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Henry Abbott loved his wife, much like any other mid-western husband loved their wives. He’d get her roses every Saturday, sit besides her in church, drive her around the town and buy her whatever her heart desired; he’d buy her ice-cold lemonade and delicious vanilla ice cream during the scorching summers, and make hot chocolate for her during the freezing winters- He did everything a dutiful husband should.
Well… almost everything.
No matter how much Henry pampered his love, showered her with gifts and paid her the utmost attention, he couldn’t get a certain someone out of his mind. Whenever they made love, he’d be plagued with images of a large, loving smile, waves of obsidian curls framing a pleading, full face, large doe eyes staring up at him through luscious lashes, festering in the back of his mind like a virus, a virus that he couldn’t get rid of, that had attached itself to his brain and leeched off of his very thoughts, til nothing was left but the memories of little tits in a cream wife-beater, plush, parted lips, and a coy, playful gaze, mocking him through irises of amber and gold. He’d come, then, biting down on the pillow he’d smashed his head against, and he’d roll off her. They’d say their good nights and well-wishes, before Henry switched off the light, plunging the room into darkness, and leaving him to fester in his sinful thoughts for only a moment, before being allowed the respite of sleep.
But not today. He’d rolled onto his side, shut his eyes tight, and prepared for the sweetness of slumber to overcome him and lead him to the promised dream-land, but it never came. Instead, the thoughts continued; the boy, his friend’s son, wide-eyed and bewitched as Henry demonstrated how to ride a motorcycle; Henry’s motorcycle. Bright eyes twinkling in the warm summer sun as they sat on the porch, with Henry adding the last few details to the boy’s denim jacket- He’d promised to adorn it with the same patches and badges that Henry’s had. Sitting on the couch besides him, playing a confusing game involving doors and lights and cameras that Henry never quite understood, while rambling about whatever he could think of at the moment, which Henry listened to and nodded occasionally, pretending to know what the boy was saying. Him standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom where Henry would stay at, in nothing but panties and an oversized t-shirt, asking for a hug because he had a nightmare, and his father was fast asleep. Henry would have made fun of him, normally, a boy at his age asking for a cuddle after something so meaningless, but the tears that had threatened to roll down his face signified to Henry that joking about was not the best thing to do at the moment; feeling his tits pressing against his chest while they embraced, having to take a few deep breaths to quell the frantic beating of his heart-
Fuck. He was hard again. Utterly and absolutely rock hard, at what could only be past midnight, with his wife besides him, all thanks to the memory of comforting a distraught boy- a distraught boy who was his friend’s son . He let out a shaky breath, and flopped onto his back, staring up at the grainy, dark navy ceiling that stared back at him. He’d be able to ignore it, all he had to do was think of something else.
His van, for example. It needed repairing. The boy had been in his van, had sat on the passenger seat in his knee-length cargos and oversized t-shirt, talking excitedly about games and friends and whatnot, and Henry had wanted to do nothing more than shut him up with a kiss-
Fuck, that was most certainly not working. What about his wife, she had a meeting with her friends coming up- one of those friends being the boy’s mother- How could he even look at her knowing he’s fantasized about fucking her son braindead? How could he even speak to his own friend, knowing that’s what he’s been thinking about- his own daughter was older than that boy, what on earth was he even doing with his life, being unable to get aroused at the though of his wife and only being able to feel that sweet surge of adrenaline when thinking about a boy 24 years his junior?
He was fucking pulsating, now. Fucking hell. He turned his head to his wife, seeing her serene, sleeping form staring back at him, eyes shut and lips slightly parted. He had this lovely goddess in his bed and the only thing that could ignite his passions was that scruffy little freak- He’d better just jerk off and hopefully, once he’s done, that’ll cleanse him of all those sinful little thoughts.
He turned his back on her, and slipped a hand into his boxers, cupping his cock, hard, ready, wanting. He’d tried to think of his wife, tried to think of her on their wedding day, or on their first date, they’d gone to get milkshakes, and they’d shared one, like they do in the movies. She’d giggled and laughed at her smile was infectious, and soon, he was smiling, as well. He’d gone to get milkshakes with the boy, as well, he’d jumped up and down excitedly, and when they got them, he’d bent himself across the table to steal Henry’s straw and get a sip of his, before retreating back to his seat with a little smile. He wasn’t scolded, all he got was a pinch on the cheek. Every time he touched the boy he felt like a little zap of electricity was sent straight to his heart, making his face burn red.
Nothing could dispel the thoughts of that boy, nothing, not even thinking of his lovely wife. He might as well just wallow in it for a while, think of him and once he’s done, he’d never dare look at him the same again, all of those thoughts would be fucked out of him. Hopefully.
He thought of those lovely plush thighs wrapping around his waist as the boy sobbed into his shoulder during that one, warm night, thought of how his cunt was practically pressing against his cock, with nothing but thin cotton fabric covering him up- his hand picked up the pace, wrist twisting around the head of his cock before returning to its usual movements. They’d slept on the couch before, with Henry laying on top of the boy, with nothing but a wool cover to keep them warm- he said he required it for comfort. Henry could have easily pulled those pyjama bottoms and panties down and sunk into that tight, wet heat, he knew how deep of a sleeper he was- he couldn’t be made to wake up even in a bomb had dropped besides their house, and being fucked senseless was far less distracting. Henry could fuck that boy for hours, eat him out on the couch while he played his stupid game till he passed out, finger the boy silly under the dinner table, lazily fuck him during the night-time out on his porch on that hanging couch till he was stuffed full of come, maybe play with his tits under his shirt and kiss those pretty little lips while he does so, or have him sit primly on the van floor in front of Henry and dutifully suck him off while he drove.
Maybe he could get him a nice rabbit vibrator as a gift and see how long it takes before he makes a big mess of himself. Maybe he’d get him a nice collar, a pink one with a little heart and a leash so he could pull on it while they fucked to give him a little fright. God, there were so many things he could do with that useless cockslut. Henry wondered if he could squirt, or if he cried when he came, or if he’d ever been fucked before, if he could go for hours or if he’d burst into tears after his second orgasm, wondered if the boy enjoyed kink activities or prefered being more vanilla, wondered if the boy even knew about sex or had to be explained how it worked, wondered if he’d ever jerked off; if he’d done it with his fingers, or with toys, or even with a pillow, pressed between his legs that he could rock back and forth against, or with a showerhead- or maybe he’d never done it at all and he needed to be taught how to-
Henry’s teeth sank into his pillow, as he came in his underwear. He hissed as he awkwardly pulled his hand out from his boxers. Now he had to clean himself up. If his long masturbation session didn’t wake his wife up, him cleaning up in the middle of the night will not only wake her up, but would have her raising an eyebrow. All because Henry couldn’t stop thinking about some fucking boy .