I know I should tell him to stop, set some boundaries, that our deal is that one night only, but what I wont admit out loud is that I crave these things now. In fact, I wish he'd go further. I've started to miss his mouth on mine and his strong hands pulling me close. I almost wish he'd crawl into my bed at night and have his way with me.

We're spooning on the couch one night when my secret dreams come true. I can feel him hardening against my ass - which isnt unusual, but normally he doesnt do more than press into me a little harder, a little more insistently. Usually, I do my best not to react.

But I feel so needy, almost feral with it. I cant help but push my hips back into him, begging for it with my body. Its not even close to our agreed upon day, but it seems a lifetime away. I feel like I might die before I get what I need again, what I think I may have always needed.

He chuckles behind me, sounding satisfied in a way I should find infuriating. Was this his plan? I cant bring myself to care when I hear the rustle of fabric and see his sweatpants flung to the floor. He pulls my own pants down to my knees, trapping my legs, and suddenly his cock is hot and hard against me, the head pressed right up to my dripping pussy.

"You're so wet already," he murmurs against my ear. "Have you been thinking about this as much as I have? Once a month isn't close to enough, is it?"

All I can do is whimper and shake my head, because a verbal reply would mean admitting what he's done to me. That he's made me question everything about myself, that I've tried hooking up with women since, but something has changed. It just doesnt feel the same.

He laughs again, one hand snaking under my shirt to cup my breast and pull me tighter against him. His cock presses into me, just the tip, and my hips instinctively rock back in search of more.

"You need to ask for what you want, baby. This isn't our deal." He pinches my nipple, making me gasp.

It should have taken more, but im already stuttering out, "Please. Please, I need it, I want it."

"That's a good girl," he coos, and his warm cock pressing into me is so much better than any strap. He pushes me onto my stomach, and his weight pinning me to the couch, his strong arms caging me in, makes me feel both vulnerable and safe at once.

Out and in, out and in, he thrusts slow and deep just as he knows I like it. I'm moaning into the cushions, trapped and helpless and loving every second of this man using me like this. I know the shame will come after, when my cunt is empty and his cum is dripping down my thighs. It always does. But I don't care. I never do in the moment.

It seems to go on forever, and I find myself thinking that its cruel this has to end eventually. That maybe we can make an amendment to our agreement. Maybe we can do this whenever we want instead. It doesn't have to mean anything, right?

His pace begins to pick up, and I know well what's coming by now. I find myself babbling, mindlessly, begging him not to stop, not to pull out, to please please please cum inside me. That long, low groan that's become the soundtrack of my worst and best dreams vibrates against the back of my neck, and I can feel his warmth spreading through my belly.

Like always, this makes me cum too. That's the real shame - that a man's pleasure can bring me so much joy. I buck back into him as much as my confinement will allow, grinding into him like I need every drop of his cum as deep inside me as possible.

After several long seconds - seconds that feel like an eternity - he rolls us back to our sides. To my shameful delight, he stays buried inside me. I can feel his cock twitching as it softens, the last drops of his seed no doubt joining the rest. One hand slides up my thigh, over my side, and settles possessively over my lower stomach. My womb.

"You should stop taking your birth control," he says, almost conversational despite the gravel in his voice.