The First Real Morning

The Breaking Mrs. Ashford house was perhaps the most comfortable home Rebecca had ever slept in.

But she couldn't quite put her finger on why.

She did not know enough about duvets to know whether it was the stuffing that made her sleep so soundly, or the silk cover that felt softer than anything she had touched before. Perhaps it was the mattress instead, the way she sank into it and felt cradled like a babe, allowing sleep to come easily even after a nightmare.

The lighting was also a pleasure. Every lamp in the room slowly got brighter and brighter throughout the morning, matching the outside light. Only when the sun was high in the sky, and lying in bed became truly lazy, would she naturally wake from her slumber.

She dreaded the idea of being at home, especially when winter came around. Waking up in a pitch black room, cold, without this duvet and mattress...

Time and time again, she would press her face into her pillow and tell herself that was why she was comfortable -- or she'd flex her shoulder against the mattress and think: Wow, this is living.

But that wasn't why she was comfortable.

She didn't want to think of the real reason why.

The warm hand that held her stomach so possessively. The arm beneath her pillow.

Whenever she woke from sleep she would find herself safely in James's grasp. He had called it spooning as they fell asleep the night before, and she didn't understand why -- but she did know she liked it.

His warm, bare chest rested against her back, his heat finding her through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

All of these things contributed to her comfort, but most of all, it was his soft breathing. Something about his presence, his face so close to the back of her head, made her feel safe.

I could get used to this.

And of course she felt his thing against her backside. There was no getting around that, was there? To feel his arms around her required closeness. Closeness required intimacy.

Intimacy meant she could feel his penis.

Even when it was flaccid it felt big.

Several times in the night she'd woken to it completely different--hard and unmistakable, the thick length of his penis pressed firmly between her buttocks. Once she'd felt it twitch against her and had lain perfectly still afterward, wide awake while James continued breathing softly behind her.

James had been asleep.

Rebecca hadn't.

Worse, she hadn't moved away.

She'd told herself she didn't want to wake him. Then she'd spent several minutes lying there wondering what would happen if she moved her hips backward instead.

Richard would roll me over. He would have his way with me.

No.

James had been firm.

No.

Even when she'd asked him again.

Why?

Maybe he wants our first time to be on camera.

She trusted him, almost too much now. Refusing her last night had helped, more than she wanted to admit. It didn't mean she'd forgotten that he'd lied to her.

James had admitted he was a porn star. He was hired for Breaking Mrs. Ashford specifically because he was a porn star.

Rebecca had never watched porn, but she had no doubt why somebody would hire a porn star.

Sex. Pure and simple.

He was hired specifically to have sex with her, and he had refused to do so.

In her mind, there were only two possible reasons for this. Either James actually cared about her, or he wanted their first time to happen on camera.

She didn't know which possibility was worse.

On one hand, everything between them might simply be part of the show. James knew exactly what he was doing, and Rebecca was being pushed towards becoming some kind of porn star herself.

On the other hand, he might actually be feeling the same things for her that she was beginning to feel for him.

In another lifetime, this would be a dream. She couldn't wish away her children, of course -- in this other lifetime Richard simply didn't exist. She was a single mother, and he was everything she had never known that she wanted.

But in this lifetime, he simply couldn't exist.

Could he?

There are no cameras in the bedroom.

He can be your husband here.

She hated that she'd thought it, but she didn't take it back. Instead, she made herself a little more comfortable. She pulled the duvet tighter, found a cooler patch of pillow, and pressed her back more firmly against James.

Her butt slid against his penis, and she felt it twitch.

Make James hard.

Did she mean to do that? In her attempt to get comfortable, she had accidentally rubbed his thing with her butt.

Don't kid yourself.

Don't lie, Rebecca.

Becky.

You weren't getting comfortable.

You were making James hard.

She couldn't deny it.

When she felt it twitch again, Rebecca moved with more purpose.

She pushed her bottom backward and slowly rubbed herself against him. Once. Then again.

His penis hardened against her through his boxers and the thin material of her nightgown, growing firmer until she could feel exactly where it lay between them.

Rebecca's thighs squeezed together.

I'm doing this.

She gave her hips another small, deliberate roll.

I'm making him hard.

“Hmm,” James whispered. It sounded like he might still be asleep, but then, “Good morning, Becky.”

His arm tightened around her.

Rebecca turned in his arms until she was facing him.

This is it, she thought. He's going to do it.

“Morning,” she whispered, waiting for his hand to slip downwards, waiting for something.

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her, his lips firm against hers. She didn't even mind his morning breath when his lips parted. Hers parted with them, and her hand went to his bare chest.

Take me.

The thought arrived without shame or qualification. Rebecca wanted his hand between her legs again. She wanted him to roll her onto her back, pull up her nightgown and finally do what she'd already asked him to do twice.

She wanted him inside her.

Take me, James.

“Kiss one,” he said. “Mind if I shower before you?”

Before Rebecca could process what was happening, James had already rolled out of bed and was walking in just his boxers to the shower.

She didn't have to look closely to see that he was completely hard beneath his boxers.

No, James. I'm not okay if you shower first. Not yet.

Come back to bed.

The words found her lips, but didn't escape them.

“Yeah, that’s okay,” she said.

And then he entered the shower.

She could have screamed.

The shower started.

Rebecca flopped onto her back and kicked her feet beneath the covers.

“Screw you, screw you, screw you!” she yelled, as quietly as she could. “You... you... aghh!”

She knew one word that might adequately describe him.

The F bomb.

Rebecca pressed her face into the pillow instead.

The bed felt considerably less comfortable as she lay there, breathing heavily into her pillow and occasionally kicking her legs.

His hand between my legs.

His penis against my butt.

She was going to touch herself in the shower, she decided. She had to.

That feeling was back in full force. Whenever she wasn't kicking her legs, her thighs were rubbing together.

That spot.

Maybe she would be able to find it now.

“You okay, Becky?”

The pillow dropped from her face. James was standing at the foot of the bed, with only a towel covering his bottom half.

In one supposedly brief glance, Rebecca took in his wet stomach, the water still running down his chest, those broad shoulders and the thick arms that had been wrapped around her only moments ago.

Then her eyes dropped.

The towel sat low around his hips.

She stared at the front of it for a second longer than she had any excuse to. She knew exactly what was underneath now. She'd held it. She'd had it in her mouth. She'd spent half the night feeling it against her backside.

Her eyes darted back to his face.

“Yes,” she squeaked. “Just tired.”

“Me too. Still getting used to sharing.”

He nodded at the bed, then turned to head into the walk-in wardrobe. She wondered for a moment what he meant -- then her mind went back to last night.

How many times had she felt him harden against her?

She had assumed he was asleep...

And then she realized: he is getting changed in the walk-in wardrobe.

On camera.

He's probably naked right now.

The door was left wide open. Rebecca found herself craning her neck for a peek, but quickly found she'd only be able to see if she actually walked to the entrance.

Crumbs.

Instead she practically ran into the bathroom, her nightgown flying up behind her as she scrambled from the bed.

Door shut. Locked.

Shower on.

Warm floor.

F your warm floor.

Rebecca stepped straight beneath the water.

Still wearing the nightgown.

Rebecca slid down the tiled wall until she was sitting beneath the shower, knees bent in front of her.

The nightgown was completely soaked now. The thin ivory fabric clung heavily to her body, the powder-blue lace darkened by water, BREAKING MRS. ASHFORD still stubbornly visible across her breast.

“Stupid thing.”

She tugged irritably at the hem.

That only made her notice what the water had done to it. The soaked fabric had become almost transparent across her breasts and was plastered between her thighs, clinging embarrassingly closely to every part of her.

Rebecca stopped.

His hand between my legs.

His penis against my butt.

Her thighs pressed together.

She had come in here for a reason.

Her hand slipped beneath the water and settled between her thighs, still over the soaked nightgown at first.

She pressed experimentally through the wet fabric. Her fingers traced the shape of herself beneath it, cautiously at first, until one passed over the sensitive place James had discovered the night before.

A small shiver ran through her.

“Oh.”

She pressed there again.

The soaked material dragged against her as her fingers moved, giving her just enough sensation to make her want what was underneath.

The sensation was muted through the material, frustratingly indirect, but that almost made it easier to begin. She wasn't sitting naked on the shower floor touching herself. Not technically.

Rebecca knew perfectly well how ridiculous that distinction was.

Her hand moved again anyway.

She could feel enough to make her breathing change, enough to remind her exactly what James had done to her last night, but the wet material kept getting in the way.

Rebecca frowned.

“Oh, come on.”

She gathered the soaked hem in one hand and dragged it up her thighs until the nightgown was bunched around her hips.

Rebecca looked down.

Her legs were spread just enough for her hand to fit between them. There was nothing separating her fingers from herself now. No underwear. No wet fabric. Nothing she could pretend she'd touched accidentally.

She had deliberately exposed herself so she could masturbate.

The word made her face burn.

Masturbate.

That was exactly what she was doing.

Two nights ago she'd barely known what she was searching for. Last night James had shown her exactly what her body could do. Now she was sitting beneath the shower with her nightgown deliberately pulled out of the way because she wanted to make herself feel that again.

Rebecca touched herself.

There.

Her breath caught.

That was it.

That was the place James had found so effortlessly last night, the place his tongue had kept returning to until she'd stopped being capable of thinking about much of anything. Beneath her own fingers the sensation was different. Smaller somehow. Easier to control.

But definitely the same.

Rebecca tried again.

She was beginning to understand what James had been doing. He hadn't rushed. That was what she remembered most clearly now. When something worked, he'd stayed there. When she'd tensed, he'd changed what he was doing until she relaxed again.

Rebecca frowned as her own touch became uncomfortable.

The shower wasn't helping.

She'd assumed all that water would make everything easier, but apparently that wasn't how it worked.

She knew what would help.

Rebecca stared determinedly at the opposite wall for several seconds.

No.

She wasn't doing that.

Except she wanted to.

She glanced toward the locked bathroom door.

Nobody could see her.

Rebecca raised her fingers to her mouth.

She hesitated, then put two fingers into her mouth.

Rebecca's lips closed around them. She wet them thoroughly with her tongue before slowly pulling them back out.

Her face burned almost immediately.

Goodness.

She was sitting on the shower floor with her nightgown around her hips, two fingers slick with her own saliva, about to put them back between her legs.

“Oh.”

Much better.

Rebecca's eyes remained closed.

Unfortunately, once she'd wondered what sex with James would feel like, her imagination had no intention of leaving the question alone.

He was larger than Richard.

Considerably.

She knew that from holding his penis. From having it in her mouth. From feeling the hard length of it pressed against her butt that morning.

What would that mean when he was actually inside her?

Rebecca swallowed.

Would he even fit?

She imagined opening her legs for him and watching his penis slowly disappear inside her.

Her stomach tightened.

Of course he would fit.

Presumably.

James was a porn star. It wasn't as though God had accidentally given him a penis nobody could have sex with.

That thought was not remotely reassuring.

She imagined him above her again, kissing her while he settled between her thighs. Except this time there was no underwear between them. No challenge to complete. No technicality she could hide behind afterward.

Just James.

Naked.

Hard.

And Rebecca spreading her legs because she wanted him to have her.

Her fingers moved faster between her legs.

She pictured his penis pressing against her entrance.

Would it hurt?

Probably. He was so much bigger than Richard. She imagined James pushing slowly forward anyway, imagined herself stretching around him until somehow, all of him was inside her.

Rebecca's hips twitched against her hand.

Oh God.

The thought of it hurting should not have made her want it more.

It did.

She slipped two fingers inside herself.

It wasn't the same.

Obviously it wasn't the same.

Her fingers were nothing like James's penis, and somehow that only made the fantasy worse.

She curled her fingers inside herself and pushed them deeper, trying to imagine the missing weight, the thickness--the impossible difference between two fingers and James's penis filling her instead.

She pushed them in again.

James.

Her thumb searched for that spot at the same time.

Rebecca gasped.

There.

Oh.

That feeling.

Her fantasy scattered as pleasure abruptly became more important than James.

She knew this part.

James had taught her this part.

The tightening low in her stomach. The heat between her legs. That strange gathering pressure building somewhere deep inside her while her fingers moved and her thumb kept circling that wonderful little spot. Her thighs squeezed around her hand. Her toes curled against the shower floor. Her breathing came faster and louder until she could hear herself over the falling water.

She was getting close.

Rebecca kept rubbing.

Don't change it.

The feeling climbed.

Her head pressed back against the tile.

Don't stop.

Higher.

“Fuck…”

Her fingers pumped harder inside herself.

Rebecca barely even registered that she'd said it.

She was going to cum.

She knew it.

She was actually going to make herself--

The feeling faltered.

That wonderful pressure she'd been climbing toward suddenly loosened.

Rebecca's eyes snapped open.

“No.”

She rubbed faster, her fingers still moving inside herself.

For one tantalizing second her body tightened again.

Yes.

Rebecca chased it.

Her fingers moved harder, faster, desperately trying to drag herself over whatever invisible edge she'd almost reached.

And the feeling weakened again.

“No, no, no.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and summoned James again.

His mouth on hers.

His hands on her breasts.

His penis.

James between her legs, pushing inside her, stretching her open, having sex with--

No.

Rebecca's fingers pushed deeper.

Fucking her.

Fucking her with the enormous penis she'd already asked him for twice.

Pleasure stirred again.

Rebecca immediately noticed.

There.

And because she noticed, she started trying.

Her fingers sped up.

Come on.

The pleasure retreated.

“Oh, come on.”

She kept trying until touching that spot was almost uncomfortable--slower, faster, another angle, two fingers inside herself again--desperately searching for whatever James had managed to unlock so effortlessly.

Nothing.

Finally Rebecca yanked her hand away and stood.

She remained beneath the shower breathing hard, irrationally furious, her soaked nightgown still bunched around her hips and an unbearable ache between her legs where an orgasm had been building only seconds ago.

Apparently knowing what an orgasm felt like had introduced an entirely new problem.

Now she knew exactly what she was missing.

Rebecca tried to distract herself. She stood under the shower and let that warm water cascade down her body, yet she felt no satisfaction from the heat.

She just felt frustration.

Anger.

Fuck you, James.

Who made you judge jury and executioner when it came to my sex life?

You'll put your penis in my mouth, but you won't fuck me?

Fuck. You.

She washed herself faster than she ever had before, not worrying about whether every inch of her was scrubbed clean.

She did the bare minimum.

Because James was going to finish what he'd started.

The moment she considered herself clean, Rebecca stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel.

She stopped.

James was out there.

Good.

She patted the water from her face, left the towel behind and marched into the bedroom completely naked.

Her body still dripping.

Her chest heaving.

She wanted him to see her.

“James?” she called out.

He wasn't there.

She crept to the walk-in wardrobe and peaked inside, careful to make sure her body wouldn't be in view of any cameras.

He wasn't there.

FUCK.