants cock.

My stepdad’s cock.

The day after the kiss had been the worst. When I’d finally gotten out of bed the next morning, puffy-eyed and humiliated, I’d come downstairs to an empty first floor. I made my way down to the basement to watch TV, only to discover that Jean-Luc was in the gym, grunting loudly in the room next door as he bench-pressed weights. When he finally made his way to the kitchen, where I’d retreated to drink juice and stare blankly out the window at the pine trees, he had only wanted to have the most perfunctory of talks.

I had almost hoped that he would really want to get into it. Why we couldn’t do this, why it was wrong. I guess I wanted to confirm that he felt the same way, I wanted to see where we would go from there.

Instead he’d simply said: “There’s no need to worry about what happened last night, Danica. I think a little too much champagne was consumed, and that’s on me for not being more watchful. We can just forget that, uh…anything happened.”

And then he’d gone about his day, keeping busy and running errands without me.

The next day, a holiday Monday, he’d driven into his office, citing work, and hadn’t returned until ten p.m., only speaking to me to tell me to order a pizza for dinner.

And even that had been by text.

It’s clear that he’s horrified by what happened—and horrified by me, his deviant, perverted child. But even after driving him away with my behaviour, I can’t stop getting wet every time I think about him. Even though things literally couldn’t be worse, my body keeps wanting to push it further.

I sigh and let my hands flop over my head, knowing I should change my panties, which are so soaked they’re beginning to get cold, and wonder if I’ll ever hear Jean-Luc knock on the door.

In the past—before Saturday, when everything changed—Jean-Luc was never one to sweep things under the rug, always believing that communication was the most important thing. But now that I’ve come on to him, now that I’ve seduced him, all bets are off, it seems.