The Choice – by Mr Bram Stroker

CW: DD/lg endearments                 Image from Pixabay

The Choice Part 1

Angela

They knew about each other. They’d both known for a while now. He’d tried to keep their existence separated from the other. Secret. Secure. Yet it had proved impossible. So, he told them both a few days earlier.

He played the odds and determined that he had nothing to lose. After all he was still ‘single’ in the truest sense. Good job, nice car, great city centre apartment. His circle of friends was small but tight. He didn’t easily welcome unknowns into his sanctum, his past had made sure of that. He had burned and been burnt too many times. He laughed off the comments about his inability to ‘settle’. What did they know about him anyway?

So he found himself here, torn. Two women. Very different. Both incredible in their own ways and he knew he was growing into harder relationships with each. He also knew it was unsustainable. Something would have to give. His days of flitting from one girl to another were a memory and it was too difficult to manage So he told them. Both.

Tonight he was with Angela. Blonde. Slim. They were always slim. She had a liking for demure floral dresses and body shop perfumes. Her skin was like porcelain, a quintessential rose. Considerably younger than him, but she had an air of the executive about her, the unmistakable upper class charm. He was, if he admitted it, in awe of this and her upbringing. She spoke quietly, biting each consonant as she did.

In her own way she quietly demanded attention. And he provided that.Tonight he wore a tight T-shirt, & skin tight jeans. He’d arrived early at her house, in the suburbs. She was clearly monied.

She wore a cream calf length dress that swooshed a little as she walked. It was imprinted with small vine and lilac flora. The dress was cinched at the waist with a wide belt that accentuated her figure. Cream heels and dark nylons completed the look. Her hair was scraped back from her fringe and pulled into a plaited tail. She had made an effort and he noticed.

They had made love many times and she, he assessed, was naive. Although, when he had suggested they all ‘met’ she hadn’t baulked. They ate the Thai meal she had prepared them. She sipped her Chablis whilst he drank a few cold Cobra beers. Soft music played through the kitchen speaker. Afterward she placed the crockery into the basin. He followed her watching as her skirt swayed pendulously.

She stood next to the work surface, pressing her stomach against the hard black granite. She could feel it hard against her hips. She knew he was behind her. She placed her palms across the cold stone, raising one foot slightly from the floor, bending her knee and tapping her toe onto the tiling.

He neared. She bent forward a little. She had been naive, she knew this. But now she had to fight. She wanted him and him only. She needed him. He. Was. Hers.

The music built. ‘That’s all I wanted, something special, something sacred …’
She began to move her hips in time with the beat with a tiny rise and fall. She tipped her head backward. Her ponytail fell perfectly between her shoulder blades reaching the top of her backside.
She was fucking beautiful. He stepped into her. His groin pressed against her firm buttocks. She bent a little more at which he caught her rein. Softly, he pulled it. And waited.
Her eyes were drawn to the ceiling and she braced, stabilising herself. Slowly he began to unbutton the column of tiny pearlescent buttons along the length of her back. He peeled it from her and she let it slide to her feet. Wearing just her heels and nylons she stood. She parted her legs keeping them perfectly straight.
Mine, she thought. Just mine. She heard the familiar unbuckling of his belt, the metal buckle clinking against the clasp, followed by the slow , ripping sound of the lowering of his zip. He removed his T.  And stepped out of the denim.
His quadriceps tensed and his neck muscles burst and strained. He was so hard. He stroked the back of his hand along the inner length of her A framed stance, careful not to touch the smooth dripping centre. She leant forward more. Her breasts flat against the cold surface as her fingers grabbed the edge of the peninsula island. Her face pressed against the cold and she could see her breath misting her reflection. She raised herself on to her toes. He stroked his forefinger along the length of her spine, softly caressing it over her anus.
His end spilt with his first eagerness. He pressed his finger tip into the smoothness of her mound just as he slid fully into her. Gripping her tail and pulling it firmer as he did.
‘I will be your father figure‘
Slowly, he began to stretch her. She felt herself widen around him. Her man. Her protector. She dripped onto the floor beneath her, the wetness pooling. Placing his hand in the well of her back he quickened, pressing her navel hard against the cold. Her leg muscles burned, tearing at her. Faster he engined into her. 
‘Mine’ she uttered breathlessly. ‘My…Daddy.’ ‘
‘Again,’ he demanded, he felt himself twitch inside her. ‘Say it again.’
The music played on: ‘Put your little hand in mine .’ 
‘You’re mine … Daddy ‘ she rasped. He grabbed at her shoulders and pulled her upright.
She maintained the frame as he bit deep into her elongated neck. Her nipples hard, pert, screamed as he twisted hard. She could feel her need coming. And she felt he was near. Whispering through her smeared lipstick she said again:
‘Yes…’Daddy’.
He was uncontrollable. He pushed her flat again. And felt his orgasm racing though his body. Raging:
“Good Girl. Good-fucking-girl”. He doubled over her digging into her skin and he came hard.
She reached and grabbed him ensuring that he fully emptied inside her as she ground upon him, soaking him in her orgasm. And her legs stayed straight.
Trembling he withdrew and watched as their cum oozed from her onto the floor beneath. She turned and faced him, stroking her dampness as she did. She was even more attractive now than he’d ever seen her. ‘
‘So’ she began, ‘have you decided …Daddy?‘
She watched. His shaft twitched again, she knew she was in a game. And she was playing to win.
As he stared at himself in her bathroom mirror, with its garland of petals around it, he steeled himself. Tomorrow he’d tell Devyn. He’d decided …
“This is not a love song” for #EroticFictionDeluxe & #WickedWednesday
My guest writer is Mr Bram Stroker  Twitter: @stoked_bram
Erotic Fiction

12 thoughts on “The Choice – by Mr Bram Stroker”

      1. You know, I thought at my leisure and came to the conclusion that I won’t have to choose. For some reason, it seems to me that it will not be a couple, but a trinity.

    1. Thanks for that Jae, I hope you saw I had posted part 2, with more song lyrics … I should see if I can link this tale up to your prompts!

  1. Pingback: The Choice - Part 3 - Decision - Posy Churchgate ~ Pillow Talk

  2. It is strange that these two women were not angered or angered by the man’s message about the presence of a rival and that he hesitated in his choice. In some cases, after such a message, he might not be faced with a choice, but before his absence.

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