Trust Fall: Book One of The Trust Trilogy *Warning-explicit content*

Please note: This is an autobiography for adults. The people in it are adults who do adult things in an adult manner and enjoy them in an adult way. Please read accordingly. Age 18 and up, please.

I didn’t know what I needed. Then he gave it to me.

I was doing okay, not great, but okay. I was a single mom with a five year old son. I had a successful, professional career that allowed me to provide a good home for both of us. My son’s father, my man-child ex-husband Josh, had come back into our lives.

Ben Sheppard was only in town for a month. Handsome, confident and perceptive, he saw the woman I didn’t know I was. He saw what I needed and wanted.

Then he gave it to me.

I thank him every day for that.

This is my story, my autobiography. I tell it honest as I can. I’ve changed the names to protect myself and my family. Otherwise, the story is written as I lived it.


12. Chapter Twelve

“It’s going to be my last weekend in Cincinnati.”

“I know,” I say.

I snug the phone close to my chin. I wish I could see what he looks like when he says this. Is he sad? Indifferent?

“Milwaukee is going to look even more cold and bleak when I get back...missing you.”

“You’re sweet.”

“I thought I might plan something special.”

“Every night we’ve been together has been special.”

“Thanks, but I’ll think of something even more special.”

“What about a nice quiet dinner at my place? I’ll cook.”

“You cook?”

“I didn’t say ‘cook well’.”

“That’d be nice. I’ve been eating out way too much this last month.”

“It will be nice to cook for you.”

“What can I bring?”

“Just you. Some wine if you want”

“What time?”

“Six on Saturday?”

“I’ll be there.”


“I have to get out on the shop floor now,” he says.

“Okay. Goodbye.”


I meant to have the I-don’t-love-you talk with him, but as soon as I heard his voice I knew the phone wasn’t right. Although I don’t want to spoil our Saturday, I’ll have to do it then.

The week seems hollow. I am looking forward to my Saturday night with Ben Sheppard but dreading the talk we need to have and I am dreading him going back to Milwaukee. It was that ‘last few days of summer before going back to school’ feeling when you realize how much time you wasted and how little time remains. I even counted it. If he got there at six and left at noon the next day, that meant there were only eighteen more hours of Ben Sheppard in my life. I caught myself sitting at my desk tearing up at the thought.

“You okay?” Danielle asks.

“Oh, I’m fine,” I say wiping away a tear.

“Man problems?”

“In a way.”

“I’d be able to help if you’d tell me anything about him.”

“Nothing to tell. I knew this was a short-term thing. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Well, maybe it can be more. Love can tolerate a little distance.”

“No. It’s not love. He’s just a nice guy.”

“Seems like love.”

I wipe away another tear and get my voice back to my boss tone.

“I’m good Danielle. Thanks, but we both need to get back to work.”

“Okay. I’m just trying to help.”

She is getting whiney and pouty again. I let her get whiney and pouty.

After she closes the door, I begin to not feel so well. That rock in my gut that seemed to turn into a small stone over the past month is making a comeback. It sits hard and heavy in my stomach. I open up my desk drawer and pull out a little hand mirror I keep there. My furrow has deepened.

Damn, I think.

Do I love Ben Sheppard? I’ve thought this out but doubts hit me.

No. I don’t.

I toss myself into my work and when I am not at the office I toss myself onto the treadmill with music blaring loudly until I can’t take it anymore then I toss myself into bed for a night of fitful sleep.

I keep driving the question out of my mind? Do I love Ben Sheppard? When it pops in and I don’t dismiss it out of hand, I come up with the same answer.

No. No, I don’t.

On Saturday, I wake up at six a.m. and immediately begin cleaning the house. It is already clean—I realize how messy Danny is—but I need something to do. By the time I get done at ten a.m., it would make for a good hospital operating room. I go to the grocery and decide what I’ll make for Ben Sheppard. I’ll make what any man would want—steaks, baked potatoes and a little salad. I buy myself some lunch and am home by one. I am feeling pooped. I lay down and sleep until three.

When I get up I want to change the sheets. I put them on last weekend. I’m not good about changing them, but I want clean ones tonight. I want Ben Sheppard to fuck me tonight on clean sheets. As I was putting on the new ones, I bump into my nightstand and think of the dildo in there.

Is it clean? I should wash it. I’m hoping Ben Sheppard will use it on me again. I’d like to make sure it’s clean. I pull open my draw and stare at it. Big and black.

Hi, Randall.

I think back to that nice guy that Susan treated so shabbily. I pull it out and go into my bathroom, I turn on the hot water and run the fake cock underneath it. I squirt some soap into my hands and lathered it using the same motion as if I was stroking a real cock.

I feel my pussy clench and sense myself getting wet. I feel silly. Am I being turned on by this piece of latex? I giggle. Yeah, I am. I continue lathering it then rinse and dry it on a clean towel. I hold it in my hand. Yes, it is getting me hot.

I’m curious. I’ve never used it myself. I kick off my jeans along with my panties in the bathroom and sit down on the toilet. The lid is cold on my ass which excites me. I am afraid to start. I feel clumsy with this over-sized cock in my fist, but I force myself to rub the tip along my slit and involuntarily my eyes turn back into my head. I hook my left ankle over the side of the tub and gave a push. There is some resistance—my outer lips folding inward. I spread myself open with the middle and forefinger of my left hand. I gasped as I feel the cool air on my sensitive inner skin. Almost immediately, I’m wet. Oh, god, yes. I’m wet. I’m gloriously wet and it is without Ben Sheppard’s firm hand on my body.

I slip my fingers inside myself. They go in easily—easier than ever before. I pull them out and try the cock again. This time is easier and I feel it part me. I push it in until the fake head of the cock is in me. I stop and pull it out. I do that several times.

Oh, god this is so nice. Why haven’t I been doing this my entire life?

My pussy keeps tightening and the wetness is all over. I no longer need to spread myself. I pull my fingers out and brush some stray strands of hair off my face. I noticed my fingers are coated in my juices. I look at them glisten then suck them. I’d never done that before. I taste nice. Pussy isn’t bad at all. There isn’t much of a taste, but there is a silky mouth feel. I put my middle finger into myself on top of the cock, pull it out and tasted again. God, that’s so nice.

I grab a hold on the side of the stool and push the cock just a touch further into me. That is enough. The bright light in my pussy comes fast and explodes just as quickly. I’m coming. I’m coming on my own. I try not to fall off the stool as wave after wave of nervous tension seemed to leave my body. My left leg is tensed against the side of the tub while my right pushes down hard on the floor. I want to keep coming, but I don’t want to fall. Oh, god this is great. A second orgasm comes and goes.

I look down at the cock and I have barely used a fraction of its length. I giggle again, take the dildo into the shower and wash up both of us.

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