The first spurt hit the wall just over the faucet, but I was too inside of my own head — inside of this fantasy — to be appropriately horrified by it as I fucked the sensitive tip of my dick into my slippery hand, milking every last drop of pleasure out of my orgasm.

Light-headed and panting, I leaned over the sink and pressed my forehead against the tiny mirror. My breath fogged and obscured my reflection, and honestly, I was glad because the shame that always accompanied this fantasy was quick on the heels of my euphoric release.

Swallowing down my disgust, I reached blindly for a few paper towels and turned on the faucet to clean myself up.

This is ridiculous.

After all these years, I still had an unbearable crush on my best friend’s mom, and it didn’t look like it was going to end any time soon. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was supposed to do about it. And considering the way that I wanted her, I knew this was something I could never confess — to her or anyone.

I realized a few years ago that I was what people in the lifestyle called a submissive. Not in the way that I wanted a woman clad in shiny latex to crush my balls with her spiked heels — even though I have tried that. Hey, a guy couldn’t really know what he liked if he didn’t try everything, right? But my fantasies about Darcy were…very Darcy-specific. I wanted to worship her. Cater to her in ways I assumed other men never have. What was that even called? A slave? A pet?

Fuck. My dick liked both of those labels.

It had been about seven years since I last saw Darcy, though I’d thought about her nearly every day of those seven years. Her son, Jared, has been my best friend since college. I was the broke out-of-state student, piecing my tuition together with scholarships, grants, and part-time jobs, who couldn’t afford the trip home to Chicago every holiday. Jared was the one with a rich family and a fun-loving mom who threw pool parties that nearly got her ousted from their historic downtown Charleston neighborhood. She was also the one who came to my rescue my junior year when my grades plummeted due to too much partying, and I lost one of my scholarships. She let me stay in the garçonnière rent-free. Let me borrow her old car — a late-model Mercedes — to get back and forth to campus. Fed me from her table most nights. I think I fell in love with her that summer. Well, to be honest, I was halfway in love with her before that or at least deeply infatuated.