Addicts and Enablers [FM]

It’s just after 3 a.m. and I hear the front door open and close softly. The lock turns. My dog’s tail thumps on his bed as she passes by. She barely acknowledges him.

She slips into my bedroom through the open door. It’s dark, but the city’s lights filter in through the open blinds. I pretend I’m asleep, hoping that just maybe she’ll turn around and walk out while silently willing her to stay.

I’m on my side, facing away from the door, so she can’t see my face. It’s early summer, so the window is open and I’m sleeping naked under nothing but a sheet. A zipper is undone. Leather boots clump softly on the hardwood floor as they’re removed. There’s the swish of fabric as she pulls off her dress.

Her scent is in the air. Musky perfume, smoke from whatever bar she was in, whiskey.

Still, I pretend to sleep. I want her to go. I don’t know if I can do this again.

I am also hard. So hard. My cock is throbbing for her. My body wants what my rational mind knows it shouldn’t.

She slides into bed and under the sheet, pulling herself close to me. Her breasts press into my back as she slips an arm over my chest. Her nipples are hard. Her fingers are like ice and fire on my skin.

“I know you’re awake,” she breathes. She kisses the back of my neck and nibbles on my earlobe.I don’t reply.

Her hand slides down and finds my hard cock, caressing it gently.

“He kicked me out again,” she whispers and presses her face into my shoulder. I can feel the tears there.

She’s strokes me so slowly. Painfully slowly.

“Talk to me,” she pleads.

I hesitate for another moment and then roll onto my back, looking into her eyes. Those incredible steel blue eyes.

“Steph … I … I don’t know …,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering. We’re alone in the house other than the dog.

“We can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep doing this. What do you want?”

She pulls herself on top of me and I’m struck again by the power she has over me. She grinds on me and moans. With a deft hip movement she slips me inside her. She is soaking wet. So hot. So tight.

“I just need this,” she moans.

Then her mouth is on mine and I can taste the whiskey and the cigarettes. And I can taste the bitterness of cocaine from the bump she did in the car before coming in.

I can’t pretend any longer that I don’t want this. And we move together.

———-

Steph and I went to the same high school, though we ran in very different circles. She was a cheerleader and dated various athletes. I was a punk kid in a band who hung out at college parties. She was a year behind me and, through cheerleading, was friends with my younger sister. We were friendly, but not friends.

She was stunningly beautiful. Dark curly hair that fell down past her shoulders and striking, piercing blue eyes. Tall and thin with long legs and medium-sized breasts that never quite foretold the incredible ass that perfectly filled out her jeans.

After I graduated, I worked in a local pizza joint while attending college. That same year, for reasons I still don’t really know, Steph changed. She stopped cheering. She cut her hair in to a sexy pixie cut became a flannel-wearing grunge girl. Nose piercing. The whole bit.

She stopped hanging out with her friends and started hanging out with mine. And she came to work with me at the pizzeria.

All through high school I thought she was gorgeous, but not much else. I realized pretty quickly that I had misjudged her. She was smart and funny. She had great taste in music and we often shared new bands with each other. We became good friends in those late nights when it was often just the two of us working.

We started hanging out outside of work, too. She’d come to parties with me and I’d make sure she got home safely. We had long, deep conversations while driving around our small town late at night. We’d watch movies together and wake up in the middle of the night on her parents’ couch with her head in my lap.

There was sex, too. Casual. Never planned, never more than a passionate night at a time. I knew she was fucking other people. So was I, for that matter, but my trysts were almost to spite her. Like, if I fucked a hot-enough woman, she’d get jealous and beg me to be with only her.

She never did. But no matter how many other men or women there were, she always came back to me.

“I can’t explain it,” she said to me once. “You just feel like home.”

I fell in love with her. She loved me, but not in the same way. I knew that and it hurt, but I couldn’t stay away.

I don’t know exactly when the drugs became a problem. She was always casually into drugs. Some pills or coke at a party. Weed. It was sporadic and social. Something she did to enhance her fun.

But somewhere along the line I started noticing that she was high more regularly. I asked her to stop. I told her I was worried about her. She’d say she didn’t have a problem. And then she’d pull me into bed and I’d stop asking questions.

She knew exactly how to manipulate me.

Out of the blue, she met Jake. She didn’t tell me. She sprung him on me.

One night we were out at a bar when suddenly she was jumping up and down and screaming as a tall, tanned, muscled guy was walking toward us. She hugged him and kissed him deeply as I watched, helpless.

She pulled herself away from him and introduced us to each other. She introduced him as her “boyfriend.” I shook his hand. He smiled and told me it was nice to meet me, but that smile never reached his eyes. He hated me from the start.

Their relationship was stormy at best. Outwardly he was a nice guy, but he was controlling and jealous. He hated that Steph and I were friends. I’m sure he suspected were more than friends. We had to stop seeing each other as often. There were no more hangouts. No more movies. No more nights where she fell asleep with her head in my lap.

They married in a small ceremony just a few months later. I was invited, but Jake privately warned me I wasn’t welcome.But that didn’t mean it was over.

A few times a year, maybe once a month at most, I’d hear her car pull into my driveway late at night. Music blasting, probably annoying the shit out of my neighbors.

She’d idle there for a few minutes, doing her bump or taking whatever pill she was into that night.

And then she’d come in.

The reasons were always different, but the same. They’d had a fight. He was too controlling. He didn’t want her going out. He didn’t like her friends.

Every time I would tell myself that I wasn’t going to give in. I wasn’t going to let her do this to me again. I didn’t need her.

But then I’d feel her skin against mine. I’d feel her breath on my ear as she whispered. I’d feel her hand on my cock.

I was as addicted to her as she was to her pills and her coke. I simply couldn’t resist her.

She started getting kicked out of her house as the partying got worse. Jake wanted her home, but she wasn’t having it. Over a couple of years, he probably kicked her out eight or nine times. And every one of those times she came crawling into bed with me.

She’d stay a night, or a day or two at most, but always went back to him.

———-

And now here we are again. I’m inside her and I’m in love with her and I hate her and I can’t pull away. She towers over me as she rides. Her breasts swaying as she moves her hips with mine. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

She’s begging me to fuck her hard and I do. I hold her hips tightly and I thrust up into her as hard as I can, over and over. She cums with a shiver, her legs clamping on to me, her back arched. I feel her pussy pulsing and the waves crash over her.

I spank her ass and she moans with pleasure. I do it again. And again. I can’t see the red marks in the darkness, but I know they’ll be there in the morning when we wake.

She takes my hand and wraps it around her throat. I squeeze gently at first, but then harder.

“Yessss … fuck yes fuck yes fuck yes,” she moans/yells. “Choke me, baby.”

And I do. She finally collapses on my chest, gasping for breath.

She kisses me again, grinding slowly on me.

“I want you to fuck me like a little whore,” she moans. “Use me. Fuck me. I’m your naughty little fuck toy and I want you to punish me.”

I push her off of me then and she rolls face-first onto the bed. I’m on top of her quickly and thrusting hard and fast from behind into her waiting pussy. She arches her back and moves her ass as I thrust. I’m spanking her again. She’s moaning and screaming and meeting every thrust.

I pull out of her and grab the lube from the side table. I drizzle over her asshole and rub it on my cock.

“Ohhh yes baby, are you going to fuck my ass?,” she breathes. “Take it. My ass is yours. Fuck my little whore ass.”

I go in slowly at first. Letting her take me at her pace. She’s pushing back, grunting and moaning with every inch that slides in.

Soon, I’m moving harder and faster. I’m using her like she’s begging me to. She knows this is my weakness. She knows this is what I want. She’s giving me what I need to get what she wants.

We pretend that I’m in control, but she controls everything.

I cum inside her ass without warning her. Just one final thrust and I unload. It feels like a gallon. She gasps and pushes her ass back to me, engulfing me.

I collapse onto her and then roll off onto the bed. She wraps herself around me and kisses me all over. She’s crying and laughing and thanking me.

She tells me she loves me. I don’t reply. I can’t.

She loves me. I know she does. But she’s not in love with me.

She’s broken and so am I. We’re the perfect pair and terrible for each other.

We fuck again in the morning. More gently this time. Loving, slow.

Afterwards, I get up, shower, and go to work. I tell her she’s welcome to stay as long as she needs to.

She’s gone when I come home. I knew she would be.

We continue this way for another year or so until one day when she texts me that she’s pregnant. I’ve had a vasectomy, so I know it’s not mine.

But I also know this is the end. And it is.

It doesn’t stop all at once, but it ends quickly. No more sex. No more drama. No more passion.

——-

That was 15 years ago. I ran into Step for the first time in a very long time at the grocery store this weekend. She looked incredible. We exchanged pleasantries. She and Jake are divorced. She’s an artist now. She went into rehab and has been clean for a decade.

She introduced me to her three children as an “old friend from high school.”

We hugged. She said she missed me. That was all there was. But I know one thing for sure: She may have left the drugs in her past, but I am still addicted.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/uchwgs/addicts_and_enablers_fm