Reading Time: 13 minutes
Summary of this Story:
Kevin shares a cramped bed in the dim bedroom with his current partner Emily and ex-wife Sarah after a late-night plea for reconciliation. Emily’s helicopter-like sleeping flings Sarah to the floor with a loud thump and groan, sparking awkward humor amid resurfacing old wounds from their failed marriage. As whispers turn candid, Kevin recounts a dream of hate-fucking Sarah, revealing suppressed anger and selective memories of their fights. Sarah, seeking forgiveness, guides his hand to the warm crease of her thigh, her pubes tickling his fingers, tempting him with an offer to release pent-up emotions through sex. Emily snores softly nearby, her arm draped over Kevin’s chest. Dawn arrives with rhythmic movements and sunlight spilling through curtains, capturing their sweat-slicked forms in primal energy. Post-release cries echo, followed by laughter over coffee as boundaries soften in the unhurried glow.
Check out your Story: Between ex-wife’s plea and dawn’s passionate release
In the dim bedroom, whispers turn candid as old wounds surface between ex-spouses. A misplaced arm, a helicopter sleeper, and middle-age mishaps break the tension with unexpected humor. Dawn brings rhythmic movements and sunlight spilling through curtains, freezing primal energy in rapid shutter clicks. Sweat-slicked forms shift positions, hands cradle bellies, cries echo softly. Post-release, one figure sprawls in golden light, fluids trailing, while sketches capture every relaxed curve and lingering mark. Laughter follows cleanup, coffee steams, and boundaries soften in the unhurried glow.
[Kevin]
Halfway through the night, I hear a loud thump and a groan. Sarah picks herself up off the floor.
“You all right, Sarah?” I whisper.
Emily snores lightly and mumbles something.
“Yeah. Emily just shoved me off the bed. It’s not some subconscious anger thing, is it? A metaphorical shove?”
“No, I should probably have warned you. She’s like a helicopter when she’s asleep. It was just a literal shove. Sorry.”
I shift closer to Emily to open up some space for Sarah. “Here, I’ll scoot over to Emily so you can get in on my side. No, wait, I need the bathroom first. Middle age sucks.”
I roll back toward my edge of the bed and climb out.
“At least the equipment’s working,” she says as I walk past her.
“What?” I look down. My cock waves hello. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that. Be right back.”
We end up both using the bathroom. Not at the same time, obviously, and I let her go first. I’m a gent, I am.
Then I get into bed first, getting under the covers and turning toward Emily. Sarah gets in beside me, and I can feel her shuffling around. Emily mumbles and rolls again, flinging her arm out. It lands on my chest, and I pat it gently.
“How do you manage to get any sleep?” Sarah asks, stifling a laugh. “She seems to settle down when I put my arms around her. Anyway, I’ve done worse things to her in mine.”
“Like what?”
“Dry humped her while dreaming about fighting with you.”
“Oh my God,” she whispers in horror.
“That was my reaction. Emily was very kind about it. If I recall correctly, I was trying to make you feel something by hate-fucking you.” I keep my tone dry and matter-of-fact. “It didn’t work, and anyway, it was a terrible dream to have about you. I’m sorry.”
I can hear her sniffling. And then a watery, “I’m sorry.”
I reach my free hand toward her and pat her gently. On her thigh, I think. “I won’t hide anything if you ask. But we really don’t have to talk about it. The past is in the past.”
I try to move my hand to a slightly less charged location, but before I can, she rests her hand on mine.
“You never actually fought me.”
“You have a selective memory.”
“Yes, okay, we fought, but never like that. Just how much were you holding back, to be dreaming about doing that?”
Emily rolls away from me, and I let her arm go. She’ll be back in a bit, I’m sure.
“It was a dream. Didn’t mean anything. Are you going to try to psychoanalyze me?” I really don’t mean to sound quite so defensive. I laugh a little to take the sting out of my words.
“No,” she says. “No, I’m not. I just…” She sighs. Then she moves my hand. Up her thigh, to the crease between her leg and hip. Close enough that I can feel her pubes tickling my finger.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t want you to hold back anymore.”
“I’m not.”
“If you need to shout, stamp, cry, hurt me… hate-fuck me, like you said. Just say the word. Or just do it.”
“I don’t need a martyr.” I sniff. “Especially not you. No, wait, that sounds wrong. I mean I don’t need you to martyr yourself for me. To me.”
“I’m not. I… Don’t make me beg you, but I will if I have to. It would be for me, too.”
“To make you feel like you’ve paid the price?”
“What? No. No! No, I… I want to have sex with you. Believe it or not, I’ve missed it. And it would feel like things really are okay between us if you’re having sex with me. Like you’ve really forgiven me.”
“Now you understand why I always used to want to have sex after we had an argument?”
Well shit. Now I just sound mean. Again.
“Sorry. That was a cheap shot.”
“Not an entirely unfair one though.”
“I just don’t want there to be any shots at all, Sarah.”
“I know. But you’re right, I didn’t understand back then, and I do now. Better, at least. Like Claire says, we were speaking different languages while thinking it was the same.”
“Clai-? Oh, right, therapist.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess she’s not wrong. I feel like, looking back now, I understand you better, too.”
“I’m glad.” She sighs. “I’m still sorry.”
“I am, too.”
I scratch her thigh gently, and she shifts. Her sigh sounds more like a moan. It’s tempting. Very tempting.
Nighttime Confessions
“What would she say about us having sex?”
“If you want cake, have cake.”
“Huh?”
“If you want to do something and it’s not going to hurt anyone or yourself, then do it, I think is what she means. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself it means. Been using it as an excuse for a lot of things, actually. Emily’s… already made it clear that she’d welcome it. I’m telling you that I would, too. What’s holding you back?”
What is holding me back? Her skin is warm under my fingers. I can feel the heat emanating from her pussy. She feels exactly as I remember. Move my hand a couple of inches over and I’d be cupping her pussy. Up, and I’d be over her belly, moving toward her breasts, those soft, wonderful breasts that I had loved for so long. I could bury my face between them again. Familiar, comforting, comfortable ground. We’ve both learned a few new things, I’m sure, but I still remember exactly what she likes. All I need to do is roll over and get on top. Even just move my hand. I can already almost hear her moaning gently as I enter her.
So why don’t I?
I roll over, but just so I can look at her. “Because I don’t trust the why.”
She gasps like she’s just been slapped.
“I don’t have any ulterior-”
“No, of course I know you don’t, Sarah. Not you. Me.”
“What do you mean?”
“If we were to have sex now, I don’t know why I would be doing it.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I mean. Fuck, Sarah. You have no idea how hard it is to stop myself from just… doing it. It’s… you. Of course I want to… you know. But I’m trying to be a better person, right?” I sigh, trying to put my thoughts into words. “Would it be because I’m seeking familiarity? Comfort? I already have that with Emily. Because I miss you? I do, but lying here, talking to you… I don’t need sex to fill that hole.”
I pause for a moment as Emily snorts in her sleep.
“To work out all the suppressed anger?” Sarah asks. “Frustration? Hurt? You wouldn’t have to hold back.”
“But I don’t need that. I’ve worked through it a different way. And even if I did…”
“You don’t want to be the kind of guy who would use me like that, and that’s more important to you,” she finishes for me.
“Yeah. That.”
Our hands are still together, on her thigh. Neither of us tries to move.
“Does that mean we’ll never have sex again?” she asks.
“You sound sad about that.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I am. But I’m looking forward to something else. If we have sex again, I want it to be on new grounds. I want it to be because it’s fun, and something we both want. As friends, or as whatever this is. Not because of nostalgia, or anger, or habit.”
“Cake because it’s yummy and not because you’re hungry?”
“Yeah. Because we want something sweet on top of an already full meal. And I think that’s the limit of that metaphor. I’m not even sure we did it justice.”
“That sounds nice though.”
“It does, doesn’t it? But that’s why I can’t let myself have it. Not now, not yet. Right now… our past is still too raw, too recent, and we’ve only started healing. I can’t put that at risk, even if-” I breathe carefully. “-even if I desperately want to. It can only happen when it’s no longer desperate.”
She doesn’t answer for so long that I think she’s fallen asleep, but she hasn’t. “Me too, Kevin. And you’re right. You’re right.”
She pats my hand. “We’ll get there.”
She lets my hand go, and I turn to face her, then kiss her on her head. She smiles at me, and leans in to kiss me lightly on the lips. Neither of us tries to make it any more than that.
I turn back to spoon Emily and put an arm over her. She pats it gently and snores, and I close my eyes.
[Sarah]
Shame. As she lies there staring at the ceiling, she still feels that old, familiar shame rising from within. And along with it, Claire’s voice. Shame is useful, in that it reminds us not to repeat past mistakes. But watch that it doesn’t take over your life.
She’d just tried to silence the shame by offering herself, with the opposite effect. She can’t keep relying on Kevin to hold the line.
She moves her arm slightly, and the side of her pinky makes gentle contact with his skin. Is that his ass? She leaves her hand where it is.
He shifts and lets out a tiny, squeaky fart that goes on for a little longer than something so soft has any right to, ending on an embarrassed note.
She yanks her hand away like she’s just touched a hot pan.
There is a moment of silence.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I really tried to hold it in.”
She can feel his shoulders shaking, and then she, too, tries to suppress a giggle, but a quiet snort manages to escape.
“Middle age really sucks.”
She moves a little closer to him, enough to feel the warmth of his back against the skin of her arm. “Is this okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he says. “Good night then.”
“Good night.”
Morning Light
[Emily]
I smile to myself as I close my eyes and let out another fake snore. Sarah and Kevin’s breathing slow down, and I pat his hand gently as he rests it on my belly. I’m awake; of course I am. I’m a deep sleeper but not that deep, and that was a long conversation.
***
[Sarah]
She is on a boat. Why’s she on a boat? Fucking Hank, I told him no boats. But if this is the bachelor party, where’s everybody else? It’s a tiny boat. A dinghy. Has Hank got them on a flotilla of tiny dinghies? She wouldn’t put it past him.
Her boat’s being rocked gently up and down by the waves. It’s quite hypnotic although a part of her wishes it would stop because then she could go back to sleep but she shouldn’t fall asleep because she’s alone on a dinghy in the middle of the ocean.
She’s going to kill Hank.
Shh, says the ocean. You’ll wake her up.
She opens her eyes. She’s in Kevin and Emily’s bedroom, not a dinghy on the ocean. But she’s still being rocked gently, up and down, up and down.
There is a muffled moan from the other side of the bed. Oh. Oh.
She rolls out of bed and lands on her feet, springing forward to the corner where her camera and materials are. They’re doing it.
“Don’t mind me,” she gabbles. “Keep going, and don’t hold back.”
She turns, and sees exactly what it looks like when Kevin doesn’t hold back.
***
[Emily]
I think that’s Kevin’s cock poking at my butt. I thrust my hips back toward him and wiggle. I can feel his warm, hard cock pressing against me. He might be half-asleep, but I think he’ll understand that signal.
He does, and I can feel him smiling against the back of my neck as he runs his hand up my belly to cup my breast in his hand. My nipples are very sensitive, but he’s very gentle, and his touch feels like fluttery kisses.
The mattress bounces slightly as he angles himself to enter me from behind. He’s not the only one who’s woken up horny, and he slides into me easily. I bite my lip so I don’t make too much noise. I love how he feels.
He caresses my nipple with his fingers and I snap my teeth together to stop myself from hissing.
“Sarah?” I whisper.
“Behind me,” he answers. “Still asleep.”
“You sure? You’re not very good at telling when someone’s actually asleep.”
“I know you were listening last night. You’re not very good at fake snores.”
“Was that all a show for my benefit, then?”
“No, I only realized when you snorted. When I said something about filling holes. Couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
“It’s hard to come up with a good comeback now when I’m getting my hole filled.”
He’s so warm. Hard; inside me. No matter how many times you do it, it always feels a little weird, having a part of someone inside you. Moving.
“You feel good, darling. Particularly hard this morning. Good talk with Sarah last night, was it?”
“I think so, hon. I’d rather think about you than her right now, if that’s all right?”
“Mm, yes.”
I gasp as he thrusts forward. He leaves my breasts alone and moves his hand down between my legs, and I clamp my thighs shut but he manages to pry his way in. Okay, I might not have been using all my strength. Don’t want to crush his hand, after all.
“No, no, you leave my clit alone, you know how noisy I get when you- oh you meanie!”
“Shh,” he says. “You’ll wake her up.”
“I don’t think I care anymore, keep doing that, please keep doing exactly that oh God oh God oh Kevin…!”
He keeps doing exactly that.
[Kevin]
Spooning is great but it’s not easy to build a rhythm in that position, especially when you’re also trying not to wake your ex-wife who’s still asleep behind you. So I roll Emily over so she’s on her front and get on top of her.
She raises her head and I clamp my lips over the side of her neck.
“Aah, don’t bite me!” she cries playfully.
“You of all people saying that…”
I don’t finish the sentence, because I’m busy focusing on getting a good rhythm going. She lowers her head, muffling her moaning with her pillow.
There’s a flurry of movement off to the side.
“Keep going, and don’t hold back.”
Oops. So much for not waking Sarah. Oh well. I make up for it by doing exactly as I’m told.
[Sarah]
She grabs her camera and takes a moment to pull the curtains open, letting the morning sunlight filter in, bathing everything in a gentle, whitish-yellow light. Then she turns around, taking the scene in with her eye, adjusting the composition of the photographs as she works out what she’s seeing, her fingers already starting to snap photo after photo.
She could set her phone up for video, but she doesn’t want to faff about too much in case she distracts Kevin and Emily. She’ll just have to rely on her memory. Not like that’s a big ask. She’ll be reliving it for ages.
Click. Kevin on top of Emily, the two bodies as one.
Click. Emily raises her head, her hair damp with sweat, a bruise on her shoulder, and another mark on her neck starting to mottle a dark reddish brown. Kevin leaning forward to kiss her, her eyes half-closed in delight as he pins her hands to the bed.
Click. She raises her hips, arching her back, and he rises with her into a sort of a squat, thrusting downward. The bed shakes with each thrust.
Click. They’re both sweating. Emily cries out with every thrust; Kevin grunts.
Click. He’s no bodybuilder. And a guy who loves food as much as he does will always have a certain amount of padding. But under that padding, Sarah can see the lines of his muscles moving; muscles developed over the last few months of construction work. She knows it can’t be easy to hold that position, let alone thrust while doing it, and yet he does. His thighs flex as he holds himself in that half-squat over Emily, his arms pressing her into the bed, his eyes intensely focused. Her face is turned toward Sarah. Her eyes are closed. Her back is arched. She doesn’t seem to be entirely coherent. Kevin doesn’t wait for her to take full breaths; each thrust of his drives the air from her in a guttural moan. Each moan sounds increasingly hoarse. He looks like a beast. He’s moving like one, but one that’s aware of its own strength. Primal, yet gentle.
Kevin’s hands move, from Emily’s shoulders down to her belly, cradling her, and their unborn child within her.
Click. As if it were a signal, Emily lowers her hips, Kevin doesn’t follow her, and his cock slips out. He drops to his knees.
Click. Emily turns over to face him, her arms go up and around his neck, and she pulls him onto her, wrapping her strong legs around him. “Cum in me, darling, cum in your Emily.”
Click. Kevin moves. It’s Emily’s turn to bite him, under his ear, and as she does, he cries out. His ass flexes as he pumps into Emily with deep inward thrusts that he holds each time he enters her fully.
Click. Click. Click.
[Kevin]
Fuck Emily. Make sure she cums. Cum in her. Get the fuck out of the way. Steps one to three are done.
I kiss Emily deeply. I can hear Sarah’s camera clicking next to us. Emily’s eyes are still closed. Her arms fall away from my neck, her legs loosen their grip on me, and I complete my assignment by going to the bathroom to clean up.
[Sarah]
She takes photographs of Emily from every possible angle she can think of, entirely focused on wanting to capture her exactly as she is. One knee up. Her other leg casually splayed open, toes still curled, slowly relaxing. Pussy still puffy and swollen, a mix of her own and Kevin’s cum running a trail down her taint, glittering in the light like Willow Creek’s babbling stream. Skin flushed pink and gold, the rays of the sun highlighting the fine hairs on her cheek and arms, sleep lines from the sheets still embedded within. Her hair tangled and damp, fanned out around her head. Baby hairs plastered to her forehead and neck. Eyes half open, still somewhat glazed over. Dark nipples, puckered and stiff, the scar on her left breast drawing the eye. Arms bent, wrists gently crossed as she caresses her own throat, still remembering Kevin’s touch.
She puts her camera down, picks her sketchbook up, and starts drawing.
[Kevin]
When I get back, Sarah’s sitting on a chair at the foot of the bed, sketching. Emily’s still more or less where I left her, although she’s now much more lucid, and getting on Sarah’s nerves.
“Stop moving!”
“Sorry!”
I go and stand beside Sarah, looking over her shoulder. “You’re going to struggle to get her to hold still for long,” I warn her.
“Yeah, that warning would have been useful maybe ten minutes ago. Good thing I’ve already got lots of photographs.”
“Can I help it if getting fucked first thing in the morning makes me feel rather full of life?” Emily protests.
She starts moving her hand toward her pussy, resulting in Sarah barking “Don’t move!” at her.
She stops moving, but keeps talking. “Full of life, get it? So full, it’s leaking out of me.”
Sarah and I both groan.
Emily starts laughing, and that gets more cum leaking out of her, which makes her laugh even harder. “It’s really tickly! You try lying still while there’s cum flowing out of you.”
“Can’t say I’ve had that experience, to be fair,” I say.
“All right, all right, I give up,” Sarah says. “I’ll work from the pictures. You can go clean up.”
I start moving toward Emily, only to be barked at myself. “She can go clean up. You stay right there.”
I stand still as she turns herself to face me and Emily leaves, her hand between her legs to hold it in while she runs to the bathroom.
All I can see now is the top of Sarah’s pencil floating over her sketchbook, the soft scratches as she sketches whatever it is she’s sketching. I know better than to move. I barely even breathe.
“Okay, done,” she says.
“What did you draw?”
She turns her sketchbook to me. “Your cock.”
I examine it closely. Not my finest look, but in my defense, I’ve just hammered Emily into the bed, so I’m not feeling too self-conscious about it.
“Nice shading. Love the detail on the wrinkles. Are my balls really that saggy?”
Sarah chuckled softly, tilting the sketchbook for a better angle as Emily emerged from the bathroom, towel in hand, grinning ear to ear. The room filled with easy laughter, the raw edges of the night smoothing into something warmer, more settled. Kevin pulled on a robe, the three of them trading light-hearted jabs over coffee from the nightstand thermos, black for him, loaded with cream for the women. No rush to dress or leave; the morning stretched lazy and unhurried, a quiet promise that healing wasn’t linear but real. They lingered, sketching forgotten for a moment, basking in the fragile new normal they’d carved out together.
