Fevered Fantasies

Estella & Dominic (2)

(♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠) Estella and Dominic 2 (♡‿ ♡⁠)

‘Flip! Flip!'

I scrolled through Mr. Dominic's picture on his i********: page. I had been busy with that for over thirty minutes, swallowing my longing and smoothing my cunt on our leather chair as my p***y tingled. I fought so hard to avoid watching porn. I gave in to that most times when the crazy feeling for Dominic grew intense.

I quickly walked to the kitchen, bringing out a glass from the many arranged in the cabinet the moment I sauntered in. In a flash, I poured the chilled water from the bottle I had taken from the fridge, drowning it all down in one gulp.

I took a deep sigh, trying so hard to fight how horny I felt right now. It’s always this way after any meeting with Mr. Dominic.

Everything at our apartment looked like s*x. I imagined the water that spluttered to my mouth as his c*m, the sinkhole as my desiring p***y, and the little water I swirled in my glass as my coochie juice.

What the heck was wrong with me?

The middle of my pink sleeveless was mildly wet, and I had no bra on. I detested wearing that anyway. I couldn't wait to get home each day to fling that off and be in my most comfortable state.

I had only taken a few steps out of the kitchen when I heard voices conversing faintly. Eager about who that was, I advanced to our sitting room and was shocked to see Mr. Dominic sitting with my mom on one of the cushions.

They had been having a discussion in a low tone.

“Baby!" My mom exclaimed at once; I could tell she wasn’t expecting me.

“I think it's time to...” she paused, eyes glittering.

“Your dress... Estella!" she exclaimed, pointing towards my top.

“s**t!" I said between clenched teeth, pretending to adjust my dress.

I realized that my cleavage was more exposed than I thought.

Then I saw his eyes before he looked away.

Had he caught sight of my hard n*****s?

He definitely should have seen that. I wasn’t one of those girls with tiny buttons. No. Mine was bold, a little rounded, and quite perky.

“I've kept this away from you for some time, love. Better late than never, so they say,” my mom continued with a giggle.

“This is Mr. Dominic; he is my boyfriend. You know him, right?" She threw the question at me.

Wasn't that funny? I thought. We literally just returned from his store a few hours ago, and my mom was asking if I knew him, but I understood that feeling.

I saw the way their glances switched from bold to awkward in an instant. The room suddenly became so tense that I quickly nodded in response, walking back into my space to give them the privacy they wanted.

On the bed, I hugged my pink pillow tightly, recalling the information my mother had just spilled.

Countlessly, I tossed.

I wondered if my mom knew about Mr. Dominic's escapades with other women. How on earth did my mom fall for him? Would he be my stepfather? Wouldn’t I love that? Multiple thoughts ran through my mind.

My mom was also in her thirties; she had given birth to me when she was just sixteen, so she said. Impregnated by a man quite older than her—my father. I wasn't sure my mom fully enjoyed her marriage. My father died when he was just 47. He was not the young, funky dad everyone my age had—that was sure—but he was deeply rooted in family. He loved and cared for us, sacrificed, and made sure we had the best.

It was easier since he was wealthy.

My mother was convinced, or rather forced, to marry my father because he was well-off, and the financial state of her family before she bore me was a mess. I could bet she never had deep feelings for him, but my father's wonderful personality made her feel sad after his demise. I wasn't left out either.

He had died trying to save one of his colleagues in the fire incident that razed his company.

I sorted for my diary in the blue rack, closest to my bed. Pressing the end of my ballpoint pen, I scribbled,

“This day, 12/09/26,

Romantic ballet finally successful! ♡"

Dropping my pen on the blue diary, I broke into a fulfilling smile. My cheeks pressed in, giving in to my dimples.

I had struggled in learning the romantic ballet style for weeks to the point that I was scared Janice would be picked as the female lead in place of me. However, steady practice at home and multiple YouTube videos made me get in.

“I'm the Queen of Ballet! No one dares come close!" I prided inwardly in myself.

The entrance door creaked; that meant Mr. Dominic was out. I know you’re hoping I go over to my mom to ask her about her new boyfriend, joke around with her, and all that. Sorry to dash your hopes. There’s no way on Earth I would ever do that.

I mean... I'd love to; it’d fascinate me to learn about Dominic, because I believe we all have different sides we show to different people, but my mom never provided any avenue for that.

For once, she never had a close mother-daughter relationship with me. I miss my father every day. Everyone thinks that as a girl in her teens with a young mom, I was my mother's best friend and confidante, but it wasn't that way. For no reason, she seemed detached most times.

We only spoke at the dining table, when she rode me to school, or when it was academically related. I almost fell off my chair when she actually said yes to my proposal for a dance class.

She was overly serious most of the time. Reason why I was dumbstruck at the mention of Mr. Dominic being her boyfriend, or at least I pretended to be.

I could always tell what she was keeping from me.

My cozy room designed in blue and pink had always been my little sanctuary, where I thought, practiced, chatted, or spoke on call to my friends. The secret place I touched myself, rolling my eyes and driving myself senseless with my middle finger.

In those moments, “Dominic” was the word that slipped from my lips like a craving I couldn’t satisfy.

She never asked me if I had a boyfriend or if I've ever had s*x; I guess she still sees me as her little daughter.

But I'm not. I’m a naughty teenager dying to be screwed by her man.